The disenfranchisement of the Karamojong peoples has gone on uninterrupted from colonial to post-colonial states. The restive region, resource rich and vast, has generated any number of salivating would-be suitors. Crafty Wheeler-dealers scavenging for precious metals, incurable do-gooders peddling a civilizing evangelism, and, irritable national governments disturbed by the underdeveloped eye sore blighting their narrative of the rising tide lifting all boats.

However, Karamoja sympathisers and exploiters are both guilty of a similar transgression– Over simplification. They overlook the complex autonomy enjoyed by the Karamojong. Traditionally, nomadic in lifestyle, motion is their orientation and space is their default. Self-reliance is encoded into their way of life. Their commitment to this way of being leads me to the speculation that they have peaked inside the crucible of life and finding the truth, have chosen austere contentment. I won’t deign to understand the reasons for their inflexible skepticism of outsiders but I can appreciate that it has not visited any great catastrophe upon their existence. Thus, there is proof of concept.

Travelling and interacting with card-carrying Kampalans to Morungole in Karamoja, the contradiction of the patronizing elite basking in the scenic natural beauty of Karamoja while pitying the backwardness of its peoples is apparent. The arrogance of our ‘knowledge’ prevents us from considering that Karamoja’s glorious refusal to assimilate is- deliberate.

I enjoyed with private glee the very aggressive manner in which the Ik ladies grabbed at the male Mountain Slayers; marking them, ready to take possession of them, to- colonise them. The absurd oddity of this unconventional reversal of our perception of Karamojong as disempowered victims, playing itself out-in the opposite order.

The puzzle that is Karamoja remains.