🗡️ The Blood at Oliyit: Adwari, 1919

By Ongwen Laodog

January 24th, 1919. The sun stood high over the parched landscape of Oliyit, a small village tucked inside Adwari, Eastern Lango. The dry season was tightening its grip. Shea trees dotted the land like ancient guardians, their thick boughs stretching into the open sky. Beneath them, the thatching grass—abii—was beginning to yellow, whispering of fire, famine, and the fury that dry spells often bring. The Kide terrain rolled gently with ant hills dotted here and there. The Opok tree and Obwolo shrubs peppering the open fields. In some parts, a man could see clear across hundreds of yards. It was the kind of clarity that left no cover for fugitives.

And indeed, there was one!

From behind a twisted thicket of the Yao trees, a man came bursting forth like a frightened gazelle. He was built like a tree stump—thick, muscular, square-shouldered, and strong—but exhaustion had his lungs wheezing, his chest heaving, his stride beginning to falter. Sweat glistened on his skin. His feet stumbled over roots and tufts of drying grass, but he didn’t fall. He couldn’t afford to.

Just seconds behind him was his pursuer. Young. Wiry. Furious.

His name was Awany Bolomor, and he tore through the grass barefoot, body gleaming with sweat, a simple loincloth flapping uselessly in the wind. In his hands he held two spears—one poised over his shoulder, the other gripped tightly, reversed, its iron head facing backward. He wasn’t chasing the man to threaten him.

He was chasing to kill.

He let out a guttural growl, a sound that came from somewhere between rage and instinct. His eyes never blinked, never looked away. Then—like a hunter spotting a perfect moment—he sprang forward and launched the spear. His whole body turned with the motion, a whip of speed and strength.

The spear sliced through the still mid morning air, humming like a swarm of bees. It gleamed in the sunlight, heading straight for the fleeing man’s back. But fate blinked. The target swayed ever so slightly—just enough—and the spear missed by a finger’s width. It stabbed the ground a few feet ahead and quivered in the earth like a rejected prophecy.

Cursing, the fleeing man changed course, veering toward thicker bush. But Bolomor was already adjusting.

His grandfather’s voice echoed in his mind—an old warrior’s advice:

He hurled the second spear.

This one flew true.

It struck the man’s thigh, plunging clean through, and burst out the other side like a skewer through tender meat. He crumpled, unable to move, the iron now cutting into the opposite leg with every twitch. He landed hard on his face, gasping, gripping the shaft of the spear, desperate to pull it out.

Bolomor charged forward, the abii grass whipping against his shins. His heart pounded, his blood sang. The man he had brought down—Otim Kamulali—wasn’t any ordinary enemy. And Bolomor knew it.

But Kamulali wasn’t done yet.

Despite the blood pouring from his thigh and the agony twisting his face, Kamulali reached for the spear with shaking hands. He broke off the wooden shaft and began pushing the blade through. If he could just free it—he could fight back. He wasn’t afraid of Bolomor. Physically, he was stronger. He had fought in battles. He had killed men. And now, cornered like a leopard, he was willing to risk it all.

The spear was nearly out. Seconds more, and it would be in his hand.

Bolomor saw this. Panic rose like bile in his throat. He considered running back for his first spear, now somewhere in the grass a hundred yards behind. But no—by the time he returned, Otim would be gone, vanished into the bush.

Instead, he tried to drag Otim by the legs. Pull him closer to the lost spear. But Otim kicked and thrashed. Even bleeding out, he was too strong. Bolomor beat him with sticks, but Otim grabbed them, turned them into shields. Bolomor was losing control.

Then, salvation.

Another young warrior sprinted toward them, spear raised, ready to end it. Together, they descended on Kamulali.

Moments later, the bloodied grass fell silent. Kamulali’s chest heaved, then slowed. His body, soaked in crimson, twitched once. Then lay still.

The notorious Muganda agent of the British colonial government—Otim Kamulali—was dead.

⚔️ A War with No Kings

But who were these men? And why was a Muganda agent murdered by Lango youth in such primal fury?

To understand that, one must first understand the world Lango faced in the nineteen hundreds.

When the British expanded their administration into Lango, they found no central kingdom to negotiate with—unlike in Buganda or Bunyoro. Lango was what historians call an acephalous society—stateless, yet not disorganized. Leadership was decentralized, clan-based, and fiercely protective of autonomy. Lango didn’t need kings to unite them. Threaten one clan, and others would rise in solidarity.

To the British, used to kingdoms and treaties, this was maddening. They resorted to hiring agents, mostly Baganda, to impose colonial authority. These agents, often armed and backed by the British, were sent into Lango to “govern.”

But many didn’t come to govern. They came to loot.

John Tosh, in Political Authority Among the Langi of Northern Uganda (1973), described the brutal early colonial period. “Baganda agents, poorly paid and driven by contempt, saw the Langi as “Bakedi”—naked savages. They flogged, robbed, and tormented communities. In June 1907, a Baganda agent named Kazana led a raid on Abalanga in present-day Dokolo. Villages were burned. People slaughtered. In one case, a man was roasted alive.”

It was a reign of terror.

🔥 Kamulali’s Last Raid

Otim Kamulali was cut from this cloth. Sent to the Moroto River Valley - Adwari - as a British agent, he called himself “Kamulali”—Muganda for red pepper—a mockery of his own cruelty. In Adwari, he became a symbol of colonial arrogance.

Then came the spark.

A minor court case was brought before Kamulali. A man from Acholi wanted back the bride price he’d paid for a wife who’d returned home to Adwari. He sued the clan head, Imuna Atia of Jo Olaka clan, demanding compensation. Kamulali, acting as the newly appointed county chief, ruled against Imuna.

Imuna denied receiving any cattle. He refused to pay.

On January 4th, 1919, Kamulali arrived at Imuna’s village. He was accompanied by Imuna’s known enemy, one Obua Waitum and the Acholi plaintiff. There were also two Lango boys, and eleven Baganda enforcers, ten of them armed. Imuna welcomed them, asked for a moment to fetch the cattle.

Instead, he went to gather warriors.

Among those who responded was Abor, son of Okwir Abaldyang, a renowned spearman from Jo Pedi. His peers called him Bolomor for the way he pierced through men in battle.

Imuna returned, not with cattle—but with war.

What followed was chaos. Gunshots cracked. Spears flew. The Baganda’s single-shot rifles were no match for the waves of charging Lango men. Kamulali’s men killed three Lango fighters—but were soon overwhelmed. They fled into the nearby swamp, but only one Muganda survived. Kamulali, Obua, and their followers were speared and stripped.

💣 Colonial Vengeance

News of the incident reached Lango District Headquarters in Lira on January 25th. The Acting District Commissioner, A. Cater, and his assistant Dauncey Tongue, launched a swift and ruthless retaliation.

They weren’t just punishing suspects.

They were making a statement.

Tongue led over twenty armed Askaris, twenty native spearmen, and Obua Waitum. Together, they destroyed five villages, including Imuna’s. Over 800 head of livestock were looted in that one move alone. Two clan leaders who had aided Imuna were executed on the spot.

The violence spread. From Adwari to Ogur and Alito, any village harboring suspects—or simply hiding in fear—was fair game.

The neighboring district of Chua (modern-day Acholi) joined in. Armed men from Puranga crossed over. Even women and children were not spared.

By British records, 200 people were killed. But those who lived through it knew better. One police speaking off record said the actual number that died could have been around 1000 people.

🗣️ Told by the Son of the Spearman

This story was told to me by Abor Anteo, son of Awany Bolomor—the very man who brought down Kamulali. At the time of the interview, he lived in Ngeta, near Lira City, he was 100 years old. He said his father never celebrated the killing. But he never regretted it either. Because in 1919, in Oliyit, it was not just a spear that flew.

📬 Have feedback or stories to share from your clan? Write back to us — we may feature it in a future edition.

Ongwen Laodog
Editor, Not Your Normal News

Hot pepper (Capsicum frutescens), known as alyera in Leblango, grows easily across East Africa. If you don’t have a plant in your yard, you can find chillies at a neighbour’s home or local market. Yes—it’s used in cooking to make food spicy, but it also makes a powerful remedy to ease joint pain, muscle soreness, stiff necks, sprains, and leg aches—common problems many of us experience.

These pains often come from stiff joints (arthritis) or pulled muscles. When a joint or muscle is inflamed, will stiffen, burn, or throb. Alyera oil or cream helps reduce that pain naturally.

📝 Terms You’ll See

• Rheumatic oil/cream: a soothing ointment made from hot pepper and fat (like butter or oil), for rubbing on sore areas.

• Joint pain / arthritis: pain and swelling in places like knees, elbows, spine—often feels stiff.

• Muscle pain or soreness: ache in muscles after work or injury.

• Sprain: when a joint is twisted and ligaments are stretched or torn.

• Stiff neck: difficulty moving your neck side to side.

• Numbness: a tingling or “no-feeling” in arms or legs.

🧑‍🍳 Your Step-by-Step Guide

1. Choose Your Base (ointment or oil)

• For a cream/ointment, use about 50 grams of butter or ghee.

  • That’s roughly 3 level tablespoons—about the size of a small egg.

• For oil, use 1 level tablespoon of vegetable oil (e.g., sunflower or olive oil).

2. Prepare Your Chillies

• Dry the chillies if fresh. Then grind into a fine powder using a coffee grinder, mortar and pestle, or kitchen cloth.

• You need 1 teaspoon of chili powder for each 50g butter or 1 Tbsp oil.

3. Mix Thoroughly

• Warm the butter/ghee gently until soft (don’t boil).

• Add your teaspoon of chili powder.

• Stir well for several minutes until the powder is fully mixed.

4. Cool and Store

• Let it cool.

• Store in a clean, dry glass jar with a tight lid.

• Shelf life: about 6 months at room temperature, or up to 1 year if refrigerated.

  • Homemade remedies usually last shorter than commercial creams that use preservatives (bhooc.com).

🧴 How to Use

• Apply a small amount (pea-size) to the sore area—knees, back, neck.

• Rub gently but firmly, several times a day (2–3 times).

• Keep the area warm after applying—cover it lightly with cloth or a scarf.

⚠️ Safety & Tips

• Do a patch test first: apply a little on your inner arm. If it causes burning, itching, redness, wash it off and stop.

• Avoid sensitive areas like eyes, mouth, or open wounds.

• If you’re pregnant, have serious skin illness, or take medicine for heart/disease, check with your doctor first.

• Wash hands thoroughly after applying to avoid transferring the heat to your face.

• You may feel a warming or mild burning—this is how it works. But if it burns too much, wash it off.

❓Common Questions

🧠 Final Thoughts from Your Herbalist

Alyera oil has been used for generations in Lango to soothe the aches that come from farming, carrying water, or sitting for long hours. This simple recipe brings that wisdom in a fresh, easy way. Always listen to your body—if it warms gently and brings relief, keep using it. If it burns too much or gives you trouble, stop.

May your joints be supple, your muscles free from pain, and your body strong like the trees of Lango.

Rik con, winyo ame olwongo ni Aluru gin kede Oyo Icila onwongo obedo owote atek tutwal. Gin onwongo obedo katacel dang otimo jami ducu kata acel. Gin te bino puru kal gi eka kal te cek abup. Gin ote wot loko kal ki naca kede dyel.

Ento Oyo Icila en cemo idye wor. Eka, Aluru cemo idye ceng. Ikare ame iwor oromo, kec te cako neko oyo icile atek amom twere. Acalo kite me kare ducu, en te cako bebe ikin piny me yenyo cem kun oweko Aluru tye anino.

Ikare ame Oyo Icile odwogo odiko, en te nowongo ni ngatoro okwalo dyel gi oko. En te wot coyo Aluru onwongo pwod tye anino kun penye ka oneno ngat ame okwalo dyel. Aluru te gamo ni en onwongo enino oko pe engeo ngat ame okwalo dyel.

Gin te wot penyo yat ame onwongo otweo dyel iye ni “Yat, nga ame okwalo dyel wa ikan?” Yat te kobo ni “An pe aneno ngat ame okwalo dyel wu. Wot ipeny wunu yoo. En romo ngeyo ngat ame okwalo dyel pien nwongo opeo dyel oboe kede ibote.

Ikare ame openyo yoo, yoo dang te kwero oko nie en pe eneno ngat ame opeo dyel. Yi Oyo Icila gin kede awotere Aluru te wang atek ikom yat gin kede yo. Aluru te kwongere ni itik, en pe ebini tware poto iwi yat pen yat okwere tuce ngat ame okwalo dyel gi. Oyo Icila dang te kwongere ni itik, en pe ebini ngolo yo. Ka engolo yo myero eto oko!

En omio naka tin, Oluru pe tware poto iwi yat. Eka, Oyo Icila dang pe ngolo yoo. Ka ongolo yo, too oko.

Icina na te gik kakan!

Ongwen Laodog

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