In the early1980s, I was the ESARO Desk Officer at HQs when Karl-Eric Knutsson was RD in Nairobi. He sent me to check out Uganda following the success by the Tanzanian army to overthrow Idi Amin. We were sitting on the tarmac of a bombed out military airport in northern Uganda. Scared, relieved, a feeling of delivery, salvation. We survived, but were shaken to our core. A voice: “Don’t move, mzungu”. I opened my eyes and looked into the business end of an Ak-47. A soldier held the other end. “Pole, pole, rafiki, I am not going anywhere.” The day started innocently enough. I was visiting UNICEF Uganda. It was Saturday. Missionaries had invited us to use their airplane to visit the north. It was right after the Tanzanian army had crossed the country, ridding it of Idi Amin. Much chaos followed. Refugees, people scattered and in makeshift camps. Severe fighting going on in many areas. Two Air France pilots on layover volunteered to fly us. The plane was a single engine. A four-seate...