A day with Idi Amin – an extract from ‘Lost in the Reptile House’

Next day, Amin arrived at the OAU Car Rally, (to start it, compete in it and win it), but for once was overshadowed by his companion who had the looks that made men walk into glass doors. Could she give her name for my captions?

“Miss Sarah,” she said.

“Miss Sarah… is there any more?”

“Miss Sarah of the Suicide Revolutionary Mechanised Regiment – I’m a relation of the President.”

“Can you tell us what relationship?”

“It’s special.”

“How special?”

She smiled and looked at her feet. “I’m his co-driver,” she said, climbing into his Citroen Maserati where they both waited for a starter to start the starter.

“Is it true, Mr. President, you’ve been fined six pounds for your late entry?”

He gave a ‘that’s democracy’ shrug and was gone in a cloud of dust.

In the evening, with the Rally and Miss Sarah abandoned, Amin was three hours into a tortuous tour of the Jinja Agricultural Show and pouring over a display of native rush mats when there was a total power failure, and in the press and panic of the darkness I found myself jammed against his stomach.

Someone produced a torch which flickered under his face like a panto devil.

“Who’s in charge of electricity?” he said quietly, staring ahead.

There was a nervous hum of buck-passing.

“We don’t know yet, Sir, we are making enquiries, Sir.”

“I want that name,” he said in a slow menacing bass and you felt the vibration from his be-medalled chest. Within a minute his mood had changed as he gate-crashed the girl’s wrestling display but you went cold thinking of the imminent vacancy at the Ministry of Fuel and Power.