For more than a decade, Michael Kateregga says he struggled to balance respect for his family’s traditions with his own religious convictions. What began as disagreements over cultural obligations gradually evolved into fear, emotional distress and isolation, eventually forcing him to abandon the home where he grew up.
Kateregga, a resident of Mabombwe in Wakiso District, alleges that he came under sustained pressure from family elders to participate in traditional spiritual practices connected to deceased relatives, customs he says conflicted with his faith. While he acknowledges that preparing the dead for burial is common across many African communities, he insists the expectations placed upon him went far beyond ordinary funeral rites.
“The issue was never simply washing or preparing bodies for burial,” Kateregga explains. “I understand that many African communities do this as part of funeral traditions. In my family, however, these activities formed part of broader spiritual rituals involving deceased relatives and obligations imposed by clan elders. Those were the practices I could not accept because of my religious beliefs.”
According to Kateregga, the conflict began in 2012 following the death of his father. After the funeral, he moved into the home of one of his uncles. A few months later, another uncle, Ssimbwa, died in Kakunyu Village, and Kateregga says he was expected to participate in traditional spiritual rituals surrounding the burial.
He recalls initially resisting instructions to help prepare the deceased’s body. Family elders, he says, interpreted his refusal as disrespect toward both the deceased and the clan’s customs.
“They questioned why I refused to participate,” he says. “To them, I was dishonouring our traditions and bringing shame upon the family.”
Feeling overwhelmed and under pressure from senior relatives, Kateregga says he eventually complied and assisted in preparing the body for burial. Rather than bringing closure, he says the experience left him deeply disturbed.
“I could not sleep afterwards,” he recalls. “The images stayed in my mind for a long time. I lost my appetite and struggled emotionally.”
Kateregga says the incidents did not end there. Over the following years, he alleges that family elders continued insisting that he attend clan meetings and participate in spiritual ceremonies whenever required.
The conflict intensified again in 2018 when, according to his account, he was instructed to participate in the exhumation of six bodies as part of traditional clan practices. He declined, maintaining that involvement in rituals associated with deceased persons conflicted with his Christian faith.
“I was not rejecting my family,” he says. “I simply believed certain spiritual practices were incompatible with my religious convictions.”
Kateregga is careful to distinguish his objections from criticism of African funeral traditions generally.
“I am not saying that washing dead bodies or African funeral practices are wrong,” he explains. “My concern relates specifically to the spiritual obligations and rituals that existed within my own family and clan.”
His account highlights a broader tension that occasionally arises in Ugandan communities where customary practices remain deeply rooted, even as many families also profess Christian or Islamic faiths. While many funeral customs are viewed primarily as expressions of respect for the deceased, some clans maintain additional rituals that they believe preserve family unity, honour ancestors or fulfil longstanding spiritual obligations.
From Kateregga’s own understanding, his relatives were not acting out of malice but according to beliefs they regarded as essential.
“They believed these traditions had to be respected and that every family member was expected to participate,” he says. “The disagreement arose because I did not share those beliefs.”
The pressure, he alleges, increasingly extended beyond disagreements over ceremonies.
At one point, an unidentified person allegedly threw a stone onto the roof of his house in Mabombwe, leaving visible damage. Although he says he could not identify those responsible, he interpreted the incident as another warning that his continued refusal to participate in clan practices was provoking hostility.
Despite describing years of intimidation, Kateregga says he never personally reported his disputes with clan elders to police fearing to escalate them.
Eventually, fearing that tensions could escalate further, Kateregga says he left Mabombwe and temporarily relocated to Kyanja.
“I realised I could no longer live there peacefully,” he says. “Leaving home was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, but I believed it was necessary for my own safety and peace of mind.”
His allegations have not been independently verified, and the relatives he accuses declined to publicly respond to the claims by the time of publication.
The account nevertheless illustrates a complex dilemma faced by some Ugandans whose personal religious convictions differ from long-standing clan traditions. Uganda’s Constitution protects both freedom of conscience and the right to practise culture, but disagreements can arise when individuals believe customary obligations conflict with their faith.
For Kateregga, the conflict was never about rejecting his family or condemning African traditions. Rather, he says, it was about preserving the freedom to follow his own religious beliefs without being compelled to participate in spiritual practices he did not share.
Whether viewed as a family dispute, a clash between faith and tradition, or a reflection of changing cultural identities, his story underscores the difficult choices that can emerge when deeply held personal convictions collide with equally deeply rooted communal expectations.
ENDS.
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