By
Mahir Balunywa
Center for Critical Thinking and Alternative Analysis
Learning of the demise of Yasin Olum felt like a dynamite explosion within my mind. I began receiving unexpected calls from numbers I didn’t recognize, from people I considered strangers. They sought confirmation or denial of what seemed to be a public rumor. As I pondered how best to respond, my thoughts drifted back to the man I first admired in 1994.
As a young boy attending the Annual Ramadan Convention at the Islamic University in Uganda- IUIU for the first time, I was captivated by a man whose arguments embodied reason, without needing elaborate justification. He was the voice of reason, an embodiment of ethics, a cluster of professionalism, and the epicenter of scholarship.
When I joined IUIU in 1996, I had the opportunity to interact with him as a student. I recall his captivating words: “Dear students, nothing brings me to you other than the desire to liberate your minds and guide you in seeking truth, distinguishing it from mere facts.” He added, “We live in a time where trends towards openness and connectivity are overwhelming. Openness brings progress, while seclusion leaves one behind. Do not let your vision be blocked by floating clouds; dispel them, so you may see the sun.”
He delivered these words during the Pan-African Movement, chaired by Zake. As first-year students, we were left to contemplate his statements long after he had departed for his doctoral studies in the UK. Dr. Olum returned with his PhD from Newcastle in the late 1990s. However, disappointed by IUIU’s failure to meet contract obligations, he returned to his alma mater, Makerere University.
When I joined Makerere for a Master’s in Public Administration and Management, I was fortunate to have him as my lecturer once again. One of his defining traits was his disdain for excuses and dishonesty. He was always punctual and knew all 35 of his students by name, writing style, and reasoning ability. Over time, he took me under his wing, encouraging me to mark undergraduate scripts and often asking me to stand in for him. He would give me his notes, ask me to explain what I had read, and, once satisfied, trust me to handle his classes when he was busy. Professor Foster Byarugaba and Geoffrey Tukahebwa also entrusted me with coursework and exams to mark, boosting my confidence. Without a doubt, Yasin Olum was the best mentor I could have asked for.
He introduced me to Dr. Tabitha Mulyampiti, who also accepted me as her assistant. When she left for her PhD fellowship in Norway, she entrusted me with her class on Gender and Development. Many academic staff mistook me for a lecturer and even assumed I was related to Yasin Olum. When he realized I was not married, he introduced me to his wife in Kawempe and often entrusted me with various academic tasks. As a consultant, he brought me on board as his assistant.
Yasin mentored many students, but he frequently recommended me for various assignments on his behalf. He was strict yet fair; whenever he asked me to conduct research, he insisted that I present my findings to him first before he gave me the green light to proceed. Through his recommendation, I was appointed Administrative Assistant for the Eastern and Southern African University Research Program (ESAURP) in Tanzania, where I mentored students from universities in Dar es Salaam, Makerere, Los Angeles, and Nairobi. He also introduced me to Professor Malyamkono and Professor Mutakyawa, who became pillars in my life. I was deeply saddened to hear about his demise from some of the students he had mentored, like Augustine.
Going through my files from the Dar es Salaam conference, I still find many of Olum’s writings, which I have long used as reference material for teaching at various universities. In this sense, his literature ensures that Olum remains with us, even if he is no longer physically present. When I encountered challenges during my PhD program at MISR, he reached out to me, calling me his “little academic son.” After hearing my concerns, he advised me to take a break from the program but encouraged me to keep publishing.
After he retired from Makerere, he invited me to join him in farming, suggesting that as a doctoral student in agrarian studies, I needed to apply some of the theories I was studying. I declined, and he respected my decision. When he was appointed Vice Chancellor of Bunyoro University, I was eager to work with him. Later, he informed me that he had joined IUIU as the head of postgraduate studies and encouraged me to pursue a PhD there under his supervision.
We debated the idea at length, but I expressed my reservations about the institution. I told him he was too accomplished for such a small university plagued by tribal and trivial conflicts, but I promised to join if he ever became its Rector. I eventually realized that he chose to stay at IUIU to nurture his religious values. We parted ways professionally, but we remained in touch over the phone. Occasionally, he would call, jokingly accusing me of neglecting to reach out to him first. To this, I always replied, “I am sorry, Prof.”
The last time I heard about him, he had been admitted to Mulago Hospital. I mobilized over 20 of his former students, and we went to see him, but we were not allowed to visit as he was in intensive care. Yasin Olum is not gone; he remains with us, among us, and lives on through his legacy. He fought a valiant battle against ignorance, leaving behind a multitude of academic orphans to continue his work. We can honor his memory by upholding the values he stood for.
Dear Olum, I am deeply grateful for your mentorship, academic courage, vigor, principles, and values. Your open heart and mind, selflessness, and passion touched many lives. God used you to guide some of us, and now He has called you back after your mission among us is complete. Fare thee well.