A heartfelt farewell to my brother, my friend: Justus Lyatuu’s lasting legacy

For over two decades, Justus Lyatuu was not just a friend—he was my brother. Our journey began in 2003 at Manchester Senior Secondary School, where we met as wide-eyed students with dreams bigger than our surroundings. Little did I know then that I would be writing this farewell for him at such a young age. His sudden departure has left a void that words alone cannot fill.

I vividly recall our countless study sessions, always pushing each other to do better. We turned our academic competition into a playful rivalry—each of us determined to outdo the other in class. This friendly contest carried us through school and eventually led us to apply for the same course at Makerere University. As fate would have it, we were both accepted into the Mass Communication program, a testament to how intertwined our paths had become. We ended up not just in the same university, but also in the same hostel, sharing a room, meals, and laughter as we navigated life on campus together.

Justus was truly a man of the people—a social magnet who could make friends with ease. While I tended to be more reserved, he was my opposite—a warm extrovert who lit up every room he walked into. His kindness, hardworking nature, and vision for the future were qualities that endeared him to everyone around him.

One story that will forever stand out to me is how, in 2004, we were both fortunate to receive scholarships for our A-level studies, thanks to our Director, Mr. Dan Meshack Okware. Justus, being the bold and persuasive person he was, convinced the Director to allow him into the boarding section. While I remained a day scholar, Justus made sure I never missed out. Instead of letting me walk to town every day for lunch, he would secure an extra plate for me, always saying, "My friend, you can’t walk under this blazing sun when there’s enough food here." That was Justus—always thinking of others, always taking care of me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Justus had an infectious sense of humor. I’ll never forget the day we strolled through Kampala on our way to Makerere University to collect our admission letters. With his usual mischievous grin, he turned to me and said, "My friend, I think you owe me for showing you where Makerere and Kampala are!" We both burst into laughter, a sound I can still hear today, echoing through my memories.

He loved giving nicknames to his closest friends. To him, I was ‘Bugubo,’ named after my ancestral village in Bugiri District. I don't think I ever heard him call me by my real name. His phone was filled with contacts saved under unique names like ‘Younger,’ ‘Boss,’ ‘Muhongo,’ and ‘Muko.’ That was his way—turning simple relationships into something special, always adding a personal touch.

Our friendship only grew stronger when we both joined Daily Monitor as freelance journalists in mid-2009. Although we eventually moved to different workplaces, our bond never weakened. We spoke often, checking in on each other’s lives. Before his passing on September 4, Justus had visited me two weeks prior, just as he always did during our school days. We shared tea, discussing our future plans. Little did I know, it would be the last time we’d sit together.

It is therefore not surprising that I received many calls after his passing, with colleagues assuming we were related by blood. That’s how deep our connection ran.

On the day of his passing, I had planned to visit him in the hospital that evening. Just two hours before I could see him, the news came that he had moved on to the next world. My heart shattered.

Justus' journey on earth may be over, but his memory, his laughter, and his unwavering kindness will forever live in the hearts of those who knew and loved him. He may be gone, but his light will continue to shine through the lives he touched.

Rest in peace, my brother. You are no longer here in body, but your spirit remains with us—forever.

Isaac Khisa is a writer, editor, and communication consultant