A Family Where First Grade Meant First Gear
By Mwambazi Lawrence
In Uganda, most parents reward their kids with sweets, sodas, or if they’re feeling particularly generous a trip to Jinja to see the Source of the Nile and maybe eat chicken on a stick. But Godfrey Kiyegga? Ah, this man was operating on an entirely different syllabus. In his house, a first grade in Primary Seven didn’t mean ice cream; it meant: “Well done, son, here’s the car key. Helmet fits? Perfect. Don’t forget to shift before redline, and if you see a pothole, aim for it, it makes you stronger.”
That’s how the Kiyegga household went from spelling tests to speed tests, from report cards to rally pace notes, accidentally producing the most chaotic yet legendary motorsport dynasty since someone thought it was a good idea to race a taxi.
Today, four of his sons plus one cousin are co-driving for some of Uganda’s biggest rally names. It’s basically the Kardashians of rallying except instead of selfies, there are helmets; instead of designer handbags, there are fireproof suits; and instead of drama over boyfriends, it’s drama over broken gearboxes. But like every blockbuster story, this one started humbly in the mid-90s. Young Kiyegga was just another guy chilling on the roadside, minding his business, until he saw Umar Mukiibi yeeting a Datsun through the stages like it owed him money. Right then, Kiyegga thought: “Forget safe jobs, pensions, and NSSF. I want to spend my weekends nearly dying at 180 km/h for fun!”
His first machine? A Toyota Trueno from his rally pal Sunday Nkoyoyo. With co-driver Justine Mungooma, they joined the famous Bwaise Boys Rally Team. Their debut at the 1998 Easter Rally ended with a CRC victory, and in Bwaise terms, that was like winning the Champions League. From then on, the Bwaise Boys didn’t just fry chips they fried gravel.
Of course, rallying is never without drama. In the 2002 Total Quartz Rally Jinja, Kiyegga smacked a tree at the Agricultural Showground circuit but continued racing anyway. He also recalls being edged by Ronald Ssebuguzi’s Nissan Sunny by mere seconds at the Lubiri double circuit, proving Sunny drivers, for once, weren’t just dropping kids at school.
Then came the Kazi circuit showdown with Nadim Lalani’s Golf GTI. Kiyegga somehow nicked precious seconds, which in rally terms is like stealing your neighbor’s Wi-Fi: a tiny crime, but oh, the satisfaction when the Netflix actually loads. Every second shaved off felt like a public holiday and for once, the Golf wasn’t just “German engineering,” it was German frustration watching a Bwaise boy dance past on the stopwatch.
Sponsors were crucial. Hared Petrol kept the tanks full, because you can’t rally on fumes and prayers alone, while Jonathan Ssewaava and Moses Lumala made sure the tyres were rolling. Without them, Kiyegga openly admits, his career might have ended prematurely.
But rally also bites back. His first roll at the Speke Resort night sprint was so dramatic it could have qualified as a Nollywood action scene: car flipping, dust flying, co-driver Mungooma holding pace notes upside down like they were Bible verses. It was their first roll, a proper baptism by somersault. From then on, they didn’t just get free coffee at rally gossip tables they got front-row seats, because nothing earns respect faster in rally than a good crash you can still laugh about.
Finances, however, treated Kiyegga’s career like a rally suspension bouncing on and off. Co-driver Mungooma left for consistency, and Kiyegga shuffled through partners like a deck of rally cards first Ahmed Senyonjo, then Kyembe yet his passion never stalled. More importantly, he quietly harbored a dream: his kids would catch the rally virus too. And boy, did they catch it like flu in a boarding school, complete with sneezes of gravel and coughs of petrol fumes.
Edward Kiyingi now calls notes for Mike Mukula (MRT KCB Rally Team), probably whispering, “Left five, gently!” while judging Mike’s driving playlist. Pius Luggya sits with Oscar Ntambi (FRT KCB Rally Team), mastering polite panic when corners get spicy. Mathias Kiyegga, the youngest, co-drives for Musa Segambwe (Segmu 14 Consult Racing), still figuring out if pace notes are instructions or cryptic poetry. Ivan Sserunkuma recently returned to co-drive for Dennis Bahiizi, likely plotting his first “strategic” accidental spin. Cousin Joseph Bongole rides with Didas Matsiko, proving rally talent can run in the family like a badly timed yawn during church.
Kiyegga raised his kids on two golden rules: first, a first grade in PLE = rally car lessons. Forget pens, pencils, and geometry sets success in class meant straight to the driver’s seat at 13. Somewhere, UNEB is still scratching its head. Second, good report cards = free rally tickets. Motivation was measured in revs per minute, not stickers or candy. Holiday trips? Forget the village and digging; the Kiyegga boys spent theirs in Rubaga with Uncle Justine Mungooma for co-driving lessons, while Mzee Sabiti Muyanja happily tossed them into rally cars for practicals.
Imagine “bring your kids to work day,” but swap desks for dashboards, pencils for helmets, and quiet afternoons for screeching gravel. Kiyegga still chuckles as he recalls each son: Pius the “coward,” who preferred safe hobbies like breathing; Kiyingi, humble but obsessed with cars; Mathias, chaotic, earning the nickname Kavuyo (Mr. Disorder) from the mechanics; Sserunkuma, who spoke too much English and wanted to be Chipper Adams; and Bongole, quietly determined, who first loved boxing before rallying.
Today, watching his sons on rally stages fills Kiyegga with pride. “Rally might have run me a bit bankrupt,” he admits, “but I lived my best days in it. I dared to dream, and now my sons are living it. They’ve made friends, they’ve made a name. If all goes well, I might just come back.”
About The Author
