Did Epstein Ever Cross Paths with Uganda’s Brothel General?

Did Jeffrey Epstein ever shake hands with Uganda’s brothel general? I ask this because strange birds often fly in the same dark sky. Uganda’s long-serving president, Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, has a son. The son likes to be called General. The General likes Twitter or X. The General recently invited an opposition leader HE Bobi Wine to celebrate his birthday at the country’s most famous brothel. Yes. A birthday party.

The place is called New Best Hotel, also known as Best Hotel, in Busega, a tired suburb of Kampala. The name sounds cheerful. Like a place that serves tea and biscuits. But social media tells a different story. It shows underage girls. It shows desperation. It shows sewage water carrying away mountains of used condoms like a sad river of evidence after a long night. And the General, who now acts like a party planner for sin, sent the invitation through an X post. It read like an ad. When power jokes about a brothel in public, it is not ignorance. It is ownership.

There are no laws allowing this place to run. But Uganda is not a country of laws. It is a country of proximity. How close are you to the First Family? That is the constitution. That is the Supreme Court. That is the police.

People have long linked this massive sex-trafficking ring to the First Family. Because how else does a business like this breathe so freely? In a country where a street vendor is beaten for selling tomatoes without a license, how does a brothel empire bloom like a state flower?

For almost forty years, Museveni has ruled. Industries died quietly. Factories closed like coffins.

Uganda Commercial Bank was privatized.Uganda Electricity Board was dismantled.Lint Marketing Board disappeared.Nyanza Textile Industries collapsed.Uganda Grain Milling faded.

Thousands lost jobs. Machines stopped humming. Smoke stopped rising from factory roofs. But one industry survives. Flesh. When the state starves its people of work, the body becomes currency. When factories die, brothels bloom.

And the General? He does not hide. He promotes.

If you follow this marriage of power and sex, your mind may wander back to Epstein. Epstein had private islands. Rich men. Champagne.

Uganda’s version is different. No yachts. No billionaires in linen suits. Just slum roads, sewage ponds, and girls who should be in school.

I searched the Epstein files for Uganda’s First Family. Nothing jumps out. Maybe because Epstein’s guests preferred luxury. And here, the party is in the gutter. Different décor. Same darkness.

The birthday invitation was also a break from the General’s usual online hobby threats about cutting off heads and balls. He once played the angry warlord on X. Now he plays a brothel promoter.

Maybe he realized the threats stopped scaring people. So he switched to mockery.

And in this circus stands opposition leader Bobi Wine, dancing between resistance and relevance. Ugandans were told he was the great hope. The chosen one. The nightmare of the regime. But sometimes nightmares and regimes share a script.

The General and the opposition trading posts. Trading insults. Trading attention. The people watching like it is wrestling on TV. Is it real? Is it staged? Does it matter?

Meanwhile, the brothel stands. The sewage flows. The birthday cake waits.

So, General and your Bobi Wine friend, celebrate if you must. Print the guest list. Light the candles at New Best Hotel. Laugh loudly. But remember this: Ugandans do not plan to celebrate forever inside a brothel.

One day the party will move to the streets. And it will not smell like sewage.

— Yasin Kakande

Author of The Missing Corpse