There are few things which can prepare you for the terrible reality of witnessing a "military victory" against the kidnapped child soldiers of Uganda's Lord's Resistance Army (LRA).

A soldier nursing a survivor, said to be the child of Vincent Otti I was in the northern town of Gulu, filming for the forthcoming BBC2 special, A Day of War, when Lt Col Charles Otema, the incongruously genial head of military intelligence for the area, contacted me.

He said government troops from the Uganda People's Defence Force (UPDF) had scored a "significant blow" against the rebels. He told me the LRA's second-in-command, Vincent Otti, had been injured in the battle, 55 rebels had been killed - and that, as we spoke, government forces were pursuing the rest through the bush. He invited me to come and see the evidence for myself. Massacre

In a tiny military helicopter, we flew 85 kilometres north-west, towards the Sudanese border. Northern Uganda is one of the most fertile places in Africa - it could feed the whole of Uganda and more. The UPDF has been fighting a long war against the rebels But as we buzzed through the heat we could see the land below, hatched with the marks of abandoned fields and villages. This land has been terrorised by the LRA.

One and a half million people have been displaced by the war and live today in cramped and isolated refugee camps, dependent on heavily-armed convoys from the World Food Programme. Even there they are not safe. Just two months ago, as many as 300 were killed when the LRA raided just one such camp, Barlonyo, near Lira.

Once the LRA had a programme of sorts ­ a combination of Christian fundamentalism and political opposition to the government of President Yoweri Museveni. The Barlonyo camp was destroyed in a rebel attack Today it is as much a cult as an army, preying on the mainly Acholi people of the north, the very people it claims to represent. The LRA survives by raiding villages and camps, stealing food and provisions, and abducting people ­ mainly women and children.

The older ones they will use as porters till they have no further use of them. The younger ones ­ the 10, 11 and 12-year-olds, they will keep. Not uncommonly they will steal perhaps three kids from the same family and then, in the bush, force the youngest two to kill the oldest one. Thus they are initiated into their new life as rebels. Bound to the cause by a terrible cocktail of guilt, fear and violence.

In the shade of a clump of trees was another group of corpses - a couple of kids, barely teenagers, an older man and a couple of women. One of the women was huddled against a tree, clutching it as if for protection, her head bowed. Lt Col Otema questions children captured after the assault She looked as though she was still alive, until I walked round and from the other side I could see the top two-thirds of her head had gone, blown away by rockets from one of the Ugandan army's new helicopter gunships.

This, I was told, was the group which had been sitting with Vincent Otti, deputy commander of this brutal rag-tag army of stolen children. According to survivors, he had been injured in the attack and carried away into the bush on a stretcher. The other dead woman in this group was, I was told, one of Vincent Otti's wives. His three-year-old daughter had been found alive, wandering through the carnage.

We were moving quickly through the bodies - the area was not entirely safe - when I heard a soldier say: "This one's alive!" He was a boy, of fighting age certainly ­ so perhaps 14. He was lying semi-conscious, his chest shuddering. He had lain there, unattended, for nearly 24 hours. "Can't we get medical attention for him?" I asked. "We will carry him back and treat him," I was told. But then five minutes later a soldier brought the news he was dead. 'It is... difficult to defend the slaughter... in the name of peace' "Too bad ," said Lt Col Otema. "But at least you know we wanted to rescue him."

This is, truly, an awful war.

Few would deny that military action is needed to contain the LRA and protect local people - but in that bloody battlefield near Sudan, it was equally clear to me that the price of a purely military solution is unacceptably high. It is very difficult to defend the slaughter of four-year-olds in the cause of peace.

Serious international pressure might force both sides into peace negotiations ­ but it has been slow in coming. Last year the LRA abducted 9,000 young people. It is tempting to think that if they had been stealing oil rather than children, the rest of the world would have paid more attention.

Ahabwe with his freinds out side the Hall

Paying your debt through the ceiling

Charles had reportedly borrowed sh20,000 from his friend Patrick six months before. He kept kept promising to pay back whenever he met Patrick. After exhausting all the tricks in store, Charles resorted to hiding himself from Patrick.

Whenever Patrick came to see him, he would tell his wife to say he was not around. Charles had made it a habit to climb and hide himself in the ceiling board. His wife would then tell Patrick that her husband had gone to town and would return late in the night.

This went on for a long time and Patrick at one time threatened to involve the Police. On this fateful day, when Patrick came to demand for his money, Charles’ wife told him her husband wasn’t around. Patrick however, decided to keep around and wait for him.

Meanwhile, Charles remained hidden in the ceiling board. Little did he know that the soft board of the ceiling was becoming weaker and weaker everyday. He was also feeling uncomfortable and occasionaly suppressing his cough lest his creditor hears him. Daniel

By Herbert Masaba

A suspected thief caught in Makerere main library recently, said he belonged to a hall of residence called ‘Bachelor of Arts.’

The unidentified man had trailed a student he knew was carrying a phone in his bag. Library regulations require students to leave bags at the bag section before proceeding to the reading tables.

After the student kept the bag, the suspected thief went to the counter and demanded for ‘his bag’. Trouble came when he was asked for his card. He did not know what to say. Students gathered and fired serious questions.

“To which faculty do you belong?” they asked him. “Bachelor of Art,” he answered. “What about the hall of residence?” “Bachelor of Art,” he replied. “In which year are you?” they asked. by A. Dan