ONE YEAR WITHOUT YOU, NDUGU TATYA: A Tribute to My Friend, Colleague and Brother, Daniels Nabongo Tatya, “The Prince Of Journalism, The Man From the Mineral-Rich Busoga”

Dear Ndugu, on this day last year, we could not keep our eyes dry for even a second. On this day last year, we were not planning for a wedding — your wedding, which was supposed to take place this year, 2026. Instead, we were planning your funeral, only hours away.

On this day last year, we were asking ourselves questions for which none of us seemed to have answers. Had we done enough? Could we have done more? Was there something we had missed? Could we somehow have saved you from that deadly blood clot that took you away from us so suddenly? We searched for answers in vain.

And now, one year later, we are still asking ourselves some of those same questions. Today marks exactly one year since we lost you, Daniels Nabongo Tatya, “The Prince of Jornalism, The Man from the Mineral-rich Busogo, our colleague, our friend, our brother, our comrade. A year has passed, but sometimes it feels like only yesterday that we received the news that you were gone.

Death has a cruel way of making time confusing. The calendar says one year. Our hearts sometimes say it was just yesterday! I still remember the shock, the disbelief and the helplessness of those final hours. It was difficult to comprehend that someone we had been talking to, laughing with, working with and making plans with would suddenly become someone we could only speak about in the past tense.

You were supposed to be preparing for a wedding. Instead, we were preparing to bury you. That remains one of the hardest realities to accept. A colleague who had become a brother. Tatya, you were not simply a colleague. You were one of those people whose presence slowly becomes part of one`s everyday life until you almost take it for granted.

To us at work, Tatya still lives amongst ourselves. Yes, at heart he lives. Many a times you expect to see him. You expect to hear his voice. You expect another conversation, another joke, another disagreement, another plan. Then, suddenly, there is silence. Tatya was among the founding members of The Investigator Publications (U) Limited, a publication whose formative years he helped to shape.

For those of us who shared that journey with him, his contribution was more than a line on a professional résumé. It was part of a shared story. The long days, the conversations, the challenges, the dreams and the belief that we were building something that mattered. But beyond the newsroom and work, there was the human being. There was Tatya the friend. Tatya the brother. Tatya the comrade.

Tatya the man whose laughter, conversations and companionship became part of our lives. And that is why his absence has been so painful. The memories refuse to die. Tatya was laid to rest in Busembatia, Busoga, where family, friends, colleagues and people whose lives he had touched gathered to say goodbye. We buried the body. But we could not bury the memories. A year later, those memories remain remarkably alive.

At YayaXtra Residence, where Tatya became part of another family, people still remember him with affection. We remember his laughter. We remember the conversations. We remember the moments of companionship. We remember the contribution he made. We remember the ordinary moments that did not seem particularly important at the time but which, after someone’s death, become priceless memories.

That is perhaps one of the painful lessons of losing someone. We discover that the ordinary moments were actually the extraordinary ones. “We will always miss you, comrade Tatya” For those who worked with Tatya at The Investigator, his absence remains deeply felt. Jako David Waluluka, administrator and lead talk-show host of The Investigator, perhaps captured the feeling of many of us when he said: “We will always miss you, comrade Tatya. Till the day we meet again.”

There is something powerful about those words. Till the day we meet again. Because when someone we love dies, we are forced to accept that we can no longer reach them in the ways we once did. We cannot call them. We cannot sit with them. We cannot share a meal, a joke or a conversation. But we can remember them. We can tell their stories. We can preserve their name. And we can carry forward the pieces of them that they left in us.

To YayaXtra family, Tatya was not merely someone who passed through our lives. He became family. And today, as CEO of YayaXtra Residence, I say this with a heavy heart. “As YayaXtra Family, we miss you, Ndugu Tatya. May your soul keep resting in peace.” Those words are simple, but they come from a place of deep affection.

Because a year after your death, Ndugu, we still miss you. We miss your presence. We miss the conversations. We miss the person you were. And we miss the future we imagined you would have. The wedding that never came. Perhaps one of the most painful memories is knowing that we were supposed to be celebrating you this year.

We were supposed to be talking about your wedding with Jacinta. We were supposed to be preparing for another chapter of your life. Instead, this year has brought us to the anniversary of your death. Life can be brutally unpredictable. One moment, we are making plans for tomorrow. The next, we are gathering to say goodbye to one of us.

That experience taught many of us something we should never forget. That life is fragile, and the people we love should never be taken for granted. If Tatya taught us anything through his life and his sudden departure, perhaps it is to cherish people while we still have them. Say the kind word. Make that call. Forgive. Laugh together. Create memories.

Because none of us is promised tomorrow. One year later, Tatya, one year later, the pain has changed, but it has not disappeared. Perhaps that is what grief does. It does not necessarily leave. It simply learns to live alongside us. There are days when we can remember you and smile. There are other days when remembering you still hurts. And there are moments when something happens and we instinctively think, Tatya would have said this, or Tatya would have laughed at this.

Those are the moments when we realise that you are still with us in a different way. You live in our memories. You live in the stories we tell. You live in the work we continue to do. You live in the friendships you helped build. And you live in the hearts of the people who loved you. A brother, not forgotten.

Today, as we mark one year since your departure, we choose not only to mourn the circumstances of your death but also to celebrate the privilege of having known you. You were here. You mattered. You made a difference. And your life touched ours. For your family, may the memories of the man you were continue to bring comfort. For your colleagues, may your contribution never be forgotten.

For your friends, may the laughter and companionship you shared remain cherished. And for all of us who called you Ndugu, Comrade and friend, may we continue to honour you by remembering the good times and carrying your memory with dignity. A year ago, we stood helplessly watching our friend leave us.

Today, we stand together, remembering the man who made our journey richer simply by being part of it. Daniels Nabongo Tatya, you may be gone from our sight, but you are not gone from our hearts. From all of us at YayaXtra Residence, from your colleagues at The Investigator, from your friends, and from those who loved you, Rest in peace, Ndugu Tatya.

Rest in eternal peace, my friend. Till the day we meet again, comrade. One year later, we remember. One year later, we still miss you. One year later, we still love you. And one year later, you are still not forgotten. Keep sleeping well Bro.

Author Profile

Stanley Ndawula: Stanley Ndawula is a two and a half decades’ seasoned investigative journalist with a knack for serious crimes investigations and reporting. He’s the Founding Editorial Director and CEO at The Investigator Publications (U) Limited