What has happened to Mohan Kiwanuka?
On June 7, 2025, the Court of Appeal in Kampala confirmed what had long been suspected yet hotly contested: Mohan Kiwanuka is no longer mentally fit to manage his estate. After years of legal wrangling initiated by his eldest son, Jordan Ssebuliba Kiwanuka, the court found that Mohan has been suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and dementia since 2017. The ruling reverses an earlier High Court decision and marks a dramatic shift in control over one of Uganda’s most substantial private estates.
The Empire and the Man Behind It
To understand the weight of this ruling, one must understand who Mohan Musisi Kiwanuka is—or was. Born into a privileged Buganda family, Mohan came of age during a turbulent political era but quickly distinguished himself in business. A savvy investor and real estate magnate, he built a vast portfolio of properties across Kampala, from Kololo to Nakasero, and into outlying districts like Mukono.
Educated in the UK and known for his analytical mind, Mohan was not merely a landlord but a builder of futures. He was also a man of complexity—charismatic yet private, fiercely intelligent yet known to make unorthodox decisions. He married twice: first to Beatrice Kavuma Kiwanuka, with whom he had several children, including Jordan; and later to Maria Nabasirye Kiwanuka, the respected former Minister of Finance under President Yoweri Museveni.
Maria, with her own credentials in global finance and public policy, brought not just political prestige to the family but also became a key player in the management of Mohan’s estate during his decline. That dual role—as wife and estate overseer—would become one of the central tensions in a family now deeply divided.
Decline, Denial, and the Courtroom Battle
The courtroom drama began in 2019, when Jordan Ssebuliba filed a petition citing a 2017 medical report from a UK neurologist diagnosing his father with Alzheimer’s disease. Interestingly, that report had initially been requested by Maria Kiwanuka herself after noticing cognitive lapses in her husband. But when Jordan used it to challenge Mohan’s legal capacity, Maria and her children resisted, insisting Mohan remained mentally sound.
At the time, the High Court sided with Maria, basing its ruling in part on Mohan’s appearance and demeanor during a brief hearing. But that decision began to unravel as additional medical evidence emerged and, crucially, as Mohan’s own lawyers admitted in a separate matter that he was indeed not of sound mind.
The Court of Appeal’s recent ruling, admitting new affidavits from doctors and Mohan’s siblings, paints a far graver picture. His mental health has been deteriorating for nearly a decade. The court ordered not only that a new manager be appointed for the estate but also that a full audit be conducted on all transactions since 2017.
Estates, Evictions, and Billions in Question
The legal victory for Jordan is not just symbolic—it unlocks access to an estate estimated to be worth tens of billions of Ugandan shillings. But it also opens a Pandora’s box of past transactions and family grievances.
Court documents show Mohan had, while reportedly unfit, ordered the eviction of Beatrice and her children from prime properties in Kololo and Nakasero. Beatrice challenged the move, claiming the Kololo home as her matrimonial residence for over three decades.
Meanwhile, under Maria’s directorship, 50 acres of family land in Sonde, Mukono, were sold to the Makerere University Retirement Benefits Scheme for UGX 10 billion. The proceeds, according to Maria’s defense, were used to pay off a significant family debt. Jordan, however, questioned the legitimacy of the deal, citing discrepancies in the land’s surveyed size.
These are not just technical disputes; they speak to deeper wounds—of exclusion, of mistrust, of what happens when personal relationships collapse under the weight of inheritance.
The Family at War: A Shakespearean Tragedy
At its core, this is a story not just of property but of people—of how love, loyalty, and legacy can corrode when tied to wealth. The Kiwanuka family has effectively split into two camps: Beatrice and her children versus Maria and hers.
While the public once saw the Kiwanukas as a symbol of elite success—powerful, educated, urbane—the court proceedings have peeled back the veil. What remains is a portrait of a family where resentment festered in silence until legal paperwork turned it into open warfare.
The court has ordered a family meeting within 30 days to appoint a new estate manager. If they fail, the court will intervene directly. In a rare act of judicial wisdom, the justices also directed that each side bear their own legal costs—perhaps a gentle push towards reconciliation.
The Broader Picture: Wealth, Aging, and Vulnerability
The Kiwanuka case holds up a mirror to a broader social issue rarely discussed in Ugandan society: the care of aging patriarchs and the legal ambiguities that arise when wealth meets mental illness.
Mohan’s story—his brilliance, his downfall, and the fight over his estate—illustrates the fragility of dynastic wealth when not protected by sound succession planning. It also exposes a justice system that is often slow to respond until damage is done.
There is something profoundly tragic, almost Shakespearean, in seeing a man who once held the fate of entire neighborhoods in his pen now unable to write his own signature. And it is equally tragic that the battle for his legacy has been waged not just in courtrooms but in family homes, on eviction notices, and in public opinion.
A Cautionary Tale for the Elite
As the Kiwanuka family gathers for their court-mandated meeting, they do so not just to decide the future of buildings and balance sheets but to reckon with the legacy of a man who built an empire and lost it—first to illness, then to internal strife.
It is a cautionary tale, not just for the rich, but for any family navigating the terrain of inheritance, care, and aging. In Mohan Kiwanuka’s rise and fall, Uganda sees not just the end of a tycoon’s reign but a moment to reflect on how empires should be passed on—not with secrecy and suspicion, but with dignity and dialogue.
