A political and legal debate has emerged after claims that Chief of Defence Forces Gen. Muhoozi Kainerugaba had moved to cancel Uganda’s Standard Gauge Railway (SGR) contract with Turkish firm Yapı Merkezi.
But according to journalist Ahmed Bogere Masembe, the announcement raises a fundamental question: can such a decision stand within Uganda’s legal and procurement framework?
The answer, Masembe argues, is no.
The current SGR contract, valued at about €2.7 billion (approximately $3 billion), was signed in October 2024 between Uganda’s Ministry of Works and Transport and Turkish contractor Yapı Merkezi.
It forms part of a long-delayed infrastructure project intended to link Kampala to the Malaba border, connecting Uganda to the East African rail corridor.
Under Uganda’s procurement laws, such agreements are not personal or informal arrangements.
They are structured government contracts requiring oversight from multiple institutions, including the ministry responsible, the Ministry of Finance, and in many cases Cabinet approval.
Masembe notes that Uganda has already walked this road before.
Before Yapı Merkezi was awarded the contract, the government had signed a deal with China Harbour Engineering Company (CHEC). That earlier arrangement collapsed after years of delays, largely tied to financing challenges from China.
However, its termination followed formal administrative procedures, not unilateral announcements or individual directives.
This history, he argues, reinforces a central principle: major infrastructure contracts are governed by law, not personal authority or political influence.
Even though Muhoozi Kainerugaba holds significant influence as Chief of Defence Forces and Senior Presidential Advisor on Special Operations, those roles do not grant him statutory powers over civilian procurement processes.
Legal authority over such contracts rests with designated ministries and ultimately Cabinet structures.
His public statements may carry political weight, Masembe observes, but they do not automatically translate into legally binding government decisions.
If Uganda were to terminate the Yapı Merkezi contract without following due process, the country could face serious consequences.
The contractor could seek compensation for work already done, mobilisation expenses, and projected profits through international arbitration mechanisms commonly used in cross-border infrastructure deals.
Beyond legal exposure, the financial and diplomatic risks would also be significant.
Uganda could face strained relations with Turkey, reduced investor confidence, and renewed uncertainty over a railway project already marked by years of delays and shifting contractors.
The SGR project is central to Uganda’s long-term transport and trade strategy, designed to lower freight costs and improve regional connectivity.
Any abrupt or procedurally flawed termination could further slow its progress and increase overall costs to taxpayers.
Masembe further points out that the lesson from the failed CHEC arrangement remains relevant.
Even when governments choose to abandon or reset major infrastructure deals, they must do so through transparent legal and institutional channels to avoid disputes and financial penalties.
Until an official statement is issued by the Ministry of Works and Transport, Cabinet, or State House, the reported cancellation remains politically significant but legally unconfirmed.
Ahmed Bogere Masembe cautions that infrastructure decisions of such magnitude must remain anchored in law rather than individual declarations. For a project of national importance, he writes, only formal state institutions—not public pronouncements—can determine its fate.