In Uganda, at least 12 people have allegedly been killed by security officers enforcing measures to restrict the spread of coronavirus, while no-one has been confirmed as dying from the virus itself. Patience Atuhaire has been meeting some of those affected by the violence.

Joyce Namugalu Mutasiga speaks to me as she fries small pancakes, known as kabalagala, over a woodfire, her words coming out in short, crisp sentences punctuated with long silences.

"Somebody is moving away from you and then you shoot him? At least they would have said sorry, because his life will never be back, and now I am going to struggle with the children," she says, straining to bottle up her emotions.

The 65-year-old is now the main bread-winner for a family of eight.

Two of her grandchildren, aged three and five, too young to grasp the full scale of what has befallen them, run across the yard pointing to a car in the yard: "Take a photo of daddy's car!"

In June, nearly three weeks after he was reportedly shot in the leg by a Ugandan policeman, Eric Mutasiga died from his wounds. His last moments were in an operating theatre in the country's Mulago Hospital, according to his mother.

The 30-year-old headteacher was one of those allegedly killed by security forces enforcing a coronavirus lockdown.

The killings are believed to have been at the hands of policemen, soldiers and members of an armed civilian force called the Local Defence Unit (LDU).

Since March, they have been jointly manning roadblocks to ensure that people stick to the control measures, including a ban on motorcycle taxis (known locally as boda bodas) and a dusk-to-dawn curfew.

Many Ugandans are wary as they approach these roadblocks not knowing what might happen, but on 13 May trouble came to Mr Mutasiga's home.

As well as running the Merrytime Primary school, the father of three had a small shop next to his home on the edge of Mukono, about an hour's drive east of the capital, Kampala.

On that Wednesday, policemen and members of the LDU were arresting people found breaking the lockdown rules by working after 19:00.
'You didn't train me'

Mr Mutasiga's employee, a young man working at the chapati stall outside the shop, had just been detained.

"I begged [the policemen] to forgive him. The two officers debated amongst themselves whether to let him go," the headteacher later explained to local journalists.

Then, as people gathered round, things got heated.

"One of the policemen started to say I wasn't the one who trained him. He said he could even shoot me.

"As I turned to leave, [one policeman] shot in the air. I turned to see what happened, and saw him aim directly at me.

"The bullet went right into my left leg and I fell. They got on their motorcycle really quickly and rode away."

He made those comments as he was being wheeled into hospital - the police have not verified his account.

His family had hoped that he would make a full recovery.

"We stayed in hospital awaiting surgery, but every time we asked, the health workers told us that the wound was bad, they couldn't operate," his mother says.

Mr Mutasiga was eventually taken to the operating theatre on 8 June where he died, she adds.

The death certificate shows that he died directly from gunshot wounds.

Mrs Mutasiga stares at the ground, taking a moment to compose herself.

She feels let down by the entire government system, saying: "Some family members have suggested we go to court. But the police have not revealed the shooter's identify, so who would I sue?"

Farida Nanyonjo is angry.

Her brother, Robert Senyonga, died after being beaten.

Around midday on 7 July, she received a call from his employer. She was told that she had to get to the eastern city of Jinja fast, as Mr Senyonga had been repeatedly struck by the butt of a gun wielded by someone believed to be from the LDU for riding a motorcycle.