TV presenter and actor Jamie Theakston is helping campaign against the arms trade. Here, he reports on the devastating effects he witnessed in Uganda.

DAY 1: In a rather marked change from my normal schedule, today I leave Notting Hill for northern Uganda to an area the Foreign Office warns you not to go. The trip is a fact-finding mission with Oxfam and Amnesty International to find out about the effects of armed conflict on local communities. It is not going to be easy. The itinerary looks daunting, the security procedures ominous - I've been told to keep a picture of my family in my wallet in case I'm abducted?

DAY 2: Dawn breaks through thick cloud as we land in Kampala, Uganda's capital. We head straight to the hotel for a briefing from Simon, head of Oxfam's humanitarian aid programme in Uganda and two human rights experts from Amnesty International. They give us the background on the conflict in the north (tomorrow's destination) between the Ugandan government and the Lords Resistance Army (LRA). They describe it as "a war against civilians". About 80 per cent of the LRA is made up of abducted children. The government has failed to tackle the problem, many of its soldiers adding to it by abusing civilians and forcing them into poorly protected camps that are frequently raided by the rebels. We are told that in the local market you can buy a gun for less than £2. In a country lacking good health care and education, the government spends obscene amounts on military hardware - 26 per cent of its budget last year. The UK is a big donor to Uganda.

After the briefing, we visit an MP who argues passionately that the government is ignoring the plight of his people in northern Uganda, obstructing the peace process and spreading arms across the region. He talks in stark terms of rape, murder, HIV, a collapse in the economy, health and education and how the young are indoctrinated into the way of the gun. The government's solution - Operation Iron Fist - spews guns across the region, many of which end up in the hands of badly-trained militia and paramilitary groups. I'm feeling shell-shocked already and we haven't even arrived in the conflict zone yet.

DAY 3: Leave the hotel at 5.30am. As the sun rises we walk on to the runway to our eight-seater plane. The conflict means it is unsafe to travel to the north by road. One hour later, we land in Kitgum, avoiding people, cars and animals on the dirt track runway. At our first security briefing, we are told there had been a raid by the Lord's Resistance Army that night and our movements would be highly restricted. A map of that week's security incidents had red pins indicating LRA raids, green ones their bases, yellow ones ambushes and blue ones battles. There is a worrying cluster of pins around us. We visit a school in town. More than 2,000 kids from six different schools are crammed together in seven classrooms. LRA raids mean that schools in the outlying areas have been closed. For safety, the children sleep at the school too, with little protection from the cold or disease-carrying mosquitoes. The headmistress tells me how worms from the mud floor burrow into children's feet making them horribly ill. We go on to a centre for young people who have been abducted by the LRA.

Bazil is 17. He is a huge David Beckham fan and estimates he has killed 35 people. He has lost count. Abducted by the LRA at the age of 14, he was forced to walk miles into the bush, beaten, abused and made to watch those who had tried to escape cut to pieces in front of him. Later, at gunpoint, he was forced to kill others. I've never met a mass murderer before. I would have thought I would have been angry, repulsed even, yet I only feel sympathy for Bazil, a child with an impossible past to get over.

Before we leave, about 50 of the children stand and sing together. It is the strangest choir I've heard. Killers with angelic voices, small adults with massive burdens to overcome. Next stop, a hospital. The wounds, smells and screams shock me. Sam has been shot by the LRA, both legs shattered by the bullet. He lies in pain, knowing he will never be able to walk properly again. He is alive only because the rebels assumed he was dead. Later, as we eat dinner, a stream of people march past, carrying blankets. Each night, thousands of people - the night commuters - come into town from the nearby villages, seeking protection from the rebels who would kill them if they slept at home. I am angry tonight, how can we ignore this?

DAY 4: I didn't sleep well. Maybe I need time to acclimatise to the sheer level of horror. Or maybe I'll never comprehend it. One of the places we visit today is a hospital-feeding centre where we see severely malnourished children, with distended stomachs, covered in flies. I am surprised at the starvation because the area is so green and I know that it used to export food. These people are starving not because there isn't enough food but because it is too dangerous to farm their fields.

Before this trip, I'd anticipated seeing gunshot wounds and bereaved people but I hadn't anticipated the whole spectrum of side effects. From starvation and displacement to poverty and the collapse of health and education services, arms sit squarely in the middle of the web of destruction.

DAY 5: Meet more former abductees this morning. Justin, 14, has killed five people. Hilda, 20, had been raped by an LRA commander. Samuel, nine, had been given a pistol and told to kill. All of them have been brutalised by the gun. In the afternoon we leave this area for a place called Kotido. No war to speak of here, no LRA but still plenty of weapons.

We visit a village where there are only children, women or old men. The young men had been killed in the last cattle raid. Those left behind are now killing their last few calves for food. Soon they will have nothing.

The gun hasn't killed these people. It has left them to suffer for much longer than that. As we are talking, I am told we have to leave. A messenger has arrived with news of approaching warriors. We are lucky to be able to leave; the villagers have no such choice.

DAY 6: On my last day in Uganda, I see my first AK-47, in the hands of a Karamajong cattle farmer. He tells me the Karamajong used to fight and defend their herds with sticks but then guns poured into the region, turning cattle raids into massacres. Government promises to provide security have come to nothing. Others we speak to tell me they have to carry their AK-47s to protect their livelihoods.

This proud people have been reduced to wiping each other out.

On the long jeep journey back, I reflect on my time in Uganda. The horror and devastation caused by armed conflict. But also the pride and resilience, even among the most brutalised kids.

Ugandans I met weren't asking for charity, they just want the international community to stop screwing up their lives.

I hope our Government will back Oxfam and Amnesty International's Control Arms campaign.

It is time we had tough arms controls.

We can't ignore the desperate plight of these people and millions of others across the world.