By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye

Defending the Defenders is a three-year story telling project profiling experiences of journalists who report on Violence Against Women and Girls (VAWG), and other female social justice defenders across Uganda and Africa. These “Defenders” not only amplify the suffering of survivors, but also silently carry their own psychological, Social and economic wounds.

Fourth Story

I Married a Ritualist: Joy’s Survival from a Scam Disguised as Love

Just like any other young girl fresh from college, Joy (pseudo) was vibrant, ambitious, and full of dreams. With her journalism diploma in hand, she had a mental checklist of what life should look like next: a good job, a loving husband, children, and a beautiful family. She knew exactly the kind of man she wanted—professional, respectable, someone she would proudly introduce to her parents.

Joy was the firstborn in her family, raised by Buganda cultured parents who believed deeply in marriage and all the traditions that came with it. So when she landed a job at a media house straight out of school, her life felt like it was falling perfectly into place. Amidst the busy life of a young journalist chasing stories, she held tightly to her dream of finding the right man.

Then she met him.

A tall, well-groomed, soft-spoken man—a medical doctor. The perfect picture of the man she had always dreamed of. They fell in love quickly. Everything seemed right. He was educated, polite, and ambitious. When he proposed that they make it official, Joy didn’t hesitate.

He told her his family lived abroad—his mother and sister were in the United States. That explained why she couldn’t meet them in person. But in Uganda, telling people that your fiancé’s family lives overseas often earns admiration, so Joy embraced that detail with pride. His mother and sister called her once in a while via WhatsApp, and sometimes he would hand over the phone so she could speak to them.

The traditional marriage was set. He brought a few friends and distant relatives to meet Joy’s family. Her father loved him instantly. “He was humble, handsome, and carried good genes,” Joy remembers. “I felt so lucky to have him.”

Soon after the ceremony, Joy conceived. She gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. Their life together felt full. Joy was busy, reporting on women and children’s stories —particularly around domestic violence and abuse. The job came with risks, and soon, the strange calls started.

First, they were threats from anonymous people warning her to stop covering certain stories. Then came blackmail with requests for money to stop the harassment. Her husband always stepped in, called back, and made the problems disappear. He told her not to worry.

But the calls didn’t stop. They escalated. Men claiming to be security officers said they were watching her. They knew where she was at every moment. It scared her. Her husband urged her to cut off old friends, warning that jealousy might be the root of the problem. Maybe someone from work was behind it all, he said.

Joy began isolating herself. The calls were too accurate—they knew everything. She stopped receiving calls from family and friends. Even those who used to visit now avoided her. The silence was deafening. Her only companions became her husband and her ever-online mother-in-law, checking in daily from “abroad.”

She started doubting everyone at work. She shrank her world down to just her husband and child. And then, just as she was adjusting to that new, lonely life, her husband suggested they do a church wedding. He said people were jealous of their happiness it should not be made so public. Joy agreed. She would do anything to make their marriage work.

But before they could even finalize the wedding plans, her husband disappeared.

A stranger called using his phone. He said the doctor had been kidnapped. Unless Joy paid a ransom, her husband would be killed. Her mother-in-law called her, panicked. The kidnappers said the ordeal was punishment for something Joy had done. She was thrown into a state of panic.

This time, there was no one to lean on. The man who had always stepped in to “fix things” was now the one in danger. The kidnappers later claimed to be working for her husband’s bitter ex-girlfriend, who wasn’t ready to let go. She accused Joy of stealing her man and trying to seal it with a church wedding.

Joy sent money. Her mother-in-law, coordinating everything from abroad, claimed to be in contact with “security.” Eventually, her husband was released. But Joy never recovered. She was mentally exhausted, emotionally drained, and physically worn down. She lost appetite, focus, weight. Work became a blur.

Just as she was trying to pull herself together, the phone rang again.

This time, it wasn’t threats. It was an arrest warrant. She was being accused of murder—of killing the same ex-girlfriend. Evidence was “pointing directly” at her. Joy broke down completely. She attempted suicide—twice.

Then one day, her father saw her reading the news on TV. He noticed something was terribly off. Her face looked hollow. Her eyes looked lost. He called her brother and asked him to check on her.

When her brother came to visit and listened closely to everything Joy was going through, he decided to quietly take her phone and kept it for a day, just to break the cycle.

Later that evening, when Joy got home, her husband seemed unusually anxious. He asked why she hadn’t been answering his calls all day. She calmly replied that she had misplaced her phone during her busy schedule and hadn’t had it with her.

But then he said something that stopped her in her tracks—he mentioned the exact location of her phone.

Joy was stunned.

When she later asked her brother if the husband had called, he shook his head. No calls had come from the husband’s number. Only the same unknown, threatening numbers that had been haunting her for months.

That’s when it began to sink in.

That’s when it hit her. Everything had been staged. All the terror—the threats, the fake kidnappings, the murder accusations—they had all come from him.

She remembered how every time she thought of reporting to police, a call would immediately come warning her not to. She had always believed it was some outside force. But now, it was clear: he was the force.

Still, Joy tried to forgive. She wanted to believe it was all a misunderstanding. Her mother-in-law, always calm, always online, encouraged her to focus on rebuilding the trust.

Then, the final blow.

One day, her husband dozed off on the couch. Joy wanted some small change to buy items from the nearby shop. She quietly picked his wallet—and froze.

Inside were skeletons of birds. Pieces of reptiles. Tied pieces of bark cloth. Pieces of clothes cut from her different nickers bound together in a knot with the rest of the items.

She trembled.

She didn’t know what to say, how to react. Fear engulfed her. She was living with a complete stranger, that she was sure …

Then, just days later, her “mother-in-law” called on WhatsApp, saying she couldn’t reach her son and wanted to talk to him through Joy’s phone. He was asleep in the bedroom and joy preparing a meal in the kitchen. Joy took the phone to him. They talked.

When he returned the phone, he went back to the bedroom. Just a few moments later, a WhatsApp message came in.

It was from the same woman. She had forgotten she had used Joy’s phone. The message was full of instructions to her “son” about how to conduct a ritual—using Joy and their child.

That’s when it became clear.

The woman wasn’t his mother. She was a witchdoctor. There were no relatives abroad. There was no family in America. The man Joy had called her husband was not who he said he was. The marriage, the love, the dreams—they had all been part of a ritual scheme. All the friends and distant relative he had gone with for traditional were fakes, people hired for that particular function-

Joy didn’t scream. She didn’t fight. She packed her bags. She took her son.

And she left.
That was five years ago.
She never looked back.

Joy still becomes anxious while telling her story- she is yet to gain complete healing –that Road to healing is rough as well