In Ankole, a man is “omushaija”. Strong. Provider. Protector. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t complain. That’s the story from Isingiro kraals to Mbarara estates.
So when that man is slapped by his wife at night, he doesn’t go to police. When she throws a saucepan, he tells neighbors he “hit the door”. When she threatens to chase him from the house he built, he stays quiet and drinks alone.
That silence is now impossible to ignore. The Uganda Human Rights Commission regional office in Mbarara is the one which reported. Speaking to our reporter, the head of the regional office, Theopista Twembi Bwatoota said the commission receives about 20 domestic violence cases every day, with most of them reported by men. Bwatoota noted that many men fear reporting such incidents because they feel ashamed and fear stigma from the community.
Twenty cases a day. Beatings, insults, threats, destroyed property. All behind closed doors in a region known for cattle, respect, and “omugyendera mu makiro”.
This is not about “women are bad”. It’s not about “men are weak”. It’s about Uganda facing a truth we’ve dodged: violence in marriage has no gender. And our silence is making it worse.
Ordinary Uganda: Beaten, then laughed at
For the boda rider in Ibanda, the farmer in Rwampara, the teacher in Sheema, marriage meant peace. Work hard, bring money home, pay fees, fix the roof. Expect respect.
But when respect dies, homes become battlefields. He comes late, she shouts. Shouting becomes pushing. Pushing becomes hitting. Hitting becomes routine.
The difference is cruel. When a woman is beaten, the village responds by evening. LC1 intervenes. Women gather. NGOs arrive. Posters go up: “Stop GBV”.
When a man is beaten, the village laughs. “You’re bewitched.” “You’re controlled.” “Not a real Munyankole.” Friends joke at the bar: “So your wife is the man now?”
So he chooses shame over justice. Silence over scars. He endures because speaking out feels like losing his manhood twice – first at home, then at the trading center.
That’s the ordinary tragedy. A man who can face cattle rustlers cannot face gossip.
Elite Uganda: Money can’t buy dignity
In Kololo and Nakasero, the story is quieter but the pain is identical.
The CEO has a big house and a driver. But at night, she breaks his phone after checking WhatsApp. She insults him before the house help. She threatens to take the children and leave him with just his title.
He can afford lawyers and divorce. He cannot afford the headline: “Bank manager beaten by wife”.
So he uses money to hide it. Separate bedrooms. “Business trips” to Nairobi for counseling no one will know about. He tells his board he’s “working on his marriage” while dodging blows.
Elite Uganda pretends it’s above this. But violence doesn’t check bank balances. Insecurity doesn’t ask for your CV before entering your bedroom.
His prison is reputation. He’d rather lose peace than lose status.
Why Ankole? Why now?
Ankole culture is built on respect. “Omushaija” and “omukazi w’ekitiibwa” mean honor. But honor without accountability becomes a mask. Three things are cracking it:
Money stress: When milk prices drop, when fees bite, when the shilling weakens, anger grows. Poverty doesn’t cause violence, but it lights the match. And anger lands on the nearest person – your spouse.
Changing roles: Women now run businesses in Mbarara city. Own land. Earn more. When power shifts in the home and couples don’t talk about it, power becomes a fight. Some women abuse new power. Some men abuse old power. Both are wrong.
No language for male victims: Runyankole and Luganda have words for “battered wife”. We have no words for “battered husband” that don’t sound like a joke. If language has no space for your pain, you keep it inside.
The hardest truth: Shame is killing men
The biggest weapon is not the fist. It’s shame.
A man would rather die than say “my wife beat me”. We taught boys that “real men don’t report”. We taught communities that “a man handles his home”.
So they handle it with silence, alcohol, depression, early death.
That’s the cost Uganda isn’t counting. Every silent man becomes a distant father, an angry worker, a citizen who loses trust in justice.
When men don’t report, police think the problem is small. When police think it’s small, budgets don’t come. When budgets don’t come, counseling centers don’t open. The cycle continues.
What must change
This isn’t men vs women. It’s a fight for sanity in our homes.
For ordinary Ugandans: Kill the joke. A man reporting abuse is brave, not weak. LCs and elders must listen without laughing. If a man shows scars, don’t ask “what did you do to her”. Ask “are you safe”. Churches and mosques must preach: marriage is partnership, not a boxing ring.
For elite Ugandans: Use your platforms. When a CEO or pastor admits men are abused too, it gives others permission to speak. Fund counseling, not just PR. If your friend is in an abusive marriage, help him fix it or leave it. Stop helping him hide it.
For all of us: The law must protect everyone. The Constitution gives every person right to dignity and security. Every person means him too. Police in Mbarara must take a man’s statement seriously. Magistrates must issue protection orders without smirking.
Bottom line
Ankole men are being beaten. It’s uncomfortable. But ignoring it is more dangerous.
When we pretend violence has one face, we create monsters. Men who think they can never be victims. Women who think they can never be abusers. Children who grow up thinking marriage is war.
Uganda is better than this. Our grandmothers taught respect. Our fathers taught responsibility. This generation must teach truth: a home where one person beats the other is not a home. It’s a prison.
To the man in Mbarara reading this with a swollen eye: you’re not less of a man for being hurt. You’re more of a man for choosing to live. Report. Talk. Leave if you must. Your life matters more than gossip.
To the woman reading this: power isn’t proven by fists. Walk away when angry. Speak when hurt. But don’t become what you hate.
The Mbarara office receives 20 cases daily. May the day come when that number is zero. Not because men stopped reporting. Because couples stopped beating.
Until then, break the silence. Before silence breaks more men.
