Why are Ugandans such easy targets for scams?

[Da Dona]

Not long ago, the timeline was on fire over a certain iPhone dealer, with people accusing him of scamming customers and wondering how long it would take before the whole thing finally came crashing down.

The interesting part was that while one side of Kampala was warning everyone to stay away, another side was still placing orders, probably already budgeting for the next iPhone before Apple itself had finished thinking about it.

And that is when it occurred to me that perhaps being scammed in Uganda is no longer just an unfortunate event, but something dangerously close to a national tradition.

But what is it that makes us such easy targets?
We have seen TelexFree come and go, watched BLQ convince grown adults that clicking around football matches was somehow an investment strategy, and then Capital Chicken arrived and somehow persuaded people that chickens had discovered a better return on investment than Treasury bills.

Each time one collapses, there is outrage, television interviews, victims explaining how they put in their savings, and the rest of us announcing that such a thing could never happen to us, even swearing walayi.

Then six months later, somebody opens an office, installs a glass door, hires a receptionist with excellent English, prints banners containing words like wealth, global and opportunity, and suddenly we start asking where to deposit.

Maybe the real genius of the Ugandan scam is that it understands Uganda better than Ugandans understand scams.

It knows that many people are tired of salaries that disappear somewhere between rent, school fees, fuel and a random family WhatsApp group.

Most importantly, it understands our relationship with social proof. Once a workmate puts in Shs500,000 and comes back with Shs700,000, due diligence packs its belongings and leaves the chat.

By the time questions begin, everyone is too invested to admit that the mathematics stopped making sense three meetings ago.

That is why scams keep returning with different names but almost identical plots. They sell hope, dress it in urgency and allow the first few people to make enough money to recruit the rest of us.

Uganda may eventually develop immunity, but judging by our history, the next scheme may only need a nice logo.

Our hospitality may be working against us
Ugandans are genuinely some of the nicest people on earth, and sometimes I think that is exactly our problem.

We welcome strangers like they are cousins, and we suffer from this cousin syndrome because in this land, as long as our parents know each other, you become a cousin. How it happened does not matter.

In Uganda, someone asks for directions to Ggongo and before you know it, you have escorted them halfway there, recommended the best Rolex guy on the road, explained which taxi to avoid and somehow included the history of your village.

We have a PhD in being welcoming, and unfortunately, scammers have also noticed.

You only need to sit in a Kampala taxi for 20 minutes to understand the assignment.

A stranger says, “Eh, traffic is bad today.”

And that is all the invitation we need.

By the time you reach Nateete, they know where you work, how many children you have, that your landlord is increasing rent, your salary comes on the 28th, and your husband is not perfect, but we thank God.

Meanwhile, another passenger has not said a single word. You think he is minding his business. Kumbe, the brother is collecting data.

That is how many scams begin — not with hacking or complicated technology, but with ordinary Ugandan friendliness.

We trust first and verify much later, usually after the money has disappeared.

Hospitality is a beautiful thing, but in Kampala today, it also needs boundaries.

We trust confidence more than evidence

If confidence was a university degree, Uganda would have the highest literacy rate in the world.

You see, in this our matooke land, confidence can take you to places your CV has never even imagined.

We are a country that sometimes respects vibes before verification.

Give someone a reflector jacket, a clipboard, a lanyard and a serious face, and suddenly they become an authority.

When people throw around phrases like, “Do you know me?” nobody asks questions. We simply assume they are important because important people in Uganda always look busy.

You have to master the skill of kwefula busy in this country.

Someone casually says, “I work with State House,” or “I know someone in URA,” and immediately they become the consultant on taxes, jobs, passports and land titles.

We do not ask which department, what their role is, or even for an ID.

The confidence alone is enough evidence.

We love connections so much that sometimes “I know someone” sounds more convincing than an actual qualification.

Our oversharing problem
As for our zeyis, intelligence leaks.

A visitor comes asking for directions and before the tea gets cold, they know every child in the house.

They know who works in Kampala, who is in Canada, who just graduated, who is married and who is still waiting on God's timing.

Ugandan mothers can turn a simple greeting into a Netflix family documentary with bonus episodes.

We overshare with frightening confidence, forgetting that not everyone collecting information is simply making conversation.

Some people are just gathering ingredients for the scam they have not cooked yet.

Perhaps the lesson is not that Ugandans should stop being welcoming, ambitious or trusting.

It is that we need to add one thing to the equation: verification.

Because the next person with a nice office, a confident voice, a convincing story and a beautiful logo may not necessarily have the opportunity they are selling.

And by the time we discover that, the money may already be gone.


Daily Monitor UG​