By Christopher Kisekka
In Uganda’s rugged political landscape, where dusty roads snake through verdant hills and the air hums with the chants of hopeful crowds, Faridah Nanfuka, a journalist at Uganda Broadcasting Corporation (UBC), embarks on a gruelling experience.
As one of the few women chronicling the campaign trail ahead of the January 2026 general elections, her story is not just about politics. It’s a raw testament to resilience, laced with the unique perils faced by female reporters in a male-dominated arena.
Uganda’s elections have long been marred by tension; the 2021 polls, pitting longtime President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni against challenger Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu, erupted in violence, arrests, and internet blackouts, leaving a scar on the nation’s democratic fabric.
Nanfuka, who braved that chaos, calls it “hell.” Yet, trailing presidential candidate Nathan Nandala Mafabi, a seasoned politician and Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) stalwart, in this pre-election push feels “relatively better,” she says, though far from easy.
Through her eyes, we glimpse the grit of grassroots campaigning, amplified by the gender lens that sharpens every shadow. The campaign trail is no glamorous assignment; it’s a marathon of endurance.
Mafabi’s strategy leans on “mini rallies,” intimate processions that morph into long, exhausting walks through rural districts.
“We are constantly on the move,” Nanfuka recounts, her voice steady but weary over a crackling phone line from the field.
One particularly harrowing leg took her team from Agago to Pader, en route to Mbale for the next day’s rally. Torrential rains turned roads into muddy quagmires, forcing them to hunker down in the bushes overnight.
“We slept on the road, in the open, with nothing but the stars and the fear of the unknown,” she says.
They arrived in Mbale at dawn, disheveled but determined. Another night, campaigning stretched perilously late, past the official curfew hours, around 8:00 p.m., heightening the risks in a country where security forces have a history of clamping down on opposition activities.
The physical toll is relentless. Nanfuka speaks of sleeping on the move, snatching rest in vehicles or makeshift spots amid the convoy’s rumble.
At 3:00 or 4:00 a.m., one desolate stretch, exhaustion peaked: “I felt like running away from the trail and returning to Kampala,” she admits, a rare crack in her composed facade.
Sickness struck, too. “One day I felt sick, and there was nothing to eat,” she recalls, highlighting the scarcity that plagues these remote jaunts. No hotels, no hot meals; just the camaraderie of the team and the unyielding pursuit of the story.
But layered atop these universal hardships is the insidious undercurrent of gender-based harassment, a reality Nanfuka navigates with steely resolve. As one of the scant female journalists on the trail, she faces disturbances that her male counterparts rarely encounter.
“It comes in different forms,” she explains. “Some men use bad language, others unpleasant words, some are sent in terms of a joke.”
While on the move, men disrupt the women, their advances veiled as banter. Nanfuka witnessed a colleague endure physical violation: “I’ve seen men tapping the buttocks of a female journalist in one of the areas we have gone.”
Though she has not faced such tactile assaults herself, verbal overtures abound. “I have experienced verbal instances with a few men we are traveling with, trying to make a move on you,” she says matter-of-factly.
Yet, Nanfuka is no novice; years in the field have armored her. “But I am firm, and I have been in the field long enough to see these things and how to resist such,” she asserts.
The presidential candidate and his core team, she notes gratefully, maintain professionalism: “The candidate and his team have not disrespected any of the female journalists we are moving with. They treat us equally and professionally.”
The culprits? Often, the “so-called foot soldiers” tagging along the convoy, enthusiastic supporters whose rowdiness crosses lines. “This is what women go through, but one has to keep their dignity and concentrate on their work,” Nanfuka reflects.
In Uganda, where patriarchal norms still hold sway and women’s participation in politics hovers around 35% in parliament, partly due to affirmative action quotas, female journalists like Nanfuka are trailblazers in a double sense. They cover the power plays while dodging personal pitfalls, all against a backdrop of systemic challenges, such as limited access to resources, safety concerns, and societal expectations that often sideline women from “hard” beats like politics.
Nanfuka’s experiences echo broader reports from organizations like the Uganda Journalists Association (UJA), which document rising harassment amid the electoral period.
For aspiring young female journalists eyeing the political fray, Nanfuka offers hard-won wisdom.
“The person has to be interested in covering politics, be informed, watch what they wear, concentrate on the issue, and not get diverted or tempted into other items which are not part of the issue,” she notes.
Nanfuka also talks about safety being paramount: “Ensure your safety all the time by being in places with other colleagues. Even when booking a hotel, get a better place that is secure.”
Her advice underscores a simple truth: preparation and vigilance can turn vulnerability into strength.
As Uganda edges toward another crucial election, Nanfuka’s journey reminds us that democracy’s stories are shaped in the dust and danger of the path. Hers is a story of quiet resistance, showing that amid chaos, women’s voices, not just as subjects but as storytellers, persist. In her words, it’s about holding the line: dignity intact, notebook in hand, eyes on the goal.
