For nearly three decades, Shari* (not real name) has lived a life many only whisper about – a life on street corners, in small lodges, and behind locked doors. A life shaped by poverty, violence, and survival. Now 38, a mother of two adults and a grandmother, she says she is finally ready to step away from the world that consumed her childhood, stole her youth, and nearly broke her spirit.
‘I am tired,’ she says softly. ‘I want my life back.’
The journey
Shari’s story begins in Kisoro District, where she was born in 1987. When she lost both parents and the grandmother who raised her, her life took a sharp turn.
‘I was only 16 when I started sex work,’ she recalls. She adds: ‘I had no parents, no guidance, nothing. Life kept giving me bitter pills, but I learned how to swallow them.’ She became a mother at the age of 14 and again at 16. With no support and no schooling, marriage and early motherhood did little to shield her from the harshness of poverty. After separating from her husband, friends introduced her to sex work. ‘They told me it would help me take care of my children. But I didn’t know the price I would pay,’ she says.
From Kisoro to Kampala
After years of struggling in Kisoro, Shari boarded a trailer to Kampala City. She disembarked in Kabalagala, where she briefly lived with a foreign man. ‘I stayed with him for two months. But my colleagues took advantage of him. I was then young and naïve,’ Shari says. Life became a cycle of nights filled with uncertainty and days filled with exhaustion. ‘At 22, I started feeling drained. Meeting so many men every night kills something inside you,’ she says. Shari later moved to Nateete’s Mabito Zone, where she lived and worked for eight years, paying Shs10,000 daily for a lodge where clients found her. ‘To earn Shs500,000, I needed at least 10 to 15 clients. Some weeks I would see up to 70 men,’ she says.
Jungle tricks
What made her stand out in the trade, she says, was her unusual choice of clothing. ‘I dressed differently. I wore long dresses, trousers, and sometimes hijabs. People think sex workers must wear short clothes, but I didn’t. Men like a well-dressed woman. And at night, dressing modestly helped me stay warm. Surprisingly, it attracted more clients,’ she says. But dressing modestly did not protect her from danger. ‘I have been strangled. Men have pointed knives and pistols at me because they didn’t want to pay,’ she says. She adds: ‘I survived things I cannot even explain.’ Despite the years on the streets, Shari says she has not contracted HIV/Aids. ‘God protected me. I thank Him every day,’ she says.
Relocating to Jinja
Last year, Shari relocated to Bugembe Ward in Jinja City, hoping for a fresh start. Instead, she found deeper struggles. ‘I reached a point where I asked God why He kept me alive. I thought about ending my life. I felt hopeless,’ she says Clients became scarce as she grew older; and the stigma of age pushed her further into hardship. ‘At my age, getting a job is very hard. So I thought starting a business was the only solution,’ she explains.
Family pain and regret
She says she carries deep wounds from her family. The rejection, being separated from her children, and losing her parents. ‘And I live with heavy regrets about how this life affected my children. That pain never leaves me,’ she adds. Shari’s two children are now adults: her daughter, 24, a young mother, and her son, 22, who is struggling with addiction. ‘My son started drinking at eight,’ she says painfully. ‘His father later took him to Bunyoro. I want to go and talk to him.’
Her daughter, raised by an aunt, dropped out of school after learning about the mother’s source of money. ‘I regret that. It broke something in her,’ she says.
The rest of her family distanced themselves after discovering that she was a sex worker. ‘When my aunts found out, they rejected me,’ she says quietly. ‘That pain still stays with me.’
Hidden world of sex work
Shari shares the unseen side of a trade many misunderstand. ‘In Nateete, some women work with their babies under the bed because they have nowhere to take them,’ she says, adding: ‘The children grow up in lodges.’ She recalls a 13-year-old girl who reportedly joined the streets after running away from an abusive stepmother. ‘No one guided her. She later contracted HIV,’ Shari says. She also speaks of traditions that push widowers towards sex workers. ‘Some men are told to sleep with sex workers so that the spirits of their dead wives don’t disturb them. We see things people don’t talk about,’ she says.
Dreaming of a way out
Despite the pain and trauma, Shari believes she can rebuild her life. ‘I want to leave this business just like others who managed to. I am asking for a startup capital of Shs10 million. I want to run a business I can be proud of,’ she says. Her dream is simple: independence, dignity, and a future she can show her children. ‘I did sex work for 23 years. I used drugs, I drank alcohol, I faced death. But now, I want peace,’ she adds.
Mentoring younger women
‘They call me ‘Mama’. I always tell them: protect yourselves, and if you can, leave before it is too late,’ she says. Shari’s story is not about shame. It is a testament to resilience – proof that even the hardest lives carry hope. Behind the judgments are real women navigating impossible choices. ‘I have gained nothing from prostitution. Nothing except scars. But I believe God kept me alive for a purpose. I want my life to change. I want to start again,’ she says. For the first time in nearly three decades, she allows herself to imagine a future where she is no longer defined by the streets but by her strength to walk away from them.