Mama Biru sells me avocados in Gayaza. She has the best ones in the market, and she knows it. Some time back, business was slow, so we talked. I asked how much she had put into Hut 8. “Two million,” she said. Where did she get it? “PDM.” And what was the PDM money meant for? “Piggery.” So where were the pigs? She handed me my avocados and looked at me with the patience of a woman explaining something to a child: “In Hut 8.” That is the Ugandan investment story of 2026 in one conversation.
For those who were busy with honest work in August, here is what happened. Police began investigating an online platform calling itself Hut 8 after investors found they could not withdraw their money. People had been recruited through social media and promised high returns. How high? In one of its so-called investment options, an “investment” of Shs150,000 was promised up to Shs2 million. The victims include PDM beneficiaries, university students, market vendors, farmers and salaried workers, with early estimates putting losses above Shs5 billion.
Even the name was borrowed. The real Hut 8 is a North American company, and it says it has no representatives or investment operations in Uganda. The conmen rented a reputation for free, and Ugandans paid the rent. To add insult to injury, desperate victims have been told to deposit more money to unlock their profits, and police now warn of a second wave of fraudsters offering to recover lost funds for an upfront fee. In Uganda, even your loss can be scammed.
If this sounds familiar, it’s because we have seen this film before. In 2022, losses from a scheme called BLQ Football were put at about Shs60 billion. Before and after it came YEPBIT, In On Fund and Chicken Chicken, all built on the same pyramid and all gone with investors’ money. Back in 2018, the Financial Intelligence Authority counted 18 such schemes over 15 years, including TelexFree and World Global Mobile Network.
Then came the chickens. Capital Chicken promised up to 48% over five months and even claimed investments were insured. Some investors were told they would earn 15% of their money every month. When it shut in late 2023 and its directors allegedly fled, more than 372 investors were left with losses of Shs5.7 billion. Vetaplan Chicken promised 10% a month, collected Shs757.5 million from 31 investors, and only about Shs159.5 million has been recovered. Nearly three years on, the Capital Chicken file is still awaiting sanctioning for prosecution. The chickens have flown, and so has the justice.
Now let us do the arithmetic that nobody seems to do. In this economy, a serious investment pays around 12% a year in a good year. That is what well-run institutions earn by lending to government, buying shares and building real estate, with professional fund managers and billions of shillings to work with. Now along comes a man with photos of chickens promising 48% in five months. That is more than 100% a year, roughly nine times what the professionals make. Vetaplan’s 10% a month comes to 120% a year. Hut 8’s promise of turning Shs150,000 into Shs2 million is a return of over 1,200%.
Ask yourself a simple question. If a chicken farm in Mukono could reliably return nine times what our biggest institutions earn, why would its owner share the secret with you? He would borrow from every bank in Kampala and keep the profit himself. The only business in Uganda that pays 48% in five months is paying old investors with new investors’ money. Ugandans who would haggle for twenty minutes over the price of tomatoes hand over millions without asking where the returns come from.
So why is it getting easier to scam Ugandans? There are four reasons.
First, the conman no longer needs an office. Capital Chicken at least rented rooms on Kanjokya Street where victims could go and shout. Today’s schemes live on WhatsApp, Telegram, TikTok and Facebook. When they collapse, there is no door to knock on, only an app that refuses to open.
Second, everything can be faked. A glossy website, a foreign company name, a contract, an insurance claim, a WhatsApp group full of people celebrating withdrawals. Police have had to warn the public not to judge an investment by its branding, website or followers. The scammer’s best salesman is your neighbours who got paid in week one, with your money.
Third, many Ugandans know exactly what they are doing. This is the uncomfortable truth. Some jump in early, hoping to collect before the pyramid collapses. They are not investors. They are gamblers who think they are smarter than the casino, and every one of them recruits the next victim.
Fourth, and most important, the law is asleep. Our police and regulators arrive, notebooks in hand, after the pyramid has fallen and the thieves have fled. Years after the FIA report, the laws have not been changed to outlaw these schemes. We are fighting 2026 fraud with a legal system that still thinks crime needs a building.
Let us also admit the painful part. When government puts money in poor people’s hands through programmes like PDM without teaching them what money can and cannot do, it is not only building enterprises. It is feeding the conmen’s harvest.
So here is my proposal, stated plainly. Parliament should pass a law that makes running or promoting a pyramid scheme a specific crime, and makes recruiters personally liable for the money they bring in. The moment the smiling cousin in your WhatsApp group knows he could go to jail for your losses; the recruiting will stop. Without recruiters, pyramids cannot stand.
Until then, remember Mama Biru, and remember the 12%. Any promise far above it is not an investment. It is a countdown. She is still selling avocados in Gayaza. The pigs are still in Hut 8, and the next hut is already being built.
Written by Nathan Were
Nathan Were works to advance farming systems in Africa based in South Africa.
Email: [email protected]
