Isaac Ssemakadde, once seen as the embodiment of grit and a no-nonsense lawmaker, has been brought down a notch by the twins, Yvonne Babirye and Cynthia Nakato, who had once idolized him.
The Uganda Law Society (ULS) president, notorious for his blunt words and no-holds-barred approach, now faces the weight of his actions laid bare in a nine-page statement that exposed his darker side.
The twins, who were initially drawn into Ssemakadde’s orbit from their civic activism, have turned the tables, presenting an astonishing account that paints a picture of a man who, behind his powerful rhetoric, has betrayed their trust and crossed numerous professional and personal boundaries.
The statement, signed by both Yvonne and Cynthia, reveals a string of manipulative actions, emotional turmoil, and unsettling encounters that have marred their once-promising partnership.
The twins, who were initially taken in by Ssemakadde’s bold promises, reveal that their initial encounters were laced with manipulation.
“At first, he offered us opportunities that seemed golden,” Yvonne says, recalling his words that made them feel like they were on the verge of something great.
"But those promises were nothing but smoke and mirrors."
Their journey with Ssemakadde quickly soured, however, as the lawmaker's manipulative nature came to the forefront.
What seemed like professional advice was often cloaked in veiled demands and controlling behaviour.
The turning point came when Ssemakadde, with a mix of arrogance and entitlement, suggested Cynthia wear a keffiyeh during a high-profile protest.
The scarf, meant as a symbol of solidarity, soon became a personal emblem of Ssemakadde's efforts to brand and control their public image.
“We were never told the full picture,” Cynthia explains, looking back on the days when they naively believed in the “grand vision” Ssemakadde had painted for them.
“His words were convincing, but his actions told another story. We were being used as props for his personal agenda, not as partners.”
The nine-page statement they submitted, however, goes much deeper than these surface-level frustrations.
It details, in no uncertain terms, how Ssemakadde's emotional manipulation and coercive behaviour made them feel trapped in a professional partnership that increasingly felt more like an abusive relationship.
At one point, Ssemakadde allegedly told them, “You don’t have the capacity to understand the big picture,” belittling them when they asked for clarity about their roles and future in his campaign.
Yvonne and Cynthia's accounts grew darker as they reflected on Ssemakadde’s dismissive treatment of them.
His verbal assaults, his refusal to formalise any agreements, and his attempts to blur the lines between personal and professional boundaries pushed them to the edge.
"He called us ‘stupid girls with pretty faces on the internet,’” Yvonne recalls.
“That was a wake-up call for us. He had no respect for us as professionals.”
The emotional toll on the twins grew heavier when Ssemakadde, after a series of heated exchanges, allegedly sent Yvonne a barrage of cruel and degrading messages.
One such message, laden with insults, included a threat: “You are just that—a whore. Stupid girls like you won’t get far.”
The twins found themselves not only humiliated but also afraid of what Ssemakadde might do next.
Despite these dark moments, the twins remained committed to the campaign, even as their personal lives were being torn apart.
But the final straw came when Ssemakadde reportedly mocked Cynthia’s discomfort with his advances and insisted on manipulating her into complying with his demands.
“It became clear that he wasn’t interested in a partnership or collaboration,” Cynthia recalls.
“He wanted control, pure and simple.”
The nine-page statement submitted by the twins is a damning account of their time spent with Isaac Ssemakadde.
In it, they expose how their professional and personal boundaries were constantly tested, broken, and ignored. They tell of how they were pressured to accept roles and promises with no legal backing, no contracts, and no assurances.
“He wanted us to believe that our success was tied to him, but we now see that he was only out for himself,” Yvonne says, her voice resolute.
Ssemakadde’s response to the twins’ accusations has been typically defiant. In public statements, he has downplayed the seriousness of the situation, calling it a “personal matter” and insisting that the twins were simply misled by their own expectations.
“This is nothing more than a private fallout between colleagues,” he stated, refusing to acknowledge the depth of the emotional abuse detailed in the twins’ statement.
But the damage, it seems, has been done. Isaac Ssemakadde, the tough-talking lawman who once commanded attention with his brash words and bold vision, is now facing the consequences of his own actions.
The keffiyeh, once a symbol of solidarity, has become a symbol of manipulation, and his image, carefully crafted and maintained through sheer force of will, has now been cracked open by the very people he sought to control.