Woman kills lover, buries body in bedroom

SHOCKING TRAGEDY

In the quiet hills of Kaniga I village, where laughter once echoed through narrow paths and neighbours knew each other by name, a secret lay hidden just beneath the floorboards. 

What began as a missing person’s mystery soon unraveled into a chilling tale of betrayal, buried truths and a woman accused of murdering the man she once called husband. 

This is the story of Sharon Nshemereirwe and the love that ended in blood and silence, writes Stuart Yiga

The bed still stands there — its wooden frame sagging under the weight of an unthinkable secret in the bedroom of tin-roofed, mud-and-wattle house located on the slopes of a hill in Kaniga I village, Rwengwe sub-county in Buhweju district. 

Just beneath the bed, in the cold, silent earth, lay the body of a man who once slept beside his wife. A man who trusted her. A man who never imagined his marriage bed would become his grave. 

In this quiet village, where neighbours greet each other by name and children play in the red dust of the roads, a horror has shaken the very soul of the community. 

Nshemereirwe, a 43-year-old mother, a woman who attended the community church, is accused of murdering her husband, Beinomugisha, in the dead of night, wrapping his body in their bedsheets and burying him beneath the floor where she still slept.

How it happened  

It began quietly. When friends and relatives started asking about her husband’s whereabouts. 

Nshemereirwe looked her in-laws in the eye and lied: he had gone to Juba, South Sudan, in search of kyeyo — the migrant labour many Ugandans seek to build a better futures. 
“He got a construction job and is working hard for us,” she would repeat, her voice calm, her story consistent. But something just didn’t feel right. 

“We kept asking and she never changed her story,” a family member recalled. 

“But deep down, we knew something wasn’t right.” All the while, the truth festered just inches below her — a decomposing secret that would soon claw its way to the surface.

Residents carrying the casket that contained the remains of Beinomugisha. (Credit: Stuart Yiga)

Hiddden truth  

As Police investigators later discovered, the reality was far darker. It was a quiet evening. The kind where crickets chirp and the world feels at peace. 

But inside that house, darkness stirred. On the night of Thursday, April 13, investigators believe Nshemereirwe struck her husband on the head with a hammer — a single, brutal blow from his own tool — while he was asleep. 

Did he wake in that split second? Did his eyes flash with recognition before the world went black? We may never know. What we know is that it was a quiet act of violence that would forever shatter the illusion of a peaceful home. 

The couple, who had solemnised their vows in 2015 at Mushanga parish in Kabwohe-Sheema district, had started their married life with hope. After relocating to Kaniga I village, they were thought to be building a modest life together. 

What led to such a tragic ending remains a question that investigators — and the community — are struggling to answer. After the alleged murder, in a gruesome act of concealment, Nshemereirwe is said to have wrapped her husband’s body in bed sheets, a blanket and a tarpaulin. 

She is believed to have dug a shallow grave under their bedroom floor. The hole where he was buried was covered with more tarpaulin.

The dark moment 

Before Nshemereirwe reportedly buried her secret, it is alleged that she sent away the one witness who might have stopped her — her 13-year-old son, Silver Beinomugisha. 
She sent him off to school and told him to stay at the family’s small roadside shop afterward. 

“On that day, mummy just said I shouldn’t come home straight from school,” Silver told the Police. He had no idea his mother was trying to protect him — from witnessing a horror that no child should ever carry. It was guilt — or perhaps loneliness — that eventually undid the silence. 

In a confession to the Police, Nshemereirwe reportedly admitted to the crime. “I thought I could keep it to myself forever,” she told investigators. 

“But I broke down and told one of my siblings. I didn’t think they would tell.” After that, it didn’t take long. The Police came. The truth surfaced. 

And a village’s silence gave way to shock. Since the night of the murder, Nshemereirwe had reportedly locked the bedroom and begun sleeping in the sitting room. 

Alone. Just metres away from the truth buried under wood, soil and memory. It has also been revealed that five individuals were living in the home at the time: a two-week-old baby, Silver, a nine-year-old daughter with a mental disability, the deceased husband and Nshemereirwe.

Beinomugisha and Nshemereirwe during their wedding.

Betrayal  

As Police continue to peel back the layers of this haunting case, more disturbing twists have emerged — among them, the presence of a mysterious woman at the heart of the crime scene. 

When investigators arrived Nshemereirwe’s home, they found 33-year-old Caroline Kansiime, an unfamiliar face quietly occupying space in a home already steeped in tragedy. 

Suspicions flared immediately. Could she have played a role in the murder? Under questioning, the prime suspect, Nshemereirwe, claimed Kansiime was simply there as a helping hand — a maid she had recently brought in to assist with household chores, including caring for a newborn baby. 

She referred to the infant as her “grandson’s daughter,” a cryptic detail that would soon raise more questions than it answered. But Kansiime quickly distanced herself from that narrative. 

“I wasn’t a maid. I was just visiting Nshemereirwe as a friend,” she told the Police, visibly shaken. She explained that the two had met through Nshemereirwe’s sister, Joy, while working together on crochet designs in Komamboga, a Kampala suburb. 

“When I arrived, I found Nshemereirwe breastfeeding a three-week-old baby girl. She told me the child belonged to one of her children, but she never specified which one,” Kansiime recalled. 

She spoke from her home village of Ishanje in Ntungamo district, her voice tinged with confusion and unease. And then came the baby’s story — one that tore open new wounds for the bereaved family. 

At the funeral, Federiko Mubangizi, a relative of the deceased, stepped forward to deliver a eulogy, heavy with revelation and betrayal. “We have strong reasons to believe that the baby is Nshemereirwe’s,” he said, his voice quivering with a mix of sorrow and rage. 

“She conceived it while our brother was away working. She wore oversized dresses to hide the pregnancy. Then one day she left for her home in Sheema district and returned with a newborn — claiming it had been abandoned by one of her in-laws,” Mubangizi paused, then added quietly: “But she bears a scar on her stomach. 

It’s clear. She is the baby’s mother.” This wasn’t just a scandal. It was a storm tearing through the soul of a family already devastated. According to Michael Tindyebwa, the local village chairperson, the late Beinomugisha had long harboured doubts about the baby’s paternity. “He was a troubled man,” Tindyebwa recalled. 

“There were many arguments between them, and the baby’s true father was a source of constant strife.” 

The couple had reportedly fought over finances, too. In one instance, the deceased proposed selling a portion of his land, citing mounting debts — yet he had not even managed to clear his children’s school fees. 

To the outside world, theirs may have seemed like the usual struggles of rural family life. But inside that home, something darker had been brewing — a storm of secrets, mistrust and quiet desperation that would end with one man in a hidden grave and a woman sitting in a Police cell, her silence no longer protecting her.

Questions  

As the grim reality of Beinomugisha’s death settled over the village, more unsettling threads began to emerge — among them, questions surrounding his land. 

Frank Mukama, the LC3 chairperson for the area, was among the first to voice his suspicions. Upon hearing the tragic news, he immediately urged the Police to take a deeper look at Nshemereirwe and to treat her as more than just a grieving spouse. 

Mukama also turned to Tindyebwa, pressing him for clarity on whispers that the deceased had sold off part of his land shortly before his death.

In a hesitant response, Tindyebwa admitted: “Yes, it is true. He sold some land but I can’t confirm who the buyer was.” 

That explanation didn’t sit well with Mukama. His tone sharpened as he responded: “You say you signed the transaction documents, yet you cannot tell us who bought the land? What were the boundaries? How much was paid? This is not just carelessness — it raises serious concerns.” 

A relative showing the point where Beinomugisha’s body was exhumed from inside his bedroom. (Credit: Stuart Yiga)

With tensions already high, Mukama issued a strong warning to the community: no one was to encroach on the late Beinomugisha’s land. “He left behind children,” Mukama said firmly. 

“That land is their future. It must be protected.” He also called on the Police to take custody of the controversial baby at the centre of the paternity dispute and to hand her over to the mother, now in custody. 

The man whose life ended so cruelly beneath the very bed he once shared with his wife was not just a name on a Police file, a hardworking builder and a man who had carved out a life for his family with calloused hands and quiet dedication. 

Beinomugisha leaves behind a large and blended family: Simon Peter Ndyamuhaki (19), Monique Ahumuza (17), Cosma Nasasira (15), Silver (13), Aurelia Natuhwera (9), Charles Namanya (27), Patricia Nabasa (22) and Bruno Natumanya (20). 

His path through life was shaped by three significant relationships. His first union was with Scovia Kyalisiime, who bore him Charles Namanya. He later fathered Bruno and Patricia with Molly Balekye. 

Finally, his most recent marriage — now at the heart of a tragic mystery — was with Nshemereirwe, with whom he had six children. 

Sadly, one of them, Anastazia Twinomugisha, passed away at the tender age of nine. 

According to his family, Beinomugisha was both a builder and a businessman — a man who worked with his hands and gave back to his community. 

“At the time of his murder, he was laying tiles at our church — Nyakakiri Catholic Church,” a resident shared mournfully. 

“He was helping prepare God’s house for Easter. But his own resurrection was stolen from him.”

Police's take 

Greater Bushenyi regional Police spokesperson Martial Tumusiime told  New Vision that after obtaining a court order, the deceased's body was exhumed on April 31. 

A pathologist conducted a post-mortem before the body was handed over to the family for burial. 

This tragedy is not an isolated one. According to the recently released 2024 Police Crime Report, domestic violence continues to claim lives across Uganda. 

In 2024 alone, 183 murders linked to domestic violence were reported — down from 242 cases in 2023, marking a 24% decrease. Of these, 104 cases have been forwarded to court, 77 are still under active investigation, and 2 were not pursued further. 

The report paints a grim picture: 183 people lost their lives due to aggravated domestic violence—82 were adult men, 75 were adult women, 16 were male juveniles, and 10 were female juveniles. 

More broadly, the country witnessed a 2% increase in murder cases overall, driven by alarming rises in murders committed through assault (19%), strangulation (15%), hacking (18%), and stabbing (2%). 

Behind these statistics lie real lives — like Beinomugisha’s — a man remembered not just for how he died, but for the life he lived and the children who carry his legacy forward. Today, Kaniga I village is cloaked in sorrow. 

A home that once held love now stands as a grim crime scene. A bed that once cradled dreams now hides a nightmare. And a woman who once swore vows of devotion now faces the consequences of a love turned deadly. 

As the investigation continues, one question haunts everyone: If indeed, it is true Nshemereirwe killed her husband, what darkness could drive a wife to bury her husband beneath their own bed? The answer, perhaps, is too painful to bear.