Titi thought she’d found the love of her life. Kunle was charming, attentive, and always a step ahead with the latest tech gadgets. They met at a mutual friend’s wedding, and by the end of the night, Titi was convinced she’d met her soulmate. Kunle was the kind of man who seemed to know exactly what she needed before she said it. He’d text her during her lunch break, reminding her not to skip her jollof. He’d show up unannounced at her favourite café, claiming it was a coincidence. At first, she thought it was sweet. “This is what true love feels like,” she told herself. But what Titi didn’t know was that Kunle had installed stalkware — also called spouseware — on her phone. What she thought was love was really surveillance.
This is no longer a local problem or an isolated story. Spouseware has become a global issue, one that transcends borders and relationships. From London to Lagos, Cape Town to Birmingham, people are falling victim to this insidious technology. Apps designed for “family safety” or “employee monitoring” are being misused as tools of coercion and control. And it’s not just a tech-savvy crowd doing this. You don’t need to be a hacker or an IT expert to spy on someone anymore; a quick download and a few clicks are all it takes to turn someone’s life into an open book.
Kunle installed the app on Titi’s phone when he took it to fix a cracked screen. It only took a few minutes. Once installed, the app disguised itself as a harmless system tool, running invisibly in the background. Kunle now had access to everything: her text messages, her GPS location, her social media chats, even her emails. It wasn’t long before his sweet attentiveness turned into something darker. “Why were you at Mama Sade’s till 9 p.m.?” he’d ask, his tone sharp. Titi hadn’t told him where she was, and when she asked how he knew, he’d brush it off with a joke. But the questions didn’t stop. Soon, they turned into accusations. “You didn’t mention you were meeting a male colleague. Why are you hiding things from me?”
Titi’s world began to shrink. She stopped chatting freely with friends, wary that Kunle might read her messages. She avoided going out after work, knowing he’d question her movements. She felt like she was being watched all the time but couldn’t explain why. The worst part? She thought it was her fault. “Maybe I’m too careless,” she thought. “Maybe Kunle just loves me too much.”
This is the silent damage stalkware inflicts: it chips away at your autonomy, your sense of self, and your ability to trust. Victims like Titi often don’t realise what’s happening until it’s too late. The psychological toll is immense. Anxiety, paranoia, and a constant feeling of being unsafe become the new normal. And even after the stalkware is removed, the scars remain. Relationships, once built on trust, crumble under the weight of constant surveillance.
The rise of stalkware isn’t just a technological issue; it’s a societal one. Apps marketed for “monitoring children” or “tracking lost phones” are often repurposed for abuse, creating a grey area where legality and morality blur. In the UK, using such apps without consent is a breach of the Computer Misuse Act and could also fall under stalking and harassment laws. Yet, enforcement remains tricky. These apps don’t advertise themselves as tools for spying on spouses, but their misuse is rampant, especially in domestic abuse cases.
Globally, the numbers are staggering. Studies show that 1 in 10 adults have experienced some form of digital surveillance through stalkware. Domestic violence organisations report a significant rise in cases where perpetrators use technology to control and monitor victims. The COVID-19 pandemic, which increased reliance on digital communication, only made matters worse. Smartphones, designed to empower and connect us, are now tools of manipulation and control.
Titi eventually discovered the app when a friend noticed her growing anxiety and suggested they check her phone. The stalkware was hidden under an innocuous name like “System Update,” but its permissions revealed its true purpose. The confrontation that followed was explosive. Kunle denied everything at first, then accused her of being “disrespectful” for questioning him. Titi left him shortly after, but the psychological imprint lingered. For months, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Even in new relationships, she found it hard to trust.
The plague of stalkware shows no signs of slowing down. As technology evolves, so too do the tools abusers use to control their victims. But the problem isn’t just the technology — it’s the mindset. Spying on someone isn’t love. Love doesn’t suffocate, control, or invade. It nurtures trust and freedom. If you feel the need to track your partner’s every move, the problem isn’t them — it’s you.
Titi’s story is a cautionary tale, but it’s also a call to action. Governments, tech companies, and individuals all have a role to play in combating the misuse of stalkware. And for anyone who’s ever thought “spying shows you care,” here’s the truth: spy love ain’t true love. It’s just abuse with a digital mask.
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