Student details spending university tuition on Somali TikTok battles

An examination of Zara’s financial records reveals she has disbursed thousands of dollars on TikTok. Zara, whose name has been changed, is in her twenties, resides in the US, and has Somali heritage. She developed an intense preoccupation with the platform’s live battle function, where two influencers engage in verbal sparring and sometimes ridicule each other while soliciting financial contributions from their followers to secure victory in the contest. She would subsequently uncover a considerably more unsettling aspect to these competitions and has recounted her experience to BBC World Service. These battles enjoy widespread popularity among TikTok users globally, but the nature of the Somali version differs because the influencers on opposing sides frequently represent a Somali clan and occasionally exchange insults that can escalate into venomous attacks. This phenomenon is referred to as the Big Tribal Game, and tens of thousands of individuals routinely tune in as influencers play rap music that glorifies their clan, featuring lyrics that commend the courage and attractiveness of their community. A typical instance was an event we observed on a Saturday evening in October: two influencers appeared on a split screen. Approximately 50,000 people were watching alongside us. Engaging in “battle” primarily involves encouraging viewers to provide more gifts to the participants, which are necessary to win each five-minute round. The victor is the influencer who has accumulated the most gifts, and the defeated party is then expected to congratulate their adversary by acknowledging their clan’s superior strength on that particular night. Occasionally, these events have been promoted online for several months in advance. The influencers, often situated in the US and Europe, initiate a live broadcast before the game commences, generating excitement among the audience. At the outset, discussions sometimes persist, but the in-game dialogue can be rather unremarkable. The true competition unfolds among the donors, who strive to outspend one another. A distinct lexicon, a digital currency, and numerous obscure regulations form part of the gameplay, lending an otherworldly quality to these events. We witnessed the gifting of some of the most valuable items, such as the “TikTok universe,” which carries a value exceeding $500 (£385) and is equivalent to nearly 50,000 TikTok coins. This gift triggers an animation of individuals dancing to an engaging melody. Slightly less expensive at $400 (£308) and a particular favourite among fans is the lion, which emits a loud roar when it appears on screen. Alternatively, there is the more tranquil whale, depicted swimming out of an underwater tunnel. Certain gifts apply filters to the influencer’s face, such as a cowboy hat and moustache, a red beret, or a seasonal pumpkin head. Zara states she began participating to uphold her clan’s honour. She recalls it was “exciting” and “my side always won”. However, Zara expended over $7,000, funds designated for her university tuition, on these games. “My parents, if they found out that I spend a lot of money in TikTok, they would be devastated – they would not [be] happy – but somehow it’s kind of like addiction.” She also questions her decision to give away hard-earned money to influencers who rarely expressed any appreciation. Yet, as she became more deeply involved in this environment, she encountered something considerably more sinister. We have encountered evidence indicating that a male influencer based in the US has been insulting female TikTokers and issuing threats against them, specifically threatening to disseminate sexualised images of them. Zara asserts this occurs frequently: “They find who you are, they grab your family photos, your picture, and they say, ‘I’m gonna expose you.'” She recounts that the US-based male influencer subjected her to this, causing her such fear and concern that her family might see a manipulated picture he threatened to share, that she was unable to sleep at night. “Imagine your family see your photos in a naked body. They don’t know it was Photoshopped.” When Zara reported the account to TikTok, she claims they did not take action. The influencer operates under the online alias Hussein Kibray and commands a following of over 200,000. He frequently engages in the games. Zara believes other women have faced similar threats, but we have not observed Photoshopped images of her—or other women—disseminated by him in the public domain. We inquired about his conduct, but he did not respond to our message. After the BBC contacted TikTok regarding Kibray’s accounts, the social media platform responded, stating it had subsequently banned them for violating its policies concerning adult sexual and physical abuse. In a statement, a TikTok spokesperson affirmed: “We prioritise the safety of our community with some of the industry’s firmest streaming requirements, including specific policies for Match content, customisable safety tools for viewers, and only allowing people over 18 to go live or send gifts.” The TikTok live games thrive on confrontation and, at times, at least the semblance of aggression, regardless of whether it is staged or genuine. The matches can intensify when influencers debate the merits of different clans. Clan identity is profoundly embedded in Somali society and political structures, yet it can be a sensitive subject. Clans engaged in conflict during the Somali civil war, which commenced after the overthrow of long-serving leader Siad Barre in 1991, with the most severe fighting persisting until 2001. Occasionally, influencers revisit the civil war—discussing who prevailed and what transpired—and insult their ancestors, even boasting about having killed adversaries. Many individuals express apprehension that these games are also contributing to a detrimental online atmosphere. TikTok informed us that live content must adhere to their community guidelines, which are applicable across the entire platform. Beyond the realm of the Big Tribal Game, significant concerns exist regarding the extent of clannism and hateful rhetoric disseminated across social media platforms by influential Somali accounts, often based overseas. Moustafa Ahmad, a security researcher specializing in the Horn of Africa, observes a certain irony in this situation. “People who are leaving the country and building their lives in the West because of the conflicts, because of the tensions they left behind, are becoming part of [the] cycle that’s perpetuating violence and intercommunal tensions in the region,” he says. Furthermore, the Big Tribal Game is gaining traction within Somalia, being discussed at numerous tea stalls in the capital, Mogadishu, and among higher echelons of society. “Sometimes you will see some politicians and elders talking and joking about how their clan won last night’s game. It’s not something we should joke about,” states influencer Bilaal Bulshawi, who boasts almost two million followers and is renowned for his entertaining videos and online challenges. Based in Somalia, unlike many participants in TikTok battles, he recounts taking part in a game when they initially emerged as a trend, but it was not a pre-planned, clan-based contest. He has observed the escalating expenditure on these events and suggests that this money could instead be utilized to assist the nation. “It’s really unfortunate, spending that much money, knowing Somalia is suffering and begging the world for help,” he says. If one performs basic calculations, it might appear that influencers are accumulating thousands of dollars during the most prominent games. However, the actual financial gains are likely less substantial, according to Crystal Abidin, founder of the TikTok Cultures Research network and a professor of internet studies at Curtin University in Australia. While she has not specifically examined the Somali “battles,” she notes that influencers frequently cultivate the impression of immense wealth. “A lot of followers get the impression that all the coins and the glittery graphics flowing through the screen indicate that there’s a lot of cash flow going straight into the pockets of influencers,” says Prof Abidin. “And really, the exact figure, the volume or the breakdown in percentage is actually quite opaque.” She indicates that her research in other contexts reveals hidden costs: the platform retains a portion, sometimes individuals manage the creators, and occasionally seed money is used to foster the perception that donations are spontaneous. We acknowledge that for many involved in the Big Tribal Game, the emotional investment and interest are genuine. These events are anticipated for months and generate high engagement, but Zara comprehends why some “gifters” would be eager to disengage. 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