‘Why I spent my university fees on the Big Tribal Game’

Scrolling through Zara’s transactions shows she has spent thousands of dollars on TikTok.

Zara, not her real name, is in her 20s, lives in the US and has Somali roots. She became obsessed with the platform’s live battle feature – which sees two influencers verbally spar and sometimes mock each other as they solicit money from their followers to win the bout.

She would later discover there is a much darker side to these games and has shared her story with BBC World Service.

The battles are popular with TikTok users across the world but the premise of the Somali game is different because the influencers on either side often represent a Somali clan and sometimes trade insults that can descend into vitriol.

It is known as the Big Tribal Game and tens of thousands of people regularly tune in as the influencers play rap music that extolls the virtue of their clan, with lyrics that praise the bravery and beauty of their people.

An event we watched on a Saturday night in October was a typical example: there were two influencers on a split screen. About 50,000 people were watching with us.

Doing “battle” largely means encouraging viewers to give the players more gifts, which they need to win each five-minute round.

The winner is the influencer that has received the most gifts – and the loser is then expected to congratulate their opponent by admitting their clan is more powerful on the night.

Sometimes the events have been advertised online for several months in advance.

The influencers, often based in the US and Europe, go live before the game starts, hyping up the crowd.

At kick-off, sometimes the debates continues, but the in-game chatter can be fairly mundane. The action is between the people donating, trying to outspend each other.

There is a whole new language, a digital currency and many obscure rules that are part of the gameplay, adding a surreal quality to the events.

We saw some of the highest value items being gifted, like the “TikTok universe”, which is worth more than $500 (£385) and equates to almost 50,000 TikTok coins. It prompts an animation of people dancing to a catchy song.

Slightly cheaper at $400 (£308) and a fan favourite is the lion, which roars loudly when it runs on the screen. Or there is the gentler whale swimming out of an underwater tunnel.

Some gifts apply filters to the influencer’s face like the cowboy hat and moustache, a red beret or seasonal pumpkin head.

Zara says she started playing because she wanted to defend the pride of her clan.

It was “exciting” and “my side always won”, she recalls.

But Zara spent more than $7,000, meant to pay for her university fees, on the 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 why she gave away hard-earned cash to influencers who very rarely showed any gratitude.

But as she was pulled deeper into this world, she experienced something much more sinister.

We have seen evidence that a US-based male influencer has been insulting female TikTokers and making threats against them – threatening to post sexualised images of them.

Zara says it happens a lot: “They find who you are, they grab your family photos, your picture, and they say, ‘I’m gonna expose you.'”

She says the US-based male influencer did this to her and she was so scared and worried her family would see a manipulated picture that he threatened to share, she could not 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 says they did not act.

The influencer goes by the name Hussein Kibray online and has more than 200,000 followers. He frequently takes part in the games.

Zara believes other women have been threatened in this way but we have not seen images Photoshopped of her – or other women – shared by him in the public domain.

We asked him about his behaviour but he did not respond to our message.

After the BBC contacted TikTok about Kibray’s accounts, the social media platform replied to say it had now banned them for violating its policies on adult sexual and physical abuse.

In a statement a TikTok spokesperson said: “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 feed on confrontation and sometimes at the very least the appearance of aggression – whether staged or authentic. The matches can get heated when the influencers debate the strengths of different clans.

Clan identity is deeply ingrained in Somali society and politics, but it can be a sensitive topic. Clans fought against each other in the Somali civil war that started after the overthrow of long-time ruler Siad Barre in 1991 and the worst of the fighting continued until 2001.

Sometimes the influencers revisit the civil war – who won, what happened – and insult their ancestors and even brag about having killed rivals.

Many people are worried the games are also contributing to a toxic online environment. TikTok told us that live content must abide by their community guidelines, which apply across the platform.

Away from the arena of the Big Tribal Game, there are serious concerns about the level of clannism and hateful speech across social media platforms spread by influential Somali accounts, often based abroad.

Moustafa Ahmad, a security researcher with a focus on the Horn of Africa, says there is a sort of irony in that.

“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.

And the Big Tribal Game is proving popular within Somalia – discussed at many tea stalls in capital, Mogadishu, and in 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,” says influencer Bilaal Bulshawi who has almost two million followers and is known for his fun videos and online challenges.

Based in Somalia, unlike many of those who do TikTok battles, he says he took part in a game when they started to become a trend but it was not a clan-based match planned in advance.

He has been watching the spending on these events go up and up and suggests this money could be used to help the country instead.

“It’s really unfortunate, spending that much money, knowing Somalia is suffering and begging the world for help,” he says.

If you do some basic calculations it might look like the influencers are pocketing thousands of dollars during the most high-profile games.

However, the reality is probably less impressive, says Crystal Abidin, the founder of the TikTok Cultures Research network and a professor of internet studies at Curtin University in Australia.

She has not studied the Somali “battles” but says influencers often create the illusion of vast 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 says from her research elsewhere there are unseen costs: the platform takes a cut, sometimes there are people who manage the creators, sometimes there is seed money to create the impression the giving is organic.

We know that for many involved in the Big Tribal Game, the sentiment and interest are real.

These events are anticipated for months and they are driving high engagement – but Zara understands why some “gifters” would be desperate for an exit.