Thursday October 31, 2024
A TikTok user navigates the live stream section of the app, where virtual gifts and clan battles have become a cultural phenomenon among the Somali diaspora, turning digital interactions into competitive displays of clan pride.
Mogadishu (HOL) — Zara, not her real name, sat in her modest U.S. apartment, eyes fixed on the numbers in disbelief. Over $7,000 drained from her account, money she had painstakingly saved for college, now gone—siphoned into TikTok’s live clan battles. Known as “The Great Clan Game,” these virtual showdowns have intrigued the Somali diaspora and evolved into a cautionary tale of digital threats and financial disillusionment.
The game itself is deceptively simple: influencers go live on TikTok, representing their clans, with viewers sending digital gifts like the “TikTok Universe,” valued at over $500, to bolster their favourite participant’s chances. Victory hinges on receiving the most gifts within a five-minute round, a fleeting moment of triumph that comes at a steep price.
Sometimes, these matches are promoted months in advance, generating excitement and anticipation. Influencers, often based in the U.S. and Europe, join these live sessions early, hyping up their audiences and fueling the competitive atmosphere.
What started as a spirited defense of her heritage spiraled into darker territory. Zara initially joined these battles to defend her clan’s honour. “It was exciting,” she reflected, “and I always felt victorious.” But her excitement came at a price. She spent over $7,000—money earmarked for her college tuition.
“If my parents found out I spent so much on TikTok, they’d be heartbroken,” Zara admitted. “They wouldn’t be happy, but in some ways, it’s a form of adapting.” Zara often questioned why she gave her hard-earned money to influencers who barely acknowledged their supporters.
The clan battles are beyond playful displays of pride but often descend into aggressive posturing fueled by memories of Somalia’s turbulent past. Clan identity, embedded in the social fabric for generations, became a battlefield during the 1991 civil war after the fall of Siad Barre’s regime—a conflict whose echoes still reverberate today.
The deeper she ventured, the more she discovered the darker side of this world. Evidence surfaced of one U.S.-based influencer, prominent in the Somali TikTok community, harassing female counterparts, including Zara, and threatening to release altered, compromising photos of them. The threat, made during a heated exchange, kept her awake, dreading what her family would think if they saw it. The influencer, known by the pseudonym Hussein Kibray, boasts more than 200,000 followers and regularly participates in these games. Reporting the incident to TikTok led to silence; it wasn’t until the story caught media attention that the platform banned the influencer’s accounts for policy violations involving harassment.
The Lion, highlighted here among various TikTok digital gifts, is a popular choice among supporters, valued at 29,999 coins (approximately $400). Such gifts fuel the intense competitions known as ‘The Great Clan Game,’ where influencers vie for dominance and cultural recognition.
“It’s ironic,” said Mustafa Ahmed, a security analyst specializing in the Horn of Africa. “People who left their homeland to escape conflict now find themselves perpetuating the same tensions online.”
The pull of these battles reaches far beyond TikTok. In Mogadishu’s crowded tea shops, conversations about who triumphed the previous night have become commonplace, even among politicians and community elders. “Sometimes, you’ll hear them joking about their clan’s victory,” said Bilal Bulshaawi, a popular Somali influencer with nearly two million followers known for his thought-provoking content. “It’s not something to joke about.”
Bulshaawi joined the early games for visibility but watched as the stakes rose. “It’s really tragic to see such significant amounts spent when Somalia is struggling and seeking aid from the world,” he said. He estimates that prominent influencers could earn tens of thousands from these games.
The allure of TikTok’s gifts—dancing lions, whales leaping from the depths—creates an illusion of prosperity. However, Crystal Abidin, founder of the TikTok Cultures Research Network and professor at Curtin University, pointed out that the reality is more complex. “Supporters may believe all those coins and flashy gifts mean big money flowing directly to influencers,” she said. “But actual figures, the scale, or percentage breakdowns are often unclear.”
It’s clear that for many involved in the Great Clan Game, the emotions and rivalries are real. These highly anticipated battles drive intense engagement—but Zara understands why some “gift-givers” might want to step away.