Zara, a woman of Somali descent living in the US, shares the alarming extent of her financial expenditure on TikTok live battles, where influencers engage in clan-based competitions while sometimes resorting to threats and insults. As she reflects on her addiction and the sinister behavior of certain influencers, serious concerns around online bullying and the ramifications of such activities within the Somali community have emerged.
The Perils of TikTok: One Woman's Journey into Somali Influencer Battles

The Perils of TikTok: One Woman's Journey into Somali Influencer Battles
Zara, a young Somali American, reveals her spiraling obsession with TikTok battles—spending thousands of dollars meant for university fees, only to uncover a darker side to the competitive world of influence and clan rivalry.
Zara, an anonymous TikTok user in her twenties with Somali roots living in the U.S., has spent over $7,000 on TikTok's live battle feature—a platform that allows influencers to mock and compete by soliciting money from followers. What started as a way to cheer on her clan transformed into an alarming addiction that jeopardized her university funding. She confided in BBC World Service, revealing not just her thrill for the game but also the troubling encounters she had with one influencer who targeted her with threats of sharing manipulated images.
The TikTok battles, popularly known as the Big Tribal Game, have gained popularity among many users globally, especially within the Somali community, where clan identity is pivotal. Each game typically sees two influencers representing rival clans, engaging in banter and fierce competition to earn virtual gifts, which convert into real money. These events often attract upwards of 50,000 live viewers who financially support their chosen influencer.
Beyond the comedic rivalry, Zara highlighted a darker aspect—intimidation and abuse by influencers. She recounted receiving threats from a male influencer, Hussein Kibray, who has a profound following of over 200,000 users. The influencer allegedly attempted to expose Zara with doctored images, which sent her into a spiral of fear and anxiety for her family’s reputation. Although she filed a complaint, TikTok only acted after being prompted by media scrutiny, resulting in Kibray's ban for violating sexual abuse policies.
Critics, including security researchers, have raised alarms about the growing clannism and harmful rhetoric proliferating on social media platforms. The phenomenon highlighted the irony of members of a diaspora—I.e., Somali men and women—who fled violence now replicating that environment online, intensifying societal divisions.
The influencer battle culture not only holds ramifications for individual participants but permeates broader Somali society discussions. Influencers like Bilaal Bulshawi, who also claims to be successful on the platform, experience firsthand the intertwining of clan pride, competitive spirit, and financial expenditure, pondering why so much money is funneled into what some perceive as frivolous entertainment while Somalia struggles for resources.
Prof. Crystal Abidin, an academic specializing in social media trends, suggested that while these battles seem lucrative, creators often receive only a fraction of the donations due to platform cuts and management fees. Understanding the illusion of wealth behind influencer glamour has been essential for many users like Zara, who seek a way out of the addictive clutches of TikTok.
As TikTok and similar platforms continue evolving, balancing community engagement with the need for safety and mental health concerns will remain crucial, underscoring the challenges posed by the intersection of social media and traditional clan identities.