How to Tell a Lie in Africa

Hey, Sheriff here 👋 

If you’re African, you’ve probably gotten a bizarre WhatsApp broadcast from your mom before.

Whether it’s about the newest wave of scammers in town or how your favourite drink causes brain damage.

Many of these are untrue. But it’s part of a bigger, more sinister trend in Africa: disinformation.

In this week’s edition, we trace the history of viral lies in Africa and tech’s part in stopping it.

But first, a short commercial break…

Now, on to this week’s story….

In 2020, a Nigerian pastor told his 13 million followers that the COVID-19 vaccine was Satan’s barcode.

Around the same time, he also claimed 5G networks were part of a demonic plot for the Antichrist.

That pastor was Chris Oyakhilome, founder of Christ Embassy.

His sermons spread via his TV network (called Loveworld TV), Facebook, and—most of all—WhatsApp.

And guess what? People bought his story, and some even spread the same news to others.

The result? 

A government probe into 5G in Nigeria, a £125,000 fine from UK regulators (where his TV network was based), and an anti-vaccine panic that went viral in Nigeria.

This incident, among others, made one thing clear: 

The same tools that connect us to the world can just as easily mislead us.

Because in many ways, the internet is…

The perfect place to tell a lie

Africa leads the world in time spent on social media.

And over 90% of internet users in Nigeria and South Africa are on WhatsApp.

In many countries, mobile users don’t even buy full data plans.

They buy “social bundles”—cheap plans that only work for WhatsApp, Facebook, and TikTok.

These bundles create closed-loop ecosystems, where the internet is not browsed.

Instead, it’s scrolled, watched, and forwarded.

Messages flow through tight-knit circles: church groups, alumni chats, diaspora forums, and family group chats.

And people are more likely to believe it, too.

So when disinformation campaigns happen, it’s not just because of ignorance.

It’s because many Africans get their news and information from sources where fact-checking is an afterthought.

But believing a lie is one thing. Holding on to it strongly enough to take action is another. 

One could ask why the 5G scare campaign worked.

Or why people genuinely thought vaccines were the mark of the beast.

Or you can ask a more general question.

Why do lies stick?

In Africa, most governments have spent years eroding public trust, with lies, corruption and bad leadership.

And because most people need a source of truth and moral authority, they turn to other places, like religious leaders, family members, and close friends.

And these people become easier vectors for disinformation.

You’re more likely to believe someone you have an emotional connection to.

The government might lie to you, but your mom or pastor “obviously” won’t.

So when someone like Pastor Oyakhilome, who has 13 million members, says vaccines are the “mark of the beast”, people listen.

And then, they hit forward.

The other reason is that humans are mostly driven by a good story, not facts.

So when a sensational message gets through the airwaves, people are more likely to believe than to ask common-sense questions.

The more sensational the story, the more powerful it is.

It’s why in Africa, disinformation has actively been used to win elections, suppress dissent, and sway public opinion.

• In Nigeria’s 2023 elections, it was used to stoke tribal hatred against a presidential candidate.

• In Uganda, it was used to stifle the campaign of the popular opposition during the 2021 elections. 

• And in Ethiopia, it fueled tensions and violence during the Tigray war 

And these campaigns aren’t slowing down.

Between 2022 and 2024, the number of documented disinformation campaigns in Africa quadrupled.

And social platforms like Twitter, Facebook, and WhatsApp—some of Africa’s most popular apps—are like highways for these lies.

The Africa Centre for Strategic Studies found that in 2023 alone, about 189 disinformation campaigns happened on these platforms. 

Once a lie takes off on WhatsApp, it’s hard to stop.

Closed groups don’t allow replies from outsiders.

Retweet buttons don’t ask you for evidence.

Algorithms exist to power virality, not throttle it. And debunks rarely go viral.

Over time, these disinformation campaigns will get harder to fight, because...

Seeing is believing

If a doctored screenshot can change a mind, imagine what a fake video can do.

Today, thanks to AI, anyone can create:

• Deepfake videos of politicians saying things they never said.
  

• Fake voice notes that sound like you, your pastor, your president, or your mom.
  

• Photorealistic memes of world leaders endorsing each other in surreal ways or making statements they never said.

The barrier to entry? Just a laptop, internet access and some AI tools.

And if text alone can mislead people, what happens when they see a deepfake?

Because in a world of low digital literacy, seeing is believing.

And belief has consequences.

Like a painfully high body count

Across the world, disinformation doesn’t just spread, it kills.

In the early 2000s, a group of clerics in Northern Nigeria claimed that the polio vaccine makes people sterile.

Polio was getting eradicated, but they convinced people to swear off vaccination for their kids.

What followed was a polio resurgence across West Africa. Cases jumped from 202 in 2002 to 1,143 in 2006.

Children who should’ve walked spent their lives in wheelchairs instead.

In South Africa, the 2019 xenophobic riots were fueled by fake Facebook posts.

One viral story in South Africa accused migrants of kidnapping women for ritual killings.

That post was shared over 25,000 times.

The riots that followed left communities shattered, businesses looted, and many immigrants killed.

Research later showed that the graphic videos that started the violence were fake—old footage from other countries and other conflicts.

These lies, however, extracted real, heavy costs. And there’s no telling that it won’t happen again.

But thankfully, there’s pushback.

Moving at the speed of lies

Some fact-checking tools are stopping these viral hoaxes in their tracks.

Like Africa Check and PesaCheck.

During Ebola, they debunked false cures.

During Kenya’s 2022 election, they flagged fake results in real time.

And last year, Africa Check partnered with Meta to create a tipline on WhatsApp. 

Users can forward suspicious messages to it, and they get instant fact-checks.

The cool part, it can detect fake news in different languages—Pidgin, Yoruba, Swahili and even Amharic.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. And it uses the same popular disinformation channels in Africa—WhatsApp and Facebook.

While the internet has done a lot to aid disinformation in Africa, it’s still a net positive in African politics.

It can spread falsehoods, but it can also spark change.

In 2020, the EndSARS protests in Nigeria began on Twitter, generating over 28 million tweets in one weekend, and ending a brutal police unit.

And just last week, Kenyan youths used the internet to stay connected to each other during one of the country’s biggest protests ever.

The same platforms that spread vaccine panic also fuel resistance and reform.

It’s hard to kill the lie without killing the truth.

They travel the same roads, use the same tools, and rely on the same freedoms.

That’s why the fight against misinformation won’t be won by censorship.

It’ll be won by tools, trust, and transparency, so that truth can travel just as fast as a lie—and probably even faster.

How can Africa create a more factual and truthful internet?

Let me know here.

That’s it for this week. See you on Sunday for a breakdown on This Week in African Tech. 

Cheers,

The Tech Safari Team

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