The digital age was supposed to connect us, but instead, it has become a theatre for our deepest vulnerabilities. Over the past two years, a series of viral leaks has exposed a disturbing trend of weaponization of private intimacy. Whether through the use of AI-generated deepfakes or secretly recorded “escapades”. But it has been our collective response to these scandals that has revealed a glaring inconsistency in how we view privacy, accountability, and gender.
Consent Is Not a Broadcast License
In 2024, thousands of explicit videos allegedly involving Baltasar Ebang Engonga, a high-ranking official from Equatorial Guinea, flooded social media.
At first, many questioned their authenticity. In an era of deepfakes, clout-chasing, and digital manipulation, skepticism was reasonable.
But as more footage surfaced, it became clear these were not artificial fabrications. Reports indicated that the recordings were made during consensual encounters yet later leaked without authorization.
Investigations focused on possible misuse of state property. What received far less attention was the massive breach of privacy inflicted on the women involved.
Even if the acts were consensual, the recording and subsequent distribution of these moments, often without the explicit consent of all parties for public viewing, constituted a massive violation.
Also Read: Kenya Swings into Action After Russian Man Leaked Intimate Videos with Local Women
We need to stop blurring the lines. Consenting to a moment is not consenting to a recording, and consenting to a recording is not an invite to broadcast it.
Once private material is shared without permission, a crime has been committed and dignity has been stripped away, it doesn’t matter who is in the frame. We often get distracted by “why” people record themselves, but that’s a moral side-track.
The law doesn’t stop working just because someone showed poor judgment. One’s right to privacy isn’t a reward for being perfect; it’s a fundamental right that belongs to everyone, regardless of their choices.
The “Russian” Predator and the Colorist Debate
In early 2025, a Russian national named Vladislav Aleksandrovich Liulkov aka Yaytseslav allegedly boasted of recording over 1,000 sexual encounters across Ghana and Kenya and uploading them to private forums.
In Kenya, this sparked a firestorm. It pitted men against women in a toxic online debate. Critics, including public figures like Hon. Millie Odhiambo and Susan Owiyo, urged women to exercise better judgment. Government Spokesperson Isaac Mwaura and the DCI confirmed investigations, but the discourse quickly devolved into “victim-blaming,” with some questioning if Kenyan women suffer from a “colorist” inferiority complex that makes them easy targets for foreign predators.
While individual responsibility is important, we must not let it overshadow the criminal nature of these acts. When a man or woman secretly records a woman, he is not a “conqueror”, he is a perpetrator.
Privacy and Data Protection Laws
Kenya’s legal framework is very clear on privacy and data protection of citizens.
Article 31 of the Constitution guarantees the right to privacy, including protection from unnecessary revelation of private affairs.
The Data Protection Act (2019) and the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act (2018) criminalize the unauthorized distribution of intimate material and the misuse of personal data. Non-consensual dissemination of explicit content carries severe penalties, including fines and imprisonment.
Even if a person “willingly engaged” in the act, they did not willingly agree to be recorded or broadcast to the world.
Also Read: Baltasar Engonga: Family, Career and Age of Man Linked in 400 Sex Tapes
Consent for an act is not consent for a broadcast. Yet enforcement appears selective, not in statute, but in social response.
The Gender Gap in National Outrage
The most uncomfortable truth, however, lies in our selective empathy. In January 2026, when 23-year-old Marion Naipei was recorded while intoxicated and her video circulated online, the nation responded swiftly.
Government officials issued statements. Religious leaders spoke out. Civil society mobilized. The message was unified: This is wrong. And it was.
But just weeks later, when a man known online as Mkenya Daima had his private videos leaked by another user, the response was met with “radio silence.”
There was no national condemnation, No ministerial statements statements, No public solidarity campaigns. and no outcry for justice. This is not an argument against supporting female victims but an argument against selective protection.
If privacy is a constitutional right, it belongs to everyone. If digital dignity matters, it cannot depend on gender, popularity, or political convenience.
When society rallies for one victim but shrugs at another, we are not defending justice, we are performing it.
A Call for Universal Accountability
We need a culture rooted in universal accountability.
A culture where victims must be able to report violations without fear of ridicule, whether it is male or female.
A culture where perpetrators must face consequences regardless of nationality, gender, or public sympathy.
A culture where citizens realize that sharing a leaked video makes them an accomplice to a crime.
We must know that the law is meant to be blind and non-selective even if our outrage is selective.
Whether it is a diplomat in Malabo, a foreign national in Nairobi, or a local citizen targeted online, the principle must remain constant.
That unauthorized distribution of intimate content is a violation of dignity and a breach of the law.
Until we apply our legal standards with equal vigour, without gender filters, and political calculation, our talk of “digital dignity” will remain hollow.
Justice is not measured by who trends but by consistency. And until that consistency exists, equality before the law will remain an aspiration, not a reality.
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