A mysterious figure known only as King Roso on TikTok has roused curiosity on his identity, constantly showering creators with virtual gifts worth tens of thousands of shillings.
His generosity has dazzled fans, but equally fuelled dark whispers of cult ties, money laundering and misfortune.
Roso’s trademark gift, the “lion”, costs 29,999 TikTok coins, equivalent to more than KSh 53,000. To date, he has given away hundreds of them, cementing his status as one of the app’s most extravagant benefactors.
In one jaw-dropping moment, Roso sent 70 lions, valued at over KSh 1.5 million, to popular TikToker Nyako on her birthday.
He also donated more than KSh 850,000 towards the late Brian Chira’s funeral, urging fans to rally together and even build a new home for Chira’s grandmother.
While some hailed him as a digital philanthropist, his meteoric rise soon raised suspicions.
Who is King Roso?
Speculation has swirled that King Roso is actually Omar Ahmed Omar, a man alleged to have once worked for the Prince of Dubai.
Rumours claim he later moved into a luxury villa in the emirate, hosting Kenyan TikTokers who returned not only with gifts but with “secret instructions”.
His former moderator, Shiru Sherry, went further, alleging that Roso was a front for a UK-based cult funnelling millions into Kenya’s TikTok space.
She claimed he was instructed on whom to gift and how, warning that his money came with invisible strings.
@tiktok_tea_time_2025 Who is King Roso!#tiktok_tea_kenya #teambloggerskenya #nyako #kingroso #bloggers_talk?? #tiktokkenya?? ♬ original sound – tiktok_tea_time_2025
Creators who once basked in his generosity later reported a streak of bad fortune, illness, collapsing businesses, depression, even untimely deaths.
Nyako, once Kenya’s top-earning TikToker, claimed Roso’s “gifts” wrecked her life, negatively impacting her health and leaving her homeless in Germany.
“King Roso is a pseudo. No one knows King Roso’s real name or identity apart from me and J Lo,” she said in a livestream.
Faced with growing allegations, King Roso pushed back in one of his final live broadcasts. Speaking in Swahili, he dismissed claims that his wealth was tainted:
“Nime skia kitu ya kuudhi sana ndio maana nimeongea leo… mimi nimekuja na mali yangu na time yangu, ni mimi na Mungu wangu… sija ridhi mali ya mtu, nimejitengezea mwenyewe,” he declared.
But his defence did little to ease doubts. To some, he remained a saviour. To others, he was a curse cloaked in generosity.
With more than 131,000 followers and 413,000 likes, King Roso left a mark few TikTokers can match. Yet behind his virtual gifts lies a trail of unanswered questions, about power, influence, and the unseen costs of sudden wealth.
On his profile photo, he once crowned himself the “King of Kings.” To many Kenyans, however, he will be remembered as a mystery man whose generosity sparked both awe and fear, a man whose gifts came wrapped in fortune, suspicion, and possibly, a curse.