A series of viral street videos involving a foreign national (referred to as “The Russian Guy”) and young Kenyan women has sparked debate about dignity, consent and exploitation. While adults argue online, teenagers are watching and absorbing lessons, whether we intend them to or not.
However, according to Prof Rebecca Wambua, an educationist and author of Parenting Guidebook, the deeper issue is not one individual, but culture.
“Parents are raising children in what I call ‘camera culture’, the normalisation of recording, sharing and monetising everyday human interaction,” she says. This, she adds, changes everything in the parenting space.
“In many African cultures, parents, communities, and society taught children not to talk to strangers, but now we must teach them not to perform for them,” says 56-year-old Ambrose Kilonzo, a community elder from Kitui
“If someone famous asked me a funny question on the street, I’d answer, probably before thinking about consequences in that moment,” says 17-year-old Kevin from Nairobi.
“That sentence is telling – it is a likely scenario before the person approached gets to think,” says Catherine Mugendi, a counsellor and family coach.
Paul Rwigi, a psychologist, explains why: “The adolescent brain is wired for reward and belonging, and when a camera is present, especially when the modern invisible lens is used, the desire to appear agreeable or entertaining can override caution”.
He says this does not make young people foolish; rather, it makes them neurologically predictable. He says while we critique what we see online, many young people are simply responding to an environment that rewards visibility.
In Ngong, Kajiado, 15-year-old Faith offers another perspective: “Sometimes you agree to a stranger’s request with a smile because you don’t want to look rude, not because you’re comfortable.”
This, Prof Wambua explains, is because consent in camera culture is not always loud, but is often polite, uncertain and uninformed.
Leon Kibandi, a digital media expert, warns that permanence is the part most young people underestimate.
“The biggest myth is that deleting a video deletes its impact, but once something is uploaded, it can be archived, downloaded or manipulated. Digital permanence is the new reality,” says the digital expert.
Reputation has no borders
He says there is more. “Virality is a business model, and someone profits from the views, and it’s not always the person on camera.”
That shifts the conversation from entertainment to economics. Who benefits? Who controls the narrative, and who edits the context?
Peter Odhiambo, a father to three teenage girls, says the “Russian Guy” controversy forced an uncomfortable but necessary discussion with his daughters.
“We warn our daughters about strangers in cars, but in most cases, we never warn them about strangers with recording gadgets and lenses, especially those leading them into uncomfortable activities,” he reflects.
Teacher Halima Abdullahi and her husband, Juma Abdullahi, parents to an 11-year-old girl and 14 and 17-year-old boys echoes the concern. “In small towns, reputation travels fast, but in Online, it travels faster, and our children don’t always understand that the internet has no borders,” says Juma.
Leon explains that camera culture collapses geographically. “A clip filmed in one neighbourhood can become international commentary within hours, because once it is shared, it rarely returns quietly,” he says.
Prof Wambua believes the solution must extend beyond individual homes.
“Digital literacy must now be treated as a core life skill, because our children are navigating public spaces without understanding the architecture of those spaces. As educators and parents, we must teach them not just how to consume content, but how to assess risk, power and permanence,” he says.
She adds something even more profound: “When something goes viral, it becomes curriculum. The question is, are we guiding the lesson, or leaving social media to do the teaching?” That is the real challenge, because, she says, if we do not interpret events for our children, algorithms will.
Anne Mwikali, mother to two preteen children, admits the controversy made her reflect on her own habits: “Sometimes I wonder if we parents are also guilty. We record everything – birthdays, tantrums, even report cards. What message are we sending?”
Mugendi explains an instance when a 14-year-old complained during a session that she was uncomfortable with her mum posting her photos and videos online.
“Perhaps digital boundaries must begin with parents because if they model constant documentation, they cannot fault their children for seeing life as content,” she argues.
Risa Wanjiru, counsellor and family coach, urges calm rather than panic. “Many parents react with anger during viral controversies, but panic shuts down communication. What our children need in those moments is emotional safety, a space where they can process what they’re seeing without shame,” she says.
She explains that if a child has fears of being judged at home, they will seek validation online.
Faith leaders are also observing the shift. A Nairobi pastor recently told his congregation, “The lens has become the new marketplace, and wisdom in this era includes digital wisdom.”
A Meru imam framed it differently: “Dignity is part of faith, and if we teach our children self-worth grounded in identity, they will not be easily swayed by temporary attention.”
Strip away religion, explains Risa, and the core message remains: Self-worth must outpace spectacle.