For Faith Karori, storytelling has always been second nature. As a writer and digital creative, she has spent years observing how online spaces shape conversations in Kenya. But unlike many of her peers, she has chosen to participate from the sidelines.
“I live on social media,” she admits with a laugh, “but I don’t post much any more.”
Her decision was not random. In her university years, Faith was an active poster—sharing her thoughts, photos, and experiences freely. But that openness came at a cost. Strangers left hurtful comments, and some dug up years-old posts only to add insults. What began as an outlet for expression soon became a source of anxiety.
“I used to love posting,” she recalls, “but I realized that people you don’t know can still come at you. Even a harmless, seven-year-old post would get a nasty comment. I just decided it wasn’t worth it.”
Today, Faith describes herself as a “passive user” scrolling, observing, but rarely putting herself out there. Most of her accounts are private. “By the time you see what I share,” she says, “it’s because I’ve chosen to let you in.”
Her cautiousness reflects the toxic potential of technology-facilitated gender-based violence. Faith has never been personally targeted in the extreme ways others have, but she has witnessed plenty—from AI-manipulated images to coordinated online harassment.
“One of the posts that really stuck with me,” she explains, “was when someone’s picture was taken and altered using AI to strip off their clothes. It shook me, because it could be anyone. It could be me. That possibility is terrifying.”
Still, Faith hasn’t abandoned online spaces entirely. Instead, she has adapted. She manages her digital presence carefully, curating who can access her content and blocking negativity quickly. “The peace that comes with that is unmatched,” she says. “It’s liberating to decide who can and cannot interact with me.”
But this cautious approach hasn’t been without consequences. As a writer, Faith has lost professional opportunities.
“When I used to post, I got more gigs,” she admits. “People could see my work and engage with it. Now, I overthink every post. Sometimes I write something, but I just delete it. The fear of being misunderstood or attacked is real.”
To cope, Faith has created an alter ego of sorts—an online persona that only shares about music. “It’s easier that way,” she says. “People can engage with the music I love, without turning it into a personal attack.”
The turning point for Faith came when she attended training on technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV). For her, the most empowering lesson was language.
“Before, I could sense something was wrong online, but I didn’t have the words for it,” she says. “Now I know what doxxing is, what revenge porn is, what digital stalking looks like. Naming these harms makes them real, and it gives us the power to confront them.”
These trainings also introduced her to reporting mechanisms and laws protecting digital users. “It’s not just about strong passwords,” she notes. “It’s about knowing you can report abuse, that there are laws you can rely on. That knowledge takes away some of the fear.”
Despite the risks, Faith insists that people should not allow themselves to be silenced. “Harassers want you to stay quiet,” she says firmly. “They want to shame you into disappearing. But there are people and communities ready to stand with you, to give you tools and support. You don’t have to live in fear.”
For Faith, healing doesn’t mean a perfect internet, free of cruelty. It means a culture shift where disagreement doesn’t have to turn into dehumanisation, and where freedom of expression is exercised with dignity.
“You can oppose someone’s opinion without attacking who they are,” she reflects. “That’s the internet I want to be part of.”