When sexual compliance replaces merit

At 22, Nancy (not her real name) is juggling two demanding worlds. By day, she is a nursing student in a local university. By night and in every spare moment in between; she is chasing a dream in Kenya’s fast-growing but fiercely competitive film industry.

 Her Instagram page tells a story of ambition: audition clips, monologues, polished headshots, snippets of performances. To the outside world, she looks like a young woman on the brink of something big.

 But behind the filters and hashtags lies a different reality, one that rarely makes it to the screen. “The acting industry is full of predators,” she says, her tone calm, but deliberate.

 “Instead of recognising and nurturing talent, some are only interested in sexual favours,” she continues. 

Nancy pauses, as if weighing how much to reveal. Then she continues; “I’ve had producers tell me, indirectly at first, that if I ‘cooperate,’ things can move faster. Others are more direct. They tell you the role is yours, but you know what they mean.”

 She has consistently turned them down, but each refusal has been followed by the same outcome: silence. No callbacks, no explanations, and no further opportunities. “You start to feel like you’re the problem,” she admits. “Like maybe you’re not doing enough. But deep down, you know it’s not about talent.”

 Nancy’s experience is not an isolated story whispered in casting corridors. It is part of a broader, deeply entrenched system that is slowly being recognised for what it is: corruption.

 Not the kind sealed with envelopes of cash, but one negotiated through coercion, silence and power.

 For years, corruption in Kenya has been understood largely in financial terms—kickbacks, bribes, and inflated tenders. But sextortion exposes a more insidious and deeply personal form of abuse. In these cases, there are no bank transactions or paper trails, only the misuse of power and authority.

 The term “sextortion” was first coined in 2008 by the International Association of Women Judges to describe the abuse of authority to obtain sexual favours. It is, in simple terms, bribery where sex replaces money.

 Global institutions, including the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, classify sextortion as a form of corruption that intersects with gender-based violence—an abuse that thrives in unequal power dynamics.

 In Kenya, that intersection is becoming increasingly visible.

 From classrooms to courtrooms, hospitals to hiring offices, and from recording studios to government counters, sextortion is quietly shaping who gets access—and who is locked out.

 The creative industry’s open secret

 Within Kenya’s creative economy, sextortion operates like an unspoken rule. In music, it is rarely discussed openly; but almost everyone has heard the stories.

 Young female artistes, especially those trying to break into mainstream radio and television, describe an industry controlled by gatekeepers who hold enormous influence over careers.

 “Getting airplay is not just about your music,” says one upcoming singer who requested anonymity. “Sometimes it depends on who you know—and what you’re willing to do.”

 Behind the scenes, opportunities, such as collaborations, performances and even studio time are sometimes tied to expectations that have nothing to do with talent. Sex becomes the hidden transaction. “It’s never written down,” the singer adds. “But it’s understood.”

 That understanding creates a system where those who refuse are sidelined, while those who comply are fast-tracked—reinforcing a toxic cycle that normalises exploitation.

 Nancy has seen this play out not just in film, but across creative spaces.

 “You hear the stories everywhere,” she says. “It’s not just acting. It’s music, modelling, even content creation.”

 And because the industry thrives on reputation and networks, speaking out is often seen as career suicide.

 A different victim, the same pattern

 While women are disproportionately affected, sextortion is not exclusively a female experience.

 James, now 30, knows this from personal experience.

 Today, he drives a cab through Nairobi’s chaotic streets, navigating traffic and ferrying passengers from one end of the city to the other. But a few years ago, his life looked very different. “I was an accountant at a blue-chip company in Upper Hill,” he says. “I had a stable job. I thought I was building a career.”

 Things began to change when he noticed colleagues receiving promotions and salary increments. “I went to HR to ask what I needed to do to grow,” he recalls.

 What followed took him by surprise. “The head of HR started inviting me for coffee. At first, it felt harmless—like mentorship. But then it became frequent, and more personal.”

 James says he declined the invitations, not initially thinking much of them. However, the work environment soon shifted. “It became uncomfortable. Then hostile,” he says. “You could feel it.”

 Within months, he was declared redundant. Looking back, he now sees what he could not fully articulate at the time. “It wasn’t about my performance,” he says. “There was an expectation. And when I didn’t meet it, I became expendable.”

 

His experience highlights a rarely discussed dimension of sextortion: men, too, can be targets. In both Nancy’s and James’s accounts, a striking pattern emerges: opportunity becomes conditional, merit takes a back seat, compliance is rewarded, and resistance is often met with punishment.

 The numbers behind the silence

 Recent findings from Kenya’s National Gender and Corruption Survey 2025 provide a rare glimpse into the scale of sextortion.

 The numbers are both revealing and unsettling. Eight per cent of service seekers reported being indirectly asked for sexual favours in exchange for services. A further 2.1 per cent said they were directly asked within a 12-month period.

 Women were more affected than men, with 9.3 per cent reporting indirect requests compared to 7.4 per cent of men. However, the more telling detail lies in the frequency of these experiences. Among those who reported sextortion, women were more than twice as likely to encounter repeated demands.

 The survey also reveals where sextortion is most likely to occur.

 In the private sector, 5.2 per cent of respondents said they were made to understand that sexual favours were required to access services.

 Employment topped the list, with half of victims seeking jobs when the demands were made.

 Healthcare followed, with patients reporting coercion from doctors and nurses. Education, insurance and even banking services were implicated.

 The perpetrators were overwhelmingly male, accounting for about 80 per cent of those making such demands. The victims, however, shared clear common characteristics.

 Most were young—typically between 18 and 44 years old—and economically vulnerable, with many unemployed or working in informal sectors. A significant number earned less than Sh10,000. In essence, they were individuals with the least power to resist coercion.

 As income levels rose, the likelihood of experiencing sextortion dropped sharply—suggesting that economic security offers some protection against exploitation.

 Social commentator and entrepreneur Dr Catherine Matsitsa says the new findings mark a turning point in how the vice is understood and tackled.

 “Now policymakers can point to actual numbers, and law enforcement can take precedence,” she notes. “Before, people spoke about the menace as a rumour, but now it is backed by a survey from a government institution mandated to fight corruption.”

 The cost of speaking out

 Despite its prevalence, sextortion remains one of the least reported forms of corruption. The reasons are deeply rooted—shame, fear and stigma continue to silence many victims.

 Victims worry about being blamed or disbelieved. In industries, such as entertainment, speaking out can lead to blacklisting. In workplaces, it can mean losing a job. In public services, it can result in denial of essential services. “Who will believe you?” one victim asks quietly. “And even if they do, what happens next?”

Often, the answer is nothing.

 The survey itself reflects this silence. A significant number of respondents chose not to disclose whether they had experienced sextortion—an indication that the problem may be far more widespread than reported.

 Among older respondents, reluctance to speak out was even more pronounced, highlighting how stigma deepens over time.

 Beyond offices and studios

 Sextortion is not confined to formal institutions; in some communities it is woven into everyday survival. In parts of western Kenya, women in the fishing trade have long described the “sex-for-fish” phenomenon, where access to fish is controlled by men who demand sexual favours in return. It is a stark example of how sextortion thrives in spaces defined by power imbalances—whether economic, social or institutional.

 As one participant in a Kisumu focus group observed, corruption is not always about money; sometimes it is about the body.

 Dr David Oginde, Chairperson of the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC), says the findings point to a deeper structural problem.

 “The findings demonstrate that corruption exacerbates gender disparities in access to public services, with women often facing unique and disproportionate burdens,” he says.

 “The report also underscores the need to recognise and institutionalise gender-responsive approaches in anti-corruption strategies, policy frameworks and legislative reforms.”

 His statement underscores a critical shift in how corruption must be understood, not just as an economic crime, but as a social one. 

Globally, there is growing momentum to address sextortion. In December 2023, the United Nations Convention against Corruption called on member states to integrate gender perspectives into anti-corruption efforts and collect more targeted data.

 But translating policy  into practice remains a challenge. For Nancy, the struggle continues—she still auditions, still posts and still holds onto hope. Yet the experience has left its mark, changing the way she navigates the industry.

 “You start questioning everything,” she says. “Whether your talent is enough. Whether it will ever be enough.”

 James, too, is rebuilding—one trip at a time. His corporate career may be behind him, but he holds on to something he refuses to lose. “At least I didn’t compromise myself,” he says.

 In Kenya’s hustle economy, where opportunities are scarce and competition is unforgiving, the pressure to succeed can push people to their limits.

 But sextortion is not a hustle, nor is it ambition or “doing what it takes”. It is abuse. It is corruption in its most intimate, most invisible and most devastating form.