Ndiho Media,LLC.

By Paul Ndiho | Ndiho Media

It often starts with tenderness, a late-night chat, a promise that feels overdue. Then the ground shifts. Interpol’s continent-wide sting—more than 260 arrests across 14 African countries—pulled the curtain on a thriving marketplace of heartache, where sextortion and romance scams turn intimacy into leverage and affection into cash. Investigators say over 1,400 victims have been identified, and losses are nearing $2.8 million. But the balance sheet can’t measure what’s hardest to recover: trust.

Cybersecurity analyst Adedoyin Adedeji has watched the script unfold too many times to count. “Crime grows when there are no consequences,” he told Different Perspectives. “When people know there are consequences to doing bad things, the chances of combating it are higher.” He conducts awareness sessions with teenagers and young adults, and hears a chilling refrain: romance fraud isn’t a “crime,” it’s a “business.” As he put it, “Some don’t even consider it a crime… ‘I just told someone I love you and they gave me money.’” Publicized arrests, he says, puncture that fantasy. “These are serious offenses—you can spend your prime in prison.”

Data scientist and cybersecurity analyst Jimmy Kinyonyi Bagonza says the emotional mechanics of the con are as old as courtship—only faster and more scalable online. “Initiate contact, create rapport, then trust,” he explained. “You start exchanging photos… and it turns to blackmail: ‘If you don’t do this, I will expose you.’” He argues that measuring success only by arrests misses the point. “Waiting to have someone arrested isn’t success. Success is stopping it before it takes place.”

Why do so many people—smart, careful people—still get trapped? Partly because loneliness is patient and compliments are cheap. Partly because the continent’s digital boom, from mobile money to cloud tools, has outrun policy and protection. “Technology is growing fast, but laws and trained personnel are not matching the speed,” Bagonza said. That gap is where deceit thrives: fake courier fees, cloned job offers, perfect-looking investment dashboards, and “urgent” love that moves just fast enough to silence doubt.

The harm isn’t abstract. Victims lose savings and reputations; families splinter under shame. And the supply of perpetrators renews itself. Adedeji calls it an apprenticeship economy of deceit: older hands recruit teens with proof of quick money. “It spreads like apprenticeship,” he said. “Until we create real opportunities, the network grows.” Enforcement matters, but so does a society that makes patience and honest work feel possible.

There are ways to lower the odds. Adedeji’s basics are blunt and helpful: turn on two-factor authentication for every vital account; guard the “primary” keys—your email and phone number; routinely check where your accounts are logged in and revoke unknown sessions; and if you must share access with a contractor or “social media manager,” get ID and a paper trail first. Bagonza’s mantra is skepticism with receipts: “Always second-guess. Expand the email header, hover to see the full link, and be wary of speed—love, jobs, and investments that rush you are telling on themselves.” Even small tells help: an odd character in a web address, a too-fast job “offer,” a payout that doubles in a week.

Love should be a refuge, not a source of revenue. The fix won’t come from handcuffs alone. It will come from visible consequences, relentless public education, more innovative tools that spot patterns before they spread, and real options for young people so “I love you” stops being a business model. As Adedeji put it, “Empower youth and strengthen enforcement.” Bagonza adds the other half: “Deterrence first, then response. If we get that right, the arrests won’t be the headline—the decline will.”