Honourable AI is knocking, and Zanzibar has opened the door

TANZANIA: SOMEWHERE in Tanzania, a child is doing homework with an AI assistant. Somewhere else, a politician’s photograph is being altered.

Meanwhile, an auntie has forwarded a voice note announcing a national emergency with such authority that nobody dares ask why the “minister” sounds exactly like her neighbour, Mama Pendo.

By breakfast, the recording has reached three family groups, two neighbourhood groups and an uncle who replies, “I knew it!” He has checked neither its source nor its date.

He has, however, added twelve exclamation marks, which remain admissible evidence in certain WhatsApp courts.

Welcome to the digital age, where a lie can travel from Dar es Salaam to Katoro before the truth has found its reading glasses.

Artificial intelligence is changing how people study, work, create and deceive. We Tanzanians, meanwhile, are watching with the composure of people convinced this upheaval will reach Namanga, be asked for its passport and politely turn back.

Perhaps we expect divine favour to protect us. I welcome divine favour, but it does not install a firewall on a child’s phone. Nor will a scammer read our national motto, apologise for the inconvenience and try Mozambique instead.

One man refusing to relax is Yusuph Kileo, a fervent cybersecurity and digital forensics expert I have followed for years.

He has spoken about online safety on television, radio and social media so often that some studios probably know how he takes his tea.

His message is practical: teach people to check what they see, develop ways to detect fabricated material, hold AI developers accountable and bring the right people around one table.

His greatest worry is children’s safety online. Getting institutions and potential partners to work together, he tells me, has been painfully difficult. I can see why.

We are very busy. Take the argument over the national football team kit. A shirt and a pair of shorts became an examination in patriotism, design, procurement and the destiny of the Republic.

Overnight, the nation acquired millions of unpaid textile inspectors. Questions about public spending are fair, of course.

But must every disagreement arrive blowing a whistle and demanding a television panel? Then an outspoken artist says something intended for adults.

We denounce it, quote it, replay the clip, add subtitles and circulate a link “so that others can avoid it”. This is an unusual form of avoidance.

By the time we finish warning the public, children included, the performance has acquired a larger audience and a commentary track.

If our warnings could generate electricity, Mtwara would have power to spare. While we debate what adults should wear or say, who is watching the child being bullied in a class group? Who helps the teenager threatened with an altered image? Who notices when an apparently friendly stranger has spent weeks earning a child’s trust online? We must keep our own facts straight, too.

The European Union has not imposed a blanket social media ban on everyone under 15. Its Digital Services Act requires platforms to protect minors, while further age restrictions have been proposed.

We cannot fight misinformation by offering a mistaken claim a microphone, a front-row seat and transport home. Tanzania has made a start.

TCRA provides child online protection resources, and the Government has published a draft national AI strategy framework.

These are useful steps. The harder question is what happens when a frightened child needs help on a Tuesday evening.

A beautifully printed strategy cannot answer a telephone, even if it was launched beside bottled water arranged with military precision.

That is why I paid attention when Kileo called the other day from Zanzibar. He was in attendance when the Isles announced digital and AI policy ambitions: better connectivity, more useful public services, local innovation and responsible use of the technology.

The proposed fibre connections for 100,000 households there sound impressive. Yet the number will mean little to a family if the monthly cost makes the router a decorative item.

It will mean little to a school if the connection works beautifully during the launch ceremony and develops shyness every Monday morning. Digital government sounds equally attractive.

Nobody enjoys carrying a file from one office to another while being told that the officer who stamps page seven has gone to lunch.

But a fast online service must also protect people’s records. We should not replace a queue at the counter with a data breach that reaches the counter before us.

Then there is inclusion, that dependable guest at every policy launch. Rural families, women, young people, people with disabilities and small businesses must be able to use the services, not merely appear in the opening speech.

Accessibility, affordability and training matter as much as a network signal. Zanzibar’s tourism and blue economy offer plenty of room for useful ideas.

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So do local skills and systems built to serve local needs. The true test will come after the applause, when someone must maintain the equipment, pay the bill and explain to a customer why the clever new service has stopped being clever.

And then, inevitably, we return to the child. Suppose she receives a threatening AI-generated image. Where does she report it? Who helps her preserve the evidence? Who contacts the platform? Can she tell her story once, safely, instead of repeating it to five offices and a curious receptionist? Parents need answers in ordinary language.

Teachers need training and a way for pupils to speak up. Police and social workers need clear procedures. More so, newsrooms need to check a sensational recording before publishing a magnificent headline and then asking the supposed speaker to deny words they never said.

The rest of us can begin with three small acts before forwarding a dramatic message: check who published it, check its date and look for independent confirmation.

“URGENT!!!” may mean only that its author is in a hurry to be wrong. AI can do much good. It may help teachers prepare lessons, farmers obtain advice, and citizens use public services in Kiswahili.

Its risks also deserve serious research. That does not mean a chatbot will wake up tomorrow, appoint itself Regional Commissioner of Tabora and demand a Land Cruiser.

Y2K gave the world one midnight to worry about. AI has no such appointment. It simply grows more capable while we use it.

So let us give our concern a job. Bring Kileo and others working on child safety together with educators, welfare workers, police, lawyers, journalists and young people, who already live in the digital country many adults are still trying to locate. Name a lead institution.

Set dates. Give children a clear reporting route. Teach digital safety in schools and publish progress every three months.

Otherwise, we risk creating another committee that meets faithfully, produces minutes and protects nobody: a family group chat with refreshments.

AI is knocking. In truth, it has been inside for some time and may already be helping with the homework. Zanzibar has opened the door wider. Let us put down the football kit for a moment, ask what our children are facing and get to work.