THERE’S something about Speed Darlington, better known as Akpi. Something weird. Something strange. Something utterly magnetic. He draws people in, even though they can’t quite explain why.
Let’s be honest: he’s not particularly funny. At least, he doesn’t try to be. He doesn’t give off the “smart” vibe either. He doesn’t pretend to be a genius, and frankly, no one’s giving him credit for any visible talent.
He’s not your typical content creator, assuming we can even call him one. His niche? No one knows. It’s not clear what he does online. He’s not a professional anything. The most accurate thing you could call him is a “loud internet presence.” That’s it. That’s the résumé. And somehow, that has been enough to keep him trending.
But recently, he crossed a line that even his “Akpians” could not defend.
In a now-viral Instagram Live, Speed Darlington casually claimed to have slept with a 15-year-old virgin and paid ₦2,000 for the sheet change afterwards.
No skit, no satire, no ambiguity. Just he, on camera, talking like it was normal. He later claimed it was a stunt for clout: “I need controversy to eat.”
And yes, the internet went wild.
Even the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) stepped in, citing violations of the Trafficking in Persons (Prohibition) Enforcement and Administration Act (TIPPEA 2015) and the Cybercrime Act. They summoned him. He ignored them. They summoned again. He ghosted. Eventually, they declared him wanted for rape, cyberbullying, and cyberstalking.
Akpi, from the comfort of the U.S., fired back defiantly: “I’m not coming. All I did was speak. Irresponsible talk is not a crime… If you want me, pay 2.5 million and buy my tickets.”
Let that sink in.
But this isn’t really about whether he did it or not. It’s not even about whether a man can be convicted on a self-incriminating statement with no known complainant. That’s for the internet lawyers to hash out. What we need to talk about is: How did this man become famous in the first place? And the answer is simple: we made him.
Let’s face it: in today’s Nigeria, clout is currency. Social media virality is the new PhD. And being unhinged, unserious, or downright vile can get you a seat at the table.
People like Speed Darlington didn’t climb up because of talent; they floated to the top because Nigerians, en masse, lifted them there. We laughed, we reposted, we quoted their madness, and in doing so, we handed them influence.
We reward noise. We reward chaos. We reward nonsense. We make it go viral. We put them on blogs. We invite them to interviews. We give them brand endorsements.
Meanwhile, people of real value, scholars, innovators, and humanitarians, can barely get a verified badge.
Just a few weeks ago, veteran actress Kehinde Bankole cried out on X (formerly Twitter), disturbed that the internet and most media channels were flooded with gossip about Peller and Jarvis breaking up while people were being butchered in Benue.
Real blood. Real deaths. Real humans.
But what was trending? A ‘celebrity’ couple’s unconfirmed breakup. That’s where the energy went. That’s where the hashtags poured in.
She put it beautifully, “The people have a role to play. If media houses churn out mediocre news based on timing and the people shun it, it will force them to do the right thing.
“But everywhere, you see people engaging under such posts even more, at a time when there are so many serious issues on the ground. The mindset and intelligence of the majority will break your heart. The media carry a huge responsibility, but so must we, the people, too.”
She was right. Painfully right.
While communities in Benue were counting their dead, people were dissecting Instagram comments and unfollow lists, wondering if someone had “soft-launched” a new lover.
This isn’t just ignorance, it is wilful escapism turned to national culture. Look around. There are far too many Nigerian “celebrities” who have added absolutely nothing to public discourse, culture, or growth, yet they’re drowning in followers, endorsement deals, and blue ticks.
Let’s call names: Is it Bobrisky? Famous for what, exactly? A lifestyle funded by mystery “daddies” and controversies that never age well? What about Portable? Musician or menace? There is the Blessing CEO, a relationship coach who faked owning a dead man’s house, and somehow has over 1 million followers offering life advice.
And yes… they thrive. Because we, the audience, made them thrive.
Clout-chasers are reckless. But they didn’t make themselves famous; we did.
Whether or not Speed Darlington goes to jail is beside the point. The real issue is that we allowed this. We, the audience, the followers, the content sharers, gave him the platform. And we continue to give platforms to people who should never have influence.
So here’s the question: If we keep making celebrities out of clowns, who’s to blame, them or us?
