WhatsApp's new feature might be a gift to con artists

There is a seductive appeal to the word "privacy." It conjures images of safety, control, and autonomy. It suggests a world in which one can participate without being exposed, speak without being watched, and interact without being tracked. So it's no surprise that the tech world is constantly dressing its new features in the garments of privacy. But beneath the PR-friendly lingo, some of these changes are not only cosmetic, they are potentially catastrophic. One such change, looming on the digital horizon, is WhatsApp's upcoming "username-only" feature, allowing users to message others without ever revealing their phone number.

In a country where trust is already hanging by a thread and con artistry has become a competitive industry, it's hard not to see the latest WhatsApp update: the option to message using just a username: as a gift wrapped with a bow for Zimbabwe's ever-creative scammers. On paper, the change sounds progressive. More privacy, fewer spam messages, less exposure of personal phone numbers. It reads like a dream. But here's the problem: dreams in Zimbabwe often end with someone waking up to an empty EcoCash wallet.

There's no denying that digital spaces are evolving. We've seen Telegram and Instagram operate through usernames for years. People exchange handles instead of digits. It adds a veneer of anonymity. That's well and good in countries where anonymity doesn't come with a side dish of fraud. But in Zimbabwe, where the phrase "It's a scam" is as commonly heard as "Makadii," anonymity is not just a feature, it's a weapon.

Ask anyone who has spent more than five minutes on Facebook lately, and they'll tell you about the Wicknell Chivayo clones. Dozens of fake profiles, some with slight spelling changes, others using photos of him in suits, sometimes even standing next to high-ranking officials, are sending inboxes into overdrive. "Congratulations, you have been selected for a scholarship. Please send a small registration fee." Or "We are giving away Toyota Aqua cars to celebrate Independence Day, inbox for details." The tragedy isn't that the accounts exist; it's that people are falling for them.

Now imagine this level of deception supercharged with a WhatsApp username that doesn't require a visible phone number. Suddenly, scammers don't even need to go through the hassle of buying a NetOne line with fake IDs. They don't need burner phones. All they need is a catchy username: something like @DrWicknellOfficial or @PresidentialDonor: and boom, they're back in business.

To understand why this is concerning, you have to appreciate how scams have evolved in Zimbabwe. Gone are the days of email princes and dubious inheritance claims. Today's fraudsters are savvy. They understand local culture, mimic local speech patterns, and know how to tug at people's economic desperation. They offer mining deals. They impersonate civil servants processing residential stands. They claim to represent NGOs handing out school fees. And they do it with terrifying accuracy.

The only safeguard left in many cases has been the phone number. People have gotten smart. They copy and paste the number into Truecaller or Ecocash. They ask mutual friends if the number is legit. They look for inconsistencies. But when you take away the number entirely and replace it with something vague like @BlesserZim2025, you cut that layer of scrutiny. Now the scammer is just a character, slick, smooth-talking, and completely untraceable.

WhatsApp, to its credit, has said usernames will have to be unique. There will be restrictions to avoid usernames that look like websites. But that's cosmetic. Anyone who has ever registered a username online knows how easy it is to play with spellings. @W1cknell. @Wicknel_zw. @RealWiknel. All sound the same when whispered into the inbox of a desperate citizen hoping for an opportunity. And that's the dark genius of it.

This isn't fear-mongering. It's a reflection of patterns we've already seen. In just the past few months, several Zimbabweans have come forward with stories of being duped by people pretending to be Chivayo, church leaders, or government officials. One woman in Karoi sold her only cow after being promised a vending license in Harare. Another in Bulawayo lost USD 300 to a fake bursary program that never existed. Each of these scams began on Facebook and moved to WhatsApp. The bridge was the phone number. Remove the bridge, and you remove accountability.

What's worse is the psychological impact. Scams don't just steal money; they steal hope. They humiliate. They make people suspicious of legitimate offers. They create an environment of paranoia, where even a genuine message from a real donor is met with a raised eyebrow and a "hmmm, hazvizi zvidhiri zvekuWhatsApp here izvi?" The introduction of usernames will amplify this confusion.

Let's be fair. WhatsApp is trying to do the right thing in the broad sense. There's a growing global demand for digital privacy. In many contexts, it makes sense to hide your number. But Zimbabwe doesn't exist in abstract. It exists in crisis. Here, privacy can easily be repurposed into predation. Here, features that protect can just as easily conceal.

The timing of this development is also key. As our economy continues its erratic dance, more and more Zimbabweans are being pushed online in search of business, employment, and connection. WhatsApp has become more than a messaging app, it's now a marketplace, a job board, a customer service portal, a religious platform, even a government information source. In a country where institutions are unreliable, the app has become an institution in itself. So when that institution decides to make a major change, it's not just a technical update. It's a cultural shift.

We've already seen how scammers weaponize institutional trust. When Econet sends out a broadcast message, fake messages in its style follow within hours. When the Ministry of Education announces an initiative, WhatsApp groups erupt with "official" PDF flyers offering fake versions of the same. The moment WhatsApp introduces usernames, there will be a flood of "official" usernames pretending to be ministries, embassies, donors, and influencers.

And unlike phone numbers, which can sometimes be traced to a location or a sim card registration, usernames offer no such breadcrumb trail. You can report them, sure. But how fast will WhatsApp respond? Will there be local moderation teams? Will people be able to recover lost funds? Or will it be the usual "we are investigating the issue" while more people get robbed?

A username system would make sense in a country where the digital literacy of the average person is high. Where citizens are taught how to verify digital identities. Where impersonation is punished swiftly and efficiently. But Zimbabwe is not there yet. Most people still forward chain messages believing they'll get free data. They screenshot and circulate fake job adverts. They click links that lead nowhere. Introducing usernames into this mix is like tossing a bottle of whiskey into a kindergarten classroom and hoping no one gets drunk.

There's also a psychological trick scammers use that the username feature will reinforce: false familiarity. When someone messages you from a strange number, you pause. But when they appear with a username that sounds legit: @HelpZimMothers or @MinistryYouthZim: they trick the brain into lowering its guard. And in that small moment of trust, the scam is born.

If WhatsApp insists on rolling out this feature, and it seems it will, then it must be paired with aggressive local education. Not just generic videos about "online safety," but community-based digital literacy programs. It should work with MNOs, civil society, and maybe even churches to warn people. There must be a verification system for official usernames. Ministries must publicly list their real usernames. NGOs must pin their official handles. Without this, it will be chaos.

We have already seen how little it takes to deceive in this country. A few stolen photos, a kind tone, and a broken promise is all it takes. With usernames, that deception becomes frictionless. It becomes scalable. It becomes harder to reverse.

So before we jump to celebrate this new wave of anonymity, let's remember where we are. Zimbabwe is not some data-privacy utopia. It is a place where people are already being squeezed by crooks in suits and crooks in sandals. And now the ones in WhatsApp avatars may get a new tool in their belt.

Usernames may protect privacy in theory. But in practice, in Zimbabwe, they may just become another mask for criminals who have already perfected the art of pretending.

We need more transparency, not less. We need more verification, not just vague usernames. Because in a country this wounded, the last thing we need is another digital costume for the wolves to wear.

Kumbirai Thierry Nhamo || Social Justice Activist and Writer

Contact: kumbiraithierryn@gmail.com or WhatsApp +263780022343