It was late afternoon on a Friday when I first heard the rumors: soldiers were supposedly in the streets, and President Ouattara had died, and by the time the news reached me, days had already passed between then and the report. Panic spread across social networks, and a viral video even claimed, “Ivory Coast is burning, Ouattara nowhere to be found.” Granted by the time I had discovered the story most of the panic had died down. Naturally, upon hearing these reports, I did some digging. I found the footage misleading: fact-checkers later traced it to a February 5 fire at Abidjan’s Adjamé market, not a coup. Even so, the fear was real. Thousands of Ivorians had shared and debated these dramatic claims by Friday night, but for context, this wasn’t the first false alarm. In early April, a doctored announcement of Ouattara’s death went viral, a hoax swiftly debunked by fact-checkers. AFP’s Factuel service even warned that screenshots pretending to be news reports of Ouattara’s death were fabricated.
Earlier in the week, the news had already been verified as false. On Wednesday, the haze of rumor had cleared. President Ouattara reappeared publicly to chair the government’s Council of Ministers meeting in Abidjan, disproving the coup story. The presidency released photos of him with his ministers, signaling that business was proceeding as usual. Veteran journalist Christelle Kouamé, an official in the journalists’ union, noted that Ouattara had even attended an international forum the day before, undercutting the “missing president” narrative. “There is no coup in Côte d’Ivoire. The country is stable,” she told reporters. Meanwhile, Ivory Coast’s cyber-security agency (ANSSI) issued a bulletin on Thursday denouncing the rumors as “completely unfounded.” It called the claims “the result of a deliberate and coordinated disinformation campaign” and reminded citizens that spreading false information is punishable by law.
Independent fact-checkers piled on as well. Nigeria’s FactCheckHub noted that while social media was “aflame” with coup rumors, “there is no credible media report” of any such event. It confirmed the burning-mall footage was months old and pointed out that outlets like Business Day Nigeria had reported Ouattara presiding over meetings that week. In short, nothing in the online frenzy reflected reality. Indeed, Sahara Reporters quoted a security source bluntly: “Despite the online frenzy, there has been no official indication of unrest from the military or security forces.” Some social media posts even claimed Ivory Coast was under martial law or that Army Chief-of-Staff Colonel Lassina Doumbia had been assassinated, wild claims flatly denied by the presidency and not reported by any credible outlet.
So, who fanned the flames online? Ivorian journalists traced the disinformation to social media personalities. The press agency AIP reported that a TikTok user, “starchanceuxbf” (≈45,000 followers), posted an urgent video on April 22 claiming that a “coup confirmed in Côte d’Ivoire, Zakaria Koné, rebel leader, has betrayed Ouattara.” That single clip went viral. Other accounts, TikTokers and Facebook pages like “mécanicien237”, “seems” and the English-language “social_thinkertv” soon amplified the story. These posts stitched together unrelated content: for example, the ominous voiceover about “dissolving institutions” was recycled from a 2022 news report. The only named “coup leader,” Colonel Zakaria Koné, was a loyal career officer (he fought on Ouattara’s side in the north 20 years ago), hardly a rebel. The whole story unraveled under scrutiny. As AIP concluded, “These publications are false,” mere photomontages and out-of-context clips. (Today, Zakaria Koné is just a regular colonel; nobody in the Ivory Coast’s military took action.)
This fits a larger pattern. Social media in Côte d’Ivoire has become fertile ground for such rumors, especially around elections. A 2020 study found that Ivorian Facebook and WhatsApp groups were swamped with conspiracy theories during past campaign seasons, driven by domestic activists and diaspora influencers. Sensational narratives can spread instantly. In this case, an old fire video, combined with a few provocative hashtags, was enough to set off a mass panic. Many initial posts were even in English, suggesting diaspora networks helped amplify the message. News of the alleged “coup” quickly reached Ivorians abroad via WhatsApp and Twitter: some people in Europe and North America reported seeing the same clips hours before they went viral in Abidjan. Analysts note that social media algorithms favor dramatic content: a fiery image or strident audio gets shared repeatedly. With many Ivoirians, especially the young, getting news primarily through social platforms, the false story found a ready audience, spreading to every corner of the country.
The timing was hardly a coincidence. Côte d’Ivoire will hold its next presidential election on October 25, 2025. The political atmosphere was already charged. Just days before the rumors, a court had barred Tidjane Thiam, a former global banker now opposition candidate, from running on a nationality technicality. His supporters erupted in protest, reinforcing the sense that the rules were being manipulated. Other leading contenders have also been sidelined: former president Laurent Gbagbo remains disqualified by a 2018 conviction, and elder statesman Henri Konan Bédié was likewise ruled ineligible. All this exclusion has fueled frustration that the game is rigged.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ouattara’s party formally nominated him for a fourth term, a move critics say violates the spirit of the two-term limit. Ouattara has not publicly confirmed his candidacy. Still, the very possibility has many Ivorians uneasy. In the words of a local analyst, “When even the rumor factory starts working, you know trust has broken down.”
International observers echoed these warnings. Al Jazeera noted that Ivory Coast “has a long history of election violence,” reminding readers that about 3,000 people died in the 2010-11 crisis. It also highlighted fears about Ouattara’s bid for another term, citing “widespread disillusionment” with the political elite. In other words, many Ivorians already felt their institutions were fragile, precisely the conditions in which a single viral claim can sow panic.
Ivory Coast’s history looms over these events. Every adult remembers how elections once spiraled out of control. In 2010, rival forces battled in Abidjan’s streets and across the countryside, heavy weapons were deployed, and towns were blockaded until UN and French intervention finally ended the fighting in April 2011. Those scars have not faded. As the coup rumors blared online on Friday night, many Ivorians instinctively braced for the worst. One parent told me he kept his children home from school all day; another said he lit a candle for peace. Many said they recognized elements of the panic from 2010, which only amplified their fear. What made this episode remarkable is that, unlike then, no one at all was shooting.
Events in neighboring countries deepened the anxiety. Since 2020, coups have toppled governments in Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, and Guinea. Each new overthrow sends shockwaves through the region. In Abidjan, some youths cheered the anti-colonial rhetoric of those junta regimes next door, while others worried, “When will it be our turn?” Graffiti reading “Pour une Afrique libre!” (“For a free Africa!”) appeared on city walls overnight, echoing slogans of the Sahel; social media feeds mixed Ivorian and Malian imagery as if the countries were interchangeable. Ivory Coast’s information space is not isolated; it is fed by the same populist revolt and anti-establishment fervor swirling across West Africa.
The government’s response was to drown out lies with reality. Unlike in some countries, authorities did not shut down the internet or deploy troops into the streets. Instead, they flooded the airwaves with the truth; on Thursday, state television and radio cut into regular programming to broadcast Ouattara’s council meeting live. The presidency’s official X (Twitter) and Facebook accounts were updated constantly with photos and bulletins, inaugurating a hospital here, inspecting a highway construction there, and meeting business leaders. Each post was quietly tagged #Continuity or #TogetherForPeace. Newspapers and radio stations likewise bannered the story: headlines like “No coup” and “Government at work” appeared. Even foreign media amplified the rebuttal: on May 24, Al Jazeera ran a Q&A noting that ANSSI had branded the rumors “totally unfounded.” By saturating the channels with proof of normalcy, officials aimed to starve the panic of oxygen.
The implications are stark. If an internet hoax can so easily rattle Ivoirians, then future elections face a serious threat from misinformation. Many analysts note that trust in institutions is already low; surveys show voters feel excluded and cynical, which makes them susceptible to sensational claims. If another wave of disinformation strikes during the campaign or on polling day (for example, a fake alert that the army has seized key districts or that ballot boxes are being burned), it could spark real unrest. The military and police have reportedly been put on high alert, and intelligence services say they are tracking the accounts behind the hoax. The government has also announced investigations and possible prosecutions for those who publicly spread lies about national security. But experts caution that prosecuting rumor-mongers won’t rebuild trust; transparent institutions are needed.
Keeping this context in mind, one important question remains regarding the incident: Who started these rumors and why? Why would anyone want to pour gasoline into a tense situation? Was it a political opponent? If so, what were they aiming to accomplish? Could a foreign power have started these rumors? If this is the case, it is safe to rule out France or the West as a culprit, given President Ouattara Francopone's stance. Russia is likely to be a candidate for having started these rumors. Russia has previously used propaganda networks to influence African countries, particularly those that are French-aligned in Western Africa. Russia also has a history of supporting military juntas. This could have been an attempt by Russia to incite a real military coup. It is also possiable some group within the country spread the rumor hoping for civil war or conflict. However, as it stands, there is no evidence tying Russia to the incident. Lastly, it is entirely possible that these rumors emerged from individuals wanting to go viral for some other motivation. In the end, we don't know.
Ultimately, the phantom coup was a scare with no bullets fired, but it revealed fragile fault lines. Côte d’Ivoire will now head into the October election under the shadow of this incident. Many Ivorians I spoke to said the episode has been a wake-up call about media literacy: they are now more skeptical of news on social networks. Some schools have begun teaching students how to spot fake content using Friday’s events as an example. Journalists are under pressure to label unverified information as rumors clearly. The hope is that if politicians invoke calm in the coming campaign by allowing observers, ensuring press freedom, and naming when they will stand for election, this weekend's empty fears will not give way to real violence. In a country still healing from past bloodshed, ensuring that the only battles fought are at the ballot box, not in the streets or online, will require this kind of collective vigilance.
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