There was a time when Ghanaian scandals required considerable effort. A journalist had to investigate, interview witnesses, obtain documents and occasionally hide behind somebody's wall.

Those difficult days are behind us.

We have entered the age of Azigi.

For the benefit of those respectable citizens who have no idea what I am talking about, and who will nevertheless finish reading this article with suspicious concentration, Azigi is the Republic's latest contribution to the vocabulary of modern civilisation: the leaked intimate video.

And lately, Azigi appears to be enjoying something of a boom.

First came the DJ.

Before the Republic had finished examining that episode with the thoroughness normally reserved for a presidential commission of inquiry, the nurse reported for duty.

Then came the policewoman.

And just when we thought perhaps the national leaking tap had finally been repaired, an actor entered the theatre.

Different people. Different professions. Different circumstances.

Same Republic.

Same audience.

Same urgent question:

“Who has the link?”

At this rate, the Ghana Statistical Service may soon have to add Azigi to the Consumer Price Index. Food prices rise. Transport fares rise. The dollar rises and falls. But Azigi appears determined to maintain impressive year-on-year growth.

What fascinates me, however, is not that adults sometimes record themselves doing what adults have been doing since Adam discovered that Eve was not his sister.

Human beings will be human beings.

The real wonder is what happens to the Ghanaian immediately Azigi enters circulation.

At 7:00 a.m., he hears the news.

At 7:03, he asks whether it is true.

At 7:05, he requests the link.

By 7:15, having conducted an exhaustive peer-reviewed examination of the evidence, he returns to Facebook deeply worried about the moral decay of Ghana.

By 7:30, he is quoting Scripture.

Wonderful country.

The same fingers that pressed Forward ten minutes earlier are suddenly pointing accusingly at the people in the video.

Our elders say that when you point one finger at your neighbour, the others point back at you. The smartphone has modernised the proverb. The remaining fingers are now busy pressing Send.

And this is where the Azigi economy becomes interesting.

Every successful industry requires a supply chain. Azigi is no different.

There is the original source. Then the wholesaler. Then the WhatsApp distributor. Then the Telegram branch manager. Then comes that indispensable Ghanaian researcher who appears beneath every post:

“Please inbox me. I want to confirm something.”

Confirm what, Professor?

After confirmation comes the National Court of Morality.

The pastors arrive.

The relationship experts arrive.

The aunties arrive.

Men who spent half the morning searching for Azigi suddenly discover Sodom and Gomorrah. People who forwarded it to six WhatsApp groups begin mourning the disappearance of African values.

Everybody condemns the fire.

Nobody remembers bringing firewood.

But somewhere beneath the laughter lies an uncomfortable truth.

Whatever foolish decision somebody may have made privately, consent to intimacy is not consent to nationwide broadcasting. Even agreeing to be recorded does not necessarily mean agreeing to become the morning programme of fourteen million smartphones.

Indeed, Ghana's Cybersecurity Act has something to say about distributing intimate images without consent. So while Brother Kwame is enthusiastically forwarding Azigi "for educational purposes," the law may be sitting quietly in the corner clearing its throat.

And the future is even more frightening.

Artificial intelligence means tomorrow's Azigi may not even be real. A person's face can be manipulated into intimate imagery convincingly enough for social media to hold the funeral of their reputation before the truth has finished putting on its shoes.

By the time experts establish that the video was fake, Ghana would have watched it, forwarded it, analysed it, preached about it and moved on to Azigi Number Five.

Our elders say that when your neighbour's beard catches fire, keep water beside yours.

Modern Ghana has improved upon this wisdom.

We first take out our phones and record the burning beard.

Perhaps, therefore, the greatest scandal is not that Azigi keeps leaking.

The greater scandal is the enormous crowd permanently gathered beneath the leaking tap, bowls raised enthusiastically, shouting for their share, only to return home afterwards and complain that the water is dirty.

So the next time Azigi arrives and that familiar question begins travelling through WhatsApp,

“Who has the link?”

perhaps we should ask another question first:

What exactly have we become?