Between blood and bond: Kanyari, Tash and the battle for Betty Bayo's children

She is 14 years old, recently lost her mother, and is already navigating one of the country’s most public family disputes, live on social media, with thousands of followers watching in real time.

Sky Victor, daughter of gospel musician Betty Bayo and controversial pastor Victor Kanyari, has become an unlikely protagonist in a custody drama that has gripped Kenya’s social media landscape since her mother’s death in November 2025.

At the centre of the storm is a question that refuses to go away: why does a grieving teenager defend her stepfather so fiercely, and so publicly?

The latest chapter opened when Shiru Stuart, a close friend of the late Betty Bayo, took to social media to allege that Tash, Betty’s partner at the time of her death, was neglecting the children and mismanaging Sky’s earnings from brand influencing. “Tell me why grown women would support a man who throws a househelp out at night,” Shiru wrote in a widely circulated post. “The poor girl is working so hard with brands, but the money is nowhere to be seen. When she asks for it, she is told, ‘Nakuekea mpaka ufikishe 18 years.’”

Sky’s response was swift and unequivocal. In a video that quickly spread across social media platforms, she rejected Shiru’s account entirely, insisting that her earnings were safe and properly managed. She went further, accusing her late mother’s friends, including Shiru, of publicly performing concern while never once visiting the family privately since Betty’s death. “Focus on creating your own content instead of meddling in other people’s household affairs,” she pointedly told Shiru.

This was not an isolated incident. In the months following Betty Bayo’s death, Sky has repeatedly stepped forward whenever Tash has faced criticism. When her maternal grandmother, Joyce Wairimu, launched a scathing attack from the United States, alleging that Tash had exploited Betty financially and warning him against touching her estate, Sky released an emotional statement defending his integrity.

When bloggers insinuated that the children were suffering under his guardianship, she countered with daily vlogs showing Tash driving her around, taking her shopping and meeting her needs. The message was deliberate and consistent: this man is not who you think he is.

A father’s counter-narrative

Pastor Victor Kanyari sees things very differently. During a recent sermon, a visibly distressed Kanyari told his congregation that his daughter was lying and that the children’s living conditions were far from the comfortable image being projected online. “Sky ameharibika sana (Sky is completely spoilt),” he said.

He expressed fear that her premature exposure to social media, compounded by grief and what he characterised as negative influences, would lead her towards early pregnancy and personal ruin.

Kanyari claims he has been systematically blocked from accessing his children. His calls, he says, go unanswered. He believes Tash has coached the children, particularly Sky, who subsequently influences her younger brother, Danny, to defy him and present a curated and misleading version of their lives to the public.

He also denied claims that Sky has her own bank account and challenged Tash to prove otherwise.

The saga took an almost surreal turn when Kanyari, seeking to lure the children away from the Sh150,000-per-month Edenville Estate home they share with Tash, purchased a luxury mansion in Runda reportedly worth Sh90 million, complete with a swimming pool.

Sky posted a gleeful viral video touring the property.

Then she and her brother Danny returned to Tash’s house anyway.

For Kanyari, this appeared to be a breaking point. He has since issued an ultimatum: he wants full custody, and he is prepared to seek it through the courts if necessary.

Words that sparked a firestorm

In early April 2026, during a casual TikTok livestream, Sky referred to Tash simply as “this man” while explaining something he had said off-camera.

The phrasing, unremarkable in isolation, detonated across social media.

Critics argued that it was disrespectful and symptomatic of a household where appropriate adult boundaries had collapsed. Others weaponised it more maliciously, fuelling speculation about the nature of the relationship between the teenager and her stepfather.

The speculation had been building for some time, fuelled by otherwise innocuous moments, a video of Tash helping Sky dye her hair, affectionate selfies and other ordinary interactions that online commentators twisted into something sinister.

Legal experts and child welfare advocates have been careful to note that no credible evidence of wrongdoing has emerged.

The rumours appear to have originated from a misinterpreted TikTok livestream in which Tash walked in on Sky while she was broadcasting and reacted with surprise, a domestic scene that bloggers rapidly sensationalised.

Comedian and media personality Dr Ofweneke offered perhaps the most grounded public commentary on the affair, calling for Sky’s phone to be taken away immediately.

He argued that no child aged 13 or 14, particularly one still processing the trauma of losing a parent, should be conducting livestreams before thousands of strangers.

Her outspoken nature, he suggested, reflected aspects of her father’s personality. But without adult supervision and clear boundaries, that same quality was leaving her dangerously exposed to misinterpretation and online cruelty.

What the law says

Beyond the social media noise lies a legal framework that will ultimately determine where Sky and Danny live, and with whom.

Andrew Ndikimi, an advocate with Ndikimi & Co Advocates, is unequivocal about Kanyari’s legal standing. “Victor should apply to the Children’s Court for sole parental responsibility, sole legal custody and sole actual custody of both Sky and Danny as their biological father and only surviving biological parent,” he told this reporter.

“Tash merely remains with the children as he did before their mother’s death. He can only continue retaining custody pursuant to a court order.”

Under Kenya’s Children Act, parental responsibility ordinarily vests in the surviving biological parent upon the death of the other parent.

Tash has no automatic legal authority as a stepfather unless Betty Bayo explicitly granted it through a will or unless a court has issued a formal guardianship order.

If Kanyari is being denied access to his children and cannot establish their whereabouts, his lawyers could seek a Habeas Corpus order compelling Tash to produce Sky and Danny before a court, which could then issue interim directions regarding their housing, schooling and welfare while the wider custody dispute is determined.

The children’s own preferences, given their ages, are likely to carry weight, though they would not be determinative. A court would still weigh those wishes against the broader question of their best interests and welfare.

A psychologist’s perspective

Beyond the competing legal arguments and social media battles, child psychologist Allan Lawrence offers a perspective that cuts to the emotional core of the matter.

His analysis reframes the debate away from biology and legal standing and towards something far more fundamental: the quality of care surrounding a grieving child. “Nature may make someone a parent, but emotional presence is what makes someone a safe caregiver,” Lawrence says.

“The greatest challenge for many teenagers is not the absence of a biological parent, but the absence of emotional security and a sense of belonging.”

It is a statement that recontextualises Sky’s fierce loyalty to Tash.

If what she has experienced with him is consistent presence, stability and responsiveness to her needs, then her defense of him may not necessarily be manipulation or coaching. It may simply be the natural response of a child who has found in him something she cannot afford to lose: a sense of safety.

Lawrence is equally direct about the dynamics between the two father figures in Sky’s life. “In all this drama, the two parents should find amicable ground on how the children’s future will be secured, without focusing on who is right and who is wrong. Young lives are at stake,” he says.

On the question of Tash’s role specifically, Lawrence pushes back against the assumption that a stepfather’s presence is inherently problematic. “The presence of a stepfather is not automatically a disadvantage. A healthy, responsible and emotionally available stepfather can provide stability, guidance, protection and positive role modelling. The determining factor is often not biology, but the quality of the relationship, the clarity of boundaries and the presence of a supportive environment.”

His prescription for Victor Kanyari and Tash is blunt and unambiguous.

“Let the two dads come to an understanding because both of them are important in the lives of these children. This issue, and remember, social media never forgets, means they should not fight through the media, but behind closed doors. It is just one agreement away from ending.”

Lawrence’s final observation is perhaps his most important. “The child is a teenager. Let us remember that she has needs. She needs a stable environment in which she can grow. If they truly care about her, let them provide one.”

It is a challenge directed squarely at every adult who has chosen their narrative over her welfare.

Whether Sky Victor is a remarkably self-possessed young woman navigating grief on her own terms, or a vulnerable child whose voice is being shaped by adults with competing interests, is a question that no TikTok livestream can answer.

The courts may yet have to.

What is clear is that the adults around her, her biological father, her stepfather, her late mother’s friends and the legions of online commentators who have turned her family’s pain into a public spectacle, have so far struggled to place her protection above their own narratives. That, perhaps more than anything else, is the real story.