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Two years ago, Bashir Muhammad received an invitation to attend a journalism summit in Niamey but declined. That decision, and the argument it provoked, told him everything he needed to know.

He runs one of the growing number of Hausa-language digital news platforms that have emerged across northern Nigeria in the past decade, serving local audiences that legacy English-language media have largely ignored. That profile made him a target. In 2024, Bashir was approached by Mariam Laouali – a woman known across West African Hausa media circles as Sarkin Abzin. She is a prominent Nigerien broadcaster and, as he would come to understand, a committed supporter of the military regime that had seized power in Niamey the previous year.

In July 2023, the military junta, led by General Abdurrahman Tchiani, overthrew the democratically elected President Muhammad Bazoum. The coup met with strong resistance from the international community, particularly the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), under the leadership of Nigeria’s President Bola Tinubu. This led to severe diplomatic tensions between ECOWAS and the new military regime in Niger, culminating in threats of invasion from Nigerian leaders and ultimately the division of ECOWAS and the formation of the Alliance of the Sahel States (AES). While some diplomatic efforts have been restored, tensions remain, and the Niger Republic, supported by Russia and its AES allies, has been engaged in information efforts to attack ECOWAS countries, particularly Nigeria and Benin Republic. Bashir felt this approach could be part of the recruitment efforts. 

The pitch sounded professional. Sarkin Abzin told him of a pan-African summit of Hausa-language journalists to be convened in Niamey. It was the first of its kind, according to her. She described it as an exercise in cross-border media cooperation and a chance for journalists from across the continent’s Hausa-speaking belt to build something together. 

Bashir had questions, but he did not like the answers, so he declined.

Sarkin Abzin pushed back, insisting that he should consider it, but he became more suspicious. The conversation escalated. By the end, she was visibly frustrated. It ended there. 

“She didn’t take it well,” Bashir told HumAngle, sitting in his home office while casually scrolling on his computer, searching for her Facebook page. “The way she reacted told you this wasn’t just about journalism.”

He was right. It was not all about journalism. The summit in Niamey was just bait. What Sarkin Abzin and her sponsors in the Niger Republic seemed to want was access to northern Nigeria’s forty million Hausa speakers and to exploit their grievances and distrust of Nigerian leaders.

Many Nigerians were consumed by anxiety and bitterness over the country’s dire economic pressures. Many also harboured deep anger toward their leaders – particularly President Bola Tinubu, against whom protests erupted in August 2024, during which some demonstrators raised Russian flags and called for a coup. For that reason, this was a country where recruiting the discontented would come easily, because the grievances were already there, waiting.

Pro-junta actors and AES-aligned influence networks have been weaponising TikTok’s virality to erode confidence in Nigerian democratic leadership, particularly targeting President Tinubu and the broader ECOWAS establishment.

Online influencers and sympathetic media outlets, including some based within Nigeria itself, have circulated claims accusing Nigerian politicians of backing insurgent networks and conspiring with foreign powers to destabilise the AES states.

The recruitment drive

Sarkin Abzin’s tour of northern Nigerian newsrooms and radio stations in 2024 was, in retrospect, the visible edge of something much larger. She moved through Kano, through the northwest, knocking on the doors of editors and station managers, carrying the same pitch: come to Niamey, meet your counterparts, and build solidarity. Several journalists, like Bashir, declined quietly. A general manager at a prominent radio station in Kano, who pleaded anonymity, told HumAngle that Sarkin Abzin had reached him, but that he had turned her down.

“Looking at the timing when there was a diplomatic rift between Nigeria and Niger, and the suspicion of foreign influence, I felt it was unwise to join,” he said.

However, not everyone had the luxury of that suspicion, or the will to act on it. Musa Abba (not real name), a journalist at a private radio station in Kebbi State, saw a conference invitation and a chance to connect with Hausa journalists beyond Nigeria’s borders. His station was invited and the managers nominated him. Accommodation and food were covered by the organisers. The journey, according to him, was arranged through the Nigerian Union of Journalists (NUJ), in a vehicle shared with other attendees and, notably, with some politicians and government officials who had also been invited.

What he found in Niamey, however, upended the premise of the invitation entirely.

He concluded that “it was a sophisticated plan to form Hausa journalists who will be promoting the Nigerien junta and anti-West sentiment across Hausa-speaking countries.”

On her TikTok page, Sarkin Abzin does not hide her bias. She promotes Sahel juntas and specifically asks her followers to promote Tchiani. 

In a social media exchange with Fati Niger, a Kannywood musician originally from the Niger Republic who had called for a return to democratic rule, Sarkin Abzin’s response betrayed her sentiments. “We don’t care about entertainment,” she mentioned in a TikTok video. What mattered, she said, was building their country and confronting those she described as “hypocrites and oppressors within the West,” as well as “hypocrites among us here, those in exile in every country in the world, including Nigeria, and those Nigerians who support the old system [of democracy] and do not stand behind these soldiers under Abdourahamane Tchiani.”

The summit Sarkin Abzin organised had state backing, institutional cover, and a well-hosted programme. It had everything, in other words, that a genuine journalism conference would have – except genuine journalism at its centre.

The irony is that the junta in Niger has been repressing and arresting journalists in the country. Moussa Ngom, Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ)’s Francophone Africa representative, explained that “arrest and detention have become tools of choice for Nigerien authorities to try to control information they find undesirable.”

Human Rights Watch (HRW) reported that in October 2025 six journalists were arrested in Niamey – Moussa Kaka and Abdoul Aziz of Saraounia TV; Ibro Chaibou and Souleymane Brah from the online publication Voice of the People; Youssouf Seriba of Les Échos du Niger; and Oumarou Kané, founder of the magazine Le Hérisson – over their alleged role in circulating a government press briefing invitation on social media, criticising the introduction of the mandatory payment for “Solidarity Fund for the Safeguarding of the Homeland”, a form of security levy in Niger. 

The conference that wasn’t

The organisation behind the summit, Kungiyar Yan Jarida Na Afrika Masu Magana Da Harshen Hausa or, in French, Résegu Africain des journalistes en langue Haoussa (Association of Hausa-speaking Journalists in Africa), was founded by Sarkin Abzin herself. She held a senior position at RTN, the Nigerien state broadcaster. Her organisation, she told prospective attendees, had the backing of the Nigerien government institutions. 

Inside the hall at the Centre International de Conférences Mahatma Gandhi in Niamey, when the summit was opened on Aug. 24, 2024, the keynote speakers were not press freedom advocates, editors or media economists. They were politicians. Prime Minister Ali Lamine Zeine appeared as Tchiani’s representative, delivering a speech whose original French had been translated into Hausa. He spoke about Niger’s exit from ECOWAS as a show of sovereignty.

The junta had, by this point, accused ECOWAS countries, particularly Nigeria and Benin, of colluding with France to destabilise Niger and sabotage its economy- allegations that, according to independent fact-checkers, had no credible evidentiary basis but which had proven effective at consolidating domestic support by replacing accountability with external threat. The Niamey summit was the moment that the narrative was offered to Nigerian voices who could carry it home.

Among those who spoke was Hamza Almustafa, a Nigerian retired general and a politician who used the platform to denounce the West. Najaatu Muhammad, a prominent northern Nigerian political figure, delivered what several attendees described as the most incendiary address of the proceedings. She told her audience that the Nigerian federal government was conspiring to sever Niger from Nigeria – to cut through bonds of religion and culture that no colonial border had ever truly divided. Abuja, she suggested, served Paris and Washington before it served Kano or Sokoto.

“It was not really a journalists’ meeting,” Musa told HumAngle, “By the time the politicians started speaking, those of us who understood what was happening knew we had made a mistake.”

Sarkin Abzin’s organisation had achieved, in a single day, what overt propaganda rarely manages: it had placed legitimate reporters in a room and given the junta’s narratives the texture of a press conference. The journalists went to Niamey to cover something. They came back as part of it. 

HumAngle reached out to Sarkin Abzin for comment. She did not respond. 

The Hausa messages 

The Niamey summit was not the opening move in this campaign. 

On Christmas Day of 2024, General Tchiani sat before the cameras of Radio-Télévision du Niger and delivered what a casual viewer might have mistaken for a holiday address. Although French had been Niger’s official language, he spoke in Hausa – a lingua franca in both Niger and most of northern Nigeria, spoken by millions across West Africa. 

His choice of language was deliberate. The message was not addressed to Niamey alone. It was addressed to Kano and other Hausa-speaking states, particularly in Northern Nigeria, where there is an already visible pro-Russian and anti-West sentiment, as reflected in 2024 when Russian flags were raised during a nationwide protest against insecurity and economic hardship.

The claims Tchiani made were engineered to sound verified. He alleged that France had paid Nigerian authorities to establish a military base in Borno State with the sole aim of destabilising Niger and its Sahel Alliance partners. He also accused France of supplying Boko Haram fighters in the Lake Chad basin with anti-aircraft weapons. He claimed that France and ISWAP had struck an agreement to establish a Lakurawa training camp in the Gaba forest near Sokoto, and that Nigerian leaders were aware. He named Nigerian security officials by name. He cited dates and operational specifics to express the grammar of verified intelligence, though deployed in the service of disinformation.

The hook embedded in the allegations was not entirely invented, which is precisely what made it effective. Nigeria’s Defence Headquarters had classified Lakurawa as a terrorist organisation with jihadist affiliations just weeks earlier, in November 2024. HumAngle’s own investigations had revealed the group had operated in the northwest for around six years, with local security authorities having previously and dangerously dismissed it as a harmless faction of herders from across the border. The name was already known. The fear was already settled. Tchiani simply attached a culprit to both.

In Sokoto and Zamafara, where communities had been facing terrorist violence for years, the allegation did not sound outlandish.

“People said, ‘We always knew France was behind this,’” a civil society worker in Kano who monitors social media, Muhammad Hamza, told HumAngle. “Tchiani just confirmed what they already believed.”

When BBC Hausa published testimonies refuting Tchiani’s claims, the reaction was contemptuous. “We know you won’t agree because you’re all on the same side,” one commenter wrote. “But we believe what he said. We have seen the signs.”

A survey conducted by HumAngle in Kano State found that 50 per cent of the respondents believed Tchiani’s claims, 30 per cent were undecided, and only 20 per cent rejected them outright. Many pointed to President Tinubu’s perceived closeness to France as a reason for suspicion. 

One respondent, Abubakar Saidu, explained his reasoning, “President Tinubu has been close to France since he assumed power, and we all know that France can create terrorists to attack Niger due to their diplomatic fallout.”

Nuhu Ribadu, Nigeria’s National Security Advisor, had attempted to refute the claim, but it was unsuccessful. According to him, “Nigeria has never given its land to any foreign troops—not even Britain. When the [United States] requested a military base, we denied them, but Niger gave them.”

In a country with an audience that receives official rebuttals as confirmation of the original charge, its psyche could easily be captured. Nigerians didn’t believe Ribadu. 

“This is the new reality of information warfare. It is no longer just about truth versus falsehood. It is about who controls the language in which truth is told. It is about who defines the enemy—and, ultimately, who is believed,” Kano-based security analyst Balarabe Ismail told HumAngle in April 2025.

Tchiani returned to the theme in June 2025, this time in a three-hour televised address delivered in Hausa, Zarma, and French, in which he again accused Nigeria of conspiring with France and the United States to sponsor terrorism, alleging a covert meeting in Abuja in December 2024 attended by CIA agents and Nigerian security officials who discussed arming groups targeting Niger. 

The headquarters of disinformation 

Analysts had already identified increased activity from disinformation networks affiliated with Russia in Niger following the coup in Niger. 

According to a report by Al Jazeera, since the July 2023 coup, Niger had become the latest hotbed of disinformation in the Sahel, with social media inundated by false rumours, misleading videos, and manipulated audio clips. The template, according to the report, was borrowed from Mali and Burkina Faso, where Wagner-linked networks had deployed online assets, locally cultivated contacts, and Russian state media to produce a sustained information environment that preceded, accelerated, and then legitimised military takeovers. In Niger, the same playbook ran faster because the infrastructure was already warm.

Following the death of Wagner Group founder Yevgeny Prigozhin in 2023, these operations were absorbed into two successor structures: the Russian Africa Corps, which provides military presence on the ground, and the Africa Initiative news agency, connected to Russian intelligence services and overseen from Moscow. Africa Initiative is an upgrade and institutional legitimacy that Wagner never possessed. With press credentials, cultural programming, and regional language capacity, it successfully dressed influence as media development.

The three Alliance of Sahel States junta leaders — in Niger, Mali, and Burkina Faso — have converged around a shared political project. They launched a joint television channel to promote a unified narrative across their territories, a regional media infrastructure whose audience mandate extends explicitly beyond their borders — into the Hausa-speaking communities of northern Nigeria, who share language, faith, and enough legitimate frustration to make the narratives land without the need for fabrication in every detail. 

Sarkin Abzin’s journalist recruitment initiative sits within this structure. The goal may not have been to turn Nigerian journalists into salaried agents but to create a class of northern Nigerian media voices who feel a degree of solidarity with the junta’s framing. 

A security analyst who works on influence operations in West Africa and spoke to HumAngle on condition of anonymity offered some insight. “What Niger and Russia are doing is not complicated,” he said. “They are creating the conditions under which Nigerian citizens begin to see their own government as the enemy.”

The operation has not yet achieved its full objective. Bashir Muhammad’s refusal was one of the resistance points among others. Some journalists who attended the Niamey summit have since spoken, cautiously, about the gap between what they were promised and what they found. The WhatsApp group formed after the summit, according to Musa Abba, the journalist who attended, had almost collapsed. 

“They promised to continue communicating via WhatsApp and to organise more summits in other countries, but more than a year later they said nothing and group members didn’t say anything either,” he said. Even Sarkin Abzin’s Facebook page is no longer active.  

This article was produced by HumAngle with support from the African Academy for Open Source Investigations (AAOSI) and the African Digital Democracy Observatory (ADDO) as part of an initiative by Code for Africa (CfA). Visit https://disinfo.africa/ for more information.

I am a journalist; storytelling is my craft.

Words are the tools I turn to, again and again, to make sense of events and shape them into narratives that do them justice. And yet, when it comes to the genocide in Gaza, my birthplace, language feels wholly inadequate.

There is a limit to what words can say. At a certain point, the instinct to describe, to explain and to make sense of what has unfolded begins to break down under the sheer scale of devastation and pain.

One scene from the start of the war has lingered in my mind: A bulldozer burying 111 unidentified bodies, wrapped in bright blue bags, in a mass grave. It appeared briefly in the endless scroll of social media before it disappeared again, replaced by yet another shocking scene. And another.

A hundred and eleven souls about whom we knew nothing; not their names, not their dreams or what their final moments were. A New York Times headline read: More Than 100 Bodies Are Delivered to a Mass Grave in Southern Gaza. Omission of the perpetrator aside, could that possibly capture the magnitude of such an event?

Every attempt to describe in words what Israel has inflicted on Gaza and its people has felt reductive, compressing something vast, ongoing and staggeringly lethal into language that cannot possibly hold it. What remains is a tension at the heart of the act of telling itself; knowing no account will ever be enough, how do you tell stories of such unspeakable horrors?

This tension lies at the heart of the Gaza Genocide Tapestry, which I am co-curating and which will be displayed at this year’s Venice Biennale. It is an art project that brings together Palestinian women in occupied Palestine and refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan to document Gaza’s destruction in real time. They tell these stories in the way they know best: Needle and thread.

Through 100 embroidered panels, each composed of 55,000 stitches, these women have created a testimonial that refuses to let the world forget what has been done and to whom.

Each panel tells a fragment of what has happened: A journalist weeping over his child’s dead body; young girls with empty pots being crushed at a soup kitchen; a child crying as her world crumbles around her.

Some of these images forced themselves into the public consciousness, if only for a moment; Khalid Nabhan hugging his dead granddaughter, the “soul of his soul”, for the last time before joining her a year later, or Dr Hussam Abu Safia walking towards a tank on the orders of Israeli soldiers, to then never be seen again.

But most images from Gaza are not granted that pause. They pass without names, context or farewell.

The tapestry defies this. To embroider is to decide something is worth the effort – hours, days and weeks of labour. This is to insist it is not lost to the sheer volume of images that pass briefly before our eyes.

A national archive in thread

The Gaza Genocide Tapestry is a new chapter of the award-winning Palestine History Tapestry Project, which I co-chair alongside Gaza-born designer Ibrahim Muhtadi. Following in the tradition of the famous Bayeux Tapestry and the Great Tapestry of Scotland, it is the largest body of Palestinian embroidery narrating the history of Palestine and its people.

The tapestry was started in 2011 in Oxford by Jan Chalmers, a British nurse who lived and worked in Gaza for two years in the 1960s. An avid embroiderer, Jan was previously involved with the Keiskamma History Tapestry, which chronicles the history of South Africa’s Xhosa people and now hangs in the South African parliament.

Recognising the centuries-old embroidery tradition of Palestinians, tatreez, Jan believed a Palestinian history tapestry was in order. I met Jan in 2013 in Oxford during my postgraduate studies. That is when I first joined this invaluable effort.

Tatreez, recognised by UNESCO in 2021, has long expressed Palestinian heritage and belonging. Its motifs encoded identity, place and social status. After the 1948 Nakba, it became a means of preserving Palestinian culture in the face of attempted erasure. Today it is something else again: Testimony.

Not long after Israel unleashed its devastating military assault on Gaza in 2023, the tapestry found new momentum by merging with the Palestine Museum US, an independent institution founded and led by Palestinian American entrepreneur Faisal Saleh. The tapestry is now housed at the museum in Woodbridge, Connecticut, and travels from there for exhibits worldwide.

It was within this expanded framework that the Gaza Genocide Tapestry took shape. Jan, Ibrahim, Faisal, and I came together to discuss how best to document the genocide. We initially created two panels to mark this dark moment in Palestinian history – Gaza on Fire and The Palestinian Phoenix. Faisal then proposed we do 100 panels focused solely on Gaza.

The challenge of producing in a single year what had previously taken a decade was formidable, but it was an urgency dictated by an unfolding genocide and made possible by the scale, visibility and global reach the museum provided.

United in pain

Women in Gaza were initially among the most active contributors to the Palestine History Tapestry. Their work was vibrant and meticulous, and offered them a means of support. But as bombardment intensified, most became unreachable, often displaced multiple times. Materials could not enter Gaza, and finished panels could not leave.

Gaza’s women became the subjects of the story, rather than its narrators.

But the tapestry, at its core, is a kind of “lam shamel” (Arabic for family reunion), as one embroiderer put it. Despite borders and forced displacement, the labour of Palestinian women everywhere converges into a single visual record of the Palestinian experience.

For Iman Shehabi, Basma Natour and the dozen women in Ein el-Hilweh refugee camp, embroidery is how they make a living. But the tapestry project, they said, “restored” a part of their “dignity”.

“It was a space where heritage pulsed, and where our needles stitched both our pains and our hopes,” they wrote to us in a letter upon completion of their panels.

And it is not only the embroiderers who contributed. One of the panels in the Gaza Genocide Tapestry, embroidered by Shahla Mahareeq in Ramallah, was based on an image of Hind Rajab illustrated by London-based artist Khadija Said.

A panel of blindfolded men, arbitrarily detained by Israeli soldiers in Gaza, was painted by Haifa-based lawyer and rights activist Janan Abdu, a Palestinian citizen of Israel. It was embroidered by Bothaina Youssef in Lebanon’s Ein el-Hilweh refugee camp.

Another artwork by Gaza-based artist Mohammed Alhaj, depicting displacement in Gaza, was also embroidered in Lebanon by Kifah Kurdieh, before a million people in southern Lebanon were themselves displaced.

The process of putting together the Gaza Genocide Tapestry has been painstaking. For more than a year, Faisal, Jan, Ibrahim and I held weekly meetings to research and select representative panels across various themes and coordinate the work. Each panel had to be translated by Ibrahim into a format that could be embroidered, then sent to a woman to stitch through field coordinators in each location.

There were constant questions, both ethical and practical. What do we choose to include, and what is left out? What does it mean to translate suffering into a stitched pattern?

At the Venice Biennale

Starting May 9, the Gaza Genocide Tapestry will be exhibited publicly at Palazzo Mora under the title:
“- – – – – – – – – – -” *
*Gaza – No Words – See The Exhibit

It will be available for viewing through November.

When we were informed in November last year that our biennale submission was selected, I felt a complicated kind of recognition. On one hand, it is an honour and a chance for this work, and the women behind it, to be seen on one of the world’s most prominent cultural stages.

On the other hand, it captured the paradox of a world increasingly willing to name what is happening in Gaza, to look it in the eye, call it a genocide, and yet remain unable or unwilling to stop it. What does it say about humanity when art becomes a primary site of real-time testimony because political systems have failed?

I have no simple answer. What I know is this: Palestinian women continue to tell these stories and demand accountability. Theirs is a collective response to my late mentor Refaat Alareer’s final instruction before he was killed: “If I must die, you must live to tell my story.”

KIM Kardashian and Lewis Hamilton’s romantic beach pictures prove that they’ve hard launched a VERY different relationship.

Body language expert Judi James has revealed that Kim, 45, and Lewis, 41, appear to be the real deal with “genuine displays of intimacy”.

The happy couple, who went official with their relationship in December, packed on the PDA during their getaway in Malibu.

The Skims founder looked in her element as she enjoyed a surf lesson with her beau.

TV personality Kim showed off her incredible figure in a skintight wetsuit and a black bikini top.

The F1 star wore a pair of black shorts and a matching T-shirt.

They were seen all over each other as they struggled to keep their hands off one another.

Judi has now revealed that the beach snaps illustrate just how much this famous couple are compatible, despite fears that they were a showmance.

Even though it’s early days, Judi believes that their is already a strong level of trust between the pair.

She exclusively told The Sun: “They might have been seen on a couple of chaste-looking dates where Lewis’s body language primarily spelled out ‘gentleman’ but these photos and the video look like the hard launch of a more tactile, sexual and romantic relationship between Kim and Lewis.

“Kim’s leading the plunge here, swimming ahead of Lewis as he seems to be struggling to catch up with her and touch her.

“When they are together in the ocean there are signs of an uninhibited and playful, mutually clinging relationship with Kim encircling Lewis with her arms and throwing her head back with an open-mouth laugh of sheer pleasure, with her relaxed neck-baring a sign of strong levels of trust in the relationship.”

The expert insisted that Kim appears to be in charge of the relationship but also seem to be rather like-minded and on the same page.

“Kim does look like the leader in the body language stages here, at one point she stands with her feet slightly splayed and her back arched as she performs a preening, confident pit-bare gesture as she squeezes the water out of her hair,” Judi shared.

“Lewis’s response is reciprocal as he shows his admiration by placing one hand out and onto the upper part of her bum.

“During a playful-looking moment Kim turns her torso in towards his, pressing it against his torso in an intimate pose as she places one hand on his waist and here he responds with one hand curved right around the shape of her bum.

“Kim and Lewis have dressed in coordinating swimwear here to signal they are a couple and their mirrored movements and poses at some points suggest a like-minded relationship too.”

Kim and Lewis packed on the PDA and were seen strolling along the beach and were pictured smiling and laughing together.

The lovebirds were then seen splashing about in the sea and were spotted with their arms wrapped around one another.

They appeared to be the real deal as they kept eye contact and smooched while riding the waves in the sea.

They were also seen showing off their surf skills during the sporty outing, with Kim jumping on top of the board, while Lewis kept an eye on her.

They seemed comfortable in each other’s presence as they clung to each other and rode the waves.

Last week, Kim sparked Kim rumours that she is moving in with Lewis as they went rug shopping in LA.

Lewis attempted to go incognito with black sunglasses and a baseball cap.

The two were seen heading back into a vehicle as they made their way home after the shopping trip.

Just last week, Kim made an 11,000-mile round-trip to spend 24 hours in London with Lewis.

She flew to the UK on her private jet to see her man in a bid to keep their long-distance romance alive.

She left Los Angeles last Monday and landed at Farnborough, Hants, at 4pm on the Tuesday before being chauffeured on a 90-minute journey to Lewis’s £18million home in Kensington, West London.

The couple stayed holed-up in his six-bedroom mansion while their security teams kept guard.

She then left on Wednesday afternoon, taking off from Oxford at 5.30pm to return to the US.

A source said: “Lewis and Kim are two of the busiest people in showbiz, but they are determined to do everything to see each other when they have any spare time.

“Kim spent Easter weekend with her family and then had a photoshoot in Los Angeles on Monday morning, then flew across the Atlantic to see Lewis.

“They didn’t have long together because she had commitments in the US to get back to, but it was quality time.”

Kim’s romance with Lewis became public knowledge after The Sun revealed she flew in from Los Angeles on her £100million private jet to spend an evening with him.

On January 31, the couple enjoyed a brief stay at the exclusive Estelle Manor in the Cotswolds, with insiders saying they had the spa to themselves, before enjoying a meal in a private room.

They made their public debut as a couple at the Super Bowl in February where they were spotted sitting together in a luxury suite.

They have since been seen together in Paris, the US and for several other trips.

Proving they’re the real deal, the sports star recently met Kim’s children while they were out in Tokyo ahead of the Japanese Grand Prix.

The couple were  joined by three of her children -Saint, 10, Chicago, nine, and six-year-old Psalm – while they were on spring break.

“It’s more than just a casual connection. It takes a lot to capture Kim’s interest and she’s definitely intrigued,” an insider told People.

“He’s just an easygoing guy with great energy.

“Her family likes him and Kim’s very into him. They are both busy with their careers, but see each other as much as possible.”