When Judy Katheni first saw her boyfriend place a bet, she wasn't worried. They had only just started dating in 2017, and to her, football was just something men did over the weekend.
He would usually stake a small amount on a Premier League match, and they would have a friendly argument about who would score first. She even joined in sometimes.
“It wasn't a big deal, and I didn't see it as a threat,” says Judy.
However, a year later, after they moved in together and had two children, this casual weekend habit became the centre of arguments and tension in their marriage.
Her husband, Joseph Mulwa, would sometimes wake up at 3 am to watch a match he had placed bet on.
In 2022, Joseph discovered Aviator, and his gambling skyrocketed.
Aviator is a fast-paced crash game where the player has to cash out before the virtual plane disappears. The longer it stays airborne, the higher the winnings. It has swallowed entire salaries among bettors, some getting into heavy debt and even bankruptcy.
“At times he used to place bets on my phone and his. He hoped that if one fails, maybe the other could win.”
What began as a small bet of Sh50 gradually turned into an obsession that resembled a pyramid scheme, draining his finances.
Then, one day, the money they had set aside for their son's school fees — Sh56,000 — disappeared on a bet gone sour.
Judy had to look for money to settle the fees. “What could I have done? This is our son and he needed to go to school.”
The loss that sticks most with Judy was when her husband gambled away Sh120,000.
“He placed the bet on aviator hoping to win at least Sh850,000. Unfortunately, the bird flew away.”
It was not just the money that had disappeared in one evening that unsettled her, but also the days that followed.
“It was as though he had lost his mind. He was frustrated, threw tantrums over small things and lashed out at us.”
Gambling has become an addiction.
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Counselling psychologist Isaac Maweu notes that when one partner becomes emotionally unstable, a common occurrence when gamblers lose money, the whole family suffers. “The uncertainty alone can be overwhelming. Partners and children are left wondering: What if more money is lost? What if things get worse?”
At one point, Judy packed her things and left with their eldest son. This wasn't done in a fit of rage, but rather in surrender as she had run out of options on how to save the marriage.
Joseph went looking for her, begged for forgiveness, and promised that things would be different.
“I came back and he seemed to have truly changed. We decided to solemnise our marriage through a civil wedding. Our budget was about Sh600,000 which we managed to raise,” she narrates.
However, two weeks to the wedding, Judy noticed that her husband seemed uneasy. Sometimes, he stepped out to pick calls and whenever she probed, he reassured her that all was well.
A week later, everything came to light. You see, Joseph had been tasked with paying deposits for the wedding’s service providers. He paid them small amounts and gambled the rest hoping to multiply the money before the wedding day and earn some profit. Unfortunately, the bets yielded nothing. Now, the service providers were calling to demand full deposit but the money was gone.
“You might be wondering why I am still in this marriage, but the truth is I believe he will change. Of course I handle all the bills now because he cannot be trusted with money. Sometimes I feel like leaving, but then I think of our children. I hope he will change, at least for their sake.”
Grace Mwende begins her story with a sombre admission. “My husband left, but he was not the problem. I was.”
In late 2019, Grace waited with bated breath for the announcement of her promotion at work. She worked as a bank teller and had been putting extra effort for the last two years hoping to earn the promotion. Unfortunately, the job she was eyeing went to a male colleague.
Although Grace was deeply disappointed, she did not make a scene. That evening, she made dinner for her family and went about her daily routine without uttering a word of what had happened earlier in the day. She seemed normal on the surface, but was boiling inside with a feeling that caused her chest to tighten. And as she retired to bed later that night, her mind was fixated on one thing: how to make more money.
Gambling is presented as a form of entertainment and comes with a disclaimer to ‘indulge responsibly.’
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A few days later, one of Judy’s colleagues casually mentioned to her about some betting app over lunch. Judy went back to her workstation thinking about that conversation and it didn’t take long for her to place her first bet.
“I placed a stake of Sh200 on an Arsenal match and won Sh1,200. Immediately, the heaviness in my chest lifted. I had found a way to make more money,” says Grace.
Maweu notes that this is a common pattern among gamblers. “In most cases, people are drawn in by the hope of making more money, especially when they're under financial pressure. With betting heavily advertised across traditional and digital platforms, the promise of quick returns is hard to resist. But it is an empty promise.”
Back at the bank, work was exhausting, with targets, audits, and constant anxiety about underperforming. The stress of it all overwhelmed grace and she found herself taking it out on her family.
“To relieve the stress, I turned to betting. At this point, I was still keeping the stakes reasonably low. Sh100, Sh50, winning some, losing some…it distracted me from the pressures of my life.”
What Grace didn’t know was that she was slowly getting addicted to gambling. A few months later, she began placing bets of Sh1,000 because she felt she had mastered the game.
“My colleague had introduced me to one app, but I switched to another one that had the option of live betting. I didn't want to wait until Saturday to find out if I had won. I wanted to know now.”
Grace would spend her evenings planning fixtures, checking form guides and reading injury news.
“When you think of betting or gambling, you imagine people in some dingy place making guesses. But what I was doing felt like research, it felt formal and a legit way to make money.”
Grace’s gambling habits spiralled fast, and to facilitate higher stakes, she began selling household items.
“I sold a blender, a broken Tv and kitchen utensils just to get money to place bets. When my husband asked where these items were, like the TV, I would lie that I had taken them to a repair shop. So I was gambling and lying.”
But Grace didn’t see it that way at that point. She saw it as buying time, and kept telling herself that she was about to win big in the next bet, and solve everything.
According to Maweu, this deception is prevalent among couples because families tend to have a shared budget; missing money is impossible to ignore.
“When one partner misappropriates their budget allocation, the gaps will be evident through unpaid bills. Therefore, a gambling partner is likely to find another source of money, away from the budgeted sources such as salaries, to finance their gambling. That is why you hear of people selling household items, clothes and so forth.”
“I took a loan of Sh100,000 from my nephew and placed the entire amount on two separate bets. I lost both bets, and just like that, the money was gone.”
After she recovered from the shock, Grace decided to open up to her husband about the lost money and her gambling habits. After listening to her intently, he said quietly, almost like a whisper, “I need space.” Then he left.
“It has been 17 months and he has never come back,” says Grace.
The first few months of being left alone with the children were the toughest of her life. She almost slipped into depression thinking of how addiction had robbed her of her husband.
“The hardest part was explaining to my children why their father was not living with us anymore. Telling them that I had a problem.”
Grace says that although her husband never came back, he tried to get her some help.
“He spoke to my brother, a dean of students at a local university, and shared what I was struggling with. My brother called me and we had a meeting, talked at length and he offered to pay for my counselling.”
Grace resolved to quit gambling after this and with the help of therapy, she hasn’t placed a bet in months.
“It is not easy, but I am determined to get better. Gambling is like a disease. My husband and I are now talking, but I wouldn’t want us to get back together just yet until I am sure I have overcome this addiction. It wouldn’t be fair to him or the boys if I lied that I am over it. But I am working on getting better, every day.”
Brian — let's call him Ochieng — does not want his surname to be used. “Not yet,” he says.
He began betting in 2017, after moving to Nairobi to take up new role in logistics role. At the time, he was 28 and lived in a bed-sitter in Kahawa- West, on Thika Road.
“I was not busy on weekends, often being indoors so I can say I started betting out of boredom.
Then, one Monday in 2020, a colleague wouldn't stop talking about his winnings on a new betting app that had just launched in the country.
“I didn't want to be the only one with nothing to say, so I downloaded the new app.”
Data from KRA indicates that in the last eight months up to March 2025, the taxman collected Sh12 billion in form taxes from the betting firms.
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Brian started a weekly ritual: Every Tuesday and Wednesday nights he would settle down in from of his laptop and start loading Champions League fixtures loaded. He had what he called a fool-proof system.
“I just thought I knew more than the average person. I had watched football all my life. I thought that counted for something. There were good runs: wins that covered rent, trips home and weekend hangouts with friends. But I also lost a lot more times than I won.”
He later got a girlfriend, moved into a one-bedroom house and became a father. However, this shift came when he was already hooked to gambling. He was no longer doing it out of boredom –he had a wife and a baby to keep him busy – he was doing it because he couldn’t stop.
Then Aviator arrived and changed everything. “You watch the multiplier go up, thinking "cash out now, cash out now", but you want just a little more. The first time I placed a bet on Aviator, I lost Sh8,000. I went back the next day to reclaim my money but it went downhill from there.”
Maweu notes that the relief of winning is often short-lived, as most gamblers immediately begins thinking about the next bet. Some celebrate excessively by going on spending sprees. However, research shows that 95 per cent of people who win large sums of money eventually return to the same financial position, or worse, unable to sustain the lifestyle they briefly experienced.
Two years ago, it all came crashing down for Brian. He could not afford to meet the family's basic needs for a month and his wife’s brother had to step in and save his family. Family meetings were called that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Whispers spread, the distrust in his wife’s eyes and the constant feeling of failure weighed heavily on him.
“I was desperate to stop, to regain my dignity and standing with my family but it was so hard. I made it to three months without placing a bet. Then I devised a way to place my debts without anyone finding out.”
Brian bought a new phone and registered the M-pesa accounts in a friend's name. He mostly plays Aviator through one app and occasionally plays live football when he wants a slower game.
“My wife suspects something. She has asked about the second phone, and she still notices unexplained gaps in our finances. I make excuses, and she either accepts them or pretends to," says Brian.
He fears not only being found out, but also the consequences: the second round of everyone watching him, everyone weighing in, and the feeling of being on probation in his own home.
“I will keep trying to quit, step by step. I'll drop one habit at a time. Like not placing multiple bets in one day and reducing the amount I bet. One day at a time," says Brian.
Maweu notes that cases linked to betting are steadily rising, as are the number of marriages struggling under its weight. The betting partner may become defensive or even aggressive and be unwilling to be questioned about their actions.
“Physical stress comes with a lot of cortisol production, also known as the "stress hormone", and family members might end up getting sick because of the family member who is causing them stress. It no longer becomes an individual problem, but a family problem.”
He adds that children are often the most affected group, absorb more stress than adults often realise. “Growing up in an environment marked by conflict and instability, they may begin to mirror what they see. Some develop coping mechanisms such as lying or stealing as a way of navigating uncertainty.”
Maweu observes that some children are forced to take on responsibilities far beyond their years. “They become parentified children, stepping into adult roles because the adults around them are unable to do so. Additionally, some internalise gambling itself as a solution. Having observed it closely, they may come to view it as a legitimate means of generating income, perpetuating a cycle that originated within their own family.”
Maweu admits that overcoming any addiction is a difficult task that requires long-term, holistic management. This may involve gradually changing betting patterns, delaying the urge to bet, finding rewarding alternative activities, and creating systems that reinforce positive behaviour as well as staying accountable.
“Therapy can also play a role, not just for the person betting, but for their partner too, helping them to learn how to cope and navigate the relationship,” says Maweu.
