One evening in December last year, Mwas* sat down and wrote a suicide note to his parents. “Aviator is so, so addictive. I am hooked, and I can’t even face you… This thing has destroyed everything, and there is no way out,” he wrote.
At the time, he had been gambling heavily on Aviator, one of the most popular crash-style betting games in Kenya today.
The game is deceptively simple: a virtual plane takes off, and players must cash out before it disappears. The longer it stays airborne, the higher the potential winnings. But if it vanishes before withdrawal, the entire stake is lost.
For Mwas, a recovering gambling addict, the promise of quick money proved irresistible.
What began as casual play gradually spiralled into compulsive behaviour that drained his finances, strained his relationships and pushed him to the brink. He began gambling through the night, placing multiple bets daily and spending thousands of shillings. His addiction was compounded by alcohol use, deepening his financial and emotional distress.
Three weeks before writing the suicide note, he had handed over his phone to his girlfriend during an argument. She had threatened to leave him over his constant lack of money despite working in his parents’ business.
“We were always arguing. She didn’t understand why I was always broke. I had grown numb to her complaints,” he says.
In truth, he admits, he had even considered ending the relationship—not because he no longer cared, but because he wanted to sell household items to sustain his gambling habit. We met Mwas at Resolutions Recovery Centre in Karura ka Nyungu, where he had voluntarily admitted himself a week earlier. Fresh from his fourth counselling session, he sat with his parents and sister, beginning the slow process of recovery.
Experts warn that gambling addiction is emerging as a major public health concern in Kenya, particularly among young people.
He is among a growing number of young Kenyans grappling with gambling addiction, a behavioural disorder increasingly linked to financial distress, mental health struggles and social breakdown.
Experts say gambling becomes a problem when it begins to disrupt personal, financial and professional life. Chrispus Githae Kimaru, an addiction counsellor and former gambling addict, says the vice cuts across income levels and social classes, driven by economic pressures and unrealistic expectations of quick wealth.
“For many Kenyans, betting is not entertainment. People are trying to meet daily expenses, pay debts or supplement income. That is where the danger begins,” he says.
He explains that addiction often starts innocently—through peer influence or curiosity.
“It begins with a story. Someone tells you they made money, but they don’t tell you how much they lost. Because you also want money, you try it,” he says.
Mwas recalls a similar path. Introduced to betting by friends while in college, he initially sought money for social activities—clothes, drinks and outings. “I wanted to fit in,” he says. At the time, he had access to funds through his parents’ business. But the turning point came when he lost Sh40,000 meant for stock. “That is when my parents found out,” he says.
Despite intervention—including counselling and replacement of his smartphone with a basic phone—he continued gambling secretly, often in betting shops.
Kimaru says many addicts begin in high school or college, a period marked by financial curiosity and limited impulse control. Once the dopamine-driven thrill sets in, casual betting can quickly escalate into compulsive behaviour.
Unlike substance abuse, gambling addiction is often invisible.
“There are no obvious warning signs,” says Harrison Irungu, a recovering addict and now an addiction counsellor at Inuka Wellness Centre in Nairobi.
“You can’t drink Sh100,000 worth of alcohol in one night. But someone can place a Sh100,000 bet instantly and no one notices.”
Irungu’s story illustrates the devastating consequences.
He began betting while working as a bank teller, driven by financial pressure. His wife was pregnant, and they were struggling to upgrade from a bedsitter.
“I needed money. My salary was not enough,” he says.
At the time, he had just completed rehabilitation for alcohol addiction and was determined to stay sober. But underlying issues—low self-esteem and financial stress—remained unresolved.
Betting became his new escape.
“I would stay up all night gambling. My wife thought I was cheating because I was always on my phone,” he says.
Working as a teller gave him access to cash. He began taking money from the till, convinced he would win and repay it. When auditors first discovered a deficit of Sh224,000, he took a loan to cover it. But the behaviour continued.
Three months later, Sh1.2 million was missing. This time, he was arrested and detained before a relative intervened. The bank dropped the case, but he lost his job.
Instead of stopping, he spiralled further—relapsing into alcohol use and gambling more intensely. His marriage collapsed, and he moved back to his parents’ home.
His turning point came in 2020 when he was caught attempting to sell his brother’s stolen laptop.
“That is when I admitted I was powerless,” he says. In rehab, he initially believed alcohol was his main problem. But clarity came later. “I realised betting was causing my anxiety—and it had driven me back to alcohol.”
After recovery, he pursued counselling, eventually earning a diploma and later a Master’s in addiction counselling. He now helps others navigate similar struggles.
Reviewing his financial records during recovery revealed the scale of his addiction. “Almost every transaction was money sent to betting sites. I lost millions and won only a few thousand,” he says.
Experts say gambling addiction is rooted in the brain’s reward system. Dr Linus Oyugi, a clinical psychologist at Chiromo Hospital Group, says the condition closely mirrors substance addiction.
“Repeated dopamine surges alter how the brain processes risk and reward. People continue gambling even when they understand the consequences,” he explains.
Young people are particularly vulnerable. “The part of the brain responsible for impulse control is not fully developed until around age 26,” he says. Kimaru adds that addiction eventually becomes detached from winning. “It is about the feeling—the anticipation. The dopamine comes before the result. That is why winning and losing start to feel the same,” he says.
At this stage, gamblers may lose large sums without emotional reaction. “A person can lose Sh40,000 and behave as if they lost Sh20. It is no longer about money—it is about the act of betting,” he says.
Not everyone who gambles becomes addicted, but certain factors increase vulnerability. These include impulsive personality traits, exposure to gambling at a young age, peer influence and weak regulatory environments.
“If you like fast rewards, you are more likely to get hooked,” says Kimaru, adding that the environment also plays a key role. “If your friends gamble, or if you live in a place with weak controls, the risk increases,” he says.
Experts are divided on whether long-term “casual gambling” is sustainable. Kimaru believes a small group of disciplined gamblers exist—those who set limits and stick to them. “They bet only what they can afford to lose and walk away without emotion,” he says.
Gambling addiction cuts across gender and class lines, though patterns differ.
But Dr Oyugi disagrees, arguing that the systems are designed to sustain engagement.
“There is no such thing as casual gambling in the long run. It is only a matter of time,” he says. Gambling addiction cuts across gender and class lines, though patterns differ. Kimaru says many women seek help earlier, while Dr Oyugi notes that men are generally more at risk due to higher risk-taking tendencies and coping behaviours.
The idea that gambling is confined to low-income groups is also misleading. “People are betting thousands—even millions. That is not poverty,” Kimaru says.
The Association of Gaming Operators of Kenya (AGOK), which represents licensed betting firms, maintains that gambling should be treated as entertainment, not income. Through its “Chukua Control” initiative launched in May 2025, the organisation promotes responsible gaming. “Bet only what you can afford to lose. Gambling should not be used to pay school fees or rent,” says AGOK Chief Executive Officer John Mutua. He says operators have introduced safeguards, including self-exclusion options and stricter advertising standards.
“We allow individuals to request exclusion from betting platforms. We also emphasise that gaming can be harmful and restrict advertising to watershed hours,” he says.
The industry also highlights its economic contribution, employing thousands and generating significant tax revenue.
However, regulators—including the Gambling Regulatory Authority and the ICT Ministry—did not respond to queries on enforcement and oversight by press time.
Experts warn that gambling addiction is emerging as a major public health concern in Kenya, particularly among young people, fuelled by economic pressures and easy digital access.
For individuals like Mwas, recovery is possible—but difficult.
As he continues therapy, he reflects on the grip gambling had on his life. “It started as a way to make money. But it took everything instead,” he says.
*Name changed to protect identity.
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Tomorrow in the Daily Nation. Confessions of a grandmother gambler addicted to Aviator
