In a country where betting has become a cultural phenomenon, one name has repeatedly emerged as a beacon of luck: Hope Diana Ligami.
Her winning streak began on April 8, 2023, when she allegedly bagged Ksh 50,000 through Lotto Kenya, a popular lottery platform, and was featured on a televised programme during the announcement.
She would later win a Proton Saga in Mozzart Bet’s Aviator Promotion in 2024 and subsequently pocket Ksh 250,000 in Shabiki’s Jet X campaign in 2025. This Sacco worker and thrift shop owner seem to have cracked the code to beating the odds.
But as her victories pile up, so do the suspicions. Is Hope Ligami the luckiest woman in Kenya, or is there something more sinister at play in the country’s multi-billion-shilling betting industry?
A Pattern of Wins That Defies the Odds
Well, while her Lotto win might have gone unnoticed, Hope Ligami’s story caught the public’s eye when she clinched a Proton Saga in Mozzart Bet’s “Gurumisha Ndege Shinda Gari” promotion, which ran from December 18, 2023, to January 17, 2024. The competition, hosted by one of Kenya’s leading gaming firms, saw participants wager as little as a few shillings for a chance to win big. For Hope, the win was nothing short of a miracle—or so it seemed.
Fast forward to April 2025, and Hope’s name surfaced again, this time as the winner of Ksh 250,000 in Shabiki’s Jet X campaign. Her Facebook post after one of her wins, shared with her 5,000 followers, painted a picture of gratitude and humility: “We humans shared stories. We struggle too much for a life that can end anytime. Find glory in the present moment; be in peace, be in love, and be in joy.”
But for many Kenyans, her streak of wins isn’t inspiring—it’s suspicious. A few days ago, Nyakundi kicked off a sensitisation campaign against betting after it was reported that several Kenyans had taken their lives after losing everything to betting through the famous Aviator.
The campaign pushed by Nyakundi led to several revelations that exposed the dark side of Kenya’s betting industry.
Nyakundi, in one of his posts, questioned Hope Ligami’s jackpot wins. He pointed out in a viral post on April 23, 2025, “How come ni yeye tu ndiye hushinda prizes za betting companies? Sometimes last year, Ali aliwin a Proton Saga car in a competition by Mozzart Bet. Halafu juzi amewin 250,000 Shabiki Aviator? Aaih ni bahati yake ama mmoja wa imposters?”
The Mathematics of Gambling: A Losing Game
Nyakundi’s scepticism isn’t unfounded. The mathematics of gambling, as explained in numerous studies (including Wikipedia’s 2025 entry on gambling probabilities), shows that the odds are almost always stacked against the player.
In games of chance like lotteries and betting promotions, the expected return is negative, meaning players are statistically guaranteed to lose money over time. For someone like Hope to win multiple high-profile prizes in such a short span defies probability to an almost absurd degree.
X user @Nlimo_ echoed this sentiment, stating, “If you understand the probability mathematics well! You can’t be rich by gambling, never.”
The accompanying image of two women sitting on the ground with oxygen tanks—a stark reminder of the desperation many Kenyans face—underscored the harsh reality that gambling often preys on the vulnerable, offering false hope in exchange for hard-earned money.
A Culture of Deception in Kenya’s Betting Industry
Kenya’s betting industry is a behemoth, with leaked figures from 2019 revealing that punters wagered over Ksh30 billion in a single month, according to a report by Finance Uncovered.
The industry, heavily dominated by online betting platforms like SportPesa, Shabiki, Odibets, Betika, Mozzart Bet and many others, returns about 90% of bets to players as winnings—but the remaining 10% ensures that the house always wins in the long run.
Shabiki, launched in 2017 by billionaire S.K. Macharia, was one of the first media-backed betting platforms in Kenya, capitalising on the country’s growing gambling craze. Macharia’s Royal Media Services used its vast reach—through radio, TV, and digital platforms—to attract players, positioning Shabiki as a major player alongside giants like SportPesa. But with growth came concerns about addiction, especially among unemployed youth, and allegations of foul play.
Replies to Nyakundi’s post on X paint a troubling picture of an industry rife with deception.
X user @RitchieRickie5 shared a personal anecdote from their campus days, revealing how they were once used as a front for a staged win: “Nikiwa campus Tusker had a promotion… A friend approached me and told me to give out my ID and phone number to the event organisers. Later that night, tukipiga sherehe, I was announced the winner of 20k, nikapewa yangu na wao wakajipanga na the rest.”
Others, like @sharrycherop, pointed fingers at S.K. Macharia directly, alleging that his betting ventures have long been scams: “They have always been scams. SK Macharia has been on this game for a while now.”
Staged Wins and False Hope: A Wider Problem?
The suspicion surrounding Hope Ligami’s wins isn’t an isolated incident—it’s part of a broader pattern in Kenya’s betting industry.
High-profile promotions with flashy prizes, like cars and cash, are often used to lure in new players, creating the illusion that anyone can win big.
But as @Theafricanspell noted in a reply to Nyakundi, “This country we are trying to con each other whatsoever… I mean, that’s who we are.” From pastors fleecing their flocks to politicians deceiving the masses, the culture of scams in Kenya seems to extend to the betting world.
Images shared in the X thread show Hope posing with oversized cheques from Shabiki and Mozzart Bet, often alongside company representatives. These photo ops, meant to celebrate her wins, instead fuel speculation that she might be a hired face—a “winner” chosen to promote the companies rather than a genuine participant.
The consistency of her victories, coupled with the lack of transparency in how winners are selected, has led many to question whether these promotions are rigged to favour insiders or even fictitious winners.
The Human Cost of Kenya’s Betting Craze
Beyond the allegations of fraud, Hope Ligami’s story highlights a deeper issue: the devastating impact of Kenya’s betting addiction. As Finance Uncovered reported, the government has historically viewed the betting industry as a lucrative source of tax revenue, but campaigners like Mr Bwire argue that it should focus on public health instead. “Especially in this Covid-19 era when isolation and boredom will increase gambling participation and fuel gambling addiction,” he warned in 2019—a statement that remains relevant today.
For every Hope Ligami who wins (or appears to win), countless others lose everything. The promise of quick riches drives many Kenyans to wager what little they have, often leading to financial ruin, mental health struggles, and strained relationships.
What’s Next for Hope—and for Kenya?
Hope Ligami’s repeated wins have sparked a firestorm of debate, but they’ve also shone a spotlight on the murky underbelly of Kenya’s betting industry. Are these companies genuinely offering life-changing opportunities, or are they exploiting vulnerable Kenyans with staged wins and empty promises? The lack of oversight—evidenced by the fact that the Betting Control and Licensing Board (BCLB) relies on self-reported figures from gambling firms—only deepens the mistrust.
For now, Hope Ligami remains a polarising figure: a symbol of hope for some and a red flag for others. Whether she’s a genuine winner or a pawn in a larger scheme, her story underscores the need for greater transparency and regulation in Kenya’s betting industry. Until then, Kenyans will continue to bet, dream, and wonder: is the jackpot worth the risk?
What do you think? Is Hope Ligami the luckiest woman in Kenya, or is there more to her story than meets the eye? Share your thoughts in the comments below, and don’t forget to follow for more updates on this unfolding scandal!
