When profit finds its way into the bottle

Six days ago, The Star carried a story titled “Poison in the Bottle: Killer Alcohol Floods Market as Rogue Traders Mint Billions.” I read it briefly and moved on to other stories, as journalists often do. I never imagined that within days, I would encounter the same story—not in a newspaper, but inside the house of someone close to me.

I had heard about alcohol poisoning linked to illicit alcohol, particularly in chang’aa dens. I remember learning about it during my college days. In biochemistry class, we learnt how ethanol can be used in the management of methanol poisoning because it competes with methanol for alcohol dehydrogenase, slowing the formation of toxic metabolites. We learnt how serious such poisoning can be and how it should be managed clinically. But somehow, it felt distant. It was something that happened to other people.

Whenever I am back at my apartment, I often spend time with my neighbor and friend, James. We talk about politics, football, women and the many things happening in our society.

James works from home. He has tried several times to stop drinking, but sometimes a trigger pulls him back. He usually buys his alcohol from a wines and spirits shop near our apartment.

On Friday, I returned home and knocked on James’ door. There was no response. I continued with my errands and later called to check whether he was around. He answered in a weak voice, concerned, I rushed to his house.

What I found is an image I will struggle to forget. James was lying on the bathroom floor, surrounded by green vomit. He was extremely weak and barely able to respond.

From what he later narrated, he had started drinking on Monday. By Wednesday, his condition had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer keep anything down. Everything he consumed came straight back as vomit. His last stool had turned black. Even water would not stay down.

I took him to a nearby hospital. As I waited for him to be attended to, I opened TikTok, perhaps simply to distract myself from the anxiety of the moment. Instead, I encountered videos of people from different parts of the country describing remarkably similar experiences.

That frightened me, suddenly, the newspaper story I had casually read six days earlier was no longer just a story. It was happening in front of me. And the questions came rushing in.

What exactly are we putting into bottles and selling to our people?

Who is checking what is being manufactured, packaged and sold? Do we have effective systems for ensuring that alcohol products on the market meet safety standards? Who is accountable when something goes terribly wrong?

And why should such questions arise at a time when Kenya is already struggling with a growing burden of non-communicable diseases and pressure on its healthcare system?

For years, much of the public-health conversation around alcohol has centred on individual responsibility. Why did he drink? It is a legitimate question. But after what I witnessed, I find myself asking another: What did he drink? There is an important distinction.

Yes, people have a responsibility for the choices they make. Alcohol dependence is real, and we must confront it honestly. People should be encouraged and supported to make healthier choices.

But consumers also have a reasonable expectation that products legally sold to them are safe. That is why regulation exists.

It is easy to place the entire burden on the individual. But public health requires us to look beyond individual behavior and examine the systems, policies and commercial practices that shape the choices available to people.

I am grateful that James was eventually attended to, received treatment and, most importantly, that I have since seen him take a meal.

But the questions have remained. What was in that bottle? How many other people have experienced what James experienced but never reached a hospital? How many families are silently dealing with similar cases?

And how many people may have died without anyone ever connecting their deaths to what they consumed? I cannot say that James’ illness was caused by a contaminated or illicit drink. That is a matter for medical assessment and, where necessary, laboratory investigation.

But that uncertainty is precisely the problem. Ordinary consumers have very little practical ability to determine what is actually inside a bottle they purchase from a shop. They rely on manufacturers, distributors and regulators to ensure that the products reaching them meet the required standards.

That trust must mean something. Perhaps the most disturbing part of this experience is that I can no longer dismiss alcohol poisoning as a distant news story.

Behind every headline about suspected alcohol poisoning is a human being. Behind every suspicious bottle is a family. Behind every preventable death is a story. Kenya cannot normalise this.

We need urgent investigations where suspicious products are identified, stronger enforcement of existing standards, transparent testing and accountability wherever negligence or criminality is established.

Regulators must communicate clearly with the public. Kenyans deserve to know whether products reaching their shops are safe, whether existing standards are being enforced and who is held responsible when those standards are breached.

But this is bigger than regulation. It is about the kind of society we are becoming.

How did we reach a point where profit can appear to matter more than human life? How did we become comfortable with a system in which the person buying a bottle has little practical way of knowing whether what is inside it is safe?

A bottle should never be more valuable than the person who drinks from it. Six days ago, I read “Poison in the Bottle” and moved on. On Friday, I found myself sitting outside a hospital after finding my friend lying on a bathroom floor, desperately sick.

This time, it was not a newspaper story. It was not a classroom lesson. It was not something that happened to other people. It was happening next door.

“What exactly are we putting into bottles and selling to our people?”

— Harrison Andeko