When David Owuor speaks about alcohol, it is the second kind. His story is not loud or dramatic, it is quiet, heavy, and filled with regret. For 16 years, alcoholism slowly dismantled his life, piece by piece, until almost nothing familiar remained.
Today, Owuor is in recovery. But the memories of what alcohol took from him — his career, his family, his dignity, and the woman he planned to marry, still sit close to the surface.
“I did not just lose things,” he says softly. “I lost myself.”
A childhood exposed too early
Owuor, now in his early forties, says his battle with alcohol began long before he understood what addiction meant. Though he officially started drinking at 18, his first exposure came much earlier — while he was still in primary school.
“I was introduced to alcohol by people I trusted, family members and friends,” he recalls. “At that age, you don’t know what it will grow into. You just follow.”
Health experts warn that early exposure to alcohol significantly increases the likelihood of long-term dependency. According to NACADA, alcohol is Kenya’s most abused substance, with many users reporting their first encounter before the age of 15. What begins as curiosity often ends as lifelong struggle.
For Owuor, it did.
Sixteen years of slow disappearance
Alcohol gradually took control of his life. What began as occasional drinking turned into dependence so deep that his body could no longer function without it.
“There was a time I had to be fed alcohol just to survive,” he said. “I couldn’t start my day without it. My hands were always shaking. I couldn’t even hold a cup.”
The physical damage was visible, but the emotional damage ran deeper. Alcohol isolated him from everyone who mattered.
“For all those years, I lost touch with my family,” Owuor said. “The only people around me were fellow alcoholics. That became my world.”
Addiction specialists say this social collapse is common, as alcohol gradually replaces relationships, responsibilities, and purpose. What remains is loneliness disguised as companionship.
Love lost across continents
Among the most painful losses Owuor carries is that of his fiancé, a woman from the United States whom he describes simply as “someone who believed in me.”
“I lost my white fiancé because of alcohol,” he said. “She tried to understand, but addiction does not listen to love.”
He pauses before adding, “Alcohol will always eliminate all your sources of strength. For me, that was family, work, and love.”
A career erased
Before addiction consumed him, Owuor was an accountant at British-American Investments Company (BRITAM), earning more than Sh100,000 a month, a job many Kenyans only dream of.
“I lost that job,” he said. “But the saddest thing is that at the time, I didn’t even feel the pain of losing it.”
Alcohol had numbed everything, ambition, responsibility, even fear. He also lost several financial consultancy opportunities that could have secured his future.
It was only later, during recovery, that the weight of those losses settled in.
“When I became sober, that’s when the reality came,” he said. “That’s when I understood how much had been destroyed.”
Kenya continues to pay a high economic price for alcohol abuse, with productivity losses running into billions of shillings annually. But behind every statistic is a human life quietly falling apart.
Acceptance came too late
Owuor says it took him 12 years to admit that alcohol was controlling him.
“Many people struggle with acceptance,” he said. “I was one of them. By the time I accepted it, I had already lost so much.”
Health professionals note that denial is one of the most dangerous stages of addiction, delaying treatment while damage continues unchecked.
Picking up the broken pieces
Recovery did not come easily. It came slowly, painfully, and with the constant reminder of what could never be recovered. Still, Owuor persisted.
Today, he is married and has children, a life he describes as “a second chance I did not deserve but received.”
“I have been married for seven years now,” he said. “I am blessed with children, and every day I thank God because I know how close I came to losing everything.”
Yet even in this new life, the past follows him, not to torment him, but to remind him.
Turning pain into purpose
Out of his brokenness, Owuor founded Tumaini Action, a community-based organisation in Homa Bay County that supports people struggling with alcohol and drug addiction.
“I see myself in them,” he said. “I see the shaking hands, the denial, the loneliness. And I know where that road ends.”
Through Tumaini Action, he is leading community sensitisation efforts, including the Kendy Bay Sobriety and Dignity Half Marathon, set for December 23 in Kendy Bay town.
He is particularly concerned about children and adolescents, warning that drugs are now more accessible and more hidden, than ever.
“Some people put bhang in biscuits,” he said quietly. “Children eat them in their parents’ presence, and no one knows.”
Mental health at the centre
Psychologist Charity Ochieng’, who works closely with people battling addiction, says sobriety cannot exist without mental healing.
“Unless you are mentally stable, you cannot make informed decisions,” she said. “That is why we insist on counselling, detox, and therapy.”
She noted that the campaign will also focus on children because addiction wounds entire communities, not just individuals.
“When one person is addicted, the whole family suffers,” Ochieng’ said. “That pain is passed down unless we intervene.”
A warning written in regret
Owuor does not tell his story to inspire applause. He tells it as a warning, written in lost years, broken relationships, and opportunities that will never return.
“I lost 16 years,” he said. “No one can give them back to me.”
His message to young people and parents is simple, but heavy with sorrow:
“Alcohol will promise you relief,” he said. “But in the end, it takes everything, slowly, quietly, and without mercy.”