Stacked odds: The predatory pandemic of online gambling
On an autumn night in 2024, Adam collapsed onto his bed after a long day at the bank. Scrolling his phone before sleep, he tried a simple game on a betting app he had seen advertised on social media. He wagered 20 Egyptian pounds and watched a tiny airplane climb for a few tense seconds before exploding, earning him a modest win.(*)
What began as a brief distraction soon stretched into hours-long sessions. The simple animation became a parallel universe, where the 29-year-old banker chased fleeting digital rewards, trying to recover mounting losses.
The game is simple. Players place a bet and watch a plane take off. The longer it stays in the air, the more their money multiplies. Once it explodes, anyone who has not cashed out loses everything. There is no way to predict when the crash will come. An unseen algorithm controls each flight, turning every round into a race against time. The tension is addictive. The illusion of control keeps players returning. Losses feel temporary. Wins feel possible—always just out of reach.
The 1xBet app has surged in popularity over the past two years, despite being officially banned in Egypt in 2024. It hosts more than 30 betting games, but none as seductive as “the plane.” Its slow ascent gives players a sense of agency, as if they decide when to stop. “I had to cash out before the plane fell to win,” said Malek, who was addicted to the game for five months in 2024. “But the longer I waited, the more I could earn.”(*)
The 24-year-old sales representative started small—just minutes a day. Then, like Adam, he slipped deeper into digital quicksand. Every attempt to quit pulled him further in, trapping him in a cycle of chasing losses. Today, he calls it “the simplest game” and “the most dangerous trap.”
How the money moves
Next door to Adam’s home in Helwan, south of Cairo, a corner minimarket advertised phone and game top-ups. When Adam first entered the betting world, he approached the kiosk. “Do you recharge games?” he asked. The vendor said yes. Adam named the game. The man paused, then asked how much he wanted to transfer.
“300 pounds,” Adam said.
The vendor typed on his phone, then asked for 320 pounds. Two minutes later, he said the transfer was complete. Adam opened the app. His balance had risen to 276 pounds. He began spending it 20 pounds at a time.
As Adam got hooked, his bets escalated—sometimes reaching 2,000 pounds per round. Each visit to the kiosk meant handing over larger sums to an unknown intermediary who converted cash into in-game credit for a banned app, taking a cut each time. The more desperate the player, the higher the dealer’s profit.
Adam never thought much about where his money went. Kareem did.(*)
In the summer of 2023, Kareem, a 34-year-old government employee, placed his first bet: 50 pounds. Within hours, he had 1,200. After a week of heavy wins and few losses, he asked the friend who had introduced him to the app if he could join the operation as a middleman.
“I thought being a middleman paid less than playing and required constant client contact,” Kareem told Al Manassa. “But it was guaranteed income. Especially once I saw how many players lost money and came back daily to recharge, or complained their balances had vanished. I’d alert my friend, and he’d handle it.”
Kareem started as a low-level agent, receiving money into his phone wallet and forwarding it to another agent, keeping a 5% commission. Over three months, he moved nearly one million pounds and pocketed 40,000. Then one day, his handler called. “He offered me his position—10% on all transfers. Of course, I said yes.”
Kareem spent a week learning how to buy USDT cryptocurrency on the dark web to hide his tracks, then transfer it into the app via “Mobi Cash”—an informal term used by betting networks for encrypted transfers through digital wallets, outside the traditional banking system.
USDT (Tether) is a stablecoin pegged to the US dollar and widely used to evade banking oversight. Its parent company, Tether Limited, was founded in 2014 in the British Virgin Islands, later moved to Hong Kong, and has recently announced headquarters in El Salvador.
Once trained, Kareem stepped into his role. His network expanded from three agents to as many as six. Tasks were divided: one collected money from players for a 10% fee; another paid out winnings, taking 20% on average—sometimes up to 50%. Kareem converted cash into crypto and sent it to the app abroad, earning 10%. The job suited him.
He bought USDT from traders with international exchange accounts, then credited individual game accounts. “Each group had a separate account,” he said. “Each player’s account changed periodically to make tracking harder.”
The deeper he went, the more seamless the system became.
“I used to agree on an extra transfer fee with the client—10% flat on top of the usual cut,” Kareem said. He also leveraged a “priority deposit” service, demanding higher fees from users desperate to refill their balances quickly. “Sometimes I’d ask for 15 or even 20% if they were in a hurry. And they paid. No questions asked.”
Usually, the money users sent was credited immediately—just like it was for Adam and Malek. But Kareem’s group sometimes delayed the transfer, using the stalling to squeeze out additional commissions.
Al Manassa contacted four individuals advertising themselves on Facebook as “authorized agents” for betting app top-ups. All confirmed they could convert cash into in-game credit within 10 minutes. Three said they charged no commission; the fourth asked for 8%.
One of the four shared a screenshot of a recent transfer to a platform called TeamCash. A reverse image search revealed that TeamCash is an online service facilitating wallet-to-wallet transfers. Its verified Facebook page is managed by three individuals based in Serbia.
TeamCash enables betting agents to receive user funds, credit gaming accounts, withdraw balances, and convert them into cash. It charges agents 3–10% on deposits and 2% on withdrawals, operates in 102 countries, and hosts a global network of 17,000 agents.
The house always wins
In recent months, a Turkish-owned betting app called Joker Game has swept through local, Arab, and global markets. Within just 100 days of its launch, it attracted well over 5 million users, according to publicly available Google Play data verified by Al Manassa. (**)
The app engineered an addictive high-stakes environment—fast visuals, instant feedback, a dazzling interface. Its marketing campaigns saturated social media, aggressively targeting young users. On Google Play, it was even listed as suitable for children aged three and above—despite legal restrictions on underage gambling and digital data consent.
Joker Game’s privacy policy allows the collection and sharing of sensitive user data: device info, phone identifiers, IP addresses, behavioral patterns, and in-game actions. The company reserves the right to merge this data with that of unnamed third parties. It also claims the right to transfer data to any country hosting its developers or infrastructure—regardless of domestic privacy protections.
In other words, users bear the full risk. The app disclaims any responsibility for keeping data safe.
This combination—financial gambling and data harvesting—makes Joker Game a “double trap,” said cybersecurity expert Waleed Hagag in an interview with Al Manassa. “Players who lose money also lose their privacy,” he said. Their data is resold to ad networks that target them with even more predatory gambling ads, based on the vulnerabilities and spending habits tracked in the first app.
“In this way,” he added, “the app becomes more than a betting platform. It’s a digital surveillance tool that exploits behavior to deepen addiction—and possibly exposes users to third-party abuse or data trafficking.”
Former Assistant Minister of Interior for Information Mahmoud El-Rashidi confirmed the trend. “Most of these betting and scam apps are designed and run by international criminal groups,” he told Al Manassa. “They rely on local intermediaries to move funds abroad. Some are caught through tracking mobile wallets and suspicious transfers.”
In October 2024, Egypt’s Administrative Control Authority and the National Security Sector arrested a coordinated betting ring spanning multiple governorates. The syndicate used anonymous mobile wallets and cryptocurrencies to facilitate illegal betting, weaken financial oversight, and evade regulatory traceability.
El-Rashidi pointed out a gaping regulatory hole. Mobile wallet transactions by telecom operators do not follow the same banking restrictions. Add cryptocurrency conversions, and tracing the funds becomes nearly impossible. “This is an unregulated, irreversible currency. It’s not recoverable.”
Game over
Adam inherited 1.3 million pounds from his father and had saved another quarter-million from years working at the bank. He lost it all. Then borrowed another million—from family, childhood friends, even coworkers. His wife, left to shoulder household expenses alone, watched him unravel. “I ignored my son, stopped trying to make my life partner happy,” Adam confessed. “I couldn’t see anything but the plane.”
His reputation took a hit. Creditors threatened lawsuits. His wife left, taking their child to her parents’ home. Some debt collectors even approached Adam’s uncle.
“My uncle knocked on my door and asked what happened. I tried to lie. He got angry, said he wouldn’t leave until I told the truth. I finally broke. He already knew everything from my creditors. He took my phone, my house keys, and gave me a basic mobile with no internet.”
For five days, his uncle and cousin stayed with him. They brought food. They didn’t leave his side. “He talked to me about the wreckage of my life. He promised if I stopped gambling, he’d help me fix it. And he did. He helped pay off my coworkers and clear my debts.”
Adam eventually escaped. So did Malek, who had been thrown out of his house by his father. It was his mother who saved him. “She turned the world upside down to find me,” he said. “She called all my friends. After two days, one of them brought her to me. She convinced me to come home.”
His father locked him in for two weeks and cut off all access to the internet. It didn’t help. “As soon as Dad left for work, I’d grab Mom’s phone and play. But once I used up the 200-pound starter balance, I couldn’t recharge.”
Eventually, his mother helped him through withdrawal. The urges faded.
But if Adam and Malek were lucky, thousands of others remain trapped.
While no official statistics exist to quantify the number of people caught in the gambling trap, data from MedSPAD paints a sobering picture. The organization’s fifth regional report shows that approximately 16.5% of Egyptian students admitted to engaging in gambling or betting games over the previous year. Around 11.7% did so online.
In a television interview in September 2024, El-Rashidi estimated that 4.5 million Egyptians of various ages are involved in gambling activities—nearly 90% of them are youth.
But researcher Shaimaa Abdel Sabour, an assistant professor of criminal law at the National Center for Social and Criminological Research, told Al Manassa that the most alarming finding from her fieldwork—based on an upcoming study on online betting—is that gambling addiction has spread far beyond youth. It now touches adults across different age groups.
She explains that these apps often avoid using words like “gambling,” instead relying on euphemisms like “win now” or “cash rewards,” coupled with offers of free starter balances—all designed to draw users in and lend an air of legitimacy to a prohibited activity.
Abdel Sabour adds that the study—conducted under the auspices of a governmental research body affiliated with the Ministry of Social Solidarity—documents “shocking cases,” including one of a university student who committed suicide after draining 400,000 pounds from his father’s credit card.
According to a data review by Al Manassa of criminal reports published on Youm7 and Masrawy between September 2024 and July 2025, at least 12 crimes and misdemeanors have been linked to betting. These include five thefts, four fraud cases, and three murders. There were also reports of suicides, divorces, and individuals disappearing from their homes.
Abdel Sabour believes the lack of a clear legal framework exacerbates the crisis. Beyond the existing ban on gambling sites and apps, “there is no specific legislation regulating these platforms, nor oversight on sports or football-related ads that promote them as quick-win tools,” she said. Some apps exploit licenses for unrelated business activities to create the false impression of being officially sanctioned.
Outrunning regulation
Cybersecurity expert Waleed Hagag explained how gambling platforms still reach users despite being banned. They operate through third-party app stores, or via constantly changing domain names. “When one site is blocked, another with the same content pops up under a new name,” he said. These platforms often host their servers across multiple countries, making enforcement difficult.
Hagag added that promotion often occurs in closed social media groups—especially Telegram—or via direct messages containing download links and instructions for using VPNs to bypass bans. “The user doesn’t even need to search. The game comes to them, through trusted spaces.”
He warned that online gambling is a complex system, blending psychological exploitation with legal, financial, and cybersecurity threats. “Any site that promises quick profit with no effort is likely to end in financial loss, data theft, and emotional instability.”
A silent epidemic
“You no longer need a plane ticket or a suit to enter a casino. In today’s digital world, the casino lives in your pocket,” said Dr. Nevine Hosny, a digital psychology consultant, in an interview with Al Manassa. Technology, she warned, has opened the door to widespread emotional and social crises that quietly devastate families.
Hosny, a fellow of the UK’s Royal College of Psychiatrists, said these platforms relentlessly track users through targeted ads and lure them with sign-up bonuses and time-limited offers that build the illusion of easy wins.
She said the danger increases as the line between play and gambling blurs. Ads now blend seamlessly into entertainment content on social media, making it easier to hook young people. App designs rely on fast interfaces and constant notifications—mechanisms proven to intensify addiction and make quitting incredibly difficult.
Political science professor Dr. Howaida Roman of the National Center for Social and Criminological Research links the rise in online betting to broader socio-economic shifts in Egypt. She partially attributes the trend to the country’s “digital divide,” but cautions against simplifying the issue. “The motivations are layered and complex. We need deeper research and reflection.”
The buck stops here
After a full year inside the gambling ecosystem, Kareem finally saw a red flag. The friend who brought him into the business announced he was suddenly leaving Egypt for an unspecified Arab country. Three days later, he sent Kareem a message on Telegram. Another agent had just been arrested over the game.
“I panicked,” Kareem said. “I messaged everyone in the Telegram group to see if anyone else got caught. They were all still active.” For a while, he stopped answering client calls.
Then came the unexpected blow. Kareem discovered his 15-year-old brother had stolen a gold bracelet from their mother’s jewelry to fund his own gambling. “The guilt was crushing,” he said. That was his breaking point.
“I decided to quit. I tried to fix what I could. I donated everything I earned—1.25 million pounds—to a charity. Then I started helping my brother recover from the addiction.”
Kareem’s dramatic turning point is rare. It cannot be relied upon to counter an accelerating crisis.
Recovery is possible, despite how dark it all seems
El-Rashidi emphasized that a serious response must start with education—raising awareness among youth about safe internet use. That requires interagency collaboration. “Security alone isn’t enough. The Communications Ministry must help with monitoring and blocking. The Interior Ministry must continue arresting local intermediaries. And international cooperation is crucial to go after those abroad.”
Shaimaa Abdel Sabour agrees on the need for cross-sector coordination, but adds that the Central Bank should also play a role by tracking suspicious transfers. Broad public campaigns, she said, are essential to raise awareness of gambling’s psychological and financial risks—and to support its victims.
Dr. Hosny called for recognizing gambling addiction as a public health issue, one that demands joint efforts from the state and civil society. She advocates treatment programs tailored to vulnerable populations, especially children. “Recovery is possible, despite how dark it all seems,” she said. But the first step is acknowledging the problem—through thorough psychological and financial assessments, followed by cognitive behavioral therapy.
Australia’s circuit breaker
In August 2023, the Australian government launched BetStop—a national self-exclusion registry for online gambling. The initiative lets adults voluntarily block themselves from accessing any licensed betting services, either temporarily or permanently. Registration takes around five minutes. Users can also involve friends or family to support their recovery.
Once registered, providers must shut down user accounts, refund any unused credit, and stop all targeted advertising. Users can choose exclusion periods from three months to life. Extensions are allowed. Early cancellations require formal requests and specialist review.
Within less than two years—between August 2023 and June 2025—BetStop enrolled nearly 45,000 Australians. Thirty-nine percent asked for lifetime bans.
Confronting this digital flood begins with recognizing its scale, then understanding how it works, how quickly it spreads, how efficiently it traps, and how deeply it cuts, not only into individual lives but into society as a whole.
Adam. Malek. Kareem. Tens of thousands like them.
Their stories point to a problem larger than personal failure. What follows—support for those affected, accountability for those who profit, and meaningful intervention—remains an open question.
(*) Names have been changed based on sources' request to protect the identity.
(**) Al Manassa verified the data found in the betting applications available on the Google Play Store; however, we have chosen not to publish the direct links.