You won’t hear it in many speeches or see it in official reports, but talk to parents, teachers, police officers, or young people, and they all sense it. Beneath Rwanda’s calm and progress, a quiet predicament is taking root: alcohol consumption and drug abuse are fast becoming the nation’s next major social challenge.

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You see it on Friday nights when bars fill faster than buses, and again on Sunday mornings as young people stumble home, restless and hollow. You hear it in whispers about sons who have "lost direction” or daughters who "no longer resemble themselves.” This is not about indulgence. It is a symptom of wounded ambition, the disillusionment of a generation raised to believe in a future they can no longer see clearly or sustain.

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Rwanda’s youth were raised on hope, taught to dream big, work hard, and build meaningful lives. They grew up in a nation that speaks of self-reliance, resilience, and excellence. But when these ideals collide with shrinking opportunities and unspoken emotional strain, hope can quietly curdle into despair. The pressure to succeed in school, at work, at home, even in appearance, can be relentless. And when the climb feels impossible, many turn to escape, poured into a glass or rolled into a cigarette.

This is not a story of reckless choices. It is a story of unmet needs.

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Parents bear a heavy share of this struggle. Many are afraid to discipline or set boundaries for fear of accusations, legal trouble, or social backlash. The line between parental care and "children’s rights” has grown dangerously thin. Some parents now live in fear of their own children, hesitant to guide them, worried about being misunderstood. It’s an inversion of responsibility, adults retreating while young people drift without compass. I believe, freedom without guidance is hollow; it breeds confusion, entitlement, and vulnerability, the perfect ground for addiction.

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At Ndera Psychiatric Hospital, Rwanda’s main mental health facility, 119,859 patients sought help in 2024, a 17.7 percent increase from the previous year. Among them, 3,229 were treated for substance use disorders and 4,076 for depression. The hospital also reports a rise in suicide attempts, especially among young people overwhelmed by mental distress and social pressure. Behind each statistic is a family silently grappling with guilt and helplessness. These numbers are not data points; they are alarm bells.

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The government has not ignored the problem. The Ministry of Health’s "Tunywe Less” campaign was a bold step, urging responsible drinking and raising awareness about addiction. For a brief moment, it seemed Rwanda was ready to face the uncomfortable truth about alcohol. But the momentum faded. Posters came down, coverage waned, and bars filled again. In my view, public health requires persistence; behaviour change is not seasonal. The quiet that followed "Tunywe Less” reflected our broader tendency to prefer comfort over boldness, modernity without moral weight.

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Addiction is not a private failure. It carries public costs. Families break apart. Jobs are lost. Crimes rise under the influence. Hospitals are burdened. Economies slow. Rwanda cannot afford a workforce dulled by dependency, not when Vision 2050 calls for innovation, productivity, and clarity of mind.

And it’s not just alcohol. Synthetic drugs, cannabis, and prescription misuse are creeping into universities and middle-class homes. The headlines focus on arrests and police operations, but they obscure deeper questions about mental health, parenting, and social expectations.

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Faith institutions, local leaders, and cultural gatekeepers, from the Ministry of Youth and Arts to the Ministry of National Unity and Civic Engagement and the Ministry of Local Government, must now step forward. Their moral authority can help restore balance and responsibility. Addiction has moved beyond street corners and shebeens. It lives in upscale neighbourhoods, workplaces, and campuses. Drinking has become the default language of leisure. To "unwind” means to drink. To "socialise” means to drink. To "network” means to drink. The danger lies not just in consumption but in normalisation.

The stakes are high. Addiction is not only a health problem but also an economic, social, and moral one. Every drunk driver, every lost student, every relapse chips away at the foundation of a nation built on discipline and purpose.

To Rwanda’s youth: imagine if Fred Rwigema, Paul Kagame, and other young officers of the Rwandan Patriotic Front, men barely older than you are now, had been consumed by alcohol or drugs instead of purpose and conviction. Rwanda’s rebirth was driven by focus and courage. The same spirit must define this generation.

Yet there is an irony in freedom. Rwanda’s youth enjoy liberties unthinkable to earlier generations, and that’s progress. But freedom without boundaries is perilous. What once passed as harmless experimentation now fuels mental illness, accidents, and dependency. Independence must be tempered by responsibility. That balance, between rights and restraint, is what transforms potential into promise.

Rwanda has built strong systems, but systems alone cannot heal a nation’s soul. We need a new public health movement, one that treats addiction with empathy and integrates mental wellness into schools, workplaces, and communities.

The private sector must also reflect. You cannot claim to empower youth by day and sponsor binge-drinking by night. Corporate Rwanda must help build creative, sober, and inclusive recreation. Kigali, and other cities, must offer alternatives beyond bars and lounges: cultural centres, art studios, music spaces, public fields, and reading cafés.

Schools, NGOs, churches, and families must work together. We need early detection programmes, accessible counselling, mentorship initiatives, and continuous public awareness campaigns, not one-off events. Youth must also learn that seeking help is not weakness. It’s courage.

Our nation’s progress cannot be measured solely in GDP or skyscrapers. It must be seen in the mental and moral health of our people. Rwanda’s future will not be defined by what it builds, but by who it becomes.

If this reads like a moral warning, it isn’t. It’s a plea for foresight. Rwanda’s dream of becoming a high-income, innovation-driven country cannot stand on a foundation weakened by drinking and drug abuses by its present and future workforce. This problem hides in plain sight, quiet but corrosive. And unless we act, it may soon rob Rwanda of its most valuable resource: the clarity, ambition, and promise of its youth.

The writer is a management consultant and strategist.