Inside smoky shelters, a fast-paced, illegal card game has taken off in Solomon Islands
As the school day ends in Honiara, *Irene, a 43-year-old teacher in a floral dress with a yellow daisy in her bun, steps on to a minibus. After 10 minutes, Irene gets off the bus, walks down an alley, and enters a damp, smoky shelter. Plastic tables fill the space and playing cards are scattered on the floor. Irene has stopped by a hidden gambling table in a western suburb of Honiara to play Pass, a street card game gaining popularity in the Solomon Islands capital. There are dozens of these games dotted across the city, with new sites appearing regularly. Authorities are trying to stamp out the games as Solomon Islanders – young, old, low-income or salaried professionals – are drawn to Pass for their chance at a big payout, while risking big losses. Dealers attract players by shouting out the price of the bet: “$20 down!” Players are dealt seven cards, and the dealer tables a number six card. The first player must put down a five or a seven, and the pattern continues, with each player having to play the next sequential card. If they can’t, they yell “pass!” The first person to get rid of all their cards wins. The winner collects the pot each round, save for one bet held as the dealer’s fee. With up to 30 rounds per hour, large sums are won or lost in minutes. “I don’t have money left but I’ve asked the kids to run me some,” Irene tells the Guardian, after losing several hands in a row. The single mother discourages her three children from playing. “Gambling is a bad thing. Sometimes, other people who don’t have money steal from mothers,” she says, while closely watching the cards being dealt. “I don’t want my kids to play.” But Irene has no plans to give up because, she says, her livelihood depends on it. Despite the evening’s losses, she was up SBD$500 ($62; £45) for the week, a sum that nearly matches her $600 teacher’s salary. Irene typifies those flocking to play Pass. Earning a meagre income in the formal economy, she sees it as a way to make enough money to support her family. Facing a lack of opportunities, many young Solomon Islanders see the game as a way to get ahead. *Ben is the 19-year-old dealer on Irene’s table. He started dealing Pass as a 15-year-old to cover his school fees. He earns SBD$500 a week. For his boss, Pass is much more lucrative. “We make SBD$12,000 per week on this table,” says 29-year-old *Gordon, who supplies cigarettes and betel nut, a local intoxicant, at no charge to his loyal gamblers. Collectively, his three tables turn over SBD$30,000 each week. For others, like *Madlyn, 29, Pass is a social game. She plays every night at the same table. “I just won!” she proclaims, as the setting sun beams across the table, before receiving a packet of cigarettes and two meals wrapped in aluminium foil. Phillip Subu, a prominent youth advocate, sees Pass as a symptom of Solomon Islands’ deep economic malaise. “It’s getting out of hand because a lot of people here in Honiara don’t have employment. The biggest cause is unemployment,” Subu says. “It is part of people’s survival. When it connects to survival, it is quite hard to remove it.” Solomon Islands’ official unemployment statistics are patchy. But the degree of youth unemployment in Honiara is often between 12 and 15%. As young people flock to Honiara for jobs, they often find none, forcing them towards informal employment, crime and now Pass. Business owners, too, see Pass as a smart way to supplement income. A small table in the backstreets of a suburb in eastern Honiara was opened in February 2026 by *John and *Piwen, a married couple who are shopkeepers. John says his gamblers “play to pay for cash power”, the local electricity bill. Their dealers are all local women. “These ladies do the dealing, they do this [to pay] for food and for bills. They collect more money than public servants,” says John. There is a giddy energy among the gamblers when the Guardian visits. “When the police come here, we might run away,” one gambler laughed. But those fears appear unlikely to be realised. When Pass emerged, the Royal Solomon Islands police porce (RSIPF) worked hard to stop it. Operation Stopem Gambling was established to “to stop gambling which we know can lead to social and family problems such as domestic violence over spent money”. It led to multiple raids, including at Rove, a western suburb of Honiara, where 34 gamblers were arrested. There is, however, no record of any player being sentenced. People caught playing Pass risk a conviction and a $100 fine. Jimson Robo, an assistant commissioner for national capital and crime prevention at the RSIPF, said police were “not slowing down” their efforts to crack down on Pass. “The issue is illegal, and police are warning the public to refrain from playing Pass,” Robo told the Guardian. “Police are … attending to reported cases and making arrests, dismantling tents and tables used for the game.” Despite this, the game is proliferating. For some Solomon Islanders trying to get by, the rules don’t matter: Pass has become a lifeline, providing money and also camaraderie. “These people are my wantoks [friends],” says Irene, pointing to the table of gamblers surrounding her. *Some names have been changed
