Recently, I boarded a Nissan matatu on my way to Sigona Golf Club, off Nairobi-Nakuru Highway, 17km from the city centre. Once we hit the highway, the conductor started collecting his dues. Soon an argument arose between the conductor and five of the 14 passengers: was the fare Sh50 or Sh70? The conductor insisted the fare was KSh70, the five passengers said they had been told by the freelance touts at the terminus the fare was KSh50, and therefore, they were paying not a penny more.
The back and forth shouting match went on until we reached the Shell Petrol Station, one kilometre up from Gitaru bus stop. At the petrol station, that argument continued for 20 minutes – the five passengers were adamant that they were being ripped off, the conductor retorted he was not in the business of philanthropy: The conductor gave them an ultimatum: They either pay him the full amount or the driver reports them to the police at Kikuyu Police Station.
They dared him to do so whereupon the driver took us straight to the police station. Had I alighted at the petrol station, I could have walked to the 500m to Club. At the police station, the cops were gleeful they would have some “culprits” to manhandle and extort from. The five passengers were bundled out and locked in the cells. As the matatu turned to take us to our respective destinations – the end destination was Kiambaa another four kilometres from Sigona Club – a more sober debate among the remaining nine passengers dominated the talk. Was it really fair to have let the five be locked up at the police station for lacking a mere Sh20 each? The passengers were unanimous it is highly unlikely they were bluffing: nobody in his right senses would want to spend time in a Kenyan police cell, just because a matatu guy was cheating them off such a small sum.
Because I was seated in front with the driver, I asked him why they had taken the drastic step,. “Boss, business has been very bad, very bad,” he said solemnly. “The matatu owner has been breathing on our neck because we have not been meeting his targets. Because matatu crews already have a bad name, the proprietor doesn’t believe us when we tell him business is bad: he thinks we are stealing from him. There are days we have not paid ourselves, just to make sure we deposit his full day’s collection.” This was one of those days that if they did not do their math wisely, they would go home without pay. “It is those pennies collectively that take care of the larger currency notes. Can you for a moment ponder, how much money we would be losing if every trip we forewent Sh100, just because some people cannot pay the full amount?”
Discussion in the matatu turned to how life had become harder: “It is very possible the five passengers did not have the extra Sh20 and, if they did, it had been pre-budgeted,” said one passenger. “Following the recent heavy rains, sukuma wiki (kale) has become very cheap. With Sh20, you could buy enough for supper to be eaten with ugali and live for another day. Today, there is no such thing as little money. Every coin counts,” he summed the discussion. The passengers all agreed that money had taken to hiding and murmured to themselves in Kikuyu about the irony of how, even after voting for Uhuru Kenyatta twice, life had become twice as hard. “No tukeyumeria kweli na mathina niguo maingehire?” (Will we ever make it and the way our problems seem to multiply?).
Today, there is no such thing as little money. Every coin counts
The passengers talked off how people had become more and more uncaring and wicked and moaned loudly that if only Kenyans were a little more mindful of each other, life would be a lot better. I suspected they were shying away from candidly and publicly discussing the elephant in the matatu, which if they did, would lead them to pinpointing why they truly were facing economic hard times: bad political choices, propelled by a vicious ethnic entrapment that they had over time been politically socialized to believe was their fate.
The trip back after my meeting was even more revealing. I crossed the highway to catch a matatu back to the city centre. The Nissan matatu I took had two other passengers. It had come from Kiambaa. Between Kiambaa and Sigona, there is one major terminus – Zambezi. It was edging towards 2.00pm and if the matatu did not secure enough passengers at Zambezi, it would not augur well. From Kiambaa to the city centre, there are 11 major stops along the highway: Kiambaa, Zambezi, Gitaru, Muthiga, Kinoo, 87, Uthiru, Kangemi, Agriculture (adjacent to the Kenya Agricultural & Livestock Research Organization), Safaricom and Westlands. By the time we reached Agriculture stop, the matatu had not added a single passenger.
The driver was clearly agitated: “Oo niguo tukuruta wira?” he groaned. “Is this how we are going to get the job done?” The driver said the whole of this year, his matatu business had been hard hit by a lack of travellers. “Why weren’t people travelling? It is not as if they had relocated,” he mused aloud. At the Agriculture stop, a few passengers boarded, paying Sh20 to the city centre. “These people cannot even afford to pay Sh30?” lamented the driver. Usually the fare, especially at the onset of the rush hour, would be up to Sh40.
After alighting at the terminus on Kilome Road in downtown Nairobi, I looked for a freelance tout to explain to me the oscillating dynamics of matatu fares for people going to Kiambaa and Limuru. “During off-peak hours, it is normal practice for matatus, big or small, to charge Sh50,” said Davy. It is understood that off-peak hours are from 9.30 am–3.00pm and from 8.30pm–10.00pm. “The fare for peak hours ranges from Sh70 to even Sh100 when there is a downpour.” At the moment, the matatus were asking for Sh80. Davy told me an interesting story: “The passengers have learnt how to play the waiting game with matatus. Most of the menfolk would rather go home after 8.30pm, when the fares have substantially dropped, even if it’s by Sh10.”
Davy said the matatu owners have been itching to increase the fares since the beginning of the year, but they sense rebellion from the passengers. “Already they have surreptitiously increased the Kiambaa fare by KSh10 to KSh80 and the people have been grumbling quietly about the increase, which they have been made to believe is temporarily.” According to Davy, the matatu owners really want to hike the fares, but they do not know how to without raising a commotion among the people. When I asked what was necessitating this urge, he blamed operating costs and low business trends over the previous last eight months. “The business class had hoped that the [9 March] handshake between President Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga, would work magic, return the business climate back to normal, but business had stagnated,” said Davy. A freelance tout for close to 10 years, Davy told me he had worked in the matatu industry long enough to know when people had surplus money in their pockets. “People are broke, their disposable income has dwindled, so they are not travelling as frequently. The cost of living has also certainly gone up,” he said.” People today are budgeting to the last shilling.”
“The business class had hoped that the [9 March] handshake between President Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga, would work magic, return the business climate back to normal, but business had stagnated.”
I had gone to Sigona to meet a petroleum products’ magnate who asked not to be named. “Business is tough my friend,” said the tycoon. “The first half of this year, we’ve have not done any meaningful business and so, the profit margins have been dwindling. The increase in the fuel levy in the budget was not helpful: Business has become even harder – and the profit margins have become slimmer. This is a volume business; if you don’t move volumes, you’re not doing any good business.” He said that bureaucrats at the Ministry of Energy were not making life for oil businessmen any easier when they went to renew their import licenses, among other things. “They’ve been unrelenting and squeezing us for even heftier bribes which, as you know, run into in the millions.” Life for the ordinary mwananchi was about to get even tougher as they passed on the costs, he hinted.
Already, he could tell the people were experiencing hard economic times. “The vehicular movement in Nairobi has certainly reduced. There are less traffic jams, because many people are leaving their vehicles behind, parked in their compounds, only using them when it is very necessary. I have been long enough in this oil business and understand the patterns of fuel consumption vis-à-vis motor vehicle movements.” The businessman, apart from distributing petroleum products in bulk across the East and Central African region, also owns, in partnership with others, several petrol stations across the country and in neighboring Uganda. “Fuel usage in Kenya is at its lowest. People are facing economic hard times.”
To fully comprehend the impact of what the oil tycoon was saying, I looked for my matatu crew friends to explain how the fuel increase would affect their businesses and customers. “Diesel was increased by six shillings per litre, from Sh98 to Sh104,” said my tout friend. “For sure, as night follows day, we will increase the fares – all the matatus Saccos in Nairobi have met and agreed. It is just a matter of time. We’ve have no choice but to do that. Whether people resist or not, will they walk to work?”
The matatu crew friends said, business had become tougher: “It is as if people have migrated. Since the beginning of the year, people have not been moving around as much, so we had to find a way of increasing the fares, but quietly. If, say, we used to charge Sh30 off peak hours, we increased it to Sh50. Likewise, if during peak hours the fare was Sh70, we increased it to Sh80. We knew people would be up in arms, if we just raised the fares formally and directly and publicly.” The clarification somehow explained the tiff between the conductor and the unrelenting passengers, who could not part with their Sh20.
“For sure, as night follows day, we will increase the fares – all the matatus Saccos in Nairobi have met and agreed. It is just a matter of time. We’ve have no choice but to do that. Whether people resist or not, will they walk to work?”
Budgeting to the shilling, as Davy the tout told me, were the key words. Because it is not only the folks who use matatus and live in less privileged neighbourhoods that are currently feeling the pinch, in money matters. A Runda housewife who buys all her green groceries at City Park Market, opposite the Aga Khan Hospital in Parklands area, told me how for the first time she had to write down her shopping list of all the vegetables she needed. “When I unleashed list the next time I went to the market, carefully picking what I wanted and not just throwing things in the basket, my fruits and vegetables vendors asked me: “Nikii thiku ici mutaragura indo? Mwaga kugura, murenda tucitware ku?” (Why are you people not spending as much? If you don’t buy these goods, where do you expect us to take them?)
Her husband, a real estate magnate, had told her she needed to curb her free spending mania. “So, I have also taken to writing a list when I’m shopping at my favourite supermarket; Chandarana. Do you remember how I used to just shop, throwing anything and everything in the trolley? My budget has now been drastically trimmed and I must account for every penny spent. Kweli (truly) times are hard, that it is me, daughter of Mwaniki, who has taken to writing a shopping list.” She said her hubby had told her, money had become scarce and the country had yet to achieve political equilibrium. “I think he has decided to hoard the money, until such a time, there will be money in the economy.”
“Nikii thiku ici mutaragura indo? Mwaga kugura, murenda tucitware ku?” (Why are you people not spending as much? If you don’t buy these goods, where do you expect us to take them?)
If the posh people, like my friend from Runda estate, were scaling down on their spending, what about the rank and file? I decided to pay a visit to Githurai Market, one of the busiest markets in Nairobi. Githurai Market is 10km from Nairobi’s central business district, off the Thika Superhighway. It has one of the widest catchment areas that goes all the way to Thika town (30km from Githurai) and its environs, apart from its Nairobi area shoppers.
The market, which is completely controlled by the Githurai chapter of the Nairobi Business community aka Mungiki, receives truckloads of fresh produce from as far as Tanzania and eastern Uganda. I was going to meet Susan Mweru, a fruit seller, who has been transporting oranges and tangerines from Michugwani and Mwanza in Tanzania to Githurai Market for the last five years. “We are reeling from very tough economic hard times, there is no business…‘aahh wira we thi muno’ (business is really low),” she moaned.
“In the best of times, I would offload a 12-ton truck of top-class oranges from Tanga, home of sweetest oranges in East Africa, in two days flat and I would be on my way back to Tanga to bring more oranges.” She told me the oranges would be snapped up by retail fruit sellers from as far as Makongeni in Thika town, and as near as Kasarani, Mwiki, Roysambu, and Ngara market, which is just 7km from Githurai, in Nairobi.
She would alternative her travels between Tanga and Ukerewe, the largest island on Lake Victoria, where the juicy fruits much loved by Nairobi’s well-to-do are grown.“Itonga cia Garden Estate, Kahawa Sukari, Kahawa Wendani na Juja mokaga kugura matunda na waru guku Githurai thoko.” (The rich people of Garden Estate, Roysambu, Kahawa Sukari, Kahawa Wendani and Juja, come to buy their fruits and potatoes at Githurai Market.)
However, when I went to see her, she had not travelled for the third consecutive week. “Even these rich people, they are not spending: The consignment I brought in three weeks ago is still with me – the fruits have been moving at a snail’s pace. Nikii kiuru? Ndiramenya kurathie atia.” (What’s wrong? I don’t understand what’s going on.)
Mweru introduced me to her colleague, Muthoni, in the market, who majorly deals in potatoes, some of which come from as far as Moshi, whose rich and fertile red soil is akin to that of Kiambu County. She is one of the biggest potatoes sellers in the market. “Before things become bad, I’d move up to six sacks of potatoes daily, and you know how they pack those sacks – nearly half of the potatoes are packed outside the sack itself,” said Muthoni, sitting on one the potato sacks. “Today if I sell two sacks in a day, I count myself lucky…nikuru muno” (the situation is very bad).
The women told me they had hoped the national budget read in June would somehow alleviate the situation – it was hard for me to understand their ubiquitous optimism – but said their hopes had been dampened by the tax increases on petroleum and paraffin products. “You know if the government increases fuel, it negatively affects everything else.”
“Life is about to become even harder for the ordinary folk,” says Joy Ndubai, a tax expert with Oxfam. “The Finance Bill 2018, which proposes to hike fuel and kerosene will impact on other mwananchi necessities such as electricity, food and transport. The Bill intends to do away with indirect taxes, that is zero-rated and excise duty taxes. Take it from me, if that happens, the price of unga Kenyan (staple food), will shoot up and matatu fares will increase manifold and life will become really hard for Kenyans. Perhaps the Unga Revolution squad should start regrouping for foodstuff protests in the coming days,” said Ndubai tongue-in-cheek. The Unga Revolution was a civil society initiative basically driven by Bunge la Mwananchi (People’s Parliament) members, who, in 2017, loudly agitated for reduction of price of maize flour, which had skyrocketed and was out of reach of the ordinary Kenyan.
Ndubai says the government wants to get rid of Value Added Tax (VAT) rebates or refunds that it gives manufacturers. Indirect taxes such as VAT on consumable goods such as, bread, milk and sugar, are hidden in the prices and in order for the government to cushion manufacturers, it encouraged them to reclaim the 16 per cent tax rebates from its exchequer. This is what is referred to as zero-rating. “What it will mean now is that the government will remove the zero-rating and the manufacturers will be exempt from claiming any tax relief. Sounds good on paper? What this means is that the consumer will have to bear the burden of increased taxes on everyday commodities.”
One of the most common expenditure by wananchi that will be hard hit is electric power. “The cost of electricity is certain to go up, because of the intended increase of fuel levy. This is because we still rely on diesel engines,” said Ndubai. “Manufacturers had been given a 30 per cent allowance on electricity. Electricity was among the expenditures that manufacturers count, at 100 per cent, when deducting their profits [for tax purposes]. So now, what this means is that the manufacturers will add 30 per cent over and above, to their respective expenditures. Guess who the added 30 per cent will be pushed to? The mwananchi.” It was as if the national budget was written by the Kenya Association of Manufacturers mandarins, observed Ndubai. “There isn’t anything pro-poor in that budget, the budget favours the manufacturers and the big boys all the way. Majority of Kenyans are too bamboozled by real big, impossible numbers, trillions of shillings, to really take time to understand” the implications of the budget.
“What it will mean now is that the government will remove the zero-rating and the manufacturers will be exempt from claiming any tax relief. Sounds good on paper? What this means is that the consumer will have to bear the burden of increased taxes on everyday commodities.”
The tax expert said the Kenyan people need to wake up to the realization that their lives will soon be very difficult to manage and they should come out to protest to safeguard their social interests because that is the only way they will be heard. She gave me the example of Jordan and how Jordanians had forced their Prime Minister out of his office, through mass street protests and camping out at his office.
A conservative society, Jordanians rocked the capital, Amman, with a wave of mass protests, culminating in the resignation of Prime Minister Hani Mulki. They were protesting austerity measures imposed by the International Monetary Fund on the Kingdom. Unemployment and stiff price hikes occasioned by high inflation had become unbearable and on June 3, 2018, 5,000 Jordanians camped at Mulki’s office. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, the critical price hikes were in electricity and fuel. In 2012, the same Jordanians had also gone onto the streets to protest against increasing economic hard times, after the government bowed to IMF’s stiff conditions by cutting off fuel subsidies, all in an attempt to secure an IMF loan to lower the public debt. Jordan’s national debt, which runs into hundreds of billions of shillings, just like Kenya, is equivalent to 95 percent of the country’s Gross Domestic Product.
The mere mention of IMF for some Kenyans old enough to remember the 1980s, sends cold shivers down their spine. The Washington-based financial institution, once described by Mwalimu Julius Nyerere as The International Ministry of Finance, introduced what came to be known as Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) in many of the Africa countries heavily indebted to western nations, beginning 1980. Prof Said Adejumobi, a political economist who has written numerously on SAP wrote in his paper in 1997; The Structural Adjustment Programme and Democratic Transition in Africa: “For Africa, the 1980s could be better described as the ‘adjustment decade’ as most African countries, in response to their ailing economic conditions, introduced one form of adjustment reform or the other.” Other political scientists, such as Adebayo Olukoshi, called the 1980s the “lost decade” for Africa.
Kenya first became an IMF patient in 1980; that is when the first SAP was introduced in the country. To fully comprehend what SAP meant and did to Kenyans, I will quote Adejumobi: “But what is the political import of SAP? SAP is a class project which seeks to create a ‘stable’ economic environment for the accumulation of capital by local and foreign bourgeoisie, while suppressing labour through wage freeze, insistence on strict work sector, reduction in workforce, (retrenchment), especially in the public sector. It also seeks to contract the provision of social services and infrastructure, like health, education and transportation.”
During the just ended G7 meeting in Quebec, Canada, President Uhuru Kenyatta was spotted engaging Christian Lagard, the IMF’s Managing Director, on the sidelines. In his article – One Week in March: Was the Handshake Triggered by the IMF? for the E-Review – John Githongo, wrote: “On the 6th of March, the Minister of Finance, Henry Rotich, made the surprise announcement that the government was ‘broke’. He would deny this a day later in rather incongruous fashion. On the same day he and the Central Bank Governor Patrick Njoroge essentially signed on to an IMF austerity programme. It wasn’t the traditional IMF programme circa 1980/90s, but it nevertheless was an acknowledgment that we were complying with a range of ‘confidence building’ measures ‘agreed’ with the IMF as we renegotiated our expired precautionary facility with them.” David Ndii, reiterated in another E-Review article, A Quest of Power – Why Ethiopia’s Economic Transformation is a Cautionary African Tale, the fact that “Kenya is surviving on speculative capital inflows and juggling debt as it negotiates an IMF bailout.”
To add salt to injury, Ndubai told me that the cost of M-Pesa transactions had gone up as a result of a 2 per cent increase in excise duty imposed by the government. M-Pesa is today the most transacted money transfer channel in the country. “The biggest population that uses M-Pesa is the ordinary man and woman, especially the rural folk and urban poor, because these people do not have bank accounts. When M-Pesa came, it was relief, but now it may end up being a burden. Think of the rural elderly who receive pensions. With the increased tariff, which Safaricom is going to push to the consumer, it is going to be difficult for the poor people of Kenya to effectively use mobile transfer platforms.”
“Kenya is surviving on speculative capital inflows and juggling debt as it negotiates an IMF bailout.”
I found out this to be true, when I went to meet Mweru at Githurai Market. She asked me whether M-Pesa charges had been increased. “I do all my payment through M-Pesa and I have noticed these people are taking a lot more of my money. This is very unfair,” she lamented. Going to Githurai Market had also revealed something else: during off-peak hours, Githurai residents pay Sh20 as matatu fare to the city centre and vice versa. “But some matatus were being adventurous by charging Sh30,” said Mweru. “If they push the fares further up, they are going to annoy the people. I think they are testing the waters to see how the people are going to react.”
I now understood what Sh20 meant to the five matatu travellers on their way to Kiambaa: in Githurai, it covers your entire fare back home. When I returned to Kiambaa stage at Kilome Road terminus after talking to Ndubai, the fares had been pegged at KSh100, irrespective of the weather. Hard times indeed.
Why Colonial-Era Edicts Will Not Defeat the Coronavirus in Kenya
8 min read. In tackling COVID-19, the Kenyan government appears to be oblivious to the needs of the majority of citizens. What do “social distancing” and “self-quarantine” mean in urban areas where slum dwellers share a single room with half a dozen family members, and where the majority of people work in the informal economy?
Abraham Maslow once said that to those who only have a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. The reactions of world governments to the coronavirus pandemic is proof of this. Around the globe, it appears that a one-size-fits-all basket of prescriptions – from closing borders to locking down societies – seems to be all the rage. Catchphrases like “social distancing” and “self-quarantine” abound in international media reports and political speeches and proliferate all over social media.
Not to be left out, African governments have followed suit. Last week, the Kenyan president, Uhuru Kenyatta, ordered all schools closed, forbade entry into the country to all but a few foreigners with residence permits and urged citizens to work from home, to wash and sanitise their hands, and to avoid crowding in public spaces, including transport. A few weeks ago, these measures would have seemed extreme. But not today, as the global advance of the virus sparks a stampede for the global system’s exits.
However, while the government’s rhetoric may make sense when viewed from a public health perspective, a closer look reveals the dangers inherent in blindly following the crowd. Take, for example, the situation in the Kenyan capital, Nairobi. Here, two-thirds of the city’s 4.4 million people are crammed into informal settlements, which cover just 6 percent of its land area. Within these crowded slums, entire families are forced to share single-room dwellings. With no running water, conditions are unsanitary and disease is rampant. Many slum residents work in the informal economy, running small businesses or providing casual labour to nearby rich and middle-class housing estates or to factories in the industrial areas. Few have job security or get sick leave.
The city’s public transport system is similarly crowded, unsanitary and chaotic. It is dominated by matatus – privately owned minibuses in which passengers are routinely packed shoulder to shoulder for journeys that, thanks to the city’s horrendous traffic, rarely last less than an hour. Another popular means of getting around are boda bodas or motorcycle taxis, where passengers share filthy helmets (when available) and can sometimes squeeze three to a bike.
In these circumstances, what do concepts such as “social distancing” mean? How practical is it to ask people to work from home? How exactly is someone who shares a single room with half a dozen other family members be expected to “self-quarantine” if they were to fall ill with symptoms associated with COVID-19? How are they to avoid infecting their neighbours or make it to the city hospitals – themselves hopelessly overcrowded and unsanitary at the best of times – without spreading the infection?
These practical considerations do not appear to have troubled President Kenyatta and his mandarins as they regurgitate the advice from the World Health Organization (WHO), which seems to take Western lifestyles as a template for life in the rest of the world. Perhaps this is because the government is fond of issuing “directives” when dealing with social issues, rather than consulting with its citizens. For example, researchers have noted that “approaches to reducing exposure to air pollution in informal settlements…have very little input from the people they target. As a result, they may have a low rate of acceptance”.
The people making decisions exhibit little awareness of or acquaintance with the realities of everyday life for the majority of urban Kenyans. Safely ensconced in their gated estates, accustomed to having the roads cleared for them and to being treated in well-equipped private hospitals (when they have opted not to fly abroad for medical treatment), these folks have no qualms about simply repeating the dictates from global elites. From where they sit, it can seem quite reasonable to propose that those in self-imposed quarantine have their own separate room and bathroom at a time when access to a flush toilet and piped water is a luxury for many of their fellow countrymen.
Public health in the colonial economy
The lack of appreciation for the circumstances of their fellow citizens stems from the fact that for over a century, Kenyan elites have been happy to exploit their poor neighbours for their cheap labour while doing little to invest in public services. The model was made during the colonial period. European authorities were not overly concerned with the health of the African population. In a 1987 paper titled “The 1920s Anti-Yaws Campaigns And Colonial Medical Policy In Kenya”, Marc Dawson notes that prior to 1920, “colonial medical officials were not responsible for the health of the bulk of the African population, only for caring for the health of government employees and European settlers and ensuring that epidemic disease did not disrupt the colonial economy”.
These practical considerations do not appear to have troubled President Kenyatta and his mandarins as they regurgitate the advice from the World Health Organization (WHO)…Perhaps this is because the government is fond of issuing “directives” when dealing with social issues, rather than consulting with its citizens.
Thus the focus of the colonial government was on ensuring that Africans did not carry diseases to work and did not threaten the health of Europeans, not that they were themselves healthy. For example, the outbreak of plague in Kisumu in the first decade of the 20th century elicited a quick response because of the potential for economic disruption, as well as the threat to the small European population. One can see a similar dynamic in the treatment of the poor in Nairobi’s slums today. Like the Africans in colonial Nairobi, their presence in the city is only tolerated because their labour is required. While typically their lives are blighted by disease and squalour, the government is not interested in them unless their illness poses a threat to the economy.
The response of the colonial authorities to the Third Plague Pandemic, which broke out of China’s Yunnan Province in the mid-19th century and spread globally via European steamships and merchant routes, is also illustrative. The pandemic reached Nairobi in 1902, where an outbreak led to the burning down of the Indian Bazaar, the city’s first business district. Nairobi would suffer frequent plague outbreaks over the next two decades. The persistence of the plague, according to Owaahh, “stimulated the first official town planning efforts for Nairobi, although most of the efforts were to segregate Indians whose sprawling townships were thought to be breeding grounds for carrier rats”.
In 1914, a report prepared by Prof. W. J. Simpson proposed not just the segregation of residential and commercial centres, but also, according to the book Indians in Kenya by Sana Aiyar, a “neutral belt of unoccupied land of at least 300 yards around European areas to ensure the healthfulness of the locality”. Following the outbreak of plague in Kisumu in December 1904, according to Health, State, and Society in Kenya by George Ndege, the Under Secretary of State for the Colonies declared that “great care should be exercised in the selection of sites for settlements, in keeping the native and European locations well apart”. Over the years, this segregation of the races has morphed into the class segregation that is a feature of Kenyan cities today.
To tackle the plague, the colonial authorities imposed harsh measures, including forced vaccinations, house burnings and quarantines. The Africans who bore the brunt of these measures were rarely consulted and quickly became loath to cooperate or to report plague cases in their homesteads, knowing it meant the destruction of their homes. This tendency to talk down to the people and to issue directives rather than consult with the citizens has been inherited by the current Kenya government.
Another colonial trait is the preference for quick, short-term fixes rather than long-term investments. When the first mass health survey of the African population was carried out in 1915 in the form of medical examinations of male conscripts for the Carrier Corps, the results sufficiently alarmed the authorities about the poor health situation in the African reserves from where they drew their labour. The main culprits were yaws and heart disease. The long term and more expensive solution would have been to improve the quality of life, especially as yaws has been described as a disease of poverty.
To tackle the plague, the colonial authorities imposed harsh measures, including forced vaccinations, house burnings and quarantines. The Africans who bore the brunt of these measures were rarely consulted and quickly became loath to cooperate or to report plague cases in their homesteads, knowing it meant the destruction of their homes.
However, while the 1920s anti-yaws campaign represented a first attempt by colonial medics to expand provision of healthcare beyond government employees to rural Africans, the government and physicians still chose to do it on the cheap. As Dawson notes, “rather than raising the living standards of the rural population (prevention), the colonial authorities tried to cure the population of yaws with injections of a drug of uncertain property”.
Similarly, to date the government has done little to raise living and sanitary standards in the slums. The big promises of slum upgrading have turned out to be little more than either looting schemes or empty talk. Many of the informal settlements that sprung up to house unwanted Africans when the colonials ran Nairobi persist to this very day. And while there will undoubtedly be a concerted effort to combat the coronavirus outbreak, it is unlikely that there will be any determined effort to improve livelihoods and eliminate slums.
The Spanish flu in Kenya
The next big foreign-born disease to hit Kenya in the colonial period was the Spanish flu, the deadliest pandemic in history. Originating in the United States and transported to the killing fields of World War I by American soldiers, the pandemic circled the globe, infecting between 3 and 5 per cent of the world’s population, including people in remote Pacific islands and the Arctic. It cut life expectancy around the world by about 12 years.
An interesting similarity with the current coronavirus epidemic is that the disease at the beginning was “mild, the mortality not unusually high”. Preoccupied with the events of the war, the first wave of the flu went largely unnoticed and it wasn’t until it started killing people in large numbers that the world paid attention. But by then it was too late. By the time it was brought under control, it had killed about 50 million people, more than had died in the war. And remember, this as all before the age of international commercial air travel.
The flu hit East Africa in two waves, the first beginning September 1918 and another in late 1919, killing at least 155,000 people, or an estimated 5.5 percent of the African population in Kenya. Again the reaction of the colonial authorities was largely driven by concerns over the loss of African labour. For example, as related by to Kirsten Moore in her 2013 paper, “Placing Pandemics: History of the 1918-19 Influenza Epidemics in Kenya and Uganda”, “the District Commissioner of Voi cited the influenza epidemic in arguments for a permanent native hospital, saying, ‘it is absolutely essential that adequate hospital provision be made to deal with sick labourers from […] Estates and Railways.’ A native hospital was up and running in Voi by 1921”. She points out that the pandemic was killing off African labour, “just as an influx of British settlers came to establish large, labour-intensive estates. Facing significant war debts and the prospect of bankruptcy, the administration depended on these new plantation enterprises to revitalise the economy”.
Again, it is clear that concern for the health of the natives was not the driving force behind the colonial provision of medical care to Africans. A century later, facing another epidemic, the Kenyan elite is showing itself to be similarly oblivious to the needs of the African majority and is really only concerned about its own economic and political interests.
Sink or swim together
Ironically, just as the colonials imported plague and influenza pandemics into Kenya, it is largely the wealthy, those with the means to travel abroad, who have brought the COVID-19 pandemic back to Kenya. Yet, as with the previous diseases, it is the poor, who did nothing to bring on the crisis, who will get to bear the brunt of both the disease and the government efforts to contain it.
However, there is a critical difference. As the pandemic exposes the systemic weaknesses in Kenya’s healthcare system, the shutdown of the global system means there is no escape for the wealthy who have profited from the plunder and neglect of public services. They will share the fate of the rest of the society. Thus, allowing the pandemic, whether through negligence or incompetence, to become established in the slums, will inevitably be fatal for the elite themselves.
A century later, facing another epidemic, the Kenyan elite is showing itself to be similarly oblivious to the needs of the African majority and is really only concerned about its own economic and political interests.
Since the virus threatens all, both rich and poor, it will require a whole society effort to confront it. Top-down directives will not suffice. In any case, after decades of hollowing out the state from within, the ability of the governing elites to enforce them is severely compromised. Thus it will be critical to work with communities to translate WHO advice into practical protocols that cater to the daily realities of the majority of the population rather than to the global imaginings of a privileged few.
In the short term, it is likely that the political elite will get its act together and do what is necessary to contain the pandemic. However, it is hoped that the lessons of history will not be quickly forgotten once the pandemic has passed. Maintaining a system predicated on inequality and the neglect of public services endangers everyone, not just those at the bottom of the pyramid. Kenyans, regardless of their station in life, will all sink or swim together. They can no longer afford to keep a colonial system where so few get so much at the expense of so many.
Religion in the Age of Coronavirus
13 min read. If we have learned anything from COVID-19, it is that the miracle and faith-healing industry in Kenya is nothing but a sham and that prayers alone will not solve the country’s imminent health crisis.
Our world, as we know it, has been turned upside down by the coronavirus (COVID-19). The virus has not just exposed our fragility as human beings, but has also raised our awareness of our interconnectedness as people sharing one planet with viruses and microbes.
First identified in China in November 2019, COVID-19 has since spread to more than 100 countries worldwide, including Italy, the USA, UK, Germany and 24 African countries so far.
The magnitude of this pandemic, as well as its fast geographical spread, has not only paralysed both rich and poor nations, but also caused global panic, creating gripping fear for our lives. On March 11, 2019, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared the COVID-19 a pandemic. At the time of writing this article, the pandemic had killed 8,000 people and infected 200,000.
The virus, which experts says is most certainly passed from animals, in this case the bat, has already infected seven people in Kenya, if the government reports are anything to go by. Other African countries that have reported its presence include South Africa, Nigeria, Ghana, Rwanda, Tanzania and Ethiopia. For many Kenyans, it was not a matter of if, but when the virus would strike. The country is a major travel hub in East and Central Africa, with nearly every major global airlines stopping at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA) in Nairobi.
After seemingly dilly-dallying for some time, President Uhuru Kenyatta, finally, on March 15, ordered schools and institutions of higher learning to close. He also banned political rallies and religious gatherings.
However, despite the ban, on Sunday, March 15, Kenyan churches were packed to capacity with throngs of people, apparently oblivious of the coronavirus pandemic and the risk of spreading the disease. They (the churches) dulled the congregants’ fears and cried to God for protection. My neighbours even held a prayer fellowship in my neighbourhood to pray against the demonic virus as many have christened it, except that COVID-19 is not a demon.
In a country whose easy dalliance with the supernatural is legendary, this is not surprising. In moments of political, social and ecological crises, Kenyans turn to God, supposedly for guidance. Such challenges are seen through the prism of religion. In a country with a highly educated and exposed population, pandemics like COVID-19 and HIV/AIDs are still said to be caused by the devil and other dark forces. Even when science is very clear on the genesis of the viruses, the majority of Kenyans and other people elsewhere will still interpret them as the invention of the devil. Not surprising in a country where nearly 85 per cent of the population is Christian.
Kenya, in particular, is a highly religious country with diverse religious groups with high levels of religious participation across various religious traditions. Belonging and participating in various religious activities is essentially important to many people across the country. A 2015 study showed that for 95 per cent of Kenyans, faith informs how they conduct their daily lives.
Given the important role of religion in the lives of millions of people, it is important that we change how we practise our faiths in the face of this global pandemic that has already heavily impacted all of us. Already, the virus has killed 19 priests in Italy, which sadly means that no one is immune from the virus, not even our religious leaders.
Similarly, no amount of prayers and faith healing could cure this virus. African Christians have been praying for a cure for AIDS/HIV and Ebola for decades not but not a single person has certainly been cured of these dangerous viruses. The same logic should apply to COVID-19.
This is not to say that prayers and faith don’t work. Neither does it mean they have no significance in the lives of people. Faith is the glue that holds people together in moments of crisis like this. It is also a purveyor of hope in moments of immense anxieties and fears. Yet, in times of global pandemics like the coronavirus, science and medicine would seem the more reliable solution. After all, it is science that has continually sought cures for these epidemics. The antiretroviral drugs and the Ebola vaccine (not prayers and demon-bashing) have given a new lease of life to millions of people around the world. It is also science that will come up with a cure for COVID-19, not miracles and faith healing.
Given the important role of religion in the lives of millions of people, it is important that we change how we practise our faiths in the face of this global pandemic…
Yet, science and religion are not enemies, neither are they in competition with each other. There is nothing wrong with people praying and casting out the demons of disease if that is how they understand it, even as they wash hands, self-isolate, self-quarantine and maintain social distance, as advised by science and medical practitioners. Faith and science should not be in contradiction with each other. Each plays important and significant roles in our lives. Faith and prayers hold us together in hope and community while science tackles the virus in scientific and practical ways.
Yet, the easy resort to religion and prayers as the only solution during times of crisis like this is not only problematic but is also risky and reckless. It takes away our focus from holding our negligent governments accountable. The Kenyan healthcare system has been struggling for decades, but the ruling elite does not care because it can afford to seek the best medical care abroad. Our blind religious faith does not allow us to question the massive inequality in our healthcare system, in particular, and in Kenyan society in general. We also do not ask why the poor lack sanitation and why they live in dehumanising conditions.
The national day of prayer and other diversionary tactics
This is not a far-fetched assertion: Every time we are faced with a crisis as a country, the government, in collusion with religious leaders, call for prayers. Saturday, March 21, 2019 was slated as a national day of prayer by President Uhuru Kenyatta, who asked Kenyans to pray for forgiveness. Kenyans who have suffered years of neglect and broken healthcare systems must ask what we are repenting for. Who between Kenyans and the government should be repenting for the sins of the nation, for the inaction, corruption and bad governance that have seriously put our health at risk for decades?
It seems to me that the government wants to divert attention from its inept and tardy response to the pandemic, while religious leaders are seeking for relevance and respectability at a time when the virus has rendered them impotent. The national prayer day called by the government is meant to dull our anxieties. It is a diversionary tactic to manage the public’s fears and soothe our anxieties as we are socialised not to squarely put the blame where it belongs: on the government.
Kenyans who have suffered years of neglect and broken healthcare systems must ask what we are repenting for. Who between Kenyans and the government should be repenting for the sins of the nation, for the inaction, corruption and bad governance that have seriously put our health at risk for decades?
Across the world, religious leaders are making hard and painful decisions to close their worship sanctuaries. Because religious services, by their very nature, bring together large groups of people, houses of worship in Africa are potential hubs for virus transmission. In developed democracies, religious leaders are scrambling to understand the COVID-19, even as they as find ways of protecting their congregations, while African clergy are either denying the virus or praying against the demons that cause the virus.
In Saudi Arabia, the annual Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca’s holy sites have been substantially reduced. The Vatican is streaming mass on television. Rabbis in many parts of the world are discouraging their followers from hugging and shaking hands. These are hard and painful decisions, but practical and important measures to keep followers alive.
Secondly, there is evidence in South Korea that the virus spread quickly because of the social interactions of the worshippers. South Korea was the first country to report significant coronavirus infections outside of China. In New Rochelle in New York, a synagogue, as reported by Slate.com, was the centre of an outbreak of coronavirus that eventually led to the summoning of the National Guard.
In Houston in the US, the world-renowned Pastor Joel Osteen of Lakewood Church, which attracts upwards of 50,000 people, has closed his church. Similarly, the famous megachurch pastor T.D Jakes of Potters House suspended church services for his thousands of followers.
Church business as usual in Kenya
While there were only seven confirmed cases of coronavirus in Kenya, by the time of writing this article, there was general panic in the country, which suggest that everyone should avoid crowds. Yet, religious leaders across the country have yet to cancel church services. Only the All Saints Cathedral, Christ is the Answer Ministries (CITAM), Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA), Nairobi Chapel, Mavuno church and Jamia Mosque had suspended mass worship by the third week of March. Instead, many have provided water and soap for members to wash their hands at the entrances of the church compounds. While washing hands has been suggested as one of the ways to fight the virus, it does not cancel the benefits of social distancing. Are religious leaders feigning ignorance about the latter, or are they simply turning a blind eye to this important measure? I posit a number of theories to explain this lackadaisical behaviour.
First, church spaces in Kenya are not about people; they are about the church founders who use the tithes and offerings to enrich themselves and live a life of luxury. They are never about people-centred theologies or a gospel of social justice, but about personalities. This is the logic that underlies the majority of spiritual spaces, especially those that are prosperity gospel allied, where the church founder’s main concern is not to build a community, but to make money.
Second, Kenyan churches are generally small and crowded in mostly poorly ventilated buildings and semi-structures. Except for mosques, and the more established mainstream churches, the majority are in bad condition. Many Pentecostal/evangelical church services, for example, are held in tents or shelters made of iron sheets and with poor sanitation. These are hotbeds for the spread of the disease.
Why are the majority of Kenya’s popular churches in such dilapidated conditions? Why don’t tithers demand for safe and healthy spaces of worship? Don’t the poor tither have dignity? These are questions that the Kenyan religious population need to interrogate!
Church spaces in Kenya are not about people; they are about the church founders who use the tithes and offerings to enrich themselves and live a life of luxury. They are never about people-centred theologies or a gospel of social justice, but about personalities.
The majority of Pentecostal clergy rarely invested in building decent churches because they don’t think about the comfort and welfare of their members, but only about offering and tithes. Prophet Owuor of the Ministry of Repentance and Holiness, for example, hires school venues and tents, where his followers meet on Sundays. The reason he has given his followers for not building a permanent sanctuary is that Jesus Christ is coming back to rapture the church, hence there is no need for a physical church. However, he built himself a palatial home, complete with a bunker, where he can self-quarantine himself, while the millions of his followers who live a life of squalour can easily die from the coronavirus infection. Many other big and smaller churches have not invested in building decent spaces of worship yet their founders live in opulence and luxury. It is about them, not the people.
Yet the behaviour of the clergy in Kenya is hardly surprising. Rather, it mirrors class divisions in a country where religious elites, just like their political counterparts, have created heaven on earth for themselves, while ordinary Kenyans live in hell. The Kenyan clergy, just like our politicians, does not care for its members. It uses them to ascend to power (political and religious) and respectability. This is why the status of our churches mirrors the status of our public hospitals and schools and informal settlements. Many of our public facilities, just like many houses of worship, are in terrible condition, with no running water and poor sanitation. Yet pastors rarely raise the issue of the sorry state of our broken healthcare systems, even though some churches have built a semblance of health clinics to provide some form of medicare.
More importantly, religious leaders do not want to call off church services because they will be rendered irrelevant. Many a clergy use the pulpit, not just to mint money, but also to prop up their egos and advance their social status. The clergy are in the business of making money. Many churches in Kenya, particularly those of Pentecostal and charismatic church inclinations, are run like business enterprises, so closing a church has serious financial implications. In Africa, the church is an enterprise, just like the stock market: and their owners are afraid that their business empires will crash like stock markets.
Third, there is a fear that COVID-19 will expose the clergy’s dark underbelly and call to question Africa’s faith-healing and miracle industry. For so long, religious leaders have trafficked in miracles and faith-healing. COVID-19 has rendered them incapable of healing the sick and incapable of praying away the coronavirus. In fact, the virus has rendered them impotent and fragile; they have no power to pray away the disease or perform dubious miracles.
Fourth, the clergy has been averse to scientific discoveries because science makes their miraculous shenanigans questionable. Prayers for healing have not calmed a shocked and scared populace. Many a clergy has frowned on science, medicine and theological education, instead spiritualising even non-spiritual matters as serious as the coronavirus pandemic. Science shakes the foundation of their spiritual teachings. After all, and in the case of this pandemic, science has proved to be more practical and reliable than faith.
These fly-by-night pastors have also trafficked in guilt and false prophecies to shock people into a particular way of being religious. Self-proclaimed Prophet Owuor has trafficked in fear-mongering threats, and has even claimed that he had prophesied the pandemic. He also said it would kill people in Asia because the continent rejected his prophecy. In Kenya, a section of the public has cajoled him to unleash his “mighty prophetic powers” to fend off the virus. They have also called on him to pray it away.
Apostles James Maina Ng’ang’a’s video on coronavirus – where he is unable to pronounce the word coronavirus – showed not just his sheer ignorance, but also how ill-equipped he and his ilk are when it comes to offering solutions to such complex 21st-century problems.
A Meru-based Pentecostal clergyman with a huge following angered many Kenyans when he said that coronavirus is a global hoax and that God has instructed him not to cancel church service because there is no coronavirus.
Fifth, many of the clergy have not built an infrastructure that would enable them to continue their ministry in times of crisis like this. While many pastors have invested in TV stations, radio frequencies, social media pages, YouTube and websites, the intention has always been to win souls and tithes that will make them more powerful. Investing in sound infrastructure that would have allowed them to go online or on radio or televised church services at times of crisis like this was never part of their plan because their short-sightedness does not allow them to rethink about ministry for 21st-century challenges, including climate change and its links to our health. The available infrastructure has been mainly directed at international audiences, not local congregations. It has also never been about their congregations but about how they can use such platforms to minister to gain respectability, online audiences and donations.
The question is, where is that spiritual power to perform miracles and heal people of coronavirus when we really need it? Prophet Owuor, who claims to have caused the virus because the world has rejected his gospel of fear and threats, is impotent. A couple of Sundays ago, he preached without an interpreter, as many of his followers wore masks and kept a safe distance from each other for fear of catching a disease he supposedly brought to the nation for rejecting his message. His sermons have always been fear-inducing. He preachers about a dreadful God who kills people on a whim. It is interesting that a man who claims that the clouds clap for him and the glory of God descends on him while preaching cannot pray away a global pandemic that can infect him and his retinue of thousands of followers in Kenya and beyond.
More importantly is that religious leaders are no longer the voice of the voiceless, the conscience of the nation and defenders of social justice. It is about them and not the vulnerable. I have not seen any statement or press conference by the interreligious forum or the National Council of Churches of Kenya (NCCK) or the Evangelical Alliance of Kenya or the Conference of Catholic Bishops to assure a nation in a moment of deep fear and frustrations.
Yet, many leaders have the audacity to force members to go to church. Where is the voice of religious leaders in Kenya? Who will call out the government’s bluff for putting the lives of Kenyans in extreme danger? Where is Prophet Owuor, Kenya’s “spiritual president” who “resurrects the dead” and claims to have prophesied about COVID-19? Where are the miracle workers who claim to have the powers to delete HIV/AID, cancer, and diabetes? The refusal of many churches to cancel church services must be questioned by all. But even more importantly, the Kenyan religious community must defy their clergy and stay at home for their own health and that of their families and communities. I suggest that in light of this moment of great social anxieties, all religious activities must be cancelled to help contain the spread of the disease.
Exposing the sham
If there is anything we have learned from this experience, it is that the miracle and faith-healing industry is nothing but a sham. No religious leader has the power to heal you. Science is our only hope. Going to church right now is not just the height of spiritual carelessness, but also an act of foolishness. When the virus is under control, we can all troop back to our houses of worship.
In developed countries, pastors have been at the forefront of ministering to their congregations at home. Many have come up with innovative ways of being Christian in the age of the coronavirus. They have asked communities of faith to change not just their usual religious practices, but their worship as well. Parishioners are not only conducting mass online but offering online prayer support and educating congregations about the scientific ways of mitigating the virus.
More importantly, they have come up with spiritual resources to help their followers remain spiritually connected during such times. These clergy and churches are institutions that are congregation-centred, not individual-centred. They have invested in infrastructure for a coronavirus pandemic and 21st-century challenges. For such churches and congregations, God is not found in a physical church, but everywhere and God does not speak to the clergy alone.
There is need to deinstitutionalise the church and question our high dependence on the so-called men and women of God. We must re-evaluate their moral and intellectual standards, and we must critically debate the theological foundations of the church in Kenya.
In developed countries, pastors have been at the forefront of ministering to their congregations at home. Many have come up with innovative ways of being Christian in the age of the coronavirus.
The Kenyan Christian needs to be socialised not to depend so much on the clergy. God does not live in church but is everywhere. No clergyman has the monopoly and direct line to God. God lives in our minds and hearts. We can have church with ourselves and our families. The pastor has no magic to ward off coronavirus. He is as afraid as you are. But he can be a voice of hope and reason.
Many churches and clergy have denied science and climate change. The evangelical and Pentecostal churches, which are the fastest growing churches in Africa, Latin America and Oceania, have always been at odds with science and climate change. One of the effects of climate change is the spread of pandemics like this. As human beings, we share the world with viruses and they attack us. Yet we have refused to be good stewards of the environment and we have denied climate change despite tremendous scientific evidence about its links to our human body.
The sheer magnitude and fast spread of the virus has paralysed the world and caused huge fear and confusion. For many religious people, it has caused an ecclesiological conundrum. Fear and confusion have taken over reason. Yet scientific data available calls us to do things differently; wash hands, minimise unnecessary travel, stay home while sick to reduce infecting others, keeping social distance, avoiding large crowds, such as church services, and maintaining social distance.
Different ways of being religious
What does it mean to be church in the age of coronavirus? How much should it matter that we continue to physically gather in spaces of worship in the midst of a pandemic that by its very nature is anti-crowding? Isn’t it the wise thing to do that the clergy should call off all religious activities to save lives and avoid mass spread of the pandemic? Is it not a death sentence to encourage people to go to church at such a time as this? Does it make any sense at all for people to continue to troop to churches, and other spaces of worship for prayer, fellowship and community making, when such actions put people in serious danger? Why do pastors have such a hold on peoples’ abilities to think? Is God only found in churches and mosques? Why are Kenyan churches clergy-centric and not people-centric? Can the African and Kenyan clergy spring to action and guide their congregations and provide the much- needed leadership in an era of crippling fear and uncertainties?
For many religious people, this time calls for many ways of being. It calls on us to deinstitutionalise faith and rethink innovative ways of being spiritual communities. It calls on us to decentralise the role of a clergy that does not think about us but about themselves. It calls on us to give science a chance, even as we continue to pray and hope and take care of each other. Taking care of each other is a spiritual exercise. This is the time to be good neighbours. This is the time for us to think about compassion and empathy, After all, science and faith are not in contradiction with each other.
Now is the time to ground ourselves in a gospel of social justice, not fake miracles and questionable cures.
Unfair Trade: How Dutch Rose Growers Avoid Paying Taxes in Kenya
14 min read. Dutch growers who dominate the flower sector in Kenya were already in the news because of environmental violations and poor employment conditions. Now, as investigative journalists Romy van der Burgh and Linda van der Pol found out, they are also being accused of avoiding taxation in Kenya while proudly wearing the “fair trade” badge.
A wide tarmac road winds around the freshwater Lake Naivasha, about a hundred kilometers away from the capital city of Nairobi. A stream of heavy traffic manoeuvres from one side of the road to the other in order to avoid the large potholes – sometimes half a meter deep. Drivers of matatus (minibuses) often prefer the dirt tracks on either side of the road, where the chance of a tyre blowout is less likely. Occasionally, individuals are spotted putting their lives at risk pushing a wheelbarrow with stones onto the road to seal a pothole.
The condition of Moi South Lake Road stands in contrast with the well-paved roads that branch from it and lead into fenced compounds manned by armed guards. The flag of Dutch professional football club, Feyenoord, flutters behind one of those gates. The flower farms that are nestled in between Moi South Lake Road and Lake Naivasha are mostly owned by Dutch farmers and appear to be in perfect condition.
In the Netherlands, rose cultivation has decreased spectacularly in recent decades. Between 2000 and 2019, the area under rose cultivation in the Netherlands dropped from 932 hectares to 200 hectares. Many Dutch growers moved their companies to African countries such as Kenya and Ethiopia. Labour, energy, water and land prices are lower in Eastern Africa than the Netherlands and the Eastern Africa climate is favourable for rose cultivation. Roses thrive in sunlight and warmth. The cut flower has since become the largest export product in Kenya and the sector offers work to 500,000 Kenyans. However, the flower industry in Kenya has faced criticism in recent years due to poor working conditions, the large-scale use of toxic pesticides, and the negative impact on the environment, including the pollution of Lake Naivasha.
In light of these past controversies, a new one arises: Flower companies are avoiding their tax liability in Kenya, the Dutch investigative journalism platform Investico revealed. A search through registrations and annual reports show us how flower companies are evading local taxes through export companies in the Netherlands and trusts located in tax havens such as the Cayman and British Virgin Islands, Liechtenstein and Jersey. Others sell their revenue to sister companies in Dubai for an artificially low price, which means that profits do not fall at the Kenyan farm, but at a foreign entity where the profit tax is also much lower than in Kenya.
Of the 32 companies we investigated, of which at least 13 have Dutch origins, 45 per cent can be linked to tax havens. Almost all Dutch growers who went to Kenya transferred part of their business to a Dutch company. Companies that set up an international group of several companies can transfer and settle profits and losses within that group. This way they can ensure that the profit is as low as possible in the country with the highest tax rate. Because Kenya has a high profit tax, this model is attractive for companies that operate there. The Netherlands has tax treaties with many other countries. This makes it easier to channel money through the Netherlands to a tax haven than from Kenya.
While the growers are avoiding paying tax in a country like Kenya, where 36 per cent of the population lives in poverty, they still call their business “fair trade”. In fact, more than half of all the companies that we investigated have a Fairtrade certificate. Fairtrade, a premium label that stands for fair trade between the West and African countries, presents a blind spot for tax avoidance. “Fair trade – that is an oxymoron,” says Alvin Mosioma, director of Tax Justice Network Africa. “There is nothing fair about this trade. Not to the workers who cut the flowers, nor to the government.”
In a small hall at Oserian Primary School in Naivasha, parents scramble to get hold of plastic chairs with “Oserian Church” written on the back of the chairs. They have been borrowed from a nearby church and placed in neat rows. During this ceremony, the ten best performing students of the national exam from last year are being honoured: one of them may even join the top five hundred students in the country and soon journalists will swarm around him for soundbites. But first the school principal opens the proceedings with a prayer and in one breath he thanks God and the Oserian flower company for the brilliance of the students.
Oserian is a huge company with Dutch roots: it was founded in 1969 by ex-marine Hans Zwager and is now one of the largest exporters of roses and cut flowers in Africa. A million roses are processed every day. A portion is transported by air to Schiphol to be traded at the auction in Aalsmeer (Netherlands); the rest is delivered directly to European supermarkets such as Sainsbury’s. More than four thousand employees work at the nursery, and hundreds at the rest of Oserian’s estate.
“Fair trade – that is an oxymoron,” says Alvin Mosioma, director of Tax Justice Network Africa. “There is nothing fair about this trade. Not to the workers who cut the flowers, nor to the government.”
Oserian is the banner of the Kenyan flower industry. It puts a lot of effort into conserving wildlife and on its grounds are schools, a hospital and houses for the staff. Founder Hans Zwager was decorated by recently deceased former president Daniel Arap Moi for his pioneering work in the Kenyan horticulture industry and for socially responsible entrepreneurship.
From the Moi South Lake Road there is a view of a palace with white spiers that protrude above the tree line. It once belonged to the colonial British family Delamère and is now occupied by the Zwager family.
“Oh, you disappear in life there,” says Fredrick, 46, a former employee of Oserian, as he digs into a plate of fish. Cafe Hollywood, located a few kilometres from the flower nursery, is full in the evening. The space is heated by charcoal mounds on which freshly caught tilapias are baked. “Oserian provides all facilities. When I was on vacation, I didn’t know where to look, as if there were no more worlds outside the company.”
For nearly twenty years, Fredrick ensured that the rose buds were fertilized. He now works for himself: he repairs and rents out bicycles. Fredrick initially worked for the flower company for 12,000 Kenya shillings (around 110 euros) a month, but people with that salary were slowly being phased out, he says. New employees earn half that amount. This figure is confirmed the next morning when we chance upon a new rose cutter at Oserian and give her a lift. She confesses that she only gets 59 euros for a month’s work. A third employee, whom we speak to when we deviate from the route during a tightly guided tour of the sorting center, speaks of the same amount – which is roughly equal to the minimum wage for unskilled personnel in Kenya. However, Mary Kinyua, the administrative director of Oserian, claims that the average salary of an Oserian worker is 167 euros.
In 2017, Oserian split the company on paper in two. Some activities, such as the packing of roses, were transferred to a new company. That company is evading the sector CAO (Collective Labour Agreement) that requires a salary of 10,000 shillings (91 euros). In practice, there appears to be little difference in employees from one or the other company. In the pale-green greenhouses, which extend as far as you can see, employees of both companies interact. Both groups do not come close to the living wage calculated by Hivos in Naivasha, which is 2.852 euros per year. Nevertheless, Fairtrade currently agrees with both the minimum wage and the sector CAO.
Dutch flower farmers moved to Africa because of the prosperity that was promised. But in Kenya that landscape has since changed considerably; flower cultivation is also in decline there. “My sixteen hectares in the Netherlands yields more than the seventy in Kenya,” says flower farmer Arie van den Berg, who is farming both in the Netherlands and in Kenya. Dutch roses in Europe are still available for a few euros every Valentine’s Day at the florist, but African roses are sold at Lidl (a European supermarket chain) for a dumping price of 1.99 euros per bunch. Sometimes auction prices are so low that it is more beneficial to destroy a load of roses than having to pay for the flight costs to send it to the auction in the Dutch Westland that revolves around horticulture.
Competition is increasing worldwide and African countries are trying to outdo each other: Ethiopia has begun to compete by offering so-called tax holidays – and there is no question of a minimum wage at all. Another problem is the tax, which is high in Kenya for foreign entrepreneurs: the corporation tax is 37.5 per cent. In a market where every cent counts, some companies do everything they can to get out of that tax burden.
A few years ago, in 2012, Oserian FC and Karuturi Sports football teams, sponsored and named after two competing rose nurseries, competed against each other in the Premier League, the highest football division in Kenya. The “derby of Naivasha” was a crowd puller. Barely two years after this high point, fortunes took a dramatic turn and the players of Karuturi Sports had to hang up their boots in 2014. The Karuturi site has since been abandoned. The vacant greenhouses stretch hundreds of meters. The iron structures occupy one’s view for as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by the occasional individual plucking a stray rose from the wild growing plants in the abandoned greenhouses.
Dutch flower farmers moved to Africa because of the prosperity that was promised. But in Kenya that landscape has since changed considerably; flower cultivation is also in decline there.
Five years after the bankruptcy, a former employee still lives in a hut at the entrance of the company premises – hoping that he will be paid the three-month wages that he is owed, plus his accrued pension. “In the last months before the nursery closed, the working conditions were terrible. There was no longer any protection against the pesticides and the face masks we had on were not even really suitable for dust, let alone poison,” he says.
But the closure of Karuturi was not due to its pesticide use. The company was found guilty of evading more than 18 million euros in taxes. Although Karuturi and the tax authorities came to a settlement of 4 million euros, it turned out to be enough to bankrupt the company. Roses were systematically exported at an extremely low price to their own company in Dubai, from where they were further distributed throughout the market. The Kenyan branch turned into a loss, while the branch turned green figures in the Emirates. But Karuturi paid no tax on this profit: the United Arab Emirates have no income, profit, or dividend taxes and no import duties on transit goods. While 37.5 per cent tax is charged in Kenya, tax in Dubai is 0 per cent.
Dubai is a new tax haven. Free zones, where the official language is English and foreign entrepreneurs may be the full owners of a company, are advancing. Three Dutch nurseries in Kenya have already found a home in the Emirates, according to various annual reports from the Dutch Chamber of Commerce, including the large Oserian, which opened a logistics center, Airflo FZE (Free Zone Enterprise), at Dubai airport.
In addition to low taxes, Dubai offers far-reaching confidentiality to business owners: annual reports are not mandatory and requesting them is impossible. That is why we cannot verify whether Oserian applies the same rulebook as Karuturi. Karuturi was ultimately unsuccessful because it had to disclose more information as a listed company in India. The Dutch companies do not have to disclose financial records to the public because they are not registered on the stock exchange.
We track the offshore trade and walk of Dutch companies for the first time via the FlowerCompanies.com database, founded by a Dutch entrepreneur. Out of 21 African companies, the country of establishment does not state Kenya or Ethiopia, but the Cayman Islands, a sunny place, but without a single mega farm.
“No idea why this is, how crazy. This is a bug in the website,” the founder says when we have him on the line. After a few hours, the addresses were removed from the website, but we discovered through other means that the majority of those companies do indeed have branches in tax havens such as the Cayman Islands. It is more difficult to prove that they pay little or no tax in Kenya.
By law, all Kenyan residents have the right to request data from government agencies and private companies. Because we are not Kenyan residents, a tax law student in Nairobi helped us to view annual reports of Dutch growers in Kenya. During his first visit to the Kenya Chamber of Commerce, he was summoned to communicate his choices via the internet. During his second visit, he was only given an empty file. During his third visit, he finally got the Oserian file. He paid more than six euros for inspecting it.
Taking photos is not allowed at the Chamber of Commerce and security cameras dissuade visitors from doing so. Our “informant” is reluctant to use a hidden camera. Calling the Netherlands, he browses through the book, which contains an independent Deloitte audit, in which Oserian’s revenue for 2013 is estimated at 2.7 million euros. Below the line, only 3,910 euros of profit remains on their own financial statements, of which Oserian paid just under 1,041 euros to the tax authorities.
We wrote, in accordance with the law, a letter to the Kenya Chamber of Commerce, asking for copies of the file – but the papers that the Kenyan student saw a few days before suddenly got “lost”. The company also refuses to transfer any information about its finances.
The Zwager family, owner of Oserian, built a whole web of companies around the nursery that together cover the entire chain, from breeding to sales and distribution. A company in the Netherlands is concerned with “sales and marketing of cut flowers”. The Dutch company of Peter Zwager generated a gross turnover of 47 million euros in 2010. Most employees, according to the LinkedIn reference, simply work from Kenya. That cannot be otherwise, because there are no workplaces in Amsterdam: the company was transferred to Align trust office.
The ultimate stakeholder in all these “Dutch” companies is Mavuno Group Holding Company Establishment, a trust in tax haven Liechtenstein, which is again managed by a trust office. No country in Europe charges as little tax as Liechtenstein, and above all, it is not open to public scrutiny. The only two shareholders that we identify are a company at the same address in the principality, and one near the picturesque harbour of Road Town, the capital of the British Virgin Islands, which in turn owns a whole range of companies, including a Florida real estate company.
Other branches of Oserian also end up vanishing in the smoke of vague shareholders and directors on tropical islands where neither annual reports nor ultimate owners are made public. We identify New Zealand, the Bahamas and Jersey.
“We do not sell anything in Liechtenstein, we do not trade there, we certainly do not get a tax advantage there – it is just a trust,” explains administrative director Mary Kinyua. “The owner of Oserian, Peter Zwager, puts his assets in.” When asked why Oserian in Kenya only makes about 2,000 euros in profit, she has no answer.
“This is super signing. It is very clear that we are trying to evade taxes here,” says Vincent Kiezebrink of the Research Foundation for Multinational Enterprises (SOMO) when we present the drawn-up corporate structure of Oserian. “It looks like she can try to get the most out of it,” he chuckles. “All tax ports come by. You don’t need so many havens to evade tax. Many large companies nowadays invest in their public image: they no longer settle in the Bahamas but in lesser known tax havens such as Ireland or Cyprus, because they still claim to levy about 15 per cent tax. I do not see that consciousness here. It would not surprise me if this company thinks: ‘The closer to zero, the better.’”
We wrote, in accordance with the law, a letter to the Kenya Chamber of Commerce, asking for copies of the file – but the papers that the Kenyan student saw a few days before suddenly got “lost”.
A world full of crafty lawyers and accountants unfolds around emigrating farmers who show them around in Kenya and, where necessary, help them with agricultural land and tax constructions. The fulcrum in this is the law firm Raffman Dhanji Elms & Virdee based in Nairobi. On its website, the law firm states: “The Firm has been heavily involved in advising the flower and horticultural industries over the last decade in particular with foreign investment into this country and the methods to acquire land and the corporate structures required. This has led to joint ventures between Kenyan and overseas investors and the protecting and balancing of the respective interests.”
Controversial city lawyer Guy Spencer Elms was one of the three names given to us. He was once infamously associated with a multitude of corruption scandals in Kenya. Nonetheless, he has never been convicted and maintains in his defence of a plot by a criminal cartel to always paint his image in a bad light. Guy Spencer Elms says he arranges the tax planning of various Dutch nurseries himself, and he also helps farmers with agricultural land transactions. When we present him with the offshore constructions, he says: “People immediately think of something bad like hearing about a trust in Liechtenstein or the British Virgin Islands, but often it is just a way of’ estate planning. Trusts are not necessarily a bad thing “.
“Tax is Life!” reads the slogan celebrating 100 years of income tax in Kenya. The luxurious Safari Park Hotel in Nairobi is the location of the tax conference organised by the University of Nairobi. Joan, a student, takes a credit note from her bag, and points to the 16 per cent VAT. “This is why I think tax is so important. Taxes can pull Kenya out of the mud,” she says.
Students speak of tax obligations in glowing terms; they see it as the future. Where that change must take place is something that everyone agrees with: the government. Tax guru Attiya Waris, a professor of tax law, points out the loopholes in tax collection throughout Africa. According to the OECD, Africa misses 46 billion euros in tax revenues every year from evasive multinationals. The United Nations estimates that amount to be 92 billion euros. Waris did research for a long time on flower companies in the country. “Kenya transfers its land to foreign companies, but the profit they make falls elsewhere. It is not a win-win situation,” she says.
Other branches of Oserian also end up vanishing in the smoke of vague shareholders and directors on tropical islands where neither annual reports nor ultimate owners are made public. We identify New Zealand, the Bahamas and Jersey.
The Dutch company Berg Roses received 1.8 million in income tax with retroactive effect. The company was accused by the Kenyan tax authorities of conspiring with its parent company in the Netherlands. The Kenyan branch would sell most of its flowers for extremely low prices to the parent company in the Netherlands so that the profit is not realised in Kenya, but in the Netherlands.
The lawsuit is still ongoing because Van den Berg challenged the matter. “We ensure that we make fifty percent profit in Kenya and fifty percent in the Netherlands. We think that is fair. If we lose this case, it will be the death blow for our company.” Van den Berg knows of companies that channel the profit away to offshore trusts and, according to him, we never hear about it.
“Not only in the sector, but also in government is it only in terms of profit, not what is good for the country,” says tax expert Waris at the end of the celebration. She pulls her colourful scarf a little tighter around her shoulders and continues in a whisper when a duo of armed guards walk past. It should be a moral obligation to pay taxes in a country whose land, water and people you use, she says.
But monitoring the flower industry often leaves much to be desired because business and the political elite are intertwined – a euphemism for corruption. That became clear, for example, in the Paradise Papers – leaked files from the law firm Appleby – which show that Sally Jemngetich Kosgei, the former Head of Civil Service, and owner of a flower nursery in Kenya, bought a luxurious apartment in London through an offshore company based in Mauritius. Kosgei told the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ) that she bought the apartment with her personal funds.
Fair trade organisations do not see tax ethics as their responsibility. The cover page of a recent issue of Fairtrade International is adorned with a photo of the Waridi Limited nursery, which is almost entirely in the hands of a company in the Virgin Islands. Almost all Dutch nurseries in Kenya are in possession of the Fair Trade quality mark, which stands for good conditions.
According to the OECD, Africa misses 46 billion euros in tax revenues every year from evasive multinationals. The United Nations estimates that amount to be 92 billion euros.
“Oserian sells 14 per cent of its production as a Fair Trade rose,” says Tara Scally, the spokesperson for Fair Trade Netherlands. Part of the proceeds from Fair Trade roses, which are often more expensive, are returned to a pot that employees of the farm can dispose of themselves: for example, they invest it in education or in the salary of a doctor.
Fairtrade’s focus is on the position of farmers and workers, says Scally. Tax constructions are not part of this. Moreover, tax research requires a lot of specialist knowledge and financial resources, she adds. She fears that companies will no longer participate in the programme if they are required to disclose what is in their books. “The consequence may be that workers lose part of their income. We would rather not see that.”
A ridiculous line of reasoning, counters Alvin Mosioma, founder and director of Tax Justice Network Africa. “Wear a Fair Trade label while not paying your taxes? That is an oxymoron.” Mosioma regards Fair Trade as a marketing gimmick:
“People don’t buy a rose with blood on it. Social responsibility is part of the brand of these companies. They build hospitals, schools. That gives the consumer who buys such a rose a good feeling – the idea that they are making a contribution to the development of such a country. Nothing is further from the truth. These people work under very precarious conditions for a minimum wage. It is rather paternalistic: you give them jobs, and a school. But you also buy people around with it. They are happy with such an investment. ‘Look,’ they say to the government, ‘this company takes care of us, the government does not do that’. No, that’s because the government has no money for that, and also because the same companies are engaged in aggressive tax evasion.”
This article was previously published in the Dutch language in the Netherlands in the following papers/ online: (frontpage) daily paper Trouw, weekly paper De Groene Amsterdammer and online investigative journalism platform Investico.
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