SHIF—A Death Sentence Wrapped in a Smile: How The Kenyan Government Has Turned Healthcare Into A Looting Scheme

When the hyena wants to eat its children, it first accuses them of smelling like goats. The proposed Social Health Insurance Fund (SHIF) reeks of this proverbial deception. In the name of reform, the Kenyan government is laying a trap to fleece its citizens, while presenting the move as a gift. Much like the unfortunate child that believes the hyena’s false accusations, Kenyans are being led to accept SHIF under the guise of improvement, but the sharp claws of corruption are poised to rip through the very heart of healthcare.

Take a close look at the differences between SHIF and the National Health Insurance Fund (NHIF), and one realizes it’s not an overhaul but an overhaul of theft. The NHIF, flawed as it is, at least provided a semblance of structure. SHIF, however, seeks to overhaul this structure—not for efficiency, but to create enough loopholes to drown any form of accountability. The government’s attempt to veil this as a modernization effort is like a hunter lighting a fire to force a beehive to the ground, knowing well that it will burn the honeycombs beyond recognition.

Consider the first controversial issue: Dental  care:  The SHIF proposes to expand dental services, but at what cost? Under NHIF, while dental coverage was limited, it was straightforward. SHIF, on the other hand, creates an elaborate maze of approvals, bureaucratic steps, and unclear pricing models that make the average Kenyan think twice before seeking treatment. In the process, local clinics and hospitals, which have already been struggling under NHIF’s late payments, will be forced to either cut services or hike prices—leaving dental care out of reach for the common mwananchi. “It’s easier to milk a lioness than to get proper dental care under SHIF.”

Next, consider admissions. NHIF may not have been the most efficient system, but it offered relative predictability when it came to covering hospital admissions. SHIF, in its grandiose style, introduces a ‘tiered admission system’—where the type of coverage you get depends on arbitrary classifications of hospitals. Kenyans who thought they had equal access to all hospitals under NHIF will now find themselves locked out of certain facilities, not because of lack of space, but because SHIF deems some facilities too “elite” for basic coverage. This is the government’s way of saying, “Let them eat cake,” while feeding us crumbs.

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Diabetes treatment under SHIF is another landmine. The NHIF’s failings in managing chronic illnesses have been well-documented, but SHIF’s so-called solution is akin to giving a drowning man a cup of water. With provisions that subject diabetics to long wait periods for approval of treatment plans, capped coverage for insulin, and vague conditions for accessing specialist care, SHIF essentially condemns millions of Kenyans with diabetes to uncertainty and worse health outcomes. The promise of comprehensive care is nothing more than a thin layer of sugar coating—beneath lies a bitter pill of unaffordable, inaccessible care.

What about **reimbursements**? Under NHIF, delayed reimbursements were a consistent problem, but they were at least transparent, albeit slow. SHIF muddies the waters even further, creating a convoluted process that includes more middlemen, audits, and unnecessary layers of verification that serve no purpose other than to create more room for kickbacks and under-the-table deals. It’s as though the government has devised a plan to ensure that private hospitals will either withdraw from SHIF entirely or significantly raise prices to cover the expected delays and bureaucratic nonsense. The very people SHIF claims to help—small hospitals, clinics, and healthcare workers—will be squeezed dry, while the big fish swim in deep waters, unseen and unaccounted for.

Every provision in SHIF screams of a government eager to use healthcare as a conduit for looting. Look deeper into the specifics and you see a well-laid plan, not for healthcare improvement, but for creating a black hole where funds will disappear. The hyena is laughing because it knows it will get fat on this feast, while Kenyans are left with nothing but bones.

The governance structure of SHIF is another farce. Instead of empowering healthcare professionals and patient advocacy groups, SHIF places power in the hands of politically appointed bureaucrats with no healthcare experience. This is the fox guarding the henhouse. When decisions on who gets care and how much are left to people who see healthcare as a line item in their plundering budget, it’s clear that SHIF is built on a foundation of exploitation. To think these very people will ensure the healthcare of over 50 million Kenyans is akin to believing a termite will guard your granary.

Emergency care under SHIF is perhaps the most outrageous scam of all. SHIF promises immediate, all-encompassing emergency services, but upon closer inspection, these are capped based on “availability of funds”—a phrase that should set off alarm bells. Essentially, in times of economic strain or when SHIF inevitably runs out of money due to corruption and mismanagement, emergency care will be rationed. This is not a healthcare system. It’s a lottery. Lives will be gambled based on which political constituency holds sway and who can grease the most palms.

Satirically speaking, SHIF reminds me of the biblical phrase, “Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves.” The ravenous wolves in this case are the very politicians who champion SHIF as a cure-all, while they scheme to siphon off the funds meant for healthcare. The people behind SHIF are neither concerned about the health of the nation nor about sustainable healthcare reform—they are concerned about expanding the pot from which they can steal.

In this quagmire of deception, one ancient saying rings true: “A trap is for the greedy.” The Kenyan government’s greed in pushing SHIF is a trap for the nation, and the people must be wise enough to see through the smokescreen. It is not reform; it’s robbery. SHIF is not about ensuring better care—it’s about creating an endless pool of funds from which unscrupulous officials will continue to enrich themselves at the cost of ordinary Kenyans’ health and lives.

Mental health services under SHIF are perhaps the most glaring example of neglect. The NHIF had at least begun the conversation on mental health, however insufficiently. SHIF essentially rolls back even the minimal support that existed. The mental health provisions are vague, underfunded, and subject to government whims. For a country where mental health issues are on the rise, this is nothing short of abandonment.

In conclusion, the Social Health Insurance Fund is not about the health of the nation. It is a cleverly disguised plan to siphon off public funds. From dental care to admissions, diabetes treatment to reimbursements, SHIF is a disaster waiting to happen—a carefully orchestrated scheme for looting, all while healthcare suffers. As the Kikuyu saying goes, “He who cuts the path does not know how long the road is.” The Kenyan government is cutting a path to healthcare disaster, and it’s the people who will be forced to walk this long, treacherous road.

The time to reject SHIF is now, before it’s too late.

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