Of Taxes And Thieves: Why Kenya, The ‘Singapore’ That Never Was, Still Stinks Worse Than Hell

In Kenya, every day begins with a new call for fundraising—an emergency hospital bill, a school fees crisis, a community road project. We have become masters at rallying each other for help, using WhatsApp groups and M-Changa platforms to gather funds for problems that our taxes should already cover. But this cycle of private solutions to public problems reveals a deeper, systemic issue: our government, entrusted with our resources, fails to deliver. When we turn to private solutions, we merely mask the symptoms while ignoring the disease—the rampant theft and mismanagement of public funds. These problems persist not because we lack resources but because those meant to manage them steal, squander, or misuse them. Fundraising, then, becomes a distraction—a temporary fix that allows the corrupt to evade accountability.

Every fundraiser we launch is an indictment of the system that fails us. It’s a glaring reminder that despite paying taxes that fund the luxurious lifestyles of a few, basic services remain inaccessible to the majority. Instead of having quality public hospitals, well-equipped schools, and functional infrastructure, we are forced to pay twice—once through taxes and again through fundraising—to access what should be our right. And in our desperate attempts to solve these crises privately, we fail to confront the truth: that the very taxes we pay are funding our misery, as officials line their pockets and build fortunes off our hardships. This endless cycle keeps us trapped in a perpetual state of crisis management, distracting us from the real battle for systemic change.

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We must connect the dots and ask ourselves why, despite billions allocated annually to healthcare, education, and infrastructure, we still find ourselves scrambling to raise money for emergencies. The reality is that our taxes are looted long before they can translate into meaningful services. Reports from the Auditor General show how billions earmarked for crucial services vanish into ghost projects, inflated tenders, and the pockets of officials. We cannot escape this reality by throwing money at private solutions. Instead, we must channel our energy into demanding that these taxes work for us. The misery we face daily—from broken hospitals to inaccessible schools—is a direct result of unchecked corruption. Until we confront this head-on, our lives will remain defined by a string of desperate fundraisers.

Our lives are miserable not because we lack resources but because we fail to hold those in power accountable. The wealthy and the politically connected steal our future and convince us to accept it as fate. We must wake up to the truth: no amount of private intervention will solve public problems created by corruption and incompetence. If our taxes fund the services they should, we wouldn’t need to rely on family and friends to solve crises. It’s time we demand more and hold our leaders accountable. Otherwise, we will continue to live like beggars in a land where we are already taxed like kings.

In Kenya, taxes are the gospel of the land—citizens are coerced into tithing 60% of their earnings to a state apparatus that claims to serve them, only for those taxes to vanish into the pockets of a few, leaving the country barren. Despite our contributions, our hospitals crumble, our schools decay, and our roads erode. And instead of wielding our power to demand accountability, we rush to patch public failures with private band-aids. It’s time we connect the dots between our servitude, the theft of our resources, and the miserable lives we lead.

First, consider healthcare. Public hospitals, despite billions allocated, remain death traps. In 2022 alone, the Ministry of Health’s budget stood at KES 122 billion, yet over KES 50 billion was looted through procurement scams. As Kenyans die in under-equipped facilities, the elite flock to private hospitals or fly abroad for treatment. We, the taxpayers, respond by turning to WhatsApp groups and fundraisers. Does this not speak of a broken system, where citizens must crowdsource for what their taxes should guarantee? And yet, the health ministry has gleaming offices, while Kenyans lie on floors, praying for miracles.

Our education system mirrors this rot. While we are told KES 544 billion is earmarked for education, a massive chunk is pocketed by cartels selling ghost textbooks and equipment. Public schools become shadows of learning, dilapidated and understaffed. The middle class, in their desperation to escape this chaos, send their children to private schools, which charge fees so high you would think they’re training astronauts. Yet, education remains the preserve of those who can afford it, and even they are not spared from the burden of taxes supposedly funding this system.

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Look at security—KES 317 billion is allocated annually, and still, we are our guards. Our taxes buy luxurious SUVs for county commissioners, but the rest of us install private alarms, pay guards, and barricade our homes. Why, then, do we tolerate such robbery when, in a functioning state, we should sleep with our windows open, as in Singapore? But, no, here, theft and fear have been nationalized, and security is yet another service we privately purchase to cover for a state too busy robbing us.

Consider agriculture. We hear of billions allocated yearly to “empower farmers,” yet 80% of our food is imported. Kenya’s breadbasket regions like Trans-Nzoia suffer from a lack of irrigation systems. Farmers fend for themselves, buying expensive private inputs, while government officials pocket subsidies meant for them. Meanwhile, we read reports like that of the Auditor General, detailing KES 10 billion stolen under fake fertilizer schemes. And the middle class? They avoid the conversation, even as the prices of ugali and vegetables soar.

Public transportation is another joke. Billions are budgeted for road and rail projects, yet it’s the personal chauffeurs and helicopters of the elite that benefit. The Nairobi Expressway, a vanity project designed for those who already have options, has toll fees that squeeze the last shilling from citizens. Matatus, the backbone of public transport, remains deathtraps, and instead of pushing for better policies, we buy cars we cannot afford and curse at traffic.

Water scarcity is another spectacle of our tax robbery. The government allocates KES 62 billion for water projects annually, yet Kenyans must still buy tanks, dig boreholes, or pay private water vendors. A study by Transparency International revealed that KES 20 billion went missing in water projects in 2023 alone. The dams that should have irrigated our lands and provided clean water exist only on paper, as officials line their pockets with money that should sustain life.

Electricity costs in Kenya defy logic. We pay taxes to KPLC, yet endure blackouts, and when it gets too unbearable, we turn to private generators and solar solutions. In 2024, Kenya Power reported KES 170 billion in revenue, yet only KES 45 billion went towards improving infrastructure. The rest? A mystery. Private companies thrive while public ones falter, and the middle-class clings to its silence, ignoring that their bills fund politicians’ lifestyles.

Housing is another quagmire. The government sings the song of affordable housing while allocating KES 60 billion, only for half of it to disappear. Corruption scandals litter the Ministry of Housing, as officials allocate funds to ghost projects. In a country where public housing should be the norm, citizens are forced to mortgage their future homes in overpriced estates. We act as if this is normal, ignoring that in Singapore, every citizen can afford decent shelter.

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Look at our infrastructure—supposedly a priority, with KES 217 billion budgeted for roads and bridges, yet most of these funds are siphoned off through inflated contracts and ghost projects. A recent report from the Institute of Economic Affairs highlighted that 40% of infrastructure funds are lost annually. The roads we drive on are pothole-ridden paths to despair, and while we curse and complain, those set by stealing from us build mansions.

Then there’s manufacturing—our savior, or so we are told. KES 150 billion is budgeted for industrialization, yet it all goes to wasteful foreign trips, high-level conferences, and the purchase of luxury vehicles. Local industries remain stagnant, struggling with high power bills, inadequate water supply, and insecurity. Our taxes fund bureaucrats who enjoy lavish lifestyles, while the citizens these industries are meant to uplift face unemployment.

As for tourism, despite billions allocated, Kenya’s parks lack basic amenities. Tourists find themselves paying for private safaris and services. It’s a wonder how officials manage to pocket money meant for conserving our heritage. Our national parks receive less funding than the monthly fuel allowances of MPs.

The middle class in Kenya is the most duplicitous group—silent in the face of all these crises, as long as they can afford private solutions. They avoid politics, believing their gated communities will shield them. But as the government dips its hands deeper into their pockets, taxing even their most private efforts, they soon find out that no one escapes.

Until Kenyans wake up, and connect the dots between the taxes stolen and the services lacking, we will continue to scramble for survival in a broken system. We cannot WhatsApp our way out of it. Our taxes fund the luxury lifestyles of a few, and until we reclaim our power, our lives will remain worse than Sudan’s—empty, with no future.

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