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Kenya Is In A Toxic Distress As Government Officials Continue To Loot The Country Dry

BY Steve Biko · April 16, 2025 12:04 pm

It doesn’t matter if you’re a C-suite executive living in a gated estate in Karen or a boda-boda rider in Mukuru kwa Njenga—what’s coming will devastate both. Kenya’s economic volcano is rumbling, and the tremors are already here. The only question is: how long before the final eruption?

The first red flag flaps violently in the financial sector. As of the end of Q1 2025, nonperforming loans (NPLs) have breached KES 1 trillion, according to the Central Bank of Kenya (CBK). This means that nearly 15% of the total credit in the market is at risk of default. Banks, fearing contagion, have tightened lending.

These NPLs aren’t limited to borrowers being reckless. The economic climate itself has turned hostile. People aren’t able to repay because they’re not earning. The collapse of MSMEs, massive layoffs, and a sluggish economy are killing repayment capacity. In short: businesses are dying, people are broke.

Parallel to this is the silent killer—pending bills. As per data from the Office of the Controller of Budget and Kenya Association of Manufacturers (KAM), both national and county governments owe private sector players over KES 1 trillion in unpaid bills. Add the mounting arrears by NSE-listed firms, and you get a bottleneck of death.

These unpaid bills are slowly strangling small and mid-sized enterprises. Companies are downsizing or shutting down because they cannot meet their obligations without being paid. It’s a vicious cycle of economic asphyxiation, all catalyzed by the State’s refusal to honor its financial commitments.

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In a desperate move to secure returns, banks have shifted from lending to Kenyans to lending to the government. Between 2020 and 2024, the percentage of bank assets allocated to government securities jumped from 19% to over 30%, according to CBK data. Why take the risk of lending to struggling businesses when you can lend risk-free to a reckless regime?

This government-crowding-out effect means SMEs can no longer access the credit they need to grow or even survive. Youth enterprises, women groups, startups, and even established brands are locked out. This is an economy cannibalizing its future for the sake of political comfort.

Now, consider the cumulative effect of over KES 1 trillion stolen and siphoned out of the economy. From COVID-19 funds to fertilizer and fuel scams, the Auditor General’s Office has unearthed systemic plunder. This money is not just lost; it is deliberately extracted from circulation, effectively shrinking liquidity.

Stolen public funds are often laundered abroad or hoarded. These trillions could have gone into building schools, hospitals, roads—or even just stimulating consumer spending. Instead, they’ve become capital for political campaigns and offshore real estate. Our economy is bleeding, and the thieves are the ones sharpening the blades.

Meanwhile, the streets grow darker. Insecurity is at its most volatile in Kenyan history. The National Police Service reports a 27% rise in reported crimes between 2023 and 2024. Home invasions, armed robberies, carjackings, kidnappings—you name it. Crime is not a symptom anymore. It’s a survival strategy.

People without food will kill for a loaf. The same citizen who was once proud of his dignity now watches his children sleep hungry. Desperation is fertile ground for crime. With a broken judicial system and a corrupt police force, there is no deterrent. Welcome to the rule of the desperate.

Even more disturbing is the spike in Gender-Based Violence (GBV). The Ministry of Gender reports a 42% increase in GBV cases from 2022 to 2024. This is not just a social problem—it’s an economic indicator. Men and women are snapping under economic pressure, and domestic spaces have become battlegrounds.

The mental toll of poverty, joblessness, debt, and despair has triggered psychological explosions inside homes. And in a country where counseling is expensive and stigmatized, trauma festers in silence. GBV is the bleeding edge of a deeply fractured society.

Add to that the rise in financial crimes—“Wash Wash,” money laundering, pyramid schemes, and crypto scams. All this has surged in just three years. A Financial Reporting Centre (FRC) study in 2024 showed that suspicious transactions hit an all-time high, with over KES 300 billion flagged.

These economic crimes thrive when institutions fail. Criminals are using fintech loopholes and political patronage to clean money. Dirty cash is more active in Kenya today than honest capital. That’s the scariest part—crime has become more liquid than legitimate business.

The most heartbreaking statistic, however, is political. A staggering 91% of Kenyans want President Ruto removed from office, according to an April 2025 poll by TIFA. That number doesn’t represent mere dissatisfaction—it represents total rejection.

This government has responded not with reforms but with repression. Credible reports show that militias, often sponsored by rogue elements within the State, are being used to intimidate protestors, critics, and even journalists. Freedom is now met with a baton—or worse, a bullet.

The data points to an emerging dictatorship in economic disguise. The government is borrowing heavily, taxing aggressively, and stealing ruthlessly. And when people resist, it punishes them. This is no longer about governance—it’s about survival.

Meanwhile, mobile loans have ballooned to over KES 1 trillion, according to the Communications Authority of Kenya. This shows a terrifying level of personal financial distress. Kenyans are borrowing not to invest but to eat. To buy fare. To pay rent.

We have normalized debt-fueled survival. App-based lenders prey on desperation, charging 20-40% monthly interest. These loans are destroying lives. Over 4 million Kenyans are listed with CRBs. Financial freedom has become a myth, and digital slavery is the new norm.

And as Kenyans default, auctioneers are having a field day. Vehicle repossessions, home seizures, asset foreclosures have never been this high. The Auctioneers Association of Kenya notes a 35% increase in forced asset sales from 2022 to 2024. This is Kenya’s middle class collapsing in real time.

Each auction is a broken dream—a family forced into poverty, a child removed from school, a business wiped out. Our economy is not just failing; it is actively destroying the social fabric we’ve built over decades.

And all these issues are interconnected. They form a web of systemic collapse—where governance failures fuel economic ruin, which in turn fuels social breakdown, and finally political crisis. It’s a domino chain, and every piece is already trembling.

No one is insulated. If you think your gated community protects you, think again. The cook, guard, driver, and nanny who keep your life running are all suffering. And soon, their pain will knock on your door. This storm doesn’t care for your class.

We are watching Kenya drift into a failed state in slow motion. And what’s terrifying is how numb we’ve become to the collapse. We’ve normalized pain. We’ve romanticized resilience. But this is not strength. It’s a national trauma response.

The data is clear. The warning signs are glaring. The solutions, though painful, are possible—but they require unity, urgency, and a shift in collective consciousness. We need to demand accountability, transparency, and reforms. Now—not tomorrow.

We must call for the resignation of every corrupt official. We must stop the bleeding of our economy. We must invest in rebuilding our institutions. And we must educate the masses—so that never again do we vote for thieves in designer suits.

We, the people, hold the power. But if we don’t use it—if we keep suffering in silence, praying for miracles, and hoping from one election to the next—then we are complicit in our destruction.

This is the time to rise—not with stones, but with voices. With knowledge. With data. With unified resistance. Let this be our revolution. Not of violence—but of awareness. Of purpose. Of nationhood.

Let’s save Kenya before it collapses. We can’t afford another day of silence.

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