By Martin Masinde
When President William Ruto took office in September 2022, Kenya’s public debt stood at 9.6 trillion shillings. Three years later, that figure has ballooned to about 12 trillion. In that short time, we have borrowed more than a trillion shillings from the World Bank, the IMF, China, Japan, France, Germany, the OPEC Fund, and even private banks. The money has been packaged in familiar language: development, reform, climate resilience, infrastructure, and support for small businesses. Yet, the haunting question remains, if all this money was borrowed for us, why does life feel harder than before?
When he came to power, President Ruto promised a “bottom-up” economic revolution. An economy that would lift those at the base of the pyramid. He spoke the language of hope and inclusion: the mama mboga, the boda boda rider, the hawker, the small entrepreneur. The Hustler Fund was launched with great fanfare, promising cheap and accessible credit to millions of Kenyans locked out of traditional banking. For a moment, many believed change had arrived.
But the euphoria has long since faded. Prices of food, transport, and electricity have risen relentlessly. Inflation, which hovered around 7.5% in 2022, has climbed higher, pushed by the twin forces of taxation and global shocks. The price of maize flour, the everyday symbol of survival for millions has once again become a luxury. Electricity bills read like ransom notes. Matatu fares fluctuate with every whisper of a new tax. For the ordinary Kenyan, the bottom-up dream has turned into a daily struggle to stay afloat.
And yet, the government continues to borrow, proudly displaying international partnerships and “development financing.” Between June 2024 and June 2025 alone, Kenya is estimated to have borrowed 1.25 trillion shillings. Between May and August 2025, another 95.5 billion was added, roughly 7.6 million shillings every single day. The explanations are tidy: budget support, climate transition, infrastructure, affordable housing. But the outcomes are messy. A shrinking middle class, widening poverty, and growing public despair.
The fundamental problem is not that Kenya borrows; all developing nations borrow. The issue is how we borrow, why we borrow, and what the borrowed money does. Development loans are not inherently bad, but when they do not translate into tangible improvement in people’s lives, they become a burden, not a blessing. When borrowed billions build roads that lead to no factories, or fund “reforms” that exist only on paper, they become instruments of oppression, mortgaging the future for the comfort of the present elite.
Ruto’s government has mastered the art of financial justification. Each loan comes with a convincing story, green energy, affordable housing, or digital innovation. But the disconnect between these grand narratives and the lived experience of ordinary Kenyans is glaring. If the World Bank’s billions are lighting our homes, why are our electricity bills rising? If the IMF’s programs are stabilizing our economy, why is the shilling still trembling? If the African Development Bank is funding affordable housing, why are Kenyans still being priced out of homes?
At some point, rhetoric must yield to reality. Kenya’s economic crisis today is not just about numbers; it is about trust. We have lost confidence in how our leaders manage the public purse. Borrowing has become a political ritual, not a developmental strategy. We borrow to fill revenue gaps caused by inefficiency, corruption, and tax overreach. We borrow to refinance old debt, not to generate new wealth. And when repayment time comes, it is not the political elite who pay. It is the ordinary Kenyan, through higher taxes, higher fuel prices, and a heavier cost of living.
The tragedy of Kenya’s bottom-up promise is that it began as a moral idea, the empowerment of the powerless, but has degenerated into a financial slogan. It was supposed to be about dignity, productivity, and inclusion. Today, it feels more like an economic pyramid where the base supports the weight of the top.
The time has come for honesty. Development is not measured by how much a country borrows, but by how well it transforms borrowed money into opportunity. Kenya must now demand transparency and accountability in every cent borrowed in its name. Citizens have a right to know not just who lent us the money, but also who benefits from it. If we continue borrowing blindly while ordinary citizens continue sinking, we will soon reach a point where Kenya’s biggest export is not tea, coffee, or flowers but debt repayments. The dream of the bottom-up economy was to lift Kenyans from poverty. The reality, for now, is that it is burying them under a mountain of debt.
