What Are We Really Paying Taxes For? A Kenyan Question With No Straight Answer

For decades, Kenyans have faithfully paid taxes with the belief that these contributions form the backbone of a functioning nation. In principle, taxes are supposed to guarantee public goods—healthcare, education, water, electricity, infrastructure, and security. They are the social contract through which a population entrusts its government with the responsibility of managing shared resources for collective benefit. Yet the lived reality in Kenya creates a troubling contradiction: even after paying some of the highest taxes relative to income in Africa, citizens still finance nearly all essential services from their own pockets. The result is a deeply unfair system where taxpayers carry a double burden—one through the official tax system, another through private spending for services the state has failed to provide. This raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: what exactly are we paying taxes for?

Consider healthcare. Every Kenyan knows that walking into a public hospital often means being told to buy medicine elsewhere, carry your own gloves, or seek services in private facilities because basic equipment is unavailable. SHA/SHIF, the national insurer funded partly by taxpayers, has struggled with inefficiency, bureaucracy, and delays in settling claims. Many families, therefore, rely on personal savings, harambees, or loans during medical emergencies. For a system financed by taxes, this is unacceptable. It means taxpayers pay twice—once to the government, and again when seeking actual treatment. A functional healthcare system funded by taxes would reduce financial pressure on families, but Kenya’s reality forces individuals to personally fund services that should be guaranteed by the state.

Education tells the same story. Free Primary Education (FPE) and Free Day Secondary Education exist only in theory, because the practical cost of schooling—uniforms, books, examinations, desks, lunch programs, and “development fees”—fall squarely on parents. Many public schools remain overcrowded and underfunded, and parents end up supplementing budgets through endless contributions that effectively act as parallel taxation. Families sacrifice heavily to ensure their children access quality education, while still paying taxes that are supposed to fund the same system. Again, the Kenyan citizen pays twice.

Water and electricity, two of the most basic public utilities, reflect even deeper structural dysfunction. Many urban residents pay for government-supplied water that rarely flows, and are forced to buy from private vendors at inflated prices. Meanwhile, rural areas often depend on rivers, boreholes, or seasonal streams, despite decades of political promises about water access. Electricity, regulated and distributed by a state-affiliated monopoly, remains expensive and unreliable, pushing households to purchase generators, solar systems, or backup batteries. The cost of these alternatives falls entirely on taxpayers who already contribute to national infrastructure projects. It is a contradiction that reveals systemic mismanagement rather than scarcity of resources.

Security is another domain where taxes appear detached from service delivery. Police stations often lack vehicles, fuel, or basic equipment. Many households hire private guards or install CCTV systems to feel safe—private solutions for what should be a public guarantee. Businesses pay exorbitant amounts for security services, fencing, alarms, and protection, in addition to taxes meant to fund the national police. Once again, the taxpayer shoulders both the public and private cost of a failed system.

This repeated pattern raises a painful truth: Kenya’s tax system does not operate as a social contract but as a revenue extraction machine. Citizens are taxed aggressively, but service delivery does not reflect the revenue collected. Much of the problem lies not in the act of taxation itself—taxation is necessary for nation-building—but in how the collected revenue is spent, mismanaged, or lost through corruption. National budgets prioritize recurrent expenditure, inflated procurement, political offices, and questionable mega-projects that enrich elites without improving citizens’ quality of life. When a government spends more on administration than service delivery, the public inevitably feels overtaxed and underserved.

The other challenge is the lack of transparent feedback loops. Citizens rarely see detailed, accessible reports showing how their taxes are used. Government audits point to billions lost annually, yet accountability remains minimal. When wastage becomes normal and consequences disappear, the entire tax system loses legitimacy. People begin to view taxes not as a contribution to shared prosperity, but as a forced deduction that finances inefficiency and political excess.

So what exactly are Kenyans paying taxes for? The uncomfortable answer is: to sustain a system that does not adequately return value. But this does not have to be the case. Countries with high taxes—such as the Scandinavian nations—enjoy high-quality healthcare, education, public transport, and social welfare. Citizens willingly pay because they receive tangible benefits. Kenya could follow a similar path if political priorities shifted toward people-centered governance. For this transformation to happen, several steps are essential.

First, fiscal transparency must move from rhetoric to reality. Every shilling collected from taxpayers should be traceable, publicly accounted for, and tied to measurable outcomes. Citizens must be able to see exactly how their taxes are being used—and demand accountability for misuse. Second, public service budgets must be restructured to prioritize essential services over political luxuries. A government that spends more on allowances, offices, and foreign trips than hospitals or schools cannot deliver meaningful progress. Third, Kenya needs stronger anti-corruption mechanisms that prosecute high-level offenders with impartiality. Without enforcement, laws mean nothing.

Finally, the tax system itself must be rebalanced to ensure fairness. The current model burdens salaried workers and small businesses while allowing large, politically connected entities to evade taxes through loopholes. A fairer system would broaden the tax base, simplify compliance, and distribute the burden more equitably.

Kenyans do not object to paying taxes. They object to paying taxes and still living as though they never paid a cent. The frustration is not about the principle of taxation but about the betrayal of expectation. If taxes funded real development—functional hospitals, affordable schools, clean water, reliable electricity, safe streets—citizens would feel the dignity of a working state. Until that happens, the question will continue to echo: what exactly are we paying taxes for?