For decades, obtaining a national identity card in Northern Kenya was a trial by fire—a humiliating gauntlet of vetting committees and grandfather clauses. When President William Ruto stood in Wajir in February 2025 and signed a decree scrapping this "discriminatory" process, the region erupted in celebration. It was supposed to be the dawn of dignity.

But for 19-year-old Abdi (not his real name), a student in Garissa, that dawn never broke. Instead of a vetting committee, he found a broker. "The government said the vetting is over," Abdi told Streamline News, clutching a waiting slip that has been useless for six months. "But the officer at the desk says the system is 'hanging.' The man outside says for KES 15,000, the system will work instantly."

The Shadow Tax

Abdi’s story is not an anomaly; it is the new standard. While the official, state-sanctioned vetting has been dismantled, it has been replaced by an informal, predatory "shadow vetting" run by a network of rogue civil servants and middlemen. A sting operation by the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI) earlier this week confirmed the scale of the rot, leading to the arrest of 26 officials accused of issuing genuine documents to unverified individuals for cash.

The price of citizenship varies by desperation. While ordinary Kenyans like Abdi face extortionate "facilitation fees" of KES 5,000 to KES 20,000 just to bypass artificial delays, the real money lies in the premium market. Intelligence sources indicate that foreigners—some with links to terror cells—are purchasing authentic Kenyan IDs for upwards of $300 (approx. KES 39,000). In a region where the average monthly income often dips below KES 10,000, this black market has turned a constitutional right into a luxury commodity.

• The Promise: Feb 2025 Decree ends mandatory vetting for Northern Kenya.
• The Reality: Dec 2025 raids expose a syndicate selling IDs to non-citizens.
• The Cost: Bribes range from KES 5,000 for locals to KES 40,000+ for foreigners.

Security Warnings Ignored

The scandal validates the grim prophecies of security experts who warned that removing vetting without strengthening border integrity was a ticking time bomb. Trans Nzoia Governor and former Regional Commissioner George Natembeya had cautioned in February that the move, while politically popular, would open the floodgates to Al-Shabaab infiltration. "If you allow people to just walk in and get IDs... how will you distinguish between a Somali from Somalia and a Somali born in Wajir?" Natembeya asked at the time.

His fears appear to have materialized. The DCI’s recovery of fingerprint kits and official rubber stamps from private homes suggests that the state’s monopoly on identity has been breached. The danger is not just bureaucratic; it is existential. An ID card is the key to the city—it grants access to M-Pesa, allows movement across police roadblocks, and enables the purchase of property. In the wrong hands, it is a tool for invisibility.

A Crisis of Trust

For the residents of Garissa, Mandera, and Wajir, the betrayal is double-edged. They were promised equality but have been delivered into the hands of cartels. Civil society groups are now calling for a forensic audit of all IDs issued in the region since the February decree.

"We wanted rights, not a bazaar," says Halima, a community activist in Dadaab. "The President removed the hurdle, but he didn't fire the gatekeepers. Now, they are charging us to open the gate."

As the DCI continues its purge, the government faces a critical test: Can it secure the nation's borders without treating its own citizens as suspects? Until that balance is struck, young Kenyans like Abdi remain in limbo—citizens in spirit, but stateless by design.