It is a classic case of burning the furniture to heat the house. In a desperate bid to plug a gaping budget deficit, the Kenyan government has signaled its intent to sell a 15 percent stake in Safaricom to Vodacom South Africa. The deal, valued at approximately KES 240 billion ($1.8 billion), is being touted by Treasury officials as a necessary masterstroke to stabilize the country’s rocky finances. But for millions of Kenyans who rely on the telco for everything from communication to banking via M-Pesa, the move feels less like a strategy and more like a gamble with the family silver.

The proposal comes at a time when the National Treasury is under immense pressure to raise KES 149 billion to fund the 2025/2026 budget without overburdening an already overtaxed populace. Yet, the backlash has been swift and furious. Analysts, unions, and civil society groups are asking a simple, haunting question: Why sell the "goose that lays the golden eggs" for a one-time meal?

The Mathematics of Loss

On paper, the math seems to favor the government’s immediate needs. A KES 240 billion injection would significantly lower the fiscal deficit and reduce the need for expensive external borrowing. However, the "golden goose" argument championed by critics, including analyst Karithi A. Ngeera, rests on the power of recurring revenue. Safaricom is not just a company; it is Kenya’s most profitable corporate entity, consistently pumping billions into the exchequer through taxes and dividends.

• Dividend Drain: By ceding a further 15 percent stake, the government permanently forfeits a chunk of these annual payouts. Over a decade, the lost dividends could easily eclipse the one-off sale price.
• Foreign Dominance: The sale would push foreign ownership in Safaricom to over 50 percent, effectively handing control of Kenya’s digital nervous system to external interests.
• Strategic Risk: With M-Pesa deeply embedded in the economy, ceding control raises valid concerns about data privacy and financial sovereignty.

"Safaricom provides essential services, creates jobs, and is deeply integrated into Kenyans' daily lives," Ngeera noted in a stinging critique. "Selling shares gives one-time revenue, but Kenya loses recurring annual income for decades to come."

A Wider Fire Sale

The Safaricom debate is just the tip of the iceberg. The government’s privatization drive, reinvigorated by the signing of the Privatisation Act 2025 in October, targets a laundry list of state agencies. This includes the cash-rich Kenya Pipeline Company (KPC), the Kenyatta International Convention Centre (KICC), and the Kenya Literature Bureau.

The KPC sale, in particular, has faced stiff legal headwinds. In August 2025, the High Court temporarily halted the process following petitions from the Kenya Petroleum Oil Workers' Union (KPOWU) and the Consumers Federation of Kenya (Cofek). Their argument mirrors the Safaricom concerns: KPC is a strategic asset critical to national energy security. Handing it over to private investors—without rigorous public participation—could lead to job losses and higher fuel prices for the wananchi.

The Sovereignty Question

For the average Kenyan, this is not just high-level economics; it is about control. If the government sells its influence in Safaricom, it loses leverage over a platform that processes nearly half of the country's GDP. The fear is that a foreign-majority board might prioritize shareholder returns in Johannesburg or London over the developmental needs of a shopkeeper in Eldoret or a farmer in Meru.

Moreover, the rush to privatize profitable entities contradicts the logic of selling "dead weight." Usually, privatization is a tool to offload loss-making parastatals that drain the budget. Selling profitable, strategic assets suggests a liquidity crisis far deeper than officials are admitting.

As the debate rages, the government finds itself walking a tightrope. It needs cash now to service debt and fund development. But in doing so, it risks stripping the state of its most valuable assets, leaving future administrations with fewer tools to steer the economy. As one observer put it, "You don't sell the farm to pay the rent—eventually, you'll have nowhere to sleep."