MWAMISI: America’s drastic cuts force Kenya’s grassroots to struggle

In the unfolding story of Kenya’s economic and social resilience, international aid has often been a lifeline, not just a diplomatic gesture.

For decades, United States funding — through agencies such as USAID — has been central to programmes in healthcare, education, agriculture and governance.

This partnership, deeply woven into the fabric of Kenya’s development journey, has supported programmes, including HIV/Aids treatment, to school feeding in arid areas, maternal health outreach and youth empowerment schemes in informal settlements. It has often been the quiet but critical foundation upon which countless communities have stood.

However, in recent years, a seismic shift in US policy has unsettled this foundation. During his first term, President Donald Trump signalled a sharp departure from the expansive foreign aid policies of previous administrations.

Guided by his “America First” agenda, the Trump administration significantly reduced US foreign assistance globally, including to Kenya.

Funding to USAID programmes was pared down, with notable cuts in support for health systems, agricultural projects and governance initiatives.

This was not a subtle recalibration; it was a deliberate move to prioritise domestic US concerns over international commitments. Aid budgets to key Kenyan programmes — from HIV prevention and treatment under Pepfar to educational scholarships for marginalised youth — saw marked declines.

The effects of these cuts were immediate and visible at the grassroots. Clinics that once operated with steady stocks of antiretroviral drugs began to face shortages, forcing health workers to ration supplies.

Community outreach programmes tackling malaria, tuberculosis and maternal health scaled back operations. In drought-prone regions, reduced funding for agricultural resilience projects left farmers more exposed to the vagaries of climate change.

In urban informal settlements, youth skills training centres either closed or drastically reduced enrolment, leaving thousands without opportunities to escape cycles of poverty.

Trump’s second term–now underway—has not reversed that trajectory. Instead, the policy shift has hardened. The new approach ties foreign aid more explicitly to political and security alignments, rewarding nations that advance US strategic interests and penalising those perceived as drifting away from Washington’s ambit.

While some emergency humanitarian aid remains, the structural funding that once underpinned long-term development has been scaled back further.

Reports indicate that a number of USAID-funded programmes in Kenya have had to close, while others survive on temporary extensions and uncertain futures. The move has also been accompanied by a push for recipient countries to increase domestic resource mobilisation, with less tolerance for dependency.

For Kenya, this shift comes at a moment of acute economic strain. The cost of living has soared, driven by global commodity price shocks, a depreciating shilling and persistent unemployment.

The government is under pressure to service rising debt, much of it external, while maintaining essential public services. Cabinet Secretaries John Mbadi (Treasury) and Opiyo Wandayi (Energy) face the unenviable challenge of balancing fiscal discipline with social protection — a task made more difficult by the shrinking flow of external grants.

The Court of Appeal’s suspension of the Finance Act 2023 has further constrained the state’s fiscal room, removing a set of tax measures intended to raise revenue in the short term.

The grassroots feel this squeeze most acutely. In Turkana and Wajir, women walk longer distances to reach health facilities that are now under-resourced, their once-regular visits from community health volunteers curtailed by lack of operating funds.

In Kisumu and Mombasa, local NGOs that relied on US grants to run HIV prevention campaigns among at-risk youth now struggle to keep their doors open, leaving vulnerable groups without vital services. Farmers in Kitui and Makueni, who had benefitted from USAID-backed irrigation and market linkage projects, now face uncertainty as those programmes lose funding, threatening both food security and livelihoods.

Yet, this moment also forces Kenya to confront a deeper question: how sustainable is a development model heavily reliant on foreign aid? President William Ruto’s administration has publicly committed to reducing external borrowing and increasing domestic capacity to fund development.

There is a renewed push for public-private partnerships, enhanced tax compliance and regional trade expansion. But transitioning from dependency to self-reliance is neither quick nor painless. In the absence of adequate cushioning, the withdrawal of long-standing external support risks leaving millions in precarious conditions.

Historically, Kenya has navigated earlier periods of donor fatigue, but the current situation is complicated by a more fragmented global order. Competition for influence between global powers has made aid a tool of strategic leverage, often with strings attached. The Trump-era aid recalibration—and its continuation — signals to countries like Kenya that they must adapt to a world where external generosity is no longer assured.

The question is whether Kenya’s leaders can seize this as an opportunity to strengthen domestic resilience, or whether the grassroots will bear the brunt of a geopolitical realignment beyond their control.

From Nairobi to Lodwar, from the fishing villages of Lake Victoria to the pastoralist corridors of northern Kenya, the effects are already etched into daily life.

The abrupt halting of a school-feeding programme can mean the difference between a child attending class or staying home.

The closure of a youth empowerment hub can push vulnerable young people into risky livelihoods. A reduction in health outreach can reverse decades of gains against preventable diseases.

In the end, the story of America’s aid cuts is not merely about budgets and geopolitics. It is about whether the world’s most vulnerable—far from the negotiating rooms in Washington and Nairobi — can still count on the promise of shared responsibility.

For Kenya, the challenge is not just to adapt to this new reality, but to build a future in which the lifeline of development is anchored first and foremost in the strength of its own people, its own institutions, and its own vision for prosperity.