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The unmet frontier: Burying the hatchet in an age of technology

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In an age of extraordinary technological achievement, humanity continues to struggle with one of its oldest dilemmas: bringing conflict to a lasting end. We design complex artificial intelligence architectures, venture deeper into the cosmos, and construct precision weapons capable of annihilating entire metropolises in seconds. Yet beneath this veneer of sophisticated modernity, human civilization remains persistently vulnerable to ancient impulses: hatred, mistrust, avarice, fear, and an insatiable appetite for retribution. The tragic paradox of the modern condition is that while our technical ingenuity has expanded exponentially, our moral capacity to live together in peace remains largely underdeveloped.

The fundamental obstacle to enduring peace is rarely a shortage of formal treaties or diplomatic protocols. A negotiated ceasefire can certainly silence artillery and halt active hostilities, but paper agreements do not automatically heal intergenerational trauma, rectify historic injustices, restore broken social contracts, or dismantle the socioeconomic conditions that generated the violence. All too often, modern diplomacy treats the signing of an accord as the finish line rather than the starting block. Sustainable reconciliation demands far more than a temporary cessation of gunfire; it requires structured and inclusive dialogue, genuine political will, guaranteed personal security, institutional accountability, meaningful reparations, and a shared vision for common human flourishing.

Across cultures and continents, humanity remains trapped on the hook of old grievances. Communities preserve painful memories under the belief that grievance offers protection against renewed harm. In an uncertain world, remaining suspicious often feels safer than extending trust to an adversary. Anger functions as a psychological armor against perceived betrayal, while collective narratives of victimhood and historical injustice are transmitted from one generation to the next through folklore, school curricula, selective historiography, and inflammatory political rhetoric. Over decades, this inherited hostility becomes an integral pillar of communal identity, making any compromise feel like treason.

When underlying disputes are ignored, the hatchet is never truly buried; it is simply concealed beneath the surface, waiting for a fresh political spark to unearth it. Symbolic handshakes, ceremonial signings, and choreographed summits between elites offer little more than an adhesive bandage over a deep, festering societal wound. A durable resolution must operate simultaneously on two fronts: it must address immediate political and economic grievances while fearlessly dismantling the deep-seated systemic inequalities, institutional exclusions, and psychological anxieties that fuel mass hostility.

Human biology is fundamentally wired for self-preservation. When the instinct for self-defense convinces us that holding a grudge is our primary shield, we remain trapped in a defensive crouch. In that posture, societies routinely mistake isolation for safety and perpetual suspicion for strength. Moving past this destructive reflex requires a profound cognitive reframing of vulnerability. True human resilience does not stem from locking away our capacity to trust, but from actively dismantling the internal mechanics of bitterness, paranoia, and retaliation.

Forgiveness, properly understood, is neither an act of surrender nor a sign of weakness. It is not an admission of defeat, nor is it a passive acceptance of mistreatment. Rather, forgiveness is a deliberate, courageous decision to alter the terms of survival and break the repetitive cycles of reciprocal vengeance. Reconciliation is an arduous, interactive journey that requires transparent communication, sincere ownership of past harms, verifiable behavioral transformation, and the patient reconstruction of social capital.

Furthermore, forgiveness and emotional healing rarely occur on a synchronized timetable. In many post-conflict landscapes, one party may feel ready to move forward after receiving an apology or securing a political compromise, while the other remains engulfed in raw emotional fallout and unhealed loss. When this asymmetry exists, the conflict is far from resolved. A genuine resolution requires both sides to abandon the futile demand for total moral vindication. When adversaries wait indefinitely for the other to break first to validate their pain, society enters an intractable stalemate that consumes future generations.

Breaking this deadlock demands that communities summon the courage to step outside familiar narratives where they exist exclusively as the wronged party. Clinging rigidly to historical grievances prevents societies from redefining their relationships and discovering shared ground. While honoring memory is necessary, weaponizing memory paralyzes the imagination, making peaceful coexistence seem impossible.

Crucially, credible peacebuilding must never be conflated with blanket impunity. Forgiving past wrongs does not mean granting legal immunity to those who orchestrate war crimes, crimes against humanity, or gross violations of international humanitarian law. Lasting stability requires an unyielding commitment to justice and accountability. Evidence from post-conflict transitions around the world demonstrates that civic confidence in state institutions and former combatants increases only when truth-telling, legal accountability, and institutional reforms are rigorously upheld. Trust cannot be manufactured by executive decree; it must be steadily earned through transparent, predictable, and fair governance.

Political and community leaders carry an immense moral responsibility in this endeavor. Too often, political elites deliberately manipulate historical trauma to consolidate power, distract from domestic failures, and secure short-term political survival. By institutionalizing grievance and amplifying divisive rhetoric, they poison the civic well and condemn future generations to repeat past catastrophes. True statesmanship requires the moral courage to interrupt this cycle, confronting domestic injustices while educating citizens on the necessity of shared responsibility and mutual respect.

Humanity will never achieve lasting peace solely through scientific advancement or technological wizardry. Algorithms cannot repair broken trust, and advanced weaponry cannot deter the desperation born of systemic injustice. We must approach the demanding work of reconciliation with the same creativity, institutional investment, and relentless determination that we have historically poured into technological and military innovation. The ultimate frontier awaiting human civilization is not the conquest of space or the mastery of artificial intelligence, but the realization of an enduring, universal culture of peace.

Adapt or Become Obsolete

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The famous saying, “If you are not updated, you will be outdated,” has perhaps never carried greater significance than it does today. This becomes particularly evident when we observe two distinct types of organizations: those whose leaders remain open to change and innovation, and those that become insulated by their past success, convinced that the conditions that made them successful will continue indefinitely. History repeatedly shows that organizations that fail to adapt eventually lose their competitive advantage, their talent, their markets and, in some cases, their very existence.

The need for innovation cannot be relegated to an obscure department in one corner of an organization. It must be placed at the centre of strategic thinking and treated as one of the principles guiding an organization’s future. When an organization develops the ability to anticipate change and continuously improve its operations, products and services, it becomes better prepared to withstand the unpredictable fluctuations of its environment.

Innovation as a Strategic Buffer

Innovation acts as a strategic buffer against uncertainty. No organization can predict exactly what tomorrow will bring. New technologies emerge, consumer expectations change, competitors appear, markets shift and entire industries can be transformed within a remarkably short period of time. Yet while an organization cannot control what the future brings, it can determine how prepared it will be when the future arrives.

If a company wants to have a say in its tomorrow, it must continuously explore better ways of operating. It must ask difficult questions about its products, services, customer experience, workforce, processes and business model.

The most dangerous mistake an organization can make is becoming comfortable with the status quo.A company should continually seek better ways to serve its customers, improve its products, enter new markets, optimize production and strengthen its internal systems. This requires something that is often more difficult than adopting technology: organizational humility. Leaders must be willing to recognize that what works today may not work tomorrow.

An organization resistant to change and new ideas may survive for years, particularly if it has strong assets or an established market position. But resistance eventually constrains growth. A truly growing organization is a learning organization. It continually examines what it does, why it does it and whether there is a better way of doing it.

The Trap of Complacency

A company that becomes satisfied with its current position can gradually move toward obsolescence. The process may not be dramatic. It can happen quietly through declining productivity, outdated systems, frustrated employees, lost customers, declining market relevance and the gradual departure of talented people.

As the saying goes, the good can become the enemy of the better, and the better can become the enemy of the best. While contentment and peace of mind have their place in personal life, organizations operate in environments where competitors are constantly learning and circumstances are constantly changing. An organization that stops learning eventually gives an advantage to those that continue to learn.

A truly growing company is therefore a learning organization. It maintains a short learning curve and remains in a continuous process of evolution. By adapting to changing circumstances, organizations develop the capacity to move with their external environment without compromising their core purpose.

The greatest trap, however, is often success itself. When an organization is performing exceptionally well, management can become preoccupied with protecting what already works. The present becomes comfortable, while the future receives less attention. What works brilliantly today may be precisely what becomes outdated tomorrow.

Overcoming this requires what leadership experts call ambidextrous leadership: the ability to maintain operational excellence in the present while simultaneously exploring what the organization will need in the future. Leaders must protect today’s performance without becoming prisoners of today’s success. They must remain willing to listen to ideas from within the organization, even when those ideas challenge established practices.

The Cautionary Tale of Kodak

Kodak remains one of the clearest cautionary examples.The company was once synonymous with photography and enjoyed an enormous competitive advantage in the film industry. Yet in 1975, Kodak engineer Steven Sasson developed a prototype of a digital camera. The technology presented a profound strategic dilemma because digital photography had the potential to undermine Kodak’s highly profitable film business.

Kodak’s difficulty was therefore not simply a lack of technological knowledge. The technology existed within the company. The deeper problem was the organization’s ability to embrace a future that threatened the business model responsible for its current success.

Digital photography eventually transformed the industry, and Kodak’s response came too late to preserve its dominant position. The company filed for bankruptcy protection in 2012.

Kodak’s story offers a lesson that should concern every organization: having innovative ideas is one thing; creating an organizational culture capable of recognizing, developing and acting upon those ideas is another.

Cultivating Creativity

Google provides a contrasting example. Its organizational culture has deliberately sought to create conditions in which employees can experiment, collaborate and pursue new ideas. The company has invested heavily in research, technology and working environments designed to encourage creativity and innovation.

The important lesson is not that every organization should attempt to become Google. It is that innovation rarely flourishes in an environment where people are expected simply to follow established procedures. Creativity requires space. New ideas require encouragement. Experimentation requires a degree of tolerance for failure. Most importantly, employees need to believe that their ideas will be heard.

The contrast between Kodak and Google highlights a fundamental leadership divide. One leadership mindset asks, “How do we protect what has made us successful?” Another asks, “How do we remain successful when the environment changes?”

The first protects the present. The second prepares for the future. Change is inevitable. Organizations cannot prevent it. They can only determine whether they will encounter it prepared or unprepared.

Ethiopia’s Innovation Imperative

A closer look at research and available evidence on Ethiopia’s performance in this area reveals a more nuanced picture. Innovation in Ethiopia is neither absent nor sufficiently widespread.

The Ethiopian National Innovation Survey found that among firms classified as innovative, 46 percent had introduced organizational innovation, while 96 percent had introduced technological innovation. Sixty-four percent introduced non-technological innovation, including organizational and marketing innovation. More than three-quarters of innovative firms reported that their ideas or initiatives originated within Ethiopia itself. At the same time, only 24 percent reported ongoing innovation activities, while 18 percent had abandoned innovation activities.

These figures tell a more complicated story than simply saying that Ethiopian businesses are either innovative or resistant to change. Innovation is happening. The more important question is whether it is becoming a sustained organizational capability rather than remaining an occasional initiative.

Ethiopia’s conversation about innovation should therefore go far beyond the adoption of new technologies. The deeper question is whether we are prepared to rethink the way our organizations, institutions and systems operate. Are we willing not only to adopt technological innovations developed elsewhere, but also to create, adapt and scale innovations that respond to our own realities?

For Ethiopia, this is not simply a question of organizational efficiency. It is a question of national competitiveness and development. Technology can help us redesign inefficient processes, reduce unnecessary bureaucracy, eliminate administrative bottlenecks and close some of the spaces in which red tape, inefficiency and corruption thrive. A well-designed digital process can replace unnecessary paperwork, physical files, multiple visits to offices and excessive discretionary decision-making with systems that are faster, more transparent, traceable and accountable.

But technology itself is not innovation. Digitizing a bad process does not necessarily make it a good process. If a bureaucratic procedure requires ten unnecessary steps, putting those same ten steps online does not constitute meaningful innovation. Genuine innovation asks a more fundamental question: do all ten steps need to exist in the first place?

This distinction is critical for Ethiopia. We need not only to adopt technologies but to rethink systems, processes and institutional habits.

The challenge becomes even more significant as Ethiopia seeks to narrow the technological and productivity gap between itself and more advanced economies. The global economy is increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence, automation, digital platforms, advanced manufacturing, data-driven decision-making, biotechnology and other rapidly developing technologies. Countries that develop the capacity to adopt and adapt these technologies quickly will have an increasing competitive advantage. Those that remain slow to change risk becoming consumers of technologies developed elsewhere rather than participants in creating them.

Adoption, therefore, is only the beginning. Ethiopia must also develop the capacity to create. The real question is not simply whether Ethiopian organizations can purchase the latest technology. It is whether Ethiopian young people can become the engineers, researchers, programmers, scientists, designers, entrepreneurs and problem-solvers who develop technologies and processes of their own. A country cannot build a competitive future indefinitely by importing solutions. At some point, it must become a producer of knowledge, technology, intellectual property and innovation.

This has direct implications for investment. Investors are attracted not only by markets and natural resources but also by efficient institutions, reliable infrastructure, skilled human capital, technological capability and an environment in which businesses can innovate and scale. The more efficiently an economy operates, the more attractive it becomes. Reducing bureaucratic friction and improving digital infrastructure should therefore be viewed not merely as administrative reforms but as part of Ethiopia’s broader strategy for economic competitiveness and investment.

There are already signs that this shift is beginning to take place.

Ethio telecom, for example, launched its Ethiotel Innovation Program to support technology-based startups, encourage local solutions, facilitate commercialization and create collaboration among startups, technology partners and industry. Its program included co-creation and prototype development, and the company stated that it would build a TechHub and an R&D center as part of institutionalizing the initiative. Safaricom Ethiopia provides another example of how a corporate organization can contribute to an innovation ecosystem. Its Digital Skills Hub provides training in areas including cloud computing, machine learning and generative artificial intelligence, with the stated goal of helping young people develop skills for the digital economy.

Beyond individual corporations, Ethiopia is also developing institutional platforms intended to connect research, industry and entrepreneurship. The Higher Education, TVET and Research Industry Innovation Linkage system, HETRIIL, is designed to strengthen collaboration between educational institutions and industry and to foster research, development and technology-transfer partnerships. Its current platform reports thousands of industry partnerships and incubation centers across its network.

The Ethiopian IT Park similarly provides incubation and innovation programs involving startup mentorship, design-thinking workshops, product-development labs, market-access support, seed-funding opportunities and corporate collaboration. Its stated mission is to foster digital transformation, entrepreneurship and sustainable economic growth.

These developments are encouraging, but they should not lead us to conclude that Ethiopia has already developed a mature culture of organizational innovation. The more difficult question is whether innovation is becoming embedded in the everyday life of organizations or whether it remains concentrated in special programs, technology companies, incubators and a relatively small number of forward-looking institutions.

That question matters because innovation may also be one of the most important responses to another challenge facing the country: the loss of human capital. Young Ethiopians are not necessarily leaving only because they want higher salaries or a more comfortable standard of living. Many are also looking for environments where their abilities can be exercised, where ideas are valued, where experimentation is possible, where merit is rewarded and where they can build something meaningful.

A talented programmer, engineer, researcher, entrepreneur or creative professional may leave not simply because another country offers a better life, but because it offers a better ecosystem for their talent.If Ethiopia wants to retain its young people, it must create more than jobs. It must create possibilities.

We need environments in which a young person with an unconventional idea can develop it, test it, fail, improve it, receive mentorship, attract investment and eventually turn it into a viable product or service. Universities, businesses, government institutions, research centers and entrepreneurs need to become interconnected parts of an innovation ecosystem rather than isolated institutions.

The greatest cost of brain drain, therefore, may not be the number of people who leave. It may be the creative capacity that never gets developed at home. Every young Ethiopian who leaves represents not only a worker who has departed, but potentially a scientist who could have solved a local problem, an entrepreneur who could have created jobs, an engineer who could have developed a new technology, a researcher who could have generated new knowledge or an innovator who could have created something Ethiopia does not yet have.

The challenge before Ethiopia is consequently much larger than technological modernization. It is the creation of a culture that values curiosity over conformity, experimentation over complacency, problem-solving over bureaucracy and creation over mere consumption.

Innovation should not be treated simply as a department placed inside an organization. It should become an organizational mindset and, ultimately, a national capability.

The real measure of progress will not be the number of innovation centers we establish or the number of technologies we purchase. It will be whether an employee in an ordinary Ethiopian organization can propose a new idea, test it, learn from failure and see it translated into a better process, product or service. It will be whether a young Ethiopian with an unconventional idea can find the knowledge, mentorship, capital and institutional support needed to turn that idea into reality without first having to leave the country. And it will be whether our organizations can look beyond what has made them successful today and ask what they must become tomorrow.

The countries that will thrive in the coming decades will not necessarily be those that possess the most resources. They will be those that can learn fastest, adapt fastest, create fastest and turn knowledge into solutions.

For Ethiopia, the imperative is therefore clear: we must not merely catch up with technological change. We must develop the capacity to participate in creating it.

Because in a world that refuses to stand still, adaptation is no longer an option. It is the price of survival.

Remittances to Africa reach $124 billion as digital channels lower transfer costs

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Family remittances sent by African migrants to their home countries have reached an estimated $124.2 billion annually, cementing these private financial transfers as one of the continent’s largest and most dependable lifelines for rural households, according to a report by the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD).

The flagship report, titled “Sending Money Home 2026,” documents a decade of accelerating growth across remittance corridors, noting that inflows to Africa expanded by 86 percent between 2016 and 2025—far outpacing the continent’s population growth and the increase in overall emigration.

The regional landscape has seen significant shifts in recipient rankings over the past decade. Egypt has emerged as Africa’s largest remittance market, receiving $41.5 billion in 2025, followed by Nigeria at $22.8 billion and Morocco at $13.7 billion. Ethiopia ($7.1 billion) and Kenya ($5.0 billion) entered the continent’s top five recipient markets, replacing Ghana and Algeria. Together, these five nations accounted for approximately 73 percent of total remittance inflows to Africa.

However, the report emphasizes that economic reliance on remittances is highest among smaller economies. Remittances represent 22 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) in The Gambia and 21 percent in Liberia, Comoros, and Lesotho, followed by Cabo Verde at 12 percent and Senegal at 11 percent. In these countries, diaspora transfers serve as a critical cushion for household consumption and foreign exchange reserves.

Crucially, roughly 34 percent of Africa’s remittance inflows—equivalent to nearly $42 billion—flow directly to rural communities. In Eastern Africa, the rural share reaches 51 percent, providing vital support where access to formal banking infrastructure and social safety nets remains limited.

Despite rapid growth in transaction volumes, Africa remains the most expensive region in the world to send money to. The average non-bank cost of sending $200 to Africa stood at 7.2 percent in late 2025, down from 9.0 percent in 2016, but still well above the Sustainable Development Goal (SDG 10.c) target of less than 3 percent.

Transfer costs vary sharply across different parts of the continent. Western Africa recorded the lowest average transfer cost at 4.9 percent, aided by expanding mobile money integration and fixed euro–CFA franc exchange mechanisms. Eastern Africa saw costs drop from 9.7 percent to 7.2 percent over the decade, while Southern Africa remains the most expensive subregion globally, with transfer costs averaging 10.4 percent. In contrast, Central and Northern Africa experienced slight cost increases, averaging 9.7 percent and 7.3 percent, respectively.

IFAD notes that fully digital remittance services—where transactions are sent and received electronically without cash—cut the average cost to 4.59 percent, compared to 7.30 percent for cash-based services. However, fully digital transfers still represent only about a third of all sampled corridors, as many rural recipients continue to rely on physical cash payout agents.

With more than half of African migrants living and working within the continent, the report highlights the strategic importance of linking cross-border payment platforms. Initiatives such as the Pan-African Payment and Settlement System (PAPSS) and regional instant payment networks are seen as crucial to reducing reliance on expensive correspondent banking networks and bringing intra-African transfer fees down.

Beyond covering daily household necessities like food, education, and healthcare, diaspora funds increasingly function as informal insurance against economic shocks and severe climate disruptions. In countries like Senegal, Mali, and Kenya, remittance-receiving rural households have demonstrated significantly higher rates of savings and greater adoption of climate-smart farming techniques, drought-resistant crops, and solar irrigation.

IFAD urges policymakers and financial institutions to integrate remittance flows into broader national financial inclusion strategies, calling for the bundling of diaspora transfers with accessible savings, micro-insurance, and credit products to help African families build long-term economic resilience.

“We are called ‘Domestic Taxpayers’”: Ethiopian refugees’ struggle to legalize businesses in Kenya

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In Nairobi’s bustling Jamhuri estate, Muluken Wega Abudi manages a thriving neighborhood enterprise. Having lived and worked in this vibrant community for over twenty-six years, he has resided in Kenya longer than many of the country’s younger citizens. Over nearly three decades, he has raised a family, established strong social ties, and contributed consistently to the local economic fabric. Yet, when describing his civic and legal reality to Capital, the community representative from Horn of Africa Refugees Voice pointed to a profound institutional paradox: “We refugees are called ‘domestic taxpayers.’”

“We pay our taxes diligently on our small businesses,” Muluken explained with evident frustration. “The revenue authorities register us, inspect us, and tax us under the formal category of domestic taxpayers. Yet, the moment we ask for the legal security that should accompany those taxes, the system treats us as unauthorized outsiders.”

Recent data published by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) indicates that Kenya currently hosts more than 850,000 registered refugees and asylum seekers. Among this displaced population, approximately 42,000 are Ethiopian nationals, making Ethiopia the country’s second-largest source of refugees after Somalia. While international humanitarian discourse frequently frames refugee assistance through the lens of remote, sprawling camps such as Dadaab and Kakuma, a substantial and growing proportion of refugees has moved into Kenya’s major urban centers to build self-reliant livelihoods.

Over several decades, commercial corridors have organically expanded across Nairobi neighborhoods, including Jamhuri, Eastleigh, Yaya Centre, and Kiamaiko. Driven by the grit and entrepreneurial drive of displaced persons from across the Horn of Africa, these commercial clusters teem with diverse enterprises: medical and dental clinics, beauty salons, dry cleaners, retail textile shops, wholesale grocery distributors, and cultural restaurants. These businesses not only serve refugee communities but also provide affordable consumer goods, specialized services, and employment opportunities to thousands of Kenyan citizens.

However, despite their deep integration into local supply chains and their steady contributions to municipal and national revenues, these entrepreneurs find themselves trapped in an agonizing regulatory dilemma, where their fundamental struggle for economic survival collides with rigid commercial and immigration laws.

Presidential directive and market turmoil

The delicate equilibrium governing urban refugee commerce was abruptly shattered on September 2, 2026, when President William Ruto delivered a high-profile directive aimed at the informal economy. Addressing a large delegation of construction, micro, small, and medium enterprise (MSME) traders at State House in Nairobi, the president ordered all foreign nationals engaged in small-scale retail and street-level vending to cease operations immediately by September 7.

“We did not improve investor confidence so that street vendors could come to Kenya,” President Ruto declared firmly. “The investor confidence we have built is meant for substantial international investors to come to Kenya, not street vendors, hawkers, and micro-traders.”

The head of state argued that micro-capital and retail enterprises must be protected as an exclusive economic preserve for Kenyan citizens. Foreign nationals residing in the country, he asserted, should restrict their commercial activities to large-scale, capital-intensive investments that expand national manufacturing capacity and generate formal wage employment, rather than competing directly with local proprietors in neighborhood markets.

The speech sent shockwaves through Kenya’s vast informal and semi-formal economic sectors, where thousands of displaced families have spent decades building enterprises from scratch. Official records show that by mid-2026, approximately 14 percent of Kenya’s 857,000 registered refugees resided in urban areas. For these urban dwellers, self-employment is rarely an ambitious corporate choice; it is often the sole viable mechanism to pay rent, afford healthcare, and feed their children in an environment where formal humanitarian stipends are nonexistent.

Muluken noted that the political rhetoric suffered severe distortion as it trickled down to the public: “The president’s speech was widely misunderstood on the streets. The official policy intent was to ensure that foreign-owned businesses meet statutory investment guidelines. However, when the message reached the public, many interpreted it as an open directive for all foreign-owned small businesses to shut down immediately and for the operators to leave the country.”

The fallout from this misinterpretation was immediate and destabilizing. Neighborhoods that had coexisted peacefully for decades experienced sudden surges of hostility, intimidation, and attempted looting. While nationals from East African Community (EAC) member states, such as Rwanda and Burundi, faced varying levels of scrutiny, non-EAC nationals—most notably Ethiopians and Eritreans—found themselves acutely vulnerable to xenophobic backlash and street-level harassment.

In Jamhuri, home to hundreds of Ethiopian- and Eritrean-owned shops and cafes, community leaders mobilized rapidly. Muluken explained that elders and business representatives established round-the-clock coordination with local police commanders, administrative chiefs, and neighborhood youth leaders to protect commercial centers and prevent violent looting.

Even so, administrative and police pressure escalated quickly. Before formal operational guidelines could be issued, joint night patrols involving local police and administrative officers conducted sweeps through residential areas under the pretext of document verification. Approximately 28 Ethiopian and Eritrean nationals were detained and taken to the Jamhuri police station. While community negotiations and legal interventions secured the release of several individuals, 12 remained in detention to face formal immigration proceedings.

“For an entire day, our thriving commercial centers turned into ghost towns,” recalled a local shopkeeper who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “Roll-up metal shutters remained padlocked, grocery shelves stayed dark, and families locked themselves inside their homes in fear.”

The 90-day grace period and licensing barriers

To prevent severe economic disruption and address mounting humanitarian concerns, the Kenyan government announced a temporary suspension of mass closures, instituting a 90-day regularization window. State House Spokesperson Hussein Mohamed clarified that the transition period is designed to allow foreign traders to regularize their immigration status, secure necessary work permits, and register their enterprises in full compliance with national laws.

“Anyone doing business in Kenya is expected to comply with the applicable refugee, work permit, registration, and licensing requirements. Over the next 90 days, the government will conduct an orderly regularization process to facilitate compliance,” Mohamed announced, warning that strict enforcement measures will resume without exception once the deadline passes.

Despite this administrative reprieve, refugee advocates emphasize that achieving formal compliance within 90 days is practically impossible for the vast majority of urban refugees. A comprehensive 2026 study on refugee economic inclusion in Kenya documented a bureaucratic maze characterized by opaque, complex, and extraordinarily expensive application procedures. A major institutional barrier is the legal requirement that applicants hold a formal corporate job offer before a Class M work permit can be issued. This creates an impossible Catch-22 for self-employed entrepreneurs, who cannot sponsor their own micro-enterprises under current investment statutes.

Financial costs present an equally insurmountable hurdle. While statutory application fees appear modest on paper, the cumulative financial burden—including legal documentation, translation, travel, and administrative overhead—places formal permits out of reach. “Whether the government grants a grace period of 90 days or 90 years, the real-world cost of acquiring these permits is financially prohibitive,” explained an Ethiopian restaurant owner in Nairobi. “Securing a formal business permit can require upwards of 500,000 Kenyan shillings. How can a modest vegetable vendor or small cafe owner afford such sums?”

The formalization dilemma and long-term uncertainty

The fundamental injustice felt by urban refugees stems from the fact that they do not operate in the dark. The vast majority of refugee-run medical clinics, retail stores, barbershops, and bakeries hold Single Business Permits issued by Nairobi City County. They pay annual commercial licensing fees, daily municipal market cess, and personal income taxes assessed directly by the Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA).

This dynamic creates a profound institutional contradiction: while the state’s fiscal machinery officially registers, assesses, and collects revenue from refugee entrepreneurs under domestic taxpayer categories, the immigration and trade licensing systems simultaneously classify them as unauthorized operators lacking the legal right to work.

Facing the looming expiration of the 90-day grace period and terrified of losing their life savings, some refugee business owners have begun exploring proxy ownership arrangements. Under this informal practice, refugees register their businesses, commercial bank accounts, and trading licenses under the names of trusted Kenyan friends or business partners to shield their capital from confiscation.

Community leaders warn that while proxy registrations offer temporary protection against administrative crackdowns, they ultimately drive refugee entrepreneurs deeper into legal vulnerability, exposing them to financial exploitation, property disputes, and total loss of recourse.

Urban refugees are not asking for special privileges; they are pleading for institutional coherence. Recognizing urban refugees as legitimate economic contributors by creating accessible, affordable micro-enterprise permits would allow the Kenyan government to expand its formal tax base, eliminate illicit extortion networks, and uphold its international humanitarian commitments. Until national policy reconciles the gap between tax collection and commercial legalization, thousands of hardworking entrepreneurs will remain trapped in economic limbo—welcomed as taxpayers, but rejected as workers.