By Billy Mijungu
There was a time when taxation in Kenya was something distant, something negotiated in boardrooms and felt mostly by big corporations and high-income earners. That time is gone. The Finance Bill, 2026, quietly redraws the battlefield. The taxman is no longer waiting for profits or income declarations. He has moved closer – into your phone, your transactions, your daily life.
This is not an ordinary Finance Bill. It is a philosophical shift.
The government has made a calculated decision: if it cannot reliably tax income, it will tax behaviour. Every swipe, every call, every bet, every import, every digital interaction is now a potential tax point. This is not accidental. It is deliberate, structured, and far-reaching.
Take mobile phones. By imposing a 25% excise duty triggered at activation, the State has effectively turned every Kenyan into a taxpayer the moment they switch on a device. The phone is no longer just a communication tool; it is now a tax collection point. In a country where mobile connectivity is no longer a luxury but a necessity, this is not just policy – it is penetration.
Then comes the digital economy. Payment systems, card transactions, fintech platforms – all are now captured under an expanded definition of taxable royalties. The message is simple: the government is following the money, and the money has gone digital. What used to be invisible streams of micro-transactions are now visible, measurable, and taxable.
The informal sector, long accused of escaping the tax net, has not been spared. Scrap metal dealers will now face withholding taxes. Mitumba traders will pay upfront taxes based on assumed profits before their goods even reach the market. This is not just taxation; it is pre-emptive extraction. The State is no longer waiting to see if you make money; it assumes that you will.
And then there is betting. A 20% tax on winnings signals a moral and fiscal stance rolled into one. The government is taxing hope itself – the small, risky optimism that drives millions into betting platforms. Whether this curbs the vice or simply deepens desperation is a question policymakers seem willing to postpone.
Imports, too, have become a goldmine. By stripping away exemptions and expanding excise coverage, the State has fortified its grip at the border. It is easier to tax goods at entry than to chase individuals across a fragmented economy. This is efficiency, yes, but it is also a quiet admission that internal tax systems are struggling to keep up.
Perhaps the most powerful shift, however, is not in new taxes but in enforcement. Pre-populated tax returns, tighter electronic systems, and aggressive anti-avoidance rules mean that compliance is no longer optional or negotiable. The era of “we will see” has been replaced by “we already know.”
What does all this mean?
It means the burden of taxation is no longer concentrated at the top. It is dispersed across society, embedded in consumption, and collected in fragments. You may not feel it in one large deduction, but you will feel it in everything – the cost of a phone, a transaction fee, a second-hand shirt, a small wager.
This is the politics of quiet extraction.
The government will argue that this is modernization, that it is aligning taxation with a changing economy. And to some extent, that is true. But modernization without balance risks becoming overreach. When taxation begins to shadow every aspect of daily life, the line between revenue generation and economic suffocation becomes dangerously thin.
The real question is not whether the government will collect more revenue. It will. The question is at what cost – to economic activity, to informal enterprise, to the already strained Kenyan household.
Because when the taxman moves this close, he does not just collect revenue. He reshapes behaviour, alters incentives, and sometimes stifles the very growth he seeks to fund.
Kenya is not just being taxed more. It is being taxed differently.
And that difference will define the economy and the politics for years to come.
