YVONNE'S TAKE: Middle income or mid-life crisis?

President William Ruto told Kenyans that fuel prices here are higher than in our East African neighbours because Kenya is now a middle-income country.

We’ve heard similar reasoning before, around subsidies, around taxation, around the need to “live within our means.”

The message, in different forms, is consistent: we are no longer a low-income country.

And so, certain things must change. Higher costs. Fewer subsidies. More taxes. That is the logic.

And on paper, it makes sense.

Because technically, Kenya is classified as a middle-income country. That classification is based on average national income per person—what economists call gross national income per capita. It is a statistical threshold.

A line you cross. But it is also just that, an average. And averages can be misleading.

They smooth out the extremes.

They flatten inequality.

They tell you where a country sits, but not how its people live.

So yes, Kenya may be middle-income on paper.

But that label does not tell you:

How many people are struggling to meet basic needs,

How many are one emergency away from slipping backwards,

Or how far a salary actually goes at the end of the month.

And that is where the tension begins.

Because while the country is being described as middle-income, many Kenyans are not experiencing a middle-income life.

What they are experiencing is this:

Rising costs across the board—fuel, food, transport, school fees. And alongside that, a growing tax burden.

We have seen the introduction and expansion of taxes and deductions: the housing levy, higher contributions under the new health financing model.

All framed within a broader push for domestic revenue—a push that aligns, again, with this idea of a country that has “moved up.”

But here is the question:

If we are taxing like a middle-income country… are we delivering like one?

Because taxation is not just about collection. It is about return.

It is the foundation of a social contract:

You contribute,

And in return, you receive services, stability, opportunity.

But for many Kenyans, that equation feels increasingly unbalanced.

Take-home pay is shrinking.

Incomes are not keeping pace with the cost of living.

For some, they are actually declining in real terms.

And what that means, in practical terms, is simple:

Salaries are not stretching.

Not to the end of the month.

Not to cover basic needs.

Not without trade-offs.

So while the classification says one thing, the lived experience is saying another.

And perhaps that is the deeper issue here.

“Middle-income” is becoming less of a description and more of an explanation.

A way to justify difficult decisions.

A way to reset expectations.

But status alone does not change reality.

It does not lower prices.

It does not raise incomes.

It does not improve services.

And if anything, it raises a new expectation.

Because if we are a middle-income country, then the question is not just what we pay—it is what we get.

Do we have: reliable public services? Efficient systems? Accessible healthcare? Value for the taxes we contribute?

Because that is what that status is supposed to mean—not just higher costs, but higher standards.

And right now, for many Kenyans, that gap is becoming harder to ignore.

The gap between what we are told we are and what we actually experience.

Because being a middle-income country is not just about a number.

It is about a lived reality.

And until those two begin to align, that label will feel less like progress and more like a question.