Kenya has 4G everywhere, but nobody is using it

If you look at the official maps provided by the Communications Authority, Kenya is a digital success story that should be the envy of the continent. The government proudly states that 98% of the country is now blanketed by 4G coverage. Theoretically, you can stand in a remote village in Turkana, a dusty corner of Marsabit, or a small farm in Kwale and have high-speed internet at your fingertips. The "Superhighway" is paved.

But there is a glaring, uncomfortable problem that the maps don't show, and the press releases usually skip over. Millions of people are living directly under those expensive telecommunications towers and never once logging on.

Yesterday, during a meeting that didn't get nearly enough attention, the Ministry of Broadcasting and Telecommunications admitted what many of us have suspected: there is a 60% "usage gap." We built the towers, we laid the fiber, and we celebrated the signal, but we didn't build a way for the average person to actually afford any of it. It is exactly like building a massive, eight-lane highway through a village and then realizing that nobody in that village owns a car, or can even afford the bus fare.

The device barrier is the real wall

Stephen Isaboke, the Principal Secretary for Broadcasting and Telecommunications, met with a delegation from the GSMA Global Spectrum team this week. The goal was to figure out why the "Digital Superhighway"—a cornerstone of the Ruto administration's economic plan—is sitting so empty.

Isaboke’s conclusion was blunt, and it marks a shift in how the government is thinking about tech. For a decade, the focus has been on "coverage." If a telco put up a tower, they were doing their job. But coverage is a supply-side metric that ignores the reality of poverty. For a huge portion of the Kenyan population, even a basic, entry-level smartphone costs around Sh10,000.

To a tech worker in Nairobi, that’s a weekend’s expenses. To a farmer in Igembe or a casual laborer in Mombasa, that is two months' worth of food for an entire family. When you are choosing between a data-capable device and lunch, the 4G signal passing through the air above your house is completely irrelevant. It is just invisible radio waves that don't help you pay the bills.

The Sh662 billion question

The stakes for fixing this aren't just about social justice or making sure people can use TikTok. There is a massive economic cost to leaving 60% of the population in the digital dark.

Luciana Camargos, the Head of Spectrum at GSMA, pointed out that if Kenya can fix its spectrum pricing and make its licensing more predictable, it could add Sh662 billion to the national GDP by 2028. Now, usually, when someone throws around a number that large, I tend to ignore it. It feels like "consultant math" designed to please politicians. But even if the real number is half of that, the scale is significant.

The logic behind the number is actually quite simple. The government charges telcos "rent" for the airwaves (spectrum). If that rent is too high, the telcos pass the cost down to us. High data costs mean that a small business in Namanga stays offline. It means a student in Eldoret can't afford to watch the YouTube tutorial that might help them get a job.

If you lower the barrier, you increase the "velocity" of information. When data is cheap, people start using it for productive things. They sell products on WhatsApp, they manage inventories on cloud apps, and they learn new skills. The GSMA thinks this increased activity would actually bring the KRA an extra Sh150 billion in taxes. Ironically, by charging the telcos less for the spectrum, the government might end up making more money because the whole economy starts moving faster.

The Starlink factor and the tower tension

While this is happening, there is a new tension in the room: satellite internet. Starlink has been moving aggressively into the Kenyan market, offering a way to bypass the towers entirely.

This has made the traditional telcos, who have spent billions of shillings on physical infrastructure, very nervous. The government is trying to walk a fine line here. On one hand, they want the competition that Elon Musk’s service brings, especially for the truly remote areas where even the 98% coverage hasn't quite reached. On the other hand, they don't want a "disruptor" to kill off the companies that have built the backbone of Kenya’s current system.

Isaboke made it clear that any new player in the satellite space has to show a clear rollout plan for rural areas. The government doesn't want "digital tourists"—companies that only show up to serve the high-end customers in Kilimani and Runda. They want partners who are willing to do the hard work of connecting the people who are currently part of that 60% usage gap.

Necessity as the new driver

The Ruto administration has already laid thousands of kilometers of fiber optic cable. They've done the "hard" part of the engineering. But the highway is still quiet.

The next move isn't more cable; it’s the "digital government" push. The state wants to move 80% of its services online. At first, I thought this was just about efficiency, but now I suspect it’s a deliberate strategy to force adoption.

If you need a government permit, or a land title, or a health service, and the only way to get it is through a digital portal, you are forced to figure it out. You find a way to get a phone, or you go to a local hub that has one. It is a harsh way to drive progress, but it might be more effective than just hoping people will buy smartphones for fun.

The "usage gap" is essentially a poverty gap. We have the technology, but we don't have the economy to support it yet. Until a data bundle and a smartphone are affordable for someone earning a few hundred shillings a day, Kenya's digital superhighway will remain a beautiful, paved road with almost no one driving on it. We aren't a tech leader because we have towers; we become a tech leader when everyone is using them.