A personal reflection on Kenya’s tea industry from Kericho, where farmers work tirelessly yet earn far less than their counterparts in other regions. This story explores the 17 vs 57 shilling bonus gap, politics behind pricing, and why it may be time to rethink the future of tea farming.

I grew up in Kericho where tea wasn’t just a crop, it was our way of life. I still remember watching my parents wake up before sunrise, heading out to the fields wrapped in fog, baskets slung across their backs. The air always smelled of dew and fresh leaves. In our home, the tea harvest meant food on the table, school fees paid, and hope for the next season.

For decades, Kericho has been known as the heart of Kenya’s tea industry, home to vast plantations, hardworking smallholders, and world-famous brands. But despite that reputation, the farmers who fuel this multi-billion-shilling sector are struggling more than ever.

This year’s tea bonus has left many Kericho farmers feeling betrayed. While factories in Nyeri and other regions received between Ksh 40 and Ksh 57 per kilogram, Kericho farmers were left with as little as Ksh 12, Ksh 15, and Ksh 17 per kilogram.

The difference is staggering, yet the tea is the same, the work is the same, and the dedication is the same. The only thing that seems different is who benefits from the system.

KTDA has explained the disparity by citing the loss of a major buyer, Iran, which reportedly affected Kericho’s sales. But to farmers who have weathered decades of unstable prices and shifting policies, that explanation doesn’t hold much comfort. Behind the official statements, there’s a feeling that politics, power plays, and opaque systems continue to leave the farmer at the bottom of the ladder.

Tea, like many agricultural sectors in Kenya, has long been entangled in politics. The KTDA reforms, board appointments, and regional power battles often take center stage, while the farmers’ voice fades into the background.

For years, we’ve been told to be patient, that global markets are unpredictable, that logistics costs are high, and that next year will be better. But “next year” always seems to come with a new excuse. Meanwhile, farmers’ livelihoods shrink, and the younger generation sees less reason to stay in tea farming.

The truth is hard to ignore; something in the system is broken. Unless it changes, Kericho, the very land that helped build Kenya’s tea reputation, will continue to suffer the most.

Maybe it’s time to rethink our dependence on tea. As painful as that sounds, diversification could be the key to survival. Some farmers are already experimenting with alternative crops like avocados, macadamia, or passion fruit, while others are turning to small-scale processing and packaging to sell directly to consumers.

It’s not about abandoning tea, it’s about regaining control. If the market can’t reward farmers fairly, then farmers must explore ways to add value, reduce dependency on middlemen, and find new markets, even locally.

Kericho’s farmers aren’t asking for favors; they’re asking for fairness. They want transparency in how prices are set, accountability in how bonuses are calculated, and inclusion in the decisions that affect their lives.

If the system continues to benefit only a few, the anger we’ve seen in recent demonstrations might just be the beginning. Because when hardworking people see their sweat translate into nothing, frustration turns into action.

And in Kericho today, that frustration is real. The hills are green, but the bonuses are cold.

I grew up believing tea was our pride. Today, I see it’s also our struggle. But one thing hasn’t changed: the resilience of the farmer. Through droughts, low prices, and empty promises, they keep showing up.

Maybe that’s where our real gold lies, not in the tea itself, but in the spirit of the people who grow it.

By Sharon Sitiene
Reflections from the green hills of Kericho