Last week, a seemingly innocuous exchange between William Ruto and Emmanuel Macron—coffee, tea, and a sculpture of the wild beast migration—unveiled a deeper, more troubling narrative: Africa’s enduring betrayal. This wasn’t merely a gift exchange; it was a stark reflection of persistent colonial exploitation, cleverly repackaged for the modern era.
Let’s break down this narrative, starting with the very “gifts” themselves.
Coffee: A Wound, Not a Pride
When people think of Kenya, coffee often comes to mind, touted for decades as a national pride. Yet, the shocking truth reveals a different story for most Africans. Coffee ceased to be a source of pride a long time ago.
Approximately 70% of Kenya’s coffee is produced by smallholder farmers – ordinary men and women who meticulously cultivate a few acres, often less than one. They undertake all the arduous work: planting, pruning, and hand-picking every cherry. However, the system is designed to strip them of control and profit the moment those cherries leave their hands.
Imagine a small farmer dreaming of roasting their own beans and creating their brand. The current regulations make this nearly impossible. To qualify for a full roasting or processing license, one is often required to possess at least 15 acres of coffee land. How many small farmers do you know who own 15 acres solely dedicated to coffee? Most don’t even reach 5 acres. This effectively locks out the majority of farmers from value addition – the very process that would empower them.
Beyond the acreage requirement, the licensing process itself is brutal, entangled with KEBS standards, NEMA approvals, occupational safety inspections, county permits, and KRA clearance. Even those who meet the land criteria face immense delays and bureaucratic hurdles, suffering months-long waits for licenses. This intricate web of regulations acts as a deliberate wall, trapping smallholder farmers in the colonial legacy of being mere suppliers of raw materials for someone else’s wealth. There’s a clear resistance to Africans adding value to their own produce.
Follow the Money: The Disparity in Earnings
Let’s trace the money trail. A Kenyan farmer earns a paltry 80 to 100 shillings per kilo of cherry, less than one US dollar. By the time these cherries are processed into green beans and exported, that same kilo fetches $8 to $10 at the Nairobi Coffee Exchange. The farmer has already lost the lion’s share.
The real transformation and profit, however, occur abroad. Once these beans reach Europe or America, they are roasted, branded, and sold at retail. A kilo of roasted Kenyan AA coffee in Paris or New York can command $20 to $30, or even more. Reports from consumers show prices as high as €50.
When brewed into cups, that single kilo of coffee beans can generate over $80 to $100 in sales. Consider the cost of a double cappuccino at $8; a kilo produces many such servings. After accounting for milk and staff, the profit per kilo can easily reach $100. Yet, the farmer who did all the arduous work earns less than $1. The exporter profits $4 to $6 per kilo of green beans, while foreign roasters and retailers pocket $20 to $100 from the same kilo.
This skewed structure is precisely why coffee is no longer Kenya’s pride; it is a wound. We undertake the hardest, dirtiest work, battling pests and carrying sacks, only for the branding, roasting, and the final cup to belong to someone else. Despite this, governments encourage farmers to plant more coffee, but for whom and for what, if the system prevents them from directly benefiting? This feeds a pipeline where foreign companies win, and Africans lose.
The gifting of Kenyan coffee to Macron, while seemingly a symbol of national pride, is in fact a perfect emblem of colonial exploitation in modern guise. What’s even more glaring is Africa’s lack of large-scale soluble coffee factories to produce instant coffee, the kind most of the world consumes. This forces us to export raw beans, which are then processed abroad and often shipped back to Africa as instant coffee, sold at three times the price. We buy back what we grew, due to deliberately constructed barriers.
The question arises: why can’t a license be granted for even an acre, instead of demanding 15? The majority of Africans cannot afford such vast tracts of land. Most coffee farms are still on stolen land or land allocated to elites post-independence. This system ensures that normal farmers are not encouraged to understand or engage in value addition.
Even government initiatives like the “coffee cherry advance fund” aim to pay farmers faster for raw cherries, ignoring the fundamental issue of ownership of processing. While faster payments might offer temporary relief, the higher margins, branding, and jobs in roasting and packaging remain in foreign hands.
In 2023, Kenya earned $34 million from coffee exports – approximately 46 billion Kenyan shillings. Politicians trumpet this as a success. However, over 95% of this coffee left Kenya as raw material, unsorted, unroasted, unpackaged. The painful truth is that if Africa had the capacity for value addition, that $34 million could easily transform into $1.5 to $2 billion USD. This massive gap represents funds that could build hospitals, pay teachers, reduce debt, and improve infrastructure. Instead, this difference is pocketed by multinational corporations that buy our beans cheaply, add value, and make fortunes from our own produce. We are not just exporting coffee; we are exporting wealth. This is colonial logic, rebranded.
Tea: Green Gold, Bitter Truth
Tea, another of Africa’s touted prides, similarly pays us barely anything. When Ruto presented tea to Macron, it again represented Africa’s pride, especially given that Kenya is one of the world’s largest tea exporters. However, like coffee, the glossy wrapper hides a bitter truth.
Kenya earns more from tea than coffee, roughly $1.2 to $1.3 billion annually from exports – nearly four times what coffee generates. Again, politicians celebrate this figure as a success, but they fail to mention who truly benefits.
Who owns Kenya’s tea? Tens of thousands of acres in Bomet, Kericho, or Nandi are controlled by multinationals like Unilever, James Finlay (now owned by a private equity group, but still foreign-owned), and Williamson Tea. These companies are legacies of colonial land grabs, displacing communities like the Kipsigis and Talai, whose descendants still demand compensation. Yet, these estates remain under foreign control, their profits wired abroad.
Most African tea still leaves the country raw, sold through the Mombasa tea auction, the largest in the world. Middlemen and brokers scoop it up, blend it, and ship it overseas. The real money is made in London, Dubai, or Moscow through blending, branding, and retail.
A kilo of black Kenyan CTC tea at auction sells for about $5 to $10. Branded and retailed in a European supermarket, that same kilo fetches $20 to $30. Brewed into cups, it can generate another $120. While we celebrate $1.2 billion in export earnings, if we processed and branded our tea here, it could easily bring in $6 to $8 billion USD – money we are literally giving away every year.
And what trickles down to the farmers? Peanuts. Smallholder farmers under the Kenya Tea Development Agency (KTDA) often earn less than 20 shillings per kilo of green leaf after deductions. Annual bonuses are so meager that they barely cover school fees. Farmers are often “blinded by bonuses,” overlooking the vast wealth generated through value addition. Meanwhile, multinationals report profits in tens of millions of dollars.
Labor on these large tea estates is marred by scandals, from low wages to sexual exploitation of women workers, as exposed in documentaries. While the world sips elegant Kenyan tea, the very people who pick it live in poverty, often without basic dignity.
The government, instead of aggressively promoting African-branded tea globally, defends the auction system that keeps farmers at the bottom. Instead of breaking up monopolies, it bends to their colonial power. Instead of building factories to package, brand, and market our tea, it settles for exporting bulk raw materials and calls it success.
Truthfully, Africa does not export tea; it exports poverty dressed up as tea. The $1.2 billion might appear shiny, but the wealth is captured abroad. What could have been schools, hospitals, jobs, and dignity is brewed in foreign cups, leaving scraps for the farmers. Gifting tea to Macron is not a gift of pride; it’s a stark reminder of Africa’s continued colonial role: supplying raw materials while others cash in.
The Mara: A Spectacle, Not a Heritage
The sculpture of the wild beast migration, gifted to Macron, represents Africa’s biggest tourism jewel: the annual spectacle of over 1.5 million wildebeest crossing the Mara River. The world romanticizes this “eighth wonder,” marketing it as a dream safari. Yet, behind this beautiful sculpture lies another wound.
The Maasai Mara is not just about animals; it’s about land and deep-seated injustice. For decades, the Maasai, whose culture gives the Maasai Mara its very identity, have been dispossessed, fenced out, and pushed aside in the name of “conservation” and tourism. Large tracts of their ancestral land, once vital for their cattle, have been grabbed, leased, or converted into private conservancies, enriching outsiders.
Today, over 200 lodges and camps are scattered across the Maasai Mara ecosystem. But who owns them? Not the Maasai. The largest and most profitable lodges are controlled by foreign investors and local elites. Profits flow abroad and to a select few, while the Maasai, the original custodians, are relegated to low-paying jobs as guards, dancers, or drivers, often performing for tips on land that was once theirs.
Park fees have skyrocketed. Foreign tourists pay $100 per person per day, while local Africans face prohibitive costs. Small African operators struggle, and many Africans themselves are locked out of experiencing their own heritage. The narrative of “tourism day,” allowing Africans free access, is a hollow gesture, especially when considering the historical context of coexistence with these animals without needing to pay. The infrastructure itself, with specific vehicle requirements, further excludes ordinary Africans.
This is the “conservation lie.” Authors like Mordecai Ogada and John Mbaria, in “The Big Conservation Lie,” expose how conservation has been weaponized against Africans. We are taught to romanticize it, but behind the glossy brochures, conservation often means “keep the animals, remove the people.” Tourists complain about seeing too many people, not enough animals, and forgetting they are on ancestral lands. This conservation narrative paints the Maasai as intruders in their own land. Our freedom as Africans is incomplete if the Maasai people lack freedom and ownership of their land. Foreign NGOs and investors wear the crown of “saviors of nature,” yet this nature was thriving under indigenous custodianship.
The real Maasai Mara is a place where wildebeest run free, but the people who lived there for centuries are shackled by poverty, land injustices, and exclusion. Conservation and tourism are sold as gifts to Africans, but the profits flow into foreign pockets. We cannot romanticize tourism while our people suffer. The industry’s toxicity is such that stories of injustice and even murder in the Mara are suppressed to protect its image. The facilities themselves are not designed with Africans in mind. Even those African tour operators who manage to exist struggle, as the competition from international companies is fierce, and local Africans are priced out.
The gifting of a wild beast sculpture to Macron is not pride; it is a painful reminder of the imbalance: Africa gives, and France receives, with African leaders smiling through the cycle, seemingly oblivious to the suffering it represents.
Macron and the Legacy of Exploitation
Emmanuel Macron is not just a French president; he is the face of a nation that has amassed billions by exploiting Africa for generations, offering only crumbs in return.
More than 10 African countries still use the CFA Franc, a currency designed by France in 1945. These nations are compelled to keep a portion of their foreign reserves in accounts controlled by the French Treasury. This means that while Africa works, France controls the purse strings. Monetary independence remains a mere rhetorical flourish; in reality, Paris maintains its grip on African resources.
France often positions itself as a savior, offering aid to Africa. In 2021, Africa received nearly €2.9 billion in French bilateral assistance, with France’s total official development assistance reaching $15.1 billion in 2024. While this appears generous, it pales in comparison to the wealth that flows out of Africa to France each year through energy, mining, and agriculture. Analysts estimate that France has extracted hundreds of billions of dollars worth of resources over decades and continues to profit immensely from the continent.
Niger’s uranium, for example, powers France’s nuclear plants, keeping its cities lit. Yet, Niger remains one of the poorest countries in Africa, with millions living without electricity. Similarly, French giant oil companies operate in Gabon and Congo, while local communities grapple with poverty and pollution.
This cycle cannot continue. We cannot celebrate “Africa’s pride” in tourism, tea, coffee, and minerals while the profits are siphoned off by multinationals. We must invest in value addition, ensuring that Africans benefit from their natural resources from A to Z. True pride comes from economic independence and equitable distribution of wealth.
The exchange between Macron and Ruto highlights Africa’s persistent role as a supplier of raw materials to former colonizers, masking exploitation as national pride. We must acknowledge that coffee and tea ceased to be Africa’s pride a long time ago. Until Africa genuinely addresses value addition and benefits fully from its natural resources, we are merely handing over our wealth.
This conversation is vital. Let us engage in open dialogue about Africa’s resources, challenge the narratives of “pride” that obscure injustice, and work towards a future where African nations truly own and benefit from their immense wealth.