Kenya hosts roughly three quarters of a million refugees and asylum seekers, mainly in Dadaab and Kakuma. Most fled conflict in Somalia, South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Ethiopia. Over half are children. These are not abstract numbers. They represent families who rely almost entirely on food aid to survive. Any change to how food is delivered hits them immediately and deeply.
Under the new system, a large share of refugees receive cash instead of food. In Kakuma and Kalobeyei, more than 60 percent of households now depend mainly on cash transfers for food. The typical amount ranges between 900 and 1,200 Kenyan shillings per person per month. Critics argue that this figure is far below what is needed to meet basic food needs, especially as prices continue to rise.
Refugees often compare the cash value to real market costs. A two kilogram packet of maize flour can cost 150 to 200 shillings. Cooking oil, vegetables, and pulses add quickly to the bill. Many households report that the monthly transfer covers food for barely two weeks. After that, families reduce meals or rely on credit from local shops. Some shopkeepers now keep long handwritten lists of refugee debts, an informal system that did not exist at this scale under in kind food distribution.
Inflation has made matters worse. In parts of Turkana County, food prices rose by 20 to 30 percent during recent drought periods. Cash transfers, however, were not adjusted at the same speed. Refugees say the system assumes stable markets, an assumption that does not match life in remote, climate stressed regions. When prices spike, cash loses value overnight. A sack of grain, by contrast, remains food regardless of market swings.
Another major complaint is inconsistency. Refugees describe frequent delays in cash payments. When transfers arrive late, families have no buffer. In the old system, even reduced rations provided some predictability. Now, a missed payment can mean days without food. Community leaders in Dadaab report that during delayed distributions, cases of acute hunger and child malnutrition increase sharply within weeks.
Digital delivery, while efficient for administrators, creates barriers for some refugees. Elderly people, people with disabilities, and those unfamiliar with mobile money struggle to access their cash. Lost SIM cards, network outages, and biometric errors are common complaints. Refugees describe walking long distances to help desks, only to be told to return another day. For people already living on the edge, these obstacles feel overwhelming.
Women, who are often registered as cash recipients, express mixed feelings. While some welcome greater control over spending, others say the pressure is intense. When cash runs out early, they face blame within the household. In interviews conducted by aid groups, women reported increased stress and anxiety around managing limited cash in volatile markets. Food rations, though imperfect, reduced the need to constantly calculate prices and negotiate purchases.
Critics also question the idea of choice itself. Cash assumes that markets offer diverse, affordable food. In reality, camp markets are often limited. Fresh vegetables, milk, eggs, and meat are either scarce or too expensive. Refugees report buying the same staples repeatedly because that is all they can afford. As a result, dietary diversity remains low for many households, despite claims of improvement.
Malnutrition data reflects this uneven reality. While some areas show modest gains, others do not. In parts of Dadaab, global acute malnutrition among children under five still ranges between 10 and 14 percent. Stunting rates remain above 30 percent in several sections. Health workers note that when cash is insufficient, families prioritize filling foods over nutritious ones. Children eat to feel full, not to grow well.
Refugees with special needs feel particularly left out. Families with disabled members, chronically ill adults, or large numbers of children argue that vulnerability assessments fail to capture their daily struggles. Some households report sudden reductions in assistance after reassessments they did not fully understand. Losing part of their aid without clear explanation fuels mistrust and fear.
Another source of dissatisfaction is the blending of refugees and host communities in assistance programs. While intended to reduce tension, some refugees feel resources are being stretched too thin. In Turkana, about 40 percent of beneficiaries of cash based food assistance are vulnerable host community members. Refugees do not oppose helping locals, but many question why their already limited support is shared when overall funding is shrinking.
Funding shortages lie at the heart of many problems. In recent years, food assistance programs in Kenya have faced gaps of over 40 percent of their required budgets. Critics argue that cash based systems are being used to manage scarcity rather than solve hunger. By reducing ration sizes quietly through low cash values, agencies avoid the visibility of cutting food distributions, but the effect on refugees is the same or worse.
Local economies have grown around cash assistance, but this too creates pressure. Shopkeepers benefit, yet they also raise prices when demand is high. Refugees accuse some traders of exploiting their dependence. Without strong price controls or competition, markets can become extractive. This leaves refugees trapped between low cash transfers and high prices.
Protection concerns are also rising. Carrying cash or mobile phones linked to cash accounts increases the risk of theft and coercion. Some refugees report being pressured by relatives or community members to share their cash. These risks existed before, but cash makes them more visible and immediate.
The psychological impact of the new system is often overlooked. Refugees describe constant uncertainty, checking phones for messages, watching prices, calculating meals. Under the old system, distribution days were exhausting but predictable. Now, stress is spread across the entire month. Mental health workers in camps report increased anxiety linked to food insecurity and financial pressure.
Critics do not argue for a full return to old style food aid. Many acknowledge its flaws, including lack of choice and high costs. What they challenge is the pace and scale of the shift to cash in a context of weak markets, chronic underfunding, and climate shocks. They argue that the system has been redesigned around efficiency rather than lived reality.
Refugees themselves propose alternatives. Many call for a stronger mix of food and cash, especially during high inflation or drought periods. Others want higher cash values tied more closely to real market prices. Clear communication around assessments and changes in assistance is another frequent demand. Refugees say they can adapt, but only if they understand the rules and trust the system.
The Kenyan government’s push for self reliance and inclusion adds another layer of complexity. While long term goals matter, critics warn against expecting self reliance in places with limited jobs and legal barriers. Cash does not create livelihoods on its own. Without income opportunities, it simply reshapes how scarcity is experienced.
As the new food aid distribution system continues to expand, dissatisfaction among refugees serves as a warning sign. Innovation without adequate funding, market support, and accountability risks shifting hunger from visible queues to silent homes. For many refugees in Kenya, the promise of choice has so far come with harder decisions, thinner meals, and deeper uncertainty.
The debate is no longer about whether systems should change, but about who bears the cost of that change. Until cash values match real needs and markets truly serve the people who depend on them, critics argue that the new system will remain a symbol not of dignity, but of managed deprivation.
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