Refugees in Kakuma raise concerns over integration plan

It is 15 minutes to five in the afternoon in Kakuma and the sun is still high, burning at 33 degrees Celsius.

On one side of the pitch stands Hilltop FC, a South Sudanese refugee team drawn from Kakuma One camp. On the other side is a team from the host Turkana community.

This is a friendly match - part of preparations for a larger tournament scheduled a week from now involving 12 teams with 11 drawn from the refugee community. 

There are no white lines to demarcate the football pitch, just faint boundaries scratched into the earth using a stick on a dusty, uneven ground scattered with lots of pebbles.

Despite the heat, the energy is unmatched, with players shouting instructions in a mix of languages from the local Turkana language, Kiswahili, English and several South Sudanese dialects.

For a brief moment, the scene feels uncomplicated. Refugees and locals share a game, space and time.

But beyond the football pitch, Kakuma, a town in Turkana West, more than 700 kilometres from Nairobi, the capital, carries a heavier story shaped by uncertainty, anxiety and quiet tension simmering beneath the town’s bustling surface.

Known for hosting refugees, the town is home to refugees from South Sudan, Somalia, Burundi, Ethiopia, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo, who live alongside Kenyans, mainly from the Turkana community.

However, beneath the melting pot of cultures, lies a silent storm over government’s plan to integrate refugees into the host community, a move that has emerged as a source of deep suspicion.

The Shirika Plan is Kenya’s new approach to refugee management.

Khalif Ibrahim, a legal officer at the Department of Refugee Services (DRS), explains that it marks a shift away from decades of humanitarian aid toward socio-economic integration and self-reliance.

In simple terms, the government wants refugees to work, earn and contribute to local economies rather than depend indefinitely on aid.

“The reason the government is pursuing the Shirika Plan is dwindling funding. We need sustainable solutions that allow refugees and host communities to be self-reliant,” Ibrahim explained.

The plan is expected to cost Sh120 billion—about USD 943 million—and will be implemented over 15 years.

But in Kakuma, the plan is often discussed in hushed tones among members of the host community, with a belief that it carries political implications.

“People think refugees will be given voting rights. They fear that because refugees are many, they could end up electing leaders here,” said a local interviewed by The Standard.

In Turkana West, refugees outnumber locals in some areas. The fear is that integration could one day translate into political power.

“The MCA would be from the refugee community. The MP too, and we would have no representation in our own land,” lamented another resident.

But the government insists these fears are misplaced.

“There will be no voting and no citizenship for refugees under the Shirika Plan. Integration in Kenya does not include civil or political rights,” assured Khalif.

According to Ibrahim, refugees will not gain the right to vote, run for office or become citizens under the plan.

“In some countries, integration leads to permanent residency and eventually citizenship. That is not the case for Kenya. Here, integration is strictly socio-economic,” he said.

For refugees, the fear runs in the opposite direction, with many worried that integration is a step toward being absorbed into Kenyan society permanently, reducing their chances of resettlement to a third country.

For decades, resettlement to the United States, Canada or Europe has represented hope, escape and a future beyond camps.

“The biggest dream of a refugee is resettlement. When you talk about integration, people fear it means Kenya is now home forever,” stated a refugee leader within Kalobeyei. 

The decline in aid has also fueled anxiety following the introduction of differentiated assistance.

Refugees are now categorised based on economic vulnerability, with those deemed extremely needy receiving aid support, while those considered less vulnerable receive less than before and are encouraged to run economic activities.

The impact has been felt across the camps, with reduced cash assistance forcing families that once relied entirely on aid to find alternative sources of income.

However, refugees interviewed argue that running a business or seeking employment has not been easy due to the many documents required. 

Refugees face language barriers that limit their opportunities.

Many speak Arabic, Somali, Kirundi or other languages, with limited Kiswahili or English. Even when they find work, they are often paid less than locals for the same tasks.

The Refugee Consortium of Kenya (RCK), an organisation providing legal aid to refugees, says movement restrictions add another layer of difficulty.

According to Catherine Njoroge, director of programmes at RCK, the organisation documents cases of harassment by law enforcement, difficulties in obtaining movement passes and barriers to employment.

Mitch Ambasu, a field coordinator at the organisation who is based in Kakuma, explains that as the organisation seeks solutions to these barriers, it provides free legal representation in courts, assisting both refugees and members of the host community while pushing for fair treatment and lawful processes.

“Every day, RCK lawyers handle cases involving refugee identity cards, asylum seeker passes, birth registration for children born in the camps, and movement passes required to travel outside Kakuma,” he said.

Many refugees, Ambasu says, live in constant fear of arrest or harassment because of missing or expired documents.

“We see cases of people being arrested simply because they could not prove who they are. Others miss job opportunities because employers ask for papers they don’t have,” he added.

But the government says this could change gradually.

“Under the Shirika Plan, we are exploring how movement can be expanded. It could start within municipalities, then counties,” Ibrahim said.

As funding shifts from humanitarian aid to development-oriented programmes, social pressures in Kakuma have intensified. Reduced food rations, unemployment and uncertainty about the future have taken a toll on mental health of a majority.

Mercy Waithera leads the Mental Health and Psychosocial Support (MHPSS) programme at RCK, which provides refugees with a space to speak openly about trauma they have carried for years.

Waithera's team offers psychological first aid, individual counselling and group therapy sessions, helping survivors process trauma and rebuild confidence.

“Most of the people we see have experienced extreme violence; war, sexual assault, loss of family members and dangerous journeys. Then they arrive here and face poverty, uncertainty and discrimination,” Waithera said.

Gender-based violence is among the most common cases RCK handles. According to Waithera, gender based Vioolence mostly affects women and girls.

“We see cases of domestic violence, sexual assault, and early and forced marriages. Some survivors are attacked during conflict. Others experience violence here, driven by stress, addiction and frustration,” she explained, adding that addiction has also emerged as a growing problem in Kakuma.

With limited opportunities and dwindling aid, some refugees turn to alcohol and drugs as coping mechanisms.

Cases of depression and anxiety are also widespread, particularly among young people who see little opportunity ahead.