For years, the refrain in Kenya’s cooperative movement has remained the same: young people are “the future of cooperatives.” Across high-level conferences, annual general meetings, and policy summits, youth inclusion is perpetually listed as a top priority. Many SACCOs proudly announce products tailored for Gen Z, promising sleek digital interfaces, youth-specific accounts, and financial literacy workshops.
But away from the mahogany boardrooms and air-conditioned conference halls, a starkly different reality unfolds.
On the bustling streets of Kenya’s towns and markets, the very demographic these institutions claim to target remains largely in the dark. Many young people can barely name a single SACCO, let alone explain how one functions or how it could serve as a vehicle for wealth creation. This persistent disconnect raises an uncomfortable question: Are SACCOs truly talking to young people, or are they simply talking about them to satisfy a strategic narrative?
Historically, Kenya’s cooperative movement was built on the foundation of organized, formal employment. The giants of the industry were founded by teachers, police officers, and civil servants. In this traditional model, membership is anchored to payroll systems, making monthly savings and loan repayments predictable and automated.
In this environment, “youth inclusion” has taken on a narrow, almost exclusionary meaning. Instead of reaching out to the millions of young Kenyans navigating the informal economy, recruitment efforts often focus on “new blood” within these same professions—young teachers, junior police officers, or entry-level government employees.
However, the vast majority of Kenya’s youth do not carry payslips. They are the backbone of the “hustle” economy: small business owners, digital freelancers, market traders, and gig workers. For them, the cooperative movement remains a distant, seemingly impenetrable fortress.
Voices
In Mombasa, two young entrepreneurs offer a first-hand look at this divide.
Athaman Salim, a self-employed trader at Kongowea Market, spends his days navigating the ebb and flow of supply and demand. His income is not a fixed number on a monthly slip; it fluctuates with the seasons and the foot traffic of the market. While Salim has heard of SACCOs, he views them as clubs for a different class of people.
“Most of what I know about SACCOs is that they are for people who are employed,” Salim says. “Teachers, government workers—people who get a regular salary. Nobody has ever walked into this market to explain how someone like me, who buys and sells daily, can join.”
He notes the irony of hearing about “youth-friendly” cooperatives on the news when the messengers never set foot where the youth actually work. “If they really want the youth, why don’t they come to the markets? Many of us are desperate for a way to save and borrow to grow our businesses, but the doors seem closed to us.”
Across the city in Bamburi, Jimmy Ngala runs a shop selling football merchandise. His business is a hub for young fans looking for the latest jerseys. Yet, despite his entrepreneurial drive, Ngala feels like a stranger to the cooperative world.
“I have thought about joining a Sacco, but I don’t know where to start,” Ngala admits. “The way they are presented makes them sound complicated, like they are only meant for people with stable, white-collar jobs.”
For Ngala, the barrier isn’t a lack of money—it is a lack of accessible information. “If someone came here and explained in plain language how it works for a small business owner, many of us would sign up. But right now, nobody is talking to us directly.”
The Cost of Exclusion
This communication gap has real-world consequences. Both Salim and Ngala acknowledge that being outside the SACCO system has stifled their growth. Without access to the affordable, low-interest credit that SACCOs are known for, young entrepreneurs often turn to predatory mobile lending apps or informal money lenders with exorbitant interest rates.
“Sometimes you need capital quickly to seize an opportunity,” Salim explains. “When you are excluded from organized finance, you end up taking expensive shortcuts that keep you in debt.”
Ngala echoes this sentiment, noting that a structured savings plan could have helped him survive the lean off-seasons of the football calendar. “We hear that SACCO loans are the cheapest in the country. If that’s true, we are missing out on a massive opportunity simply because the invitation never reached us.”
There is also a psychological barrier at play. Many young entrepreneurs suspect that SACCOs, built on the reliability of the check-off system, are secretly afraid of the “informal” youth.
“Maybe they fear we won’t repay because our daily income changes,” Salim muses. “But having a fluctuating income doesn’t mean we are irresponsible. We run serious businesses; we just need a financial partner who understands how we work.”
The experiences of Salim and Ngala highlight a systemic failure. While leaders emphasize youth inclusion in their annual reports, the message is being broadcast on a frequency that the average Kenyan youth isn’t tuned into. To millions, cooperatives remain an abstract concept—a legacy of their parents’ generation rather than a tool for their own.
Until SACCOs trade the comfort of the boardroom for the grit of the marketplace, the “youth” will remain a talking point rather than a partner. As Salim puts it: “The youth they talk about in those meetings are not the same youth you see working in the markets.”
Ngala’s final reflection serves as a challenge to the entire movement: “They talk about youth, but they do not talk to youth.”
Until that conversation changes, the cooperative movement risks missing out on the most energetic and innovative sector of the Kenyan economy, leaving a generation to watch from the sidelines of a system that was originally built to empower them.
Why SACCOs Are Talking About Youth, But Not To Them”
