In the vibrant and bustling landscapes of Nairobi, Kenya, a pressing issue has gripped the agricultural community, sparking intense discussions and a firm stance from key stakeholders. The spotlight, as it turns out, is on the intricacies of the miraa trade—a sector where a simple leaf has woven itself deeply into the economic fabric of the nation.

Speaking recently in Meru County, a region known for its lush, rolling hills and rich agricultural heritage, Kenya’s Agriculture and Livestock Development Minister, Mutahi Kagwe, has sounded the alarm against what he terms as ‘exploitative practices’ in the miraa industry. The minister’s call to action was clear, resonating with both the immediate audience and a broader listener base.

“It’s truly disheartening,” Kagwe began with palpable frustration. “Our miraa farmers, who often work from dawn till dusk, are the lifeline of this sector. Yet, it is these very individuals who fall prey to unscrupulous middlemen—those who purchase the fruit of their labor at meager rates, only to resell them across borders, particularly in Somalia, at exorbitant prices.” Kagwe illustrates a stark price differential that has left many scratching their heads: buying miraa at as little as 200 Kenyan shillings (or approximately $1.50) per kilogram and reselling it in Somali markets for up to 7,000 shillings ($52) per kilogram.

Have you ever stopped to consider what such disparities mean for the average miraa farmer? The story of James, a seasoned farmer from Meru, serves as a poignant reminder. With weathered hands, a testament to decades of toil, he shares that his daily earnings rarely meet his family’s basic needs. “Why should we be shackled to poverty when others get rich off of our sweat?” James asks, reflecting the frustration echoed by many.

In response to these grievances, the Ministry of Agriculture has taken decisive action. To safeguard the interests of these invaluable rural contributors, revised farmgate prices have been announced. The objective is straightforward: protect miraa farmers from those who prey on disparities. Now, Grade 1 miraa fetches 1,300 shillings per kilogram, a significant leap from 700 shillings. Similarly, Grade 2 miraa price has been revised to 700 shillings, and the Alele variety now stands at 1,000 shillings, a clear acknowledgment of their fair worth.

Yet, introduction of new pricing is only a chapter in a complex narrative. Despite the newly-set rates, stories emerging from Meru’s Igembe region suggest that traders persist in old habits. The reluctance to adapt has led many farmers to a state of limbo. Harvested miraa often lies unsold, at risk of spoilage—a painful sight for communities entirely reliant on strawberry-like leaves.

Kagwe minced no words when addressing non-compliance. “If you’re unwilling to abide by these prices,” he cautioned, “you’ll find yourself delisted from authorized trade networks. Perhaps, consider trading in other crops. Maize, for instance.” His assertive rhetoric underscores a commitment to systemic reform, ensuring that no farmer is left behind.

Miraa, or khat as it is known beyond Kenya’s borders, is more than just a crop. For many, it is a symbol of resilience and a significant economic contributor, drawing over 13 billion shillings (about $100 million) annually into Kenya’s GDP. This small leaf finds its way to markets as far as the Middle East—with Somalia leading, followed by Israel and the Democratic Republic of Congo.