In the rush to harness Africa’s sun and wind, are we powering progress – or dispossessing the very people who live closest to the land?
By Ethical Business | Special Feature
Beneath the sun-scorched plains of northern Kenya, towering wind turbines spin steadily against a backdrop of open sky. They shimmer like sentinels of progress – symbols of a continent striving to leapfrog into a clean energy future. Yet, beneath the hum of these turbines and the solar fields blanketing once-pastoral lands, there is a quieter, more complex story unfolding – one about land, livelihoods, and the people living in the shadows of this green revolution.
Across East Africa, governments and investors are racing to expand renewable energy infrastructure, chasing decarbonisation targets and development dreams alike. Kenya, in particular, has become a clean energy leader, with wind and geothermal now making up more than 80% of its electricity generation mix. But as the country proudly powers ahead with its Vision 2030 development agenda, the question lingers: who truly benefits from this energy transition?
A necessary shift
The conversation about climate change is central to the African continent. It is well documented that Africa has not contributed as much to global CO2 emissions as other continents, and by no means as much as Europe. According to the UN’s environmental programme, UNEP, Africa has only contributed to around two to three percent of the global CO2 emissions.
In spite of this, global warming impacts countries in Africa disproportionately. This has been documented in reports prepared by a range of different organizations, like the UN, World Meteorological Organization, and the World Bank. Specifically, global warming and a rise in temperature are resulting in threats to health and safety, lack of access to water and food, and challenges for economic development in Africa.
This is one part of the conversation. On the other side, there is also a real opportunity that Africa can become central to the green transition. There are several reasons for this.
First and foremost, Africa is a significant source of minerals essential to green technologies, such as cobalt, nickel, copper, and lithium – all needed for electric vehicles, solar panels, and wind turbines.
“So you have a real opportunity that Africa can contribute to addressing the question of climate change through extraction,” says Joseph Kibugu from the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre (BHRRC).
But beyond extraction, there is a pressing need for energy access in Africa. According to a new report by the Mo Ibrahim Foundation, 44.3% of the population in Africa has no access to electricity – over 600 million people. Renewable energy sources, including solar, wind, and geothermal, offer a viable solution.
“Kenya can offer important lessons to the rest of Africa in terms of the transition to renewable energy,” Kibugu explains. However, this transition has also brought severe challenges, particularly around land rights and community displacement.
A mirage in the desert: Energy rich, power poor
The Lake Turkana Wind Power Project (LTWP), Africa’s largest wind farm, stands as a beacon of renewable ambition. It spans 150,000 acres of Marsabit County – a historically neglected, arid region populated by the Samburu, Turkana, Rendille, and El Molo communities. To developers and financiers, this was a remote, underutilised area perfect for large-scale energy production. But to local communities, it was home.
Despite its EUR 678 million (approx. Ksh. 99 billion) price tag and 365 turbines spinning round the clock, many residents remain unconnected to the power grid. Some continue to burn firewood and candles for basic needs. For them, the promise of clean energy has not lit their homes – only raised the stakes in the age-old struggle for land, identity, and inclusion.
The land beneath the panels
Large-scale renewable energy projects are land-hungry. They require vast tracts of open terrain, often found in rural or agriculturally-zoned areas – places where ownership is rarely straightforward. Communal tenure systems, informal claims, and ancestral lands complicate land deals, making legal clarity both elusive and expensive.
“Violations of land rights impact a number of other rights, like housing, access to water and food, and generally impact communities’ livelihoods,” Kibugu says.
In the case of LTWP, land was leased with little prior consultation. Communities were relocated, grazing routes were disrupted, and compensation processes became flashpoints of tension. In Kipeto, by contrast, the wind farm project engaged communities early, offering fair compensation and investing in social infrastructure. The result? Wider acceptance and fewer disruptions. Yet even here, some locals expressed dissatisfaction over long-term benefits and transparency in payment.
Power without justice
The irony runs deep. These projects are framed as engines of empowerment. They are supposed to generate not only electricity but jobs, local industry, and sustainable growth. Yet in many instances, they seem to bypass the very communities they are meant to uplift.
In the Olkaria geothermal development near Hell’s Gate, over 1,200 Maasai were forcibly resettled to make way for power stations. Human rights defenders were harassed or jailed. In Marsabit, the arrival of foreign-backed wind farms triggered social fractures — including rising substance abuse, prostitution, and inter-ethnic tensions.
“If delays, due to protests as a response to violations of human rights become the pattern with renewable energy projects, one could get a situation where investors become skeptical — in this way, violations of human rights will end up delaying a green transition,” Kibugu warns.
A just transition is still possible
To be clear, Africa must transition to renewable energy. The continent stands to gain enormously – cleaner air, less reliance on fossil fuels, and a pathway to climate resilience. But this transition must be just.
“If not, we will have a scenario where companies’ failure to respect human rights will end up delaying the green transition,” says Kibugu.
Kenya’s Renewable Energy Independent Power Producer Procurement Programme (REIPPPP) attempts to embed equity into energy development, mandating that 30% of project bids be scored on social and economic development metrics. But promises need policing. Long-term accountability, transparency, and participatory governance must follow.
New models for land and energy
Kenya, and East Africa more broadly, need smarter land governance frameworks. Zoning laws, land use consents, and environmental impact assessments must align with both sustainability goals and community protection.
“A situation where all parties benefit from the green transition is possible, we have no doubt about this. But it demands dialogue. It demands co-ownership agreements. It demands the buy-in of the communities, so that communities do not feel left out, but part and parcel of the conversation,” Kibugu emphasises.
The bottom line
Kenya’s renewable energy ambitions are inspiring – and essential. But ambition must not become amnesia. The land beneath every turbine has a history. The people displaced or disillusioned are not collateral damage; they are stakeholders.
The future of African energy must be clean. But it must also be fair. Because true power does not come from the wind or the sun – it comes from people.
