It’s a cold night, gusts of cold wind, and rainfall is on the precipice. My father, my brother and I walk together having just eaten an early dinner and had coffee together. Although we’re standing outside, the cold hurting our knees is easy to brave, being that grabbing a taxi is as simple as pressing a few buttons on my phone. I look to my left and a disabled woman, suffering more than we in the cold, asks of us some change to spare. I touch my purse despite knowing that not even a single coin or note resides in my purse, all of it digitalised on my phone. I look to my brother, slightly tilting my head towards her, and he touches his pockets in vain. My father looks to us, wondering what it is we search for, and he proceeds to tap his suit pocket, once again in vain. Between the three of us, we possessed enough money to help the woman but not a single one of us possesses any cash to help her. The guilt is horrific, and I berate myself for not having had cash to help her. She doesn’t have a phone with her, and even if she did, our taxi would have arrived before the transaction would have been completed.
The next day was a Friday, an important day for Muslims to worship God and help others. I went to the ATM and withdrew some cash, not wanting to be caught off guard like I was the previous night. By then, I had already turned and tossed at the realisation of what being a cashless society means. I thought of the pattern that was emerging; more and more services, kiosks, and restaurants relied on mobile and card payments, negating the need for carrying around cash.
But why make a fuss about something so trivial? Such encounters are not limited to a single person, with many people feeling as horribly guilty as we did when they aren’t carrying cash to help others. its worthy of ‘fuss’ because trends like these reflect something in our society, almost always creating a tell sign of where we’re headed to as a society, and what will change moving forward. It allows us to gauge what we value and what or who we consider irrelevant in the grand scheme of ‘development.’
This essay aims to focus on what going cashless means for countries like Kenya and Somalia but is not an analysis on the economic impacts of going cashless. The focus here is more people-centric, and culture centric. The main questions are what it this mean for countries like Somalia and Kenya? How does it clash with our cultural values? How will it impact our culture? And who will it hurt?
A brief background
Sweden, a Nordic country in Europe holds first place in two categories; it was the first country to introduce banknotes in Europe in 1661, and it also became the first country to go cashless in the year 2023. A cashless society has been underway for several years now, with many countries all over the world adopting it for it transparency and convenience. Despite being one of the first countries to go cashless, its own central bank has warned against it, arguing that its a safety risk and leaves billions vulnerable during crisis
Further move into the 21st century has brought about globalisation which in turn evolved the financial landscape. There has been a clear and ongoing trend towards the increased use of digital payments and a corresponding decrease in the use of physical cash. This shift was and still is primarily driven by rapid technological advancements, and in particular the widespread adoption of smartphones, which have become integral to daily life. The growing availability of secure and efficient digital payment platforms has played a big role in accelerating this change. These platforms are praised, revered, and utilised for their ability to offer convenience, speed, and security, making digital transactions more appealing and accessible to a broader audience. As a result, the transition from traditional cash-based systems to digital payment methods continues to gain momentum, shaping the way we conduct financial transactions globally.
This brings us to the current talks about ‘Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs). All changes come gradually and the shift from physical cash to digital payments has brought us to this. The simplest way to explain the difference between physical cash and digital currency is this; the former is at your mercy and latter has you at its mercy. Cash allows you so much freedom and privacy. It also allows you to contribute to your community by giving to the poor and disadvantaged. The poor and vulnerable constitute a class that don’t have access to banking services, which simply means that if they weren’t already excluded currently, they would even be further excluded if digital currencies were to become our new norm. According to the World Bank Group, which is ironically a neo-colonial structure that exists to extract wealth from the global south posits that around half of the adults of the world, which is around 2.5 billion people dont use formal financial services. 75% of the poor are unbanked because of the multitude of constraints that prevent them from opening a bank and engaging in digital payments.
Clearly, going cashless posses economical and privacy threats. But what does it mean
What does this mean for ‘globally south’ countries?
Countries like Sweden, who’re at the forefront of technological prowess and are considered global leaders in economic senses usually set the standard for the rest of the world. But certain difference, when put into place, forces one into the realisation that certain aspects of their ways does not fit in our with our ways, the African way.
There are two main differences between Somalia, Kenya and Sweden: a cultural difference and a class difference.
These difference, which manifests itself in the form of class puts Somalia and Sweden in two vastly different categories. A history of colonisation, corruption and foreign interference has left a country like Somalia destabilised and struggling to compete in the global economy. Sweden on the other hand, was itself a coloniser. One that established its dominance over other countries long before those countries were allowed to establish their own. Given these historical differences, it’s important to consider the present countries that have been shaped by these differences.
The difference in the rates between social issues such as homelessness and crime in Sweden and Somalia is stark and also worthy of discussion. Sweden has a relatively low rate of homelessness and crime due to its stable government, strong social welfare system, and economic stability. In contrast, Somalia faces a severe homelessness issue and high crime rate due to ongoing conflict, poverty, and a fragile state.
These differences allude to one conclusion; that the impacts of going cashless will be different. A country like Sweden will be impacted less when one considers the fact that more people can afford to go digital and transition to cashless. This is because Sweden has a relatively high level of economic development and financial inclusion. Most people have access to banking services and digital payment infrastructure, which makes it easier for them to adapt to a cashless society. The transition can be smoother and more efficient, with minimal disruptions to daily life and commerce.
The same cannot be said for Somalia’s side. In Somalia, many people lack access to basic banking services and reliable digital infrastructure. A significant portion of the population is unbanked or underbanked, meaning they do not have accounts or access to financial services through traditional banks. This makes it difficult for them to participate in a cashless economy. The lack of digital infrastructure, such as reliable internet and secure payment systems, further complicates the transition. As a result, the impact of going cashless in Somalia would likely be more pronounced and challenging, potentially exacerbating existing economic disparities and creating additional barriers for those who are already marginalised.
Culturally, if there was ever a motto for Somali people; the punchline would be our collective hospitality. In the heart of Somalia, a culture thrives where the collective spirit is as essential as the air one breathes. Your neighbour isn’t just a neighbour, they’re an integral part of your daily routine. The bonds of family and community are not just words but the very fabric of daily life. Every interaction, every transaction, is a thread in the intricate tapestry of relationships that define Somali and Kenyan society. Imagine a bustling market in the early morning light. Stalls are filled with vibrant fabrics, fresh produce, and the aroma of spices. Vendors and customers greet each other with warm smiles and familiar banter. When a purchase is made, it’s not just a transaction; it’s a moment of connection. Cash changes hands, but what truly matters is the exchange of respect and camaraderie. This simple act of buying and selling isn’t just a matter of trade, its also a bonding experience that has strengthened communities. How many of know our mama mbogas by name? or the small kiosk for buying kiberiti when you run out?
In our collectivist culture, every individual is a part of a larger whole. The whole community knows one another, and although those bonds are fading, it’s not completely gone. Before colonilisation, when our communities were thriving and not surviving, decisions are made collectively, with the well-being of the group always at the forefront. Resources are shared, and the success of one is seen as the success of all. It’s a culture where the strength of the community is as important as the strength of the individual. In this world, every interaction is a reminder of interconnectedness. When a neighbour needs help, it’s not a question of obligation but a natural extension of the communal spirit. When a family celebrates, the joy is shared by the entire community. And when a family mourns, the community gathers to offer comfort and support. That is the true face of african culture, respect, shared responsibility and a strong duty to one another. There’s a collective heartbeat that’s shared in the african community. It is the rhythm of life, and every act, no matter how small, is a testament to the power of community. This is the culture that we inherited, the one that’s at risk if you dont carry cash to help those in need.
This sort of culture, requires you to have a some cash so that when you pass by Mama Mboga or the hawker, you can buy a little something from then, to ease their burden and support their business. The individual is secondary to the community. Now a culture like that, where helping is as easy as breathing, what happens when it is disrupted? When the simplicity of digging into your pocket to help another is complicated by taking out your phone, entering your password, opening a mobile payment app and then possibly finding out that the person you’re helping doesn’t have a smart phone or even a phone at all?
In a world where we transition to a cashless society, the real act of resistance is always ensuring that you have some cash on you. Whether it is for buying a mango on your way to work, or assisting those that are in dire need of help. Kumbuka, mtu ni watu.
References
Fourtané, S. (2023, June 19). Sweden: How to Live in the World’s First Cashless Society. Interesting Engineering. https://interestingengineering.com/innovation/sweden-how-to-live-in-the-worlds-first-cashless-society
Cash: resilient or redundant? (2022, November 17). Deutsche Bank. https://flow.db.com/cash-management/cash-resilient-or-redundant
Dinescu, V. M., Olomolehin, A., Pun, Y., & Samvelian, L. (2024, September 16). Navigating the Transition: Impacts, challenges and future prospects of a cashless Society | OXJournal. https://www.oxjournal.org/navigating-the-transition-to-a-cashless-society/