By Salwa Mahmoud
Lamu has faced its share of security challenges over the past decade. The county, known for its rich history, culture, and pristine coastline, was thrust into the national spotlight after a series of terror attacks linked to Al-Shabaab militants operating from the Boni Forest. These attacks targeted villages, security officers, and travelers, leaving behind fear, loss of life, and an economy that struggled to recover. The memory of these events is still fresh in the minds of many residents.
In response, the government intensified its security operations in the region. One of the most visible measures was the introduction of multiple checkpoints along the roads leading in and out of Lamu. These checkpoints were meant to serve as a first line of defense — ensuring that terrorists could not move freely, that drugs were intercepted, and that undocumented individuals without proof of Kenyan citizenship could not slip through unnoticed. For the community, they provided reassurance in a time of fear. Travelers felt safer knowing that there was vigilance on the roads, and many agreed that these measures were necessary to protect lives.
But over time, the noble intention behind these checkpoints has been overshadowed by a new and troubling reality. Instead of serving purely as a security tool, they have been turned into money-making ventures. Drivers passing through are now expected to pay between 50 and 100 shillings at each stop. And these stops are not few. A single journey can involve three, four, or even five checkpoints, each one taking a bite out of the earnings of already struggling transport operators. What was meant to symbolize protection has quietly transformed into an informal taxation system that ordinary citizens are forced to shoulder.
Drivers are the most affected. They already pay high fuel costs, taxes, and spend on vehicle maintenance. Transport is their livelihood, yet a significant portion of their income is lost to these “tolls.” One driver explained how refusing to pay is not an option. “If you don’t give them the 50 shillings,” he said, “they will look for any mistake in your car or with your license, just to disturb you. It is easier to pay and move on than to argue with them.” For drivers, paying has become less about choice and more about survival.
This practice has created deep frustration. Citizens already contribute taxes that fund the salaries of the officers manning these posts. Security is supposed to be a public service, not a private business. Yet what is happening on the roads of Lamu feels like double taxation — first to the government, then again to the officers in uniform. For travelers, the checkpoints no longer represent safety, but harassment and exploitation.
And while these checkpoints undeniably play a role in preventing crime and protecting the region, they remain a burden in ways other counties do not experience. Why must Lamu carry this weight more heavily than others? For locals, it feels unjust. For visitors, it creates an even bigger problem. Tourists see the numerous roadblocks and immediately assume that Lamu is unsafe. Instead of being welcomed into a historic UNESCO World Heritage Site, they are left with the impression that the county is a danger zone, constantly under siege. This damages Lamu’s image, discourages tourism, and hurts one of the county’s most vital economic lifelines.
Nobody questions the importance of security. These checkpoints were born out of necessity and they are still important today. But when their original purpose is undermined by extortion and when they paint Lamu in a negative light, they fail the very people they were designed to protect. Security measures should build trust and reassurance, not fear and resentment.
It is time for reform. Security officers must be held accountable. Oversight authorities must ensure that the checkpoints remain what they were meant to be, symbols of protection, not avenues of profit. The people of Lamu deserve to travel without fear of harassment or illegal payments. Tourists deserve to visit without being greeted by an image of insecurity. And officers deserve to wear their uniforms with dignity, serving the community rather than exploiting it.
Until then, the checkpoints will continue to stand not as beacons of safety, but as reminders of how a noble idea can be twisted into a daily burden for citizens and a shadow over Lamu’s reputation.
