By Adonis ByemelwaOn August 28th, I finally embarked on a long-overdue journey back to my home village, Kashasha in Kitobo, Missenyi District, Kagera Region. It had been five years since I last walked the familiar paths where I spent my childhood—studied at the local schools, was baptized, and participated in countless traditional rites.
Coming home felt like a warm embrace. The rolling green hills, the laughter of familiar neighbors, and the air scented with village life—everything stirred nostalgia.
But behind that heart-warming return lay a struggle that has become all too common for rural Tanzanians: accessing electricity. Kashasha is a village of about a thousand people, many of them educated and well-informed.
Yet, for years, we lived in darkness, relying on paraffin lamps and the traditional kibatari. In 2014, through the Rural Energy Agency (REA), electricity finally reached the village.
At the time, under the late President John Pombe Magufuli, households were connected for as little as Sh27,000. My retired primary school teacher, Godfrey Mutasa, recalled that moment as a turning point.
Today, however, less than a quarter of households in Kashasha can afford or successfully access electricity. The reason? Bureaucracy, corruption, and a service that seems designed to frustrate rather than empower.
When I tried to connect my house, I was told the process would take three months—even after making a full payment through a control number. My transaction (991036083275, made on September 13, 2025) was acknowledged, yet nothing moved.
Tanesco staff promised action “soon,” but in practice, “soon” meant waiting endlessly. My neighbors had similar stories, some forced to “top up” unofficially just to speed things up. In the end, I had no choice but to rent a generator at the exorbitant village fuel price of Sh3,500 per liter.
The irony is sharp. Across Africa, many countries have streamlined their electricity services. In Rwanda, for instance, once a household pays the official fee, connections are made within days. In Ghana and Kenya, prepaid meters and decentralized service systems allow households to access electricity quickly and reliably. Why then must Tanzanians—especially in rural areas—wait 90 days after payment, as though electricity were a privilege rather than a right?
During Magufuli’s time, electrification felt swift and responsive, almost instantaneous. Today, it has morphed into a bureaucratic maze. The official word from Tanesco’s call center is that “90 days is the standard.”
But what justification can there be for taking three months after collecting people’s money? Imagine a farmer needing electricity to power a mill, or a shopkeeper trying to refrigerate produce. Ninety days is not just a delay; it is an obstacle to livelihood.
The government rightly boasts of major projects underway. Kagera is finally being linked to the national grid through a 220 kV transmission line from Benako to Kyaka, and the 87 MW Kakono Hydropower Project is expected to strengthen supply.
These are commendable developments that will reduce reliance on Uganda’s electricity imports. Deputy Prime Minister Doto Biteko has assured us of reliable power in the near future, urging Tanesco to deliver measurable results.
Yet, these grand projects lose their meaning if the ordinary villager in Kashasha cannot light a bulb without waiting for 90 days. Development is not only about megawatts and transmission lines; it is about the speed and fairness with which services reach the people.
If Tanzania is serious about rural transformation, Tanesco must reform. It must embrace efficiency, transparency, and competition. If other African countries can guarantee quick service after payment, so can we.
Electricity should not be a luxury that demands “blood and water,” as many residents put it. It should be a reliable, timely service that enables people to build, create, and thrive.
As I left my village, I could not shake off the thought that the true cost of electrification in Kashasha was not Sh820,000, or the price of petrol for a generator—it was the lost time, the dashed hopes, and the unnecessary hardship of waiting. For now, light in Kashasha remains a luxury, but it should not be so.