Namibia this week hosts the inaugural Alliance for Financial Inclusion (AFI) Global Policy Forum. James Chapman, managing director of Bank Windhoek, has marked the moment with an essay celebrating his bank’s role in expanding access: rural branches, cellphone banking, local-language ATMs, digital apps, and fee-free accounts.
These steps are commendable. But Namibia cannot afford to confuse corporate milestones with national transformation. Financial inclusion is not a marketing slogan; it is a matter of economic justice. And justice, if it is to mean anything, must be enforced through political will, not polished through corporate press releases.
The ghosts of exclusion
Before independence, exclusion was the financial system’s purpose. Banks clustered in white towns; Black Namibians were denied access to credit or savings facilities. The vast majority survived on informal savings clubs, livestock, and remittances from contract labour.
Three and a half decades later, this legacy still haunts us. When Chapman points to rural branches in Eenhana or no-fee accounts launched in 2012, we must remember: these are not corporate gifts. They are long-delayed acts of restitution. Yet if poverty indicators remain stubbornly high, these “innovations” have not done nearly enough to dismantle structural inequality.
Inclusion or formalised poverty?
Chapman stresses inclusion must have impact. Yet too many Namibians are being “included” in systems that drain more than they deliver. EasySave accounts open doors but often lie dormant. EasyWallet transfers move money quickly but do not create wealth. Mobile apps are sleek, but rural areas still lack reliable connectivity.
The state’s Financial Sector Transformation Strategy (2025–2035) promises 95% national inclusion and 75% rural inclusion by 2035. But Namibians have seen such promises before. Targets are our favourite political pastime: announced with fanfare, forgotten at implementation. Without cheaper credit, fairer fees, and real financial education, the new strategy risks becoming another empty policy file.
Lessons from elsewhere
Kenya’s M-Pesa taught the world that a phone can be a bank. But it also taught us how quickly predatory lenders rush in, trapping millions in cycles of debt. South Africa’s “Mzansi accounts” showed that inclusion on paper means nothing if accounts go dormant because they do not match the realities of low-income lives.
Rwanda’s model points to another path. There, inclusion is part of a bigger national project: farmers join cooperatives, gain access to affordable credit, and lift productivity. Finance is embedded in agriculture, education, and infrastructure. Namibia must take note: apps and ATMs are not enough; inclusion must serve national development, not just corporate profits.
The politics of banking
Chapman casts Bank Windhoek as “homegrown and responsive.” Local ownership does matter in a market where South African banks still dominate. But let’s not romanticise. Banks answer to shareholders. Their business is profit, not poverty alleviation.
That is why the government’s role is so critical. Yet here lies Namibia’s greatest failure. The Bank of Namibia and Namfisa issue glossy strategies but rarely enforce tough rules. Microlenders continue to operate almost unchecked, charging rates that border on loan-sharking. The much-heralded Namibian Instant Payment Project remains delayed, leaving low-income Namibians stuck with expensive, outdated payment channels.
Worse, rural connectivity, a prerequisite for digital inclusion, lags far behind. How can financial apps empower rural youth when the government cannot even guarantee consistent network coverage in regions like Kavango and Zambezi? The Ministry of Finance, meanwhile, speaks of transformation while remaining too cosy with financial elites to act decisively on behalf of the poor.
A call for political will
Financial inclusion is not a technical issue. It is political. It demands courage to regulate banks, rein in predatory lenders, and invest in rural infrastructure. It requires Parliament to legislate on fee caps and consumer protection. It requires ministries to stop hiding behind strategy documents and start delivering tangible outcomes.
True inclusion must mean that a mother in Okongo can save for her child’s school fees without being penalised by charges. That a vendor in Katutura can borrow without being trapped in a debt spiral. That young entrepreneurs in Rundu can process payments without depending on relatives in Windhoek.
This is not charity, it is justice. It is the unfinished business of independence.
Bank Windhoek deserves recognition for pioneering services like cellphone banking in 2006 and local-language ATMs in 2017. But these are steps, not solutions.
As AFI dignitaries gather in Windhoek, Namibia must ask itself hard questions. Ninety-five percent inclusion by 2035 sounds inspiring. But the measure is not the number of accounts opened. It is whether rural farmers can scale, whether women can access affordable credit, and whether young people can break free from financial marginalisation.
Financial inclusion must not be captured by banks or buried under government strategies. It must be fought with urgency, enforced with accountability, and pursued with the same determination that won us independence.
Our past excluded us. Our present cannot afford to repeat the same mistake under a digital disguise. Financial inclusion must mean empowerment, or it will mean nothing at all.
