A businessman’s three-year nightmare with Kenya Commercial Bank has raised serious questions about how the lender treats its customers, especially small business owners who fall on hard times.
The story of Powel Ochieng Oyugi, which surfaced online this week, paints a troubling picture of a bank that seemingly turned its back on a man who was not just a customer, but also a tenant. Powel ran a stitching workshop from premises owned by KCB itself, making the relationship particularly close. When his business hit trouble, he expected understanding. Instead, he got auctioneers.
The problems began in 2023 when Powel, who employed about 30 people, placed an order for fabric worth nearly 6 million shillings from a supplier in India. He paid a deposit and later sent the balance through KCB, using PesaLink and RTGS transfers. The money never reached the supplier. What followed was a bureaucratic maze that Powel says destroyed everything he had built.
He spent two months visiting the bank almost daily, according to his account, trying to find out where his money had gone. The funds were said to be held by an intermediary bank in the United States.
A demand letter from his lawyer did not resolve the matter. Meanwhile, his working capital was stuck, and his monthly loan repayment of 550,000 shillings fell into arrears.
The bank eventually recovered 1.9 million shillings and used it to clear the loan arrears, leaving a small balance. The supplier only received 900,000 shillings, not enough to complete the purchase.
Powel’s business collapsed. His workers lost their jobs. His family faced severe hardship, with his children reportedly pulled out of school.
Then came the auctioneers. Powel was a tenant of KCB, renting two units at 55,000 shillings each per month, payable quarterly in advance. When he could not keep up with rent after his business crumbled, the bank moved in. His stitching machines, valued at 950,000 shillings, branding machines worth 200,000 shillings, and office tables were all taken. Assets worth about 1.2 million shillings were carted away.
The auctioneer then valued the entire lot at just 200,000 shillings.
The math is hard to ignore. A bank that housed a client, knew his struggles, and then auctioned his tools of trade at a fraction of their worth sends a clear message to every small business owner in the country. When you stumble, you may lose everything.
This is not an isolated case either. In a separate court battle, KCB was found negligent after failing to act quickly enough to freeze funds from a mistaken mobile money transfer of just 2,050 shillings.
The High Court upheld a ruling that the bank had a duty to preserve disputed funds once notified, but its internal delays allowed the money to be withdrawn. The court was blunt: the bank failed to show what steps it took between receiving the complaint and the withdrawal.
There are also ongoing questions about how KCB handles loan interest rate changes without proper notification to customers. One borrower reported his rate jumping from 13% to 17% without consent or prior notice. Six months after writing to the bank, he had received no substantive response.
For Powel, the fight continues in court, with the next hearing set for December. His case has sparked an outpouring of support from Kenyans online. A local organisation, Sifa Crafts, donated 50,000 shillings to help him start over. Strangers have rallied around a man who once gave dozens of people a livelihood.
But charity cannot replace accountability. The bigger question remains unanswered. If a bank can treat a tenant and customer this way, what message does it send to every small business that walks through its doors?
KCB has not publicly responded to Powel’s claims. Until it does, the story stands as a warning about what happens when institutions with power forget the people behind the accounts.
