Kenya says agriculture is its first priority. The budget says otherwise.

Start with the headline that frames every debate about Kenyan agriculture: on its own vote, the sector receives KSh 44.1 billion in FY 2025/26 — roughly 2.2% of the national budget. Examined on that basis alone, agriculture ranks 15th of 16 thematic areas, below Sports & Tourism and below Social Protection. Of the five BETA core pillars the government has declared its central economic agenda, only Health and Housing rank in the top half of allocations; agriculture, MSMEs/Manufacturing and Digital/ICT all sit in the bottom third. By the headline number, the government's first-named priority is one of its smallest line items.

But agriculture transformation under MTP IV is not funded through one vote — it is funded across at least four State Departments. The irrigation schemes, water-harvesting programmes, county aggregation and agro-industrial parks, food-processing hubs and catchment-restoration envelopes that actually deliver the agriculture agenda sit in the Infrastructure, Water, Trade/Industry and Environment votes, not the agriculture vote. When every agriculture-relevant shilling is counted, the footprint rises from KSh 44.1 billion to roughly KSh 270.8 billion — which would rank 3rd of 16 thematic areas, behind only Education and National Security. The restated footprint is about 13.4% of the FY 2025/26 national budget, multiplying the apparent commitment by 6.1x. The chart shows the agriculture bar split into its core vote (dark) and the cross-sector envelope (light), against every other thematic area.

Two things follow, and both matter. First, the operational scale of agriculture is far larger than the 2% headline implies — the sector is genuinely a top-three claim on public resources once you follow the money across votes. Second, a caveat that must travel with the number: part of the cross-sector envelope (water harvesting, rangeland mapping, Mau restoration) is also counted inside the Environment/Water thematic line, so the bars are not strictly additive and 13.4% is an upper-bound attribution rather than a clean, non-overlapping share. The exact figure depends on how much of the irrigation, water and environment spend you assign to agriculture. The deeper finding is institutional: agriculture's real budget is not small, it is fragmented — spread across at least four State Departments with different reporting standards, delivery records and accountability lines. Every story that follows in this chapter is, in effect, an examination of what that fragmentation does to delivery.

Kenya's Fourth Medium Term Plan names agriculture as the first pillar of the Bottom-Up Economic Transformation Agenda, and BETA's headline objective is to eradicate hunger. Yet the budget tells a different story to the plan. Across the five fiscal years from 2021/22 to 2025/26 the national budget grew 82%, from KSh 1.11 trillion to KSh 2.03 trillion, but the agriculture and food-security vote rose only 9% — from KSh 40.6 billion to KSh 44.1 billion — and actually fell in the most recent year.

In relative terms the erosion is sharper than the flat line suggests. Agriculture's share of the national budget has slid from roughly 3.6% in FY 2021/22 to about 2.2% in FY 2025/26: less than one-tenth of what education receives and roughly one-tenth of national security. Over the same window education rose 225%, housing and urban development 452%, and manufacturing 148%, while agriculture, transport and ICT were held flat or cut. The chart sets the agriculture vote against the other major thematic areas so the divergence is visible directly rather than as a ratio.

This matters because Kenya has committed under the African Union's Maputo and Malabo Declarations to allocate at least 10% of public spending to agriculture. At about 2% the country is not approaching that benchmark — it is moving away from it, even as climate volatility raises the cost of every missed harvest. Toggle to the table for the exact year-by-year figures, or the line view to see each sector's trajectory.

Isolating the agriculture and food-security allocation across the five fiscal years exposes a pattern that the cross-sector comparison only hints at: the line is essentially flat in nominal terms and declining in real terms. The vote moved KSh 40.6B → KSh 39.2B → KSh 47.3B → KSh 47.5B → KSh 44.1B. The brief FY 2023/24 bump coincided with the scale-up of the fertilizer subsidy; the subsequent FY 2025/26 decline came even as the plan's rhetoric around value chains intensified.

Set against a national budget climbing past KSh 2 trillion, a static agriculture line means the sector is being asked to deliver an expanding value-chain agenda — 14 named priority chains, a livestock commercialisation push, irrigation completion, and climate-smart transformation — out of a shrinking relative envelope. When Kenyan inflation over the period is applied, the FY 2025/26 allocation is worth materially less in real purchasing power than the FY 2021/22 figure, so the flat nominal line is in fact a real-terms contraction.

The strategic reading is that stated priority and fiscal priority have decoupled. A plan can declare agriculture its first pillar, but a budget reveals what a government will actually pay for, and here the payment has not followed the promise. For anyone allocating catalytic or philanthropic capital, this gap is itself the opportunity: the areas the plan names but the budget does not fund are precisely where external resources move the needle furthest. Use the table view to read the exact allocations, or the line view to see the nominal-vs-real divergence.

MTP IV's central innovation is the value-chain approach: instead of funding ministries, the plan names specific commodity chains and promises to move each from production through value addition to market access. Sixteen value chains are named, fourteen of them agriculture-relevant, split into BETA-priority and other-priority tiers. The promise is concrete; the funding is not.

When each chain is traced to a budget line, only seven have identifiable explicit funding: Edible Oils, Blue Economy, Potatoes, Maize, Rice, Cotton/Textile, and Tea (and Tea only partially, through an R&D plant). The remaining seven are funded weakly or not at all. Leather — a BETA top-priority chain with a stated KSh 120 billion income target — has no identifiable programme line after the Bachuma export-zone contract was terminated. Apiculture and Pyrethrum have no dedicated programme line at all. Coffee and Beef have named programmes with undisclosed budgets. Dairy, despite a ~1,100-cooler target, is folded into the generic KeLCoP livestock envelope rather than funded as a chain.

The pattern reveals that the value-chain architecture is real on paper but only half-built in the budget. The chains that did get money tend to be those with an existing donor-backed project vehicle behind them; the chains left unfunded are mostly those that would need new institutional plumbing. This is the single clearest map of where the plan's ambition outruns its financing — and, for an external funder, the most direct list of high-leverage entry points. The table view lists every chain, its tier, and its funding status.

Of all the shifts visible in the budget, the climate-adaptation retreat is the most consequential for a country whose agriculture is overwhelmingly rain-fed. In FY 2021/22 the agriculture vote carried five distinct climate-resilience lines — the Kenya Climate Smart Agriculture Project, a Climate-Smart Agricultural Productivity programme, a Drought Resilience Programme, a Resilience in Food Production initiative, and Fall Army Worm mitigation — together totalling about KSh 10.4 billion.

By FY 2025/26 every one of those five lines has been discontinued and replaced by a single Food Systems Resilience Project funded at roughly KSh 5.8 billion. That is a 44% cut to the dedicated climate-adaptation envelope, executed precisely as Kenya's exposure to drought and erratic rainfall is intensifying. Two adjacent resilience lines reinforce the pattern: the Livestock Value Chain Support Project fell 87% in two years, and the National Drought Emergency Fund fell 67%. Climate money is not being redeployed within agriculture — it is leaving the sector.

The strategic significance is hard to overstate. Rain-fed smallholder agriculture is the part of the economy most directly exposed to the climate, and every contraction in the national accounts over the past decade aligns with a drought year. Cutting adaptation funding at this moment raises the expected severity of the next shock and the fiscal cost of the emergency response that follows it. This is the brief's flagged number-one philanthropic entry point: bridging a retreat the government itself has signalled it will not reverse from domestic resources. Switch to the table for the programme-level detail behind the totals.

Rhetoric aside, the clearest statement of revealed priority is the ranked list of where money actually flows. Over the three-year window the largest single agriculture programme is the National Agricultural Value Chain Development Project (NAVCDP) at about KSh 25.0 billion, followed by the Fertilizer Subsidy at KSh 22.5 billion. Together these two absorb a commanding share of the entire vote. The next tier — Kenya Marine Fisheries, Aquaculture Business Development, De-Risking Pastoral Economies — sits an order of magnitude below.

What the ranking reveals is a budget concentrated on three de facto pillars: input subsidy, a generic value-chain vehicle, and pastoral resilience. Of these, only the fertilizer subsidy has clear, measurable, audited delivery to match its allocation — 1.06 million MT distributed and 1.44 million farmers reached in FY 2023/24. NAVCDP is a broad envelope rather than a chain-specific instrument, so money flows through it without the plan's value-chain logic necessarily being applied. Pastoral resilience (De-Risking Pastoral Economies plus the locust-response residual) has effectively become an unannounced third pillar that no plan document names as such.

Notice what is absent from the top ten: most of the named priority value chains, the irrigation flagships inherited from MTP III, and almost all climate adaptation. The money concentrates where there is an existing disbursement channel — a subsidy mechanism, a World-Bank-style project, a pastoral programme — rather than where the plan places its strategic emphasis. For an external funder this is the actionable insight: institutional plumbing, not strategy, is determining allocation, and that is a fixable constraint. Use the table or map views to explore the distribution; the map highlights the spatial concentration of the pastoral and fisheries programmes.

A common assumption about underfunded sectors is that they cannot absorb more money. The Agriculture, Rural and Urban Development (ARUD) sector data refutes that for Kenya. Across four fiscal years the sector consistently spent the great majority of what it was allocated: 88.9% in FY 2020/21, 86.8% in FY 2021/22, 93.8% in FY 2022/23, and 92.3% in FY 2023/24. In the most recent year that meant KSh 88.65 billion of KSh 96.09 billion was actually executed.

Absorption in the high 80s and low 90s is strong by Kenyan public-finance standards and signals a sector with functioning disbursement channels and implementing capacity. The binding constraint is therefore not the ability to spend — it is the size of the allocation in the first place. Where execution does fall short it is concentrated in specific stranded programmes (notably some irrigation flagships and the milk-cooler rollout, which delivered zero against a 220-unit target) rather than spread thinly across the sector, which points to programme-design and procurement bottlenecks in particular lines rather than a systemic inability to deploy funds.

For an investor or funder this reframes the problem. Money put into a high-absorption sector is money likely to be deployed rather than returned unspent, which lowers the execution risk of catalytic capital. It also sharpens the diagnosis: technical assistance should be targeted at the few specific programmes with weak absorption, while the broader sector needs volume, not supervision. Toggle the table for the precise allocated, spent and absorption figures by year, or the line view to see the absorption trend.

Allocation is only half the story; delivery against stated targets is the other. Pulling the verifiable indicators from the progress reports produces a sharply bimodal picture. Some targets were met or exceeded: horticultural exports hit 129% of target, marketed milk 117%, value of marketed production 104%, and honey production reached 98% in its best year. The fertilizer subsidy, the budget's headline programme, delivered concretely — over a million tonnes distributed and 1.4 million farmers reached.

Other targets were missed by wide margins, and the misses cluster in livestock and irrigation. Annual milk production has hovered around 68–71% of target for years; meat production fell to 41–62% of target; honey production as low as 47–52% in weaker years. The flagship irrigation schemes inherited from MTP III stalled — Galana Kulalu reached barely half its cropped-area target, Bura around 60% of works, the Bachuma export zone was terminated outright. Most starkly, the bulk milk-cooler rollout delivered zero units against a 220-unit annual target, a total non-delivery hiding inside an otherwise high-absorption sector.

The pattern is informative: programmes with a direct, simple delivery mechanism (distribute a subsidised input, count the farmers) hit their numbers; programmes requiring sustained multi-year construction or institutional coordination (irrigation, cooler networks, livestock genetics) under-deliver regardless of allocation. This is a design signal, not just a funding one — it tells a funder that the highest-risk gap is not money but the implementation architecture for complex, multi-year physical programmes. The table view lists each indicator with its actual, target and percentage.

Comparing the last three budgets line by line shows a deliberate reshuffling that reveals the government's true working priorities more honestly than any plan document. On the scale-up side: the Fertilizer Subsidy roughly doubled then settled at a high level (KSh 4,500M → 10,000M → 8,000M); NAVCDP grew into the flagship value-chain vehicle (KSh 8,648M → 6,106M → 10,241M); and Sugar Reforms exploded roughly thirteen-fold off-plan (KSh 150M → 1,391M → 2,000M) despite not appearing in the MTP IV priority list at all.

On the scale-down side the pattern is unmistakably anti-resilience. The Livestock Value Chain Support Project was cut 87% in two years (KSh 2,130M → 1,045M → 280M); the National Drought Emergency Fund fell 67% (KSh 500M → 183M → 166M); and the five climate-smart agriculture lines were eliminated entirely. New money, when it appeared, went into a generic value-chain envelope and an off-plan sugar intervention rather than into the named priority chains or climate adaptation.

Read together, the reshuffling exposes the real strategy: consolidate spending into a small number of politically visible, easily-counted programmes (subsidised fertilizer, a big project vehicle, a sugar-belt intervention) and quietly retire the diffuse, hard-to-attribute resilience programmes. It is a rational political-economy move and a poor climate-risk one. For a funder the implication is precise — the programmes the government is walking away from (resilience, named value chains, drought response) are exactly the ones where external capital faces the least competition and the clearest need. The table view shows each programme's three-year path and its direction of travel.

Aggregate budget numbers conceal a sharp geographic story: the same national plan delivers very differently depending on where you stand. The brief constructs an illustrative implementation index for eight representative counties, scoring each on a five-factor framework — Demand, Consumption, Production Capacity, Market Integration and Food-Security Vulnerability — to proxy how much of the MTP IV agriculture agenda actually reaches the ground in each place.

The range is wide and patterned, not random. Kiambu scores highest at about 77%: a high-purchasing-power, dairy-dense county sitting next to the Nairobi consumption market, where consolidated value chains and dense market integration let programmes land effectively. Nakuru and Uasin Gishu — the breadbasket and a commercial-farming hub — sit in the 60–70% band for the same structural reasons. At the other end, Turkana scores about 42% and Kajiado around 47%: pastoral, arid and food-insecure counties where the value-chain machinery the plan depends on barely exists, so the same national programmes translate into far less delivered outcome per shilling.

The strategic reading is uncomfortable but actionable. The plan's value-chain design is, in effect, self-selecting toward places that already have markets, infrastructure and purchasing power — which means it structurally under-serves exactly the pastoral and food-insecure counties where the climate-adaptation retreat (Story 05) also bites hardest. The two findings compound: money is being withdrawn from resilience at the national level, and what remains lands least in the places most exposed. For a funder using a place-based lens, this index is a targeting tool — the low-scoring counties are where additional capital faces the least competition and addresses the clearest structural gap. Switch to the Map view to see the spatial concentration directly, or the table for the proxy scores.

The preceding stories isolate the politically visible programmes. Annex A of the source brief does the opposite: it compiles the complete documented footprint — every named agriculture-linked priority, its planned target, its indicative budget and its lead agency, exactly as set out in the MTP IV plan and the MTEF 2024 ARUD Sector Report. Aggregated across its six sections, the annex counts roughly 105 named priority items: 63 BETA priority value-chain sub-targets (A.1), 8 other priority value chains (A.2), 16 Finance & Production cross-cutting programmes (A.3), 9 agriculture-relevant Infrastructure priorities (A.4), 3 Social-sector priorities (A.5) and 6 Environment & Natural Resources priorities (A.6).

Reading the count alongside the disclosed indicative budget per section is what makes the annex analytically useful rather than just a list. The two series diverge sharply. The BETA value chains carry the largest number of named sub-targets — 63, the centrepiece of the whole plan — yet the budget that can actually be attributed to them is comparatively thin and, for several chains (Leather, Apiculture, Pyrethrum, Coffee), is zero or undisclosed. Conversely, Infrastructure (A.4) carries only nine named priorities but the largest disclosed envelope, roughly KSh 173 billion, because irrigation, dams and water-harvesting are capital-heavy and largely sit outside the agriculture vote. Finance & Production (A.3) is the second-largest envelope at about KSh 88 billion, concentrated in a handful of cross-cutting programmes such as County Aggregation parks and the e-voucher system.

The pattern confirms the brief's central thesis from a different angle: the plan's ambition is expressed in the number of named value-chain targets, but the money is concentrated where there is capital infrastructure and an existing disbursement channel, not where the plan places its strategic value-chain emphasis. Counting priorities and weighing budgets in the same view exposes exactly where the gap between what is promised and what is financed is widest — the BETA value-chain column. Use the table view for the section-by-section figures, or the bar view to compare counts against the indicative envelopes.

This is the single chart that puts the brief's whole argument in one frame. Every preceding story isolates one symptom — a shrinking share, a collapsed climate line, an unfunded chain. This one cross-plots the two variables that matter against each other directly: how high the plan ranks each value chain (its stated priority) versus how far it has actually been funded and delivered (its implementation). If priority drove implementation, the two bars for each chain would track together. They do not.

Priority tier is scored 4 for a BETA top-priority value chain and 3 for an other-priority chain — the two tiers MTP IV itself defines. Implementation is scored on a 0–4 ladder built from the source funding-status table: 4 = funded and delivering against target, 3 = funded with a clear budget line, 2 = programme named but budget undisclosed or only partial, 1 = folded into a generic envelope with no dedicated line, 0 = no programme at all. Reading the red priority bar against the green implementation bar for each chain shows the gap chain by chain.

The divergences are stark and they cluster. Leather is a BETA top priority (4) with an implementation score of 0 — the single widest gap in the plan: a KSh 120 billion income target and zero identifiable programme after the Bachuma contract was terminated. Apiculture and Pyrethrum sit at priority 3 with implementation 0. Dairy, a flagship BETA chain, scores priority 4 but implementation 1 because it is folded into the generic KeLCoP livestock envelope rather than funded as a chain. At the other end, Rice, Cotton and Edible Oils show priority and implementation roughly aligned — these are the chains with an existing donor-backed disbursement vehicle. The pattern confirms the thesis: implementation tracks the availability of a funding channel, not the plan's stated priority. Use the table view for the per-chain scores or the bar view to see every gap at once.

Story 04 showed that only half the priority chains are funded; this chart ranks exactly how much money each one can actually be traced to, and colour-codes the quality of that funding. The ladder is steep and the drop-off is brutal. Edible Oils sits at the top with about KSh 9.01 billion of identifiable funding through the food-security and crop-diversification envelope, and Blue Economy follows at roughly KSh 4.88 billion. Beneath them the amounts collapse fast: Potatoes KSh 1.00 billion, Maize KSh 770 million, Tea KSh 709 million (and that only for an R&D plant), Rice KSh 540 million, Cotton/Textile KSh 518 million.

Then the ladder hits zero. Coffee has a named programme — Coffee Revitalisation — but its budget is not disaggregated, so nothing can be attributed. Leather, Beef, Apiculture, Indigenous Poultry and Pyrethrum have no identifiable funding at all. The colour coding makes the quality visible: green bars are an explicit budget line or envelope; amber means a programme is named but the budget is partial or undisaggregated (Dairy and Tea fall here despite their bars); red means no identifiable funding whatsoever. Four of the five no-funding chains are also BETA priority or other-priority chains the plan explicitly commits to.

The strategic point is the mismatch between the star markers and the bar lengths. Seven of these chains carry the BETA priority star — the plan's highest tier — yet Leather (a starred chain with a KSh 120 billion income target) has no bar at all, while two of the longest bars (Edible Oils, Blue Economy) absorb most of the traceable money. Funding is not flowing to the chains the plan ranks highest; it is flowing to the chains that happen to have an existing budget envelope. Use the table view for the exact identifiable amounts and funding-quality classification.

The budget headlines say "Government of Kenya", but a large share of the agriculture priority programmes is in fact World Bank or IFAD money routed through the national budget. This chart splits the eight largest ARUD priority programmes into the GoK contribution and the development-partner loan or grant component, and the result reframes the entire fiscal picture.

NAVCDP, the single largest programme at about KSh 25.0 billion over three years, is World Bank (IDA) financed. The Food Systems Resilience Project (~KSh 5.76 billion) — the consolidated replacement for the five cut climate lines in Story 05 — is also World Bank IDA. KeLCoP, the livestock-commercialisation vehicle into which Dairy and indigenous poultry were folded, is IFAD-financed (~KSh 7.44 billion). Aquaculture Business Development (~KSh 8.78 billion) is IFAD. BREFONS, the DRIVE pastoral-insurance programme and the Emergency Locusts Response are all World Bank. The Agricultural Insurance Programme carries the largest visible donor slice relative to its size.

The strategic implication is sharp and uncomfortable. The programmes the government points to as evidence of its agriculture commitment are substantially financed by external partners; the genuinely domestic, discretionary money is concentrated in the fertilizer subsidy and a thin scatter of small lines. This matters for anyone assessing sovereign commitment: a donor-funded programme can be paused, restructured or wound down when the financing cycle ends, and the climate-resilience programmes — already cut once — are exactly the ones most dependent on World Bank continuation. It also means the real test of priority is not the headline budget but the small slice the government funds itself. Use the table for the GoK-versus-partner split per programme.

Beneath the programme budgets sits a layer of 27 agriculture parastatals — boards, authorities, commissions and research bodies — and how their budgets moved between FY 2020/21 and FY 2022/23 is a second, independent reading of revealed priority. The dispersion is enormous. Kenya Fisheries Service grew about 560% and Kenya Meat Commission about 262%, both reflecting deliberate scale-ups of the blue-economy and livestock-commercialisation agendas. KNTC (+93%), the Tea Board (+73%), Pyrethrum Processing Company (+37%), the Kenya Veterinary Board (+33%) and the Kenya Dairy Board (+30%) all rose meaningfully.

At the other end, the cuts land on bodies whose mandates matter for productivity and food safety. The Commodities Fund fell about 49%, the Kenya Veterinary Vaccines Production Institute about 48%, the Agriculture and Food Authority about 11%, and KALRO — the national agricultural research organisation — about 6%. New KCC and KMFRI also declined. Colour-coded by State Department, the chart shows the growth concentrated in Livestock Development and Blue Economy bodies, while several Crop Development institutions were squeezed.

The pattern reinforces the brief's central finding from the institutional angle: money is moving toward politically visible commercialisation vehicles (a meat commission, a fisheries service, a trading corporation) and away from the less visible research, vaccine and food-safety institutions that underpin long-run productivity. Cutting KALRO and the vaccine institute while tripling a meat commission is a defensible short-run political choice and a poor long-run productivity one. For a funder, the squeezed research and food-safety bodies are high-leverage, low-competition entry points. Use the table for every parastatal's growth figure.

This quadrant chart cross-plots two things that together expose execution risk: how large a parastatal's three-year budget is (vertical axis, on a log scale so the small bodies are readable alongside the giants) against how much of it the body actually spent — its absorption rate (horizontal axis). Two reference lines split the field into four zones: the vertical line at 100% absorption separates under- from over-spenders, and the horizontal line at KSh 3 billion separates the large bodies from the small. Each bubble is sized by budget and coloured by State Department, and the four quadrants are tinted so the high-risk zone reads at a glance.

The top-left zone — large budget, low absorption — is the execution-risk quadrant, and one bubble dominates it: New KCC (Kenya Co-operative Creameries) holds the single largest parastatal budget yet sits near 76% absorption, meaning roughly a quarter of a very large allocation went unspent. The Agricultural Development Corporation is also large but under-absorbs at about 83%. KALRO sits just below the size threshold but absorbs reasonably well at ~99%. The top-right — large and at or above 100% absorption — holds KMC, the Agriculture & Food Authority and KEPHIS, which spend their full allocation. The bottom band, now legible thanks to the log axis, spreads out the two dozen small bodies: Pyrethrum Processing (~64%) and the Veterinary Vaccines Institute (~77%) sit in the small-and-under-absorbing zone, while KNTC and Bukura College over-execute against tiny budgets.

The analytical payoff is that the top three parastatals — New KCC, KALRO and KMC — absorb roughly 56% of the entire parastatal budget between them, so their execution behaviour effectively determines the sector's. New KCC's combination of the biggest budget and weak absorption is the single clearest institutional inefficiency in the agriculture vote: large sums committed to a body that cannot deploy them while research and food-safety bodies are starved. For a funder, targeted absorption-support technical assistance to a small number of large, weak-absorbing bodies has outsized system-wide returns. Use the table view for every parastatal's budget, absorption and department.

Every preceding chart diagnoses; this one prescribes. It maps each major programme on two axes that together define philanthropic leverage. The horizontal axis is government commitment — a composite of how well the programme is funded and how well it is being delivered. The vertical axis is the outcome gap and climate urgency — how badly the programme is needed relative to what is being delivered. Bubble size is the current annual budget. The logic is simple: where need is high but government commitment is low, external capital moves the needle furthest.

That makes the top-left quadrant — "fill the gap" — the highest-leverage philanthropy zone, and it is crowded with exactly the programmes the earlier stories flagged. KCSAP (the defunded climate-smart agriculture project), Livestock Value Chain support, Drought Resilience, the stalled Galana Kulalu, Bura and Wei Wei irrigation flagships, and Pastoral Resilience all sit high-need, low-commitment. The bottom-right quadrant — "government delivers" — holds NAVCDP, the Fertilizer Subsidy, Healthcare/SHIF and Affordable Housing: well-funded, well-delivered, low philanthropic value-add. The top-right is co-invest-plus-technical-assistance territory (Food Systems Resilience), and the bottom-left is hold-and-watch (Digital/ICT).

The prescription that falls out of the map is a concrete portfolio: roughly 35% of catalytic capital into climate gap-fill (KCSAP-style on-farm adaptation and ASAL drought resilience), 25% into livestock value chains (embryo transfer, milk coolers, disease control, pastoral insurance), 20% into finishing the stalled irrigation flagships (Galana, Bura, Wei Wei, Bachuma), 15% into institutional technical assistance for the weak-absorbing State Departments and parastatals identified in Story 16, and 5% into MSME agri-finance and digital-extension innovation. This is the synthesis of the entire chapter: not where the government is failing in general, but precisely where an external shilling is worth the most. Use the quadrant view to explore each programme's position, or the table for the underlying coordinates.

Every preceding chart interprets the priorities; this one lays them out in full, exactly as the government documents them, so the raw commitments are on the record beside the analysis. Where the earlier stories used aggregated targets, this section reproduces the complete Annex A breakdown: 105 individually named sub-targets and projects across twelve sections — the seven BETA priority value chains (Leather, Dairy, Tea, Edible Oils, Rice, Textile/Cotton, Blue Economy), the other priority chains, and the cross-cutting Finance & Production, Infrastructure, Social and Environment priorities — each with its planned output and indicative budget.

The detail is where the story lives. The Leather chain alone carries 21 separate sub-targets, from reviewing the Hides and Skins Act (KSh 2M) to a KSh 5,500M leather-processing cluster programme and the KSh 4,970M feedlots-and-feed-zones line — yet the flagship Bachuma and Lamu export zones, the Leather Science Institute and the upgraded training institutes are all marked "not disclosed," which is precisely why Leather scored an implementation of zero in Story 12. Dairy lists 18 sub-targets including ~1,100 bulk milk coolers (FY 23/24 actual: 0), a KSh 1,900M camel-milk factory and KSh 2,000M of export warehouses in the DRC and South Sudan. Tea names six lines but discloses a budget for only one — the 61%-complete R&D plant. The same pattern recurs section by section: granular ambition, partial financing.

Reading the full annex rather than a summary changes what a reader can see. The cross-cutting Finance & Production table reveals the County Aggregation & Industrial Parks programme at KSh 42,831M — one of the single largest agriculture-relevant lines anywhere in the plan, dwarfing most value-chain budgets. The Infrastructure table shows irrigation and water-harvesting commitments exceeding KSh 90 billion, mostly outside the agriculture vote. The complete tables below are collapsible by section; each preserves the source's exact planned outputs and indicative budgets, with non-numeric entries ("not disclosed," "within envelope," "WB/DP financed") shown as the brief states them. This is the plan measured against its own yardstick, in its own words — the evidentiary base under every chart in this chapter.