Arecent comparative study led by Dr Pritish Behuria, a scholar at the University of Manchester, has cast new light on the limitations and risks associated with luxury tourism in Africa. Drawing on empirical research from Botswana, Mauritius, and Rwanda, the study concludes that while luxury tourism promises high returns and minimal environmental degradation, the reality on the ground is far more complex and, in many cases, disadvantageous to long-term, inclusive development goals.
Luxury tourism, widely promoted by international development agencies such as the World Bank and United Nations, is often framed as a “high-value, low-impact” solution for economic growth. The model aims to attract smaller numbers of wealthy tourists who are expected to inject significant revenue into host countries. In theory, this reduces strain on the environment while maximising economic gain. However, Behuria’s research complicates this narrative, revealing that luxury tourism tends to reinforce economic inequality, offers limited employment generation, and entrenches foreign ownership and control over critical sectors of the economy.
The three-country comparison—covering long-standing adopters like Mauritius and Botswana, as well as the more recent and committed case of Rwanda—highlights differing national approaches and political responses to the challenges posed by luxury tourism. Although these countries differ significantly in their histories, governance models, and geographical contexts, the study finds recurring patterns of external dependency, revenue leakage, and socio-economic exclusion.
Mauritius, one of the earliest African nations to adopt luxury tourism as a formal strategy, began its push in the late 1970s and early 1980s, targeting European markets with its “sun, sand, and sea” appeal. Domestic capital played a significant role, as large Mauritian business houses invested in coastal resorts and acquired strategic land holdings. By 2019, the tourism sector was generating over US$2 billion annually, playing a key role in the national economy. However, Behuria points out that much of the value created has remained concentrated in a few hands. The dominance of all-inclusive resorts has reduced the circulation of tourist spending within the wider economy. Local restaurants, artisans, and informal service providers remain peripheral to the tourism ecosystem, reinforcing socio-economic divides.
In response to the COVID-19 pandemic and shifting global trends, the Mauritian government has taken cautious steps to move away from an exclusive focus on luxury tourism. It has liberalised its airspace, restarted direct flights to Asian destinations, and opened up to a broader demographic of travellers. While these shifts signal adaptive policy-making, they also expose the fragility of a growth model overly reliant on a narrow tourist base and subject to external shocks.
Botswana, which adopted a luxury tourism strategy formally in 1990, concentrated its efforts on elite photographic safaris in the Okavango Delta. For years, conservation organisations and government leaders aligned around a vision of high-end, low-footprint tourism. Yet the sector, Behuria notes, has remained largely foreign-owned. International travel agencies and hospitality groups capture the bulk of profits, while local producers and communities see minimal benefit. Domestic supply chains, especially in agriculture and manufacturing, are weakly integrated into the tourism infrastructure.
Botswana’s tourism policies have also been shaped by shifting political priorities. Former president Ian Khama banned trophy hunting in 2014, positioning photographic tourism as a more ethical and sustainable alternative. Critics, however, argued that this approach disproportionately favoured elite actors and conservation NGOs, many of whom were foreign-based. President Mokgweetsi Masisi reversed the ban upon taking office, citing concerns about increased human-wildlife conflict and the economic marginalisation of rural communities. This policy reversal points to the role of democratic pressure and political pluralism in reshaping national tourism strategies.
In contrast, Rwanda remains steadfast in its luxury tourism orientation. Centred on exclusive gorilla trekking experiences and premium safari packages, Rwanda’s model is underpinned by strong state branding, international hotel partnerships, and the hosting of high-profile conferences and sports events. The government has tightly managed access to its flagship wildlife attractions, maintaining high entry fees and targeting an elite global clientele.
According to Behuria, Rwanda’s approach demonstrates both the strengths and pitfalls of centralised policy-making. The strategy has attracted foreign investment and global visibility, but it has also led to the concentration of tourism revenue in foreign hands, limited employment creation, and persistent skills gaps in the domestic workforce. Despite these concerns, the Rwandan government has not shown significant signs of policy reversal, unlike its counterparts in Botswana and Mauritius. The study suggests this may be due to the nature of Rwanda’s political structure, which concentrates power and minimises dissent, thereby enabling policy continuity even in the face of negative social outcomes.
One of the key contributions of this research lies in its interrogation of the political economy of tourism development in Africa. Behuria challenges the assumption—common in much of the international development literature—that states with stronger executive authority are better equipped to deliver developmental outcomes. His findings show that countries with more pluralistic and responsive political systems may, in fact, be better positioned to recalibrate strategies when faced with evidence of failure or exclusion.
The broader implication for African development is the need to resist overly technocratic or donor-driven models that privilege global investors and elite consumers over domestic populations. Tourism development must be embedded in local realities, with deliberate policies aimed at strengthening local ownership, improving labour skills, and ensuring equitable benefit-sharing. It must also recognise the diverse aspirations of African communities, moving beyond romanticised notions of untouched wilderness or traditional hospitality.
Behuria’s study makes clear that luxury tourism, while potentially lucrative, is not a panacea. Its success depends on the structural conditions under which it operates, including domestic political accountability, institutional capacity, and the extent to which national governments prioritise inclusive development over elite accumulation. For African countries seeking to harness tourism as a driver of transformation, the lesson is not to reject luxury tourism outright, but to approach it with caution, vigilance, and a firm commitment to local empowerment.
The African tourism future will not be written by external actors alone. It must be imagined, shaped, and owned by Africans—with models that reflect the continent’s economic diversity, ecological richness, and the human dignity of its people.
