In the fertile fields of Benue, once proudly called Nigeria’s food basket, silence now competes with the sound of gunfire.
Farmers who once rose before dawn to tend yam barns and maize fields now wake with a different calculation: whether the journey to the farm is worth risking their lives. Across Borno, Kaduna, Zamfara, Niger, Plateau, and much of Nigeria’s North West and North Central regions, farming has become an act of courage, sometimes of desperation.
The result is now written in the language of global shame.
A new UN-backed Global Report on Food Crises 2026 lists Nigeria among ten countries that account for two-thirds of the world’s acute hunger burden. The report says 266 million people across 47 countries faced high levels of acute food insecurity in 2025, with conflict remaining the leading driver, affecting 147.4 million people across 19 countries. Nigeria stands among the worst hit, alongside Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo, representing nearly one-third of the global burden.
This is not merely a story of empty stomachs. It is a story of abandoned farmlands, failed governance, and a nation rich in arable land but poor in political urgency.
In rural communities across northern Nigeria, armed bandits raid villages with terrifying regularity. Boko Haram insurgency continues to disrupt agricultural life in the North East. Farmer-herder clashes have turned once productive communities into displacement camps. Kidnappings have become so frequent that many farmers would rather leave their land uncultivated than gamble with death.
The consequences travel quickly from village roads to urban markets.
Tomatoes rot in transit because transport routes are unsafe. Grain supplies shrink because farmers cannot harvest. Prices of rice, beans, garri, and millet rise beyond the reach of ordinary families. Inflation does not begin in the city; it begins where fear keeps farmers away from their soil.
In many Nigerian homes, hunger no longer arrives as an emergency. It arrives quietly, daily, in smaller portions, skipped meals, and mothers pretending not to be hungry so their children can eat.
Yet perhaps the most painful comparison lies thousands of miles away.
Ukraine has spent years under the shadow of war following Russia’s invasion. Missiles have fallen, cities have burned, and infrastructure has been shattered. Yet Ukraine continues to supply grains to the world, including countries in Africa such as Nigeria. Despite the devastation of war, it is not listed among the countries bearing the heaviest acute hunger burden.
Nigeria, by contrast, is not officially at war with another nation. It possesses vast fertile land, a favorable climate for diverse crops, and one of Africa’s largest agricultural workforces. Still, it remains on the hunger list.
THE CONTRAST IS BRUTAL
It raises uncomfortable questions about governance. Why does a country with peace on paper struggle more with food security than one fighting for national survival? Why does Nigeria import what it can grow? Why are farmers left alone on the frontlines of insecurity while policy speeches continue in air-conditioned halls in Abuja?
PART OF THE ANSWER LIES BEYONG INSECURITY
Poor storage systems mean post-harvest losses remain enormous. Weak rural infrastructure isolates farming communities. Agricultural policies are often announced with fanfare but implemented with little consistency. Access to credit remains limited for smallholder farmers, while corruption weakens intervention programmes before they reach those who need them most.
Then comes inflation, relentless and unforgiving.
Even where food exists, millions cannot afford it. Economic shocks, according to the UN report, continue to worsen food insecurity across many countries, while humanitarian food-sector funding dropped sharply in 2025. For vulnerable Nigerians, this means fewer safety nets and deeper suffering.
Hunger in Nigeria is no longer just a humanitarian issue. It is a national security issue, an economic issue, and increasingly, a moral issue.
A nation cannot claim progress while its farmers flee their own fields.
The tragedy is not that Nigeria lacks the capacity to feed itself. The tragedy is that it has normalized the conditions preventing it from doing so.
Until security returns to the farms, until policy becomes action, and until leadership treats food production as seriously as politics, the harvest will remain poor.
And for millions of Nigerians, the most dangerous weapon will not be the gun, but the empty plate.