By Anas Abbas
In the traditional rhythm of life across Kano, Jigawa Katsina and much of Northern Nigeria, the end of the rainy season has always been a time of relief, celebration, and abundance.
It is the period locals fondly call “Kaka” (harvest season) when the farmlands give back to the people, when barns are full, and when hunger gives way to laughter.
Grains, groundnuts, millet, maize, and beans flood the local markets. Prices fall. The air is scented with roasted corn, fresh harvest, and hope.But this year, something has changed.
The joy that once marked Kaka now feels faint and replaced by silence, worry, and a strange kind of poverty in the midst of plenty.
The Daily reality has reported that, in Kano’s bustling Dawanau Market, traders sit beside overflowing bags of produce, but the energy that once filled the air has faded.
“People come, they look, they ask, but they don’t buy,” said Malam Kabiru, a grain merchant of 20 years, wiping sweat off his brow. “Before, this time of year, I would not even have time to rest. But now, we are counting hours, not money.”
Traditionally, harvest season (kaka) is the season when life becomes easy. Farmers sell their crops, traders make profits, and households breathe again after months of lean times.
“Money used to flow like the rain that just passed,” said Hajiya Zainab, a mother and resident at Yankaba in Kano. “But this year, things are upside down. Food is cheap, but we don’t have money to buy. Even if you want to cook “tuwo with bean soup”, you will think twice before buying groundnut oil.” Zainab said.
The paradox is everywhere: prices of some staples have dropped slightly due to harvest supply, yet the economy has tightened its grip on ordinary Nigerians. The value of the naira continues to wobble, and salaries for those who are even lucky to have them barely survive a week.
A Season that feels different
In villages around Katsina, Jigawa, and Sokoto, The Daily reality gathered that farmers recount the same story. Fertilizer prices went up, transport costs doubled, and insecurity chased many from their farmlands. Those who managed to plant and harvest now face a market that no longer rewards their sweat.
“Last year, we prayed for rain. This year, we got it. But now we are praying for buyers,” said Alhaji Isa, a millet farmer from Bichi. His barns are full, yet his pocket is empty.
For decades, Kaka was more than a season it was a social equalizer. Families cleared debts, marriages were planned, and children returned to school with new uniforms bought from market profits. Today, that cycle of joy has broken.
The harvest still comes, but the happiness doesn’t. I recently harvested my onions and took them to the market, said Alhaji Musa Dan’Isa, an onion farmer from Badume in Kano State, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We sold a sack for between N10,000 and N11,000. After all the expenses fertilizer, labour, and transport.There’s almost nothing left for us. I can’t even recover what I spent.”
“To be honest, I’m beginning to lose interest in farming. If things continue like this, I don’t see any reason to invest again next year.”
Economy of Survival
Experts say the situation reflects the larger economic strain facing the country. Inflation has eaten deep into every pocket, and the spending power of ordinary Nigerians has collapsed.
Even when goods are available, the money to circulate them is not.In the past, money used to move like water in a stream from farmers to traders, from traders to transporters, and then back to the villages.
Now, the stream has dried up. Money no longer circulates; it only passes through a few hands and disappears before it reaches the people who truly keep the economy alive.
Economist Dr. Ibrahim Umar explains to The Daily reality: “What we are seeing is a liquidity drought people simply don’t have cash flow. Harvest season should naturally boost local economies, but insecurity, subsidy removal, and currency devaluation have created a heavy burden. So even in abundance, there is scarcity.”
A Cultural Loss
Beyond the numbers, something deeper is being lost the cultural spirit that defined Kaka. The community celebrations, the songs of the farmers, the laughter of women sorting grains in woven baskets all seem quieter now.“Our parents used to say that Kaka is God’s mercy after hard labour,” said Aisha Abdullahi, a teacher in Hadejia.
“Now it feels like we are working for survival, not for joy. The harvest doesn’t bring the same peace anymore.”
A Call for Reflection
The fading joy of Kaka tells a larger story one of resilience, struggle, and a people trying to hold on to dignity amid hardship. It reminds us that the economy is not just about figures and policies, but about lives, emotions, and traditions deeply woven into the seasons.
Northern Nigeria still celebrates the rains, the soil, and the spirit of farming. But until the people can once again taste the sweetness of their own labour, Kaka will remain a season of memory rather than a moment of joy.
The changing face of Kaka is more than an economic issue; it is a mirror of how hardship has reshaped everyday life in the North. A season that once united communities in gratitude is now marked by quiet markets and worried faces.
From Kano to Katsina, Sokoto to Bauchi, people are beginning to wonder if the old Kaka will ever return when the harvest truly brought relief, not reminders of survival.