Why commercial farming in Nigeria is so hard
Apr 13th 2013 | GITATA |From the print edition
SEVEN years after 18 white Zimbabwean farmers settled on a chunk of land in
Nasawara state at the invitation of the then governor, only one family is
still there. All the others have given up in despair. Bruce Spain, aged 35,
and his father Colin, 66, together with their doughty wives and a pair of
toddlers, are hanging on—but only just.
On flat, dry scrubland two hours’ drive east of Abuja, the capital, the
Spains and their Zimbabwean compatriots have experimented with a variety of
farming enterprises. But crop yields were dismal, mainly due to poor-quality
seed and fertiliser. Spares were hard to get when machinery broke down. The
Spains’ last hope is a factory that churns out chicken feed. “Until good
seed is available and the theft factor is dealt with there will be very
little commercial farming in Nigeria,” says the older Mr Spain.
The litany of problems seems endless. “There’s just no organised marketing
here,” says the younger Mr Spain. “No marketing boards, nothing—in Nigeria
you’re on your own. In Zimbabwe you knew what your pre-planting price
was—and the government guaranteed to buy what you grew. There are no support
structures…In Zimbabwe you’d send a soil sample to the fertiliser company
and they’d tell you what sort would be best. There’s nothing like that
here.”
The Spains have no mains electricity, no piped water, no land-line, no
trained labour force, no one handy with basic accountancy, no available
research facilities, no easy access to agricultural data. Roads are lousy.
Theft is endemic.
The biggest initial headache was persuading a bank to make a long-term loan
at less than 20% interest. And when a bank did agree, the money might not
come through. “It was always next week, then next week,” says the younger Mr
Spain. “That’s the general story in Nigeria.” For two of their first five
years they did no farming, due to the lack of bank finance. “You always need
contacts,” he sighs. “Corruption can be helpful,” he chuckles. “At least it
means if you want something done you can get it done—instantly.”
The older Spains, resilient as ever, have built a neat single-storey house
surrounded by a tall electric fence on a rocky outcrop. It is reminiscent of
Zimbabwe, where their farm was confiscated; during the guerrilla war, before
independence in 1980, their homestead had been burned down. Here in Nigeria,
in the searing heat, they sleep peacefully on the veranda under a mosquito
net. “We get malaria between three and six times a year.” It seems the least
of their worries.