Across Nigeria, the story of agriculture is one of both promise and paradox. In fertile fields from Benue to Kano, smallholder farmers rise at dawn, till the soil, and harvest crops in volumes that should feed the nation. Yet markets often suffer scarcity, prices remain inflated, and supply is irregular. The paradox here remains that Nigeria produces, but much of that production never reaches the tables of those who need it most.
Nigeria’s agricultural dilemma becomes concerning. The issue is not only how much we produce, but how much value we lose between farm and market. The value chain, in principle, should ensure that each step from cultivation to consumption adds value, guarantees fair prices for farmers, and secures affordable food for consumers. Poor infrastructure, limited storage, underdeveloped processing industries, and exploitative middlemen have combined to make farming a thankless enterprise for many and a costly gamble for consumers. There is no doubt that insecurity is a major problem in the effort to get food from farm to the market and table. In reality, Nigeria’s supply chain is broken, leaking value at every stage.
The weakest link lies, though, in infrastructure. Many rural farmers depend on roads that resemble widened footpaths, riddled with potholes, and impassable during rainy seasons. Trucks carrying perishable produce are stranded in mud while harvests rot by the roadside. Where storage facilities exist, they are inadequate; where processing plants are available, they remain underutilised.
The cost of these gaps is staggering. Studies suggest that Nigeria loses between 30 and 50 percent of perishable produce annually to post-harvest waste. In a country where food insecurity is prevalent, this figure is not only saddening but also a testament to an economic failure. Crops such as maize, cassava, tomatoes, and yams leave farms in their raw, most perishable state, fetching low prices and inviting high losses.
In this vacuum, middlemen are the largest winners. Farmers, desperate to sell quickly before goods go bad, are forced to accept rock-bottom prices. The middlemen take over the chain from here, exploiting the state of the farmers to bridge the gap between production and demand. By the time those same goods arrive in Lagos, Abuja, or Port Harcourt, they sell for several times their farmgate value. The system rewards those who control transport and storage; the losers are farmers and consumers. In this sense, the chain does not empower farmers; it exploits their vulnerability.
This distortion erodes trust in the system. Farmers feel exploited, consumers feel cheated, and the promise of agriculture as a driver of inclusive growth remains unrealised. This raises a critical question: how long can a nation claim to prioritise food security while neglecting the arteries through which food flows?
For too long, Nigeria’s agricultural discourse has centred narrowly on production, making it as though more harvest automatically translates to food security. Unfortunately, it does not. To this end, the inability to fix the production to consumption channel will further deepen the gap between bumper harvest, high food prices, wasted produce and rural poverty.
Other nations have successfully shown what is possible. For instance, Kenya’s mobile-based platforms allow farmers to aggregate supply, access price information, and sell directly to buyers, thereby reducing the control of middlemen. India’s investment in rural road networks and cooperative storage has made its food supply more reliable and its farmers more resilient. Nigeria does not lack examples to learn from; what it lacks is the political will and sustained investment.
If agriculture is to fulfil its promise, policy must move beyond slogans to systems. A serious agenda for reform must include construction and maintenance of rural roads to link farms to markets, development of cold chains and cooperative storage facilities, incentives for private agro-processing plants to add value locally, expansion of digital marketplaces to give farmers direct access to buyers and targeted financing for smallholder farmers to reduce vulnerability. Each of these measures is not an end in itself but part of a larger whole. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link; in Nigeria’s case, too many links remain fragile.
Fixing the value chain is not just an economic necessity; it is a moral obligation. Every bag of maize lost to poor storage, every tomato that spoils in transit, represents wasted labour, wasted resources, and wasted hope. In contrast, every improvement, whether in logistics, storage, or processing, translates into lower food prices, higher farmer incomes, and greater national food security. A functioning chain would nourish the nation and restore agriculture to its rightful place as a pillar of the economy especially in the face of Nigeria’s dwindling economy. It would also create jobs, reduce rural poverty, and enhance Nigeria’s ability to withstand global shocks.
The journey from farm to market should be one of value added, not value lost. Today, it is riddled with waste and exploitation. But it does not have to remain so. With deliberate investment, sound policy, and innovative partnerships, Nigeria can rebuild its agricultural chain into one that rewards farmers, feeds consumers, and strengthens the economy. The seeds of reform are already there. What is needed now is the resolve to nurture them. Strengthening the chain is not optional; it is the foundation of food security. A nation that cannot move food from farm to market cannot truly feed its people.
