WeekendSalvo@NaijaAgroNet: ... Linking agrobiz, sustainable environs, people & technology
“The lake has gone too far from us,” says Hajara, a mother of five who once depended on daily catches to feed her family. Today, she sells firewood collected from the surrounding bush. “The UN people came; they talked about helping us adapt. But look around, what has changed?”
Lake Chad, shared by Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon, has shrunk by over 90 percent since the 1960s. What was once a freshwater basin sustaining more than 30 million people is now a patchwork of small ponds, shifting sandbanks, and insurgent hideouts. Climate change, population growth, and unsustainable water use have turned this cradle of life into a crucible of crisis.
Satellite images confirm the stark reality. In the 1960s, Lake Chad covered about 25,000 square kilometers. Today, it fluctuates between 1,500 and 2,500 square kilometers depending on rainfall. Researchers from Maiduguri and Yola echo what villagers already know, the rains are increasingly erratic, the dry seasons hotter, and the desert closer.
The UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) warned that the Sahel is warming 1.5 times faster than the global average.
On a scorching afternoon in Baga, a fishing town once famed for its bustling market, the shoreline is eerily quiet. Nets lie abandoned, boats rot in the sand, and where there was once a thriving expanse of water teeming with fish, dry earth now stretches, cracked and thirsty.WeekendSalvo@NaijaAgroNet by REMMY NWEKE explores Lake Chad’s retreat, exposing broken UN promises, shattered livelihoods, and insecurity. Despite billions pledged, hunger and displacement persist, demanding urgent grassroots-driven action to transform climate despair into resilience and hope.
Lake Chad, shared by Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon, has shrunk by over 90 percent since the 1960s. What was once a freshwater basin sustaining more than 30 million people is now a patchwork of small ponds, shifting sandbanks, and insurgent hideouts. Climate change, population growth, and unsustainable water use have turned this cradle of life into a crucible of crisis.
Satellite images confirm the stark reality. In the 1960s, Lake Chad covered about 25,000 square kilometers. Today, it fluctuates between 1,500 and 2,500 square kilometers depending on rainfall. Researchers from Maiduguri and Yola echo what villagers already know, the rains are increasingly erratic, the dry seasons hotter, and the desert closer.
On the ground, this means fewer fish, failed harvests, and shrinking grazing land. Cattle herders push south in search of pasture, sparking deadly clashes with farmers. Children are forced to drop out of school to fetch water. Women risk abduction as they trek longer distances to collect firewood.
For decades, the UN and its agencies, such as UNDP, FAO, WFP and UNEP, have launched programs to restore livelihoods and build resilience in the basin. Billions of dollars have been pledged, and dozens of glossy reports published. Yet, for communities on the ground, survival remains as precarious as ever.
The UNDP’s Lake Chad Basin Project, UNEP’s Great Green Wall initiative, and FAO’s water-smart farming schemes promised to restore livelihoods, while donors from France, Germany, the EU, the World Bank, and the African Development Bank pledged support. Still, implementation has faltered. Projects are often fragmented, underfunded, or poorly coordinated. A 2023 UNDP evaluation admitted that “limited local ownership and insecurity” hampered outcomes.
Musa, a farmer from Ngala, recalls being told that drip irrigation systems would be installed to help adapt to changing water levels. Two years later, nothing materialized. Instead, he relies on traditional flood farming, which no longer yields enough to feed his household. His frustration mirrors that of thousands across the basin who see promises made at international conferences evaporate before they reach their villages.
Lake Chad’s collapse is not just about the locals; it is a global injustice. The basin contributes less than 0.1 percent of global greenhouse emissions, yet it bears some of the harshest consequences of climate change. For farmers and fisherfolk, the economic burden is crushing. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) estimates that climate-induced displacement already affects more than 2.5 million people in the Lake Chad Basin, most of them in northeast Nigeria. In such desperation, extremist groups exploit the vacuum, offering money or food to lure young recruits. “When the water goes, our children follow the fighters,” laments community leader Mallam Bukar in Kukawa.
Nigeria, as the largest country in the basin, carries both the responsibility and opportunity to respond. Successive governments, from Buhari to Tinubu, have called for international support to “save Lake Chad.”
For decades, the UN and its agencies, such as UNDP, FAO, WFP and UNEP, have launched programs to restore livelihoods and build resilience in the basin. Billions of dollars have been pledged, and dozens of glossy reports published. Yet, for communities on the ground, survival remains as precarious as ever.
The UNDP’s Lake Chad Basin Project, UNEP’s Great Green Wall initiative, and FAO’s water-smart farming schemes promised to restore livelihoods, while donors from France, Germany, the EU, the World Bank, and the African Development Bank pledged support. Still, implementation has faltered. Projects are often fragmented, underfunded, or poorly coordinated. A 2023 UNDP evaluation admitted that “limited local ownership and insecurity” hampered outcomes.
Musa, a farmer from Ngala, recalls being told that drip irrigation systems would be installed to help adapt to changing water levels. Two years later, nothing materialized. Instead, he relies on traditional flood farming, which no longer yields enough to feed his household. His frustration mirrors that of thousands across the basin who see promises made at international conferences evaporate before they reach their villages.
Lake Chad’s collapse is not just about the locals; it is a global injustice. The basin contributes less than 0.1 percent of global greenhouse emissions, yet it bears some of the harshest consequences of climate change. For farmers and fisherfolk, the economic burden is crushing. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) estimates that climate-induced displacement already affects more than 2.5 million people in the Lake Chad Basin, most of them in northeast Nigeria. In such desperation, extremist groups exploit the vacuum, offering money or food to lure young recruits. “When the water goes, our children follow the fighters,” laments community leader Mallam Bukar in Kukawa.
Nigeria, as the largest country in the basin, carries both the responsibility and opportunity to respond. Successive governments, from Buhari to Tinubu, have called for international support to “save Lake Chad.”
Abuja has hosted summits and floated megaprojects, including proposals to divert water from the Congo River. Yet, on the ground, irrigation systems, rural roads, cold chains for fish, and solar pumps for boreholes remain largely absent. Billions have been discussed, but only fragments reach the communities most in need.
Experts argue that the UN must shift from top-down projects to community-driven adaptation. Instead of lengthy reports, there is a need to strengthen cooperatives of fishers, herders, and farmers. Instead of short-term pilot projects, longer-term financing commitments spanning 10 to 15 years are required. And instead of siloed interventions, agencies such as UNDP, UNEP, FAO, and WFP must align strategies and pool resources. As Dr. Fatima Kyari, the African Union’s Special Envoy for the Sahel, puts it bluntly: “If the UN cannot deliver here, then where? Lake Chad is the litmus test for global climate solidarity.”
Despite frustrations, some signs of hope are visible. In Yobe State, a UNDP-backed solar-powered irrigation scheme is helping tomato farmers extend their growing season. In Chad, FAO is supporting women’s cooperatives in processing fish for regional markets.
Experts argue that the UN must shift from top-down projects to community-driven adaptation. Instead of lengthy reports, there is a need to strengthen cooperatives of fishers, herders, and farmers. Instead of short-term pilot projects, longer-term financing commitments spanning 10 to 15 years are required. And instead of siloed interventions, agencies such as UNDP, UNEP, FAO, and WFP must align strategies and pool resources. As Dr. Fatima Kyari, the African Union’s Special Envoy for the Sahel, puts it bluntly: “If the UN cannot deliver here, then where? Lake Chad is the litmus test for global climate solidarity.”
Despite frustrations, some signs of hope are visible. In Yobe State, a UNDP-backed solar-powered irrigation scheme is helping tomato farmers extend their growing season. In Chad, FAO is supporting women’s cooperatives in processing fish for regional markets.
In Cameroon, reforestation along shrinking shorelines is slowly taking root. Most importantly, youth groups across Borno and Adamawa are organizing climate clubs, teaching their peers about sustainable practices. “We cannot wait for the UN,” says Aisha, a 19-year-old activist. “This is our home. If we don’t protect it, who will?”
For NaijaAgroNet, farmers, policy makers, and rural stakeholders, the lesson is clear. Lake Chad is not just an environmental happenstance; it is an agricultural survival hub. The UN must retool its projects with transparency, accountability, and grassroots participation. Nigeria must bridge its promises with tangible infrastructure. And local communities must be empowered not as beneficiaries but as leaders.
Standing on the cracked soil where the lake once kissed Baga’s shore, Hajara reflects: “We were told help will come. But help is like the water, it disappears.” Lake Chad is more than water. It is food security, cultural identity, and peace.
For NaijaAgroNet, farmers, policy makers, and rural stakeholders, the lesson is clear. Lake Chad is not just an environmental happenstance; it is an agricultural survival hub. The UN must retool its projects with transparency, accountability, and grassroots participation. Nigeria must bridge its promises with tangible infrastructure. And local communities must be empowered not as beneficiaries but as leaders.
Standing on the cracked soil where the lake once kissed Baga’s shore, Hajara reflects: “We were told help will come. But help is like the water, it disappears.” Lake Chad is more than water. It is food security, cultural identity, and peace.
Without urgent, sustained action, its disappearance could trigger waves of hunger, conflict, and migration that no border fence or donor pledge can contain. For Nigeria and the UN, the clock is ticking.
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