The grey exodus: Nigeria’s most dangerous brain drain is on the farm

Japa – the outward migration of Nigeria’s young, educated workforce – has dominated economic conversation for a decade; an evocative shorthand for a country anxious about its future.

But it is not Nigeria’s most dangerous demographic shift. That crisis is unfolding more quietly, far from departure halls and visa queues, in fields that are increasingly tilled by men and women in their fifties and sixties, with no one coming behind them.

This is the “grey exodus”: the slow ageing – and eventual disappearance – of Nigeria’s farmers.

The numbers, though scattered across datasets, converge on a troubling reality. The average age of a Nigerian farmer now hovers between the late forties and early fifties. In many rural communities, it is visibly higher. Travel through the rice fields of Kebbi, the cassava belts of Ogun, or the maize farms of Benue, and a pattern emerges: bent backs, greying hair, and an absence of youth. In survey after survey, fewer young Nigerians identify agriculture as a primary livelihood. Depending on methodology, youth participation in farming ranges from roughly 10% to at most a third of the agricultural workforce – far below what demographic replacement would require.

In a country where over 70% of the population is under 30, this contradiction is not just striking; it is economically catastrophic.

Agriculture still employs between 30% and 35% of Nigeria’s labour force and contributes roughly a quarter of GDP. But productivity remains stubbornly low. Average yields for key staples lag global benchmarks by wide margins: rice yields hover around 2 tonnes per hectare compared to 4-6 tonnes in more efficient systems; maize yields often fall below 2 tonnes per hectare versus a global average closer to 5 tonnes.

Mechanization is minimal – Nigeria has fewer than 0.3 tractors per 1,000 hectares, compared to over 200 in countries like the United States. Fertiliser use is similarly low, estimated at under 20 kg per hectare, far below the global average of over 130 kg.

These are not just technical deficits. They shape the lived experience of farming – and its attractiveness to the young.

Consider the economics. A smallholder farmer cultivating two hectares of maize may generate annual revenues that barely exceed subsistence once input costs, transport, and post-harvest losses are accounted for. Up to 30-40% of produce can be lost between harvest and market due to poor storage, weak logistics, and fragmented value chains. For a young Nigerian with even modest education, the opportunity cost is clear. Farming is not merely hard work; it is low-return, high-risk work.

So they leave – not always abroad, but away from agriculture. In Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt, the influx of young Nigerians into informal services, ride-hailing, retail, and digital gig work reflects this internal migration. In interviews, many express a common sentiment: farming is what their parents did because they had no choice. The result is a generational break.

In the past, agricultural knowledge, land, and labour were transmitted within families. Today, that chain is fraying. Younger family members are less willing to inherit farms, and in many cases, older farmers continue working well past retirement age simply because there is no successor. In parts of northern Nigeria, anecdotal evidence suggests that farms are being scaled down or abandoned altogether as ageing farmers can no longer manage labour-intensive cultivation.

This is not a distant risk. It is already feeding into Nigeria’s most visible economic crisis: food inflation, which has surged dramatically, at times exceeding 40% year-on-year. The cost of a basic meal has risen far faster than incomes, pushing millions into food insecurity. The World Bank estimates that food price increases have been a major driver of rising poverty, with tens of millions of Nigerians unable to afford a healthy diet.

The CBN has raised interest rates aggressively, attempting to curb inflation through monetary tightening. Higher interest rates may dampen demand at the margins, but they do nothing to increase the supply of rice in Kebbi or tomatoes in Kaduna. We cannot solve a farmer shortage with monetary policy.

To understand the scale of the challenge, consider Nigeria’s food import bill. Despite vast arable land – estimated at over 70 million hectares – Nigeria spends billions of dollars annually importing food. This dependence exposes the country to global price shocks and currency volatility, further feeding domestic inflation.

But imports are just a symptom. The root problem is that Nigeria is not producing enough food domestically, and the demographic trajectory suggests it will produce even less in the future unless something changes.

There are, of course, other pressures on agricultural output. Climate change is altering rainfall patterns, increasing the frequency of droughts and floods. Insecurity in key farming regions has displaced farmers and reduced cultivated land. But even if these challenges were resolved tomorrow, the demographic problem would remain.

Who replaces the ageing farmer? This is where the “grey exodus” becomes more dangerous than japa. Migration abroad, while significant, is at least partially reversible. Diaspora engagement, remittances, and return migration can mitigate its effects. But the loss of a generation of farmers is harder to reverse. Agricultural skills, land stewardship, and local knowledge are not easily rebuilt once lost.

But there are glimpses of what a different future could look like. During the recent global cocoa price surge, parts of southwestern Nigeria experienced a mini-reversal. Young professionals, traders, and even urban workers began investing in cocoa farms, attracted by the prospect of high returns. In Ondo and Cross River, stories emerged of “weekend farmers” – young Nigerians who split their time between city jobs and agricultural ventures. Land that had been neglected was brought back into cultivation.

This was not driven by policy. It was driven by incentives. Where agriculture becomes profitable, young people will follow. The lesson is clear: Nigeria does not have a youth problem. It has a productivity and profitability problem. Fix those, and the demographic pipeline will begin to repair itself.

But this requires a shift in thinking – from agriculture as a social sector to agriculture as a high-performance economic system.
First, productivity must increase dramatically.

This means scaling mechanization, improving access to high-quality inputs, and deploying technology. The yield gap between Nigeria and global benchmarks is not inevitable; it is the result of underinvestment and weak systems.

Second, value chains must be rebuilt. Too much of Nigeria’s agricultural output is lost or undervalued because it is not processed, stored, or transported efficiently. Agro-processing zones, cold storage networks, and logistics infrastructure can transform the economics of farming by reducing losses and increasing margins.

Third, financing must be redesigned. Traditional credit models do not work well for agriculture, particularly for young entrants without collateral. Innovative approaches – like input credit systems – can lower barriers to entry and enable scale.

Fourth, land access for young Nigerians must be addressed. Land tenure reforms, leasing models, and cooperative structures can help unlock access without requiring full ownership.
But beyond all this lies a more intangible challenge: aspiration.

Farming in Nigeria is not currently aspirational. It is associated with hardship, uncertainty, and low status. This perception will not change through messaging alone. It will change when farming becomes visibly profitable, technologically sophisticated, and socially valued.

When young Nigerians see peers building wealth through agriculture – running mechanized farms, exporting produce, leveraging technology – the narrative will shift. Until then, the grey exodus will continue. And its consequences will compound.

An ageing agricultural workforce means declining output. Declining output means higher prices. Higher prices mean greater poverty, increased fiscal pressure, and heightened social tension. In a country already grappling with inequality and insecurity, this is a dangerous trajectory.

The question is not whether Nigeria can afford to act. It is whether it can afford not to. Because in the end, this is not just about agriculture. It is about sovereignty. A nation that cannot feed itself is vulnerable – economically, politically, and socially.

The “grey exodus” is a warning. It tells us that the current system is not reproducing itself. That a critical sector is ageing without renewal. That the future is arriving, and we are underprepared.

And unlike japa, this is a crisis that cannot be seen in airport departure statistics, but only in the quiet absence of young hands in the fields. By the time it becomes undeniable, it may already be too late.

So the question remains, stark and unavoidable: who will feed Nigeria in twenty years?
If the answer is uncertain, then no amount of monetary tightening, fiscal adjustment, or exchange rate reform will be enough. Because inflation is not always a monetary phenomenon.

Sometimes, it is the echo of empty farms.

Dr Hani Okoroafor is a global informatics expert advising corporate boards across Europe, Africa, North America and the Middle East. He serves on the Editorial Advisory Board of BusinessDay. Reactions welcome at [email protected]