How Yam Farming Changed My Life
By Sadiya Abubakar
Growing up in Benue State, I was surrounded by the rich, earthy scent of yams wafting through the air, especially during the harvest season. It was a staple in our household, something that not only filled our bellies but also filled our hearts with stories of struggle and triumph. Little did I know that yam farming would not just be a part of my upbringing, but would also transform my life in ways I never imagined.
I remember the first time I planted yams. I was just a young boy, barely ten, following my father into the fields. He was a man of the soil, a true farmer at heart, and I was eager to learn. As we worked the land together, I felt a connection to him, to our ancestors, and to the earth itself. “Yam no be just food, my pikin,” he would say, his hands moving deftly through the soil. “E dey carry hope.” Those words stuck with me, embedding a sense of purpose deep in my heart.
Fast forward to today—I'm now a full-fledged yam farmer. But the journey to get here was not an easy one. After completing my education, I found myself in the hustle and bustle of Lagos, chasing a corporate dream that felt more like a mirage. I wore a suit and tie, sat in meetings that drained my spirit, and longed for the fresh air of the farm. I knew I had to make a change, but fear wrapped around me like a tight grip. What if I failed? What if my dreams of farming turned to dust?
But one day, I woke up, looked in the mirror, and made a decision. I was going back to my roots—literally. I packed my bags and headed back to my village with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I saw the land that had once nurtured me, but it was now overgrown and neglected. I had my work cut out for me, but I was determined.
I started small. With just a few tubers, I began to plant. I remembered my father's teachings about proper spacing and care. I read books, watched videos, and spoke to other farmers. The first few months were tough. I faced drought, pests, and self-doubt. There were days when I would look at my empty fields and wonder if I was mad for making this leap. But every time I felt like giving up, I’d remember my father’s words: “Hope dey grow for ground.”
As the months rolled by, I began to see the fruits of my labor. The first time I dug up a healthy yam, my heart raced. It was a moment of sheer joy. I was no longer just farming; I was nurturing life. That feeling of pulling a tuber from the soil was a reminder that hard work pays off. I began to sell my yams in the local markets, and the response was overwhelming. People loved my produce, and slowly, my name became known among the traders.
With every sale, I felt a rush of empowerment. I could provide for my family, support my siblings through school, and reinvest in my farm. I started to experiment with different yam varieties, and each success story spurred me on. I began collaborating with local agricultural experts to improve my techniques. I learned about organic farming and pest control, and through workshops, I connected with other farmers—not just for business but for sharing experiences and knowledge.
Yam farming became more than just a job; it became my passion. I made friends, and together we shared laughter, tears, and the occasional “I sabi this thing pass you” banter. We exchanged tips and tricks, and I learned that farming wasn’t just about the crops; it was about the bonds we formed along the way.
Now, as I look back on my journey, I realize that yam farming has given me so much more than financial stability. It has taught me resilience, patience, and the importance of nurturing relationships. It has brought me closer to my heritage and opened doors I never knew existed. My farm is now a thriving enterprise, supplying yams to local markets and even reaching beyond our borders. I feel proud to be part of a tradition that has sustained my people for generations.
There were challenges, of course. The market can be unpredictable, and I’ve had my share of losses. But I learned to adapt. When the rains were too much or too little, I sought solutions—like crop rotation and irrigation techniques. I embraced technology, using apps to monitor weather patterns and connect with buyers.
I found joy in giving back as well. I started mentoring young people in my village, sharing what I had learned. I’ve seen their eyes light up when they plant their first tuber, just like I did years ago. They say, “Omo, I wan be like you!” and that fills me with hope.
Life is about taking risks and making the most of every opportunity. Yam farming taught me that. I’ve learned to celebrate the small wins and to keep pushing, even when the going gets tough. Each harvest is a reminder that persistence pays off, and every setback is just a setup for a comeback.
So, if you’re standing on the edge, contemplating a leap into the unknown, I urge you to take that step. Whether it’s farming or another passion, don’t let fear hold you back. You might just find that the soil beneath your feet carries a dream waiting to grow.
What do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!