'Farming Is Death Sentence Now': Insecurity, Kidnappings Force Kwara Farmers To Turn To ‘Okada’ Riding For Survival

Several farmers who spoke to SaharaReporters narrated how repeated attacks, kidnappings, and ransom payments pushed them out of farming entirely.

Fear has taken over farmlands across parts of Kwara State, forcing many local farmers to abandon agriculture, their lifelong source of livelihood, and turn instead to commercial motorcycle riding, popularly known as okada, in a desperate bid to stay alive.

Patigi and Ifelodun local government areas, once-thriving farming communities, are now dotted with deserted fields, overgrown crops, and stories of terror that residents say the government has failed to confront.

Several farmers who spoke to SaharaReporters narrated how repeated attacks, kidnappings, and ransom payments pushed them out of farming entirely.

For many, the final straw was being kidnapped on their own land.

“I am no longer a farmer by choice. Fear chased me away,” said Sadiku, a middle-aged farmer from Patigi who has now joined the swelling ranks of okada riders in Ilorin.

“The last time they kidnapped me, they took me from my farm. They knew where I was because they had been watching us,” he added.

Sadiku said his family was forced to sell his farmland to raise money for ransom after he was held for days in the forest.

“They beat me and told me to call my people. We sold the land my father gave me just to bring me back alive. How do you go back to that same farm again?” he asked.

Another farmer from Ifelodun told SaharaReporters that farming has become a “death sentence” in rural Kwara, as armed men now freely operate around farmlands, particularly during planting and harvesting seasons

“We used to leave home early and return late from the farm,” he said.

“Now, if you go there, you are going to meet kidnappers, not crops. They come with guns. Sometimes they wear charms. Sometimes they tell you straight that if you don’t pay, you will not leave the forest alive.”

He added that after his abduction, his family sold his cassava and maize farm to raise ransom money, leaving him with nothing to return to.

“I lost my freedom, I lost my land, and I lost my dignity,” he said quietly. “Today, I ride okada in Ilorin. It is not what I planned for my life.”

A third farmer said the decision to abandon farming was not about profit but survival.

“I would rather struggle on a motorcycle in town than die on my farm,” he said. “At least on okada, if you see danger, you can turn back. On the farm, you are trapped.”

Residents say insecurity in Patigi and Ifelodun has worsened over the years, with little visible response from security agencies. Farmers allege that kidnappers now treat rural communities as easy hunting grounds, knowing that response time from authorities is slow or nonexistent.

“When you cry for help, nobody comes,” one farmer said. “By the time soldiers or police hear, they will say they don’t know the forest. But the kidnappers know every corner.”

The shift from farming to okada riding is already having ripple effects. Local food production has dropped sharply, residents say, worsening food scarcity and driving up prices in local markets.

Young men who once cultivated rice, maize, and yam now cluster at motor parks, risking accidents and police harassment just to earn daily bread.