We break our fast with handouts – Kano family

Murtala Aliyu, a 47-year-old labourer with seven children and one wife, paints a bleak picture of a season that was once filled with hope of togetherness and communal feasting. “I am a mason. As a Muslim, you can’t say that nothing is good; you must always thank Allah. However, I must inform you, this is […]

Murtala Aliyu, a 47-year-old labourer with seven children and one wife, paints a bleak picture of a season that was once filled with hope of togetherness and communal feasting.

“I am a mason. As a Muslim, you can’t say that nothing is good; you must always thank Allah. However, I must inform you, this is the worst state I have been in during any Ramadan. I couldn’t afford any food this year, unlike last year,” Murtala explains. “Since the start of Ramadan, we’ve been living off food distributions. We don’t prepare any special food for sahur. Whatever is left from Iftar is what we eat for sahur. Life hasn’t been easy. We just make do with what we have. We basically live from hand to mouth.”

Ramadan is not just a month of fasting, but also a time when families traditionally prepare a variety of healthy dishes to sustain them throughout the fasting period. Families would focus on stockpiling staples like rice, beans, flour, and cooking oil to prepare suhur (the pre-dawn meal) and iftar (the breaking of the fast meal).

Additionally, there’s high demand for beverages such as tea, zobo (a refreshing hibiscus drink), and gruel (known locally as kunu). Dates, an age-old traditional food eaten to break the fast, are also purchased. Oranges, bananas, and watermelons, known for their thirst-quenching properties, are considered essential during fasting.

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Apart from food, some women would also splurge on new kitchen utensils and household items in preparation for the month. However, due to budget constraints, many have had to forgo these purchases this year.

Murtala, whose eldest daughter is 15 and whose household has expanded with one-year-old twins, laments the reality that, despite some reports of reduced food prices, the overall cost of living has skyrocketed.

“Last year, in addition to the food I received as alms, I bought 10 packs of spaghetti for N550 each, 5 packs of macaroni for N470 each, and 2 mudus of rice for N2,300 each,” he recalls. “But things have drastically changed this year. Even the tea items I managed to buy last year, I couldn’t afford this year,” he complains.

While his daily income has risen from around N3,000 to N6,000–7,000, the cost of maintaining his household, which includes his wife and seven children, has also increased. “What I could manage with N3,000 last year, I can no longer manage with the N6,000 I get now,” he adds.

The rise in the price of essentials has become a major issue for most families. The cost of grains has nearly doubled over the last two years, making it increasingly difficult for the average family to stockpile for Ramadan.

Aisha, who operates a small tofu (locally known as wara) business to save for her children’s Sallah attire, agrees with her husband. “He is a great husband and always works hard to make sure we don’t lack anything,” she says.

Even after their electricity was disconnected—leaving electric fans and other comforts a distant memory—the couple has learned to adapt. “Our dream now is for our children to attend school and receive formal education. If they do, one day all this hardship will be an old story, shared with smiles on our faces,” Aisha continues.

In the Dorayi Karama area of Gwale LGA, Kano, where Murtala lives with his family, support has become an economic lifeline. As a member of the mosque committee, Murtala coordinates the distribution of Iftar food packages to vulnerable individuals. “I am given two, sometimes three, food packets at our mosque as charity. I ask for permission from the chairman of our committee, and he agrees because he knows I need it,” Murtala explains.

Resourcefulness has become essential. Murtala recalls that when Ramadan began, a local donor gave him one mudu of rice, and shortly afterward, he received another donation of one mudu of rice. “I have seven children. If you add my wife and myself, we are a family of 9. The last two are one-year-old twins, so they don’t eat the same food we do. We cook that one mudu 3 to 4 times,” he says. He also received 10 packs of spaghetti from his mosque, which he generously shared between his immediate and extended family.

Aisha elaborates on their daily routine: “I try to prepare 4-5 tins of rice daily to extend our food supply.” Though their electricity supply was cut off, and Murtala breaks his fast at the mosque, he still does his best to provide the N200 needed to buy ice blocks or cold water. “You know the blessing of ice blocks during Ramadan, especially in the extreme heat we’re experiencing now. Cold water and drinks are essential to quench thirst.”

Food is at the center of Ramadan, not only as a source of sustenance but also as a social factor that unites people. Women in most households wake up early to prepare Suhur, ensuring their families have healthy meals before the fast begins. Iftar, too, is a time for family unity, and often neighbours and distant family members are invited to join and partake in the meal. However, due to current economic pressures, these social norms are under strain.

Murtala reminisces about a time when Ramadan was characterised by communal meals – a practice known as Shan ruwa – when families would invite friends and neighbours over to break the fast together. “I grew up seeing my parents do this. Each neighbour would bring something, and everyone, whether they contributed or not, would come and eat. But now, that practice is a relic of the past.”

The sad reality for most households in Nigeria is not the fall in the price of some food items, but the overall increase in the cost of living, which makes an ordinary income insufficient. For Murtala, who earns a bit more this year than last year, the rising prices mean that “what I could do with N3,000 last year, I can’t do with N6,000 this year.”

In addition to the economic struggles, there’s an underlying sense of loss. “Even the traditional fruits that accompany Ramadan—I couldn’t even afford them. Watermelon is the cheapest, but as I speak to you today, I haven’t consumed it this Ramadan,” Murtala says.

In a country where food inflation has reached record levels, with the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reporting over a 150% increase in the price of staple foods over the past year, stories of families like Murtala’s.

Yet, even amidst such adversity, the spirit of sharing remains central to the season. For Aisha and Murtala, acts of kindness go beyond survival; they represent a commitment to hope and unity.