If you stepped into a Lagos market this week and dared to ask, ‘Why is rice so expensive?’ you would catch flared brows and heavy sighs. Once the star of every family table that crowned weddings, Christmas dinners, and Sunday afternoons, rice now feels like a luxury item in many homes.

A 50kg bag sells for anywhere between ₦65,000 and ₦80,000, and in some cases, when foreign rice sneaks in, as high as ₦150,000. For an average family, that is a serious dent in the household budget.

Yet, this is happening at a time when the government has rolled out interventions, fertiliser subsidies, cost reductions, and import waivers meant to stabilise prices. So, why are things not adding up?

With that said, let us walk through the history of rice prices. This price development did not occur in empty air. Between 2015 and 2021, thanks in part to a surge in local milling capacity, Nigeria experienced an impressive improvement in rice production, which went up to over 9 million metric tonnes, compared to 5.4 million metric tonnes it produced in 2015.

But just a few months later, the nation resumed the importation of vast quantities of the staple, indicating that either poor harvests failed to meet the needs or that there was a distribution problem.

Also Read: Nigeria inflation is down, Why Aren’t prices too?

As of early 2024, the true scale of inflation was undeniable. The National Bureau of Statistics reported a 137 percent hike in the price of local parboiled rice between January of that year and the same month the year before.

The Jollof Index, a clever tool that tracks the cost of cooking jollof rice across 13 major markets, shows just how drastic the impact has been. In early 2025, the cost of a single pot of jollof hit over ₦27,500, roughly 40 percent of Nigeria’s new minimum monthly wage

But the big question in the heart of everyone is why rice prices keep rising in Nigeria despite government interventions locally farmed rice.

In recent news, the explanations are as complicated as the grain itself, some farmers and traders think the answer lies in manipulation. Speaking with the News Agency of Nigeria, the vice chairman of the All Farmers Association of Nigeria (AFAN), Mr. Sakin Agbayewa, pointed fingers at what he described as a cartel within the rice sector.

“As regards the high price of rice, I think we are taking one step forward and five steps backwards,” he said. According to him, even though the federal government allowed limited imports to crash prices temporarily, some farmers and middlemen used the opportunity to warehouse rice, creating artificial scarcity once the waiver ended.

The story gets murkier. Agbayewa noted that some local farmers repackaged home-grown rice into foreign-labelled bags, banking on Nigerians’ preference for anything with an imported tag. “There is a high level of insincerity and dishonesty among our people,” he said, adding that these practices frustrate government efforts and punish ordinary consumers.

On his part, Mr Raphael Hunsa, chairman of the Rice Farmers Association of Nigeria (RIFAN) in Lagos, argued that the problem is not simply production but distribution of support. In his words, “The price of rice will continue to go up if the government fails to support local rice farmers… though the government is trying, they should let their interventions get to the right hands.”

Hunsa’s point is critical: Nigeria does not necessarily lack the capacity to produce rice, but the policies and aid often stop short of those who actually till the land. He urged that farmers be invited to the table when decisions are made, instead of watching from the sidelines.

For consumers, however, these explanations do little to ease the frustration of spending so much on a food item that used to be affordable. Traders like Mustafa Aliu, who sells at Oja Oba Market in Agege, insist they have no choice. “The price of rice is currently between ₦70,000 and ₦80,000 for a 50 kg bag. We can only sell it the way we bought it,” he said.

The ripple effect is evident. From the regular mother calculating how many cups of rice she can stretch to feed her family, to restaurants struggling to price their meals, Nigerians are paying the price, literally.

But at the heart of the rice story is more than economic thinking. It is about trust: trust that farmers will use public support fairly; trust that policies will not be scammed by cartels; trust that the leaders will act with serious intent about the affordability of food. Without that trust, Nigerians are left to navigate rising hunger alone.

And yet, at the end of it all, there remains a quiet hope that someday, Nigerians can return to enjoying a simple plate of rice not as a luxury, but as the everyday comfort it once was.

Anita Chinedu