For decades, sand mining has been a source of livelihood in Kano, supporting a booming construction industry in one of Nigeria’s most populous states. However, this age-old practice has become a double-edged sword, wreaking havoc on local communities and leaving scars on the land that many depend on for farming and sustenance.
While construction crews build the future, the reality for many Kano residents is grim, as relentless mining activities threaten their land, homes, and very lives.
In the towns of Madobi, Kura, and Dawakin Kudu, the impact of sand mining is painfully visible. Out of the 96 valid sand mining titles in the state, more than half are concentrated in these three Local Government Areas (LGAs).
The result is a degraded landscape: expansive pits, disrupted farmlands, and deeply eroded riverbanks. For villagers, each truckload of sand carried away represents another blow to their community’s future.
As Kano’s urban centers rise, the rural outskirts descend into decay. In the words of Malam Haruna Sarkin Yaki, a district head representative in Ungogo, “We have lost farmlands, homelands, and even cemeteries.”
Villages once characterized by lush fields and close-knit communities now stand divided by enormous pits, some stretching as far as the eye can see. Entire farmlands have been consumed, swallowed by relentless digging, leaving behind hazards that villagers call “death traps.”
Farming and Livelihoods in Peril
The impact on Kano’s agricultural sector is devastating. The state, known for its agricultural productivity, is losing arable land at an alarming rate.
According to Abdullahi Ali Mai Biredi, Chairperson of the All Farmers Association of Nigeria in Kano, sand mining has ravaged farms across all 44 LGAs. “The erosion caused by mining has reduced farmlands, leading to huge losses and making it harder for farmers to access their fields,” Mai Biredi laments.
For Kano’s farmers, sand mining is a threat that extends beyond economics—each loss of fertile land inches their communities closer to food insecurity and poverty.
One farmer, Sani Idris Dankunkuru, has lived through the toll of this erosion. In his village, efforts to enforce restrictions on mining have yielded little success. Now, frustrated and desperate, he and other residents are prepared to take matters into their own hands.
“We have made arrangements to arrest anyone found mining in our area,” Dankunkuru says with determination. The local authority in Ungogo has issued direct orders to halt mining activities, yet sand trucks continue to rumble through, churning up soil and further eroding the pathways villagers rely on. Roads have deteriorated so badly that even the shortest journeys have become nightmares for commuters.
Dankunkuru’s sentiment is echoed by others in affected areas. Habibu Mai Gidan Bulo, another local, says that miners remain “blind to the destruction they leave behind.”
He points out that sand mining has devastated roads from Zango to Titin Badaru and Bakin Gazai, even compromising the structural integrity of local cemeteries. Graves in the area now collapse as the earth gives way, exposing the bodies of the deceased—a haunting symbol of what unregulated mining has wrought.
Crime, Fear, and Unsafe Lands
The environmental destruction wrought by sand mining has also turned parts of Kano into havens for criminals. In Ungogo, the large pits left by miners have become escape routes for thieves and thugs.
Ramatu Abdullahi, a resident, recalls how her phone was snatched while she was near one of these mined areas. “I couldn’t scream for help. By the time someone could get to me across the large pit, it would have been too late,” she explains.
In another harrowing incident, a retired school principal was murdered in his home, and the perpetrators vanished into the network of sand pits, leaving villagers unable to pursue them. Now, as night falls, the abandoned mining sites loom as ominous shadows, leaving residents fearful for their safety.
For some, the perils of these pits go beyond crime. Mukhtar, a local vendor, runs a petrol stand near a large downhill mining site. “I fear for anyone who may lose control and plunge into the pit. No one would survive a fall like that,” he says, casting a wary glance toward the site.
He has endured not only the danger but also the stench of livestock waste accumulating in the pits, which has turned his once-thriving stand into a place of disquiet.
“We’re Preventing Flooding”: The Miners’ Defense
Mining operators defend their actions, claiming that they work legally and responsibly. Comrade Ibrahim Shafi’i Zainawa, Chairman of the Kano chapter of Tipper and Quarry Employees of Nigeria, denies allegations of illegal mining.
According to Zainawa, all sites are properly licensed, and royalties are paid to the government. “We’re helping prevent floods by creating channels for water to flow,” he explains, arguing that mining has its environmental benefits.
Zainawa insists that the mining community respects boundaries. Sites marked as off-limits are identified with thorny plants, a signal to miners to steer clear. “When we see those thorns, no tipper operator dares to take sand from there,” he asserts.
Despite these assurances, countless villagers remain skeptical, citing repeated breaches of mining agreements and unfulfilled promises.
Regulatory agencies are grappling to control the scope of mining activities, balancing economic needs with environmental and social consequences. The National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA) in Kano has expressed concern about the “life-threatening” risks posed by illegal sand mining.
Mr. Lukman Muhammad Lawal, the NESREA Coordinator for Kano, clarifies that while licenses are issued by the Federal Ministry of Solid Minerals, mining should be conducted only after rigorous assessment and with strict compliance to safety guidelines. Unfortunately, this ideal often falls short on the ground.
Meanwhile, the Kano State Watersheds Erosion and Climate Change Management Agency (KN-WECCMA) has recognized the toll sand mining takes on the environment, framing it as an environmental crisis in urgent need of reform.
Dr. Muhammad S. Khalil, Executive Secretary of KN-WECCMA, has highlighted the long-term dangers of sand mining: from food scarcity and inflation to famine and erosion. He explains that his agency is drafting a bill aimed at penalizing unregulated mining, which would impose strict legal measures to prevent unauthorized activities and hold miners accountable.
“We’re fine-tuning the bill as we speak,” Dr. Khalil says, noting that the state government is in discussions with lawmakers to solidify new policies that will curb the devastation.
Once passed, the bill will mandate that mined land be restored to its original state or adequately closed off to prevent further damage.
For Kano’s rural communities, hope lies in the possibility of change. With new regulations in the works and a surge of advocacy from environmental agencies, there is a glimmer of optimism that authorities will finally enforce measures to protect the land and restore security to the villages.
Yet, for many residents, the damage has already been done. The landscape of their childhoods has been transformed, their ancestral lands irreparably altered.
Hajiya Mama Zahrau, a local elder, remembers a time when her neighborhood was serene, its landscape unmarred by deep pits and mining trucks. “This used to be a beautiful, quiet place. Now it’s a nightmare,” she says with a sigh.
This report was published with the support of Civic Media Lab
