By Hadiza Ismail
In Mashiga, a quiet community within Kabala Doki of Kaduna North Local Government, life is tied to the river. For decades, fishing in this community forms part of the culture, food, and dignity of the people. The men rise before dawn, carrying nets woven with skills learnt from their fathers and grandfathers before them, and they return with baskets of silver tilapia and catfish.
The story is different now. The river is shrinking, the fish are vanishing, and survival is becoming harder.
“I have been fishing for more than 20 years,” says Mahmud Ibrahim, his fingers carefully repairing a frayed cone shaped net, known locally as maali or gura. His words are heavy with memory. “Years ago, this river was so deep and full of fishes. When I went fishing before dawn, I fish with at least 10 maali and a lot of fishes. Now, sometimes I fish with three maali at most, and come back with a few fishes.”
He shows his tools of trade: Cone shaped net with plastic bottles tied to the nets to keep them afloat, ropes tied with hooks which still had leftover worms on them, and worms in a bucket wriggling.
His face brightens briefly as he recalls the past, when fish were bigger, when fishermen from Kano State travelled down to Mashiga just to fish and earn a living. Sadly, the smile fades as he looks out at the river, explaining how waste disposed in the river have replaced the deep river that once sheltered spawning fish. “The fish no longer have a home,” he says quietly. “Waste have filled the spaces where fish once dug hollows to lay eggs. Reproduction cycles are broken, and each season brings fewer fingerlings. The water is not deep anymore, and sometimes when it rains, everything floods.”
This is not just Mahmud’s story. This story mirrors the state of fishing in Kaduna and across Nigeria. The country produces around 1.4 million metric tonnes of fish annually against a national demand of 4.5 million, forcing Nigeria to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on imports every year. Yet communities with rivers like Mashiga, sit at the frontline of both potential and loss.
In Kaduna State, the challenges run deeper than shrinking catches. Fishing gear has become painfully expensive as inflation and subsidy removals push up costs. A net that once cost a few hundred or at most a thousand naira now costs five times as much. Many fishers cannot afford them, so they fall back on inefficient traditional traps. Pollution compounds the problem as unregulated dumping and industrial waste have turned rivers into open sewers. Painfully, where clean water still exists, insecurity makes it dangerous to reach. “The fish have moved deeper into the bushes towards Buruku,” Mahmud explains, pointing across the river. “But we cannot go there. Bandits have taken over those areas.”
Fishing, once a livelihood strong enough to sustain families, is now reduced to a side hustle. Mahmud plants rice by the riverbank to supplement his income. Others like him, take on casual labor in the town. The younger generation on the other hand, are turning away from fishing altogether, dismissing it as too risky and unrewarding.
Amid this despair, solutions exist if only the will to act matches the urgency of the problem. Experts argue that reviving fishing in Kaduna requires a smart blend of community effort, government support, and environmental care. Enforcing proper waste management laws could restore water quality and deepen clogged riverbeds. Community dredging projects supported by local councils and NGOs could reopen spawning grounds for fish.
Safety remains another urgent need. Local security initiatives, supported by government-backed peacebuilding programs, could gradually reclaim fishing zones lost to insecurity. Without access to safe fishing grounds, no amount of equipment or training will bring back the dignity of the trade.
For fishers like Mahmud, access to soft loans or subsidies for modern nets, hooks, and small motorized boats could revive productivity. Kaduna’s Ministry of Agriculture could work with cooperatives to introduce training in eco-friendly aquaculture, so families are not entirely dependent on the river. With partnerships, even backyard fishponds could provide steady income and reduce the pressure on natural waters.
For Mashiga, however, the future feels fragile. Without urgent action, young people will continue abandoning the river, and with them will go generations of knowledge and tradition. But the opposite is also possible. If waste is managed, if rivers are dredged, if insecurity is reduced, and if fishermen receive support, the baskets could overflow again.
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