Across cassava-producing communities, women sustain one of Nigeria’s most consumed staple foods through a layered system of labour, ownership, and machinery, where survival work continues daily under trees, makeshits shelters and within processing centres
The smell of fermented cassava hangs in the air long before the work comes into view, sharp, sour, and heavy in the morning heat.
In Gabaraku in Bida Local Government Area and Gwada in Shiroro Local Government Area of Niger State, among other areas, women are already at work beneath scattered trees, sitting on bare ground with buckets, knives, and piles of cassava tubers spread around them.
A few steps away stand government-supported processing centres established under the Federal Government/ International Fund for Agricultural Development, (IFAD)-backed Value Chain Development Programme (VCDP) in the state.
They are functional with platforms, water points, and structured processing spaces. But the most visible labour is happening outside the centres.
Under the trees, the work begins
Nigeria produces more cassava than any country in the world, yet much of it is still processed by hand.
Nigeria remains the world’s largest producer of cassava, with annual output running into tens of millions of metric tonnes.
A significant portion of this is processed into garri, a staple food eaten daily across homes. In practical terms, millions of Nigerians rely on garri every day, making it one of the most consistently consumed foods in the country.
Across cassava-producing communities, women dominate the processing stage from peeling and washing to frying and drying.
In many rural clusters, they make up the overwhelming majority of the workforce, sustaining a system where production depends more on physical effort than machinery.
It is this largely unseen labour that keeps garri available in markets and homes across the country.
Economy built in layers
What unfolds is not one system, but several working at once.
Some women own cassava and bring it for processing into garri for sale.
Others do not own anything. They survive through daily labour, peeling cassava, pressing sacks, or frying garri for small payments.
A third group standing slightly apart comprises machine owners who provide grating services for a fee.
Together, they form the hidden structure behind one of Nigeria’s most consumed staple foods.
Hauwawu Under The Tree
Under a tree in Gabaraku community, 22-year-old Hauwawu sits on the bare ground, peeling cassava with steady, practiced movements.
Beside her, her four-month-old baby lies on a small cloth spread over the dust.
Around her, other women continue working with knives scraping cassava in a rhythm that does not break.
At one point during the visit, the baby is lifted briefly and held for a few minutes.
There is no pause in the work.
Moments later, the child is returned to the cloth. Hauwawu adjusts it slightly, leans forward, and continues peeling cassava as the cluster around her carries on.
Her hands do not stop.
“I don’t have anything doing,” she stated quietly, adding: “So I come out every day to peel cassava to earn something for my children.”
Halima: Years Of The Same Work
Not far from her, Halima, 45, works through her own pile of cassava, her wrapper tied tightly around her as she peels.
Her hands move steadily, though slower than the younger women around her.
“I have been doing this work for years. It is not easy, but it is what we have,” she explained.
She paused briefly to stretch her fingers before returning to the pile:
“If I don’t come out, there is no money for the day.”
Around them, cassava peels gather on the ground as dust rises in the heat.
Amina: Eight Children To Feed
Amina, a mother of eight, sits on a low stool beside a growing heap of cassava, peeling quickly as the morning heat builds.
Her work is constant, driven less by routine and more by urgency.
“I have many children to take care of,” she explained without looking up.
“If I don’t come out to work, there will be nothing at home,” she further stated.
She adjusted her wrapper and continued: “This work is what keeps us going.”
The Crushing Machine And Its Owner
At the centre of the process, the sound changes.
A machine roars as cassava is fed into it in steady batches. The machine is owned by an individual operator who charges for each use.
Women arrive with basins of peeled cassava, waiting their turn as the machine runs continuously.
Wet cassava mash spills out in thick heaps, quickly gathered by waiting hands before the next batch follows.
Some women without cassava of their own remain near the machine, assisting by feeding cassava into the grinder or carrying the mash away.
They are paid small amounts for their effort.
In the whole process, the machine owner does not peel or fry.
as his income comes from every turn of the machine.
From Pressing To Fire: The Work Does Not Slow
After grating, the cassava mash is packed into sacks and tightly pressed to remove excess water.
The liquid drains out sometimes through channels provided at the processing centres, and in other cases directly onto the surrounding ground where drainage is limited.
The mash is then left to ferment briefly before further processing.
From here, it is sieved to remove fibres and lumps, breaking it into fine granules ready for frying.
Processing takes different directions at this stage depending on use.
Some batches are taken straight to the frying stage to produce garri commonly used for making eba, a staple swallow eaten in many homes.
Others are allowed to ferment longer, developing the sour taste preferred by those who soak garri in water for drinking.
Near the frying area, Kaka, 50, stands over a wide pan, turning garri over firewood.
Smoke circles her face as heat rises sharply from the stove.
“This work needs strength,” she noted without stopping, adding: “If you are tired and you stop, the garri will burn”
She adjusted her stance slightly and continued stirring.
“We have been doing it like this for a long time,” she added.
After frying, garri is spread out to dry.
Some women use elevated platforms provided within the processing centres.
Others spread theirs on sacks or bare ground under the sun, depending on where they work.
Children move in and out of the workspace. Some helping, others sitting quietly beside their mothers.
A System Of Three Economies
Not all women occupy the same position in this system.
Cassava owners carry the risk and eventual profit of production.
Labourers depend on daily earnings from peeling, frying, and processing while machine owners earn from service.
But across all three, income remains uncertain.
The Price Of The Day’s Work
Gogo sits beside a sack of finished garri, tying it carefully as others prepare theirs for sale.
Her work for the moment is done, but the uncertainty remains.
“The problem is selling,” she observed, adding: “You can work all day and still not get good money.”
She tightens the sack and looks toward the others.
“Sometimes buyers come and price it low. We don’t have a choice,” she stated.
Inside And Outside The Structure
Inside the processing centres, cooperative members work with training, shared facilities, and access to organised markets under the VCDP programme.
One beneficiary, Patience Jeremiah, says the training has improved her processing methods and helped her access better market opportunities.
But just beyond the centres, independent women continue differently.
They are not part of cooperatives.
“We want to be on our own,” one woman says.
They rely on daily labour, informal buyers, and flexible arrangements that allow them to earn as they work.
Both systems exist in the same communities — side by side, but not together.
The End Of The Day
As evening approaches, the rhythm begins to slow.
Sacks of garri are tied and lifted.
Firewood smoke fades into the air just as the smell of cassava lingers across both the processing centres and the open spaces under trees.
Each sack represents hours of labour, peeling, crushing, pressing, sieving, frying, and drying and carried out through multiple hands and multiple systems.
In Nigeria’s cassava economy, garri is not just produced, it is worked into existence daily.
And under trees and inside processing centres alike, the same labour begins again when morning returns.
Hidden labour behind Nigeria’s garri: How women labour for hours to feed homes
