A Wall of Trees is Reversing Desertification and Empowering Communities in Nigeria

In the pre-dawn hush of Makoda village in Nigeria’s Kano State, Adamu Habibu walks beneath rows of moringa and neem trees that now shade his land. Twenty years ago, this was barren ground, cracked and dry as the Sahara Desert crept ever so steadily forward. 

At the time, Habibu was a young primary school teacher who farmed on weekends to supplement his income. But with the land so degraded, harvests were poor, and his motivation dwindled. Now, birds call from the canopy above as he inspects his millet crop, which yields three times what it once did, thanks to the green barrier that now holds back the desert.

“Back then, I could barely get two bags of millet from this whole land,” Habibu said, gesturing at the field. “I’d plant once, nothing. Plant again, nothing. Sometimes, three times before anything would grow. And even then, the rains would stop before it could ripen. It was the desert … everything was drying up.”

Today, that same hectare yields at least six bags of millet annually, plus beans and other crops planted between the protective trees. The transformation turned his weekend farming into a daily pursuit worth his time.

Across northern Nigeria’s Sahelian belt, desertification is advancing relentlessly, threatening livelihoods and swallowing vast swaths of land. With nearly two-thirds of the country’s landmass already affected, and the Sahara creeping southward at 0.6 kilometers per year, the crisis now endangers over 40 million people who depend on increasingly barren soil. 

In the North, vegetation cover shrank by around 50 percent over the past three decades, and food production in affected areas dropped by one-fifth. But in Makoda, where 362,000 Nigerians live, a grassroots, two-decade-old Wall of Trees initiative reversed desert encroachment on 15 hectares of farmland. The project offers critical lessons for climate adaptation and a sobering reminder of the difficulty of scaling community-led solutions to a crisis consuming 351,000 hectares each year.

Situated roughly 900 kilometers from the Sahara and more than 2,400 kilometers north of Nigeria’s capital, Abuja, Kano State lies on the front line of an unfolding environmental crisis. By the time the Wall of Trees initiative was first taking shape, more than 20,000 square kilometers of arable land were already lost to the encroaching desert, according to Nigeria’s Federal Ministry of Environment. The effects ripple through nearly every aspect of daily life in farming communities like Makoda, where residents grow maize, millet, groundnuts, cassava and guinea corn.

“The desertification affected me badly,” said Dalladi Maibarkono, who was born and raised in Makoda. “I could hardly grow enough to feed my household. Selling anything? That wasn’t even a thought. I really struggled financially.”

The hardship is personal, but far from isolated. Gandu Yusuf Joe, a professor of environmental science at Bingham University, said farmers rely entirely on the land — whether for growing crops, which demands viable soil, or for raising livestock, which requires ample grass. Desertification disrupts all of it and affects farmers more than most, he added.

Newton Jibunoh, founder of the Wall of Trees initiative, is a Nigerian civil engineer who once dreamed of becoming an astronaut. When that did not materialize, he decided to drive from London to Nigeria, a journey that took him across Europe, the Mediterranean, and the Sahara Desert in 1965. What he witnessed there would shape a lifetime of environmental advocacy.

"I saw the lack of water bodies and arable land across the Sahara," he said. "If desert encroachment continues the way it was going, one day you will find out the desert will get to the South."

His observations during the journey led him to establish the nonprofit Fight Against Desert Encroachment (FADE Africa) in 2000, to combat desertification in Northern Nigeria. But at the time, Jibunoh had little support and no clear roadmap for how to turn his vision into action. Institutional support came later when he was introduced to the Kano State government. 

"What the Kano state government did was to take me to the area that was most affected by desertification," Jibunoh said. "When I saw the magnitude of what I was requested to do, it was a little bit beyond me, so I had to study the science of desertification."

By 2004, after studying desert mitigation at Ben-Gurion University in Israel, Jibunoh returned with a concrete proposal. His research clarified how desertification spreads and identified tree species capable of surviving and supporting communities in arid conditions.

The Wall of Trees project launched in Makoda in 2004 with a strategy that extended beyond simple reforestation. The first line of defense consisted of 1,300 windbreak trees, primarily eucalyptus, forming a shelterbelt to protect the soil from erosion and shield the area from harsh Sahara winds. Behind this barrier, approximately 100 orchard trees, such as oranges, apples, and guavas, helped improve soil fertility and water retention while also providing food. The third tier included 300 woodlot trees to meet the community’s firewood needs. Finally, economic trees like neem, moringa, and jatropha created income opportunities through their oils, leaves and seeds.

"If the farmer knows that when he plants a tree, he can get oil from the seeds, or harvest oranges or guava and sell it for money, he will look after them very well," said Abdulazeez Abba, Wall of Trees project manager.

This approach proved transformative. Within two years of planting, farmers began reporting significant improvements in crop yields.

"The Wall of Trees initiative has helped me by multiplying the result of my farm produce," said Lawan Muhammad, who farms millet and beans. "I now harvest three times, and sometimes even four times, what I used to get before. That way, I've been able to cater to the needs of my household."

In 2004, the project expanded to include the Makoda Cottage Industry, which trained 200 women to produce soaps, body creams, and natural pesticides from the oils of moringa, neem and jatropha trees. Each production cycle yielded over 1,000 products, providing a modest but steady income for the women involved.

Talatuwa Ummaru was one of the trainees. She recalled that participants were paid ₦1,100 for every dozen items they produced, a routine that continued until the cottage operation eventually shut down.

For others, like Hassana Yahaya, the training provided long-term skills. She now earns a living making and selling herbal creams and oils, skills she attributes directly to the program. 

For a project like Wall of Trees, success depends on listening to local needs, from identifying which tree species are most useful to understanding what resources are lacking on the ground, said Umar Saleh Anka, climate change director at the Kano State Ministry of Environment.

“This approach ensured that farmers became not just beneficiaries but co-owners of the initiative,” he said. “With tangible economic benefits, from fruit harvests to income-generating products, the incentive to protect and maintain the green barrier became deeply personal.”

Despite its successes, the Wall of Trees initiative faces significant obstacles. The Makoda Cottage Industry shut down in 2006 when its power generator was damaged beyond repair. With Makoda still not connected to the national electricity grid, the facility remains closed, putting all of the women at the factory out of their jobs. 

Market limitations pose another challenge. "Some of the products, like the jatropha oil, have no market," said Abba, Wall of Trees project manager. "It is used as a biofuel. And in Nigeria, we do not use biofuel, even if we do, it is negligible."

Security concerns also hamper progress. At one point, the project relied on a solar-powered system to pump water from a borehole, but the arrangement was cut short after armed robbers attacked the site in 2010, killing two watchmen and stealing the solar panels. 

"Another problem these trees are facing now is an attack by an insect called woodworm, which kills any tree it puts its eyes on," saidYusuf Alasan, a Makoda farmer. "And then, some herbal medics come around in the absence of the watchmen to cut their branches and eventually kill these trees."

Perhaps most critically, institutional support has wavered. While the government provided initial backing, including tree seedlings and machinery for the Makoda Cottage Industry, successive administrations have shown little interest. 

“This lack of continuity limits expansion to other high-risk areas across Kano's desertification belt,” Abba said.

Now 87, the initiative’s founder Jibunoh said he would like to drive across the Sahara Desert one more time as a means to draw institutional attention and support to scale the Wall of Trees project across other frontline communities.

“I’m not getting any younger. My movement is no longer as good as it used be … people around me want to stop me,” Jibunoh said. “Otherwise, I would want to drive across the Sahara Desert again, but the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has also warned me not to try it. But, as long as my two legs are working and my health is good, I will continue to participate and advocate against desertification.” 

This article is published in collaboration with Egab.