As Eid-el-Kabir also known as Sallah, draws near, many Nigerian Muslims are confronting a sobering reality: the cost of fulfilling the age-old tradition of slaughtering a ram has skyrocketed beyond reach.
From Lagos to Sokoto, the story is the same, devout families, once used to marking the festival with a ram sacrifice, are now weighing their options. And for many who recently spoke to Daily Trust in interviews, those options look very different this year.
“We thank God, but no ram this year”
In the bustling suburb of Ikorodu, Lagos, Eniola, a mother of seven, has long accepted that Eid celebrations in her home won’t involve any slaughter this year.
“We’re not even thinking of chicken or fish, not to talk of ram,” she told Daily Trust. “Things are hard, but we thank God. Hopefully by next year, things will change.”
For Eniola, Sallah has been this way for the past five years—a reflection of Nigeria’s persistent inflation and economic uncertainty. It’s no longer about keeping up appearances but surviving the season with dignity.
A goat instead of a ram
Adewale, a commercial driver in Lagos, recalls paying N120,000 for a medium-sized ram last year. This year, that same size goes for close to N250,000.
“I told my kids we’re getting a goat this year. It’s not about the animal—it’s about the intention,” he said. “God sees the effort.”
The shift is not just economic—it’s emotional. For many parents like Adewale, the ability to provide a ram once symbolized stability and pride. Now, even a modest goat feels like a compromise they must make with their children—and with themselves.
“Everything scattered this year”
In Agege, Lagos, Zainab Yusuf, a 35-year-old provision store owner, had high hopes. She usually starts saving from Ramadan, putting aside money for a small ram to surprise her kids. But this year?
“Everything scattered,” she said. “Rent went up, prices of goods doubled, and sales dropped.”
At Agege market, she priced a ram at N220,000—more than twice what she paid last year. She left with a smile, but not with a ram.
“I’ll get a turkey or a couple of chickens. We’ll cook, invite family, and pray. Sallah is about gratitude.”
Sellers also feel the pinch
Livestock traders are not exempt from the squeeze. Daboki, a dealer in Ipaja, said prices have jumped by over 45% compared to last year.
“We’re selling rams from N200,000 to N950,000. People just can’t afford it,” he said. “Feed is expensive, roads are bad, and insecurity in the North has made everything worse.”
Transporting rams from Sokoto to Lagos now costs over N1.5 million, said Abdul-Salam Hassan, a trader at Alaba Market. “Just fuel and feeding alone will finish you,” he added.
A crisis of faith or finances?
In Abuja, legal practitioner Rasheed Ayodeji is heading to Nasarawa, not to find a cheaper ram, but to buy a goat for around N35,000.
“A ram? That’s out of reach,” he laughed. “But I’ll still celebrate, Insha Allah.”
Others in the capital are making similar adjustments. Naffesat Hassan, found browsing at a local livestock market, said unless a “miracle” happens, she’ll be buying meat in kilos, not a live animal.
“I can’t kill myself over a ram,” said Muhammad Abdullahi, who’s settled on buying three big chickens.
At the Dei-Dei market and Kubwa’s makeshift ram stalls, many sellers say traders from the Northwest have skipped this year’s business entirely. “No profit,” one muttered.
Up in Sokoto, families are leaning into tradition with a modern twist: pooling funds to jointly purchase cows. The practice—known locally as Watanda—isn’t new, but it’s gaining momentum.
“We started sharing a cow when individual prices became crazy,” said Malam Salisu. “This year, each of us is contributing N350,000. Last year, it was N250,000.”
Pooling has become a lifeline. For others, it’s about planning ahead. One resident said he bought a cow for N210,000 and a ram for N80,000 earlier in the year. “That same ram now goes for double,” he said.
Traders like Malam Murtala Arkilla say poor sales are linked to delayed salaries and low cash flow. “Hopefully, things pick up before the festival,” he added.
Kwara: plenty of rams, few buyers
In Ilorin, the markets are stocked, but the foot traffic is light.
“People think we’re making money. We’re just surviving,” said Mallam Moshood, a seller in Surulere. “Last year’s N120,000 rams now start at N200,000.”
At Adeta Roundabout, small rams go for N250,000. Larger ones hit N480,000. If left unsold until the eve of Sallah, feeding costs alone could push prices higher.
“There are rams for N80,000,” noted Hajia Fasilat Abdulraheem, “but you have to search.”
Even among buyers, optimism is fading. “I budgeted N100,000, but all I see are lean rams for N150,000,” said Abdulazeez Aliyu, a father of two. “We might focus on clothes and food instead.”
A festival of intentions
Despite the financial pressure, the spiritual obligation of Eid remains intact. For many, it’s not about the size or price of the sacrifice—but the sincerity behind it.
“It’s about niyyah (intention),” said Ustaz Ismail Mohammad, an Islamic scholar. “Even if all you can afford is a chicken, Allah knows your heart.”
Across the country, Muslims are finding ways to adapt. Some join cooperative buying schemes. Others purchase during the off-season. And for a few, borrowing—with conditions—is allowed, as long as no interest is charged and repayment is assured.
Behind every unbought ram and every shared cow lies a story of resilience. This year’s Sallah may be quieter, more modest—but perhaps also more meaningful.
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