Hi, Kings and Queens of the garden. I'm new here.
Today, I want to tell the true, impactful, and ridiculously dramatic story of the Cabbage Queens themselves.
The Cabbage Field of Dreams and Nightmares
Look at that image again. You see women standing in a sea of green. But what you are actually seeing is a battalion of Nigerian Agri-Mothers standing on a fortress of hope.
For six solid weeks, Mama Halima, Auntie Ladi, and the entire Cabbage Cooperative have been fighting for this harvest. They have negotiated water rights with a local landlord more stubborn than a rock, trekked miles for manure, and developed biceps that could rival a professional wrestler from carrying water.
The expectation is simple: Each head of cabbage must grow firm, tight, and heavy enough to survive the long journey south, where Lagos people will pay top Naira to turn it into salad. Every round head represents school fees, new wrappers, and a small, well-deserved profit.
But in the Cabbage business, the universe always throws a spanner in the works.
The Great Insect Conspiracy
Three days before the scheduled harvest, Mama Halima—the veteran of ten cabbage seasons—called an emergency meeting. Her face was set in the kind of grim determination usually reserved for negotiating aso ebi prices.
"Sisters," she announced, pointing a calloused finger at a perfectly formed cabbage head. "We have been betrayed. Look!"
She peeled back a few outer leaves. There, nestled comfortably, was a small, pale green caterpillar. And next to it, its cousin. And its second cousin. And its entire extended family. The diamondback moth larvae—a pest so common, so stubborn, it must have a Nigerian passport.
The insects were everywhere, eating holes in the potential profit. They were not just feeding; they were holding an all-you-can-eat buffet on the Round Money!
Auntie Ladi slumped. "Ah, Oluwa! Three days to harvest, and the enemy arrives in uniform!"
The Extreme, Funny, Low-Cost Solution
Panic was a luxury they couldn't afford. The market needed the cabbage. The school fees deadline was looming. They couldn't wait for expensive, imported chemicals. This required a solution as local and resourceful as the women themselves.
Mama Halima surveyed the despairing faces, then smiled—the same dangerous smile she gives the middleman who tries to offer her a discount.
"They want to eat the vegetable? Let us serve them a meal of chaos!"
The plan was brilliant in its simplicity, born of generations of low-budget, high-impact Savanna farming:
The Weapon: They gathered every bar of local black soap (Ose Dudu) they could find—the potent stuff that can clean every stain from a child’s school uniform.
The Adjuvant: They mixed the soap into huge drums of water, then added copious amounts of ground hot pepper and a handful of fine ash from the cooking fire.
The Application: They tied old pieces of sponge to long sticks, dipped them in the foamy, spicy, peppery concoction, and then marched into the field.
It was an epic, chaotic scene. The women were dabbing, wiping, and splashing their homemade, all-natural, Spicy Soap-Ash Bomb onto thousands of cabbage heads. They were simultaneously laughing, coughing from the pepper fumes, and shouting motivational insults at the tiny pests.
"You think you are smart, eh? Taste the bitterness of Mama Nkechi's pepper soup!" Auntie Ladi yelled, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her wrist.
The insects, it turns out, do not enjoy being bathed in powerful, spicy Nigerian soap. They checked out. They quit the buffet. They were defeated by the resilience and low-cost ingenuity of the Cabbage Queens.
The Meaningful Payoff
Two days later, the field was saved. The harvest was tremendous. The women bundled their firm, un-perforated, beautifully round cabbages onto trucks and headed for the market, ready to face the final boss.
The story of the cabbage queens isn't just about farming; it's the core story of Nigeria’s vegetation belt. It’s the constant battle against a harsh climate (the dry Savanna), against economic constraints (no capital for fancy pesticides), and against all odds won with community, practical knowledge, and a sense of humour about the struggle.
They turned their biggest problem into their weapon. And they secured their Round Money.
Next time you have a problem, ask yourself: What’s my spicy soap-ash bomb?