
@bolaji
It is December 23rd, 2025. By all rights, I should be writing this while wearing a thick cardigan, my lips coated in a heavy layer of Vaseline, and my windows shut tight against the chill. The markets should be hazy with dust, and the mornings should be crisp enough to make you dread taking a shower.
But look outside. The air feels heavy. The fan is spinning at full speed. The "Christmas weather" we grew up with, that distinct Harmattan signals the holidays are here, is nowhere to be found.
We often joke about Nigerian weather, but this absence isn’t just a random delay. If you look at the science, what we are experiencing right now is a warning sign. The Harmattan is changing, and it is telling us a story about how climate change is rewriting our seasons.
Imagine the weather as a giant tug-of-war in the sky.
On one side, you have the Sahara Desert up north. In December, it acts like a massive fan, trying to blow dry, cool air down into Nigeria. On the other side, you have the Ocean down south, which pushes up warm, humid air.
Usually, at this time of year, the Sahara wins the fight. It pushes the humid air away and covers us in that dry, dusty breeze we know so well.
But right now, the "engine" powering that fan is struggling. Because the world is getting hotter, the usual patterns are messed up. The boundary line where dry and humid air meet is unclear and shifting.
Basically, the heat is making the Sahara’s push weaker, so that dry, cold wind is getting stuck up north instead of flowing down to us.
It is easy to say, "Oh, the weather is just strange this year." But scientists have been tracking this for decades.
Data from northwestern Nigeria dating back to the 1960s shows a clear trend: the "severe cold events" of the Harmattan are vanishing. The days when the temperature would drop drastically are becoming fewer and farther between. What we are seeing in 2025 is consistent with long-term observations across West Africa, from Ghana to Mali.
We are entering an era of "Hot Harmattan." While we might still get the dust (because the Sahara is still dry), we aren't getting the cooling relief. The dust traps heat, and because the global baseline temperature is higher, we end up with a hazy, suffocating heat instead of a crisp, cool wind.
You might think, "So what? I don't like the cold anyway." But the Harmattan is a critical part of our ecosystem and economy. A missing or erratic Harmattan causes a domino effect of problems.
First, there is our health. Even without the cold, if the wind eventually picks up, research shows dust concentrations are actually rising in some regions. This "hot dust" is a nightmare for respiratory health, increasing cases of asthma and bronchitis. Furthermore, the disruption of this season has been linked to meningitis outbreaks, which thrive in specific dry, hot conditions.
Then, look at agriculture. Our farmers rely on the predictability of seasons. The Harmattan signals the end of the rains and the drying of crops. When the timeline shifts—when the dry season is delayed or interrupted by strange humidity—it stresses the crops. It messes with the flowering of fruit trees and confuses the harvest calendar. In a country where food prices are already a concern, climate unpredictability is a threat to food security.
So, will the Harmattan ever come back?
Atmospheric models suggest that while the season won't disappear entirely, it will become increasingly chaotic. We are looking at a future of "climate whiplash." One year might bring a sudden, intense dust storm that shuts down airports for a week, and the next year might bring a December that feels like a sauna.
The absence of the Harmattan on December 22nd is a tangible, physical reminder that climate change isn't just affecting the melting Arctic ice caps. It is about the loss of the rhythms of life here in Nigeria.
As we end 2025 without our signature weather, we need to stop viewing this as a temporary glitch. We need to adapt, whether that means better early warning systems for farmers, more robust health monitoring for meningitis, or simply accepting that our traditional seasons are evolving.
For now, keep the Vaseline nearby, just in case. But don't be surprised if you spend this December in a t-shirt, wondering where the wind went.
Read more like this on The B Blog.
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