How Harmattan Affects Nigerians: Why the Same Weather Trends Every Year
- Sean
- Jan 28
- 3 min read
By the time Harmattan really settles in, nobody needs an announcement.
Your lips tell you.
Your nostrils confirm it.
Your skin starts acting brand new — as if it wasn’t yours two weeks ago.
Somewhere between 6:30 and 7:15am, Nigerians collectively wake up with blocked noses, cracked lips, and a strange cough that doesn’t mean sickness, just weather.
“This is why conversations about how Harmattan affects Nigerians go beyond temperature or dust — they’re really about how we experience discomfort together.”
And just like that, Harmattan is trending again.
Not because it’s new.
Not because it’s shocking.
But because in Nigeria, weather is never a private experience.
It’s communal.
Shared.
Lived out loud.
This isn’t a climate story. It’s a cultural one.
Nigerians Experience Weather Together, Not Alone
In many places, weather is something you quietly adjust to. In Nigeria, it’s something you announce.
“See how cold it is.”
“This dust will finish me.”
“Is your nose also paining you?”
Harmattan becomes conversation starter, excuse, explanation, and shared suffering. It enters WhatsApp statuses, office small talk, market banter, and Twitter jokes. Nobody asks if you’re affected — the assumption is that you are.
This collective experience matters. It turns discomfort into bonding. Everyone is dry. Everyone is coughing.
Everyone is rubbing shea butter like it’s medication.
And somehow, knowing you’re not alone makes it bearable.
In Nigeria, weather doesn’t isolate. It synchronizes.
How Harmattan Affects Nigerians Beyond the Weather
Harmattan exposes things we don’t always say out loud.
Who has a functioning water heater.
Who has constant running water.
Who lives in a well-sealed house.
Who can afford humidifiers, lip balm, or regular medical care.
For some people, Harmattan is “annoying.”
For others, it’s genuinely painful.
Dry eyes that can’t be treated.
Asthma that gets worse.
Sinus issues that linger because hospital visits cost money and time.
Even housing tells a story. Thin walls. Poor ventilation. Dust that seeps in no matter how often you clean. Harmattan settles differently depending on where — and how — you live.
But Nigerians rarely frame this as inequality. Instead, it becomes humour.
We Laugh Through It Because That’s the Ritual
Harmattan humour is survival language.
“Chapstick no dey work again.”
“My nose has retired.”
“This weather hates the poor.”
The jokes are exaggerated, but the discomfort is real. And that exaggeration is intentional. Nigerians use humour to flatten suffering, to make it collective instead of personal. If everyone is joking, then nobody is weak for struggling.
This is why Harmattan trends every year without novelty.
The jokes don’t need to be new.
The ritual is the point.
Posting about it says: I’m here. I’m enduring. I’m like you.
It’s less about complaining and more about checking in.
Why It Trends Every Year Without Getting Old
Harmattan doesn’t trend because it surprises us. It trends because it confirms us.
Every year, the same reactions appear:
The lip complaints
The cough disclaimers
The dry skin laments
The nostalgic “this weather reminds me of boarding school”
There’s comfort in predictability. When something happens every year, it becomes part of identity. Harmattan is seasonal proof that time is moving, that December is close, that the year is folding in on itself.
Trending it is a way of marking time — not resisting it.
Environment as Nigerian Storytelling
In Nigerian storytelling, environment is never background. It’s character.
Rain delays weddings.
Sun ruins events.
Traffic changes moods.
Heat affects tempers.
Harmattan alters bodies.
These things shape narratives because they shape daily life.
We don’t separate ourselves from our environment. We narrate through it. That’s why Harmattan stories aren’t about wind patterns or dust particles. They’re about lips cracking during morning devotion, about coughing through meetings, about sharing Vaseline at work.
The weather becomes a shared plotline.
This Isn’t About Climate. It’s About Survival Together.
Harmattan season reminds Nigerians that endurance is communal.
That discomfort doesn’t have to be lonely.
That humour can soften inequality, even if it doesn’t erase it.
Every year, Harmattan trends not because it’s dramatic — but because it’s familiar. And in a country where uncertainty is constant, familiarity itself becomes something worth talking about.
We post about Harmattan the way we say “we’re still here.”
Dry lips, blocked nose and all.
Comments