By Azhar Jatoi
Muzaffargarh: Every morning before the sun rises, Muhammad Afzal steps into his tomato field with a mixture of habit and worry. Farming is not just his profession; it is his inheritance. His father tilled this land before him, and for nearly four decades Afzal has done the same. Now his son works beside him, guiding the plough and carrying seed trays, but Afzal wonders whether the cycle will end with him.
“We grew vegetables all our lives,” he says, looking across his ten acres. “But I don’t know if my son will stay. Farming has become too expensive, too risky.”
The biggest worry is pests. Afzal knows what lies ahead each season: 12 to 15 rounds of chemical pesticide spraying before the tomatoes are ready. Each spray costs about Rs6,000 per acre. By harvest, he will have spent more than Rs60,000 per acre on chemicals alone.
“You spray because you are afraid,” he says. “If you don’t spray, you lose everything. If you spray too much, you still lose. Either way, the farmer suffers.”
In the adjoining district of Multan, 48-year-old Muhammad Iqbal walks slowly through his vegetable crop. His hands are rough, his shoulders stooped from years of labour, but it is not the physical work that troubles him most. “I spray every week,” he says. “Sometimes twice. Still the pests come back. The cost of pesticides keeps increasing, but my harvest does not.”
Like thousands of small farmers, Iqbal learned farming from his elders. When pests appear, you spray. When the spray fails, you try a stronger one. He has never heard of Integrated Pest Management. He does not know which insects help his crops and which destroy them.
“The dealer tells me what to buy,” he says simply. “If it doesn’t work, I buy another one.”
What Iqbal does not see are the insects disappearing from his fields, the tiny predators and pollinators that once kept pests under control. What he does see is debt.
“Farming used to feed my family,” he says quietly. “Now it only creates tension.”
Agriculture experts say this story is painfully common. Excessive pesticide use destroys beneficial insects and upsets the natural balance of the field. Pests return stronger, and farmers respond with heavier doses. It is a cycle that traps farmers economically and damages the land.
“When farmers apply too many pesticides, they kill the insects that protect their crops,” explains Asadullah Khan, an agriculture extension officer in Multan. “The farmer thinks the pesticide failed, so he increases the dose. It becomes a dangerous loop.”
But the damage does not stop at the edge of the field.
In a modest home Muzaffargarh, Rubina Bibi (name changed) still keeps the cupboard where she once stored a bottle she believed was harmless. A housewife and part-time farm labourer, Rubina had helped a neighbour mix pesticide and poured the leftover chemical into an empty cough syrup bottle.
“I thought it would be safe if the lid was tight,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know it could kill.”
That night, her daughter visited with her three-year-old son, who had a mild cold. Following habit, Rubina asked her daughter to give him a spoon of “cough syrup.” Minutes later, the child began vomiting violently.
“We rushed him to the hospital,” Rubina says, wiping her eyes. “The doctor told us the pesticide was too strong. There was nothing he could do.” The child died before midnight.
Doctors say such tragedies happen far more often than reported. Pesticides are commonly stored in unlabelled bottles, sometimes in kitchens or sleeping areas. Women, who handlestorage and cleaning, are rarely trained about the dangers.
“Children are the most vulnerable,” says Ome Kulsoom, a community activist and progressive farmer from Muzaffargarh. “These deaths happen because people don’t know the risks.”
Pakistan has seen a continuous increase in the use of pesticides every year. As climate stress increases pest pressure, farmers respond by spraying more, often without protective equipment, correct dosage or knowledge of safer alternatives. Women are excluded from decisions, despite bearing the greatest health risks.
This is where the Centre for Agriculture and Bioscience International (CABI) decided something had to change, not just in what farmers use, but in how they think.
Instead of focusing only on products or techniques, CABI developed a Social and Behaviour Change Communication (SBCC) strategy tailored for Pakistan. The goal was simple but ambitious: change everyday behaviour around pesticide use-who decides, how much is used, where chemicals are stored, and whether safer options are considered.
“Farmers are not careless,” says Azmat Abbas, Development Communication Manager, Asia, CABI, “They are doing what they think is right with the information they have. Our job is to give them better information; in a way they can trust.” He said the SBCC strategy has been developed in collaboration with the government and with the input of key stakeholders including, farmers and chemical pesticide industry. “It aims to address the excessive and exclusive use of chemical pesticides, unsafe application, storage and disposal, and ensure gender inclusivity in pesticide-related decision making.”
As part of activities to address behavioural challenge, more than, 4000 farmers have been reached through 200 awareness sessions in Multan and Muzaffargarh. These sessions were led by trained extension officers and community activists. Using visuals, stories and real examples, these sessions explain pest identification, safe handling, correct spraying intervals and the role of beneficial insects.
Importantly, CABI also recognised the influence of pesticide dealers. More than 170 dealers and salesperson, who are often the first point of advice for farmers, have been engaged in awareness activities to promote responsible use instead of aggressive selling.
“If the dealer changes his message, the farmer listens,” says Rana Intizar Ali, a CABI-trained pesticide dealer. “That’s why they are key to behaviour change.”
Women are now being included too. Sessions teach safe storage, proper disposal and the dangers of reusing chemical containers. For many, it is the first time they are part of the conversation.
“If I had known this earlier, my grandson would still be alive,” Rubina says softly. “Now I tell other women: don’t keep these things in the house. Learn first.”
Slowly, change is becoming visible. Farmers who once sprayed blindly are beginning to observe their fields. Some report cutting pesticide use by using Trichogramma cards, saving money while protecting their crops.
“When farmers see that fewer sprays still work, their fear reduces,” says Narjis Fatima, a field implementing partner. “They start trusting nature again.”
Back in Muzaffargarh, Iqbal recently attended his first awareness session after hearing about it from a neighbour. He now walks his fields differently.
“They taught us to look before spraying,” he says. “They told us about friendly insects. I didn’t know they existed.”
He smiles faintly. “Maybe farming still has a future.”
CABI’s SBCC work may not grab headlines, but in quiet ways it is reshaping lives, helpingfarmers protect their income, keeping families safe, restoring biodiversity and giving dignity back to farming. “Knowledge is the best pesticide,” Azmat Abbas says. “And when farmers have it, everything changes.”
