Author: Steve Kubate is a Media Specialist at Practical Action. He writes on international development, geopolitics and the impact of global crises on vulnerable communities.
A few months ago, conversations began emerging across policy and development circles about the growing tensions in the Gulf and what they might mean for global oil, fertiliser and food systems.
At the time, the immediate impacts seemed limited. There were reports of fuel shortages, disrupted shipping routes and rising energy and insurance costs. Most attention focused on geopolitical developments and military escalation.
But for some of us working in international development, the situation felt strangely familiar.
It reminded me of the early days of COVID-19: a crisis that was clearly unfolding, yet whose most severe consequences had not yet reached the communities that would ultimately bear the greatest burden.
At the time, I was Sponsorship Advisor at SOS Children’s Villages in Ghana, helping secure funding for programmes supporting children at risk of losing parental care and those who had already lost it. As the pandemic unfolded, I watched a global crisis quickly become a local one. International fundraising slowed as partner organisations faced mounting financial pressures, making it harder to secure the resources needed to support vulnerable children just as demand for support was growing.
That experience taught me that the effects of global crises rarely stop where they begin. Long before COVID-19 directly affected many of the communities we worked with, its economic ripple effects were already reshaping our work. Today’s Middle East crisis carries many of those same warning signs: a disruption that begins in global markets but ultimately lands hardest on the people least responsible for it.
Today, even as reports suggest an agreement may have been reached to reopen the Strait of Hormuz and ease immediate disruptions, a more important question remains.
Has the damage already been set in motion? I believe the answer may be yes. The greatest threat was never simply the interruption of oil flows through one of the world’s most important shipping corridors. It was the cascade of consequences that followed. Disruptions to fertiliser production and supply today can become smaller harvests months from now. A rise in liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) prices this month pushes families back to biomass cooking for years. An increase in diesel costs raises transport prices, food prices and the cost of humanitarian operations across multiple countries simultaneously.
And once those effects begin moving through communities, they do not disappear simply because a shipping lane reopens. The evidence suggests this process is already underway.
The Food and Agriculture Organisation has warned that disruptions linked to the Gulf crisis could reduce agricultural production and tighten food supplies across parts of South Asia through late 2026 and into 2027.
In Nepal, fertiliser procurement has already been disrupted. Contracts have stalled. Imports have been delayed. Emergency arrangements have been required to secure alternative supplies. Even if trade routes normalise, critical agricultural decisions are being made now, during planting season, not months from now when stability returns.
For smallholder farmers, timing is everything. Missing a fertiliser application window cannot be undone retrospectively. The consequences only become visible later, at harvest.
To understand whether these risks were already materialising, I spoke with colleagues across Practical Action’s global programmes. One of those conversations was with Awadalla Hamid Mohamed. He coordinates Practical Action’s work across North Darfur. He is also a smallholder farmer himself, giving him first-hand experience of how rising fuel and fertiliser prices are affecting farming families.
His message was simple: higher prices are forcing many farmers to use less fertiliser, even when they know it will reduce their harvests.
His experience reflects the difficult decisions many farmers are making:
“We buy chemical fertiliser from the market, but it has become very expensive. We mix it with animal manure to reduce the cost, but if we don’t use chemical fertiliser, we harvest much less. That is why we still try to use it to increase production.”
When I asked whether farmers were now applying less fertiliser because of the rising prices, his answer was unequivocal. “Yes, of course. I use a much smaller quantity because it is really very expensive.”
The consequences extend far beyond individual farms. Rising fuel prices and shortages are making livelihoods even more difficult, while smaller harvests threaten household food security in communities already living with conflict and displacement. As Awadalla reflected:
“We are both angry and sad at the same time. We don’t deserve this kind of life. We should be living in peace. We should be able to educate our children and have access to basic services.”
This is why we should be paying close attention to what may become one of the most significant yet underreported impacts of the Gulf crisis: the emerging threat to food production across some of the world’s most climate-vulnerable regions.
The risks are compounded by climate pressures. Many of the same countries exposed to fertiliser disruption are also facing growing concerns over rainfall variability, extreme heat and the potential influence of El Niño conditions. Conflict-driven market disruption and climate stress are not separate risks; they reinforce one another. The result could be lower yields, tighter food supplies and increased pressure on households already struggling with rising costs.
The hidden health costs of rising energy prices
The consequences of this crisis do not end at harvest. They continue in homes and kitchens, where rising energy costs are forcing families to make difficult choices that could have lasting consequences for their health.
Across South Asia, evidence suggests that rising LPG prices are pushing some households back towards traditional biomass fuels. Years of investment in clean cooking are being placed at risk simply because families can no longer afford cleaner alternatives.
This matters because energy poverty is also a public health issue. When households revert to firewood and charcoal, women and children are exposed to higher levels of indoor air pollution, while the time spent collecting fuel increases and pressure on forests grows. Progress that has taken years to achieve can begin to unravel within months. These wider pressures are also being reflected in some of Practical Action’s own programmes.
In Rwanda, I spoke with Anaclet Ndahimana, Practical Action’s Head of Programmes for the Renewable Energy for Refugees (RE4R) programme, about how rising fuel costs and supply chain disruptions are affecting refugee communities and the delivery of clean energy initiatives.
From our conversation, it became clear that the consequences of the crisis are no longer theoretical. They are already affecting both the communities we work alongside and the programmes designed to support them.
“The global increase in oil prices has affected the purchasing power of some of the people we work with in the refugee camps and created additional affordability challenges for households accessing clean energy products, agricultural inputs and services. Disruptions in logistics and supply chains have also affected delivery timelines and implementation activities, requiring greater flexibility and support for both vulnerable households and private sector partners.”
Anaclet’s experience mirrors what colleagues across the international development sector are reporting. The effects of the crisis are already being felt in communities, markets and development programmes across the Global South. This is why the current moment matters. While much of the world’s attention remains focused on whether a ceasefire holds, whether shipping resumes and whether energy markets stabilise, development organisations should be asking a different question:
What happens next?
History shows that the most damaging consequences of global crises often emerge long after the headlines move on. The immediate disruption may be easing, but its consequences at harvest, in household kitchens and across vulnerable communities may only just be beginning.
Unless governments, donors and development institutions act now to strengthen local resilience, support farmers and protect hard-won gains in food security and energy access, the communities least responsible for this crisis may once again bear its greatest burden.