Think of the last Qurbani hide you sold. How much did it bring? Could you bargain, or did local buyers decide the price? And did the poor receive their rightful share?

Last year, many cowhides were reportedly sold for only Tk 600–800, even when the sacrificial animal cost Tk 90,000, Tk 120,000 or more. Goat skins were often almost worthless. Often, the hides go to a madrasa, orphanage or Lillah boarding facility. In worse years, rawhides are dumped because buyers will not cover even the minimum costs.

Every Qurbani hide begins with a moral claim before it enters the market. In Bangladesh’s Eid-ul-Adha practice, it is not an ordinary by-product. The Qur'anic instruction is to eat from sacrificial animals and feed the needy, including those who ask and those who do not; Prophetic practice, as narrated by Ali in Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim, also points to distributing the skins in charity rather than using them as payment for services. The hide’s value is therefore tied to the poor’s rightful share — their ‘haq’.

This is the contradiction of Bangladesh’s Qurbani rawhide economy: leather goods become costlier, the domestic market grows, exports continue, and tanneries receive seasonal bank support — yet the price of rawhide at the point of sacrifice keeps falling in real terms.

The missing math of Qurbani hides
Bangladesh does not appear to have an easily accessible consolidated time series of Qurbani rawhide prices. The data is scattered across government announcements, media reports, traders’ recollections and industry statements. Still, the pattern is clear: rawhide prices have not kept pace with inflation, cattle prices, taka depreciation or finished leather goods.

Many Dhaka residents recall that, in the 1990s, a medium-sized cowhide could bring around Tk 1,000 — a far more meaningful share of the animal’s price than today. The exact figure needs archival verification, but the memory points to a widely felt decline in the hide’s value.

The Ministry of Commerce announces Qurbani rawhide prices every year — but where the actual bargaining happens, at neighbourhood collection points, madrasa gates and wholesale depots, no government agency appears to monitor whether those prices are followed.

The contrast is plain. Leather sandals that once cost around Tk 400 now sell for at least Tk 1,200 in ordinary retail markets, and the export chain still has value. But the hide earns less for the person or institution meant to pass its proceeds to the poor.

Where the value disappears
The Qurbani hide moves from the person offering the sacrifice to a poor recipient or charitable institution, then to a seasonal collector, local trader, wholesale market, tannery, processor, manufacturer or exporter, and finally the retailer. The first seller is usually the weakest. An individual cannot store a rawhide; a poor person cannot wait. A Lillah boarding facility or orphanage needs salt, labour, transport and a quick sale. Small traders, often buying with borrowed money, also face pressure to resell quickly.

Since rawhide is perishable, its quality falls quickly without proper salting. The tannery or large trader can wait longer. The small seller cannot. That difference in waiting power determines price and puts small investors at constant risk.

The tragedy of the Qurbani hide market is that a religiously meaningful asset enters a deeply unequal market. Its value is meant to support poor people, orphans, destitute boarders and other eligible charitable recipients. But they encounter the leather economy when the product is perishable, buyers are few, territories may be controlled and official prices are difficult to enforce.

The rawhide market is also a local power structure. In many areas, seasonal traders are reportedly linked to political or influential networks. They may divide neighbourhoods, bazaars, catchment areas and other territories. When territories are divided, competition weakens before the hide reaches the wholesale market.People often hand over hides to madrasas because they trust that the proceeds will support eligible poor students, Lillah boarding beneficiaries or other recipients. But many madrasas also become market actors: they collect, aggregate and sell hides. Larger madrasas may protect charitable income; they may also become dependent on particular traders or reduce competition.When prices collapse drastically, hides may become waste. Bangladesh has repeatedly seen rawhides dumped on roads, open spaces or near water bodies after Eid, creating environmental risks from rotting organic matter, blood, salt and untreated waste.The smuggling argument has long been part of the debate. Officials and industry actors warn that if domestic prices rise too high, rawhides may move illegally to neighbouring countries, particularly India. That concern should be tested with evidence: how much is actually smuggled, and how much is wasted because domestic buyers refuse to pay viable prices? If prices rise, the industry warns of smuggling; if prices fall, hides may be abandoned. Either way, the poor lose first.The leather industry cites poor preservation, salt costs, weak global demand, relocation, environmental compliance requirements, unpaid dues, working-capital shortages and smuggling risks. Some are real. Poorly salted hides genuinely lose value. But why does every cost fall downward? If tanneries face compliance problems, the poor receive less. If global demand falls, charitable collectors receive less. If tanneries owe old dues, small traders are squeezed first.Before Eid, banks are often encouraged to provide loans for rawhide procurement. Large leather-sector businesses can access formal credit at lower costs than seasonal traders borrowing informally. If finance mostly strengthens large buyers, it stabilises the industry without protecting the poor’s share.

When charity becomes waste
The tragedy of the Qurbani hide market is that a religiously meaningful asset enters a deeply unequal market. Its value is meant to support poor people, orphans, destitute boarders and other eligible charitable recipients. But they encounter the leather economy when the product is perishable, buyers are few, territories may be controlled and official prices are difficult to enforce.

Bangladesh’s leather sector may continue to export, expand and modernise. But the moral test begins earlier — with the hide collected after sacrifice. If that hide is valuable in a factory, a shoe shop and an export ledger, it cannot be treated as worthless when it belongs to the poor.

The question is why that value disappears exactly where the poor are supposed to receive their rightful share.

Badrul Hassan is a development and humanitarian professional. He can be reached at [email protected].

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