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To understand the tragedy currently unfolding in the belly of West Africa, you have to look beyond the cold statistics of GDP and gold exports. You have to look at the dust. And for me, that dust is personal.
I was born in Tarkwa, a town where the earth has always been generous. In the 1930s, when Ghana was still the Gold Coast, my father arrived here, drawn by the promise of the mines in Tarkwa and Prestea in the Western Region. Back then, mining was a thing of order, ritual, and deep respect for the land. The “Old Gold Coast” miners worked within a system; they were the backbone of a colonial economy, yes, but they were also craftsmen. There was a clear line between the town and the pit, between the water we drank and the ore we crushed. My father’s stories weren’t of environmental apocalypse; they were of hard work, precise engineering, and the Ankobra river that gave as much as the earth.
Fast forward to 2026, and that line has been obliterated. The orderly shafts of Prestea have been replaced by the chaotic, mud-soaked craters of Galamsey. For my fellow Nigerians, who are currently eyeing “solid minerals” as the magic wand for our economic woes, this isn’t just a neighbour’s history lesson. It is a terrifying glimpse into a possible future. If Nigeria does not learn from the “Galamsey” curse, we are about to trade our fertile future for a handful of poisoned dust.
For a Nigerian audience, the best way to describe Galamsey is to compare it to the “artisanal” refining in the Niger Delta, but shifted to the hinterlands. The term itself is a local corruption of the English phrase, “gather them and sell.” Historically, it was the West African version of the “hustle”—small-scale mining using pans, shovels, and sweat. It was the way a young man in the Western Region could buy a motorbike or build a house for his mother. It was survivalist, but it was relatively low-impact.
However, over time, Galamsey morphed into a mechanized monster. It is no longer just “gathering.” It is an industrial-scale excavation fuelled by foreign machinery and local desperation. Today’s galamseyers don’t use shovels; they use massive “Changfa” grinding machines and heavy-duty excavators that can level a forest reserve in a weekend. To separate the gold from the silt, they use two silent assassins: mercury and cyanide. These chemicals are dumped directly into the soil and the riverbeds, creating a toxic legacy that scientists warn will haunt the West African water table for the next 800 years.
The Ghost of Prestea:
Then vs Now
When my father worked the mines in Prestea in the mid-20th century, there was a sense of permanence and environmental sanity. The mines were deep, regulated, and—most importantly—contained. The rivers like the Ankobra and the Pra ran clear. You could fish in them. You could wash your clothes in them. You could trust them.
Today, those same rivers are the colour of a thick, muddy latte—opaque, mustard-yellow, and devoid of life. In 2024 and 2025, the Ghana Water Company dropped a bombshell: nearly 60 per cent of the country’s water bodies are now so heavily polluted with silt and heavy metals that they cannot be treated for human consumption. In a bitter irony, the “Gold Coast” is now facing the prospect of importing bottled water from its neighbours because its own taps are running with liquid mud. For Nigerians, this is a “Niger Delta” moment occurring in the middle of the forest. We know what oil does to water. Galamsey does the same, but it does it to the water you need for your Amala, your Pap, and your children’s baths.
Ghana is the world’s second-largest cocoa producer. For generations, cocoa was the steady, reliable heartbeat of the nation. But Galamsey is a heart attack. Seduced by the promise of “gold money,” many farmers are selling their ancestral cocoa groves to illegal mining syndicates. Once the excavators move in, the topsoil is stripped away, leaving a barren, moon-like crater. In 2024, it was estimated that over 1.2 million hectares of farmland had been lost to the pits. The result? Cocoa yields are crashing. But more importantly, the food that remains—the yams, the plantains, the vegetables—is increasingly testing positive for traces of lead and arsenic. In the quest to “gather and sell” gold, Ghana is slowly losing the ability to feed itself. The most heartbreaking part of the Galamsey story is the health crisis, and this is where the “curse” becomes literal. In mining hubs like Konongo and my own birthplace, Tarkwa, doctors are reporting a terrifying spike in chronic kidney disease among young men who have never smoked or drank. But it’s the children who pay the highest price. Mercury is a neurotoxin that doesn’t stay in the ground; it enters the food chain, the water, and ultimately, the womb. In 2025, health coalitions raised an outcry over the rising rates of spontaneous abortions and birth defects. We are seeing babies born with neurological damage and physical deformities that mirror the “Minamata” disaster in Japan. The “gold money” of today is being paid for with the cognitive and physical potential of the next generation. This is the dark side of the “Midas Touch”—everything you touch turns to gold, but you can no longer hold your own child without fear.
A warning to Nigeria
Why should a Nigerian in Lagos, Kano, or Enugu care about what’s happening in the forests of Ghana? Because Nigeria is currently standing where Ghana stood 20 years ago. Our government is aggressively courting investors for gold in Zamfara, lithium in Nasarawa, and bitumen in Ondo. While diversification is necessary, we are at risk of a “Solid Minerals Curse” that could be even more violent than our “Oil Curse.”
1. The insecurity nexus
In Ghana, Galamsey is driven by “elite capture”—politicians and traditional rulers who provide protection for illegal operators. In Nigeria, we see a darker version: Mining and Banditry. We have already seen evidence that gold in the North-West is often the currency used to buy arms for terrorists. Illegal mining sites aren’t just environmental hazards; they are sovereign “no-go” zones where the state has no power, serving as recruitment grounds and treasuries for bandits.
2. The Zamfara Ghost
Nigeria has already had its warning shot. In 2010, lead poisoning from illegal gold mining in Zamfara killed hundreds of children. If we allow “artisanal” mining to go unregulated under the guise of “economic empowerment,” we will see Zamfara-scale tragedies repeated in every state of the federation.
3. The Myth of “Small-Scale”
Nigeria’s mining policy often focuses on “artisanal” licences. But as Ghana’s experience shows, “artisanal” is a euphemism. It quickly becomes “industrial” the moment a “Big Man” with a political connection and a leased excavator gets involved. Without strict tracking of heavy machinery, any mining site in Nigeria can become a Galamsey pit overnight.
Looking back at my father’s time in Western Ghana, the world seemed simpler. Mining was a job, not a war against nature. But the world has changed. The greed is faster, and the machines are bigger.
To my brothers and sisters in Nigeria: Do not be blinded by the glitter of “solid minerals.” Gold is a finite resource, but water and soil are the foundations of life. Ghana is currently fighting for its very survival, trying to reclaim its rivers and its reputation. Nigeria has the rare gift of foresight. We can build a mining sector that is professional, transparent, and environmentally sane now, or we can wait until our children are born with the “gold curse” in their blood.
The gold is under the ground, but our future is in the water. As I conclude this piece, I leave you with one question: If we dig up all the gold but lose the water, what will we use to wash the blood of the earth off our hands?
