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“Ghana Must Go”: The Forgotten Pain Behind a Plastic Bag

In West Africa, some phrases carry weight far beyond their literal meaning. "Ghana Must Go" is one such phrase—casually tossed around, yet rooted in a story of migration, desperation, and fractured brotherhood. To the uninitiated, it may sound like a slogan or the quirky name of a checkered plastic bag. But for many Ghanaians and Nigerians who lived through the early 1980s, it echoes a time of forced departures, overloaded buses, and painful goodbyes.

Before the Exodus: A Tale of Two Nations

The 1970s were a golden age for Nigeria. As oil flowed from the Niger Delta, wealth poured into the economy. Lagos was booming, and jobs were plentiful—drawing people from across West Africa, particularly from Ghana, where things weren’t going nearly as well. Ghana, once admired as a post-independence beacon under Kwame Nkrumah, had been thrown into economic disarray by coups, drought, inflation, and dwindling public trust.

Ghanaians arrived in droves, seeking work, peace, and the chance to rebuild their lives.

 Estimates suggest that by the early 1980s, over a million Ghanaians were living in Nigeria, many doing menial but necessary jobs. They settled into Nigerian cities, opened shops, cleaned houses, worked construction sites—and for a while, it seemed the West African spirit of pan-Africanism might just hold.

But the mood would not last.

1983: When the Doors Slammed Shut

By the dawn of 1983, Nigeria’s economy had begun to falter. The oil boom had slowed, unemployment was rising, and public services were stretched thin. Amid this growing anxiety, politicians found an easy scapegoat in the migrants.

President Shehu Shagari, under immense pressure, signed an executive order in January 1983 that shocked the region: all undocumented immigrants were to leave Nigeria immediately. While the order affected millions from neighboring countries, Ghanaians, being the most visible and numerous, bore the brunt.

The deadline was harsh. No formal process, no support systems—just an ultimatum. In days, once-thriving communities were torn apart. Families scrambled to gather what they could, often stuffing their belongings into large, woven plastic bags bought hastily from local markets. These bags, durable and affordable, became the symbol of a people on the move. Soon, Nigerians began calling them “Ghana Must Go” bags—a name that, to this day, carries a mixture of pain and practicality.

A Phrase That Outlived Its Tragedy

Ironically, the name “Ghana Must Go” outlasted the bitterness of the moment. The bags remain a common sight across West Africa, used by travelers, market women, and students alike. But for those who remember 1983, the phrase isn't so lighthearted. It recalls images of trucks loaded with frightened families, of children crying at border posts, of entire lives packed into cheap plastic.

It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. In a cruel twist of history, Ghana had once expelled thousands of Nigerians in 1969 under its own "Aliens Compliance Order" during a period of economic strain. The pattern of expelling “the other” during tough times repeated, exposing a fragility in West African unity that ECOWAS had hoped to mend.

Aftermath: Healing, Slowly

Diplomatic ties between Nigeria and Ghana frayed in the wake of the 1983 expulsion. Many Ghanaians felt betrayed by a country they had seen as a regional brother. Over the years, however, as military regimes gave way to civilian governments and economic reforms took root, the two nations found common ground again. Cultural exchanges, trade, and shared histories helped soften the old wounds.

Today, Ghana and Nigeria are close allies—often rivals on the football pitch, but partners in commerce and regional leadership. Yet the memories of 1983 still linger, often just below the surface.

More Than a Bag

“Ghana Must Go” is not just a name. It is a reminder that economic decisions are never made in a vacuum—that behind every headline and policy are human lives, dreams disrupted, and communities scattered. It is a chapter in the larger story of African migration, where borders drawn by colonial powers still shape the fate of millions.

The bag may have become ordinary, but the story it carries is anything but.