In November 2024, I set off on what I thought would be a typical investigative journey—one that would uncover facts, numbers, and statistics. But what I encountered in Ghana’s quarry sector left me shaken, heartbroken, and questioning how far we’ve really come as a nation.
The journey began as part of my training with the Media Foundation for West Africa (MFWA), funded by the Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation (NORAD) and Oxfam, but it became something much more personal.
The backbone of infrastructure
It started with the basics—quarries are the backbone of our nation’s infrastructure. The stones they provide go into roads, bridges, schools, and hospitals—everything that shapes the physical structure of our country. But as I visited quarry sites across Greater Accra, Central, and Eastern regions, I began to see a side of this industry that no one talks about—the invisible cost that the people and communities living around these quarries bear every day.
Foreign takeover, local suffering
The first shock came when I realized that the quarry sector, which was once in the hands of indigenous Ghanaians, is now largely controlled by foreign nationals. The Chinese, in particular, have taken over much of the industry.
I remember standing at one quarry site, watching as workers loaded rocks into massive trucks. The sound of the machines drowned out everything else, but what struck me most wasn’t the noise—it was the realization that these foreign nationals weren’t just controlling the land; they were extracting our resources and leaving behind nothing but dust.
I spoke to a local Ghanaian who had applied for a permit, only to hand it over to a foreign operator. “How could we let this happen?” I thought. We’ve lost control of our own land, our own future.
But it wasn’t just the foreign ownership that shocked me—it was the communities living in the shadows of these quarries. I visited villages where the roads, once passable, had been turned into craters from the heavy trucks that passed through daily. It wasn’t just a bumpy ride—it was dangerous. I thought about a pregnant woman making her way to an antenatal clinic, navigating the rough roads in her condition.
The thought made me cringe. The noise and air pollution from the quarries make these places nearly uninhabitable, but the people living there see no benefits in return. No better roads. No clean water. No infrastructure. Nothing.
A broken system
And when I tried to voice the concerns of these communities—especially the women and children who suffer the most—I found myself being dismissed. “You’re just making noise,” some said. “You’re exaggerating.”
But as I sat with these women, heard their stories, and witnessed their struggles, I realized that the noise I was making was not loud enough. The stories of their pain, their suffering, were being ignored, and they needed to be told.
The next shock came when I discovered how royalties—money paid by the quarry operators to the government for the minerals they extract—are still collected manually. In this digital age, with technology at our fingertips, Ghana’s royalty collection system is stuck in the past.
No digital systems. No transparency. No accountability. I could hardly believe it. A country like Ghana, with all its potential, still using outdated methods to track the very resources that should be funding our development. It felt like we were taking a step backward, not forward.
The future at stake
Then came the fourth shock: what happens to the land once the quarries have extracted all their minerals? What happens when the rocks are gone, and the dust settles? The land is left abandoned, and people, often with no legal claim, begin to encroach on it.
I spoke to a local land guard who claimed to have sold the land to someone else, and I realized that the land, once a valuable resource, was now a forgotten wasteland. There were no plans for its rehabilitation. No thought about what would happen to the land when the quarries were done.
But it was the final shock that haunted me the most. I realized that the quarry industry, if left unchecked, could easily follow in the footsteps of illegal gold mining, known as Galamsey. We’ve already seen the environmental devastation caused by illegal mining in Ghana’s forests, where both Ghanaians and foreigners plunder the land, polluting our rivers and destroying biodiversity.
What happens when the quarry operators stop caring about the environment, the communities, and the future? We’re already seeing it happen. The same greed that fuels illegal mining could destroy the quarry sector as well.
What made everything worse was that, unlike the cocoa industry, where the state has set up systems to support cocoa farmers’ children with scholarships and other benefits, the people living near quarries have nothing. No support. No help. No hope. They’re left to suffer, alone and forgotten.
As I walked through these communities, I saw the faces of children—faces that should be filled with hope for the future—only to be met with the harsh reality of neglect.
I thought of how our nation celebrates the achievements of those who profit from the land, yet forgets about those who pay the true cost. These people, whose lives are disrupted, whose land is stolen, are the silent workers behind our national development, but no one is speaking up for them.
I left the quarry sites with more questions than answers. How can we continue to allow this? How can we, as a nation, stand by and watch as our resources are extracted, our land is destroyed, and our people are left behind? We must demand accountability.
We must push for sustainable practices. We must ensure that the people living in these communities are not left out of the conversation. They deserve better. They deserve a future.
It’s time to wake up. It’s time for Ghana to stand up and demand change. Our land, our people, and our future depend on it.
The writer is a journalist
E-mail: [email protected]
