“History,” according to Mark Twain, “never repeats itself exactly. It rhymes.” History is not just a record of past events; it is a mirror that reflects the irony of the present. Four decades after Nigeria’s mass expulsion of undocumented West African migrants, memorably summed up in the infamous 1983 “Ghana Must Go” episode, the tide has turned. Today, the angry chant echoing from the streets of Accra is “Nigerians Must Go”—a bitter reversal that brings to the fore uncomfortable questions about crime, culture, sovereignty, and the burden of identity in the African diaspora.
Special to USAfrica magazine (Houston) and USAfricaonline.com, the first Africa-owned, US-based newspaper published on the Internet.
Agbedo, Professor of Linguistics at the University of Nigeria Nsukka, is a contributing analyst to USAfrica
During one of the continent’s most infamous mass deportations, the illegal immigrants were ordered to leave Nigeria within two weeks. With nowhere to go and few possessions to their names, the expelled Ghanaians of 1983 fled Nigeria under duress. They packed their meagre belongings into checkered plastic jute bags—ubiquitous, rugged, and humiliatingly visible—bags that would earn an enduring name in the Nigerian lexicon: “Ghana Must Go.” That bag became the visual shorthand for displacement, indignity, and state-sanctioned rejection.
Today, in a tragic and ironic twist, Ghanaians are the ones leading the cry: “Nigerians Must Go.” And if the protests in Accra continue and gain traction beyond rhetoric, then it is not far-fetched to imagine that Nigerians too—those who have overstayed their welcome or crossed the moral and legal boundaries of their host country—may one day have their own version of the “Nigeria Must Go” bag.
History, it seems, is not just repeating; it is rhyming bitterly. This is where a familiar adage is turned on its head. If “One good turn deserves another” celebrates the noble cycle of kindness, what then do we make of this twisted version: “One bad turn deserves another?” Does retaliation complete the moral circuit, or corrode it further? Is this poetic justice—or merely history indulging its taste for revenge? On the streets of Accra, amid growing public outrage over alleged crimes committed by some Nigerian nationals, protesters have taken up a chilling refrain: “Nigerians Must Go.” The symbolism is not lost on history. The same Ghana that once turned to Nigeria in its hour of need is now rejecting Nigerians, some of whom, ironically, may soon need their own version of the “Ghana Must Go” bag.
This scenario is more than poetic irony. It is a psychological reckoning, a sobering reminder that the sins of yesterday have a way of revisiting the proud. It is also a sociological lesson in the consequences of structural failure: when a nation fails to discipline its citizens at home, it cannot expect them to command respect abroad.
Over the past weeks, hundreds of Ghanaian citizens have staged street protests in Accra, waving placards bearing messages such as “End Prostitution,” “End Kidnapping,” “Nigerians Are Using People for Rituals,” and “Our Health At Stake Due to Mass Prostitution.” Clad in red—a colour of grief and protest in Ghanaian tradition—the demonstrators accused Nigerian nationals, especially of Igbo extraction, of contributing to rising insecurity, criminality, and moral decay in Ghana. The tone may be xenophobic, but the catalyst is not baseless. Reports from Ghanaian authorities, as verified by multiple reputable news sources, confirm a pattern of criminal behaviour involving Nigerian nationals – cybercrime syndicates, human trafficking and scamming hubs, prostitution and child exploitation – many of whom operate in and around key suburbs of Accra.
In early July 2025, Ghana’s Cyber Security Authority (CSA) and the police cybercrime unit raided a suspected cyber fraud ring in Dodowa/Sasaabi, Greater Accra. 25 Nigerians were arrested and over 40 laptops and 25 phones were seized. The bust followed a report from a Nigerian victim who claimed he was trafficked and coerced into online scams. In Oyarifa (Ga East Municipality), another major raid by Ghana’s Economic and Organised Crime Office (EOCO) led to the arrest of over 200 Nigerian nationals, many of them minors, found in what authorities described as “scam training camps.” The suspects were handed over to Nigeria’s EFCC for further prosecution. Local accounts and community complaints from Nima, Kasoa, and Spintex—all suburbs within the Accra Metropolitan Area—have consistently linked Nigerian nationals to prostitution rings, street-level drug peddling, and child trafficking. While formal law enforcement data remains limited, these locations are widely viewed in Ghanaian discourse as havens of underground criminal activity involving some Nigerian actors. These cases, though involving a fraction of Nigerians in Ghana, have understandably triggered public outrage, fear, and a call for urgent state action. It is a painful truth, but one that must be confronted with honesty and responsibility.
Fuel was added to the fire with the highly publicized coronation of Eze Chukwudi Ihenetu as “Eze Ndi Igbo Ghana.” The opulence of his palace—complete with royal regalia and symbols of sovereignty—sparked outrage among Ghanaian youths and civic groups. It was perceived as an overreach, challenging Ghana’s territorial and cultural integrity. The symbolic presence of a “foreign king” struck a raw nerve. This cultural misstep partly explains the July 17, 2025 resolution by the South East Traditional Rulers Council of Nigeria to abolish the “Eze Ndigbo” title for diaspora-based Igbo leaders. In its communiqué, signed by His Royal Majesty Eze E.C. Okeke (Eze Imo) and Igwe Nnaemeka Achebe (Obi of Onitsha), the Council reaffirmed that “Eze” is a sacred title that must be conferred only through ancestral rites within Igbo territory. It introduced the more culturally and diplomatically sensitive title “Onyendu Ndigbo” for recognized Igbo community leaders abroad.
The communiqué warned that any further use of the “Eze Ndigbo” title would be considered a “serious act of defiance and disregard for Igbo traditional authority.” This move was both a cultural correction and a diplomatic damage control strategy, coming in the wake of mounting tensions in Ghana and elsewhere. The Nigerian government, through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, has responded cautiously. Spokesperson Kimiebi Ebienfa stated that Nigeria will “engage Ghana diplomatically.” This is a pragmatic approach, but one that must not ignore the deeper rot within. Nigeria cannot cry foul abroad while turning a blind eye to the criminal elements it exports—either as desperate migrants or as organized crime operatives.
Beyond diplomacy, Nigeria must invest in diaspora orientation and ethical re-education, closer law enforcement collaboration with host countries, sanctions against nationals involved in criminal activities abroad, and support for community leaders promoting lawful integration. At the same time, Ghana must resist allowing isolated criminal incidents to morph into ethnic scapegoating or mass reprisal. Ghanaians must not forget that in their own time of economic crisis in the 1980s, Nigeria was a refuge, even if imperfect, for many of their fleeing citizens.
The protest slogan “Nigerians Must Go” may resonate with anger and frustration, but it is also a mirror reflecting the failure of a nation to discipline its diaspora and a continent to protect its collective dignity. The time has come for Nigeria to stop exporting shame and for Ghanaians to separate criminal justice from ethnic prejudice. Both countries must return to the foundational values of reciprocity, rule of law, and mutual respect. History is watching. Let us not allow “Ghana Must Go” and “Nigerians Must Go” to define our future the way they haunt our past. Let them remain tragic slogans of failed diplomacy and broken trust, not rallying cries for another generation. Let the lessons of history guide us.
The chants of “Nigerians Must Go” must not become the funeral dirge of African solidarity. The past must teach us humility, the present demands honesty, and the future requires cooperation.
The current crisis is both a wake-up call for Nigeria to rein in its errant citizens and a warning to Ghana not to let legitimate grievances devolve into ethno-nationalism. The Igbo traditional rulers’ abolition of the “Eze Ndigbo” title abroad is a commendable first step in recalibrating cultural diplomacy. But it must be backed by more deliberate efforts—both by traditional authorities and the Nigerian state—to restore discipline and dignity in the diaspora. For when pride overshadows prudence, and ego eclipses etiquette, what follows is not respect, but resentment. In the end, let “Ghana Must Go” and “Nigerians Must Go” both rest in the dustbin of history—where they belong. Let the future of West Africa be one of mutual respect, shared responsibility, and cultural restraint.
On a final note, let’s return to the tragic twist of fate and role reversal, when in 2025, it has become Nigeria’s turn to taste the bitter fruit of expulsion. To embrace such logic is to enter a moral cul-de-sac—where past wrongs are not healed, but inherited; where old injuries are not cauterized, but reopened. It is the philosophy of retribution, not of restoration. And if all African nations were to adopt this ethic of cyclical spite, then the continent would become a graveyard of grudges, where every insult has its echo, and every exile its encore. And to address the question – ‘does one bad turn equally deserve another? – the answer is ‘No!’ One bad turn should not deserve another. It should prompt reflection, not repetition. It should summon humility, not hostility. The tragedy of 1983 should have taught Nigeria compassion. Let 2025 not teach Ghana cruelty. If we must carry jute bags again, let it be not with the weight of exile, but with the burden of lessons finally learned.
