The Africa Agenda

Tag: Africa

  • Beyond Borders: Ghana’s Arrests of Undocumented Migrants and the Unfinished Dream of African Unity

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    When uniformed officers from the Ghana Immigration Service swept through Kaneshie, Abossey Okai, and Kwame Nkrumah Circle in the early hours of Friday, May 16, rounding up street vendors, beggars, and undocumented migrants, they were enforcing more than just national law. They were also testing the fragile promises that have long underpinned Africa’s vision of unity, solidarity, and regional integration.

    In a holding statement, the Ghana Immigration Service described the operation as a routine effort to “address the presence of undocumented migrants on the streets,” linking it to child streetism, illegal residency, and broader public safety concerns. Yet behind the bureaucratic language and official justifications lies a far more complicated and troubling reality: a continent still wrestling with the contradictions between its aspirations for borderless unity and its impulses toward national protectionism.

    A Vision of Unity, Deferred

    In 1979, when the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) adopted the Protocol on Free Movement of Persons, Residence and Establishment, it was nothing short of revolutionary. At a time when colonial borders continued to divide families, cultures, and economies, West African leaders dared to imagine a region without walls—one where a trader from Bamako could set up shop in Accra without fear of harassment, and where a teacher from Lagos could teach in Freetown without bureaucratic barriers.

    That protocol enshrined the right of every West African to enter, reside, and establish economic activities in any member state. It promised a region united by shared history, language, and aspirations. It was an ambitious attempt to reclaim Africa for Africans, reversing centuries of imposed divisions.

    But more than forty-five years later, the lived reality tells a different story. The very countries that championed the protocol often treat migrants from neighboring states as suspicious outsiders, subject to raids, deportations, and harassment. Ghana’s recent crackdown is not an isolated incident; it is a symptom of a deeper malaise that continues to haunt African integration.

    Security vs. Solidarity: A False Choice

    Ghana’s concerns about child streetism and undocumented migration are valid. The rise of street children—many of them foreign nationals, begging at intersections and sleeping in makeshift shelters is a complex crisis that strains social services, threatens public safety, and sometimes fuels exploitation. The state has a responsibility to protect its citizens and maintain order.

    But security cannot come at the cost of solidarity. When enforcement targets the poor, the marginalized, and the desperate, it risks becoming an instrument of injustice rather than protection. Many of those arrested are not criminals, they are victims of poverty, conflict, or environmental disasters in their home countries. They are the human face of the continent’s uneven development.

    Take the Sahel region, for example, where conflict and climate change have displaced millions. According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), more than 3 million people in West Africa are currently internally displaced or have fled across borders. For many, Ghana represents a beacon of relative stability, a place to rebuild lives. Yet they find themselves caught between the dream of Pan-Africanism and the reality of state sovereignty.

    The Paradox of Pan-Africanism

    Ghana’s role in African unity is both symbolic and historical. It was in Accra, in 1958, that Kwame Nkrumah convened the All-African Peoples’ Conference, declaring that “the independence of Ghana is meaningless unless it is linked up with the total liberation of Africa.” That vision laid the foundation for continental institutions like the African Union and regional frameworks like ECOWAS.

    But the same Ghana that gave us Nkrumah’s Pan-Africanism now faces a crisis of identity: How does it balance its legitimate right to manage migration with its moral obligation to uphold African solidarity? How does it honor Nkrumah’s legacy while grappling with urban poverty, informal economies, and the strains of globalization?

    The challenge is not unique to Ghana. From Nigeria to Côte d’Ivoire, from South Africa to Kenya, African states face the same dilemma: How to protect their borders without betraying the ideals of unity that they have promised their people. Too often, national interests have trumped continental commitments, leaving ordinary Africans stranded between rhetoric and reality.

    Rethinking Migration: From Threat to Opportunity

    If Ghana and Africa at large is to resolve this contradiction, it must reimagine migration not as a threat to be managed but as an opportunity to be harnessed. Migrants bring labor, skills, culture, and resilience. They contribute to local economies, enrich communities, and build bridges between nations. Studies by the African Development Bank show that migrants account for over 4% of Africa’s GDP, often sending remittances that sustain families and drive local development.

    Ghana’s response must therefore go beyond immigration sweeps. It must invest in social protection systems that support vulnerable migrants, while enforcing fair and transparent migration management. It must engage with ECOWAS and the African Union to strengthen frameworks that guarantee the rights of migrants and support host communities. And it must educate the public about the value of migration as a force for economic and cultural vitality, not just a challenge to be controlled.

    A Call to Action

    Africa’s future depends on its ability to reconcile national interests with continental solidarity. As Ghana reviews the outcomes of its latest immigration sweep, it must ask itself: Are we building walls, or are we building bridges? Are we enforcing the law at the expense of human dignity, or are we finding solutions that reflect the spirit of African unity?

    The African Union’s Agenda 2063 envisions a continent without borders, where every African can move freely in pursuit of opportunity and safety. That vision cannot remain a slogan. It must become a policy that lives in our streets, our cities, and our communities.

    Because if we cannot protect the most vulnerable among us if we cannot see every African as our brother or sister, then Pan-Africanism is nothing but a hollow chant.

    Ghana must lead by example. It must remember that the same streets where officers now patrol were once the avenues where Nkrumah marched, calling for an Africa that stands together.

    The choice is ours. The time is now.

  • A History of Leadership at the AfDB, What Does It Tell Us?

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    Since its inception in 1964, the African Development Bank (AfDB) has been a crucial institution in Africa’s journey toward economic independence and regional integration. Yet, a look at its presidential history reveals more than just a list of names, it tells a story of geopolitics, regional dynamics, and the ongoing struggle for a truly African development model.

    The AfDB’s first president, Mamoun Beheiry of Sudan (1964-1970), presided over a newborn institution grappling with the challenges of post-independence optimism and the turbulence of Cold War politics. Beheiry’s tenure symbolized a pan-African spirit at a time when newly-liberated states sought to define their destiny beyond the colonial yoke. Yet his successor, Abdelwahab Labidi of Tunisia (1970-1976), had to navigate a more divided continent, one that was increasingly drawn into the proxy battles of the superpowers.

    The subsequent leadership saw Kwame Donkor Fordwor of Ghana (1976-1980), the first from Anglophone West Africa, and Willa Mung’Omba of Zambia (1980-1985), reflecting the Bank’s efforts to balance regional representation and language diversity. Babacar N’diaye of Senegal (1985-1995), one of the longest-serving presidents, oversaw an era of structural adjustment and economic liberalization—policies often driven by external financial institutions and at times criticized for prioritizing fiscal discipline over social development.

    The 1990s brought Omar Kabbaj of Morocco (1995-2005), who navigated the bank through a period of financial instability and a push toward modernization. His leadership marked a turning point, aligning the Bank more closely with global financial norms and reinforcing its role as Africa’s preeminent development financier.

    Donald Kaberuka of Rwanda (2005-2015) ushered in a decade of transformation: the AfDB’s lending tripled, and its focus expanded to include regional integration and infrastructure. Under Dr. Akinwumi Adesina of Nigeria (2015-2025), the Bank’s “High 5’s”—Light up and power Africa, Feed Africa, Industrialize Africa, Integrate Africa, and Improve the quality of life—became its flagship strategy, echoing the African Union’s Agenda 2063.

    Yet beneath these achievements lies a persistent question: Has the Bank remained African enough? While each president brought a unique vision, the institution’s governance structure, where non-regional member countries hold significant voting power—has often influenced its direction. Even today, the requirement that presidential candidates secure majorities from both regional and non-regional votes speaks to the Bank’s dual identity as both an African institution and a multilateral development bank subject to global financial pressures.

    With Sidi Ould Tah’s election as the ninth president, the AfDB stands at a pivotal juncture. Tah’s record at the Arab Bank for Economic Development in Africa (BADEA) demonstrates his financial acumen, but the real test lies ahead: Will he champion a development path that prioritizes African agency and ownership? Or will the Bank continue to be steered by external actors whose interests do not always align with Africa’s aspirations?

    A closer look at the Bank’s presidential history shows that leadership at the AfDB is not just about technical competence—it’s about ideological clarity and the courage to assert Africa’s place in a world that often prefers to dictate its development.

    As the AfDB prepares to mark its 61st year, we must remember that leadership matters. The president sets the tone not just for financial strategies but for the continent’s broader development discourse. In a century where Africa must define itself on its own terms, the AfDB’s presidency must reflect the dreams—and the determination—of its people.

    The history is clear. Now it’s time to write the future.

  • A New Era or Business as Usual? Sidi Ould Tah and the Future of the African Development Bank

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    Sidi Ould Tah’s election as the ninth president of the African Development Bank Group comes at a crossroads for both the institution and the continent it was created to serve. On paper, his credentials are impeccable: a seasoned financier with over 35 years of experience, a transformative decade at the Arab Bank for Economic Development in Africa (BADEA), and a history of steering complex financial reforms. But beyond the applause and ceremonial handshakes lies a fundamental question: Will Tah’s leadership herald a new era for Africa’s development, or will it reinforce the same structures that have too often left the continent on the margins of its own progress?

    Since its establishment in 1964, the AfDB has been both a beacon of African self-reliance and a reminder of the continent’s entanglement with external powers. The Bank’s structure—split between regional and non-regional members, embodies this tension. While its 54 African member countries hold the promise of African-led development, its 27 non-regional members, with their deep pockets and global clout, often wield influence that can overshadow regional priorities. The very election process—requiring a candidate to secure 50.01% of both regional and non-regional votes—speaks to this delicate, and sometimes precarious, balancing act.

    Tah’s track record at BADEA, where he quadrupled the balance sheet and secured a AAA rating, suggests a leader attuned to the demands of global finance. But the critical question remains: Whose interests will he prioritize? Will he steer the AfDB toward a bolder, more independent Pan-African agenda, or will he adopt the cautious pragmatism that placates both donors and credit agencies but too often leaves African communities behind?

    The stakes could not be higher. Africa is home to the world’s youngest population, the fastest-growing urban centers, and some of the planet’s richest untapped resources. Yet it also grapples with the harsh realities of climate change, debt burdens, and entrenched inequalities. The AfDB’s own High 5’s—Light up and power Africa, Feed Africa, Industrialize Africa, Integrate Africa, and Improve the quality of life for Africans—sound visionary on paper. But they risk becoming hollow slogans if they do not translate into tangible, inclusive progress on the ground.

    This is where Tah’s leadership will be tested. Can he navigate the geopolitical complexities of a multipolar world while ensuring that African voices, not just African resources, shape the Bank’s priorities? Will he champion financing models that empower local entrepreneurs and communities instead of perpetuating dependency on foreign investors? And will he push for a development model that treats Africa not as a passive recipient of aid, but as an engine of innovation and growth in its own right?

    Africa’s history is littered with the bones of well-intentioned development plans that failed to center the people they were meant to serve. Tah’s tenure at the AfDB must break that cycle. He must not only manage the Bank’s finances but also decolonize its governance, ensuring that decisions reflect Africa’s aspirations rather than external agendas.

    As the continent looks toward Agenda 2063 and the Sustainable Development Goals, the AfDB’s role is more critical than ever. It is time for an institution that is not just for Africa but truly of Africa—an institution where every policy, every loan, every strategy is guided by the principle of African agency and ownership.

    Sidi Ould Tah has a historic opportunity to prove that the African Development Bank is more than just a bank, that it is a catalyst for African dignity, prosperity, and unity. The choice is his. And the world is watching.

  • Renaming and Politicization of Public Universities; a Worrying Development!

    By Opare Philip Israel Junior

    In the last few years, we have seen a trend of incumbent administrations rename some public universities after political figures. While some persons continue to support this worrying trend for political reasons, I abhor it. I will explain why.

    First off, in the Ghanaian cultural setting, names do not only convey a sense of physical identity, they also give spiritual importance. For universities, names are highly significant because they carry institutional visions, shape reputation and stimulate alumni pride. It is for these reasons why the incessant trend of renaming public universities after political figures must be shunned.

    Under the erstwhile Akufo Addo administration, several public universities were renamed.
    Prominent among them were :

    1. The University of Development Studies, Wa, which was renamed Simon Diedong Dombo University of Business and Integrated Development Studies
    2. University of Mines and Technology, renamed George Grant University of Mines and Technology.
    3. University of Education, Kumasi Campus renamed Akenten Appiah Menka University of Skills Training and Entrepreneurial Development.

    In opposition, the NDC vouched to revert all universities renamed by Akufo Addo back to their original names. In sharp contrast, I am learning that the Ministry of Education under the leadership of the venerable Haruna Idrissu, has renamed the University of Health and Allied Sciences ( UHAS) after late President Mills.

    Do not get me wrong. President Mills was a great statesman and his contribution towards the establishment of UHAS can not be underestimated.
    In spite of this fact, it’s chuckling seeing the very people/ party who vilified Akufo for renaming some public universities after pro NPP figures perpetuate what they once considered a peccatum or sin.

    I am not against the idea of naming a newly built university after a political figure, especially when the figure is widely appreciated for his heroics. My issue is with renaming existing universities after political / partisan figures. In Ghana, a good number of our politicians are not nationalistic but partisan and that, sometimes they make policy directions to reflect their partisan orientation.

    You do not need a soothsayer to tell you that most of the agitation that followed the renaming of UMAT and UDS, Wa , after SD Dombo and George Grant, respectively, were made from a place of extreme partisanship. Some people felt that these closely highlighted individuals are Pro NPP/ UP/ UGCC figures and that by renaming the aforementioned universities, President Akufo Addo was blazingly honouring the memory of figures associated to his political tradition.

    Today, UHAS has been renamed after late Prof Mills, and people from the opposing divide have started waging spirited opposition to the decision by the Ministry of Education. Just as the NDC has promised to revert institutions renamed by Akufo Addo to their original names, I wouldn’t be surprised if a future NPP administration decides to strikeout Prof Mills’ name and revert back to UHAS or even name the university after a pro NPP figure . Then, this vicious cycle continues .

    What saddens my heart is that, in situations where the names of these longstanding universities are renamed after political figures, the government of the day does not build consensus with relevant stakeholders and seldom gives plausible reasons or justifications for the renaming.

    Like me , many students , alumni bodies and CSOs are yet to grasp the identities designated to these public universities, whose names have been altered.

    While renaming public universities may give some level of esteem to political/ partizan figures, it undermines institutional stability and may shrink public trust. The truth is, universities are glonacal institutions who are regionally impactful and globally relevant and for that reason , their names should not be treated like panties, which can be changed anytime one wishes.

    Whether it is George Grant University of Mines and Technology , Simon Diedong Dombo University of Business and Integrated Development Studies, Wa, or Professor John Evans Attah Mills University of Health and Allied Heath, the ambit remains the same . The renaming of these public universities appear to only give partisan capital consequently affecting the universities strategic positioning, branding and reputation.

    If our political class have forgotten, then they must be reminded that renaming public universities after political figures comes with a huge financial burden. In situations where a public university is renamed, changes are made to the institution’s signages, website letterheads, and relevant documents . All of these rebranding and strategic positioning come at a huge cost.

    At a time where the government of Ghana’s funding towards tertiary education is stagnant, must monies go into renaming at the expense of augmenting infrastructure and resourcing students ?

    Our political class must understand that their penchant for renaming public universities after their political figures can even confuse international partners and universities. A university that constantly changes its name may not be taken serious in the comity of universities .

    We must also not lose sight of the fact that these renaming of public universities have the propensity of creating confusion in the minds of alumni and current students who want to study abroad. For instance, a person who graduated from UHAS and intends to apply to study abroad this year, may battle with the difficulty of identifying as a former UHAS student or Prof John Evans Atta Mills University of Health and Allied Sciences.

    Additionally, if a final year student at UHAS has already applied to study abroad by submitting a UHAS inscripted transcript , and upon graduation he is given a Prof JEA Mills UHAS certificate, that might lead to some discrepancies in the application process. If the foreign university does not ask for an attestation to clear off doubts, that could affect the student chances .

    This is the opportune time for this country to have a policy that regulates when and how universities can be renamed.
    This must encompass the participation of university administrators , alumni, students , governing councils and other relevant stakeholders in the Ghanaian educational ecosystem.

    In conclusion, this troubling trend of renaming state universities after political figures must cease. If indeed the political class want to honour their political figures, they can exploit other areas , such as setting up scholarship schemes in their name, building halls, and auditoriums and naming them after the political figures.

    I do not think anyone would have made a fuss, if Akufo Addo built an auditorium at UMAT and named it after George Grant or if Mahama had built a block at UHAS and is naming it after Prof Mills.

    May God bless our homeland Ghana and make our political class think beyond partisanship.

  • “The Language of Freedom: A Memoir for Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o”

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    I was not there when he wrote his first sentence in Gikuyu. I did not sit beside him in Kamĩrĩĩthũ as villagers turned theatre into a weapon. I was not there when the prison doors clanged shut behind him for daring to write in the tongue of his ancestors.

    But like millions across this continent, I was shaped by his courage.

    Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o has died.

    And Africa mourns, not only the loss of a man, but the passing of a literary insurgent, a cultural architect, and a defiant voice in a world that often demanded silence.

    The Pen as Machete

    For many of us, Ngũgĩ was not simply a writer. He was a freedom fighter in ink. He showed us that language is never neutral, that the choice to write in Gikuyu was not a retreat into tribalism but an act of radical reclamation. While others translated Africa into English, he decolonized English from his African soul.

    In a world that told us to admire Achebe in English and Soyinka in Shakespearean thunder, Ngũgĩ reminded us that we were not born into exile. That the soil of our tongues had its own grammar of resistance.

    He taught us that to write in Gikuyu was to walk barefoot into the soul of a people who had not been conquered, merely interrupted.

    His Books Were Weapons

    I remember the first time I read “Decolonising the Mind”. I was not the same again. It was as if a curtain had been torn from my eyes and I could finally see the colonial ghosts that haunted our syllabuses, our politics, our churches.

    Ngũgĩ dared to say what we only whispered: that an education that erases your language is not education. it is a funeral.

    With “Petals of Blood”, “A Grain of Wheat”, and “Devil on the Cross”, he gave Africa literature that bled, rebelled, and loved fiercely. His characters were not saints. They were broken, bruised, but never bowed. Like Africa itself.

    The Man Who Refused to Bow

    Ngũgĩ was exiled for his words. Jailed for his plays. Censored for his love of Africa. But he never softened. He never begged for a Western prize or platform. He wrote for us, even when we did not read him. He believed in us, even when we betrayed him by refusing to believe in ourselves.

    His life was a testimony that African dignity does not need foreign validation. That to stand tall in your own language is to remind the world that you are not a shadow of Europe, but a sun of your own making.

    For the Future Ngũgĩs

    As we lower his memory into the sacred soil of Africa, we must not bury the work. We must raise it.

    Let every Pan-African writer, editor, storyteller, and student know: Ngũgĩ did not die so we could be quiet. He did not suffer exile so we could settle for applause instead of truth. He did not write in Gikuyu so we could praise his courage in English and forget his challenge.

    Let us write in Shona, in Twi, in Wolof, in Amharic, in Lingala. Let us publish stories where our people are not objects of pity but agents of power. Let us write not only to be read, but to remember.

    He Walks With the Ancestors Now

    Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o has gone ahead—to sit, perhaps, with Biko and Nkrumah, Sankara and Nyerere, Ama Ata Aidoo and Kofi Awoonor. To drink from the calabash of eternal memory.

    But here, on earth, his fire remains. In libraries. In classrooms. In whispered Gikuyu lullabies. In every African child who dares to write, speak, and dream in their own name.

    Rest well, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.

    Your pen was your machete.
    Your language, your revolution.
    Your memory, our inheritance.

  • UTAG Condemns Murder of Ghanaian Professor Found Buried at Home, Calls for Justice Across Academic Spaces

    The academic community across the nation of Ghana is in shock following the tragic killing of Professor Mawuadem Koku Amedeker, a respected lecturer at the University of Education, Winneba (UEW) in Ghana. His body was discovered and exhumed from his own residence in Gyahadze, a suburb of Winneba, on May 22, after he had been missing for several weeks.

    In a press release issued on Sunday, May 25, the University Teachers Association of Ghana (UTAG), UEW Chapter, described the incident as “devastating” and noted that it had deeply shaken not just the UEW academic community, but the entire country.

    “Prof Amedeker was a respected academic and a valued member of our university. His violent and untimely death has left a deep sense of grief and disbelief among his colleagues, students, and staff,” the statement read.

    The case has resonated beyond Ghana’s borders, with scholars and education advocates across Africa raising concerns over the safety and protection of academics on the continent. UTAG-UEW expressed deep condolences to the bereaved family and appreciated the support from UTAG’s National Executive Council during what it described as a difficult and “uncomfortable” period.

    The association commended the Ghana Police Service for their swift action in launching an investigation and arresting a suspect but urged authorities to intensify efforts to bring all involved to justice.

    “We strongly urge the police to ensure that all individuals connected to this heinous act are apprehended and prosecuted,” UTAG-UEW stated.

    UTAG-UEW also pledged its support for the investigation and called on governments, security services, and university authorities to work together to strengthen safety across campuses.

    The union emphasized that this tragedy must serve as a wider call to action across Africa to prioritize the safety, dignity, and security of those working in academic spaces.

    “We will honour Prof Amedeker’s legacy by continuing to uphold the values he lived by—truth, justice, and service to academia,” the statement concluded.

  • Ugandan Activist Alleges Rape and Torture in Tanzanian Detention

    Kampala, Uganda — Ugandan activist and journalist Agather Atuhaire has alleged that she was raped and tortured while in detention in Tanzania after she was arrested alongside Kenyan photojournalist Boniface Mwangi. The two had traveled to Tanzania in solidarity with opposition leader Tundu Lissu, who appeared in court on treason charges on Monday.

    Atuhaire told the BBC that while in detention, she was blindfolded by men in plain clothes, violently struck, stripped, and sexually assaulted. “The pain was too much,” she said, showing the news outlet a mark left by handcuffs. She also claimed that her screams were so intense her captors had to cover her mouth.

    She further stated that she heard Mwangi being threatened with forced circumcision. “They tortured us and asked us to strip naked to go bathe. We couldn’t walk, and they told us to crawl and go wash off the blood,” Mwangi later recounted in a post on social media platform X.

    The pair were denied entry to the courtroom despite being permitted into the country and were subsequently arrested by Tanzanian authorities. President Samia Suluhu Hassan had earlier warned that foreign activists would not be allowed to interfere in Tanzanian affairs or cause unrest.

    Atuhaire was eventually found on Thursday night, abandoned at the Tanzania-Uganda border. Her return was confirmed by the Agora Centre for Research, a Ugandan rights organization, and the Ugandan High Commissioner to Tanzania, Fred Mwesigye, who said she had “safely returned home” and had been reunited with her family.

    Mwangi was also discovered abandoned near the Tanzanian-Kenyan border and recounted the ordeal, stating they were moved in separate vehicles after being tortured. He alleged that their treatment was ordered by Tanzanian state security officials who told their captors to give the pair “Tanzanian treatment.”
    As of now, Tanzanian authorities have not issued a public response to the claims.

  • The Green Mirage: How Foreign Climate Agendas Are Displacing Africans in the Name of Conservation

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    It began with satellite images, climate reports, and pledges made in distant cities—New York, Paris, Oslo. Leaders of the Global North, freshly adorned with green credentials, vowed to fight climate change by protecting forests, storing carbon, and “re-wilding” the planet. Africa, they said, would be at the heart of this global effort.

    But in the shadows of these promises, a quieter story is unfolding—one not told at COP summits or in glossy NGO brochures. From the plains of Tanzania to the forests of the Congo Basin, rural African communities are being evicted, fenced out, and rendered invisible. All in the name of climate action.

    What looks like progress on paper often feels like dispossession on the ground.

    Welcome to the age of green colonialism, where carbon credits are traded like cocoa, and land becomes valuable only when Africans are removed from it.

    Land Grabs in Green Clothing

    In 2022 alone, over 5 million hectares of land across Africa were acquired for carbon offset projects, conservation corridors, and reforestation schemes, according to the Land Matrix Initiative. Many of these acquisitions bypassed local consultation processes, exploiting weak land tenure systems and outdated colonial laws that still classify vast tracts of indigenous land as “state property.”

    In Tanzania’s Loliondo district, more than 70,000 Maasai were forcibly evicted in 2023 to make way for a wildlife corridor funded by the UAE’s Ortello Business Corporation, under the pretext of protecting the environment. When they resisted, tear gas and live bullets followed. The Maasai had lived sustainably with wildlife for centuries, yet were branded threats to conservation.

    In the Congo Basin—home to the world’s second-largest rainforest after the Amazon, millions of hectares have been earmarked for carbon credit markets, mostly managed by European or American brokers. These schemes are sold to Western companies as a way to “offset” pollution—but for forest dwellers, it means new restrictions on farming, hunting, and even spiritual rituals tied to the land.

    The Carbon Credit Scam

    The global carbon market is expected to be worth over $50 billion by 2030, and Africa is central to that future. Yet the structure is deeply exploitative. Here’s how it works:

    1. A foreign company funds a forest protection project in Africa.
    2. The trees are counted and turned into carbon credits.
    3. The credits are sold to polluters—airlines, oil giants, fashion brands—in the Global North.
    4. The African community is told to change its way of life—no farming, no grazing, no access.
    5. The real profit? It rarely reaches the people whose land is being used.

    According to a 2023 Oxfam report, less than 2% of revenue from carbon offset projects in Africa ends up in the hands of local communities.

    It’s a new frontier of extractivism—this time not minerals or oil, but African air and trees.

    Conservation Without the People

    Ironically, the African communities being displaced by these projects are often better environmental stewards than the organizations removing them. Studies by the UN’s FAO and Rights and Resources Initiative show that indigenous communities manage lands more sustainably than many state or private actors.

    The Hadza of Tanzania, the Ogiek of Kenya, and the Baka of Cameroon have all demonstrated that biodiversity thrives when indigenous land rights are protected. But these truths are inconvenient for a conservation model built on fences, rangers, and fortress parks.

    Even major global conservation organizations—some with deep colonial roots—continue to push for “people-free” nature preserves. As one Maasai elder put it: “They want the animals, but not the people who have lived with them for generations.”

    Climate Apartheid

    African countries contribute just 3.8% of global greenhouse gas emissions, yet bear the brunt of climate change, droughts, floods, failed harvests. And now, in a cruel twist, they are also being asked to sacrifice land and autonomy to help the world’s largest polluters claim “net zero” status.

    This is climate apartheid: where the wealthy world buys absolution by offloading the cost of climate responsibility onto the poor, often Black, rural, and powerless.

    A People-Centered Climate Future

    This does not mean Africa should reject conservation or climate action. Far from it. But it must lead its own environmental agenda. one rooted in justice, equity, and land sovereignty.

    • Secure land tenure for indigenous and local communities must be non-negotiable.
    • Carbon credit markets must be radically restructured to ensure revenue flows to those who steward the land.
    • Pan-African environmental coalitions must emerge—linking governments, farmers, youth activists, and traditional leaders—to challenge foreign green agendas that sideline African voices.

    And we must tell these stories—not just in policy papers, but in film, poetry, investigative journalism, and social media. Because what is at stake is more than land. It is the right of Africans to define their relationship with nature, outside of colonial frameworks—green or otherwise.

    The Verdict

    The climate crisis is real. But so is the risk of repeating history, where Africa becomes a backdrop for someone else’s solution.

    This time, Africa must not only survive the climate emergency. It must rewrite the terms of engagement.

  • From Timbuktu to TikTok: The Digital Reawakening of Africa’s Intellectual Legacy

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    In a sun-baked room in Accra, a group of Ghanaian teenagers scroll through TikTok—not to watch dances or pranks, but to learn. One video explains the Sankofa philosophy; another unpacks the Mali Empire’s trade routes; yet another reimagines Nefertiti as a tech entrepreneur in futuristic Cairo. In this digital age, Africa’s ancient wisdom is no longer locked away in manuscripts or oral traditions. It’s trending.

    The continent is undergoing a quiet intellectual revolution, one that stretches back to the sands of Timbuktu and now pulses through fiber-optic cables and smartphone screens. For centuries, Africa’s contributions to global knowledge were ignored, erased, or appropriated. But a new generation is reclaiming and repackaging that legacy, not through the ivory towers of academia, but via memes, podcasts, blogs, and reels.

    This is not nostalgia. It’s a new form of intellectual warfare.

    Timbuktu Was the Blueprint

    In the 14th century, while Europe was grappling with the Black Death and feudal collapse, the city of Timbuktu, nestled in present-day Mali—boasted one of the world’s richest centers of learning. The Sankoré University, along with thousands of private libraries, held over 700,000 manuscripts, covering astronomy, medicine, law, philosophy, and mathematics.

    These documents—written in Arabic, Ajami (African languages in Arabic script), and local tongues—debunk the myth that Africa had no written tradition. Scholars like Ahmed Baba, one of the most prolific minds of the 16th century, wrote over 40 books and openly criticized slavery.

    Yet colonial narratives buried these stories. African knowledge systems were labelled primitive. Oral histories were dismissed. Indigenous science was ignored. What Europe could not use, it erased.

    The Digital Counterattack

    Fast-forward to the 21st century, and the tools of colonization are being repurposed. African creators, researchers, and students are digitizing ancient manuscripts and uploading them to open-access libraries. The Timbuktu Manuscripts Project—a collaboration between South African and Malian scholars, has preserved and published thousands of these texts online.

    Meanwhile, platforms like YouTube and TikTok are enabling Afro-edutainment—the fusion of African history and storytelling with short-form, viral content. Pages like @LetstalkHistoryAfrica (Kenya), @SankofaChronicles (Ghana), and @PanAfricanFiles (Nigeria) have amassed millions of followers by breaking down complex historical topics into bite-sized, engaging clips.

    And it’s not just history. Traditional healing systems, African astronomy, cosmology, and philosophy are being reexamined through a 21st-century lens. A new wave of scholars is emerging—rooted in African perspectives, unafraid of the West’s intellectual gatekeepers.

    Why This Matters: Education, Identity, Power

    According to UNESCO, over 70% of African school curricula in former British or French colonies still prioritize European historical frameworks. African thinkers like Thomas Sankara, Cheikh Anta Diop, Wangari Maathai, and Ama Ata Aidoo are barely mentioned, if at all.

    This erasure fuels a deeper crisis: identity fragmentation. If African children grow up learning only about Newton but not Imhotep, Descartes but not Anton Wilhelm Amo, they inherit the idea that Africa contributed nothing to civilization.

    The digital reawakening is correcting this. It is telling young Africans: you come from a lineage of thinkers, not just survivors.

    It’s also political. In Senegal, students cite digital archives of the Almoravid movement when protesting education reforms. In South Africa, Pan-African book clubs use WhatsApp to dissect Steve Biko and Frantz Fanon. In Ethiopia, Instagram poets revive Ge’ez metaphors to critique state power.

    Knowledge has become resistance.

    Challenges: Algorithms, Language, Access

    This renaissance is not without limits. Social media algorithms often favor Western content. African creators are frequently shadow-banned or under-promoted due to “low engagement markets.” Moreover, linguistic colonialism persists: most digital African knowledge is still curated in English or French, alienating vast populations.

    Internet penetration also remains a hurdle. As of 2024, only 43% of sub-Saharan Africans have regular internet access, according to the World Bank. In rural areas, that figure dips below 20%.

    To truly democratize knowledge, Africa must build its own digital infrastructures, support local-language platforms, and invest in creators who center African epistemologies.

    The Future is African—and It’s Online

    This renaissance is not just about pride—it’s about agency. From Lagos to Lilongwe, Kigali to Khartoum, Africa’s youth are proving that history is not something to be inherited. It’s something to be made.

    A continent that once taught the world—through its pyramids, philosophies, universities, and medicine, is remembering its role. Not through colonial textbooks, but through code, creativity, and connection.

    Timbuktu lives on. And this time, the world is watching.

  • The Unseen Borderlines: How Colonial Boundaries Still Shape African Daily Life

    By Moses Desire Kouyo

    In the quiet town of Elubo, on Ghana’s western edge, life moves to the rhythm of the border. Traders cross daily into Côte d’Ivoire to sell goods. Families are split across nationalities. Children grow up speaking both Twi and French. But for many, the border is more than a checkpoint, it is an invisible wall that shapes every aspect of their existence.

    Over a century after European powers carved Africa into fragments at the Berlin Conference of 1884-85, the scars of artificial borders still pulse beneath the continent’s surface. The lines, drawn without regard for ethnic, linguistic, or cultural continuities, were not just geographic, they were ideological. And today, they continue to dictate how Africans move, trade, communicate, and even love.

    The Human Cost of Arbitrary Lines

    Take the story of Mariam and Joseph—siblings born just ten kilometers apart but under different flags. Mariam lives in Togo, while Joseph is in Ghana. Both are Ewe, speak the same language, and share the same traditions. Yet they require passports, visas, and sometimes bribes to see each other. Their story is not an exception, it is a norm for many families living along borderlands from Senegal to Somalia.

    For nomadic groups like the Tuareg or Fulani, whose livelihoods depend on transhumance—seasonal migration with their livestock, national borders often criminalize their way of life. What was once a communal land system stretching across regions is now a bureaucratic maze of permits and suspicion. These ancient communities are forced to justify their existence to modern state systems that neither understand nor value their traditions.

    When Borders Kill Trade

    In East Africa, a Maasai herder in Kenya may be blocked from grazing lands a few kilometers away in Tanzania, though his ancestors moved freely across both. In West Africa, delays at border posts can hold up goods for weeks—costing small traders dearly. And despite the formation of economic blocs like ECOWAS and the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), national governments still enforce protectionist policies that contradict the spirit of continental integration.

    Border towns like Aflao (Ghana–Togo), Busia (Kenya–Uganda), and Gisenyi (Rwanda–DR Congo) offer a paradox: they are vibrant hubs of exchange yet constantly disrupted by customs delays, language barriers, and political tensions. Smuggling, bribery, and corruption thrive where formal systems fail ordinary people.

    Language, Identity, and Belonging

    Language is another casualty of the colonial border logic. Africa is home to over 2,000 languages, many of which spill across borders. Yet in most African schools, children are taught in colonial languages—English, French, Portuguese—that divide them from their neighbors. A child in Francophone Benin may share more with a Yoruba-speaking cousin in Anglophone Nigeria than with a Parisian, but the linguistic wall remains.

    Colonialism didn’t just split territories—it also fragmented identities. Many Africans today grow up identifying more with their European-given nationalities than with their ethnic or regional affiliations. This has implications for governance, civic trust, and conflict. In places like Cameroon or Sudan, post-colonial national projects built on arbitrary borders have bred deep ethnic resentments that occasionally explode into violence.

    Toward a Borderless Future?

    Africa’s political leadership has long acknowledged the damage of these imposed borders. As early as the 1960s, Kwame Nkrumah and Julius Nyerere called for African unity that transcended colonial boundaries. Today, the borderless Africa agenda, championed through AfCFTA, AU passport initiatives, and regional visa-free regimes, seeks to heal these divides.

    But the process is slow, uneven, and often symbolic. While the AU dreams of free movement, many African states still maintain rigid visa policies against fellow Africans. As of 2024, an African passport is more powerful in Europe than in half of the continent.

    The real work lies not just in policies but in reimagining the continent. African unity cannot be built on paper alone, it must live in infrastructure, language policy, education, and above all, in trust between states and people.

    Stories from the Edge

    For now, the people at Africa’s borders continue to build unity from below. In Goma and Gisenyi, across the DRC-Rwanda border, young musicians collaborate on songs that blend Lingala and Kinyarwanda. In Aflao, market women teach each other phrases in French and Ewe to survive. In the Sahel, nomads still defy checkpoints to uphold ancestral rhythms.

    They are living proof that Africa was always borderless, before maps, before fences, before colonizers. And perhaps it is in their stories, not the conference halls of Addis Ababa or Abuja, that the dream of a truly united Africa will be reborn.