NOT IN THEIR BACKYARD - E-WASTE IN GHANA

Agbogbloshie Market in Accra is a massive dumpsite where tons of electronic waste (e-waste), most of which is exported and shipped from western nations, is delivered each day from Tema Port.

Billowing black smoke can be seen blanketing the grounds from the market’s chaotic entrance, where a myriad of people go about their day-to-day business surrounded by piles of obsolete computers, broken televisions, rusted refrigerators, air-conditioners and old car batteries .

Children as young as eight years old right through to the elderly lug, rifle through, dismantle and burn this toxic material with bare hands, feet and skin exposed and mouths unmasked to resell the debris to make a meager living.

Breaking, smashing, tearing apart and bagging the waste or setting ablaze flame-retardant wires to extract strands of copper is the daily, 12 to 15 hour grind these workers tolerate. Deadly chemicals and carcinogenic agents including bromine, lead and mercury released into the atmosphere are absorbed with every breathe leaving them vulnerable to health defects such as chronic headaches, respiratory ailments, skin and eye infections, burns and other, sometimes fatal, diseases. Eating, sleeping, drinking, defecating and other day-to-day duties all occur on the same grounds. Wages depend solely upon the weight of the debris and copper collected.

“All these toxic metals bio-accumulate. They persist in environment and human body and can even be present in breast milk fed to babies,” explains Environmentalist Mr. Mike Anane, who is spearheading a campaign, "Stop the Exportation and Dumping of Toxic Waste" alongside the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP). “(Workers) are opening up their bodies to carcinogens, cancers and a lot of ailments as they grow older. They make something but it is nothing to die for.”

Most labourers come from Northern Ghana, while a minority migrate from neighbouring countries including Cote D’Ivoire, Togo and Burkina Faso, in hopes of an improved way of life. Many of the children, unable to afford an education, leave their villages on their own in an attempt to garner money for school fees or to help support their families. Left to fend for themselves on the city streets, hope to return home prevails. However, years may pass before they do; if they ever find a way.

“They say ‘we need money to go to school, for clothing, to buy food’,” says Anane. “’We know the work is damaging to our health, and we can’t run as fast but we have no choice.’”

If the health and safety hazards or human rights violations upon these labourers and surrounding residents in the area are not enough to raise eyebrows, then consider the toxic waste that enters directly into the Adore River and Korle Lagoon, which flow around the dumping grounds, through the city and into the ocean. Furthermore, envision this during a tropical downpour. Imagine cattle and sheep grazing upon the site and ending up on citizens’ dinner plates.

The market could be viewed under the guise of a recycling plant, as broken plastic is bagged, delivered back to Tema Port and shipped to manufacturing plants in China, while bundles of copper are sold to various local electronic agents for re-use. Some may also argue that the site provides a source of employment and a means to survive for thousands.

“There is some positive side to it ... People are making a living and using cannibalized parts to do business,” says Mr. William Abaidoo of Ghana’s Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). “However because of the inability to manage hazardous parts ... in 10 to 15 years what is the essence? The long term (health) effects are incalculable.”

According to the UNEP an estimated 20 to 50 million tonnes of e-waste is generated across the globe each year and 70 per cent of it is shipped in from countries all over Europe and North America landing in third-world nations. An international treaty, the Basel Convention was created in 1989 and has been signed by 170 countries, including Ghana. This treaty is meant to prohibit the transfer of hazardous waste from developed to less developed countries. But, it has yet to be enforced.

Anane describes the situation in Ghana as a “crisis.” He has been working for four years encouraging the Government to halt the import of e-waste by strengthening environmental laws and regulations. He says the international community must take responsibility for the waste generated and stop the dumping in other country’s backyards. Shipping companies and electronic manufacturers should also be held accountable.

“It’s easier and cheaper to bring the waste here. Out of sight, out of mind,” says Anane. “It is a crisis. It is immoral. It ought to be illegal.”

According to the EPA, the Ghanaian Government needs US$1.5 billion to deal with waste water, sanitation and pollution management, which is the cause of 70 per cent of diseases on the African continent. The agency claims it is aware of the e-waste problem and says action including setting guidelines, standards, as well as taking an inventory of the situation on the ground, will take place “as soon as possible.”

“As an agency we view the e-waste situation as emerging,” says Abaidoo. “If you say it’s a crisis then you are saying it has gone beyond epidemic proportions ... The number of Ghanaians engaging in dismantling computers is negligible, so you can’t describe it as a crisis. A crisis is the cyclone in Burma.”

As for when action will take place. “It takes time,” explains Abaidoo. “We don’t want to conjecture because we may be telling lies and heightening the hopes of people.”

On that note, lets take a closer look at what is actually happening on the ground at Agbogbloshie Market and where you’re discarded keyboard, fax machine or washing machine may have ended up.

Abudullah Haffiz smashes computer debris to get to the copper-filled wiring. The 27-year-old from Tamale, the capital of Ghana’s Northern Region, works a 12 hour day at the market and receives about CDN$2 for every kilogram of copper he collects. He has made a living at the dump site since he was a teenager and often suffers from a cough and headache.

A pile of printers and other metal waste lies along the main path leading into market. This is a common sight throughout the dumping ground.

Much of the e-waste has confidential information attached including names, companies, addresses, even phone numbers of their origin destination. Wonder if David Griffith, member of the Alliance Industry Association (AIA), realizes where his broken washing machines end up. Perhaps someone should give the Washing Machine Man a call to find out.

Two teens hammer off the insulation of a refrigerator. Step two
will involve breaking through the plastic to extract copper wiring.

Ibraham Abdul-Rahaman White uses a broom to burn a piece of metal, while sheep graze and residents play football in the distance. The 19-year-old, who has never been to school, came to Agbogbloshie Market from the north with his brother. He is aware of the negative health impacts but says he is trying to make a living.


Here is a closer look at a group of sheep grazing on the dumpsite. Rotten food, feces, computers parts and other toxic material is what they ingest. These sheep may be slaughtered and their meat then sold at local markets.



Kwaku Nyaba from Bolgatanga in Ghana’s Upper East Region, collects debris off the ash-ridden ground to assist with the burning of wires, while other teen labourers and their family members work in the background. The 16-year-old has been working at the market for one year and on a good day earns about CDN$3 a day.

These pieces of debris are a great source of copper once the metal is burned off. Positioned this way speeds up the burning process.

A bag of wire collected by 16-year-old Kuaku Nyaba is ready for burning to extract copper. The colourful flame-retardant material surrounding the wire is highly toxic. Notice the burn scars on the Nyaba's hand (left).


This three-year-old girl helps out by using a piece of Styrofoam as kindling. Immediately after this photo was snapped she threw it into the fire. Her sister takes care of her while selling water on the grounds.



Once debris is bagged and copper collected it is weighed on this scale and labourers are paid accordingly. The average daily wage is about CDN$3 per day.

When Nature’s Call Becomes a Health Hazard – Public Toilets in Ghana

By: Felicity Boachie-Danquah, Daily Dispatch and Sophie Nicholls, JHR

For Rita Adjetey using a public bathroom daily isn’t a choice, it is nature’s call.

The mother of two, who lives in a Labadi neighbourhood near Accra’s Trade Centre, wished she had a private toilet and shower inside her home but her family cannot afford the installation costs.

“We are making do with this until we have the money to build our own,” she says. “We wish the government would come to our aid, but they are not coming.”

Mrs. Adjetey is just one of thousands of Ghanaians, living in both urban and rural areas, who rely upon public toilets that are far too often seeping, spilling and smelling. According to a June 2006 study, Behavioral Indicators of Household Decision-Making and Demand for Sanitation and Potential Gains from Sanitation Marketing in Ghana, 58 per cent of adults across the country are queuing up daily to use these facilities, while 65 per cent of are dissatisfied with where they have to defecate.

Luckily for Mrs. Adjetey the facility she uses, which is open 4:30am to 9pm, is fairly well maintained. The 10 toilets are cleaned once a day and five showers once a week. Entrance costs are standard at about 10 cents to use the toilet or shower, about 5 cents to empty chamber pots, while a wad of toilet paper or piece of newspaper are free. Queues are only experienced during morning and evening rush hour, as people head off or return from work.

Despite this, Mrs. Adjetey feels a dent in her wallet after paying about 12 GHC a month to use this facility. She is even charged to empty her children's potties.

“It’s very costly,” she admits.

But what choice does Mrs. Adejtey have?

According to Mr. Demedeme Naah, Director of Environment and Sanitation with the Ministry of Local Government, although public toilets are meant for the floating population, it is actually illegal to erect such structures in neighbourhoods due to the health implications. He feels people are now relying upon them instead of focussing on ways to implement domestic toilets into their homes.

“People say they can’t afford it but I don’t want to accept that,” he says. “I think having a toilet in the house is not a priority because they have access to public toilets. They think, why worry ourselves?”

Public Washroom owner, Mr. Samuel Amant Tetteh, however, believes that if it was not for his facility, which was erected a year ago for about Cdn$200, Labadi residents would still be defecating openly in a park across the street.

“I was trying to help the community. People used the park and it’s unfair,” he explains, adding that some residents even defecated on the streets. “Some people used to come and spoil the place. Human beings can be difficult. If you say you are going to help the community you have to have patience.”

The problem gets deeper when looking at legal facilities located in local markets and public transport terminals, such as Kaneshie and Makola. According to Mr. Demedeme these are so poorly maintained that some patrons remove all their clothing before entering.

“(Public washrooms) are an eyesore and a public health hazard,” explains Mr. Demedeme, who recommends they be washed down twice a day, morning and evening. “The problem is keeping them well-cleaned. People go in and some end up contracting diseases.”

Children using public toilets or defecating outdoors are at even greater risk. According to a March 2005 study, Journal of Health & Population in Developing Countries, conducted in the Accra Metropolitan area, children who were sharing a toilet with more than 10 families had a higher incidence of diahrrea (30.4 per cent) and dysentery (53.6 per cent). Just over 24 per cent of diarrhea cases were reported from children whose families participated in outdoor defecation.

So, whose responsibility is it to make sure the public washroom facilities are legal and adhere to proper health standards?

According to Mr. Demedeme, the private sector took the mantle in 1999 when a National Environmental Sanitation Policy was established by the Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development. This sector is now responsible for 80 per cent of waste management services, while the assemblies and municipalities are left to make sure all runs smoothly and according to policy.

“It was the responsibility of the Metropolitan, Municipal, and District Assemblies to take care of public toilets and bathrooms in the country, but they seemed to be non-performing,” he explains. "So, in early 2000, the private sectors were encouraged to put up such structures and pay franchise fees."

Owners like Mr. Tetteh, who pays about Cdn$15 in taxes a month to the Accra Metropolitan Assembly (AMA), are now responsible for collecting monies, cleaning, recruiting labour and paying the franchise fee. According to Mr. Tetteh, it’s all about the cash.

“AMA did not help me,” says Mr. Tetteh. “They just collect the money.”

Mr. Demedeme agrees that financial gains have become the main focus. He says owners are more interested in the profits from patrons than maintenance, while assemblies are busy collecting their fees and failing to monitor facilities through inspections and assessments.

“The biggest problem we have is enforcement of laws,” admits Mr. Demedeme, adding that it is actually law for every property to have a domestic toilet and illegal for people to openly defecate.

“People won’t do it (break the law) if they know they can’t get off scot free.”

On the Ministry’s side, Mr. Demedeme admits his office plays a key role in ensuring policies are implemented and assemblies, the private sector, even citizens are living up to their responsibilities.

“We are also not doing our part well,” he admits. “But it is all because of the constraints we have in the system ... time, logistics and personnel.”

Despite all these constraints, the government still hopes to have domestic toilets installed in 90 per cent of Ghanaian households, with the remaining 10 per cent of the population using hygienic public washrooms, by 2020. Pan (bucket) Latrines and open trench latrines are also to be phased out and replaced with flush toilets by 2010.

If these aspirations, inspired from the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), are to be met, then efforts will have to be doubled, according to Mr. Demedeme. “Doubling means a lot more than education and enforcement,” he says. “But we are getting a lot of support from our developing partners to try and push us to do so. “

In the meantime, citizens will keep queuing up, paying out and stripping down when nature calls.

A Trip to Togo - Full of Chaos & Corruption!

The tumultuous journey began on a Saturday afternoon in April amidst the chaos of Accra’s Tudu station. Hawkers selling everything from pure water sachets to fake gold watches trampled upon trash, huddling around the air-conditioned, Ford minivan, that my Ghanaian traveling mate and I were lucky enough to board as soon as we stepped out from a taxi.

We were Togo bound, via the Aflao border, to update my one-year, multiple-entry Ghanaian visa, and I was feeling confident that since we had found comfortable means of travel so easily the journey would go smoothly. Even the music selection, a Lucky Dube cassette, was to our liking. I bought chocolate milk, sat back, sipped and smiled. The mini-van even filled to capacity with other passengers quite quickly, and we were heading across Greater Accra within forty-five minutes of leaving home in Labadi.

As we flew along the traffic-free Accra-Tema motorway, I quadruple checked that I had all potentially required documents. Passport, check, Visa Extension receipts, check, copy of Journalist for Human Rights (JHR) contract (the Canadian organization I work for) check, proof of Yellow Fever vaccination, check ... I think that just about covers it.

All was going as expected - with ease -that is until we reached the outskirts of Sege –about half way between Accra and Aflao. Coming up ahead of us was a motorbike carrying two passengers, zooming along the middle of the lane, instead of to one side, as is typically practised here in Ghana. The minivan honked, once than twice, but the motorbike didn’t budge to the right. In haste, our driver began to overtake, and despite having a clear oncoming lane, he left mere inches between the motorbike and minivan. I looked right through the passenger window, and my belly flipped when I saw how close those two humans aboard the bike were to our vehicle. Thump, my heart jumped to my throat, and nausea set in as I swiveled my head around to see the moto swerve onto the shoulder and both men tumble off the bike onto the gravel.

Our minivan came to an abrupt halt, but only after passengers in the back began yelling at the driver to do so. We returned to the accident scene to find one badly scratched up driver, his arms and legs stripped of skin, oozing blood. The other rider was in worse shape. He sat crumpled in a ball on the ground, shaking. Palms bloody, hopping on his slightly twisted right leg, somehow he made it, with assistance, into the minivan’s front seat.

The plan was for our driver and all passengers to travel with the injured to the nearest hospital. There was no calling for the police and ambulance or waiting around for a report and investigation to take place, as is standard and the legal way in my home country, Canada. Instead, my friend, who is an experienced moto driver, and I hopped on the bike and followed the minivan onwards.

This part of the journey ended about 10 minutes later along a dirt road in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. My friend and I pulled over to where the minivan had stopped, hopped off the bike, and entered into an argument between the driver, passengers and the injured, as to what to do next. It was only then that I realized my friend had been wearing a helmet splattered with blood.

Finally the passengers, including ourselves, were given a partial refund for our fare and left on the side of the road to find our way back to Sege, to find alternate transportation to Aflao. The minivan driver was left to get the injured to the hospital; that is if they didn’t pursue a threat of stopping by the police station first.

After walking a few kilometres and being ignored by several passing cars, we were all snatched up by an empty tro-tro . The driver and mate delivered us to the main road and within an hour of the accident we were back on another tro-tro on our way to Aflao.

But the adventure had only begun. This driver had never traveled to Aflao before, so instead of taking the shortcut along a recently paved road, he took another pot-hole ridden route, which had the vehicle dodging and swerving at top speed, with the brakes slamming throwing use forward every so often. If that wasn’t nerve wracking enough, the ride that should have taken an hour-and-a-half took three hours, and there was a fear the border might close early on a Saturday.

Luckily, it didn’t, and our arrival at just before 6pm gave use plenty of time to get through before the gates closed at 10pm.If the rat race at Tumu station isn’t enough to challenge one’s sanity, the one at Aflao border certainly is. As soon as an ‘obruni’ steps out of a vehicle here, those “ready and willing” to offer advice, show you the ropes, help you exchange Ghana Cedis into CFA (Togo’s currency) are at your feet, grabbing your shoulders, pulling your shirt and yelling in your ear (for a small dash or two). So much for thinking having a local Ghanaian along for the ride would ease the hassle.

First stop was Ghana Immigration Service (GIS). Sounds simple, but try finding which gate to pass through, who to show your passport to first and what building to enter to get to the office, while pushing through a crowd of Togolese and Ghanaians, all trying to do the same thing at the exact same time. This in itself took about 10 minutes of, eventually abruptly, telling ‘guides’ were we fine on our own and following the correct directions of the official GIS men in uniform.

As is standard, a lengthy form had to be filled out at the GIS office by both myself and my Ghanaian counterpart. Only problem was, he didn’t have his passport on him and was now unable to find his I.D. card. After a few minutes in panic, there it was tucked and zipped inside his money belt. Sigh of relief and roll of the eyes from me as crossing the border on my own was simply not an option at this point. Though asked why he did not have a passport, my friend’s I.D. card seemed to prove sufficient, for the GIS anyway. With forms filled I approached the GIS desk, only to be reprimanded by one officer for the fact that I had over-stayed my stay in Ghana by 15 days since my last extension.

“You have violated the state of Ghana” said one guard to me in an authoritative voice.

“Yes, I know” I responded squeamishly.

"Are you prepared to accept the penalty?” he added.“I have to do, what I have to do.” I responded hesitantly.

After being reprimanded a second time by another officer and realizing my innocent, wide-eyed, clueless expression wasn’t working, I accepted the financial consequences paying a month plus a month penalty fee (40 GHC for Canadians). We were then free to move on to step two - crossing the Togolese border.

Back into the rat-race we scurried, once again to be harassed by ‘guides’ who pulled us this way and that towards the final GIC barrier. My friend and I were split up into two separate lines. I passed by with ease as there were no other foreigners; the guard simply looking at my passport and waving me through. My friend, however, had a longer line to contend with ... a mix of Togolese and Ghanaians pushing each other aggressively forward to see who could make it through first. He made it but not before arguing with the guard as to why he had to pay 1 GHC to do so. Resentfully, he gave in when he saw everyone else was paying. This was the beginning of corruption at its best.

Part B of step two - getting my visa for Toga (my friend being Ghanaian did not need one) – created more confusion. We didn’t know which way to turn next and were completely ignoring anyone who tried to assist us. Plus my friend was still angry about having to tip off the guard. So angry, that he approached some other GIS guards to ask them about it only to be told they had nothing to do with it, refusing to admit whether the request was right or wrong.

"You must deal with the guard you gave the money to," one guard responded.

At this point I was exhausted, sweaty and bewildered, leaving me to contemplate whether hopping back across the Ghanaian border and heading back to Accra might be the best option. But, I had to get the Togo visa before even thinking about doing so.

There was yet another barrier to pass through and my friend and I were divided again, me passing with ease, he having to wait in a chaotic line-up, as another Togolese guard demanded money from Ghanaians and his fellow citizens. This time, however, the fee was in CFA; 1,000 CFA to be exact, which is about 2.4 GHC. Standing on the other side of this barrier waiting for my friend, I had no idea what was going on, nor where to go to get my visa. So, I returned to him, only to find out how much more he had to pay. An argument ensued and yet another barrier presented itself. The Togolese guard would only speak French, ignoring any phrases or questions asked in English. My ‘working knowledge’ of French as a Canadian wasn’t going to cut it and my Ghanaian friend was, to put it simply, lost in translation.

We stared at each other eyes wide, knowing there was nothing left to do, but pay this guy off. Using a 10 GHC bill, we struggled to get exact change, forgetting that we had exchanged 100 GHC to CFA in Accra. Managing to get back 8 GHC change we moved onto the Togo Immigration Service; which was not an office but rather a sole desk placed off to the side of the chaos and monitored by two guards, who at the very least agreed to speak English.

We approached to find there was another detailed form to fill out, including the full name of my mother and father, as well as another 20,000 CFA fee to pay for the visa. This works out to about 50 GHC. My mind raced counting up the amount of money spent. After 20 minutes of contemplation and two cigarettes, I gave in, filled the form out, paid for the visa (despite my friend’s profound efforts to convince the guard to wave the fee) and watched the rest of the process unfold. My name and information were hand-written into a book with pages and pages of others who had crossed the border that day, week, month, who knows. Then my passport stamped, signed and handed back to me. I was left wondering what they will do with my mother and father’s full names.

Dusk had come and gone by the time we completed this task. We herded through the final barrier with a crooked line of others, showing our identification one last time, and entered into Lome, Togo, where we would pass the night. The idea of heading back across that border to Accra was long abandoned.

Stumbling along a bumpy, dirt path, passed Togolese market women and currency exchangers, we grabbed the first taxi, knowing - thanks to the advice of a Togolese guard - that we should pay no more than 1,500 CFA to get to the closest hotel. We reached Le Galion Hotel just after 7pm – about eight hours from the time we left Accra earlier that day – and after a quick meal crashed for the night.

Our Togo trip was to be short and sweet, as most of the money was gone and inspiration to see more diminished. I only hoped that one; returning to Ghana the next day would not be as hectic or as costly and two; that I would never have to cross the Aflao border into Togo again.