By Jimmy Aglah
Once upon a time in the Republic of Uncommon Sense, a country famous for producing cocoa, gold and excellent excuses discovered that its agricultural export industry had acquired a rather mysterious new product. The discovery was not made at the Ministry of Trade, the Ghana Export Promotion Authority or any of those important conferences where distinguished gentlemen gather to discuss value addition over bottled water and meat pies. It was made in Spain, where customs officers opened a consignment of Ghanaian coconuts and discovered that the fruits had apparently travelled with 2.6 tonnes of cocaine.
For a nation that has spent decades preaching export diversification, this was an extraordinary development. Our farmers had been encouraged to add value to their produce, but nobody had explained that the value should be hidden beneath the produce in wooden crates. Somewhere along the international supply chain, certain enterprising criminals had evidently taken the government’s economic transformation agenda rather too literally.
The humble coconut must have been deeply embarrassed. For generations, it had served humanity faithfully, providing refreshing water, nutritious flesh and occasional employment for young men who could climb trees faster than graduates could find jobs. Now, through no fault of its own, it had become an exhibit in an international narcotics investigation.
According to Spanish authorities, two containers loaded at Tema Port in August arrived in Valencia later that month. Beneath false bottoms in wooden crates containing coconuts, investigators discovered approximately 2.6 tonnes of cocaine. The consignment was subsequently tracked to Almería, where two men were arrested. The operation was publicly announced on 11 November 2026.
The Spanish officers must have wondered what extraordinary agricultural technology had enabled Ghanaian coconuts to acquire such expensive foundations. A coconut ordinarily contains water, flesh and a hard shell. These particular coconuts had apparently been provided with an underground economy.
And this was hardly the first time Ghanaian commodities had found themselves in such distinguished criminal company.
Timber had featured in an enormous cocaine seizure in Amsterdam. Cassava flour had attracted the attention of Belgian authorities. Gari sacks had appeared in a domestic narcotics interception. Even plastic waste, which sensible nations are desperately trying to recycle, had reportedly been recruited into the international drug business.
At this rate, Ghana may soon require a new department at the Export Promotion Authority: the Directorate of Unintended Value Addition.
One can imagine the next international trade exhibition. Ghanaian exporters arrive proudly displaying their products. The timber merchants arrange their wood, the cassava processors exhibit their flour, and the coconut farmers carefully polish their fruits. Then a mysterious gentleman wearing dark glasses approaches the exhibition organisers and enquires whether there is sufficient space beneath the tables.
Our innocent exporters may soon have to attach sworn affidavits to every shipment, declaring that their cassava is merely cassava, their coconut contains nothing more exciting than coconut water, and their timber has no ambition to become an international narcotics courier.
But before we condemn our agricultural produce, let us remember that a goat does not become a thief merely because somebody hides stolen money beneath its sleeping place. The cocaine was concealed by human beings. The coconuts were innocent passengers, unfortunate enough to find themselves travelling with criminals who had mistaken agricultural exports for a branch of organised crime.
The more troubling question is how such consignments enter the international shipping system in the first place.
Ghana has ports, customs officers, scanners, inspection procedures, intelligence agencies and enough official acronyms to fill a small dictionary. We have institutions responsible for examining cargo, preventing smuggling and protecting the integrity of our borders. Yet the recurring discoveries raise uncomfortable questions about the effectiveness of the arrangements intended to detect illicit shipments.
Modern scanning technology can examine containers without requiring an officer to unpack every coconut, count every grain of gari or interrogate every piece of timber. Unfortunately, technology is only as effective as the people and procedures surrounding it.
In the investigation arising from the cocaine seizure in France, prosecutors alleged that suspicious scanning images had not been properly examined before the cargo was cleared. Customs officers were among those charged, although the allegations remain subject to judicial determination.
Perhaps the Republic requires a new generation of scanners. Not merely machines capable of looking through containers, but machines capable of looking through negligence, compromised procedures and the occasional temptation to look in the opposite direction.
Imagine such a device at Tema Port. A container approaches the inspection point. The machine examines its contents and announces: “The cargo contains coconuts, suspicious compartments and three explanations that do not agree with one another.”
The officer presses a button to silence the machine. It immediately announces: “Attempt to suppress evidence detected.”
Such technology would undoubtedly revolutionise port security, although its manufacturers might struggle to obtain the necessary import permits.
But Ghana is not a country that sits idle when confronted with a national emergency. We have developed an impressive administrative tradition of responding to difficult problems with committees, task forces, technical teams, investigative panels and carefully worded assurances that the situation is receiving the highest attention.
Following the September cocaine seizure in France, President John Dramani Mahama directed the establishment of an inter-agency task force to develop a roadmap for strengthening border security.
The question now is what has happened to that roadmap.
Which recommendations have been implemented? Have inspection procedures changed? Are suspicious cargoes receiving more effective scrutiny? And how will the public know whether the reforms are working?
The Republic has considerable experience in preparing roadmaps. We have roadmaps for development, roadmaps for economic transformation and roadmaps for institutional reform. What occasionally defeats us is the inconvenient expectation that somebody must actually travel along the road.
A roadmap that remains in a filing cabinet is merely a tourist attraction for documents.
And while the security agencies investigate the cocaine, our politicians have discovered another valuable national resource: political ammunition.
In Ghana, every scandal has two lives. The first concerns what actually happened. The second concerns which political party can extract the greatest advantage from the happening.
The opposition has demanded accountability over the recurring seizures, including changes in security leadership. Government officials and security authorities have pointed to enforcement efforts and the wider history of the country’s narcotics challenges.
The spectacle is familiar enough to qualify as a national cultural festival.
When a political party occupies the opposition benches, every kilogramme of intercepted cocaine becomes evidence of an alarming failure of governance. When the same party occupies the government benches, the matter suddenly acquires historical complexity, international dimensions and a pressing need for citizens to avoid premature conclusions.
The cocaine itself remains politically neutral. It does not carry an NDC membership card or an NPP polling-station executive’s identification. It does not attend party congresses, wear campaign T-shirts or contribute to manifesto preparation. Yet the moment it is discovered, politicians rush to claim custody of the narrative.
If cocaine could speak, it might complain that it had entered the international trade system illegally but was now being used for perfectly legal political arguments.
Accountability, however, should not change its meaning whenever political parties exchange seats. A proverb reminds us that the man who complains about smoke from his neighbour’s kitchen should first examine the firewood burning in his own.
And beyond the political exchanges lies another victim of this unfortunate national embarrassment: the honest Ghanaian exporter.
Somewhere in the countryside, a coconut farmer wakes before sunrise, tends his trees, harvests his produce and struggles to find a buyer willing to pay a fair price. He knows nothing about cocaine trafficking, international criminal syndicates or concealed compartments in shipping containers. Yet every major seizure involving agricultural consignments risks casting suspicion on legitimate trade, encouraging additional scrutiny and imposing costs on innocent exporters.
The coconut farmer wants his produce to reach a supermarket. The criminal wants the same coconut to reach a warehouse where nobody will ask too many questions about what lies beneath it.
We must resist the temptation to conclude that every shipment intercepted abroad proves that Ghanaian security officers were compromised. International drug trafficking involves multiple countries, complex shipping arrangements and opportunities for concealment. Establishing where drugs were inserted and which safeguards failed requires evidence rather than political imagination.
Nevertheless, the questions remain. Who owns these consignments? Who verifies the exporters? How are containers secured? What happens when scanners identify suspicious images? And what consequences follow when investigations establish negligence or criminal complicity?
These are questions that cannot be answered by arresting the coconut.
Perhaps the next time Ghana participates in an international agricultural exhibition, the organisers should provide a special pavilion where our innocent commodities can hold a press conference to defend their reputations.
The cassava will insist that it has always been flour. The gari will demand an apology for the unfortunate publicity. The timber will remind journalists that it was cut down against its will. And the coconut, speaking on behalf of the entire agricultural community, will declare that it has never knowingly participated in the international narcotics trade.
We have spent decades trying to convince the world that Ghanaian agricultural products deserve a place on international supermarket shelves. Now, thanks to certain criminal enterprises, some of those products are finding their way onto international police evidence tables.
The coconut has committed no offence. The cassava is innocent. The gari has an impeccable character. Even the timber has refused to make a statement without its lawyer.
Perhaps it is time we stopped interrogating the agricultural produce and started examining the human beings who keep giving it criminal travelling companions.
For when the same farm keeps producing strange harvests, the wise farmer does not arrest the crops. He investigates who has been planting the seeds.