and inflation. In 1983, under President Shehu Shagari, Nigeria implemented a policy that mirrored, in many ways, the earlier decision taken by Ghana. Undocumented foreigners, this time largely Ghanaians, were instructed to leave the country within a similarly compressed timeframe. The scale of this decision was significantly larger, with an estimated two million people affected.
The consequences unfolded quickly. Large numbers of people began to move simultaneously, placing pressure on transport routes and neighbouring countries. Many attempted to return to Ghana via Benin and Togo, but border restrictions created bottlenecks that left migrants stranded, often in difficult conditions with limited access to shelter, food, or healthcare. The situation underscored the extent to which large-scale policy decisions can translate into immediate logistical and humanitarian challenges on the ground.
It was within this context that a practical problem emerged. People needed a way to transport their belongings quickly, affordably, and in a manner that could withstand long and uncertain journeys. Conventional luggage was either inaccessible or unsuitable for the circumstances. Markets responded with what was available- a large, woven plastic bag that was inexpensive, durable, and capable of carrying substantial weight. It was not designed for migration, but it was well suited to the conditions people found themselves in.
As the movement of people continued, the visibility of these bags increased. They became associated with the experience of departure, appearing in large numbers at transit points and along migration routes. Over time, the association between the object and the event became fixed, and the bag acquired a name that reflected the context in which it had become prominent: the Ghana Must Go bag.
What is particularly striking is that the story of the bag does not end here. Variations of it have appeared across different parts of the world, each shaped by its own history of migration and displacement. In parts of Europe, it has been referred to as the
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“ Turkish suitcase.” In the United States, particularly within immigrant communities, it has been called the“ Chinatown tote.” In other contexts, more bluntly, it is described as a“ refugee bag.” Different names, different geographies, but a similar underlying reality: the need to move quickly, often without the dignity of preparation.
Seen in this broader context, the bag becomes less of a regional artefact and more of a global pattern. It reflects how societies respond to pressure, and how quickly the presence of outsiders can become contested when economic or political conditions tighten. The language may differ, the triggers may vary, but the instinct is often familiar.
It is difficult to reflect on this without considering how similar dynamics continue to surface today. In places like South Africa, recent events have once again brought these tensions into sharp focus, with renewed attacks on foreign nationals, the looting and destruction of migrant-owned businesses, and the displacement of people who, in many cases, have spent years contributing to the local economy.
These incidents are often described as isolated, driven by immediate grievances or economic frustration. But when viewed against the broader history of movement across the continent, they begin to resemble something more familiar. Economic pressure builds, opportunities feel constrained, and attention shifts toward those perceived to be competing for what is limited. Narratives harden, distinctions are drawn, and the line between neighbour and outsider becomes easier to redraw than to defend.
What makes this particularly uncom fortable is not just the violence itself, but the selective memory that accompanies it. The region has long been shaped by movement- of labor, of skills, of culture
- driven by shifting economic fortunes across countries. People move when conditions demand it, and they contribute where they arrive. That has been as true for South Africans in other parts of the continent as it has been for others within South Africa.
It is also worth remembering that during the years of Apartheid, many African countries played a direct role in supporting South Africa’ s liberation struggle. Countries such as Angola, Mozambique, and Tanzania provided refuge, training grounds, and political support to South African freedom fighters. Exile, in that context, was not a choice but a necessity, and it was made possible because other nations were willing to open their borders and absorb that burden.
Seen in this context, the pattern becomes harder to ignore. The circumstances change, the direction of movement shifts, but the underlying dynamic persists.
Returning to that evening in Lagos, it becomes clearer that what we were responding to in that moment of humour was not simply a bag, but a shared reference point shaped by a longer history of movement and adaptation across the region. The familiarity of the object masks the complexity of its origins, compressing decades of economic shifts, policy decisions, and human movement into something that now sits quietly in everyday life.
There is a certain irony in that. An object born out of urgency and constraint has become so normal that we rarely question it. What was once carried out of necessity is now carried out of habit, and in that transition, much of the story risks being lost.
What the Ghana Must Go bag ultimately represents is not just migration, but a cycle- one in which decisions made under pressure create consequences that extend far beyond their immediate context. Today’ s insider can become tomorrow’ s outsider, depending on how those pressures evolve. The conditions change, but the pattern often remains.
What we carry, quite literally in this case, is not just function, but history- embedded, adapted, and often overlooked.
Soyinka Witness spearheads the ESG practice for Ipsos Kenya and leads the Ipsos Strategy3 team across Sub-Saharan Africa, guiding and mentoring colleagues towards impactful work. You can commune via email at: Soyinka. Witness @ ipsos. com.