I have a paternal cousin who makes leather stuff; belts, slippers, etc., in Kumasi. A calm gentleman. On a calm Saturday, I dropped him off at a town called Bobiem in the Bosome-Freho District. He was heading to a funeral of one of his school friends who allegedly died of mercury inhalation. It struck me that this thing has its real victims. Is it that most of us are numb to this issue, or just insulated from the real impact of the galamsey?

The Mercury did not fall from the sky. It rides through official channels into Kwame Nkrumah's Ghana. It sails into Tema on ships, it clears customs and pays import taxes with TIN numbers and Ghana cards. So I ask: who brings the poison?

For all the associated equipment heading to destroy our rivers and forests, there are names and companies behind them. They ride in silence, listen to us have our say, and they gently have their way.

They sign the manifests, shipping lines deliver,r and their clearing agents help it out of Tema and Takoradi.

Escorts guide them in broad daylight with orange strobes flashing along our potholed highways. We see them. It is an expensive venture which is certainly not for poor businessmen. Who are these?

Every Galamasey site looks for mercury. Growing up, we only saw it in a little glass tube as a temperature-measuring device. Silvery and deadly. It burns gold and burns lungs. It burns our unborn children. So how does it get here?
In small bottles inside suitcases? In 50kg drums? How is it labelled? What do the boxes look like?

Which importer brings it? Which officer at the port checks the bill of lading? Who, in an obscure place, re-packages it into smaller vials for the boys upriver? There are people behind this Galamasey business who have names, children, workplaces, live among us and went to church yesterday, sang praises and gave offertory.

The mercury needs a distributor. The cyanide needs a dealer. There is a supply chain. It is not hidden. It is not small. It runs on diesel, on dollars and Cedis in silence.

The pumps are sold openly in Anyinam and many other places. The boots are in every shop. We see it. We all see it.

The state sees it. The police see it. Our Chiefs see it. Our MPs see it. We all see it. Why have we decided not to do anything very drastic and significant to stop it?

We see boys with shovels and pumps. We arrest them. We burn their makeshift shelters. But we never see the man who financed the excavator and the mercury.

Who are they? Are they chiefs? Are they MPs? Are they party financiers? Are they foreign “investors” with Ghanaian partners? Are they our own brothers who have firmly and boldly come to a conclusion that their gold is worth more than our water?

They will be here when the Anuru, Birim or Oda rivers die. They will be here for the funeral and give a hefty donation, receive a series of handshakes from the family in gratitude, but a young life snuffed out will be irreversible. Dead. This is the cost of Silence.

We will not win this war until we trace, name and shame them.

God be our helper.