By Maxwell Nkansah
I became a journalist because I believed in telling the African story as it is and in holding power to account. Fresh out of journalism school and working with a major multimedia company in Ghana, I thought passion and integrity were enough. I was wrong.
One evening around 4:00 PM on the stretch of Pick farms on Friday, 2018. I received a call that shook me: National Security was looking for me. No explanation. Just an instruction to show up. Fear set in immediately. I went straight to my boss to inform him that, I received a call from Nation security to come to their office at the Blue Gate behind Accra International Conference Centre. I then informed my then boss with the name held that just received a call from national security to come. He said, I should go if they ask me to come. The next morning, I went to Mr Santo’s office, he is then the brand Manager of the Multimedia Group, to tell him what had happened. I genuinely had no idea what I was being accused of. He took the call seriously and arranged for his personal driver to take me directly to National Security.
Before reporting there, I met investigative journalist Manasseh Azuri at the University of Ghana. I told him everything I knew or thought I knew about why National Security might be after me. The national security said, there is information and they think I have knowledge about it which is connected to Samira Bawumia, the former Second Lady of the Republic of Ghana. Manasseh told me to go and assured me he would be monitoring the situation. I also informed my colleague, Joseph Gakpo. Two journalists knew exactly where I was headed.
At the National Security yard at Blue Gate, behind the Conference Centre, my phone and personal belongings were taken from me. They took pictures of me holding a card with my name written on it as how criminals are threatened when taken to prison. Upstairs, I met a senior official whose name I still remember but chose not to mention. He questioned me aggressively. I denied the accusations until he produced emails I had sent to one journalist about the incident I am aware of. National Security had tapped my communication with a guy called Steven who was then studying in Italy. They tracked my calls, including conversations with people in my village. They threatened to fly Steven back to Ghana if I continued to deny what they already knew.
Eventually, I admitted to sending the email.
That was when things escalated.
They strapped me to a lie detector. I was handcuffed behind my back. Two large officers slapped me repeatedly. When I demanded a lawyer, they refused. They accused me of being paid by political opponents to tarnish the image of the country’s leadership. They threatened me with prison. Then they went further, telling me they could kill me and no one would ever hear about it because they were National Security.
For nearly two weeks, I lived under their control. I was forced to report to the facility every morning and allowed to leave only at 6 p.m., often without food. I was kept in a freezing air-conditioned room where the temperature could not be adjusted. The intimidation and physical abuse continued. I knew my phone was tapped. Every call I made was monitored.
After one of the sessions, I contacted a human rights lawyer, Lawyer Sosu, and told him everything. He was stunned. He warned that if the abuse continued, he would write publicly about it and expose what was happening. That support mattered.
Still, the fear didn’t end. On my way home one evening, I noticed a motorbike following me. As a journalist familiar with surveillance tactics, I knew what it meant. The following continued. Manasseh Azuri and Joseph Gakpo checked on me constantly, making sure I was still safe.
I told my father what was happening. He asked me to return to the village for safety. I refused. This was my fight. Journalism is my calling, and I made a decision then that I would never stop telling the truth, no matter the cost.
I knew who went to National Security to have me confess. I choose not to mention his name in this story for safety. Naming names in this story can involve a death sentence. I have seen it happen. Even a personal assistant connected to this case resigned because of threats and security risks.
Before they came into conclusion to let go of me, they made me sign a bond document not to disclose this information to anyone until the party leaves power or office.
This experience taught me something brutal but important: journalism in Ghana and across Africa is dangerous work. Many journalists have suffered quietly at the hands of state power. Kidnappings, intimidation, beatings, and threats are more common than the public knows.
Yet, I, Maxwell Nkansah, still believe in the mission. Journalists are the fourth estate. We exist to protect the public purse, to watch those in power, and to confront corruption head-on. Politicians will always try to silence scrutiny. Our duty is to refuse.
I fear for my life sometimes. But my passion for journalism only grows stronger. We live to tell the story. And if it comes to it, we die for the truth.
