By Gifty Boateng
Hundreds of civil servants paid for plots at Obosumase New Town. Many have since died their families unaware. Successive leaderships have come and gone, each extracting new fees. The land itself remains a phantom.
More than a thousand members of the Civil and Local Government Staff Association of Ghana (CLOGSAG) are caught in a two‑decade‑old land scandal that has left some dead without their families ever knowing they owned property.
The land in question is at Obosumase New Town, near Aburi in the Eastern Region. The scheme began in 2006. Members paid into designated Ecobank accounts, and later Bank of Africa accounts, with payments made as far back as 2008 and 2012. Some took loans after being threatened with losing their plots if they missed a six‑month deadline. Others paid through salary deductions.
Two decades on, the vast majority have never been taken to the site. A small number of members reportedly received their plots and have developed them. But the rest – allegedly over a thousand – remain in limbo.
The most painful dimension, according to affected members, is that many of their colleagues have died without ever seeing their land. Their families were never informed that a plot had been paid for in their name. There is a growing suspicion that those deceased members’ lands have been resold to new buyers, without the families’ knowledge.
“It is heartbreaking,” one member said, asking not to be named for fear of reprisal. “You serve your nation, you trust your union, you pay your hard‑earned money – and then you die without ever seeing your land. Your children don’t even know you owned it.”
Audrey Rose Adjei‑Tandoh, one of the first group of members who signed up in 2006, told The New Republic of her 20‑year ordeal. She bought three plots at GHC 900 each. She paid in instalments: GHC 300 in 2007, another GHC 200, then took out a loan to pay the remaining GHC 2,200 after a six‑month ultimatum. By 2008, she had paid GHC 2,700 plus a GHC 250 documentation fee. She had not seen the land.
In 2012, without ever having been taken to the site, she bought a fourth plot – paying GHC 900 into a Bank of Africa account because CLOGSAG had changed banks. “The leadership gave the impression that they were still preparing the documents before taking us to the site,” she explained.
Successive CLOGSAG executives have come and gone. Each new head introduces fresh fees and new documentation requirements. “Every new head comes with a different approach – give me this money, give me that money,” Adjei‑Tandoh said. “They have taken fees that were supposed to take me to the site, but nothing has been done.”
In October 2025, CLOGSAG called a meeting. About a thousand members attended. They were handed a Deed of Assignment dated March 25, 2011 backdated by more than 14 years. The explanation: new leaders had done a fresh agreement with the land‑owning family.
“They gave us this document last October, but it is backdated from 2011,” Adjei‑Tandoh said. “We were told something was happening, so we should come. Then out of the blue, they give you documents and tell you to be patient. They promise to take you to the site but that never happens.”
The New Republic attempted to reach CLOGSAG for comment. A visit to the office on Friday 10 April found the officer in charge, Mr Otabil, unavailable. When reached by phone on Monday 13 April, he said he was in a meeting and would return the call. He did not. A subsequent call went unanswered, and a WhatsApp message remained unread at the time of filing.
The Obosumase land saga is not merely a property dispute. CLOGSAG represents civil and local government staff the very people who run Ghana’s public administration. If their own leadership cannot deliver on a 20‑year‑old promise, extracting fees from members while the land remains invisible, the implications for oversight and redress are grim.
Affected members are now organising, piling pressure on the current leadership. They are speaking out as Adjei‑Tandoh has done because they fear dying like their colleagues, with their families never knowing what was owed.
“We are being proactive because we don’t want to die and leave our families in the dark,” one member said.
Twenty years. Hundreds of members. Thousands of cedis. No land.