Dear Republic,
I write this letter not with pen and ink, but with the ink of unpaid electricity bills and the faint light of a dying rechargeable lamp bought from China, via Dubai, through Kantamanto.
I come to you, my beloved Ghana, not as a prophet, but as a survivor. For only survivors can live on salary in arrears, breathe in corruption in stereo, and still queue every four years with the optimism of a jollof rice vendor at a vegan festival.
Like Kojo, I speak not to power, but around it, because it seems power—like our streetlights—comes and goes depending on who paid ECG last.
Let me begin with the most spiritual matter of all: our economy.
Once upon a time, we borrowed to build. Now, we borrow to borrow. The IMF has become our side-chick. We say we’ve broken the 8, but what we’ve really broken is the national purse. The World Bank knows more about our budget than Parliament does. Our national strategy is simple: Wait for remittances from abroad, then use it to import tomatoes from Burkina Faso.
Culturally, we are rich. Rich in “Our Day” parties, rich in baby showers with no marriage, and rich in gospel musicians who only repent when the streams go down.
We are also spiritually wealthy. Prayer camps outnumber factories. Demons are blamed for unemployment, and the only job that can make you a millionaire without a CV is “man of God.” But ask not what spirit is leading the nation, for even the ancestors are now on strike.
Socially, we are united—united in suffering. From the Okada rider dodging potholes like landmines, to the university graduate selling airtime on Instagram Live, we all share one dream: visa.
But let me not sound hopeless. No! Ghana is a land of potential. It is the only country where people debate whether flood water is sea water or river water—instead of asking why Accra becomes Venice every June.
As for the youth, they are rising. Not in jobs, but in skits. If unemployment were a currency, we’d be richer than Dubai. Our graduates are now philosophers: they have mastered the art of “waiting.”
So to my dear Ghana, I say this: You are not finished. You are only confused.
Perhaps one day, a leader shall rise. Not with slogans, not with customized white shirts, but with sense. Until then, I remain your faithful citizen, praying, laughing, and satirizing my way through this heatwave of confusion.
Yours in eternal hope and unpaid taxes,
Kwame Alomele II
President of the Association of Disillusioned Optimists of Ghana (ADOG)