Sikaman, make I sit you down this morning, because I have found something. I have been searching for it my whole life — searching under the bed, searching in the trotro, searching in the budget speech, searching in the President’s address to the nation. Where is Sikaman’s money? That has been the question for years. The cedi falls, the schools have no chalk, the hospital has no gloves, the pothole on the Spintex road has now been declared a tourist site — and every official answer ends with the same sentence: “there is no money.”
But charley, I am here today to report that the money was never lost. The money was hiding. And last week, it came out. All of it. At once. By itself.
Kasapreko — the company that makes Alomo Bitters — asked for 700 million cedis from the public. Sikaman brought 1.4 billion. More than double what they wanted. The biggest “yes please take my money” answer ever given by Ghanaians to a Ghanaian company on the Stock Exchange.
Sikaman. One. Point. Four. Billion. Cedis.
Let me say it again, slowly, for the people at the back, near the kelewele stand. We could not find 50 cedis to fix Uncle Kwaku’s leaking roof. We could not find school fees for the niece. The government could not find money for the gutters, so they brought us a 12-week “awareness campaign” instead. But when a company that sells the bitters every Ghanaian uncle drinks to feel young again opened its doors and said “come and buy small share,” — aweeii — Sikaman appeared at the gate with 1.4 billion cedis in hand, queuing from morning, dressed in our Sunday cloth, ready.
We have been telling the IMF for three years that we are broke, charley. The IMF has seen this Kasapreko news. Somewhere in Washington, a small man is now updating his report. The line that used to say “Ghana — the people don’t save” has been crossed out. Underneath, he has written: “Ghana — the people don’t save, except when bitters is involved.”
Because that is the naked truth of this whole story, my brother. We believe in what we can drink. We do not trust the bank. We do not trust the government bond. We do not trust the pension — go and ask any retired teacher how SSNIT is treating him; you will hear long stories. But Alomo? Alomo we trust. Alomo has never disappointed us. Alomo was there at every funeral. Every outdooring. Every Friday evening when a man must forget that the cedi has fallen again. The government said “invest in the future.” Sikaman heard “invest in the bottle,” and Sikaman said: NOW you are speaking my language.
I went to find my Uncle Kojo, charley, because I could not believe it. Uncle Kojo is 58. He has never owned a share in his life. He thinks the Stock Exchange is a place where they exchange livestock. I am not joking — last Christmas, when the news said the “bull market is up,” he asked me whether the price of cattle has gone up. That Uncle Kojo. And there I found him, last Tuesday, at the IC Wealth office, sitting in his Sunday cloth, holding one small paper, smiling like a man who has just married a second wife.
“Uncle Kojo,” I said, “you have bought shares?”
“Kobina,” he replied, with the calm voice of a man who has finally understood big-people business, “I have bought Alomo. I trust Alomo more than I trust the cedi. The cedi has betrayed me four times. Alomo — not even once. Not even on an empty stomach.”
Charley, what do you say to such a man? He has built his whole reason for buying out of bitters and old grief — and — let me be honest with you — he is not entirely wrong. The company made 3.5 billion cedis last year. Their profit in the first three months of 2026 alone jumped 55 percent. While the rest of Sikaman was crying about the economy on Joy FM, the bitters business was flying. Uncle Kojo — the man who thinks a bull market means real cows — read the room better than half the economists on radio.
But Sikaman — and now I must lower my voice small — there is one detail. One small thing, written at the bottom of the company’s papers, in the part where nobody’s eyes reach. Because of the company’s other loans from 2024, Kasapreko is not allowed to pay any dividend — any small “thank you” money to shareholders — for 2024, 2025, or 2026.
Eyaa. Let me put it in plain Sikaman, charley. You have bought shares that, by the company’s own rules, cannot give you chop money for three years. You own a piece of the bitters. You can feel proud. You can show people the paper. But the small “thank you for buying” money — eno dey come yet. Not this year. Not next year. Not the year after.
And do you know what, Sikaman? We do not care. That is the most Ghanaian part of the whole story. We did not buy for the chop money. We bought for the belonging. Uncle Kojo does not want quarterly income — he wants to stand at the next funeral, raise his Alomo, and announce to everybody around: “You know I now own part of this drink you people are enjoying?” That is the dividend, charley. The respect is the dividend. The share certificate is just the receipt.
Let me be clear before I close, Sikaman, because this matters. I am not mocking Kasapreko. The company did everything right — clean books, real factory, 2,300 real jobs, they sell to eight other countries. They are exactly what Sikaman needs more of. When a Ghanaian company that started small in 1987 can raise 1.4 billion cedis from its own people, that is a good day for this country. I am proud. We should all be proud.
What I am quietly observing is us. The same Sikaman that “has no money” found 1.4 billion cedis overnight for one thing it believes in. So the money exists, charley. It was never the problem. The problem is that nobody in government has earned the trust that Alomo has earned. The day a Minister is trusted the way that bottle is trusted, Sikaman will fund this whole country before breakfast. We are not poor people. We are distrustful people — with very good taste in schnapps.
Da yie, Kwame Alomele. Sleep well, old master. Sikaman has poured 1.4 billion cedis into a drink that shares your very name — and somewhere, I know, you are laughing.
Yours in liquid assets, Kobina Kokote Lifetime shareholder of nothing · Honorary money expert of the funeral grounds · Officially boycotting any investment that cannot be enjoyed on an empty stomach
P.S. — Uncle Kojo, I have explained the dividend matter to you three times now. You keep nodding and pouring. Please confirm you understand that the share certificate is not a free coupon for Alomo. …Uncle Kojo? …Charley, he has travelled to attend a funeral. We move.