Once upon a time in the Republic of Uncommon Sense, there lived a farmer in Tegbi who owned a radio.
One day, it fell silent. Each morning, he pressed the reset button. The radio blinked, crackled, and promised: “Welcome to Radio Hope, bringing you stability and change.” But within seconds, the sound faded into static.
Day after day he pressed reset, and day after day the static returned. At last, a wise elder told him:
“Young man, the problem is not the reset button. It is the batteries. Until you change them, you will only be resetting noise.”
And so it is with us. We can press reset every quarter, and clap at every encounter. But unless the batteries of accountability, delivery, and courage are changed, we shall only be resetting promises, and receiving the same static.
Meet the Stress
Yesterday’s “Meet the Press” was billed as a conversation with the nation. By the third hour, it felt more like “Meet the Stress.” Some reporters prayed ECG would pull the plug and save them.
To his credit, John Mahama showed up himself. No camouflage of technocrats, no spokesmen to do the heavy lifting.
In an era where leaders duck scrutiny, that is commendable. Our elders say: the brave mother hen does not send its chick to test the hawk’s claws.
But after the claps, the question lingered: did this encounter sharpen our understanding of the reset agenda, or did it simply exchange polite notes?
Education Without Textbooks
The President outlined noble ambitions: free tertiary for persons with disabilities, PhD scholarships, a research fund to keep Ghanaian brains at home.
Laudable. Yet classrooms in Lawra remain short of textbooks, teachers in Mampong still chase arrears, and lecture halls in Cape Coast overflow.
It is like importing a chandelier when the roof is leaking. The child who cannot crawl should not be asked to run a marathon.
Health: Budgets and Bandages
Billions were pledged for NHIS, hospitals, and supplies. Impressive on paper. But a budget, however glossy, is only an invitation card. The true test is the jollof that lands on the plate.
Until the nurse in Navrongo no longer reuses gloves, or the mother in Sefwi finds medicine instead of apologies, these billions remain ghost names. When the yam is ready, it must be served hot; cold promises feed no one.
Economy: Charts and Stomachs
Mahama boasted of inflation falling and a stronger cedi. Encouraging signs. Yet the market woman in Agona Swedru knows a different arithmetic. Tomatoes still float like balloons, rent in Adenta keeps climbing, and trotro fares mock pay slips.
A hungry man does not debate statistics; he debates the size of his kenkey.
Corruption: Forever Loading
Over 200 cases are “under investigation.” A bold announcement, yes. But in Ghana, corruption cases are like trotro buses — always loading, rarely moving.
If the drum is beaten too softly, the dancers will sleep before the music ends.
Galamsey: The Trumpet That Fell Silent
Citizens leaned forward for a declaration of war, perhaps a State of Emergency on galamsey. But the trumpet never sounded. Instead, a drizzle: nine reserves reclaimed, patrols on rivers. Commendable, yes, but the Birim still runs brown, the Pra still coughs sludge, and cocoa farms in Dunkwa vanish under mud.
When the python enters your bedroom, you do not sing lullabies; you reach for the stick.
The nation waited for thunder. What it got was a flute.
The 24-Hour Economy: Awake but Dozing
The 24-Hour Economy is sprouting in Tema Port and Tamale passport offices. Progress. But Ghana cannot industrialise by keeping clerks awake at midnight.
If the lamp burns all night without fuel, dawn will find only smoke.
The Missed Questions
Yes, the President touched on ECG’s losses, Cocobod’s excesses, Bawku’s grief. But the press scratched gently, like a chicken too polite to find the worm.
No grilling on ECG’s 40% revenue leak. No scrutiny of Cocobod’s champagne budget while cocoa farmers in Goaso chew dry gari. No firm demand for timelines to heal Bawku.
A house is not built with nods of approval but with hammers striking nails. Yesterday, the press nodded. The hammers stayed home.
Meet the Press or Meet and Greet?
Mahama was composed, presidential, steady. But never unsettled. Not because he had solved all problems, but because the press chose to stroke rather than press.
So was this a Meet the Press, or a Meet and Greet? Eight months into the reset, Ghana deserves more than eloquence. It deserves evidence. More than statistics. It deserves stew.
For in the Republic of Uncommon Sense, we know: a nation cannot be reset by speeches alone. It must be powered by the batteries of accountability, honesty, and hard truths. Otherwise, we shall keep pressing reset, only to hear static again.
Written by Jimmy Aglah
Republicofuncommonsense.com
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