Five regions. Five districts. Thirteen communities. Over 3,000 direct beneficiaries. I call it borderless media and information literacy (MIL) education.
There is something magical about arriving in a community square with a colourful van, jingles blaring, and a team full of energy ready to talk about mis/disinformation. At first glance, it probably looked like we were about to host a festival. In many ways, it was. From behind market stalls, school walls, and doorways, people peeked out with curiosity shining in their eyes, wondering what all the noise was about. But instead of music concerts or political rallies, the Caravan of Hope carried something less visible yet very powerful: media and information literacy (MIL).
Across five districts in Ghana: Shai Osudoku, Afram Plains South, Ho West, Jasikan, and Tolon, the Caravan of Hope team from Penplusbytes, in partnership with DW Akademie and with support from the Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ), together with local partners, sparked conversations about fake news, rumours, and hate speech. The idea was simple: meet people where they are, speak their language, and help them build habits to question the information they see and hear every day.
In practice, however, it turned into something far richer, funnier, and more revealing about the way information flows in Ghana’s rural communities.
The Rumour Economy
Trust today feels fragile. The sources we once relied on are sometimes the very ones churning out false news, propaganda, or misleading messages. Every scroll and click can feel like a gamble. And the confusion is not just online. Offline, rumours travel just as fast, wrapped in local phrases like “Ak33 ak33” and “Y3 si ye si,” loosely translates as “I heard that” or “they said that.” Spend a little time in rural communities, and you quickly realise that information can travel faster than any 4G network. One story shared in Kpoeta Ashanti involved rumours about ghosts visiting homes at night. By the time the story reached the local market, it had evolved into a full-blown discussion, complete with fear, laughter, and a little chaos.
Another participant shared something many people could relate to: “Sometimes the voice notes received on WhatsApp sound so confident that you cannot help but believe them immediately.”
Comments like these reveal something important. Misinformation does not spread because people are careless. It spreads because it is designed to sound believable.
For many people in rural communities, especially those with limited literacy, independently verifying information online is often out of reach. Fact-checking websites, long articles, and complex verification tools are simply not practical solutions. This is why the Caravan approach mattered.
Instead of asking people to travel to workshops in cities or sit through long lectures, we took the learning directly to village centres, markets, and faith gatherings.
Learning Through Laughter
One guiding principle that shaped the roadshow in the various communities was: less lecture, more interaction. So instead of PowerPoint presentations, the project team used drama, storytelling, short videos in local languages, pictorial flipbooks, radio conversations, and lively audience participation. In Koranteng in the Afram Plains South District, we tried a simple roleplay exercise. Selected community members were asked to pass a message from one person to another, just like the childhood “telephone game.” By the time the message reached the final person, it had completely changed. The crowd erupted in laughter. But beneath the humour was an important lesson: information can easily be distorted as it moves from person to person.
Such moments opened the door for honest reflection on the importance of questioning and critical thinking. Asking important questions like: Who said? What happened? Where did it happen? Why did it happen? How did it happen?
The Wisdom in the Crowd
Another lesson from the roadshow was that rural communities are not passive consumers of information. In fact, they often have their own systems for questioning rumours. In Kpoeta Ashanti, an elderly man explained how he evaluates suspicious messages, “If the message says ‘forward to everyone immediately,’” he told us, “I know something is wrong.” The room burst into applause. His insight could easily have come from a media literacy textbook. Yet it came from lived experience rather than formal training. Our role, we realised, was not to introduce entirely new ideas but to strengthen instincts that people already possessed.
Women at the Center
One of the roadshow’s most rewarding aspects was seeing the enthusiastic participation of rural women. In several communities, women were among the most vocal participants. They shared stories about scams, misleading health advice, and fake opportunities circulating on messaging apps.
Some also raised an important challenge relating to access to digital devices. Many women rely on shared phones, receive information second-hand, or depend on others to read messages for them. This makes them especially vulnerable to manipulation.
To address this, low-text and audio-based formats, videos in local languages, visual learning tools, and community radio discussions were used. These formats did not just make the sessions accessible. They made them enjoyable.
Information Inequality as a Digital Rights Issue
These experiences raise a broader question: who gets to participate fully in today’s information society? Access to accurate and trustworthy information is not simply a convenience. It is increasingly recognised as part of a broader set of digital rights. Without the ability to access, understand, and evaluate information, individuals are left vulnerable to manipulation, exclusion, and exploitation.
Information inequality often mirrors existing social inequalities. Rural communities, women with limited access to personal devices, and individuals with lower levels of formal education are more likely to encounter barriers when attempting to verify information online. This is why media and information literacy must be treated not only as an educational initiative but also as an equity and rights issue.
Interventions like the Caravan of Hope attempt to narrow that gap, not by replacing digital solutions, but by complementing them with community-centred learning experiences that recognise the realities of people’s everyday lives. Because in the end, the fight against misinformation is also a fight for information fairness, ensuring that everyone, regardless of where they live, has the tools to make sense of the stories shaping their world.
For media literacy initiatives to succeed, they must be designed with these realities in mind. The Caravan approach demonstrated that mobile, culturally grounded learning experiences can spark meaningful conversations even in places where traditional training models might struggle.
The Road Ahead
The five-district pilot was just the beginning. Beyond the roadshow itself, the project has helped establish local channels through community radio programs and partnerships with the Information Services Department to continue educating rural communities.
More importantly, the roadshows generated valuable insights about what works, what resonates, and how inclusive approaches can reach people who are often left out of digital literacy initiatives.
As I reflect on the journey, one thing is clear: combating mis/disinformation is not only about technology or fact-checking tools. Sometimes it begins with a simple conversation in a community square. Preferably one that includes a little laughter, because when people laugh, they listen, and when you speak their language, they listen better and learn.
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