Dede Drives the Discourse: Episode 31: Vote Ama for Governor!

Hello, my name is Dede Nyansapo. I am an entrepreneur who also participates in Accra’s burgeoning gig economy. My love for meeting fascinating people and my curiosity about how they think usually places me in the midst of some very entertaining conversations. Invariably, these conversations lead to some key learnings that may be useful to anyone on their business journey.

Episode 31: Vote Ama for Governor!

Driving my car around Accra was never going to be boring. I knew this when I signed up to do this a few years ago.

There was always something new to see, someone new to meet, and for me, the best part was listening to the conversations that unfolded in the back seat. Sometimes, it was casual chatter, people gossiping about the latest trends or making plans for the weekend.

But other times, I overheard conversations that made me stop and think, conversations that reflected the deeper issues we were all grappling with in this city, in this country.

That afternoon, I picked up three young women from the University of Ghana who were on their way to the Accra Sports Stadium. They had the easy, relaxed air of students excited for an outing, their bright yellow jerseys marking them as supporters of the Black Stars.

From the moment they got into the car, their energy was palpable. I could tell they were excited about the football match – Ghana versus Sudan. But instead of jumping into talk about the game or which players they were looking forward to seeing, their conversation took a serious turn almost immediately.

Amanda, who sat in the front seat beside me, broke the silence first. She sounded relieved, as if she’d just heard good news.

“I’m so excited Ama Governor and the other protesters have been released,” she said.

That caught my attention. I knew about the protests – everyone did. A week ago, citizens had taken to the streets to demonstrate against the illegal mining that was destroying Ghana’s water bodies, particularly in the Western Region. Ama Governor, a prominent activist, had been arrested during the protests, and her detention had sparked outrage.

In the back seat, Edna, the quietest of the group, spoke up next. Her tone was sharper, more cynical. “Finally. It was such nonsense that they were detained in the first place. They were just standing up for the environment. How can you arrest people for wanting to protect their own country?”

I had heard this argument before. Many people had been asking the same thing – why were those trying to save our rivers and forests being treated like criminals? As I maneuvered the car through traffic, I listened closely.

Akua, who had been fiddling with her phone, joined in. “Yeah, but I’m still disappointed in Organized Labour. I mean, how could they pull back on the strike? We could’ve made a real impact if they had gone through with it.”

Akua’s voice carried a hint of frustration. She was right to be disappointed. Ten days ago, the whole country had been buzzing with talk of a nationwide strike. For once, it felt like everyone was united in their anger against the illegal mining – even the Ghana Medical Association had pledged to join the strike, which had shocked a lot of people. When doctors decided to get involved in something, you knew the issue was serious.

Amanda sighed. “I know, right? They built us up just to let us down. The minute they said the doctors were joining, I thought, ‘This is it. The government will have no choice but to listen.’ But, as usual, nothing happened.”

I couldn’t help but agree with her. When I’d heard the doctors were part of the strike, I thought the same thing. Doctors were highly respected, and their involvement raised the profile of the protest. I even remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, something would finally change.

Edna, though, wasn’t convinced that things were as simple as they seemed. “You’re too naïve, Akua. This was never going to happen. The government was in on it from the start.”

Akua twisted around in her seat to face Edna. “What are you talking about? How could the government be ‘in on it’?”

Edna didn’t miss a beat. “Think about it. The government knew how angry people were about the illegal mining, so what’s the best way to control that anger? They pretend to support the strike, let everyone think something is going to change, and then they sabotage it at the last minute. It’s classic controlled opposition.”

Controlled opposition. I’d heard the term before, mostly on poorly edited youtube shows where conspiracy theorists shared their latest ideas. But Edna spoke with conviction, as if she’d figured out the whole scheme. I could tell the other two girls were taken aback by her confidence.

Amanda looked skeptical. “Wait, so you’re saying the government staged the whole thing? They pretended to support the strike just to calm us down?”

“Exactly,” Edna said. “Think about it. The strike was hyped up, the doctors were going to join, and then suddenly, it all falls apart. Doesn’t that seem fishy to you?”

Akua crossed her arms, considering it. “I don’t know. I mean, I get that the government doesn’t want people protesting. But staging a fake strike? That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“It’s not about staging it,” Edna replied. “It’s about controlling it. The government let the strike gain momentum just enough to give people hope. Then, when they knew the pressure was getting too much, they pulled the rug out from under us. They probably made deals with the leaders of Organized Labour behind closed doors.”

I glanced at Edna through the rearview mirror. She wasn’t just throwing out wild ideas; she believed what she was saying. And honestly, after all I’d seen and heard over the years, I couldn’t dismiss her so easily.

Amanda shook her head, her voice softening with frustration. “But why would they do that? Don’t they see what’s happening to the rivers? The people in Tarkwa and Obuasi are suffering. The water’s polluted, the land’s ruined. How can the government keep ignoring that?”

“Their pockets are being filled, Amanda,” Edna said bluntly. “As long as they’re making money from the mining deals, they don’t care about the people or the environment.”

Akua sighed, her voice carrying the same hopelessness I’d heard from so many people. “My uncle lives in Tarkwa, and he says the rivers are unrecognizable now. They used to fish there, bathe in the water. Now they can’t even drink it. It’s all toxic.”

I felt a pang in my chest as she spoke. I had family in the Western Region, too. We all knew what was happening, but it seemed like nobody in power cared. The miners kept digging, and the rivers kept dying.

“And what makes it worse,” Akua continued, “is that when we try to protest, we get arrested. Ama Governor wasn’t doing anything illegal, but they threw her in jail. What kind of democracy is this?”

Edna’s voice grew quieter but no less intense. “It’s not a democracy, Akua. It’s a business. And the people running it don’t care about us. They just care about staying in power and keeping their wealth.”

I could feel the tension in the car as they sat in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. It was a heavy conversation for a ride to a football match, but these were the realities of life in Ghana. We all wanted change, but it felt like the system was rigged against us.

Amanda finally broke the silence. “I just wonder how the doctors feel now. Do they regret pulling out of the strike? Do they realize how much could’ve changed if they’d stood their ground?”

Akua nodded, her voice quiet. “I thought they’d be the ones to take a stand. They have the power to make people listen. But now… now it just feels like we’re back to square one.”

Edna leaned back in her seat, her eyes fixed on the window. “I wonder how the conscience of the members of the Ghana Medical Association will deal with the future medical issues they could have prevented by just going on strike.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken. There was nothing more to say. We were nearing the stadium, and their excitement about the match had been overshadowed by the weight of the conversation.

As I pulled up to the entrance, they thanked me and stepped out, their voices now a low murmur as they continued their discussion. I watched them walk away, young and full of passion, but burdened by the same frustrations so many of us carried. And as I drove off, I couldn’t help but wonder: if even the doctors couldn’t stand up for what was right, who would?

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