Kay Codjoe Writes:
They said it could not be done, that corruption was too deep, that politics was too rotten, that Ghana was too addicted to foreign aid to ever stand tall. But Nana Addo Dankwa Akufo-Addo proved them wrong.
He did not just govern; he transformed. Under his watch, the economy soared. The cedi became the envy of Africa, the IMF begged to lend us money we no longer needed, and inflation bowed its head in reverence. Bread sellers smiled, drivers whistled, and fuel prices obeyed our wishes.
At the centre of this miracle stood Ken Ofori-Atta, the most celebrated Finance Minister of the Fourth Republic. With divine arithmetic and humility, he conjured stability out of storm. Even in the face of global shocks, his magic turned debt into destiny and deficits into dreams. He was our Financial Moses, the one who led Ghana through the Red Sea of insolvency into the promised land of plenty.
They had the men, strong in arm and smooth in hand, the kind who made power look like virtue. Each one a monument of performance, each one a miracle in motion, or so it seemed.
Even the once-feared corners of procurement were now sacred grounds of virtue. State-Owned Enterprises once seen as cash cows became champions of efficiency. Auditors who once raised red flags now wrote letters of appreciation. The Special Prosecutor’s office had little to do; virtue had returned to government by proclamation.
Dr. Bawumia was the jewel in the crown. His digitalisation drive rewrote Ghana’s destiny. Every citizen had a single digital ID that unified tax, health, and education. The revenue system worked like clockwork. Taxis accepted QR codes, hawkers took e-payments, and corruption was digitally impossible. The economy moved at the speed of data.
Education reached every corner. Free SHS grew into Free University, and graduates no longer queued for jobs; jobs queued for them. Teachers became symbols of national pride. Parents no longer prayed for scholarships; they prayed for ways to say thank you.
Hospitals bloomed like redemption. Kumasi had its cath lab. Patients were treated with dignity, not despair. Ambulances arrived before tears did. Nurses and Doctors were committed because healing Ghana had become an honour.
Factories rose from Accra to Zebilla. One District, One Factory became One Family, One Enterprise. The youth, once stranded in traffic selling sachet water, now owned start-ups and exported ideas. The dream of industrial Ghana was no longer a slogan; it was the sound of machinery humming through the night.
The environment glowed again. The rivers sparkled. Galamsey had been reformed into community mining with strict ethical standards. Miners wore reflective vests, sang patriotic songs, and reforested what they once destroyed.
The judiciary became a sanctuary of fairness. Judges no longer bowed to influence. Parliament debated with intellect, not insults. The Electoral Commission was a model of integrity; every vote counted and no citizen was left behind. There was no SALL injustice, no disenfranchisement, no manipulation. Democracy had matured.
Akufo-Addo was adored. Modest, visionary, and incorruptible. He walked without sirens, lived without extravagance, and governed without fear. When he spoke of Ghana Beyond Aid, it was not an aspiration; it was a daily reality. Farmers, teachers, entrepreneurs, and artists alike felt the pulse of a nation reborn.
One evening, he gave his final State of the Nation Address. The chamber was silent as he said, “My fellow Ghanaians, we have built the country we once begged others to imagine. We did not borrow; we believed.” The applause shook the nation. Children sang, elders wept, and history itself stood at attention.
Then, suddenly, it all went quiet.
The applause faded. The vision dissolved. The chamber turned to darkness.
I woke up.
The cedi was still gasping, the scandals still multiplying, the institutions still captured, and the dream, the grand illusion of Ghana Beyond Aid, was still a story untold.
I had seen what could have been. I had dreamt of a country healed, only to wake up in one still hurting.
