The writer
Ghana, the shining star of Africa, has achieved many successes but continues to grapple with a persistent problem: widespread scams and fraud. Fraud, officially ranked as a high-risk predicate offence for money laundering in Ghana’s 2024 National Risk Assessment, has been a recurring threat for years, undermining the nation’s integrity and eroding public trust.
While fraud and scams technically differ in victim participation, this article uses them interchangeably to underscore their shared impact. In Ghana, these schemes range from large-scale romance scams to everyday deceit in markets like phone swap scams at Tip Toe Lane. What’s most alarming now is the evolution from blatant, non-delivery tricks such as mobile money scams to sophisticated, sugar-coated frauds that offer products but no real value, blurring the line between legitimacy and deception.
Think of the health books that offer empty promises of natural cures or the get-rich-quick forex courses that charge thousands of Cedis/Dollars for information you can find for free online. These are not just simple thefts; they are actually sophisticated fraudulent schemes that deliver worthless promises and value.
In Ghana now, it seems the gap between genuine aspiration and deception has become thin, and if we are to truly protect ourselves, we must confront a hard truth, which is the fact that most Ghanaians are susceptible to becoming victims of these schemes. Having advised Ministers, CEOs of state institutions, and high-ranking officials in the past on reputation management, I know firsthand how susceptible some Ghanaians are when it comes to things that massage their egos or validate their vainglories.
Unfortunately, this phenomenon has been going on for a long time. Remember the era of buying miraculous cures from religious entrepreneurs who package ordinary water or oil into bottles, rebrand them as divine vessels for healing and breakthrough, or the ones who peddle soaps, creams, and infusions at exorbitant prices, promising youthfulness and health while delivering nothing but a lighter wallet. We see it in the market too, where someone sells a chemical concoction in a trotro (public vehicle), swearing it will rid your home of pests, only for the insects to increase the moment the vendor disappears.
Interestingly, other forms of these schemes have also taken root in our society, and this includes pyramid schemes being marketed as network marketing companies, where you pay a high price for a worthless product you can get for cheap in China, and on top of that, you have to sign up several people. Similarly, people pay for honorary doctorate degrees awarded by questionable universities for their exceptional contributions to a specific field or society, for which they cannot provide evidence.
These are not merely isolated instances of petty theft; they are sophisticated, long-standing manifestations of a culture that thrives on selling hope. Whether it is the holy water or blood bottled and sold to the desperate or the Award plaques dangled before high-ranking public officials, the mechanism remains the same. The perpetrators of these schemes understand our craving for legitimacy, for titles, for social validation, and spiritual growth. They know that if they package their so-called product – whether an award or a tincture – with enough gravitas, they can command a premium price for items that are, in the cold light of day, utterly worthless.
Think of it like this: you are promised a transformative outcome – career advancement, health, or prestige; you are asked to pay high fees under the guise of administrative costs, event sponsorship, or mentorship fees; you receive the item, but it fails to deliver the promised result. The get-rich course leads to poverty, the health book leads to disappointment, and the Award leads to public ridicule.
The current hysteria surrounding the purchase of awards by public officials is simply the latest evolution of this scheme. It is the same psychology that drives a person to queue for hours to buy an overpriced bottle of oil for a miracle, now applied to the corporate and political class.
When a Minister or a CEO is told they have been selected for an award, and the fine print demands a sponsorship fee or a table purchase to receive it, they are participating in the same cycle as the person buying a fake gecko repellent on the street. Both are being sold a promise, both are paying for a tangible object that fails to deliver the promised result, and both are being exploited by actors who rely on the victim’s own desire to shortcut the process of genuine success.
It is time we recognise that these awards, much like the miracle cures sold by religious entrepreneurs, are not honours but rather commercial transactions. True excellence, whether in health, faith, or governance, is never for sale. The moment you are asked to pay for your own applause, you are not being celebrated; you are being fleeced. I mean, if you want to be healed, get wealth, or be recognised, you should know that it requires dedication, hard work, and sacrifice rather than taking shortcuts. You know the saying, ‘there is no shortcut to heaven,’ which reflects the true nature of life.
We must demand more from ourselves and recognise that these are the illusions that cost us our credibility. If we continue to treat vanity as a badge of honour, we will remain the primary market for those who profit from our need for shortcuts to greatness. The prestige that lasts is the kind that cannot be bought. True excellence does not send an invoice. If you are asked to pay for your own applause, you should know that you are not being honoured – you are being sold a product you do not need, at a price that costs you your integrity.
Source: King Adawu Wellington
