Fuel Prices Drop, Transport Fares Stay High: A Familiar Ghanaian Story

 

Fuel prices have dropped, hooray! Whiles the car-owner is quietly popping champagne, or at least imagining it, the ordinary passenger is crying. You’d think cheaper fuel would mean cheaper trotro rides or long-distance fares. Think again. In Ghana, prices only go up; a downward adjustment is usually an optical illusion.

For commuters, fares remain stubbornly high, sometimes even higher. Some drivers have taken it a step further, using transportation bottlenecks as justification to hike fares, leaving passengers scratching their heads, their wallets, and in some cases, stranded.

Citizens cry foul. “Shouldn’t cheaper fuel mean cheaper rides?” they ask. Meanwhile, commercial drivers lament: “Spare parts prices haven’t changed!” Ah yes, the eternal tug-of-war where both sides have valid concerns, but the ordinary passenger still loses. And, of course, there's that fellow who will always shrug and say, “It’s just business, after all.”

Fuel prices are not just about transportation. When fuel goes up, everything else follows:

• rent

• 
  foodstuff
• 
  utilities
• 
  school fees
• 
  basic services

Fuel is the bloodstream of the economy. So when prices rise, life becomes more expensive. But when prices fall, the relief rarely trickles down. The burden is passed on quickly; the benefit is hoarded patiently.

But when fuel prices drop, the market behaves as though nothing happened. No relief. No adjustment. Just silence, and higher fares.

This isn’t new. Anyone who has braved the Kaneshie–Takoradi lorry stations, where the sun doubles as a roasting oven, or Kwame Nkrumah Circle in Accra knows the drill: long queues, impatient passengers, and vehicles en route to Accra that appear to be on a sightseeing mission through Narnia.

Supply meets demand? In theory, yes. In practice, it’s a comedy of scarcity.

Vehicles are few, demand is high, and when opportunity knocks, artificial shortages answer. The result? Fares spike, and citizens suffer. This pattern isn’t unique to transport. Ghana’s commodities market tells the same story: sudden shortages signal price hikes, and the ‘kalabule’ people thrive, hoarding goods and manufacturing scarcity to profit from collective hardship.

Here lies the uncomfortable question: who protects the consumer?

In moments like these, the absence of effective consumer protection and clear regulation becomes glaring. When fuel prices go up, fare increments are swift and unquestioned. When fuel prices come down, silence reigns. No benchmarks. No enforcement. No accountability.

The market is allowed to regulate itself, and unsurprisingly, it regulates itself against the weakest player: the ordinary consumer.

Of course, the common man isn’t entirely innocent either. Vehicle scarcity and fare hikes ripple through the market. Vendors raise prices to cover transport costs. Goods become more expensive. And consumers, knowingly or not, sustain the very system they complain about.

Again, that fellow will shout, “It’s business smart!” But what happened to integrity? To humanity?

What about the person struggling to afford daily bread? The patient choosing between transport and medication? The child missing school because parents can no longer manage transport costs?

We are part of this system. Drivers exploit scarcity. Vendors pass on costs. Consumers comply, adapt, and survive.

We are the initiators, the catalysts, the consequences, and the victims, all at once.

It’s tragic, yes. But if you allow yourself to see it, it’s also darkly funny. Prices rise. Shortages persist. And we continue this dance of cause and effect, pretending surprise each time the music plays.

One day, maybe, we will take accountability. Until then, hold your fare money tight, bring a hat for the Kaneshie queue, and try not to cry too loudly.

Because whiles passengers cry, drivers keep smiling, and we clap politely, pretending the system isn’t partly ours.

Until things change, the drama will remain.

Old problem. Old comedy.
When drivers rejoice, passengers cry.

My Portfolio....

 

Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to see several of my screenwriting projects move from script to screen, across film, television, web series, and stage. Below is a simple overview of some of my produced and recognized works.

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Film

Sink or Swim: The Perilous Journey (2017)
Feature Film – Docu-Drama

This film marked a major milestone in my career as a screenwriter. It went on to win Overall Best Feature Film and Best Actor (Ama K. Abrebrese) at the Newark International Film Festival, Newark NJ (2017). The story explores the emotional and physical toll of a perilous journey driven by desperation, hope, and survival.

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Television & Streaming – ROK TV

I have written several projects for ROK TV, including:

• Greetings from Abroad

• Touché: In the Dark

• Without Bounds

• The Graduation

• Dark Label

• Rewind

These projects span drama and thriller genres, with a focus on contemporary stories and character-driven narratives.

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Television & Streaming – DStv Akwaaba Magic

Selected projects written for DStv Akwaaba Magic include:

• Weight Up

• Woe to Men

• Sevsu (Crime Series)

• Market Queens – Seasons 1 & 2 (Drama Series)

• In-Between Files

• Finding Daisy

• Kpakpo My Husband

• The Purse

• Apoofee (Drama Series)

These works range from family drama and romance to crime and social commentary.

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Festival-Recognised Screenplay

The Storm
Feature Film (Screenplay)

This screenplay has received official selections at several film festivals, highlighting its strong narrative and cinematic potential.

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Stage Works

I have also written for the stage, with produced plays including:

• Still a Rose

• Fowls for Sale

• Women at Work (3 versions)

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Web Series

All Walks of Life – Season 2
Web Series (Access Bank)

I served as the writer for Season 2 of All Walks of Life, a branded web series that tells relatable human stories through everyday experiences.

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These projects represent just a selection of my work, reflecting my interest in culturally grounded, character-driven storytelling across different formats.

“Aluta Continua! When the Future is Cloaked in Party Colours”

Aluta Continua! The elections are long over, yet the campaign drums continue to beat. The posters may be fading, but the divisions remain fresh. The fires of partisan loyalty are still being stoked, long after the ballots have been counted.

We often remind ourselves that “children are the future.” We say it with pride, with hope. And yet, when we look closely at the tone of our political discourse; on our airwaves, in our homes, and across social media. We are compelled to ask a sobering question: where does that future truly lie? Is it one we are carefully building together, or one we are unconsciously surrendering to endless political contestation? Is it renewal we seek, or simply Aluta Continua; the struggle without end?

Increasingly, our national conversations seem less about the colours of our flag and more about the colours of our parties. Too often, the focus shifts from collective progress to electoral victory, from national interest to partisan gain. In such moments, one cannot help but wonder where this path leads us as a people.

It is worrying to watch promises rain down freely; promises tailored not to citizens, but to party faithful. In this climate, what becomes of the ordinary Ghanaian with no party card, no political godfather, no allegiance but to the nation itself? What becomes of the young person who simply wants a fair chance at life? And so the question persists: where does the future of this country, and of the next generation, truly rest? Do we remain silent as politics continues to divide and distract us from our shared needs? Aluta Continua?

As a nation, we are not short of conversations about our challenges. We speak openly of unemployment, of youth frustration, of poor roads, struggling hospitals, under-resourced schools, rising prices, taxes, and daily hardship. Ironically, those most affected; our youth, often appear the least invested in demanding lasting solutions. In one breath, we lament the system; in the next, we defend it. And so, Aluta Continua.

We urge our young people to study hard, to work hard, to prepare themselves to one day lead this nation. But what kind of leadership will emerge if the same youth allow themselves to be used as tools in political games that ultimately harm the very future they are meant to inherit? What becomes of tomorrow when today is spent trading principles for short-term gains?

Across social media, the evidence is plain to see. Young people tear into one another over national issues; not to find solutions, but to score political points. Instead of holding leadership accountable, many become its loudest defenders. Instead of demanding integrity, they settle for crumbs. Instead of protecting the future, they mortgage it.

And yet, these same young people wake up each day burdened by uncertainty; by the search for work, for opportunity, for survival. Still, they rise to defend political benefactors and so-called godfathers, even as the nation’s resources slip through our fingers and the gap between promise and reality widens. Aluta Continua.

“Arise Ghana Youth for your country!” This line from our patriotic song is more than ceremonial poetry; it is a call to conscience. A call for the youth to recognize their power, to guard their future fiercely, and to refuse the easy lure of political gimmicks designed to benefit a few at the expense of many.

Today, we see young men and women being groomed; sometimes openly sponsored, to inherit political structures steeped in corruption and self-interest. The danger is not ambition itself, but ambition devoid of principle. When legacy becomes about replacement rather than reform, the cycle continues unbroken.

Like Joseph Koomson in Ayi Kwei Armah’s The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born, some aspiring leaders appear less interested in changing the system than in occupying its comfortable spaces. Their loud attacks on rivals are often not acts of conviction, but strategies for entry; keys to doors they hope will grant them access to the same spoils.

And so, we are left to wonder: what does the future truly hold for this country? How long will we pretend not to see what is plainly before us? When will we summon the courage, not to insult or destroy, but to firmly and lovingly call out what threatens our collective progress?

This is not an attack. It is an appeal. An appeal to memory, to responsibility, and to hope.

An appeal to place country above colour, future above faction, and conscience above convenience.

Because if we do not pause to ask these questions now, history may one day ask them of us, and our silence may be the answer.

Aluta Continua? Or a new beginning?

nnhanson2@yahoo.com

I WEEP FOR GHANA’S POSTERITY

There is a particular kind of disappointment that cuts deeper than anger. It is the quiet, heavy feeling that settles in when you realise that the perpetrator of a disturbing or shameful act is not a reckless youth, but an older person; of sound mind and body, someone who should know better.

It is the feeling that comes when you watch a traffic offence unfold, only to discover that it was committed by an elderly person. Or when you encounter blatant rudeness or disrespect from someone old enough to be a parent or grandparent, directed especially at a younger person. In our Ghanaian culture, and indeed in the natural order of society, much is expected of elders. Respect flows upward, yes—but example, restraint, and wisdom are meant to flow downward.

Today, however, something unsettling is becoming increasingly clear. The long-held expectation that elders should serve as moral compasses and living examples seems to be weakening. In many instances, they are failing us. The stories and scandals that confront us daily leave little room for denial. And it forces us to ask difficult questions.

When young people err, society often explains it away as youthful exuberance; a phase, a learning curve, a moment of immaturity. But what explanation do we offer when similar or even graver offenses are committed by those who have lived long enough to know the cost of wrongdoing? What do we call it when wisdom, supposedly earned through years of experience, is nowhere to be found?

It must be said, clearly and fairly, that there are elders in this country who live lives worthy of admiration. Men and women who have given selflessly, who guide quietly, who continue to contribute to national growth with integrity. They are the steady salt that still preserves hope. We honour and salute them. This reflection is not about them. It is about the exceptions who are becoming too many to ignore.

Every day, we are confronted with accounts of mismanagement, embezzlement, bribery, corruption, and the quiet bleeding of national resources. Painfully, many of these acts are orchestrated by older people; our fathers and mothers, uncles and aunties, grandfathers and grandmothers. Time and again, I have tried to understand how this came to be. Each path of reasoning leads back to the same place: greed and selfishness.

In the pursuit of wealth, some have lost sight of the bigger picture. They justify their actions as provision for future generations, yet ignore the damage done to that very future. They forget that life carries a natural balance; that actions have consequences, that what is sown is eventually reaped. One may outrun accountability for a while, but not forever.

For a society that places immense value on respect for elders, the conduct of some of our older citizens is deeply troubling. Many occupy positions of great influence, yet fail to influence positively. Others cling tightly to power and opportunities that could nurture younger talent, leaving little room for renewal. There are those who loot today, as though tomorrow does not matter, amassing wealth they cannot take with them, while depriving generations yet unborn.

Even more troubling are behaviours that defy moral expectation, relationships and actions that betray the dignity associated with age. We are taught that grey hair is a symbol of wisdom, earned through experience, reflection, and growth. As one grows older, society expects refinement, not regression.

Elsewhere in the world, especially in nations that are rapidly developing, policies are deliberately crafted to secure the future of the younger generation. The measure of leadership is often found in how well tomorrow is protected today.

At home, the picture is harder to accept. Too often, we see elders sharing resources among themselves, leaving nothing at the table for those coming after. Perhaps it mirrors our social customs, where elders are served first at meals. But when the serving never ends, what remains for the children? Only crumbs.

And so, I weep for Ghana’s posterity. Not out of bitterness, but out of concern. How do we expect future generations to build and defend this nation when its foundations are being sold off piece by piece? What values are being modelled for them? What lessons are they learning from those meant to guide them?

Someone may argue that I should weep for myself instead. Perhaps they are right. But in a country where our destinies are intertwined, mourning for the future is also mourning for oneself.

This, after all, is my humble opinion; and my heartfelt appeal.

Anna Esi Hanson

RATIONALIZATION: WHO SUFFERS THE MOST?

In view of recent developments of an increasingly disturbing nature, I feel compelled as a concerned citizen to share my genuine and sincere thoughts. I do so from a place of care, not contention. Ghana is my home. I write because I believe that words, when used honestly, can still serve as a meaningful contribution to national growth, alongside the many other ways citizens give of themselves to this country.

The direction in which events seem to be unfolding awakens a quiet but persistent sense of unease. Permit me, therefore, to express these sentiments, sentiments only, yet deeply felt. I am mindful that in our present society, genuine opinions are rarely allowed to stand on their own. Too often, they are quickly misunderstood or deliberately recast through the narrow lens of partisan allegiance. No matter how valid a concern may be, it is swiftly swept under the carpet of political colour. Sadly, this habit lies at the very heart of many of our national challenges. Indeed, even this article may be viewed through partisan eyes by those unwilling to engage it with objectivity.

For those who continually ask how this country keeps sinking how familiar problems persist without resolution, it may be worth reflecting on our own role in this cycle. Our tendency to immediately dismiss, debate, or defend issues along partisan lines leaves little room for honest interrogation. Important matters become trivialised, reduced to shouting matches rather than opportunities for solutions. As a result, lasting answers continue to elude us, and the same issues resurface time and again. Still, I acknowledge and respect those who genuinely believe that all is well.

Predictably, our leaders often the greatest beneficiaries of this dysfunction have learned to deploy partisanship as a convenient shield. We have all listened to interviews where pressing questions are skillfully sidestepped or derailed once politics enters the conversation. What is perhaps more painful is that ordinary citizens, the very people most affected often play along. There is a peculiar mix of sadness and frustration that comes with listening to radio discussions where callers strain to justify obvious failures, offering excuses on behalf of those entrusted with leadership.

As healthcare struggles, education falters, infrastructure deteriorates, and basic services weaken, one must ask: who bears the greatest cost?

How do we meaningfully assess the performance of our elected officials if citizens are unable to raise concerns without being shouted down, labelled, or dismissed? How do we push ourselves toward higher standards when mediocrity is normalized and even defended? How do we grow as a nation if honest conversation is stifled by fear, fear of intimidation, victimization, or the endless cycle of rationalizations that excuse underperformance?

In the end, the question remains unavoidable:

Who truly suffers the most?

Perhaps the answer lies not only in those who govern, but also in how we, as citizens, choose to engage, or disengage, from the hard but necessary work of holding our nation to account.

Anna Esi Hanson