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.
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