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 30: The Inconvenience of Protests
The car was moving at a crawl, and I could already feel the tension of another long day in Accra’s traffic. I glanced at the rearview mirror where Jojo, a lanky 16-year-old, sat scrolling through his phone, his face a mixture of boredom and irritation. Next to him, Grandma Hannah, an elderly woman with a gentle smile, sat calmly, her hands resting on her lap. I could see the familiar look of patience and wisdom etched on her face, the kind that only years of experience bring.
“Why do these people have to make life difficult for everyone?” Jojo muttered, still fixated on his screen. “All this traffic just because of some protest.”
Grandma Hannah gave a soft chuckle. “Some protest, you say?”
I kept my eyes on the road, but I was listening now. The traffic was heavy because of demonstrations in town, protests against illegal mining, or galamsey, as we call it here. It’s been all over the news lately. The pollution of water bodies, destruction of farmland, and stories of birth deformities because of the toxins in the water—everyone was talking about it.
“Yes, some protest,” Jojo repeated. “It’s an inconvenience. Can’t they protest somewhere that doesn’t block the roads?”
“Tell me something,” Grandma Hannah said, her tone still gentle but probing. “Do you think change can come from a position of comfort?”
Jojo hesitated. He glanced at her, then back at his phone, but I could tell she had caught his attention. It was the same way my own grandmother used to ask me questions, the kind that made you think twice before answering.
“I guess not… But why should everyone else suffer because of their problems?” he asked, less certain this time.
“Are they really ‘their’ problems?” Grandma Hannah asked. “Or are they ours too?”
I adjusted my rearview mirror a bit to catch more of their expressions. This was getting interesting. Jojo frowned and shook his head slightly. “I don’t live in a village with polluted water. We buy bottled water at home, and I’m fine. So, it’s not my problem, really.”
Grandma Hannah sighed, a sound that carried the weight of history. “You’re fortunate, Jojo. But that doesn’t mean you’re untouched by what’s happening. This isn’t just about dirty water in faraway villages. It’s about justice, fairness, and the kind of country we want to live in. Do you know why these people are protesting?”
Jojo shrugged. “Something about galamsey, right? Illegal mining… they keep talking about it on the news.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Illegal mining has destroyed rivers, lands, and livelihoods. People are dying from drinking polluted water, children are being born with deformities, and entire communities are being wiped out. And yet, the people who allow it to happen, those who profit from it—they’re not the ones suffering.”
The car inched forward a few meters before stopping again. I kept quiet, letting their conversation flow naturally. I could feel that Grandma Hannah was about to make a point that Jojo wasn’t expecting.
“Imagine if no one ever stood up against injustice, Jojo. What kind of world would we be living in now?”
Jojo paused, clearly trying to think of a response. “But why protests? Why not just, I don’t know, write petitions or something? Get the government to do something.”
Grandma Hannah smiled softly, and her eyes sparkled with the wisdom of many years. “You think those options haven’t been tried? Petitions have been written, appeals have been made, and yet, here we are—still fighting the same battles. Sometimes, Jojo, the only way to be heard is by disrupting the comfort of those in power. They won’t listen unless the people force them to.”
I shifted slightly in my seat. She was right, of course. I’d seen how protests were often the last resort for the voiceless. Jojo seemed to be thinking, but still wasn’t convinced.
“But is blocking the road really going to change anything? I mean, look at this,” he waved his hand toward the congested street outside. “People are just getting angry. They’re late for work, late for appointments… It’s just making things worse.”
“True,” Grandma Hannah nodded. “It’s uncomfortable. But sometimes discomfort is necessary. Do you think the freedom fighters who fought for our independence from colonial rule were comfortable? Did they not cause inconvenience too, disrupting the status quo, going to prison, some even losing their lives?”
Jojo’s brow furrowed, and I could tell she had hit a nerve. “But that was different,” he muttered. “That was for independence, for freedom.”
“And what is this fight for?” she asked, her voice calm but insistent. “Isn’t it for freedom too? The freedom to live in a land where our resources aren’t stolen, where our children aren’t born sick because of greed and corruption? It’s all connected, Jojo. Every injustice we let slide weakens us as a people.”
Jojo leaned back in his seat, staring out of the window, his phone forgotten in his hand. “I never thought of it like that,” he admitted quietly.
I smiled to myself. Grandma Hannah was good. She knew how to plant seeds of thought without forcing them. It reminded me of how my own elders used to speak to me, making me come to conclusions on my own.
“The thing is,” she continued, “protests have always been a part of the struggle for justice. From the civil rights movements in America to the anti-apartheid protests in South Africa. Even here in Ghana, the marches that led to independence were forms of protest. People had to stand up to power, and sometimes, yes, it was an inconvenience. But look at what it achieved.”
Jojo nodded slowly. “I get it… I just don’t understand why the government doesn’t do anything. Aren’t they supposed to fix this?”
“Ah,” Grandma Hannah said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Some of those in power benefit from the very thing they should be stopping. There are rumors that some politicians have been granted concessions to allow this illegal mining. When the people in charge are part of the problem, who is left to fix it?”
Jojo looked troubled now. “But then… what can we do? If even the people in government are involved, how do you change things?”
“That’s why the people are protesting, Jojo,” Grandma Hannah said. “They’re saying, ‘We see what’s happening, and we won’t be silent.’ But it’s not just about standing in the streets. Change also comes through laws, through the courts. That’s why young people like you need to get involved. You could become a lawyer one day and fight these battles where it matters—in the legal system.”
Jojo looked up, surprised. “Me? A lawyer?”
“Why not?” she asked with a smile. “You’re smart, and you care about what’s right, even if you don’t know it yet. Imagine if more young people like you took up the cause, not just on the streets, but in parliament, in courtrooms. That’s how real change happens. You need both—the voices of the people and the power of the law.”
I saw Jojo’s expression soften as he thought about it. “I’ve never really thought about being a lawyer before…”
“Well, now’s a good time to start,” Grandma Hannah said with a chuckle. “We need bright minds like yours to fight for justice, to give a voice to the voiceless. The people in the streets today—they need someone who understands the law, someone who can challenge those in power and protect the rights of the ordinary Ghanaian.”
As the traffic inched forward again, Jojo sat quietly, clearly deep in thought. Grandma Hannah had done what she set out to do—she had planted the seed. Whether it would grow into something more, time would tell, but I could see a shift in the way Jojo held himself, the way he looked out at the protesters in the distance. He wasn’t irritated anymore. He was curious, even empathetic.
Maybe, just maybe, this young man would be one of the voices that would help make Ghana a better place.
As we neared Akai House Clinic, Jojo broke the silence. “Maybe I’ll look into studying law… you know, to help people like them.”
Grandma Hannah smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile too. This was the kind of conversation that gave me hope for the future.
