Let no one be deceived—this is not just a Northern story.
This is Ghana’s story.
From the savannahs of the North to the salty winds of the coast,
From the forest belts in the center to the hilly edges of the East,
The cry is the same:
We are tired.
Tired of being overlooked.
Tired of being underserved.
Tired of being unheard.
Yes, the Tamale to Wa road is a national embarrassment.
But take a ride from Ho to Nkwanta,
From Techiman to Kintampo,
From Kasoa to Nsawam,
Even from central Accra to its own outskirts—
And you’ll hear the same frustration,
Feel the same bumps,
See the same tired eyes staring through cracked bus windows.
It may wear different names.
It may pass through different dialects.
But the pain?
The pain is fluent in every language.
Abandoned clinics with weeds taller than hope.
Schools still under trees in the age of AI.
Children drinking from the same rivers as goats.
Buses that groan like ghosts and break down before the next town.
This is not an isolated problem.
It is a national epidemic.
Masked by our silence.
Deepened by our politics.
Worsened by our low expectations.
There’s a dangerous myth—
That some regions matter more.
That development is a reward, not a right.
That some should rise, while others must crawl.
But Ghana cannot move forward when entire parts are stuck in reverse.
We are only as strong as our most neglected corner.
This isn’t just about fairness.
It’s about progress.
About the kind of future we claim to want.
How do we feed a nation if farmers can’t reach markets?
How do we grow tourism if roads scare away visitors?
How do we invite investors into a house with no floor?
And here’s the harsh truth:
None of this is new.
None of it is hidden.
None of it is mysterious.
We see it.
We know it.
We feel it.
The problem is not lack of knowledge—
It’s lack of action.
So again I ask, and I will not stop asking:
Na who cause am?
Is it the leaders who think Accra is Ghana?
Is it the planners who forget entire regions exist?
Or is it we the people,
Who no longer demand,
No longer expect,
And pretend that someone else’s suffering isn’t ours?
Because until we see the whole nation as one body,
We will all keep limping.
Up next: Part Six – “The Transport That Breaks You—Literally and Figuratively”
#Puobabangna
(The Northern Roads, the Shaky Buses, and the Deafening Silence)
By Victor Raul Puobabangna from Eggu, in the Upper West Region of Ghana
