What good is a government appointment if it ends up breaking a person rather than building them? In Dagaare, we say, “Ningsaala Puobabangna”—you cannot tell what is in someone’s stomach. It’s a reminder that potential isn’t always visible, and that power alone doesn’t reveal purpose. In Ghana today, the appointment of young people to influential roles is gaining momentum—an encouraging sign. Yet the cheers and hashtags fade quickly, leaving a sobering question behind: Are these appointees ready for the heat of the kitchen, or merely dressed for the glamour of the banquet?
In recent months and years, I’ve watched some of these appointments spiral into embarrassment—even disgrace. The lesson is clear: orientation and mentorship are not luxuries. They are lifelines. If we fail to prepare young appointees properly, we set them up for failure in a system that is already unforgiving.
The Problem Isn’t the Appointment — It’s the Preparation
The energy surrounding a new political appointment—especially of a young person—is electric. Friends flood social media with congratulatory posts, former teachers glow with pride, and party supporters hail it as a win for youth empowerment. But beneath that initial excitement lies a deeper truth: these positions demand more than intellect or eloquence. They require maturity, emotional intelligence, public grace, and above all—guidance.
A political appointment is not a trophy; it is a responsibility. And in many cases, the burden placed on a young appointee far outweighs their readiness. The system rarely pauses to ask the crucial question: Has this individual been adequately prepared for this level of public scrutiny and pressure?
So, when they falter, we act surprised. But we shouldn’t be. We handed them a position of influence without first offering the tools and wisdom to navigate the storms that come with it.
The Sammy Gyamfi Lesson
The recent controversy surrounding Sammy Gyamfi wasn’t just a case of poor judgment—it exposed a systemic flaw in how we nurture our young leaders. A culture that celebrates youth appointments without ensuring structured mentoring leaves them vulnerable in roles that come with public visibility, endless scrutiny, and emotional landmines.
In today’s hyper-connected world, every move of a public official—what they say, what they don’t say, how they gesture, even their smile—is politicized and weaponized. One misstep can tarnish a reputation permanently. Appointments alone don’t prepare individuals for the demands of public life. Intelligence and charisma cannot replace wisdom, restraint, and emotional discipline.
Ghana is failing a generation of young leaders by thrusting them into high-stakes positions without the necessary orientation. Every appointee—especially young ones—deserves structured, consistent mentorship. They must learn how to serve with integrity, communicate with sensitivity, respond under fire, and understand that sometimes, silence is more powerful than speech.
Did Sammy Gyamfi receive such training?
Were he and others taught how to remain grounded amidst praise, manage emotions during controversy, and navigate power without arrogance?
Were they informed about the psychological, political, spiritual, and physical implications of holding such offices—how it affects not only them but their families too?
Too many young leaders are thrown into turbulent waters without life vests, only to be blamed when they drown. Sammy Gyamfi’s recent error didn’t expose a lack of intellect—it revealed a lack of mentorship. Older politicians have learned the hard way how to survive public life. They’ve been burned, bitten, and betrayed—but they’ve endured. Young leaders must be taught not just how to rise but how to stand firm when the applause dies.
Why Orientation Is Not Optional
The current system assumes that political instinct is enough. It isn’t. We must teach our leaders how to:
Speak with purpose—and when to remain silent. Manage crises and media attacks. Carry themselves with humility amid fame and flattery. Take correction without feeling diminished. Avoid the intoxication of power. Remember that they represent service, not self-glorification.
Structured orientation removes the illusion of arrival. It replaces pride with perspective. It reminds appointees that this is not the pinnacle—it’s the beginning of a demanding journey.
When Apologies Deepen the Wound
In Ghanaian culture, an apology is sacred. It’s not a press release—it’s a posture of the heart. When a young appointee apologizes without reflection or is hurried into a public statement, we must ask: Where were the elders? Where were the mentors?
There is a saying: “When a child washes their hands well, they eat with elders.” But who teaches the child to wash properly? Who shows them the ways of dignity, humility, and timing?
Sammy Gyamfi’s apology didn’t fall flat because he’s incapable—it fell short because he was unarmed. He was placed in a high-stakes role where experience is the only shield—and he lacked it.
His apology, though necessary, was poorly timed and worded. Creating the impression that his act of kindness was meant to be private only created more confusion. Why conceal a good deed? Labelling Agradaa as “needy” turned the apology into an insult—not only to his party faithful but to all well-meaning Ghanaians. This wasn’t just a PR blunder—it was a signal that something deeper was missing: emotional intelligence and strategic maturity.
It’s no surprise that even his own party members expressed anger.
Perception Is Power
A final truth must be acknowledged: In politics, perception is reality. Good intentions are meaningless if the delivery is clumsy. When your own base is uneasy, the issue isn’t external criticism—it’s internal doubt. An appointee’s image—whether fair or not—can shape their effectiveness, influence, and future.
Many young leaders focus on performance and forget perception. But in public life, it’s not just about what you do—it’s about what people believe you did.
Ghana must recalibrate. We need a new approach to youth leadership—one grounded in mentorship, guided by wisdom, and driven by service. Appointments are not enough. Preparation is everything.
Because when the applause fades, and the cameras go off, only one thing will speak louder than your title—your character.
Power is cruel. One mistake, one misjudged comment, and people forget your years of service. This is why President John Mahama’s vision to empower young people must go beyond symbolic appointments. It must include deliberate grooming. Our future leaders need to learn not just policy but wisdom—passed down through stories, scars, and lived experiences. Some lessons aren’t taught in classrooms—they’re learned by sitting at the feet of those who have been there.
Consequences Beyond the Moment
Mistakes like this don’t just dent reputations—they cast long shadows. They discourage genuine public service. Tomorrow’s appointees may think twice before extending a hand of charity, fearing backlash or misinterpretation. Within political parties, unity frays as calls for sanctions deepen internal divisions. Worse still, some of our brightest leaders may retreat—not from duty, but from risk—choosing silence over service, self-preservation over public impact.
This incident speaks to a deeper issue: the erosion of institutional memory. We often dismiss the wisdom of older leaders, branding it outdated. But what they know—about resilience, survival, and leadership—is invaluable. Youthful energy needs to be tethered to seasoned insight. True mentorship teaches more than action—it teaches endurance, perspective, and emotional maturity.
Without that guidance, we keep planting young trees without learning from the old ones that withstood the storms.
Many appointees have made mistakes—only some make headlines. The greater danger now is a culture of fear. The sincere will go silent. The disconnected will dig deeper into isolation. “I don’t want trouble,” they’ll say—and in that silence, the people will suffer.
Leadership That Lasts
So we must ask: Are we preparing our young leaders not just to wear titles, but to carry the dreams and burdens of those they serve? Do they understand that leadership is not about being loud—but about being steady? That public office demands composure under fire, humility in victory, and wisdom in defeat?
We must stop scapegoating individuals and confront the truth: the real failure is systemic. Ghana doesn’t just need young leaders—it needs prepared ones. Passion without prudence breeds chaos. Goodwill must walk hand-in-hand with governance. Ambition must be guided by emotional intelligence.
That’s why orientation must go beyond policy manuals and protocol briefings. It must shape character. Public office isn’t a playground—it’s a crucible. A place where silence can be stronger than speech, and restraint more powerful than reaction.
This isn’t just about Sammy Gyamfi. It’s about the future of Ghana’s leadership. It’s about the culture we’re nurturing—one that risks valuing noise over nuance, clout over competence. This isn’t a call for fewer young voices—it’s a call for deeper preparation.
Because when the lights dim and the applause fades, all that remains is your character. And that—not your followers, not your press releases—is the true legacy of leadership.
Fixing the System, Not Just the Individuals
Let’s be clear: this is not about one man. It’s about a broken system.
To every political party, presidential hopeful, and government institution—this moment is bigger than any single person. It reveals a deeper, systemic failure.
Stop appointing people to positions of power without a roadmap.
Stop sending young leaders into the battlefield of public service without armor.
Stop confusing degrees, Twitter followings, or legal titles with readiness.
Instead, institutionalize mentorship. Make structured orientation a non-negotiable part of the appointment process. Pair every young appointee with a seasoned mentor—someone who has walked through fire and come out refined.
Give them the tools to lead with wisdom:
– Public relations coaching
– Emotional intelligence training
– Crisis simulations
– Ethical decision-making scenarios
Teach them how to own mistakes with grace.
How to rise above pettiness.
How to sit still, listen deeply, and grow steadily.
Because leadership isn’t instinct—it’s a discipline. And without the right foundation, even the brightest potential can crumble under pressure.
Learning from the Old Guards
Let’s be honest—some of Ghana’s older politicians may have overstayed their welcome. But many of them carry something you can’t Google: wisdom forged through fire.
They’ve been betrayed, lied to, insulted, sidelined—and yet they endured. Scarred, yes, but not defeated. And in those scars lie the quiet lessons of leadership that no textbook can teach.
Young appointees must learn to sit at their feet—not to flatter, but to listen. To absorb the unspoken rules that separate noise from impact:
That silence can carry more weight than a press release. That retreat, at times, is the most strategic form of resistance. That not every provocation deserves a reply. That true loyalty is built over years, not in a few flashy weeks. That today’s ignored colleague might hold tomorrow’s key.
Wisdom isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it whispers through restraint, humility, and reflection.
A Final Word to the Youth in Power
To every young appointee:
you are a symbol of hope.
But remember — you are not bigger than the mission.
You are the symbol of a dream.
But you are not the dream itself.
You are not above correction.
You are not immune to failure.
And you are not entitled to applause.
Sit down. Learn. Listen. Grow. Fall if you must — but fall forward.
Learn from the scars of others so you don’t have to earn them all yourself.
And above all — don’t let the hype destroy your humility.
The next generation is watching. Ghana is watching.
And history, as always, is taking notes.
#Puobabangna
