The stadium noise began to soften. The initial fireworks of Cedi’s resurrection still glimmered in the minds of many, but the murmurs from Makola, Kaneshie, and Kejetia were now echoing louder than the trotro horns. Tomatoes had spoken. Cement had complained. Fuel had rolled its eyes. And the ordinary stomach – always the most honest economist – kept grumbling.
In the shade of the mighty baobab, the Old Wise Man sat. His beard was long like the minutes of a parliamentary debate, his eyes heavy with memories of cycles past. He had seen currencies come and go, debts pile and collapse, slogans fly and expire. Around him gathered apprentices, traders, students, and curious onlookers who wanted to understand why their cheers had not bought them cheaper kenkey.
The Old Wise Man Speaks
He tapped his staff on the earth three times. Dust rose, as if even the soil knew he was about to speak sense.
“My children,” he began, “you celebrate because the bandaged warrior Cedi has leapt to his feet. You sing because the giants stumbled for a moment. But let me tell you something:
Sɛ ɛprɔ a, yɛbɛte ne kankan.
(When it rots, we will smell the stench.)
What does this mean? A wound under a bandage may look neat, but when it festers, it cannot hide forever. The smell will betray the silence.”
The crowd leaned closer.
“Steroids can make a man run. But steroids do not heal broken bones. Bandages can cover sores, but they cannot cure infections. And when leaders chase optics instead of surgery, the crowd will clap today but cough tomorrow.”
He paused, allowing the proverb to sink like gari into water.
The People Respond
A market woman asked, “So, Grandfather, are you saying the NDC medics were wrong to revive Cedi?”
The Old Man smiled. “No. A dead fighter cannot train. Emergency medicine has its place. But my worry is when emergency becomes tradition, when steroids replace food, when applause replaces planning. That is when the wound rots.”
A young graduate interjected, “But isn’t it good that inflation has slowed a bit, that the exchange rate looks calmer?”
The Old Man nodded. “Yes, it is good to slow the bleeding. But slowing bleeding is not the same as restoring strength. If you remove the bandage and find no healing beneath, then what have we gained? We are only postponing the smell.”
The Giants Listen Too
From across the arena, Dollar, Pound, and Euro leaned against the ropes, listening. They smirked, but even they knew the truth of the proverb. They had seen Cedi rise before, only to stumble again.
Dollar whispered, “He will come running back for me when reserves thin.”
Pound muttered, “September will remind him whose tuition he pays.”
Euro sighed, “Imports will not forgive him. They never do.”
The Old Wise Man raised his voice so that even the giants could hear:
“Your enemies are not merely bullies; they are reminders. They expose what you refuse to fix. Do not hate them – learn from them. For if you build your canoe strong, the flood cannot disgrace you.”
Proverb
“Sɛ ɛprɔ a, yɛbɛte ne kankan.”
(When it rots, we will smell the stench.)
Meaning: Temporary cover-ups will always reveal themselves. True solutions cannot be faked.
Policy Reflection – The Wisdom of the Baobab
The Old Man’s parable cuts deep:
- Emergency medicine is necessary – Liquidity injections, IMF inflows, and forex controls can prevent collapse in the short run.
- But temporary measures have consequences – They risk depleting reserves, creating distortions, or masking deeper weaknesses.
- Structural reform is the only cure – Without boosting exports, building buffers, and cutting wasteful spending, the “smell” of crisis will return.
- Markets have long memories – Traders, investors, and ordinary citizens will eventually sense when strength is artificial.
Lesson: The test of policy is not applause in the moment but resilience in the storm. Short-term victories mean little if they cover long-term decay.
Dr. Asiamah's Gazette 