(A Tale for Those Who Still Believe in Court Dates)

Once upon a Republic where every delay had a godfather, a certain man named Kwabena Adu-Boahene found himself in the news — not for farming or invention, but for having allegedly massaged forty-nine million cedis until the figures purred.

The story opened like every Ghanaian blockbuster: sirens of conscience, cameras flashing, headlines screaming, “Justice at Last!” The public applauded. We love a good scandal the way a trotro loves a pothole — it gives us something to bounce on.

Enter the lawyer, Honourable Atta Akyea, robe flying, Latin ready. The man could quote scripture and statute with the same confidence. But when the judge refused to grant his request for adjournment, the learned gentleman gathered his dignity, packed his legal Latin, and walked out — leaving justice alone like a bride at an unfinished wedding.

The judge called it “abandonment.”
The audience called it “Episode Nine: The Exit of the Honourable.”
The nation called it business as usual.

That same week, President Mahama, in one of those moments when truth accidentally escapes protocol, told newly sworn-in judges to “end the culture of needless adjournments and delays. Justice must walk among the people, not hide behind robes.” A bold sermon indeed — but the congregation had already left for recess. Justice, in this Republic, does not walk; she hitchhikes.

When Delay Becomes a Career

You see, here we do not fight corruption; we entertain it with process. Lawyers treat cases like long-term investments — the kind that yield per diem and prestige. Each motion filed is another chapter in the grand novel of postponement.

The poor man who steals a goat is sentenced before the soup cools. But the big man who plays chess with millions will still be “under trial” by the time his grandchildren graduate law school. We are a nation of equal opportunities — equal rights to unequal treatment.

A proverb says, “If a case sleeps too long, truth begins to snore.” In our courts, truth snores so loudly that even the clerks have grown accustomed to the sound.

Judges, Lawyers, and Other Dancers

Our judges conduct proceedings like highlife bands — steady rhythm, slow tempo. The gavel taps, papers shuffle, and everyone sways to the beat of procedure. Some play sincerely, others receive goats for tips. By the time judgment arrives, the accused has already become respectable, with a street named after him.

The lawyers, for their part, are the true choreographers of delay. They pirouette between motions, rehearse objections, and perform Latin incantations — sub judice, audi alteram partem, sine die, nolle prosequi — each one a lullaby for accountability.A Republic of Gentle Patience

We have grown polite with corruption. We whisper about it the way families whisper about an uncle with a drinking problem. “He’s not bad, only misunderstood.” And so the docket gathers dust while everyone gathers allowances.

If someone built a business out of adjournments, it would thrive more than cocoa. We could export it, brand it Ghana Delay Premium, and earn foreign exchange from our national expertise.

A Humble National Suggestion

Let us be honest: we adore adjournments. They make us look busy. Why not declare a public holiday — Adjournment Day — where every citizen postpones something important? Students can delay exams, trotro drivers can pause mid-route, and politicians can defer promises till further notice. That way, we all share in the national rhythm.

And So We Wait

Once, justice wore sandals and walked freely among the people. Now she wears high heels, trips on the paperwork, and blames the registry for her fall.

Perhaps one day she’ll find her balance. Until then, we, the people of the Republic of Endless Adjournments, continue our morning devotion:
“Case adjourned, citizens — see you next time.”

Jimmy Aglah is a media executive, author and satirist behind The Republic of Uncommon Sense and Once Upon a Time in Ghana.