Once upon a recent time, in the Republic of Ghana, a strange virus began sweeping through communities. It was not COVID. No, this one wore no mask, observed no protocol, and traveled without e-passport.

It was called Uncommon Sense—and it infected the highly educated, the barely educated, and the proudly uneducated with equal enthusiasm.

In the good old days, common sense was so common that even goats knew when not to chew plastic.

Today, a man with a double PhD in Astrophysics and Instagram Philosophy is seen debating whether floods are caused by rain or by witches frying eggs in the sky. Aha.

I write this in the era when we now elect thieves to protect vaults, appoint wolves to guard sheep, and hire sleeping dogs to watch gates. Leadership is no longer about vision—it is about visibility. As long as your billboard is bigger than your brain, you qualify.

Once, when elders sat under trees, wisdom dripped like palm wine. Now, when elders sit, it is under air conditioners, and all that drips is sweat from the national grid.

We used to clap for sense. Now, we clap for nonsense that comes with jollof and fuel coupons.

Social media, the sacred shrine of the new sages, has not helped. A woman who barely passed Integrated Science is now “Health Coach,” while someone whose only qualification is shouting in traffic now gives marital advice from the backseat of a trotro. And they have followers—plenty.

Our ministers, not to be left out, have embraced this uncommon sense with evangelical zeal. A minister for Sanitation once said, “We are decongesting the drains, but the rains are not cooperating.” Yes, Madam. Let’s sue the rains for insubordination.

And what of the youth? The energetic, entrepreneurial, unemployed, underpaid youth? They now carry briefcases of CVs that contain hope, faith, and eight different versions of the same letter beginning with “Dear Sir/Madam.” Some have turned to betting apps, others to motivational quotes like “Success is a journey, not a trotro stop.”
The rest? They await destiny like a WhatsApp message stuck on one tick.

Even our national discourse has been infected. We no longer debate issues. We debate personalities. One says, “You are corrupt,” the other replies, “But your father was a murderer!” And suddenly, Parliament sounds like the back of a Form 1 dormitory.

And yet… we laugh. Because in Ghana, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry—and water is already scarce.

So what do we do? How do we restore the lost commons? Do we reintroduce common sense into the curriculum? Can it be bottled, taxed, or imported from China?

Or must we remember that old Ghanaian saying:

“When the lizard falls from the tree and no one claps, it nods to remind itself that it tried.”

Well, fellow lizards, let’s keep nodding—until one day, someone claps.

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The writer, Jimmy Aglah, is a media executive, author, and sharp-eyed social commentator. His debut novel, Blood and Gold: The Rebellion of Sikakrom, now available on Amazon Kindle, explores power, rebellion, and the soul of a nation. When he’s not steering broadcast operations, he’s busy challenging conventions—often with satire, always with purpose.