Why I’m Moving My Business Out Of Adansi (ashanti Region)

A few months ago, I made a difficult but deliberate decision to halt development and relocate my business out of the Ashanti Region. As a proud Ashanti, this was not an easy choice. However, the pervasive challenges posed by entrenched cultural practices and systemic exploitation left me with no other option.

Ashanti traditions, which should serve as a source of pride, have unfortunately enabled predatory rackets to flourish under the protective guise of chieftaincy. These rackets mirror the criminal enterprises that fall under RICO laws in the United States—no less troubling than the fictional Tony Soprano's control of North Jersey.

A few years ago, I purchased several plots of land in the Adansi area, including a parcel just under two hectares, with the goal of building a factory that could directly employ 200 people and support 600 more through ancillary businesses. As someone committed to integrity, I ensured every step of the process was above board. From paying the required fees to having the land surveyed and registered with the appropriate authorities in Kumasi, everything was done by the book.

Adansi is a region in dire need of development. Roads are riddled with potholes, water sources are polluted, and the once-thriving mines are dormant. The community is desperate for employment opportunities. My factory project was designed to be a beacon of hope, bringing jobs and revitalization to the area where I was raised.

However, this vision was met with relentless obstruction. The land I purchased sits on soil heavily polluted by mining activities and illegal dumping—soil so degraded it cannot support crops or safe construction. To prevent contamination, my team decided to strip and dispose of the topsoil during construction, a routine and necessary practice.

This decision triggered a cascade of harassment from the very chiefs who sold me the land. They suddenly laid claim to the topsoil, demanding payment for its removal. The chief and sub-chiefs insisted each truckload of topsoil was worth over ¢2,000 and demanded half the amount as compensation. When we began clearing a small section of the land for a fence wall, they demanded an additional ¢55,000—₵50,000 for an estimated 50 truckload of "topsoil" and ₵5,000 for alleged damages. At this rate, we’ll be buried under millions in extortion fees before even laying the foundation.

It became clear that these demands were not just unreasonable but emblematic of a broader culture of exploitation. Chiefs, who should be stewards of their communities, are instead gatekeepers of greed, stifling development in pursuit of personal gain.

Many suggested escalating the matter to Manhyia, the seat of the Ashanti King. Yet, as someone without significant influence or resources, I doubt my ability to gain an audience or achieve justice. The bureaucracy and perceived inaccessibility of the system only reinforced my sense of futility.

Faced with these insurmountable challenges, I have decided to move my project to a region where such barriers do not exist. While this decision means leaving behind my dream of transforming Adansi, I remain hopeful that my efforts will create meaningful change elsewhere.

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