How Free Is Free Education When A Parent Cannot Pay?

Yesterday was a bad day. A very sad day. A parent needed GH¢6,000 to settle his child's school fees. He had something that, under normal circumstances, should have been considered an asset: 30 bags of unhusked rice. Each bag could fetch him about GH¢100. Thirty bags. Three thousand cedis. But there was a problem. Nobody was prepared to pay him for all 30 bags immediately. The buyers wanted the rice dehusked first. Then it would have to be sold. Then, perhaps after two or three weeks, the money would begin to come. And even then, he could not be certain of receiving GH¢100 for every bag. Some buyers, I am told, would return with stories. The man needed money today. His rice would produce money tomorrow. Sometimes, poverty is not about having nothing. It is about having something that cannot be converted into cash when you desperately need it.

Unable to find the money, the parent took his own life. And that is where the story becomes bigger than one man. It forces us to ask some uncomfortable questions. How free is Free Education in Ghana? What happens to the poor family that cannot meet the costs that remain outside tuition? What happens to the farmer whose poor harvest is his only income for the entire year? What happens to the young man who finishes school and finds no job? What happens to the man or woman above 50 who has no stable income and no pension? And, perhaps most importantly, what happens when a person in serious difficulty has nowhere to turn?

What Does “Free” Really Mean?

Free Senior High School has undoubtedly removed or reduced an important financial barrier for many Ghanaian families. But education is never only about tuition. There are books. There are uniforms. There is transportation. There are meals and pocket money. There are boarding-related expenses. There are medical emergencies. There are contributions and other costs that can arise around schooling. For a family that earns a regular salary, these may be manageable. For a farmer who has harvested ten bags of maize for the entire year, they can be devastating. That is why we need to be careful when we use the word “free.” Something can be free at the point of delivery and still impose costs on the household.

And this is not an argument against Free SHS. It is an argument for asking whether our social protection system is sufficiently strong to ensure that the poorest families can actually benefit from the opportunities government provides. A policy can be sound in principle and still leave gaps at the household level. Those gaps matter. Because the poorest person does not live inside a policy document. He lives in a house. He eats food. He pays transport fares. He buys medicine. His child needs a uniform. His wife may be sick. His farm may fail. And occasionally, he may need GH¢6,000 immediately.

What about LEAP?
Ghana has the Livelihood Empowerment against Poverty programme --- LEAP ---which is specifically designed to provide support to extremely poor and vulnerable households. That is an important intervention. But we must ask a bigger question: Is LEAP enough for the scale and nature of vulnerability in Ghana today? Recent World Bank documentation says government has been working to strengthen LEAP by indexing benefits, expanding coverage and restructuring benefits according to household size and vulnerability. The stated objective has included reaching more extremely poor households and providing additional support for vulnerable groups such as elderly people without support, orphans and vulnerable children, and persons with disabilities. These are welcome directions. But a safety net should not only exist. It must be accessible, adequate, timely and capable of responding to the different ways people fall into hardship. The farmer who has food in his barn but no cash today presents a different problem from the elderly person who has no income at all. The young graduate without a job presents another. The widow caring for several children presents another. The small trader whose business collapses presents another. The informal worker approaching old age presents another. A single programme cannot necessarily solve all these problems. Perhaps Ghana needs to think beyond cash transfers towards a more comprehensive system of social protection, emergency assistance, livelihood support and community-based intervention.

The Farmer Who Works For a Year
Think about the small farmer. He plants. He weeds. He waits. He prays for rain. He fights insects and diseases. He watches the sky. Eventually, he harvests. Suppose he produces less than ten bags of maize. That harvest may represent almost an entire year's economic activity. But what is the cash value of that harvest after deducting seed, fertilizer, labour, transportation and other expenses?

And what happens when one of his children falls sick? What happens when school demands money? What happens when the roof begins to leak? What happens when he needs to pay rent? The farmer may not be poor because he is lazy. He may be poor because his economic activity does not generate enough reliable cash flow. That distinction is important. Poverty is sometimes measured by income. But poor people experience poverty through cash-flow crises. A person can own a farm, livestock, harvested crops or equipment and still be unable to raise GH¢1,000 tonight. That is the tragedy behind the story of the man with the 30 bags of rice.

Why Did Nobody Know?
There is another part of this story that troubles me deeply. I am told the man was a Muslim. Perhaps he belonged to a large mosque. Traditionally, the mosque is much more than a place where Muslims gather five times a day to pray. It is supposed to be a meeting point for the community. A place where people know one another. A place where the sick are visited. Where the bereaved are comforted. Where the hungry can be identified. Where problems can be discussed. Where those who have fallen can be helped back onto their feet.

I am told this man had even spoken to a friend about his predicament. And yet, somehow, his desperation remained his burden. This should make every religious community pause. Not only mosques. Churches too. We have built impressive religious institutions. We collect offerings. We organize conventions. We hold conferences. We build beautiful houses of worship. But do we know the people sitting beside us? Do we know who has not eaten? Do we know whose rent is overdue? Do we know whose child is about to be thrown out of school? Do we know which farmer has harvested but cannot sell? Do we know which elderly man has no income? Do we know which young man is quietly losing hope? Perhaps our communities need to return to something older and more fundamental: Knowing one another.

I Know What It Means To Start with Nothing

At 19, my father had retired. The going became difficult. I understood very early that if I kept depending entirely on him, I would only increase his burden. So I started working as a pupil teacher. That was only the beginning. I moved through five jobs before eventually finding work at the University for Development Studies Library. I studied along the way. I taught myself. I used whatever opportunities became available, including learning online later in life. I did not consider any honest job beneath me. I started from somewhere. And that is something I wish we would teach our young people more often. Life does not always begin where you want it to begin. Sometimes it begins where circumstances put you. And there is nothing shameful about that.

We Have Made University the Only Definition of Success

Somehow, we have convinced ourselves that every child must go through the same educational tunnel: Pre-School, Basic school. Senior High School. University. Then a job. But life does not work that way. Not everybody needs a university degree to build a meaningful life. A young person can learn tailoring. Phone repair. Masonry. Welding. Barbering. Plumbing. Electrical work. Carpentry. Auto mechanics. Catering. Graphic design. Hairdressing. Agricultural processing. Computer repair. Solar installation. Refrigeration and air-conditioning. And many other trades. The objective should not merely be to obtain a certificate. The objective should be to acquire a useful skill that somebody is willing to pay for.

My tailor charges about GH¢200 for a pair of trousers and a top. If he makes two or three sets in a day, that is GH¢400 to GH¢600 in gross daily revenue. Over 20 working days, that could be GH¢8,000 to GH¢12,000 in gross monthly revenue. Of course, gross revenue is not salary. He must pay for cloth or other materials where applicable, rent, electricity, transport, taxes, maintenance and other business expenses. He must also save. He should contribute to Social Security if he qualifies and can do so through the appropriate scheme. But even after those costs, a skilled tradesperson with a steady clientele can build a respectable livelihood. That is the point. A skill can become an income. And an income can become a business. A business can become employment for others. That is how many people build their lives.

The First Job Does Not Have to be the Last Job

We must also teach our young people patience. Your first job may not be your dream job. Your first income may be small. Your first workshop may be a table under a tree. Your first sewing machine may be second-hand. Your first phone-repair business may operate from a tiny kiosk. Your first construction job may be carrying materials for somebody else. There is no shame in starting small. The mistake is believing that because you cannot start at the top, you should not start at all.

Life is often a gradual process. You learn. You improve. You save. You acquire tools. You build relationships. You gain experience. You attract customers. Your income improves. Then perhaps you employ somebody. Then two people. Then five. That is how an ordinary livelihood becomes an enterprise.

But Let Us Not Blame the Poor
There is also a danger here. When we tell young people to learn a trade, work hard and start small, we must not use that advice to absolve society and government of responsibility. Not everyone who is poor is poor because he refused to work. Not every unemployed graduate is lazy. Not every struggling farmer lacks initiative. Not every elderly person failed to plan. There are structural problems. Access to credit is difficult. Markets are unpredictable. Agricultural prices fluctuate. Electricity is expensive. Transport costs money. Tools and machinery cost money. Businesses require working capital.

And informal workers often operate without the protections enjoyed by formal employees. So the message must be two-sided. Individuals must develop skills, work, save and take responsibility for their lives. But government and society must create an environment in which honest work can produce a dignified livelihood. We need both.

The GH¢6,000 Question
But let us return to the GH¢6,000. Thirty bags of rice. Three thousand cedis at GH¢100 each. The man needed six thousand. His problem was not necessarily that he had absolutely nothing. His problem was that what he possessed could not immediately become the money he needed. That is a lesson in itself.

Can Ghana develop mechanisms through which small farmers can obtain short-term, affordable emergency financing against stored agricultural produce? Can farmer organizations aggregate produce and negotiate better and faster payments? Can rural banks, credit unions and agricultural finance institutions develop products that recognize the value of harvested crops? Can religious organizations establish transparent emergency funds for members facing genuine crises? Can communities develop early-warning systems for people in severe distress? Can schools and communities identify families that are struggling before the crisis becomes catastrophic? Can social protection programmes respond more quickly when a vulnerable household encounters an emergency? These are not impossible questions. They are questions worth asking.

We Must Learn to See People before They Break

Perhaps the greatest lesson from this tragedy is that people rarely collapse in one day. The final act may happen in a moment. But the despair may have been building for months. Debt. School fees. Food. Rent. Illness. Unemployment. Failed harvests. Family responsibilities. Shame. Repeated rejection. And then one more problem arrives. Sometimes it is only GH¢6,000. To somebody else, GH¢6,000 may not appear impossible. To a desperate parent, it can look like a mountain. This is why we need stronger communities. We need neighbours who ask questions. Friends who listen. Mosques that know their congregations. Churches that know their members. Schools that understand the economic circumstances of families. Employers who treat workers with dignity. Government programmes that reach the vulnerable before they fall through the cracks. And families that teach children both ambition and responsibility.

We Cannot Save Everybody, but We Can Notice Somebody

There is a painful question behind yesterday's tragedy: What if somebody had intervened early enough? What if the friend who heard his problem had immediately gathered two or three people? What if the mosque had an emergency welfare fund? What if somebody had said, “Do not worry, we will help you solve this problem first, and then we will sit down and discuss how you will repay or manage it”? What if there had been a community mechanism for temporary assistance? We will never know. And perhaps that is the most painful part. Because sometimes people do not need somebody to solve their entire life. They need somebody to help them survive today. Tomorrow can be dealt with tomorrow.

There is always a Place to Start

I have lived long enough to know that life can change. At 19, I did not know that I would eventually work at a university library. I only knew that my father had retired and times were difficult. So I started somewhere. That is what I want young people to understand. If university is available and appropriate for you, pursue it. But if university is not immediately possible, life has not ended. Learn something. Work somewhere. Apprentice. Repair phones. Sew clothes. Build houses. Cut hair. Fix cars. Install electricity. Weld metal. Farm intelligently. Process food. Learn computers. Sell something. Start small. And keep moving. Your first occupation does not have to determine your final destination.

But while telling our young people to work hard, let us also build a country where hard work has a fair chance of producing dignity. Let us build safety nets that catch people before they fall. Let us build communities that notice people before they disappear. And let us build a culture in which asking for help is not a humiliation. Because yesterday's tragedy should not simply leave us asking why one man died. It should leave us asking: How many people are currently carrying burdens they cannot carry alone? And perhaps the most important question of all: Who is standing close enough to notice?

A pensioner called me after reading one of my articles advocating for pension reforms. We spoke for more than thirty minutes. At the end of the conversation, he said something that stayed with me: “It has been a while since I spoke with someone for this long.” Why did our conversation last that long? Because the pensioner was not merely looking for information. He needed reassurance. He needed to know that there were people listening, that his concerns had not been forgotten, and that there were steps in the pipeline to improve the conditions of pensioners.

I gave him hope. I gave him every assurance I could that change is within reach and that the issues pensioners are raising cannot be ignored forever. People are desperate. People feel abandoned. People are stressed, worried and increasingly overwhelmed by the difficulties of everyday life. Sometimes, what a person needs most is not money or material assistance, but someone willing to listen and give them a reason to believe that tomorrow can be better. We must, therefore, do everything we can to keep hope alive.

And to those who have a penchant for luxury spending, perhaps it is time to pause and reflect. While some of us spend lavishly on things we can do without, there are others struggling to find relatively modest amounts to solve urgent and life-changing problems. Just GH¢6,000 was reportedly beyond the reach of one desperate person who saw no way out. Think about that. What may seem like a small amount to one person can mean the difference between despair and hope for another. Sometimes, what we spend casually could help keep another person going. You may never know whose life you can touch. You may never know whose burden you can lighten. You may never know when your generosity can save a life. So, as we pursue comfort and luxury, let us also remember those who are struggling to survive. Sometimes, saving a life begins with simply being willing to help.

FUSEINI ABDULAI BRAIMAH
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