I nearly missed my chance.
That uncomfortable realisation hit me this week while scrolling through social media. Yet another photograph appeared on my screen: a distinguished Ghanaian proudly posing beside an award plaque so large it could easily double as a dining table.
The recipient was smiling. The organisers were smiling. The photographer was smiling. Even the plaque itself seemed to be smiling.
That was when panic set in.
Apparently, everyone in Ghana was receiving an award except me.
Ministers were receiving awards. CEOs were receiving awards. Public officials were receiving awards. Hardly a week passed without another glamorous hotel ballroom ceremony celebrating someone as Outstanding, Visionary, Transformational, Influential, Exceptional, Dynamic or Best Performing.
The titles became so abundant that I started wondering whether I had somehow missed a national registration exercise.
In fact, I was preparing to submit my application for the prestigious title of Most Consistent Taxpayer Under Emotional Stress when the Presidency unexpectedly stepped in and disrupted the entire enterprise.
According to reports, the Presidency advised ministers, chief executives and public officials to exercise caution before accepting awards from organisations whose credibility, assessment methods and evaluation processes could not be verified.
I read the statement once.
Then I read it again.
And suddenly it struck me that Ghana had arrived at a truly remarkable moment.
The government had found it necessary to remind grown adults to investigate who was praising them before accepting the praise.
Only in the Republic of Uncommon Sense could such a public reminder become necessary.
Now, let me be clear. I have absolutely nothing against awards.
Recognition has always been an important part of every civilised society. The best farmer deserves recognition. The best student deserves recognition. The best footballer deserves recognition.
Even the village palm wine tapper deserves recognition—provided he has not sampled too much of his own product before the judges arrive.
Recognition itself is not the problem.
The problem begins when recognition becomes more common than achievement.
Somewhere along the way, awards in this country started multiplying faster than mosquitoes after a heavy rainstorm. Suddenly, everybody became outstanding. Everybody became visionary. Everybody became transformational. Everybody became influential.
Everybody became exceptional.
If the trend continues, newborn babies may soon start receiving Future Leadership Excellence Awards before they learn how to crawl.
An elderly man in my hometown once observed that when every hunter returns from the forest claiming to have killed an elephant, either somebody is lying or the forest has become dangerously empty.
His words came back to me as I reflected on our growing national trophy collection.
Every recipient appears to be the best.
Every citation sounds like a nomination for sainthood.
Every ceremony claims to celebrate excellence.
Yet ordinary citizens continue asking uncomfortable questions.
Imagine a trader at Kejetia studying one of these award photographs in a newspaper. After examining it carefully, she looks up and asks:
“If all these people are best-performing, who exactly is responsible for the problems they are supposed to be solving?”
Before anyone can answer, a taxi driver listening nearby joins the conversation:
“And if everybody is the most influential person in Ghana, who exactly is being influenced?”
Those questions may be uncomfortable, but uncomfortable questions often reveal uncomfortable truths.
The truth is that genuine excellence exists in this country.
There are public servants delivering remarkable results under difficult circumstances. There are teachers transforming lives in classrooms every day. There are entrepreneurs creating jobs and opportunities. There are healthcare professionals working tirelessly to save lives.
Such people deserve recognition.
In many cases, they probably deserve more recognition than they currently receive.
But meaningful recognition depends on credibility.
A gold medal carries value because people trust the competition.
A university degree carries value because people trust the institution.
An award carries value because people trust the process that produced it.
Once that trust disappears, recognition gradually becomes decoration.
And decoration, however attractive, cannot build roads, improve hospitals, stabilise electricity supply or create jobs.
A plaque cannot fill a pothole.
A certificate cannot reduce traffic congestion.
A trophy cannot keep the lights on.
As I reflected on the Presidency’s intervention, another proverb came to mind.
When every rooster in the village is declared Bird of the Year, eventually even the turkey begins to suspect something is wrong.
Perhaps that is where we find ourselves today—not in a country suffering from a shortage of awards, but in one where awards have become so plentiful that government must occasionally remind people to verify the source before accepting them.
Perhaps the most important lesson hidden within this entire debate is that public performance should ultimately be measured by results, not plaques.
Roads do not improve because someone receives a trophy.
Hospitals do not function better because a chief executive poses beside a certificate.
Electricity does not become more reliable because somebody has been declared visionary.
Results must come first.
Recognition should follow.
Or, as our ancestors wisely taught us, the sweetness of the soup is not determined by the beauty of the ladle.
It is determined by what is inside the pot.