In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, the phrase “with immediate effect” has become the most feared line after “your momo balance is too small for this transaction.” Once a president whispers those words, even the most fortified office in the land begins to shake like a plantain tree in a Kumasi storm.
And so, Chief Justice Gertrude Araba Esaaba Sackey Torkornoo, our learned lady with the gavel, found herself escorted out of office not by bailiffs, but by grammar: “immediate and without delay.”
The Case of the Arusha Vacation
Former Attorney General, Ayikoi Otoo, now moonlighting as a constitutional defense lawyer for common sense, came out swinging:
“What wrong did the woman commit? She only asked to travel—vacation in Arusha, Tanzania! The officers themselves worked out her entitlement. You don’t audit a Chief Justice with a machete; you audit her with a calculator!”
To Ayikoi, the matter was as simple as beans. A Chief Justice is entitled to travel. You fill your form, state your destination, and the bureaucratic machinery calculates your per diem, flight, and allowances—sometimes faster than ECG calculates your light bills. If there was any excess, was that not why God created auditors?
But alas, calculators were abandoned in favour of political machetes. A five-member committee, chaired by Justice Gabriel Pwamang and powered by Domelevo’s stubborn pen, declared that what Torkornoo called vacation was in fact an “avoidable and reckless dissipation of public funds.”
For daring to carry her husband and daughter along on a holiday in 2023, the committee concluded she had converted the judiciary into a family travel agency. Ghanaians suddenly realised that per diem is not per day—it is per trouble.
The Charges: Like Exam Questions Without Marking Scheme
The committee rolled out its findings like WAEC questions, three in number:
- Unlawful Expenditure of Public Funds – authorizing travel expenses for her family members on holiday trips, including per diem.
- Abuse of Discretionary Power – the mysterious transfer of one Mr. Baiden, described as reckless as a trotro driver making a U-turn at Kaneshie.
- Interference in Judicial Appointments – seeking to bypass due process in nominating Supreme Court justices, much like skipping the queue at Auntie’s Waakye joint.
The verdict? Misbehaviour. And in the dictionary of Ghanaian politics, misbehaviour is worse than treason.
Mahama’s Pen vs. Article 146
Bound by Article 146(9), which gives the President no room to dodge, John Mahama had only one option. With a pen hotter than suya charcoal, he signed the Warrant of Removal. Just like that, Ghana’s Chief Justice was history.
Some say Mahama was only obeying the Constitution. Others argue he was obeying politics. But whichever side you choose, remember this Ghanaian proverb: “When two elephants fight, it is the Constitution that suffers.”
Public Square Wi-Fi Placards
No Ghanaian controversy is complete without the open-air University called the Public Square, where everybody owns a Wi-Fi placard and data bundles of wisdom.
- Camp A: “It’s politics! Every Chief Justice will be removed by new governments. I no be prophet, but I see the future clearly.”
- Camp B: “This is justice! She thought Mahama was her classmate. Off to Nogokpo she must go.”
- Camp C: “But didn’t Nana Addo use the same Article 146 to remove Charlotte Osei in 2018? Let us not pretend today is different.”
- Camp D (the kelewele philosophers): “Ei, Ghana. When goats took over Parliament, they only chewed grass. Now politicians chew the judiciary too.”
The debate was hotter than Nima waakye pepper.
Saints, Sinners, and Selective Justice
Consider this irony:
- One president receives a petition against the Chief Justice he himself appointed. He throws it into the dustbin, the same way Ghanaians throw away plastic after drinking sachet water. Case closed.
- Another president receives a petition against the same Chief Justice and polishes it with Article 146 until it glitters. Case opened, case pursued, case executed.
Who is saint and who is sinner? As my grandmother used to say, “When the drumbeat changes, even the cripple must adjust his dance.”
Yesterday, when Charlotte Osei was removed as Electoral Commissioner, NPP supporters clapped like church ushers. Today, when Torkornoo is removed, the same choir sings a dirge. Tomorrow, when power changes hands again, another Chief Justice will be carried away like a sack of charcoal at Kejetia.
Institutions in Ghana don’t fall—they are pushed.
From Supreme Court to Supreme Circus
Let us be honest. Chief Justice Torkornoo was not merely a judge; she was a political judge. When she once ruled that a birth certificate was not enough proof of Ghanaian citizenship, the public gasped. Imagine your father’s name, your mother’s name, and your hometown written boldly, and yet you are told, “Sorry, you are still stateless until you produce a passport.”
Her favorite phrase was, “the law is the law.” But now the law has spoken again, this time against her. In Ghana, the law is like a trotro mate: it shouts “last stop” whenever the driver—politics—decides.
Domelevo’s Dagger
The real shock for many was that Daniel Domelevo, former Auditor-General and saint of anti-corruption, sat on the committee. Ayikoi Otoo couldn’t believe it:
“I am surprised Domelevo was on it. We tendered evidence. He saw the judiciary travel policy. Yet he concluded misappropriation. Misappropriated what money?”
In Ghana, even saints occasionally hold daggers, especially when they sit on committees.
The Bigger Picture
This saga is not about Gertrude Torkornoo alone. It is about the future of our institutions. If every Chief Justice, Auditor-General, and EC Boss becomes a casualty of political convenience, then Article 146 is no longer a constitutional safeguard but a guillotine.
Today, it is Torkornoo. Yesterday, it was Charlotte Osei. The day before, it was Domelevo himself. Tomorrow, it may be another name we haven’t yet Googled.
The Republic of Uncommon Sense has perfected the art of recycling: not plastics, but institutions.
Moral of the Story
When a Chief Justice insists “the law is the law,” she forgets that in Ghana, politics is the law. And when presidents shout “immediate effect,” the Constitution becomes a mere footnote in the public square.
Ladies and gentlemen, let us not deceive ourselves. The judiciary is not blind; it only squints according to the colors of the party flag.
As for us citizens, we sit in the trotro of justice: the driver is politics, the mate is the Constitution, and we clutch our change, praying not to be dropped in the gutter.
And so, once again: “Immediate and Without Delay” has met Article 146. The Chief Justice is gone. Long live the Republic of Uncommon Sense.
Grab your copy of my book Once Upon a Time in Ghana: Satirical Chronicles from the Republic of Uncommon Sense on Amazon — because in this Republic, laughter is the only per diem we can all afford.