A Journey Begins
Excitement and anticipation filled the air as the WEE-Ghana team geared up for their field data collection exercise — a journey that would take them through Juaben in the Ashanti Region, Zabzugu in the Northern Region, and Effia Kwesimintsim in the Western Region to uncover the real stories behind women’s economic empowerment. The mission was simple but profound: to listen, learn, and document the lived experiences of women whose daily hustles form the backbone of Ghana’s economy, and to gather evidence to inform gender-responsive policies that help women access finance, grow sustainable businesses, and gain greater control over their economic choices.
The roads that lay ahead were not always kind — some smooth, others riddled with potholes, yet others complete dirt roads with sudden bends. But each stretch carried a story waiting to be told, and every stop along the way revealed the incredible energy of Ghanaian women who keep local economies alive, often against the odds. At each stop, the field came alive with stories — some candid, others layered with emotion and quiet strength. One thing, however, stood out clearly: policies designed to be gender-neutral can sometimes overlook the very inequalities that hold women back.
Juaben — Where Policy Meets Practice
In Juaben, the team began with courtesy visits to the district coordinating director and the head of agriculture, setting the stage for collaboration with local authorities. But beyond the formal introductions, the conversations in the field revealed something deeper — how policies designed in Accra translated into real life for women navigating daily economic struggles.
For instance, women agro-processors spoke about access to credit schemes that existed on paper but remained out of reach in practice due to collateral requirements and high interest rates. “The banks say the money is there,” one processor explained, “but when they ask for documents or land papers, that’s where we stop.”
Discussions also touched on the limited reach of agricultural extension services. Several women noted that training and support programmes often targeted male farmer groups, leaving women to rely on informal networks for advice and inputs. “Sometimes we only hear about a government programme after it’s already ended,” one farmer remarked.
What emerged from Juaben was a clear picture of the policy gap — good intentions at the top, but weak translation on the ground. Yet, amid these gaps was also hope: local leaders expressed willingness to explore community-based initiatives that could bridge these divides and better align government interventions with women’s realities.
Zabzugu — Chiefs, Conversations, and Care
In Zabzugu, the team was welcomed with kola nuts and blessings from a local chief — a cultural gesture that signalled acceptance and goodwill. As they wrapped up the meeting, clouds gathered quickly overhead. The chief smiled and said it was a good omen — “Rain means the project will succeed.” Moments later, the skies opened, and the team found themselves sprinting through the downpour — a perfect metaphor for fieldwork: unpredictable, humbling, and full of meaning.
Zabzugu — Roads, Resilience, and Realities
The team facilitated focus group discussions (FGD) that revealed both the struggles and aspirations of those making a living in rural communities. In Nakpalli, the men’s FGD highlighted how poor road infrastructure continues to erode farmers’ profits. “When buyers know your crops will rot before they reach town, they offer you whatever they want,” one participant said, summing up the frustration shared by many yam and soybean farmers.
Better road networks, they argued, would not only cut post-harvest losses but also attract buyers and improve farmgate prices — a policy intervention with the potential to transform rural livelihoods.
But the conversation took an unexpected and revealing turn when the topic shifted to women’s work. While there was a clear appreciation among the men that supporting their wives with childcare could lift a significant burden, their motives for providing this support varied. For some, it was a personal choice—a valued opportunity to bond with their children. For others, it was a point of pride, an integral part of their identity as a responsible father and head of the household.
“When you see your wife struggling to get the children ready and also prepare for her own business, you cannot just sit,” one farmer explained. Another noted, “I make sure the children are bathed, dressed, and I walk them to school. It is my responsibility to see that they start their day well.”
However, this support had a clear boundary. When it came to the domain of domestic chores—cooking, cleaning, and washing—their interest faded. “That one… that is not our place,” another man stated, a sentiment that was met with nods of agreement. “We help with the children, yes. But the housework is her responsibility.” This nuanced picture highlighted a critical, everyday reality: progress in sharing the care burden is often piecemeal, and the “women’s work” of maintaining a home remains a deeply entrenched frontier
This persistent imbalance was brought into sharp, undeniable focus, at Kukpalugu, during a visit to a local seamstress’s shop, —a space that should be a hub of productivity but was instead a stage for a constant juggling act. As her sewing machine hummed, her young children were right beside her. Her attention was divided stitch by stitch—one moment on the fabric, the next on a child needing comfort or correction. Here was a woman, the owner of her own enterprise, whose productive potential was visibly halved by the lack of affordable childcare. An eight-hour workday became, in practice, just three or four hours of actual paid work.
This single, powerful image—re-echoed in our team’s analysis—crystallised a central finding: the economy of care is inextricably linked to the economy of cash. When childcare or care work is a private burden rather than a public service, women’s businesses struggle to grow.
Their stories underscored how policies on infrastructure, transport, and care services are deeply interconnected — and how coordinated planning that recognizes this reality could empower both men and women to thrive.
Effia Kwesimintsim — The Bridge, the Divide, and LEAP
It was bright and early in the day when the team arrived in one of the communities within the Effia Kwesimintsim municipality to begin their fieldwork. They met with local representatives to understand how governance and service delivery work at the community level. What followed was a candid, eye-opening conversation about how local governance actually unfolds on the ground — the everyday negotiations between residents and duty bearers, and the gaps that sometimes widen despite good intentions.
“They meet regularly with the EKMA team,” one of them explained. “It’s meant to be about listening to our needs — but most times, it feels like we have our say and the assembly has its way.”
It was a statement that hung heavy, summing up the delicate balance between citizen participation and institutional power. Still, residents here have learned to negotiate for what matters most. Take taxes, for instance: “We told them you can’t collect taxes from people who barely make enough to survive,” one community leader shared. “So now, we pay in installments.”
Then came a moment of sobering reality. The local representative explained that officials are advised not to venture near the old part of town — not because of hostility, but heartbreak. The small wooden bridge over the River Whin, connecting the old and new communities, has become a symbol of both neglect and resilience. Narrow and unstable, it has claimed lives over the years, yet remains unrepaired despite repeated pleas.
For the people — especially traders and smallholder farmers — this isn’t just an infrastructure issue; it’s a barrier to opportunity. When roads and bridges fail, market access collapses, transportation costs rise, and perishable goods spoil before reaching buyers. What should have been a simple policy question of equitable infrastructure development has, in practice, become a quiet divider — shaping who gets to participate in the local economy, and who gets left behind.
That same disconnect between policy and lived experience surfaced vividly in conversations about the Livelihood Empowerment Against Poverty (LEAP) programme — a flagship social protection policy meant to cushion the most vulnerable. On paper, it promised relief; in practice, delivery seemed inconsistent. Many community members said they heard about LEAP disbursements through national announcements but rarely saw the impact locally.
“We hear about payments on TV, but they don’t reach us,” one participant shared, drawing nods across the group. Another added, “Even when they come, they are delayed, and by then, prices have already gone up.”
The frustration was palpable — not only about missed payments, but about what they represented: a system that recognised need yet did not holistically meet it. For many, LEAP symbolised a broader truth — that well-intentioned policies, without reliable follow-through, risk deepening rather than easing economic vulnerability.
Reflections
For the WEE-Ghana researchers, this field visit wasn’t just about data points or checklists. It was about understanding how national policies play out in the daily lives of ordinary Ghanaians, especially women. The stories from the field—from the struggle to balance care work with entrepreneurship, to the negotiations over local tax collection—bring two of our key policy areas into sharp focus: care policies and domestic revenue mobilisation.
What looks coherent on paper often becomes fragmented in practice. Each conversation revealed how the effectiveness of a policy depends not only on its design, but also on how it lands — how it is communicated, implemented, and experienced at the grassroots. These two areas alone show that where the policy pipeline falters, even the most determined effort can stall.
What’s Next?
As the dust settles on this leg of the journey, the team is now focused on connecting the dots — identifying patterns and weaving insights from the data collected across regions. Each finding brings them a step closer to the overarching vision: shaping gender-sensitive policy processes that can truly improve the economic fortunes of Ghanaian women.
This is just the beginning of the conversation. Follow the journey as it unfolds — for more voices, more stories, and more lessons from the field, connect with us online.
