Ghost Emails: Ghana’s silent government inbox

Imagine sending an urgent message to your government, seeking answers on issues that directly affect your life, only to be met with silence. No acknowledgment, no answers — just a blank inbox.

That’s exactly where I found myself. As a media practitioner, I am no stranger to reaching out to public institutions in Ghana. Normally, a call to the public relations units of ministries like the Ministry of Health (MoH) or the Ghana Health Service (GHS) would yield a response. This time, I decided to try something new: using the official email addresses provided by these institutions. In an era where digital communication is supposed to make our lives easier, why not?

So, I crafted my questions and sent my emails. I waited. One day turned into two, two days into a week, and still—nothing. No response, no acknowledgment, just silence. Was anyone even there? Are these email addresses a façade, or worse, a ghost town?

A costly card

This digital dead end was only the beginning. Last month, I found myself at Kotoka International Airport needing a replacement for my vaccination card. I was directed to the Health Port, where I was informed that the fee for the card was GHC100. Simple enough, right?

But the nurse at the Health Port told me I’d need to pay GHC150 more—“for ink for writing.” Yes, you read that correctly. Suddenly, the total shot up to GHC250, nearly double what I paid for my entire vaccination at a local clinic. And the most disturbing part? No receipt was issued for any of it.

I left the airport fuming. How many travelers had faced this unrecorded, unofficial charge? Determined to find answers, I turned once again to the Ministry of Health. I drafted a detailed email explaining my experience and sent it, hopeful for a response. Days passed. Silence. Not even an automated reply.

A lost opportunity

Not long after, I received an invitation that would have been the opportunity of a lifetime. The African Group of Negotiators Experts Support (AGNES) extended an offer for me to attend COP29, a global conference focused on climate action and gender inclusivity—issues close to my heart. But there was a catch: I needed official accreditation from my home country, Ghana.

After consulting colleagues, I learned that the Ministry of Environment, Science, Technology, and Innovation (MESTI) was responsible for issuing the necessary accreditation. I immediately sent an email to MESTI, carefully outlining my request and the importance of this opportunity.

And then… I waited. Days went by, my excitement slowly giving way to frustration and disbelief. Here was my chance to represent Ghana on a global stage and to stand up for causes that matter deeply to me. But without accreditation, that door would slam shut. And as my message sat unanswered, it felt like that door was already closing. Was anyone on the other side of these official email addresses at all?

The void of accountability

In Ghana, we hear a lot about digitalization, about bringing our government into the 21st century with technology that promises a more transparent, connected nation. But what good is digital access if there’s no one to respond? These email addresses, supposedly set up to bridge the gap between citizens and government, seem to lead to a dead end.

Elsewhere, you might send an email to a government agency and receive an immediate acknowledgment—an automated response at the very least, assuring you that someone will follow up. Here, the silence only grows louder, a resounding reminder of the gap between promise and reality. These ghostly inboxes raise a critical question: are Ghana’s public institutions genuinely listening, or are they hiding behind the screen of digitalization?

Who will answer?

As a nation, Ghana cannot afford this failure of communication. Every unanswered email chips away at the trust we place in our public institutions. Citizens deserve answers, transparency, and the assurance that someone, somewhere, is paying attention. The silence is more than an inconvenience—it’s an obstacle to progress, an affront to accountability.

So, I ask: who will finally break this silence? How many more emails must go unanswered, how many more citizens are left in the dark, before our institutions realize that the people they serve are waiting?

In the end, this isn’t just about a few lost emails—it’s about the principle of public service, about the integrity of our government, and about the voices that deserve to be heard. It’s time for Ghana’s public institutions to wake up and listen. Because if they won’t, then who will?