Let me tell you a story from the Republic of Uncommon Sense…
Not long ago, a marriage walked into a courtroom. Sixteen years old. Fully grown. With children, assets, and a history long enough to fill several exercise books from Makola.
At the center of the matter were two familiar names now dancing across our timelines: Richard Nii Armah Quaye and Joana Quaye.
They did not start with plenty. Like most Ghanaian stories worth telling, they started with hope, hustle, and shared struggle. Somewhere along the line, a business was born—Quick Credit, now Bills Micro-Credit—and with it came success, expansion, and the sweet fragrance of prosperity.
Then, like many Ghanaian stories that begin with “we,” this one arrived at “I.”
The marriage ended. The matter went to court. And suddenly, love was no longer poetry—it became accounting.
Madam Joana, we are told, asked for what she believed reflected her contribution after years of building life and business alongside her husband. The figure that made social media sit up was said to be in the region of GH¢50 million.
The court, in its wisdom, took a deep breath… and landed gently at GH¢300,000, a portion of the matrimonial home, and two cars.
Ah.
From Accra to Adum, calculators began overheating.
But it was not just the numbers that caught fire—it was the philosophy.
The court reportedly reminded us that marriage is not an investment.
Now pause.
Because that statement entered Ghanaian airspace like harmattan dust—it settled everywhere.
Marriage is not an investment?
Then what have we been investing all these years? Time? Youth? Energy? Emotional capital? Or are those now classified as “non-performing assets”?
You see, in the Republic, we have a curious system of measurement. When a man builds wealth, we ask, “How much?” When a woman contributes to that journey, we ask, “Can you prove it?”
Receipts have become the new love language.
“Madam, kindly provide evidence of emotional support rendered between 2009 and 2017.”
“Also attach documentation for encouragement services during early business uncertainty.”
Because apparently, if it cannot be itemised, it did not happen.
There is an old proverb that says: the one who carries the mortar may not pound the fufu, but without the mortar, there will be no meal.
Yet in our Republic, when the fufu is ready, we invite the mortar to observe respectfully from the corner.
Now, let us be fair. The law is not a church service—it does not run on faith. It runs on evidence. And yes, there is wisdom in preventing marriage from becoming a marketplace where people enter with calculators and exit with dividends.
But there is also danger—great danger—in pretending that only money builds wealth.
Because if that were true, many successful men would have collapsed long before success arrived.
And then came another whisper from the bench—that Madam is still young, still capable of remarrying.
Ah!
So the future has now become compensation for the past.
In other words:
“Go and try again. This one was practice.”
My people, time is not a rehearsal.
Sixteen years is not a trailer. It is the full movie—with intermission.
And this is where the Republic must pause and think.
Because what we are witnessing is not just a divorce—it is a lesson being taught loudly to a watching generation.
Young men are learning: protect your assets.
Young women are learning: protect your evidence.
And young couples are quietly realising that love alone may no longer be sufficient documentation.
Very soon, wedding vows may need an upgrade:
“I take you to be my lawfully wedded spouse… subject to terms and conditions, supported by verifiable contribution logs.”
And somewhere in all this, the simple beauty of partnership is standing at the roadside, waiting for a lift that may never come.
So let me ask you, my good people of the Republic:
If marriage is not an investment…
Then what exactly have we been spending all this time doing?
