Vice Versa Global

Infrastructure is crucial to the development of Ghana. Yet these infrastructural projects are often compromised due to conflict, a reality often shielded from public eye. Disputes between contractors and state agencies, disagreements over contract terms, or misunderstandings around design specifications have long stalled critical projects.

A 29-year-old female cocoa farmer earning millions? For many, this sounds impossible. From an early age, children are taught to aspire for the same blueprint: excel in school, earn a degree, secure a white-collar job in an office, and climb the social ladder. To veer from this path often means carrying the stigma of failure. Agriculture, particularly rural farming, has long been viewed as unfashionable, and a backbreaking work, disconnected from notions of success and prestige.

Migration has become a defining feature of the African youth experience. For many, the decision to leave is shaped by a powerful confluence of forces: economic pressures and limited opportunities that push them outward, while the allure of possibility pulls them abroad. Yet, amidst this rising trend, one question lingers: what happens to home when its brightest minds are scattered across the diaspora? Is home still a thought that lingers in their hearts? What does it mean to leave and still belong?

If media had the potency to write with empathy, what different would it make in storytelling? I often wonder this, as I lay back observing the nuanced scope of media at play _from radio, TV, print, to contemporary media. The stories are being told. Questions are asked. Content is created at a staggering pace. Numbers amassed. But beyond this loud orchestra of production and the generic mandate we seek to fulfil, where is the voice? Where is the voice we so desperately swore to amplify?

By Roisa Kerry, Public Health Journalist No one should have to risk their life to cook a meal. Yet in Kibiko and Nalepo, kitchens double as smoke chambers, with indoor air pollution reaching deadly levels. This preventable crisis claims millions of lives each year, mostly women and children. Clean cooking is not a luxury; it is a basic right. Urgent action is needed to make safe, affordable stoves accessible to every household.

At just 16, Millicent Kpekpo Elikplim was just a teenager in Opokunsiah – Koforidua, a rural community in Ghana, yet she grappled with an all-too-familiar frustration: the exhausting ritual of starting a fire for cooking. Each attempt demanded scraps of rubber and paper, filling the air with choking smoke, and consumed the time she could scarcely afford to lose. Six years later, she has transformed that frustration into an enterprise.

Eight euros a week may sound modest, but for 100 women on Rusinga Island, the 100 Weeks programme Rusinga Island has unlocked freedom from exploitation, sparked thriving businesses, and reignited hope. The 100 WEEKS programme is more than cash—it is dignity restored, dreams rekindled, and a new generation of women building futures their mothers could only imagine. If you were given eight euros a week for one hundred weeks, would it transform your life?

In Kenya, faith is not fading, it is shifting. It is undergoing a quiet revolution led by Kenya’s youth reshaping religion in unexpected ways. Young people are turning belief into a shared blueprint for business, healing, and hope. They are not abandoning religion; they are rebuilding it. Praying, yes, but also saving, coding, mentoring, and mobilising; weaving belief into the fabric of everyday life. This is not blind devotion. It is strategic, interfaith, and boldly future-facing.

When a Muslim woman approached 33-year-old hairstylist Elizabeth Amonkwando with a request for braids, it posed an unexpected challenge that would ultimately transform her career. The client struggled with severe scalp issues, resulting in hair growth that was sparse and patchy. Furthermore, her religious beliefs prohibited the use of synthetic hair, which is commonly used to achieve intricate braid styles.

In much of the development sector, faith in development is often misunderstood—viewed as something to manage, reform, or avoid. But in many communities, faith is not a private matter; it is a living code of ethics. When respected, it can offer exactly what inclusive systems need: moral clarity, trust, and a deeper commitment to fairness that no algorithm can replicate. Ignoring it does not make systems more neutral, it just makes them blind to how people actually live and work.