16/03/2026
THE DEMOLITION
Senam, I am 62 years old and I have been living with a secret for thirty years. I demolished a market and killed fourteen people. I paid people to make it go away. And I have never told anyone until now.
My name is Kwame. I am a successful contractor in Accra. I have built hospitals, schools, office buildings. I employ hundreds of people. I am respected in my industry. I sit on boards. I advise government officials. I am somebody.
But Senam, I am also a murderer.
In 1996, I was a young contractor trying to make a name for myself. I had just started my own company. I was hungry, ambitious, willing to do whatever it took to succeed. When a government contract came up to clear land for a new development, I bid aggressively. I got the job.
The problem was that the land was occupied. It was a market—a sprawling, chaotic, vibrant market where hundreds of women sold their goods. They had been there for decades. They had no legal title, no documentation, no protection. They were poor, powerless, invisible.
I was told to clear them out. The government wanted the land. The development would bring jobs, money, progress. The market women were standing in the way of progress.
I tried to negotiate. I offered them money to leave. They refused. I offered them alternative locations. They refused. They said this market was their home, their livelihood, their life. They would not go.
The deadline approached. The government was pressuring me. If I did not deliver, I would lose the contract, lose my reputation, lose everything I had worked for.
So I made a choice.
I hired men. Rough men. Men who did not ask questions. I paid them to go to the market at night and demolish the structures. I told them to be quick, to be efficient, to not hurt anyone. I told myself no one would be there at night. I told myself they would just destroy the empty stalls.
But Senam, some of the women slept there. They had nowhere else to go. They slept in their stalls to protect their