Opinion

Burkina Faso’s tomato leap: A wake-up call for Ghana

Published

3 days ago

May 20, 2025

In West Africa, the humble tomato is more than just a kitchen staple—it’s a symbol of economic opportunity and vulnerability. So when Burkina Faso recently unveiled two state-of-the-art tomato processing factories in Bobo-Dioulasso and Yako with a third one under construction, it wasn’t just a win for their agricultural sector; it sent a clear message to neighbours like Ghana: the time for relying on others is over.

For years, Ghana has leaned heavily on Burkina Faso for fresh tomato imports, especially during the dry season. Our markets, from Bolgatanga to Accra, are flooded with tomatoes that travel hundreds of kilometers across the border, supplying urban demand that local farmers can’t meet consistently. This reliance, while convenient, masks a much deeper problem: our inability to fix the cracks in Ghana’s tomato value chain.

Now, with Burkina Faso prioritising domestic processing of its tomato harvest, the game is changing. Each of the factories in operation can process five tonnes of tomato paste per hour. That means more tomatoes will stay in Burkina Faso—processed, preserved and packaged—not loaded onto trucks bound for Ghana. And we will feel it.
Ghana is already one of the top importers of tomato paste in West Africa, spending millions of dollars annually on products primarily from Italy and China. Ironically, even the few locally processed tomato products are often made from imported tomato concentrates, simply reconstituted into tomato mix.

Ghana once had functioning tomato factories—in Pwalugu, Wenchi, and Nsawam. Today, most of them are dormant. Why? Inconsistent supply, lack of investment, poor infrastructure, and a fragmented approach to agribusiness development. Meanwhile, countries like Burkina Faso are building forward investing in farmer cooperatives, irrigation and processing plants that add value locally.

So, what happens next?

If Ghana doesn’t act fast, we risk being priced out of even the fresh tomato trade. Burkina Faso could soon sell us not just tomatoes, but tomato paste—and even that, we’ll struggle to produce ourselves. Our smallholder farmers will continue to suffer from postharvest losses, our food import bill will balloon, and our local industries will remain in limbo.

This doesn’t have to be our fate.

Ghana needs to treat this as a turning point. We must:

• Reinvest in sustainable tomato processing infrastructure and link them directly to farmer cooperatives.
• Scale up innovative preservation technologies like solar drying at the community level.
• Support local farmers with irrigation, inputs and guaranteed markets.
• Encourage public-private partnerships to de-risk agribusiness investments.

Burkina Faso has done its part—now it’s our turn. The tomato trade isn’t about agriculture; it’s about sovereignty, jobs and food security. We cannot afford to keep importing what we can grow, process and package ourselves.
Let’s not wait until the tomatoes stop coming.

Dr Mavis Owureku-Asare, the writer is a food scientist, CEO of Impact Food Hub and advocate for agribusiness transformation in West Africa.
Email: [email protected]

Related Topics:Burkina Faso Dr Mavis Owureku-Asare Ghana Toamto

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A LETTER TO GES

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Opinion

A LETTER TO GES

Published

2 weeks ago

May 8, 2025

AladdynKing

By: Ebetu ThePoet(0540565239)
(18: 04: 2025)

Dear Ghana Education Service,
May peace find you at your desks,
May strength walk with your every endeavour,
And may wisdom light your path in these testing times.
I remember your footprints, deep and long
Carved since the days of Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah,
When your touch shaped boys into men,
And girls into women of purpose.
For this, I bow my head in thanks.

But with respect, I seek your listening ear.
Permit me, to lay bare before you
The bleeding wound of indiscipline
In the heart of our schools
Where structure once stood, chaos now dances.
Where future leaders are moulded,
The mould is cracking.
And the rot is seeping deep,
Deeper than chalk can write.

Let me take you back
To the time when school was school.
When teachers’ glance was instruction,
And their words, law.
When children stood at the mention of “Good morning, Sir,”
And sat only with permission.
When the cane was not a weapon,
But a compass pointing to better ways.
When a teacher’s pocket was empty,
Yet his soul was full
Full of pride, purpose and prestige.
When GES stood firm behind the teacher,
And the home held hands with the classroom.

So, what has changed?
What turned the chalkboard into a battlefield?
What clipped the wings of teachers
And handed them shackles instead?
What made the student a law unto themselves?
Today, students walk into class
With hearts full of contempt
And hands trained not for pens,
But for attack.
Have you heard of the O’Reilly incident?
The stabbed eye?
The blinded child from the Adventist gunshot?
These are not tales, GES
These are screams muffled beneath your silence.

What would you do
If the bleeding eye was your son’s?
If the blinded girl was your daughter?
If the trembling teacher was your spouse
Held hostage by a law meant to protect
But now protects wrongly?
If your own child sat in a classroom
Where fear teaches louder than the curriculum,
Would you still fold your arms?

Why have you kept the pockets of teachers mute,
And worse: stripped them of their voice?
Why is discipline now a taboo
And correction a crime?
Are we building a future or a facade?
Is this the education we fought for?
Where a teacher dares not shape a child,
And a child dares everyone?

We remember the days of Mensah and Dede,
When school was more than books
It was a village shrine of values,
Where children were shaped into gold.
Where the teacher’s word mended homes,
And the school served the nation
As both a wellspring of wisdom
And a fortress of discipline.

GES, I write not to condemn
But to cry out.
The soul of education is fading.
The fire is dim.
And if all hands do not rise now,
The taste of learning will sour forever.
Let us not wait until schools become tombs of silence
And classrooms, corridors of chaos.

The elders say, “If the drumbeat changes, the dance must too.”
The dance is dangerous now
And we must ask:
Will you change the beat?
Or shall we dance ourselves
Into darkness?

We call on all:
GES, parents, chiefs, lawmakers, citizens.
Let us act, and act now.
For if the tree of education dies,
What shelter shall Ghana’s future find?