Eric Nyarko was a small boy, just five years old, but he had a heart that beat with a dream bigger than all the hills that surrounded his village. The village of Aburi was peaceful, with its green trees and the soft hum of everyday life. There were no grand buildings or wide highways, but the people of Aburi had something far richer: stories. Stories that travelled through time, passed down from one generation to the next, full of lessons, joy, and sorrow.
Eric's favourite place to be was beside his grandfather. Every evening, as the sun began to dip behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the land, Eric would sit at his grandfather's feet. The old man's voice was a low, soothing rumble, and his stories were always about the past—about the days when Ghana stood strong, proud, and independent. How Nkrumah had spoken with such passion, how the people had fought hard for their freedom, and how the country had once been a beacon of hope for all of Africa.
But more than the stories themselves, it was the way his grandfather spoke of the future that made Eric's eyes light up. "Ghana, my son," his grandfather would say, tapping Eric lightly on the shoulder, "Ghana has greatness in her. It is there, in the soil, in the air, in the people. But we need leaders, strong ones, ones who can see it."
Eric would nod, his young mind absorbing every word, the dream growing bigger and bigger in his chest. He had never seen the streets of Accra, nor the grand buildings of Kumasi, but he had heard about them. He had heard about the gold and the wealth, about the strength of the people, and about the promise of a country that could lead all of Africa. And in his heart, Eric knew—he was meant to be part of it.
One evening, as his grandfather finished another story about the old days, Eric looked up at him with wide eyes, his small hands folded in his lap. "Grandpa, I'm going to make Ghana the greatest country in the world," he said, his voice filled with a quiet certainty.
Everyone around the fire went still. His sister Afia, who was sitting next to him, burst into laughter. "Eric, you're just a baby! What do you know about making a country great?"
But Eric wasn't fazed. He straightened his back, just like his grandfather had taught him, and said again, "I will. I'll make Ghana great again, just like Grandpa says. I'm going to do it."
His mother, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, smiled. She had heard Eric say many things before, but this was different. This wasn't just a child's innocent wish—it was a promise. "My son," she said, her voice soft but full of love, "you may be small now, but if your heart is true, you will grow to be strong. But remember, greatness doesn't come easy. You must learn, you must work, and you must serve the people."
Eric's eyes were as wide as the sky. He didn't know exactly how he would do it, but he knew it was possible. If Ghana could have been great once, it could be great again, right? The world had not forgotten the mighty days of independence, so why should it forget now? Why couldn't he be the one to bring it back?
That night, as he lay in bed, with the soft breeze drifting through the window and the sound of distant drums in the night, Eric made a vow to himself. "I will change Ghana. I will make it great, no matter what." His little heart beat with determination as he closed his eyes, dreaming of a country where every child had a chance, where every person could thrive, and where Ghana would stand proud once more.
And from that moment on, Eric Nyarko was not just a boy from Aburi. He was a boy with a vision—a vision that would one day change the course of his country's future.