If a Ghanaian invites you to a gathering at 6 p.m., there is a good chance that 6 p.m. is not actually the time the gathering will start.
It is more of a suggestion.
A hopeful estimate.
A time placed on the invitation to give everyone something to aim for, knowing very well that most people will arrive whenever they are ready.
At 6 p.m., the venue may still be suspiciously quiet.
At 6:30 p.m., a few people have started arriving.
At 7 p.m., someone will call and say, “I’m on my way.”
They are not on their way.
They are still at home deciding what to wear.
And then there is the person who arrives at 7:45 p.m., walks in completely unbothered and asks:
“Has it started?”
No.
Because half the people invited have not arrived.
This is one of the most fascinating things about Ghanaian gatherings. We are somehow able to agree on a starting time without actually agreeing that the gathering should begin at that time.
The invitation may say 5 p.m., but everyone understands that the real time is somewhere between 6 and 7.
And if you are one of those rare people who arrives exactly at the stated time, you may find yourself sitting alone, wondering whether you misunderstood the invitation.
You didn’t.
You were simply early.
Sometimes, the problem is traffic. Accra traffic, especially, can turn a simple journey into an endurance test.
Sometimes, it is the rain.
Sometimes, someone is waiting for someone else before leaving.
And sometimes, there is no explanation at all.
The person is simply Ghanaian.
There is also the famous phrase: “I’m almost there.”
“I’m almost there” can mean anything.
It can mean five minutes away.
It can mean just leaving the house.
It can mean still bathing.
It can even mean the person has not decided whether to attend.
Yet we have somehow accepted this uncertainty as part of our social culture.
The funniest part is that organisers have adapted to it.
A programme may officially begin at 4 p.m., but the organisers know better. They schedule the important parts later because they know people will not arrive on time.
Food is rarely served immediately.
Speeches do not start immediately.
The guest of honour may not even have arrived.
Everyone is waiting for everyone.
And nobody wants to be the first person to start.
Perhaps that is why Ghanaian gatherings have their own unofficial clock.
There is the advertised time, and then there is Ghana time.
The advertised time is what appears on the invitation.
Ghana time is what everyone actually follows.
But maybe there is something deeper behind our relaxed relationship with time.
Gatherings in Ghana are rarely just about the event itself. They are about people. They are about conversation, greetings, catching up, eating, laughing and spending time together.
Nobody wants to rush through that.
Unfortunately, there is a difference between taking your time and wasting someone else’s.
When an event starts late, it is not only the organiser who loses time. Everyone who arrived on time does too.
Perhaps we need to get better at respecting the clock—not because punctuality is a foreign idea, but because other people’s time matters too.
Maybe one day, when an invitation says 6 p.m., we will actually arrive at 6 p.m.
And when that day comes, someone will probably look around the empty venue and ask:
“Ei, why is everybody early?”
And just like that, we will have a new problem.