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In Ghana, whenever a public institution announces overseas travel, two things immediately happen. First, passports begin to sweat with anticipation. Second, citizens begin to calculate.

The Driver and Vehicle Licensing Authority has reportedly secured approval for selected staff to travel to the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Germany to assist Ghanaians abroad with driver licence registration and renewal. On paper, it sounds like administrative modernisation with a boarding pass. Diaspora service. Global presence. Efficiency at cruising altitude.

But in Ghana, the drumbeat of travel always invites a dance of questions.

Now, let us ask with precision rather than passion. Yes, foreign licences can be used in many of these countries — but typically for a limited period. After that, conversion to a local licence becomes mandatory. Which means the benefit is real, but bounded. It serves short-term visitors and transitional residents, not permanent drivers navigating foreign highways indefinitely.

And that nuance matters. Because if the utility is temporary, then the scale of impact must be measured carefully. Otherwise, symbolism may grow larger than substance — and in Ghana, symbolism travels faster than policy explanation.

Nobody disputes the importance of the diaspora. Remittances have built houses, paid school fees, and kept family WhatsApp groups active. But governance, like fufu, is about timing. You do not serve soup before pounding the cassava properly.

Here at home, the Ghanaian experience with licensing has improved over the years, yes — but has it achieved such flawless serenity that we can now confidently export personnel? Are all district offices humming like well-tuned engines? Are biometric systems so seamless that customer frustration has retired permanently?

Because while domestic licensing systems occasionally cough like an old trotro on a cold morning, DVLA officers may soon be queuing at departure gates to Frankfurt.

One must admire ambition. But ambition without sequence can resemble a student applying for international exchange before passing the mock exams.

Then comes the delicate question — the one whispered in chop bars and typed carefully in group chats: what will be the criteria for selecting staff for this noble overseas assignment? Will it be merit? Performance metrics? Technical expertise? Language proficiency? Transparent internal competition? Or will it be that mysterious Ghanaian qualification known as “familiarity with the corridor”?

Let us not pretend history has not taught citizens to ask such questions. In our republic, whenever a suitcase appears in a public office, suspicion buys a ticket too.

To be fair, this initiative could genuinely ease inconvenience for some Ghanaians abroad. If structured properly, it may strengthen ties and reduce unnecessary travel home. But if communicated poorly, it risks becoming a masterclass in optics without order.

Public institutions thrive not only on action but on clarity. If domestic service consistency is still evolving, citizens may reasonably wonder whether we are exporting service before perfecting service.

And what of the economics? Who funds the airfare? Who pays accommodation? Will the fees collected abroad exceed the cost of deployment? Will domestic staffing suffer while officers travel?

These are not hostile questions. They are healthy ones.

Modernisation in 2026 is digital before it is aeronautical. Remote biometric systems, embassy-linked processing, secure digital renewals — these are the engines of reform. Flights are visible; infrastructure is transformative.

The deeper issue is trust. Ghanaians are not allergic to innovation. They are allergic to ambiguity. If the initiative is strategically sound, then publish the framework. Publish the selection criteria. Publish the cost-benefit projections. Publish the domestic performance benchmarks.

Sunlight is cheaper than damage control.

Because when citizens do not see the arithmetic, they invent it. And invented arithmetic rarely flatters the institution involved.

This is not an argument against diaspora service. It is an argument for sequencing. Reform must pass inspection before it clears immigration.

If domestic systems are stable, say so proudly. If digitisation is complete, demonstrate it boldly. If the programme is revenue-positive, publish the numbers confidently. And if staff selection is purely merit-based, let the process be visible enough that even the most suspicious uncle in the family WhatsApp group nods in reluctant approval.

In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, ambition is welcome. But ambition should first sweep the compound before booking the flight.

Until then, citizens will continue to ask — politely, hilariously, and persistently — whether this is service delivery… or service departure.