In the ever-contentious arena of Ghana’s public procurement discourse, few issues ignite as much debate as sole-sourcing.
Yet, beneath the noise of partisan politics and public skepticism lies a critical national question: can strategic sole-source procurement be a tool for genuine economic empowerment?
Recent discussions surrounding the award of 44% of the government’s flagship “Big Push” road projects through sole-sourcing have once again thrust this question into the spotlight.
While critics have been quick to label the move as questionable, a more objective and measured analysis suggests that the initiative may, in fact, represent a bold and commendable effort to strengthen indigenous capacity within Ghana’s construction sector.
At the heart of the matter is a fundamental clarification: were all these contracts handed to a single entity, or were they distributed among multiple local contractors? If the latter holds true—as proponents argue—then the narrative shifts significantly.
Rather than signaling monopoly or abuse, it reflects a deliberate policy choice aimed at empowering Ghanaian businesses.
Sole-sourcing, alongside restricted tendering, is not an anomaly within global procurement practices. These methods are embedded within Ghana’s legal framework under the Public Procurement Act, 2003 (Act 663), as amended by Act 914 (2016).
Across advanced economies—from the United States to Europe and Asia—governments routinely deploy such procurement strategies, particularly in sectors requiring urgency, specialized expertise, or national strategic interest, including infrastructure, technology, and defense.
The real issue, therefore, is not whether sole-sourcing is used, but how it is used.
Criticism of the Road Ministry’s decision appears, in many respects, to be entangled in the familiar web of political inconsistency.
It is not uncommon to witness political actors vehemently oppose sole-sourcing while in opposition, only to defend it when in power—and vice versa.
This cyclical pattern underscores a deeper challenge within Ghana’s political landscape: the absence of consistent principles guiding public discourse on governance.
Equally concerning is the role of certain civil society organizations and think tanks, which, while ostensibly championing transparency and accountability, may inadvertently—or otherwise—fuel narratives that undermine local enterprise.
Cloaked in the rhetoric of “value for money,” some of these entities risk frustrating legitimate government efforts to build indigenous capacity, particularly when such initiatives threaten entrenched interests or external dependencies.
One cannot help but ponder: would there have been equal uproar if the same proportion of contracts had been awarded to foreign firms? Or is there an implicit bias that questions the capability of Ghanaian contractors to deliver on major national projects?
These are uncomfortable but necessary questions.
As citizens, the focus must shift from politicized accusations to substantive evaluation. Key considerations should include whether the contracts are competitively priced, whether due process was followed, and whether the contractors possess the technical capacity and track record to deliver durable, high-quality infrastructure.
Issues such as project timelines, financial integrity, and the absence of conflicts of interest must also be rigorously scrutinized.
If there is no evidence of overpricing, procedural breaches, favoritism, or misappropriation of funds, then the basis for outright condemnation becomes tenuous at best.
Indeed, strategic deployment of sole-sourcing can serve as a catalyst for economic transformation. By channeling a portion of government contracts—between 10% and 50%—to local firms, Ghana stands to gain.
