Sold out but broke– The event organiser’s dilemma

ON any given weekend in Ghana, your calendar could look like a playlist curated by a DJ with Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).

One minute, you’re being baptised by sea spray at a beach rave in Kokrobite, the next, you’re two-stepping to Highlife classics under fairy lights in Osu. 

Meanwhile, foodies are elbow-deep in jollof wars at a gourmet street fair in East Legon, while cinephiles queue up for a surprise movie premiere—complete with folding chairs and fan drama—in a Kumasi community centre.

And make no mistake: these events slap. 

The venues are packed tighter than a troski during rush hour. Ticket links get slapped with that sacred ‘SOLD OUT’ label, days before the show. Instagram stories drip with FOMO, while X buzzes with hashtags and hot takes. The energy? Immaculate. The crowd? Dressed to steal your crush. The organisers? Quietly Googling “how to explain financial loss to your mother.”

Welcome to the paradox of Ghanaian event planning: a parallel universe where vibes are up but bank accounts are down. You can trend nationwide, have a guest list featuring half of Accra’s influencers, and still find yourself sipping sachet water and regretting everything by Monday morning.

This is because behind the fireworks and fog machines lies a brutal truth—visibility doesn’t always translate to viability.

It’s a business model powered by love, hype, and hope—often at the expense of spreadsheets, budgets, and profit margins. 

After all, when your headliner shows up three hours late and still demands full payment, and your ‘sponsor’ sends vibes instead of cash, what’s an event organiser to do?

In Ghana, the party may be jumping—but the bottom line is often in freefall.

The Hype vs. The Math

First, let’s address the math—or more accurately, the lack of it. Many Ghanaian event organisers begin with passion and vibes, but forget that numbers don’t bend for hype. Selling out a 5000-seat venue at GH₵100 a head should theoretically bring in GH₵500,000. But the fantasy stops there.

Venue? GH₵100,000.

Sound and lighting? GH₵150,000.

Artistes fees? If you're lucky. GH₵200,000.

Promotion, permits, security, and the mysterious ‘miscellaneous’? GH₵100,000 easy.

Congratulations, you just spent GH₵550,000 to make GH₵500,000. And this is before people start asking for ‘media partner’ slots that cost you exposure instead of bringing you cash.

The Freebie Culture

Let’s talk about Ghana’s unofficial event tax: ‘Protocol.’ For every 100 tickets, 30 will mysteriously evaporate in the name of industry support, influencer goodwill, or uncle's second wife's cousin who "helped with the artiste plug." Ghanaian event organisers often give away enough tickets to fill a modest church crusade, all in the name of networking and loyalty.

 Spoiler: Networking doesn't pay venue bills.

Sponsorship Mirage

Everyone wants ‘sponsors’ but few understand how elusive they are. Brands in Ghana have become hyper-selective (read: risk-averse). They want ROI, visibility, alignment, and preferably the resurrection of their sales figures—all for GH₵5,000 and a few branded banners. Event organisers often bend over backwards to meet these demands, sometimes reshaping the event itself to suit a brand that won't even repost the flier.

 And when sponsors do come on board, the money rarely comes before the event. Picture this: you’re begging DJs for discounts while a sponsor sends you “We’re still processing” emails.

Artistic Ambitions vs. Budget Realities

Ghanaian event organisers are dreamers. They want LED screens, holographic dancers, imported smoke machines, and surprise celebrity appearances. This is admirable—but financially suicidal without matching revenue strategies. The desire to create an unforgettable experience often leads to overspending on production, underpricing tickets, and ignoring realistic budget forecasts.

You can’t host a Beyoncé-level experience on a ‘Kojo Antwi budget. Not unless Beyoncé’s lending you her tour bus too.

 A Lack of Business Structure

Many events are built like vibes-startups: friends come together with great energy and divide roles based on personality traits rather than expertise. (“Kwame is loud, so he’s in charge of PR.”) 

Few have proper event management training, fewer still have accountants, and almost none plan for tax implications, insurance, or contingency funds.

Without a profit model, even a successful event becomes a one-night stand with no long-term viability. You need systems, not just Spotify playlists.

 So, What’s the Fix?

It starts with a mindset shift: budget like a banker, dream like a DJ. Creativity is the soul of any great event, but it needs to be rooted in cold, hard numbers—cost before concept. 

Then there’s pricing. Stop underpricing. Too many organisers undervalue their work in a bid to fill seats. If your event is premium, the price should reflect that. Ghanaians will pay for value—but not for guesswork. 

Negotiate value, not just money. A sponsor who offers media reach, venue support, or distribution muscle might be more valuable than one who pays once and vanishes. 

And above all, professionalise the process. Get an accountant. Consult a lawyer. Write actual contracts. Track your returns. Romanticizing hustle culture won’t pay your MC. 

And lastly, limit free passes. ‘Exposure’ is not currency—at least not upfront—and your auntie’s neighbour really doesn’t need VIP access. 

End Thoughts 

The Ghanaian events industry is a goldmine wrapped in confetti—bursting with talent, dripping with passion, and backed by audiences who are more than ready to show up and show out. 

From DJs who can read a room like a therapist, to vendors serving banku with the same precision as gourmet chefs, the ecosystem is ripe. The potential? Astronomical. But here’s the catch: potential without structure is just vibes.

Until organisers start treating events like businesses—not Instagrammable flexes or weekend popularity contests—the vicious cycle of “Sold Out but Broke” will remain the unofficial slogan of the industry. 

A lit event should leave you glowing with profit, not glowing with anxiety when your momo account is -₵47.56 and you’re dodging vendors who still haven’t been paid.

Let’s be honest: shutting down an entire stretch of Accra with fireworks and fog machines means nothing if ECG still shuts off your lights on Monday. What’s the point of trending on X if your bounce-back budget is powered by “#God will provide”? 

Events can be beautiful, cultural, and profitable—but only if the people behind them stop chasing clout and start chasing sustainability.

The stage is already set. Now, it’s time to run the show like it’s worth something—because it is.