Forex trading has quietly become one of Ghana’s most talked-about money conversations. From Telegram groups to campus hostels, everyone seems to know someone who’s “making dollars” from the market, and while forex trading can be profitable, it also carries serious risk, especially when people either trade without enough experience or hand their money over to others to trade on their behalf.
We spoke to four Ghanaians who shared their real-life experiences with forex, the wins, the losses, and the lessons they learned the hard way.
Mensah
In 2017, I was working a 9–5 in Accra that barely covered rent, transport, and food. Every month felt like survival math. Around that time, a close friend started posting screenshots of clean trading setups and small but consistent wins.
He introduced me to a trader who positioned himself as a risk-first professional. His pitch wasn’t aggressive. He talked about capital preservation, modest monthly returns, and the importance of patience. I started cautiously with GHS 8,000, money I could technically afford to lose, but hoped I wouldn’t. The first month ended with a 15% return, paid right on time. Second month? Same thing, and by the third month, I had withdrawn my profits twice and convinced myself this was different.
My confidence grew. I reinvested my profits and added more capital, pushing my total exposure to GHS 30,000. For the next few months, payments continued. Sometimes delayed by a few days, but always explained. Market conditions. Liquidity. Risk management. The words sounded reasonable.
Then the delays stretched. One month turned into two. Communication slowed. When I asked to withdraw my capital, I was told it was “currently deployed” and exiting early would cause losses, not just for me, but for everyone.
My GHS 30,000 never came back. What hurt most wasn’t just the money. It was the way I defended the decision to friends who warned me. That experience taught me a hard rule I live by now: if you can’t see it, control it, or explain it clearly, you don’t own it. You’re just hoping.
Kojo
I got into forex because everyone around me was already there. In 2019, forex investing had become normal on my campus and in my social circle. People weren’t talking about charts or risk. They were talking about payouts. Someone always knew “a guy” who was paying monthly returns. I didn’t want to be left behind.
I gathered my savings, which included money meant for rent, upkeep, and replacing my laptop, and invested GHS 25,000 with someone who promised 20% monthly returns. He spoke calmly and showed screenshots of payments he’d made to others. Within a month, I received my first payout. That payment changed how I thought.
I stopped seeing it as a risk and started seeing it as income. I rolled over my capital and encouraged myself by saying I was being smart, not greedy. A few weeks later, the explanations started. The trader said payouts would be slightly delayed because of “liquidity movement.” Then he admitted he had also invested our funds with another trader.
When the structure collapsed, everyone had a story. The trader I gave my money to had lost access to it. The trader above him had disappeared. The person at the top was briefly arrested and released. No one could explain where the money actually went.
I never recovered a pesewa. I tried again months later with friends, pooling GHS 15,000 from our weekly susu. The same thing happened; early returns, rollover, then silence. That was the moment I accepted that forex investing, as I was doing it, wasn’t investing at all.
Efua
I was careful. Or at least I thought I was. I was introduced to a forex trader through someone I trusted. I asked questions. I verified identity. I was shown a signed Memorandum of Understanding that outlined expected returns, timelines, and responsibilities. The promised ROI was 20% monthly, not outrageous, not suspicious.
I started with GHS 10,000. At month-end, I received my capital plus interest. It arrived on time. No chasing. No drama. That success made the next decision easier.
I increased my investment to GHS 25,000 and allowed it to roll over. Over the next few months, payments continued. Sometimes late, but always explained. Market conditions. Capital deployment. Risk management. The language sounded professional enough, but by December, I noticed inconsistencies. Updates were less detailed. Responses took longer. I decided to exit after the next payout.
I waited. A week before payment, the trader announced that capital was now “locked” and only interest would be paid for the next three months. I didn’t panic immediately because my account balance, on paper, had grown to over GHS 50,000.
That balance was fictional.
Interest payments never came. Capital never came. Communication stopped entirely. Today, I’ve received nothing back, not even my initial investment.
Yaw
Trust was the biggest currency in this investment. In 2018, I was introduced to an investment firm through a church connection. The firm had a physical office, staff, and proper registration documents. The CEO was a well-known lawyer and former judge. Nothing about the setup looked informal or risky.
Along with a few friends, we raised GHS 700,000 to invest. The promise was 50% ROI after four months. It was aggressive, but the credibility of the people involved made it feel safe.
March 2019 came. No payment. First, it was banking delays. Then, regulatory reviews. Then silence everywhere. While investors were chasing updates, the CEO completed construction on a large office building. Eventually, we learned the truth: only the CEO had signing authority on the company’s accounts. When he disappeared, the company ceased to function.
He left behind family, employees, and thousands of investors. Reports later suggested investor losses ran into hundreds of millions of cedis.
Conclusion
Forex trading in Ghana is not automatically a scam. The real damage has come from something else entirely, blind trust in people instead of systems, quiet greed disguised as “patience,” poor risk management, and a growing army of unregulated “investment managers” handling money with little accountability.
Across these stories, there’s a pattern: once you hand over money you don’t fully understand, control shifts away from you. At that point, the upside is advertised as shared, but the risk is entirely yours.
For those who want to grow their money without the stress, volatility, and trust issues that come with speculative trading, there are simpler options. Saving and earning in dollars transparently and without sleepless nights is a more sustainable path.
With Accrue, you can save in dollars and earn in dollars, without guessing, chasing traders, or hoping payouts come through.
Sometimes, the smartest financial move isn’t making more, it’s worrying less.
I’ve lived many lives, but one lesson ties them all together: money is only as powerful as its utility. Through my work, I share stories about money and create guides for Africans who want to get the best out of theirs.