26/03/2026
“The Equity Innovation Dialogue”
AngloGold Ashanti at Iduapriem engaged me (Mary Tobbin Osei) to facilitate a discussion during the International Women's Day celebrations. I was fascinated by the name they gave to the event – “Equity Innovation Dialogue”.
International Women’s Day.
In the past, it meant speeches, matching clothes, and polite applause. A day to celebrate, yes, but also a day where the real conversations hid behind smiles.
But this time felt different.
When I stepped into the room, I could already sense it. The chairs were arranged in circles, not rows. No podium. No long speeches waiting to happen. Just a group of staff members representing all departments in the mine —men and women—facing each other.
I greeted them with a message of hope for the women, wishing them a happy International Women’s Day. I began the session with a clear message, in a calm but firm voice, “Today, we’re not here just to celebrate women. We’re here to solve – yes, identify practical solutions.” I noticed the spark in the women's eyes and the calmness everywhere among the men. At that moment, I sensed something shift.
The conversation on what International Women’s Day is about was enlightening; the historical antecedents that led to its establishment were heartwarming to discuss. Leading men and women in such a male-dominated profession to share their understanding of gender and equity was intriguing.
There came the time for the real conversation, gender equity in the mining industry. They all knew the truths; they lived them, but saying them out loud felt like stepping into dangerous territory. Then one of the engineers, a young woman I had seen around but never really spoken to, broke the silence.
“The PPE doesn’t fit,” she said.
It sounded simple. Almost too simple.
But then she added, “And sometimes… it feels like the job wasn’t designed for us at all.”
That opened the floodgates.
Stories poured out quietly at first, then louder, stronger. A lady geologist said with a calm but firm voice, “They say we are fragile, they deprive us of professional growth, in the name of protecting us”. Indeed, many of our male colleagues do not know that this is the practice of Benevolent Sexism. At first, I enjoyed it, saw it as an act of kindness, until it affected my promotion and career progression. A supervisor admitted he had reassigned women from field tasks because he thought he was “helping.” They shared experiences on health safety, workplace patriarchal culture, motherhood penalty, and many more.
The conversation on the business and operational case for gender equity in the mines was mind-blowing. I made it clear to all that establishing gender-inclusive workplaces in Ghana’s mining sector is no longer just about "doing the right thing. It is a strategic necessity for staying competitive, compliant, and profitable. It has financial and operational values. It improves ESG rating and reduces maintenance costs, and improves operational excellence. A nurse shared that in all her years of work in the mines hospital, she had never treated a woman for site or domestic injury.
“Not because women don’t work,” she clarified, “but because they work differently.”
I leaned back in my chair, listening.
For years, I had thought of these things as isolated issues. Personal experiences. But that day, I began to see the pattern in the system behind the silence.
They called it the “rock ceiling.”
Not glass because this wasn’t something you could see through. It was solid, heavy, and deeply embedded in the ground they walked on every day.
They talked about women leaving mid-career. About mothers forced to choose between their jobs and their children. About boardrooms where decisions were made without women at the table.
And then something unexpected happened.
The men didn’t withdraw.
They leaned in, they actively participated in the dialogue.
One of them, Kwame, a heavy machinery supervisor, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “So what you’re saying is… we’ve been part of the problem without knowing.”
No one attacked him. No one needed to.
Because for the first time, we weren’t blaming, we were dialoguing, we were building.
I divided them into groups and gave them a challenge: Fix it.
Not theoretically. Not someday. Now!
One of the groups tackled workplace safety.
They didn’t talk in abstract terms; they talked about boots that actually fit, changing rooms that offered dignity, and a space for mothers who needed to express milk without hiding in corners.
Another group focused on promotions.
“No more backdoor decisions,” someone insisted. “If I deserve it, I should see the path clearly.”
There was energy in the room, real energy. Not the kind that fades after applause, but the kind that feels like the beginning of something.
For the first time, the solutions were not coming from management.
They were coming from the staff, representatives of all departments.
By evening, the mood had transformed completely.
We gathered outside under the open sky for what they called “By the Fireside.” The air was cooler, the ground alive with music, laughter, and the crackling of firewood.
The HR manager sat there, holding a roasted maize cob, watching the flames dance as women stepped forward to share their stories. I facilitated the storytelling, pulling out the lessons in the midst of giggles and laughter.
One spoke about how she fought to be taken seriously as an operator. Another talked about losing colleagues, not to accidents, but to resignation, to exhaustion, to systems that didn’t bend. Many more spoke about how they made it to the top through hard work, resilience, and integrity.
But there was no bitterness in their voices, only strength, and something else, Hope.
I looked around at the colourful African fabrics, the dancing, the men clapping along, the women standing taller than I had ever seen them, and I realized something had changed.
Not just in the company, but in us.
Later that night, as the fire burned lower, in my concluding remarks, I reminded all present that “Equity is not about giving women an advantage, it’s about removing the obstacles we pretended were normal.”
Everyone stared into the embers, thinking about all the things we had accepted without question.
The silence.
The imbalance.
The quiet compromises.
And for the first time, it was clear that everyone felt something rise inside them.
Responsibility to fix it and reshape the workplace.
I’m grateful to the HR department of AngloGold Ashanti for this golden opportunity.
