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Keta under siege
The decision to live in Keta, was entirely mine. As a four-year old, I was put in the Queen Elizabeth Nursery in Koforidua. Papa would come get me in his black Morris with registration number AR 1429 when we closed. But there was a day Papa did not come for me and I decided to walk home because I knew the route. The nursery was behind the present GCB Bank building, but on getting to the main street in Koforidua there was no way a toddler would be minded to watch out for vehicular traffic, so I just had to walk across.
Then out of nowhere came a cyclist who knocked me off my feet and I reckon I might have landed with a thud. He was elderly in my estimation then and he picked me up and asked if I knew where I was going. I said yes and directed him to my home just about 150 metres away. It turned out my jawline was twisted from the impact and I had a big wound on my left foot.
I took quite some time to fully recover. Then the issue of going back to school came up. And that was when the rebel in me was woken up. To be knocked down again? Not me. Nothing would make me go to school; not even a ride on my granduncle’s black Chevrolet. Finally, I decided that if I was to go to school I would prefer to go live with my maternal grandparents who I had visited at Peki with Mother a couple of months earlier. It turned out that Grandpa Demanya had retired and had relocated to Keta.
That was how, sometime after Ghana’s independence in 1957, I arrived in Keta. As to whether it was easy to get me to go to school again is for another edition. But I did go finally. We lived very close to the main arterial road in the town, just a kilometre and half or so to the East of Fort Prinsensten, built by the Danes in 1784. The sea was about two kilometres south of our home. Grandpa forbade us children from going to the beach by ourselves.
Keta simply means vast land of sand. When the Danes built Prinsensten it was very close to the ocean because it was good for trade and shipment of slaves across the Atlantic. With time the sea receded leaving sand behind for a few kilometres. Over decades the people started building houses on the sand. I remember Grandpa saying at a point that the sea might one day come to reclaim its sand. Prophetic, if you asked me.
One day in November of 1961, I went to school as usual and when I got home for lunch, I saw my grandmother waist-deep in water trying to salvage the cooking pots that were floating on the water. The ducks we had in the house were having a field day on the water. Our goats and a couple of fowls were saved earlier; the building broke in two with the southern end tilted into the sea. As a nine-year old I had no appreciation of the magnitude of the problem.
All our belongings were packed by the side of the road where the whole family spent the night. It was a moon-lit night so we knew where everyone was as we awaited the break of dawn. School was on my mind at daybreak, but Grandpa got a Bedford truck to load the eight-member family and our belongings to the landing of the Keta Lagoon near the main Keta market where we were loaded on to a canoe that was to take us to our hometown of Anyako where I was to spend the next six years in basic school.
Just last week, the tidal waves struck the coastal areas one more time. And during the week I heard people make all manner of analyses of the situation. I overheard one person described as an expert postulating that the people of the area relocate. Ghana’s media landscape has become one giant avenue for people who know next to nothing carrying themselves as experts in areas they have little knowledge about. And there are equally illiterate people behind studio microphones who have no interviewing techniques asking very silly questions.
This posture is akin to asking the people of Louisiana, Texas, Florida, Alabama and other southern states in the US to relocate because of the annual hurricanes that assail those areas. Even in the great America,no one suggests to the people to relocate. Simply put, they do not run away from nature. They manage to live with nature. How have we as a people managed our coastal erosion?
Keta has become a strip of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the Lagoon named after the town. If nothing is done about saving the coast from further damage and the sea washes Keta, and its environs along the coast and hits the Lagoon, almost all towns around the Lagoon will be consumed by the sea. Seva, Anyako. Aborlorve-Nolopi, Afiadenyigba, Atiavi, Alakple and, indeed, 90 per cent of Anlo will vanish from Ghana’s map.
I remember some iron planks were used back in those days as a barrier between the sea and land. Now I realise that they were not effective for long because the engineers overlooked or underestimated the salinity of the ocean. The salt gnawed at the metals rendering them useless. With Polar Ice melting fast as a result of climate change, thus increasing sea levels, our situation can only get worse.
A comprehensive, yet quick action is needed to tackle this phenomenon. We can learn from how the United States deals with hurricanes. Better still, Cuba will be ready to teach us how they do it, willy-nilly. All we need is a responsible leadership to the needs of all our people. The “can do” spirit is all that is needed. Tackling issues of national importance is not a cold intellectual process.
Writer’s e-mail address
akofa45@yahoo.com
BY DR. AKOFA K. SEGBEFIA
Walk into any supermarket in Accra, Kumasi, or Tamale today, and you will see the modern Ghanaian diet packaged as ‘progress.’ You will see breakfast cereals with cartoon mascots, fruit drinks that are mostly sugar and colour, and snacks promising energy and happiness in bright fonts.
Even products loaded with salt and unhealthy fats often wear a health halo labeled as fortified or natural, while the real nutritional risk is hidden in tiny print on the back. This is not just a consumer inconvenience; it is a public health blind spot. Ghana is living through a silent surge of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension, diabetes, and stroke.
These conditions quietly drain household income and steal productive years. According to the Ghana Health Service (GHS) and World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates, NCDs are now responsible for nearly 45 per cent of all deaths in Ghana.
We cannot build a healthy nation on a food environment designed to confuse people at the point of purchase. Ghana must mandate simple front-of-pack warning labels (FOPWL) on high-sugar, high-salt, and high-fat packaged foods because consumers deserve truth at a glance, and industry must be pushed to reformulate.
Why Back-of-Pack Labels Are Not Enough
In theory, consumers can read nutrition panels. In reality, most Ghanaians shop under pressure, limited time, rising prices, and children tugging at their sleeves. The back label is a relic that requires a high cognitive load to interpret—essentially, the seller knows what is inside, but the buyer cannot easily tell.
This ‘information asymmetry’ is not fair. It is not consumer choice when the information needed to choose well is deliberately difficult to find.
Simple warning labels like the black octagons used in the Chilean Model act as a ‘stop-and-think’ nudge. They do not ban products but they simply tell the truth so people can decide.
Reshaping Our Food Environment
A generation ago, Ghana’s meals were mostly home-prepared, like kenkey and banku with soups and stews. Today, ultra-processed foods have become the norm, especially in urban areas. Children are growing up with sugary drinks and salty snacks as everyday items, not occasional treats.
If Ghana is serious about prevention, we must act where decisions are made—thus, the shelf. Warning labels protect parents from sugar traps and pressure the market to improve. When warning labels are mandatory, manufacturers start to compete to make healthier recipes to avoid the stigma of the label.
Addressing the Pushback
Industry will argue that labels create fear or that education alone is enough. However, health education is slow; labels work immediately. While the informal street food sector is a challenge, regulating pre-packaged goods is the practical starting point because the supply chain is traceable. We cannot wait until the whole system is perfect; we must start where action is feasible.
A 2026 Implementation Roadmap for Ghana
To move from talk to action, Ghana needs this 5-step plan:
- Issue mandatory regulation: The Ministry of Health, Food and Drug Authority (FDA), and Ghana Standards Authority (GSA) must define the label format and nutrient thresholds for all pre-packaged foods.
- Simple, bold symbols: Use plain language and clear symbols, such as “HIGH IN SUGAR,” designed for busy families, not experts.
- Transparent thresholds: Adopt technically defensible standards adapted to the Ghanaian diet.
- Transition and enforce: Provide a 12–18 month period for manufacturers to reformulate, followed by firm enforcement at ports and retail centers.
- National literacy campaign: The Ghana Health Service must pair labels with public messages explaining why high salt or sugar increases disease risk.
Conclusion: Truth Is Not a Luxury
Prevention is cheaper than treatment. A warning label costs little compared to the price of dialysis, stroke rehabilitation, or lifelong diabetes complications. A black octagon on a box of biscuits is more than a label; it is a shield for the health of all Ghanaians. It is time to put the truth where we can see it, right on the front.
By Abigail Amoah Sarfo
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Natives of the Kenkey Kingdom were mad with joy. They were still recovering from the hangover of the kingdom’s loss of the African Cup when their spirits were rekindled. Their great warrior, Zoom Zoom, stormed Melbourne and made sure that every Australian refused food. And that was after he had drawn contour lines on the face of their idol, Jeff Fenech.
Not only did the terrible warrior transform Old Boy Jeff’s face into a contour map useful for geography lessons, but he also accomplished the feat of retaining the much-envied super-kenkeyweight title against all odds. The warrior had not been eating hot kenkey for nothing.
The Fight Against Fenech
When Jeff Fenech bit the dust in the eighth round, I was tempted to consider if Adanko Deka could not have faced him in any twelve-rounder, title or non-title bout. Adanko has improved tremendously, and soon he would be facing Pernell Whitaker.
Sincerely, I was pessimistic about Azumah’s man, who the last time took him through twelve grueling rounds of rough boxing. I expressed my fears to my colleague Christian Abbew, alias Gbonyo, who surprisingly had total confidence that the Australian brawler would fall, predictably in Round Five.
Gbonyo gave reasons for his contention, all of which I counteracted using the age factor. Fact is, I didn’t know that contrary to the laws of nature, Azumah was all the time growing younger.
When Fenech fell briefly in round one, I asked my brother whether it was the same Fenech that fought Azumah in Las Vegas. Sure, it was the same Fenech, all out to beat Azumah before his countrymen.
But the African Professor had no intention of making the Australian a hero. As he spun round the desperate Aussie, dancing and stinging out his jabs, it was not too long before I realized that the end was near.
The Eighth Round Showdown
Two minutes into the eighth round, the African ring-master proved to the whole world that he was a true son of Bukom. He himself was cornered, but like the tough nut he is, he managed to break free before overwhelming the panting Australian with several blows that made him crash headlong.
Moments after, the referee, expressing fatherly sympathy, stopped the fight to prevent an obituary. After the ordeal, Fenech’s fairly handsome face was full of newly constructed hills, valleys, ox-bow lakes—whatever. I noticed that his nose was very tired and had a miniature volcano sitting restlessly on it. Obviously, Jeff’s wife will have to nurse that nose back to its normal shape—but I’d advise her not to use iodine, otherwise her dear husband will wail like a banshee.
Reflections on Boxing
Because Mohammed Ali was the kind of boxer kids liked, many school-going kids often entertained the wish of becoming like him. I remember one day when I told my father I wanted to become a boxer, and he advised me to first complete my education to the highest level. Then, if I decided to become a boxer and was knocked out a couple of times, I’d fall back on my degrees and make a living.
Boxing used to be interesting when bouts were fought more with the mouth and tongue than with gloves. You had to brag well, psychologically belittling your opponent before beating him up physically. Mohammed Ali became a very successful pugilist because he also managed to become a poet. He often blew his horn across America, calling himself the “pretty boxer” and opponents like Joe Frazier “the gorilla.”
Ali made a living fighting hard fists like Joe Frazier, Ken Norton, Jerry Quarry, George Foreman, Leon Spinks, and Trevor Berbick. Twice he came back from retirement to fight just for money. It was Larry Holmes who finally pensioned him, and since then the great Ali has never been himself.
The Path Ahead for Azumah
When Azumah nailed Jeff Fenech on the cross and barked almost immediately that he was after the head of Pernell Whitaker, I was happy but concerned. I would have been happier if he had announced his resignation there and then—he would have been more of a hero. Beating Fenech in Australia is more newsworthy than facing Whitaker in the States.
With Whitaker, it might be a little difficult. The “Sweet Pea” is agile, has a crooked body like a snake with diarrhea, and stands awkwardly as a southpaw. He is known for having the fastest pair of fists and the rare ability to dodge punches no matter how close they may be.
Much as I do not doubt that Azumah can take his title, I also don’t want him to retire beaten. I want him to retire as a hero and live a fuller, healthy life.
As Azumah himself said after dishing Fenech, he is now a professor and has something to show for it. Like a true professor, I think it is time he resigned and took up training young talents who could draw inspiration from him and become like him in the future.
Closing Thoughts
I must say that although ageing boxers like Larry Holmes and George Foreman are making a name for themselves, boxing is not like the Civil Service, where you can even change your age and retire at 74. Zoom Zoom has delighted the hearts of the natives, and Sikaman will forever hold him in high esteem—but only when he retires as a hero.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 7, 1992.
