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The saga of being Ewe… (Part 4)
In this penultimate episode in the series I intend to address the Ewe directly. The final part will delve into the Komfo Anokye narrative.
I am accused of being a de-tribalised Ewe. To this, I plead guilty as charged. It is true I have more friends and acquaintances from other ethnic groups than from Ewe. It is not deliberate I drifted towards others in my professional career as I worked outside of Ewe land.
Apart from English, which is our official language, how often do you come across an Akan, Ga-Dangbe or Dagomba speaking another language other than their own among themselves? Virtually none. But it is common to see the Ewe speaking Twi, Fante, Ga among themselves. It beats my mind.
It is understandable if they are born out of mixed marriages where the choice is obvious. Sadly, a good number of my own siblings and cousins speak other languages among themselves. Because of this their own children follow in their footsteps to the extent that when I converse with some of them, their end of the conversation sounds Ewe patois.
Is it a lack of confidence in our identity as Ewe? Of course, no other reason can be adduced for this. Personally, I speak to friends in Twi, Fante, Ga and Guan when we meet, but never speak another language to my fellow Ewe, even de-tribalised as I am.
I have had colleagues lambast me at the workplace when I spoke Ewe to Ewe colleagues. Meanwhile, they were all comfortable speaking Akan among themselves. I am aware this happens in almost all workplaces. I do not yet know what accounts for this.
If we allow ourselves to be cowed by this behaviour of others, then we have the propensity to sell our birthright to others. We will then recoil into our closet and complain of discrimination. We can only be purchased at the price we sell ourselves.
I recollect a visit with a friend to a restaurant in Baychester area of the Bronx in summer of 2012. There were some Akan speaking women at the joint. My pal and I were chatting in Ewe. On their way out they greeted us in Twi. We responded in English that we did not understand their language.
“Are you not from Ghana?” One asked. We answered in the affirmative. “And you cannot speak Twi?” Suppressing my revulsion to this uppity, I slowly asked if Twi was Ghana’s lingua franca. “Sorry, but every Ghanaian understands Twi,” she pressed on. I shot back, asking her how many of the “every Ghanaian” she spoke to. Her companion told her in Twi, “Let’s go. You are getting the man angry.” Wishing us a good day, they sauntered to the door and into the summer sun.
I am proud of our compatriots from the north of the country. They speak their languages with such finesse and pride wherever they are. So do the Akan and the others, but not my people. Many languages have atrophied for lack of usage and Ewe is likely to follow if this attitude does not change. The Latin I read in school has only enriched my vocabulary and understanding of certain expressions but there is no one to speak it with.
The only positive thing for the Ewe language is that it is the main one in Togo and parts of Benin so if we kill it in Ghana, it will still be alive elsewhere. I cringed when I saw a niece on Whatsapp Status describing herself as “Ayigbe toffee”. How can a people accept to be called what they are not? Are we being mentally enslaved or we are allowing it?
All of a sudden we are importing other cultures into our own. It is not in Ewe culture to have a one week celebrated when a relative dies, but this has crept into our culture. We all saw the Akan display at the funeral of my own friend Jerry John Rawlings. Rawlings was not Akan. Even if it was because he was at a time our head of state, then all major traditional practices must be involved. In my estimation, Rawlings suffered an indignity at his funeral.
Also, the Akan funeral dirges are on display at Ewe funerals these days. It is true that the Ewe in the north of the Volta Region are closely linked to some Akan cultures, which is understandable, but what of the rest? The etenteben (flute) invented by Tata Dr Ephraim Amu, a native of Peki-Avetile in the Volta Region, has become the Akan instrument of choice for dirges.
The only honour for the great Ephraim Amu is a dirty road that passes by the western gate of the Central University at Mataheko in Accra.
We have condoned it and we have embraced it. If you fear to speak your language, who will speak it on your behalf? I have friends who are not Ewe meanwhile they speak the language flawlessly but among their people they speak their own language. This is the way to go.
I espied a video on social media addressing what the person referred to as Eυegbetɔwo. There is nobody or group as Eυegbetɔwo. We are Eυeawo (Ewe) and we speak Eυegbe (Ewe language). If we are even wrong in addressing who or what we are, who does the right thing for us?
Are you aware that there are more Ewe landlords in Accra than any other ethnic group except Kwahu? Yet they cannot assert themselves on the capital’s social ladder? Is it a lack of a rallying call for the Ewe to stand up and be counted?
Then there is this other thing about the Ewe being interested in juju. I have been trying to understand where this one came from. The first time I heard this was when I was in training college in the early seventies but took it as a stupid joke. Later in my interactions with people, I heard if you offended an Ewe, you are either killed or hurt through juju. If it were really so, I reckon I would have sent scores of people to their graves.
I spent ten uninterrupted years in the Volta Region and only saw mystical display at certain cultural festivities. People thrust burning fire in their mouths and strike themselves with daggers that did not cut their flesh.
I heard that if you wanted witchcraft you went to Nzema. This was after I joined my family in Koforidua. I later learnt of deities called Antoa, Akonedi, Nogokpo etc. etc. I know there are deities in almost everywhere in this country. Where do the Ewe feature in all this?
In my study of philosophy and psychology, fear-induced guilt has the potential of killing faster than any known ailment and so crystalisation of such thought forms send people to their early death and others are blamed for it.
What are the opinion leaders (Dumegāwo) doing in all these? What are Togbewo/Torgbuiwo doing to preserve the culture and traditions of the Ewe people? They are the custodians and embodiment of the soul of Eweland and must act to stem the negatives assailing their people.
Our chiefs must not be seen or heard only at festivals or when politicians come calling. We need them to lead us every minute of the day throughout their reign.
Now, I have realised that it is only in the heat of party political activities that I get the Ashanti Region pitted against Ewe. This is stoked by political activists and their masters who should know better. Truth is that the Asante generally are not tribalistic. You realise this when you live with or among them. Neither are the Ewe, so the toxic atmosphere can only be blamed on the political actors.
Ghanaians have a way of poking fun at one another without hurting one another’s sensibilities. It happens in every society, but it becomes rather serious when people we see as leaders poison the atmosphere for whatever gains only they can tell.
This is where I call on our traditional rulers to use their authority to ensure unity and camaraderie among all peoples living in their areas of traditional control. That way, everyone of us will have a sense of belonging as Ghanaians.
Writer’s email 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.
