Ghana’s habit of cultural neglect

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Ghanaians have a habit that needs to be addressed.

No, it’s not the deep sense of respect we show to our elders. It’s not the hospitality we extend to foreigners, sometimes more than to our own. This is subtler, harder to spot unless you pay close attention. And unlike those admirable traits, this particular one isn’t among them. To be fair, it is not the worst trait we could have, but it’s definitely something we must correct.

It’s the habit of not claiming what is ours, not taking pride in our own creations. And even when we do, that pride is so muted that it’s barely noticeable.

But here lies the real problem: when outsiders step in to celebrate or claim what we neglected, we suddenly rush to assert ownership. But by then, it’s often too late. Our eagerness is met with scepticism, even ridicule, because the world finds it hard to believe that we were so quiet about what was ours and now suddenly feel the need to claim it.

Ghanaians are like a child who doesn’t realise the value of a toy they have until someone else picks it up. The child receives a toy from their parents. At first, they play with it and might even brag about it to their friends. But soon, it’s left somewhere, collecting dust, forgotten by its true owner. Then one day, the neighbour’s child finds it, maybe by accident, maybe by stealth. He dusts it off, plays with it and proudly calls it his own. The previous holder realises, protests and throws tantrums, but no one listens.

The “toys” we neglect

There are many examples to point to. But let’s make one thing clear: the issue here isn’t about the cultural icons we’ve loudly celebrated, the ones the world already associates with Ghana. Take Kente, for instance. No one disputes its origin. It is woven so deeply into our culture and worn proudly at many events that if another country tried to claim it, the world would laugh and say, “The Ghanaians will come for you oo.”

We’re talking about the neglected treasures. The ones outsiders might get confused about and ask, “Is this from Ghana or Ivory Coast? Or maybe Nigeria?” The cultural gems with shaky and uncertain claims.

I’ll give you an example: Ananse stories. A quick Google search shows their Ghanaian roots, spreading across West Africa and into the Caribbean. Yet, a Jamaican child hearing Ananse tales from their grandparents might grow up not knowing, or caring, about their origin. Later, when the topic of Ananse comes up, their contribution might be: “Yes, Ananse stories are Jamaican folklore my grandparents used to tell me.”^[1] ^[2]

The issue isn’t that Ananse stories are being shared across borders. After all, who wouldn’t want our famous Kweku Ananse to gain more popularity abroad? The real problem is that the origin gets blurred. Yes, Ananse is central to Jamaican folklore, but its roots in the Akan tradition fade and are replaced by local memory. The culture is shared, but the origin is forgotten.

Another example is Highlife music. Born in Ghana, it shaped the sounds of West Africa and significantly helped lay the groundwork for Afrobeat.^[3] But today, Afrobeat’s global fame, so closely linked to Nigeria, often hides Highlife’s contribution. The world dances to Afrobeat without realising the rhythm first grew in Ghanaian bars, clubs and coastal towns. What started as ours slowly loses recognition, and our contribution fades from view, taking with it important names like E.T. Mensah,^[4] Nana Ampadu^[5] and many others. The genre that gave life to a movement is now being remembered only as a side note, instead of the foundation it truly is.

Even Jenga, the popular block-stacking game, has roots in Ghana. It was developed from a wooden block-stacking game Leslie Scott’s family created in Ghana in the 1970s. Scott later introduced it to wider audiences, trademarked and commercialised it under the name Jenga, and packaged it for international markets. Over time, it became a global brand, widely recognised as her creation, while its Ghanaian connection largely remained unknown or forgotten.^[6]

These examples show a pattern: Ghanaian culture is shared and used widely, but its origins are often overlooked. The world recognises the products of our culture, yet their Ghanaian foundations are rarely acknowledged. And credit is misplaced. When the origin is ignored, our sense of pride and ownership is weakened, and our history becomes distorted.

Why do we lose ownership?

Two reasons stand out, the first being ignorance. Many Ghanaians do not know the origins of their own culture. And of course, you cannot lay claim to something you have no knowledge of.

This ignorance, however, is not always deliberate. Often, it stems from parents’ failure to teach us from childhood. When a child is not taught the roots of the stories they hear, the music they dance to or the symbols they wear, they grow up oblivious to the history they are entitled to know about. And the danger does not end in childhood. Those children become adults who carry the same ignorance with them, enjoying the culture but never truly understanding it. And without this knowledge, there is no claim. And without a claim, there is no protection.

Closely tied to ignorance is indifference. Even when people know, they don’t care enough. They are not loud, proud or consistent in celebrating their heritage. Too often, they only react when outsiders try to lay a claim, instead of proactively owning what is theirs.

This indifference, though subtle, is still problematic. It shows up when we treat our culture as background noise instead of the centrepiece of our identity. I’ll attribute some of this indifference to years of foreign rule, which gradually made many of us see our culture as less valuable and less relevant, until we began to doubt the worth of our own traditions.^[7]

And sadly, that mindset never went away, even years after our independence. It still lingers, making its effect felt and creating moments where we stopped caring enough about our heritage. Now, the end result? We’ve allowed outsiders to pick up what is ours and rebrand it as their own.

But contrast this with Kente, one of the few cultural products we’re not nonchalant about. Its global recognition did not happen overnight. It became iconic because Ghanaians consistently wore it, celebrated it and made it inseparable from our identity, ensuring that no one could dispute its origin. At weddings, graduations, festivals and even on international stages, Kente was always present, always tied to Ghana. This is what happens when indifference is replaced with deliberate, visible pride, when Ghanaians choose to make their culture impossible to ignore.

What now?

Keep in mind that the issue is not that our culture is being shared with outsiders. Culture is meant to travel, evolve and inspire. We eat Jollof from Senegal, we dance to Amapiano from South Africa. That is the beauty of cultural exchange.

The problem begins when Ghanaian culture travels without Ghana attached to it. When outsiders adopt it, celebrate it, rename it or claim it, while we remain silent. And by the time we finally speak up, the world has already accepted someone else’s version of our story.

The solution is awareness and pride in our culture. We must educate ourselves and learn the origins of Ghanaian culture with deliberate curiosity, not just in passing. Read books, explore Ghana’s history, do your research and challenge misconceptions. It might surprise you that a simple conversation with an elderly woman about the meaning of an Adinkra symbol or a father explaining the roots of Highlife can teach you far more than any Google search could.

Knowledge allows us to properly claim what is ours. Without it, we risk losing that right to claim. And when you have the knowledge, share it. It’s not enough to know quietly. Share what you learn; on social media, in classrooms, in everyday conversations. The renewed conversations around Jenga’s Ghanaian connection show what consistent storytelling can achieve.

Every post, every conversation, every community gathering can become a platform to reinforce Ghana’s cultural identity. And when we tell our stories ourselves, we prevent others from telling them for us.

Likewise, the government must play its part in protecting our heritage. Other countries have shown how powerful international recognition can be: France did it with Champagne, Mexico with Tequila. Even Ghana recently secured GI status for Kente.^[8]

But why stop there? Shea butter, Fugu, Krobo beads; these deserve recognition too. Protecting made-in-Ghana products not only safeguards their authenticity, but also guarantees that wherever they go, they carry Ghana’s identity with pride.

A word to the wise

The final message is simple. Let’s stop this habit of tardy appreciation. Let’s not wait until outsiders celebrate our culture before we scramble to claim it. Let’s be proactive, proud and loud about what is ours.

Because at the end of the day, our culture and history are the roots of our identity. They are what make us uniquely Ghanaian. And if we do not cherish them as much as we should, we risk losing not just ownership, but the very essence of who we are.