HIGHLIFE IS DEAD: Ghana’s moral classroom closed – Napoleon Ato Kittoe writes

Akwasi Ampofo Adjei at the beginning of a song asked, “All of you close your eyes and what did you see?” He then painted the darkness of night and noted it is only then you can see “Bogya” the firefly flying with its own neon. His backing vocalists hummed, “We saw nothing.” Pure ingenuity. He forces you to listen before you dance.

The summary is this. The wise person picks lessons faster and needs no details of the sermon. In your darkness, let the firefly’s light give you the hint of the whole concept. If circumstances won’t allow you to see, wisdom must make your brain work. No wonder elders still quote the man Akwasi Ampofo Adjei who trained intuitions with riddles.

From Kumapim Royals we move to Sunsum Band’s leader, Smart Nkansah, who throws listeners into the middle of a noisy argument. Backing vocalist Becky B begins like a soloist, rejecting a man’s advances. “I have a husband. I only appear single because my man is overseas.” Smart cuts in, “You women lure us by setting the stage. You ask us to buy this or that, even as a married woman, then when we propose love, you are talking.”

That lyrical conversation mirrors society. It’s about love, boundaries, and fidelity to vows. Sunsum Band used gossip as moral lesson you can’t stop listening to. The dialogue builds tension so you bite your finger looking for answers. Ampofo made you close your eyes to see; Smart made you open your ears to judge. Together with Agyaaku, Sunsum Band was fascinating because highlife refused to spoon-feed. It respected your own decisions.

AB Crentsil of Ahenfo Band tested the waters when he flew the kite on the taboo subject of evil among the black race in “Anyɛn te se woaa” “A witch like you.” He juxtaposed black tendencies like jealousy and envy that pull progressive people down, with the constructive approach of the white race whose “wizardry” is technological brain power that builds comfort.

He wasn’t saying blacks are bad and whites are good. He was holding up a mirror with two types of power and asking, If it is in your hand, will you use it to build or destroy? In the 1970s/80s this was dangerous talk. He broke the jinx.

Obuoba JA Adofo, the “small boy” cynosure of the late 1970s, is now old and off the klieg lights. “Time Changes,” Ampofo Adjei said it. JA Adofo has lived it. His City Boys Band was Sputnik. His style was like using a high-end technology to entertain people.

“Obra ahyese hia mmoa” brings sobriety. Beginners need help to stand. Modern society ignores this by building class systems and leaving others to chance. JA Adofo says that is poor. His message rekindles the African norm of fellow-feeling and sounds alarm bells on good governance. Time is cruel but beautiful. You change in looks, but the message stands. Truth walks off stage into daily life.

Dr. Paa Bobo exploded with “Yesu mpo yɛbɔ n’asɛndua” “Even Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross.” The corollary: “How much more the pastor.” It ties to AB’s mirror but is more generic. No lines between race or class. The song simply states humans are wicked. If they could twist facts about the Messiah and kill Him, they can do anything. The pastor is nothing in that equation.

Played at lorry stations, people laughed at his delivery, but the teaching is unmistakable: be careful with people. The Akan proverb says, “Aboa bi bɛka wo efiri wo ntoma mu,” the ant that will bite you is in your clothes. Humans are the ants. Do you need a theology degree to teach this?

Kyerematen Stars inks deeper into African mentality with “Susuka.” Kyerematen references driver Mohammed Abdullai of Konongo, whose bus “Amsco Transport” was his life. Abdullai pooh-poohed gossips. “If others use money for meat, alcohol, women, but I do my duty as a driver, on what basis must I attract gossip?”

That’s freedom. But freedom is not free from results. Abdullai chose duty; others chose pleasure. Each meets their own fate. The song turns ordinary people into philosophy professors. Kyerematen’s contribution: peace is a decision. You do not need everyone to clap. If your Amsco Transport moves passengers safely, that is enough. Gossip is noise from people who parked their buses.

Daniel “Iron Boy” Amakye Dede’s impact is undisputed. “Ebuo pae a yɛmpam.” “When a stone breaks, we don’t sew it” was a dirge for his mother and all mothers. The terse Akan statement is loaded. A broken stone cannot be joined by any thread.

Nobody can bring mortals back after death. Amakye Dede wanted us to accept that reality. By hard work he soared, churning thought-provoking, melodious songs. When your mother dies, the earth crumbles under your feet. The song became a funeral anthem and remains a force. Iron Boy didn’t write a song. He wrote a law of grief.

“Woyoo woyoo” by the King of Highlife uses animal allegory. The lion goes to Mecca, changes its ethics, stops hunting. Curious animals visit to verify. The lion locks the door first, then says all they heard is true except one thing: he won’t go looking for prey, but if they walk to him, no Mecca law bars him from eating them.

Theme: if you want trouble, trouble will find you. The lion made a meal of the visitors. From “Agatha” in 1981 to his last breath, Ampadu dominated by holding mirrors to human nature.

Today in Ghana, highlife has faded, and with it our appetite for moral lessons. Everything now revolves around money. The chase for cash is all that matters. But these musicians left us one enduring teaching: setting goals alone traps you in a tunnel vision. Only strategy and a clear agenda can guide you when you have to grope in the dark.

If we ignore Ampadu’s warning, we will keep walking into the lion’s den chasing money — we cannot predict the outcome. The truth they sang still walks off stage and enters our lives daily. I hereby put most Ghanaians in the dock for abandoning the original podcasters of the nation for the clanging bells.