When the dead become immortal and the living are asked to wait…

By Prof. Samuel Lartey

 In Ghana, death is never silent. It is announced, amplified, choreographed, and remembered. A death summons family across continents, halts traffic, suspends markets, fills churches, and dominates weekends. Yet, while the dead are celebrated with extraordinary pageantry, the living, even those whose contributions shape the nation, are often honoured modestly, sometimes belatedly, and frequently only in words.

This feature explores how Ghanaians celebrate and immortalise the dead, compares this with how living legends are treated, and examines the financial, social, and generational consequences of these choices. It also asks a deeper question: what kind of legacy culture are we building for posterity?

The Ghanaian funeral as a national institution

Funerals in Ghana are not simply rites of passage; they are cultural institutions. They combine mourning, reunion, social accountability, and economic signalling into a single event. In many communities, the quality of a funeral is interpreted as a reflection of the life lived and the strength of the family left behind.

Empirical studies in southern Ghana show that families typically spend between GHS 15,500 and GHS 33,500 on a single funeral, covering mortuary services, coffins, funeral cloth, posters and media announcements, sound systems, canopies and chairs, food and drinks, transportation, and burial rites. These figures rise sharply for prominent individuals, urban families, or multiple-day ceremonies.

Beyond direct costs, funerals absorb time. An average Ghanaian adult attends three to six funerals a year, often losing one to three working days per funeral. In the informal sector, where income depends on daily activity, this time loss translates directly into foregone earnings. At scale, funerals quietly extract thousands of productive hours from the economy each year.

Yet, funerals persist and grow because they perform critical social functions:

• they reaffirm family and clan bonds,
• they settle obligations between households,
• they signal respectability and social standing,
• and they provide collective closure.

In short, funerals are one of the few moments when the entire community agrees to show up.

High-profile death ceremonies and national mourning

Ghana’s most elaborate funerals often belong to its political leaders, traditional rulers, cultural icons, and celebrated entertainers. These events reveal how deeply the nation invests in death as public memory.

The state funeral of President John Evans Atta Mills in August 2012 shut down everyday life in Accra. Tens of thousands gathered at Independence Square, foreign dignitaries attended, and the nation mourned collectively for days. The funeral was not only a farewell; it was a national ritual of continuity and identity.

Similarly, the death of Asantehemaa Nana Afia Kobi Serwaa Ampem II in 2016 triggered weeks of traditional observances in Kumasi, blending royal ritual, history, and communal reverence. Her funeral reaffirmed Asante cultural continuity across generations.

In popular culture, the funeral of Ebony Reigns in 2018 illustrated how even young lives, when cut short, are elevated to iconic status. Her burial drew massive crowds, media saturation, and emotional outpouring, cementing her place in Ghana’s musical history far beyond what she experienced while alive.

These ceremonies demonstrate a pattern: death creates a singular moment when recognition becomes unanimous, unquestioned, and lavish.

Living legends and the quieter applause

In contrast, Ghana’s living legends often receive honour without equivalent investment.

Consider Otumfuo Osei Tutu II, whose reign since 1999 has transformed education through the Otumfuo Education Fund, supported thousands of students, and modernised traditional leadership. He is revered, yet much of the financial burden of his legacy projects depends on voluntary contributions rather than institutionalised national support.

Or Dr. Paul Effah, a key architect of Ghana’s tertiary education reforms, whose influence on higher education policy far outweighs the public recognition he receives outside academic circles.

In sports, Abedi Ayew “Pele”, Africa’s three-time African Footballer of the Year, is widely admired. Yet, his honours have largely been symbolic rather than embedded in sustained national sports development institutions named and funded in his honour.

In public service, countless teachers, nurses, engineers, judges, and civil servants retire quietly after decades of nation-building, often honoured with plaques, farewell ceremonies, or citations that carry little long-term financial or institutional backing.

Ghana has a National Honours and Awards system, established in 1960, to recognise distinguished service. However, honours are often:

• episodic rather than sustained,
• ceremonial rather than developmental,
• and individual rather than institution-building.

The result is that many contributors only experience full societal appreciation when they are no longer alive to benefit from it.

Why death attracts more investment than life

The imbalance is not accidental. Death simplifies narratives. It removes controversy, freezes achievement, and creates moral urgency. A funeral demands attendance; celebrating the living is optional. Social pressure ensures generosity at funerals, while honouring the living competes with daily financial priorities.

There is also a cultural caution. Excessive celebration of the living can be viewed as prideful or premature, while celebration of the dead is universally safe.

Economically, funerals function as enforced redistribution. Contributions, donations, and attendance are expected. Living honours rely on goodwill.

Financial implications and the cost of our choices

At household level, funeral expenditure often competes with school fees, rent, healthcare, and business capital. Families may borrow to fund funerals, creating long-term financial stress in the name of short-term dignity.

At national scale, when Ghana’s annual deaths are considered alongside average funeral spending, the implied social expenditure on death runs into billions of cedis each year. This is money that could otherwise support education endowments, community health systems, innovation hubs, or pension security.

The COVID-19 period briefly revealed an alternative. Restrictions on funeral sizes showed that dignity does not require excess and that, when adjusted, social norms can significantly reduce economic strain without eroding respect for the dead.

Posterity and the legacy question

Posterity will not ask how many canopies were erected or how loud the music was. It will ask what remained.

A funeral ends on Sunday evening. A scholarship lasts decades. A community clinic outlives generations. A mentorship programme multiplies impact beyond one lifetime.

Ironically, Ghana understands legacy deeply, but often activates it too late.

Conclusion

Ghana does not need to abandon its funeral culture. Funerals are powerful, meaningful, and socially cohesive. What the nation needs is balance.

If communities can mobilise tens of thousands of cedis, multiple weekends, and nationwide attention for the dead, they can also mobilise structured, sustained investment for the living. Living legends should not wait for death to become immortal.

A future-focused Ghanaian legacy culture would:

• celebrate the living publicly and consistently,
• institutionalise honour through funded programmes, not only ceremonies,
• redirect part of funeral expenditure toward enduring community assets,
• and teach posterity that greatness is acknowledged while it is still alive to inspire.

When the living are honoured with the same seriousness as the dead, death will no longer be the moment of first recognition, but merely the closing chapter of a well-celebrated life.

 

 

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