Journal of the Musical Arts in Africa
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‘The road is blocked’: notions of sound and silence
in the Ga Hɔmɔwɔ festival, a Teshie perspective
Laryea Akwetteh
To cite this article: Laryea Akwetteh (2022) ‘The road is blocked’: notions of sound and silence in
the Ga Hɔmɔwɔ festival, a Teshie perspective, Journal of the Musical Arts in Africa, 19:1-2, 1-14,
DOI: 10.2989/18121004.2022.2153449
To link to this article:  https://doi.org/10.2989/18121004.2022.2153449
Published online: 03 Jan 2023.
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JOURNAL OF THE MUSICAL ARTS IN AFRICA VOLUME 19 2022, 01–14
‘The road is blocked’: notions of sound and silence 
in the Ga Hɔmɔwɔ festival, a Teshie perspective
Laryea Akwetteh
Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, Legon
email: nakwetteh@ug.edu.gh
Abstract
Since the early 2000s the literature on the Ga code of silence, or what is often referred to as a ban 
on drumming and noise-making, has focused predominantly on the violent clashes that emerge 
between the Ga Traditional Council, and Pentecostal and Charismatic churches in Accra during 
the commemoration of the annual Ga Hɔmɔwɔ harvest festival. With most scholars perceiving 
the code as a ritual that instigates conflict, it has become a dominant point of reference for 
discussing conflict-related matters in Accra and Ghana in general. My interest here, however, 
is not to examine the code in relation to the conflicts it incites. As a ‘native researcher’ and 
ethnomusicologist, my findings suggest that the Ga code is about more than provoking conflict 
or settling scores with churches or non-Ga residents in Accra. The code presents selective Ga 
communities with an opportune moment to undergo a degree of introspection through the 
mediation on indigenous notions of sound and silence so as to renew themselves. In this article, 
I explore from a Teshie perspective the notions of the code and how it impacts the music 
performances of the Hɔmɔwɔ festival. I argue that the Ga code, to borrow from Turner (1979), is 
a ‘frame’ within which Ga society is enabled to inspect itself.
Introduction 
Between May and September every year, several indigenous Ga towns in Accra individually 
enforce a ritual code of silence, also described as a ban on drumming and noise-making, on 
their communities to commemorate the Hɔmɔwɔ festival.1 This annual harvest festival, the 
name of which means ‘to hoot at hunger’, is celebrated by the towns of Ga Mashie, Osu, La, 
Teshie and Tema. Several scholarly works have been published on the code of silence since 
the early 2000s. Most of these writings are based on topics such as ‘Contesting silence: The 
ban on drumming and the musical politics of Pentecostalism in Ghana’ (Van Dijk 2001), 
‘Identities, inequalities and conflicts in Ghana’ (Tsikata & Seini 2004), ‘Accra’s sounds and 
sacred spaces’ (De Witte 2008), ‘Ethnicity, religion, and conflict in Ghana: The roots of 
1 This article is based on research conducted for my Master’s degree (see Akwetteh 2017). 
Journal of the Musical Arts in Africa is co-published by NISC (Pty) Ltd and Informa UK Limited (trading as Taylor & Francis Group)
https://doi.org/10.2989/18121004.2022.2153449 © 2022 NISC (Pty) Ltd  ISSN: 1812-1004/ EISSN 2027-626X
2  Laryea Akwetteh
Ga nativism’ (Asante 2011), ‘Ga marginalization and social transformation’ (Webb 2015), 
and The Politics of Religious Sound: Conflict and the Negotiation of Religious Diversity in Ghana 
(Arthur 2018). They address the clashes that ensue between Ga natives, on the one hand, and 
non-Ga residents, Pentecostal churches and Charismatic churches, on the other, during the 
annual observance of the code.2 The narrative often stresses the transformation of Accra into 
a capital city and an international hub in West Africa with a multi-ethnic and cosmopolitan 
society, or a modern multicultural city with noisy religious practices and nightlife.
In this article, I do not wish to examine the code of silence in the light of the violent 
clashes that emerge between Ga natives and non-Ga residents, Pentecostal churches 
and Charismatic churches. Nor do I seek to investigate the code from the perspective 
that it incites conflicts. I am interested in how the code of silence and the traditional 
music performances it evokes enable Ga society to renew itself. This article explores the 
indigenous notions of the code and how it impacts on the traditional music performances 
of the Ga Hɔmɔwɔ festival from a Teshie perspective. I argue that the Ga code is neither 
simply a ban on drumming and noise-making, nor a period of quietude aimed at inciting 
conflicts. Rather, to borrow from Turner (1979), it is a ‘frame’ within which Ga society is 
enabled to undergo a degree of introspection through the mediation of indigenous notions 
of sound and silence.
Hɔmɔwɔ is a harvest festival that celebrates the transition from the lean season of 
deprivation to the season of plenty (Amanor 2020). According to Kilson, it 
occurs within a timeless period when ordinary activities of day-to-day life, from gaining and 
living to engaging in interpersonal animosities, are suspended […] Among the Ga ceremonies, 
only Hɔmɔwɔ belongs to all Ga people […] And although participation in traditional Ga cults 
or in Christian congregations may be associated with socioeconomic differences among Ga, all 
participate in Hɔmɔwɔ, whatever their social status. (Kilson 2012:92–93)
Whereas Ga towns such as Teshie, Nungua and La refer to the rite performed to institute 
the code of silence as gbɛmlilaa (road blocking), Ga Mashie, Tema and Osu know the code 
as ƞmaadumɔ (millet sowing). Gbɛmlilaa is the name used for the opening ceremony of 
the Teshie and La Hɔmɔwɔ festival (Kropp Dakubu 2009 [1973]:79). Once instituted, the 
people say ‘ala gbɛmli’ (‘the road is blocked’) to notify both Ga and non-Ga residents of the 
stringent customary demands of the sacred period. The gbɛmlilaa ceremony provides Ga 
society with a period of tranquillity, meditation and communion with Ga autochthonic 
deities as they descend from their homes in the Ajangote mountain to the towns below 
(Field 1961 [1937]; Sackey 2001; Laryea 2004; Nii-Dortey 2012). In an interview with Nii 
Nortey Tuaka II (2016), the Head Captain of Teshie, he explained how the code forbids 
the Ga to die, prohibits the pronouncing of curses or summons to a deity, and marks a time 
2 Pentecostal and Charismatic churches are types of Christian churches often ‘noted for their livelier forms of 
worship, involving drumming and dancing, as well as clapping of hands, shouting, and other signs of an 
intensely emotional religious experience’ (Asante 2011:82).
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  3
to reveal good and bad deeds. Gbɛmlilaa further represents a time to exchange goodwill 
messages and to critique humans and deities.
Methods of data collection
Research was undertaken between 2016 and 2018 in Teshie, a suburb of Accra. Data-
collection methods included structured, in-person interviews as well as participant 
observation and personal communication. Interviews were based mainly on purposive 
sampling and shaped by an exploration of, among other things, the Ga conceptualisation 
of silence and noise; the actual meaning of the code of silence; why it is adhered to with 
such strict observance; and whether it is aimed at seeking vengeance on non-Ga residents 
in Accra. The investigation also sought to ascertain the impact of the code on the socio-
political and religious lives of the Teshie community. The research involved nine ritual 
experts who fully participated in the performance of the gbɛmlilaa ceremony and other 
religious rituals in the Hɔmɔwɔ festival. Because traditional knowledge expands beyond 
religious authorities, seven non-traditional religious adherents were also purposively 
included (Table 1). These are Ga Christians who have lived in the Ga tradition and 
participated in its religious ceremonies.
The ritual experts and non-traditional religious adherents listed in Table 1 also 
recommended other interlocutors for further interviews. These individuals not only have 
in-depth knowledge of the Hɔmɔwɔ festival, but have witnessed the complete festival for at 
least three decades (Table 2). 
Table 1: Ritual experts and non-traditional religious adherents interviewed
Ritual experts Number Gender Age (years)
Priests 3 Male 40–80
Mediums 2 Female 45 & 73
Traditional military brigade members 2 Male 40 & 55
Ritual musicians 2 Male 50 & 63
Non-traditional religious adherents
Clerics 7 Male (5); Female (2) 53–88
Table 2: Additional ritual experts and non-traditional religious adherents included
Ritual experts Number Gender Age (years)
Priests 1 Male 60 
Musicians 1 Male 80 
Assistants 3 Male (2); Female (1) 35–44 
Non-traditional religious adherents
Clerics 1 Male 90
4  Laryea Akwetteh
Table 3: Personal communication with academics and non-academics
Interlocutors Number Gender Age (years)
Academics 5 Male 36–80 
Non-academics 2 Male (1); Female (1) 46 & 88
I also engaged in personal communication with academics from the University of Ghana, 
Legon and non-academics from the Teshie community (Table 3). Some of these were 
non-Ga individuals who also observed a similar ritual code in their native communities.
Participant observation here does not refer to actual involvement in the gbɛmlilaa ritual 
since inclusion is solely based on one’s position as a qualified ritual expert of the larger 
gbɛmlilaa community. Rather, my notion of participance is based on two positions: as a 
member of the senior priest’s lineage and a relation of his personal assistant and medium; 
and as an indigene who lives in the researched community and has access to ritual sites 
and spaces. In this regard, the employment of participant observation is based on my 
personal knowledge of the community’s traditions and language usages, observation of 
its religious rituals since childhood, shared relation with specific ritual experts, access to 
ritual spaces which are inaccessible to non-natives, and participation in the annual festive 
music performances. Chiener (2002:458) describes this position as a ‘native researcher’ 
or ‘researchers who are themselves already experienced [...] within the tradition that 
they subsequently choose to investigate [...]’. Secondary sources in the form of academic 
literature have been used to position the primary research data within the wider discourse.
A note on Teshie
Teshie, which lies west of Ga Mashie, Osu and La, and east of Nungua and Tema, shares 
borders with La and Nungua. It is not only the last Ga town to be established, but the 
only settler community within the larger Ga-Dangme area. Like other Ga towns, Teshie is 
essentially an agrarian society with hardworking individuals in accordance with the prevailing 
societal standards, even though its inhabitants still earn low-level incomes. The town is 
composed of five quarters (Kle, Lɛnshie, Krobo, Agbawe and Gbugbla), shrines, political 
offices and religious institutions that constitute what is described as the gbɛmlilaa ritual 
community. According to two of the traditional priests interviewed, the ritual community 
consists of three categories of ritual experts (Ayiku & Opekͻ 2016).3 Those referred to as 
yitsei (heads) include priests, male and female mediums, ritual musicians (amlakui), male 
and female members of the traditional brigade companies, the senior priest’s acolyte (laabia) 
and Ga autochthonic deities. These ritual experts completely participate in the gbɛmlilaa 
ceremony. The second group, who assist only with parts of the ritual ceremony, are called yeli 
kɛ bualͻi and consist of the ritual hoe bearers (hulͻi) of the individual quarters and children 
believed to be reincarnated priests. The third and final category simply observe the gbɛmlilaa 
3 Ayiku is from the Gbugbla quarter of Teshie. 
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  5
ceremony and is composed of the town’s traditional executive body or akulashiɳ.4 It includes 
the king (mantsɛ), traditional secretary (shikiteli), head of the traditional council (akwashɔɳtsɛ), 
caretaker of the town (mankralo), treasurer (atofotsɛ), the head captain (shippi), chief fisherman 
(wolɛiatsɛ) and leaders of the traditional councils of the town’s quarters (dzaasetsɛmɛi).
Traditional musical groups described as aflaηai or ‘flags’ emerged from all five quarters 
of Teshie some time after the town was established in 1710. From the period of their 
emergence until the present only seven of these groups (Kɔɔle Wɔko, Gbee Matele, Mind 
You, Six, Tafo Yɛ Fɛo, Ghana, and Greece) remain recognised by the community. According 
to Kumah (2016), an amlaku ritual musician of Teshie, these traditional music groups are 
credited with the introduction and performance of kpasɔɔkpa, a musical style dedicated to 
commenting on the community and its members’ behaviour amidst stylistic stomping of 
the feet. The kpasɔɔkpa designation is, however, now uncommon as community members 
prefer the name kpashimɔ, the local term for feet-stomping during kpa music performance. 
The aim of kpashimᴐ performances and songs during the festive season is to renew the 
community’s socio-political and religious lives. Kpashimɔ performances and songs are 
exclusively vocal, unaccompanied by any musical instruments, and in a call-and-response 
format. Ranging from binary to ternary and even to through-composed form, the songs 
are often composed in the diatonic scale and only occasionally in the pentatonic. They are 
textually and musically made up of repeated phrases that have iconic relationships with 
current issues, making it easier for the audience to follow the storylines.
New musical groups continue to emerge during the Hɔmɔwɔ festival. To the older 
generations, however, these groups have deviated from traditional societal standards of 
decorum in their usage of profane music texts and costumes during kpashimɔ performances. 
One of my interlocutors, the mother of the present senior priest, reiterates that ‘they 
are renegades destroying a long-cherished tradition of music-making ritual meant to 
renew the community’ (Atswei 2017). Among these new musical groups and the aflaηai 
is one called ‘Airport’, the first of its kind to emerge in Teshie. Airport is not affiliated 
with any of the five quarters of the town and does not require special costumes for the 
kpashimɔ performance. Its membership consists of the educated elite in society, most of 
them non-Ga individuals from both inside and outside Teshie. Over the years, Airport has 
earned the admiration of the town due to its respect for the aflaηai.
Until the induction of Gbɛtsͻͻlͻ Nii Ashitey Akomfra III in 2014, Teshie had been 
without a king for over two decades. During this period, when one of the three royal 
houses attempted to instate a king, a violent conflict ensued among royals. The most 
recent clash occurred in 2015 when Lɛnshie, one of the three houses of the royal quarter, 
was alleged to have hired a group from outside Teshie to fight the opposition, who were 
in the process of instating a king. In addition to this conflict, community members have 
4 The office of the senior priest is both religious and political. In this category of performers, however, he does 
not form part of those in the background because of the role he plays during the performance of the ritual 
code of silence.
6  Laryea Akwetteh
witnessed violent clashes in the Kle quarter of the senior priest, when a faction of the 
house attempted to overthrow the newly elected priest in 2019. These conflicts are so 
violent that people sometimes flee their homes for days or even weeks while the military 
attempts to impose calm. The clashes are not peculiar to Teshie, however, as they manifest 
every year in almost all Ga towns, especially during the annual Hɔmɔwɔ festivities. In many 
instances, the code and the rituals associated with this, serve as an immediate cause of the 
conflicts. There are underlying, simmering chieftaincy disputes throughout the year that 
often serve as remote causes of such conflicts. What seems to always bring people together, 
however, is the Hɔmɔwɔ festival, its associated gbɛmlilaa ceremonies and traditional musical 
performances, all of which require participation from every quarter. 
The gbɛmlilaa ceremony is an activity that has been incorporated into Teshie cultural 
history relatively recently. According to an amlaku ritual musician, during the reign of the 
14th Teshie King Ashitey Akomfra II (1916–1937), a delegation was sent from Teshie to La 
to negotiate and institute the process of the town’s complete breakaway, and included the 
gbɛmlilaa ceremony (Achimore 2015). After Teshie finally gained its autonomy, the ritual was 
established and performed solely to affect the immediate environment of the five quarters 
occupied by the ritual players.5 But the situation has changed since then. Not all ritual players 
reside within the immediate ritual environment, with some of them living over 10 kilometres 
away, which is why the stringent demands of the code now affect the whole community. 
In present-day Teshie, the use of public address (PA) systems is a major part of everyday 
life because of the weekly funerary activities, child-naming ceremonies, or the celebration 
of youth group achievements. The use of these PA systems also ceases for the month’s 
observance of the code of silence. Other activities such as hawking, the selling of products 
through megaphones, and industrial or mechanical work automatically subside too. Sellers 
of audio and video recordings on the streets continue to operate by purposefully replacing 
the playing of popular music genres with kpashimɔ songs. But the extent of such observances 
varies from one Ga town to another. In Nungua, for instance, the code lasts for only one 
week, but with more stringent demands, especially during the observance of the ritual night 
(ajeeekpo), which is meant to usher deities and ancestors into the town. The town’s residents 
are strictly advised to stay indoors while observing total silence. I learnt from correspondence 
with Adjeley (2015), a native of Teshie who once domiciled in Nungua while growing up 
in the 1970s, that even urination in a bedroom must be done with care as the sound can 
attract the attention of ritual officials purifying the town in their bid to meet the spirit beings. 
Adjeley (2015) stresses that ‘it is highly religious’.
Gbɛmlilaa is a public meta-social rite that makes use of quotidian spaces as its stage. The 
issues dealt with during performance are done ‘in full view of everyone, as they are not 
5 It is not surprising that Field never mentioned the Teshie gbɛmlilaa ritual despite her in-depth research on the 
Ga, which was first published in 1937. Her assertion that the ‘head god’ of Teshie (called ayiku) still 
acknowledges the supremacy of Lakpa and that such acknowledgement would cease once Teshie completely 
broke away from La, ‘which it is trying to do’, suggests that she witnessed the ongoing negotiations (Field 
1961 [1937]:75).
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  7
secret affairs […] protected from profanation’ (Turner 1979:467). In present-day Teshie the 
performance attracts both Ga and non-Ga residents, traditionalists and Christians, as well as 
non-Ghanaians. While the Ga in general, the majority of whom may be Christians, may 
easily shun the gbɛmlilaa ceremony and some of its related religious rituals, their reverence for 
the ritual is evident during the week of the Hɔmɔwɔ proper. During this time, families gather 
in ancestral homes to eat festive food, resolve problems, take stock of happenings in the year, 
offer libation prayers to ancestors, find better ways to forge ahead as a lineage, and exchange 
goodwill messages constructed within the context of traditional knowledge. Eliade (1959:69) 
rightly argues that festivals enable a ‘reactualization’ of a people’s history and customs. 
Beneath the gbԑmlilaa ritual
Gbɛmlilaa is a complex ceremony that consists of several ritual players, religious sites and 
shrines, and ritual practices, some of which do not necessarily occur on the day of the 
ritual proper. In the light of the main argument of this article, that gbɛmlilaa is more than 
just a ban on drumming and noise-making or a period of silence designed to antagonise 
non-Ga residents in Accra, this section presents an analysis of the three ritual segments that 
characterise gbɛmlilaa. 
According to Osrama (2015), the medium of the senior priest of Teshie, the ritual 
proper can be divided into three distinct segments that together form the complete rite.
In segment one, the Senior Priest performs the ƞmatsu cleansing ritual called maɳtsukɔmɔ. 
Afterwards, he proceeds with another one-round libation prayer called ƞkpaiyeli to mark the 
second segment. In segment three the hulɔi, senior priest, amlakui and the supposed incarnates 
perform a three-round path-clearing ritual called gbɛjee. (Osrama 2015)
The social significance of segment one, the maɳtsukɔmɔ cleansing ritual, is realised in 
how the Ga tsukɔmɔ expression applies to steaming or smoking activities. This includes 
hetsukɔmɔ (steaming of one’s body with medicinal vapour), maɳtsukɔmɔ (cleansing a town or 
community with ƞmatsu smoke), lootsukɔmɔ (wood smoking of fish for preservation), and 
nutsukɔmɔ (using smoke to disinfect drinking water and enhance its taste with ƞmeasra).6 
It is worth noting that in many West African spiritual traditions, entering a sacred space 
requires the removal of Western-style clothes, watches and other modern articles in favour 
of naturally constructed alternatives. The employment of smoke from ancient palm tree 
fibres in cleaning the town may signify the resurfacing of deep cultural roots and, by 
extension, a rejection of modern products and lifestyles. Based on the iconic relationship 
this segment forms with the everyday tsukɔmɔ activities of the Ga, it is evident that beneath 
the mantsukͻmɔ rite lie thoughts of preservation, purification, good taste and healing. 
Similarly, the importance of the ƞkpaiyeli second segment is understood by how the Ga’s 
6 Ƞmatsu are natural, ancient fibres of an indigenous palm tree.
8  Laryea Akwetteh
application of the affix ‘yeli’ (eating) relates to socio-political and religious activities such 
as niyeli (the eating of food), afiyeli or yɛlɛyeli (commemoration), ƞkpaiyeli (libation prayer), 
lumɔyeli (political officeholding), nyɔɳyeli (slavery) and jarayeli (trading). In this regard, the 
nkpaiyeli segment highlights the extent to which the Ga pray to their ancestors and deities 
for the physical, psychological, political and religious sustenance of society. Prayers for 
peace in the town and nation, as well as the welfare of all non-Ga residents (referred to as 
gbɔi) who have come to witness the festival or domicile in Teshie, are also offered during 
this segment.
Although scholars such as Field (1961 [1937]), Nii-Dortey (2012) and Ammah (2016) 
rightly represent the term ‘gbɛ’ as a road or path, its use in gbɛmlilaa stems from the Ga word 
‘hegbɛ’ which literally means authority, right or privilege. Its usage in Ga ritual contexts, 
according to Tettey (2016), has nothing to do with a physical road or the blocking thereof,7 
but is rather applied as a metaphor (Kropp Dakubu 2016). The original expressions are 
‘hegbɛmlilaa’ (blocking of authority) or ‘ala hegbɛ mli’ (the authority is or has been blocked) 
– phrases that mark a time when the authority of deities is blocked until the code is lifted. 
The present ala gbɛmli designation or road-blocking is ‘a creation inherited and passed on 
to this generation […] sͻ a sͻ (meaning it was crafted)’ (Kumah 2016). 
The road or path concept in coastal West African languages, ranging from Ga to Yoruba, 
is recognised by practitioners and academics as having a metaphorical connection with 
spiritual life, as observed in Field (1961 [1937]) and Nii-Dortey (2012). The Ga believe 
that gbɛjee (literally translated to mean road-clearing or path-clearing) as the final segment 
of the gbɛmlilaa ritual proper ‘clears the path’ for both humans and spirits to go through a 
degree of self-examination. Festivals indeed mark the closing of one ritual year with all its 
shortcomings and accomplishments, and usher in a new one (Nii-Dortey 2012). They may 
symbolise a period of ‘ritual reversal’ during which statements are made in speech or in song 
about ‘the social order – to affirm it, attack it, suspend it, redefine it, oppose it, buttress it, 
emphasize one part of it at the cost of another, and so forth’ (Myerhoff 1983:231).
Ga notions of sound, death, silence and noise
Within the gbɛmlilaa ritual frame, innocuous sounds from handclapping, musical 
instruments, playing traditional games and even large-scale frying of fish are all perceived 
as symbolic noise and thus prohibited. Yet the loud blaring noise of kpashimɔ songs on 
PA systems is allowed throughout the festive season. The Ga code is thus not an absolute 
negation of sound but, to borrow John Cage’s words, ‘include[s] sounds and more and 
more’ (Kahn 1997:558). These particular sounds are distinguished from everyday sound 
and silence through the complementary rituals of gbɛmlilaa and gbɛmlilaa gb’lemɔ.8 
7 Tettey is a Ga historian and retired reverend minister of the Presbyterian church of Ghana.
8 Gbɛmlilaa gb’lemɔ is the rite performed to lift the code gbɛmlilaa institutes.
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  9
Sound
Ga society considers any activity perceptible by ear as gbɛɛmɔ. Spoken comments and 
actual practices within the space of the code suggest that Ga people privilege certain 
sound qualities. They believe that within the gbɛmlilaa frame, every sound must promote 
the Hɔmɔwɔ festival. Sound from gadgets, speech, eating, drumming, footsteps, songs, 
urinating, slaps, beatings, flatulence, whistling, etc. are prohibited on the night after the 
gbɛmlilaa ceremony, when ritual experts gather to commune with spirit beings. Throughout 
the festive season, however, greetings such as afiooooooo afi (happy new year), walaeeeee ee 
wala (life in abundance) omanyeeeee ee omanye (goodwill, success, peace) and ƞɔɔ wala, ƞɔɔ 
wala (receive life, receive life) are regularly heard as residents seek to give life, blessings, 
goodwill and reconciling messages to one another. These sounds may be accompanied 
with handshakes, or in the case of the people of La, the hugging of individuals regardless of 
their dress, position, religion or ethnicity. 
On the contrary, a sound (whether in speech or song) that does not promote the 
Hɔmɔwɔ is perceived as unproductive and thus ‘dead’. To better understand this idea 
of unproductivity, the Ga use the term ‘gbonyo’ (a dead person) as an affix to describe a 
bad or offensive person (gbɔmɔ gbonyo), character (suban gbonyo), law (mla gbonyo), activity 
(nɔ gbonyo), etc. The Ga community thus establishes an iconic relationship based on the 
resemblance between death and unproductivity. Songs such as ‘J J Sͻpͻta Ashikishan Pioto 
Awolɛ Parazo Ashikishan Pioto’ (‘J J Rawlings’s Underpants are Sewn from a Bleached 
Wheat Flour Bag or Sack’), which are composed to insult, are in this regard labelled as 
unproductive or kpa gbonyo, a dead kpa.9
Not only is a dead sound prohibited by the code, but gbɛmlilaa also forbids a dead person 
from being taken across the Kpeshie and Sango Lagoons during the Teshie Hɔmɔwɔ.10 It 
is seen as taboo and a curse to die within the Hɔmɔwɔ space. Any Ga who dies at this time 
is said to have ‘died on the day death is forbidden’, and s/he must be buried immediately 
without any mourning (Tuaka 2016). In Teshie, the only funerary rite observed for a Ga 
individual who dies during Hɔmɔwɔ is the general practice meant to cleanse the town 
of the undesirable event.11 As expressed in the Ga word ‘efite’, it is believed that a dead 
person (gbonyo), like spoilt food, is unclean and unfit to encounter the sacred. Christian 
individuals, however, keep the deceased in mortuaries until the end of the festive period, 
when they can start to plan funerary activities. Non-indigenes are allowed to do likewise, 
9 During his tenure as president of Ghana, Jerry John Rawlings attempted to suspend the Teshie Hɔmɔwɔ 
festival, as he successfully did for the people of La due to chieftaincy disputes. This then is a kpashimɔ song 
composed in the 1990s as commentary against the actions of Rawlings.
10 Kpeshie Lagoon is situated between Teshie and La. It belongs to the people of La and forms part of their 
deities. Sango Lagoon, situated at the Teshie landing beach, is the only lagoon between Teshie and Nungua. 
It originally belonged to the people of Nungua.
11 See the book Religion and Medicine of the Ga People by Field (1961 [1937]) for a vivid account of what happens 
not only to those who die during the Ga Hɔmɔwɔ festival, but also the deceased’s family.
10  Laryea Akwetteh
or cross the Kpeshie and Sango Lagoons with the deceased to their hometowns. These are 
the only people exempted from the curse or taboo and the consequent hurried burial in 
Ga society.
Silence
The Ga notion of silence within the Teshie gbɛmlilaa ritual frame is, primarily, concerned 
with issues that have been ‘left to idle’, waiting for the opportune moment to be unearthed. 
It is ‘all of the sound we don’t intend’ (Kahn 1997:558). As broad and encompassing as they 
can be, these matters are described by the Ga as sajii ni awɔnɔ (issues that have been slept 
on) and believed to be matters that threaten the peace and stability of the town. They 
include interpersonal or family issues, matters concerning local authorities, national and 
political topics, etc. Sajii ni awɔnɔ are considered as (unproductive) noise in ordinary life 
and thus no one addresses them. But, this logic is reversed during the observance of the 
code as these issues that have been left to idle or sajii ni awɔnɔ become acceptable and 
productive. They constitute the primary compositional resources for kpashimɔ groups, are 
set to memorable tunes with well-crafted texts, and discussed publicly and fearlessly by the 
music groups. The manner in which they are awakened and commented upon — how 
they avoid negative speech and conflict — confirms Peek’s argument (2013:5) that ‘silence 
is the supreme virtue, a type of wisdom that subsumes integrity, courage, the power of the 
soul, prudence, modesty, and temperance’.
In 2016, for example, the kpashimͻ group called Ghana composed a song to reprimand 
a particular deity that was constantly demanding blood sacrifice in Teshie (see Table 4 for 
the textual transcription). By simply listening to the call-and-response phrases in the first 
section, the audience is tempted to assume that the entire song is in praise of the Manjaranɔ 
shrine.12 The chorus’s response, however, reminds the community of the role of its deities. 
Line 5 and 6 are indexical, for based on its context the community understands that deities 
at the Manjaranɔ shrine are benevolent and clean in contrast to those at shrines such as the 
one in Obeney We, which are malevolent and unclean.13 In Section B, the performers 
draw both a physical and religious contrast between the big Manjaranɔ shrine and the small 
shrine of Obeney We. The question posed by the chorus in line 7 does not suggest that 
they are unaware of the origin of the deity, but rather that they seek to know something 
beyond the obvious. 
Another kpashimɔ song that exemplifies sajii ni awͻnͻ is ‘Wɔyԑ Maƞ Ko’ (‘We are Living 
in a Strange Town’), which was composed by the group Greece in 2015 (see Table 5 for 
the textual transcription). In this song, the performers express the consequence of living 
in a community without a king. To indexically indicate all the other dangers the town is 
bound to encounter, they embellish the Ga word ‘aagbo’ with the modifier ‘sɔɳɳ’ (translated 
12 Manjaranɔ shrine is the only one that belongs to the entire community rather than a specific quarter or house. 
13 This shrine belongs to the people of Obeney We and regularly has blood sprinkled over it.
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  11
Table 4: Textual transcription of ‘Manjaraɔ Otutu’ by Ghana
Section A Section A
1.  Cantor: Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo, Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo 1. Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, Manjaranɔ shrine ooo
2.  Chorus: Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo, kɛ eshɛ afi, lɛ ebuɔ 2.  It is the Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, that protects us 
wɔhe during the annual festival
3.  Cantor: Lɛɛlɛɳ, Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo,  Manjaranɔ 3.  Truly, Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, Manjaranɔ  
Otutu ooo shrine ooo
4.  Chorus: Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo, kɛ eshɛ afi, lɛ ebuɔ 4.  It is the Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, that protects us 
wɔhe during the annual festival
Section B Section B
5.  Cantor: Otutu bibioo, bibioo oo eee 5.  A small shrine, small oo eee
6.  Chorus: Otutu bibioo ni ema Obeney We, Otutu 6.  The small shrine situated at Obeney We, the small 
bibioo ni ema Obeney We shrine situated at Obeney We
7.  Wɔɳbi akɛ nakai Otutu’ɛ nɛgbɛ akɛjɛ ee ee 7.  We are asking where that shrine was brought from 
ee ee
8. Ni bei kɛ bei fɛɛ ni enuɔ la sɔɳɳ 8.  It is always drinking blood
Section A’ Section A’
9.  Cantor: Lɛɛlɛɳ, Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo, Manjaranɔ 9.  Truly, Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, Manjaranɔ  
Otutu ooo shrine ooo
10.  Chorus: Manjaranɔ Otutu ooo, kɛ eshɛ afi, lɛ ebuɔ 10.  It is the Manjaranɔ shrine ooo, that protects us 
wɔhe during the annual festival
Table 5: Textual transcription of ‘Wɔyԑ Maƞ Ko’ by Greece
Section A Section A
1–4.  Cantor: Wɔyɛ maɳ ni mantsɛ bɛmli eei, aagbo sɔɳɳ 1–4.  We are living in a town without a king eei, people 
are always dying 
Section B Section B
5.  Cantor: Eee aanji wɔyɛ mantsɛ ku’ɛ 5. Eee if only we have a king
6.  Chorus: Kɛ mɔko gbe enyɛmi abaamɔ lɛ awolɛ tsu 6.  When someone kills his relative, he would be 
arrested and imprisoned 
7.  Cantor: Eee aanji wɔyɛ mantsɛ ku’ɛ 7.  Eee if only we have a king
8.  Chorus: Kɛ mɔko gbe enyɛmi abaamɔ lɛ awolɛ tsu 8.  When someone kills his relative, he would be 
arrested and imprisoned
Section C Section C
9.  Cantor: Eee Teshie onukpai wie akɛ 9.  Eee the elders of Teshie said that
10.  Chorus: Akabɔ wɔɳ yɛ Teshie 10.  Summoning of people to a deity should cease in 
Teshie
11.  Cantor: Ee maɳ nɛɳ onukpai wie akɛ 11.  Eee the town’s elders said that
12.  Chorus: Akabɔ wɔɳ yɛ Teshie 12.  Summoning of people to a deity should cease in 
Teshie 
13.  Bo’ɛɳtsɛ onyɛmi tete po, ɳmɛnɛ omɔ lɛ ogbe lɛ 13.  Today, you have killed your very own sibling
Section A’ Section A’
14.  Cantor: Wɔyɛ maɳko 14.  We are living in a strange town
15.  Chorus: Wɔyɛ maɳ ni mantsɛ bɛmli eei, aagbo sɔɳɳ 15.  We are living in a town without a king eei, people 
are always dying
12  Laryea Akwetteh
as ‘always’) in lines 1 and 2. The appropriate punishment that would be given to anyone 
who takes the life of a relative if there was a king is then discussed in line 6 and repeated in 
line 8. It is not that the elders of the community do not know of such a penalty, but rather 
seem to overlook it because there is no king. Section B of the song therefore serves as a 
metonymic index and reminds the elders and community members of what was done to 
persons who engaged in ritual murder in the past. To the performers, the past experience 
of sanctioning murderers must therefore be revisited to stop the act. Section C partly gives 
credit to the minimal effort made by elders of the town to curb the act of ritual murders 
(lines 9–12). Not only have those rules been ignored, but they have not been met with 
the appropriate sanctions and responses, as suggested by the performers in Section B. In 
line 13, the performers’ employment of the word ‘sibling’ (nyɛmi) symbolically suggests any 
member of the community. The use of the word ‘today’ (ɳmɛnɛ) in the same line establishes 
an indexical relationship with real-life experiences of community members. In the reprise 
of Section A, the cantor’s expression in line 14 indicates the group’s astonishment at living 
in a community without a king.
By talking about sajii ni awɔnɔ, kpashimɔ songs such as these deflate people’s egos and even 
immobilise spiritual powers.14 Once the songs have confronted the authorities and deities 
and addressed all the ills that have hurt the society in the previous year, everyone hopes 
and believes that there will be a fresh beginning in the new year. To the Ga, this silence 
is ‘a present reality tied to life [...] it is a source of life since it leads to the conservation 
of existence which it otherwise protects’ (Peek 1994:477). Meanwhile, talking or singing 
about the same sajii ni awɔnɔ in ordinary life is an act of hoofeemɔ (noise-making). Within 
this framework, the person involved is considered hoofeelɔ (a noisy person) and perceived 
as someone without knowledge of when to keep quiet, or of the appropriate person to 
address an issue with. On the other hand, a person who observes this protocol is considered 
a diofeelͻ (a quiet person) and is described as wise enough to know when and how to talk. 
In other words, silence in Ga society, especially during Hɔmɔwɔ, does not suggest quietude. 
Similarly, noise-making is not necessarily about making a loud sound but, as discussed 
earlier, refers to any sound that does not promote Hɔmɔwɔ. Such a sound, whether in speech 
or song, is unproductive and does not possess the ‘extra-human or supernatural dimensions 
needed to facilitate its employment as a preferred medium for negotiating and normalising 
physical and spiritual wellbeing’ of the Teshie community (Avorgbedor 2000:21). It is dead.
Conclusion
The findings presented in this paper have shown that the Ga code of silence is more than 
a period of quietude for Ga deities, or a ban on drumming and noise-making meant to 
incite conflicts. Instead, the stringent demands of the code are not only an integral part 
of the community’s life, but are also lived throughout the annual festive season. Simply 
14 See Akwetteh (2017) for more transcriptions of Teshie kpashimͻ songs.
‘THE ROAD IS BLOCKED’: NOTIONS OF SOUND AND SILENCE IN THE GA HƆMƆWƆ FESTIVAL  13
describing the code as a ban on drumming and noise-making is therefore problematic as 
the expression fails to adequately convey the intended demands and expectations of the 
code to both non-Ga individuals and the global world who perceive Accra as a modern, 
multicultural city. In the gbɛmlilaa ritual context ‘not only are the rules and procedures of 
musical practice reversed and interrogated, but effort is also made to extend the boundaries 
of sound’ (Avorgbedor 2000:11). It would thus be inappropriate to say or think that 
nothing happens while the code is being observed. On the contrary, the things that do 
happen are conceptualised as silence (Agawu 1986) and ‘experienced as an embodied 
activity’ meant to renew society (Clifton 1976:163).
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