Embellished History, Broken Future: How Land and Chieftaincy Disputes Are Bleeding Northern Ghana

From my secondary school days, when I first studied History, I began to understand why oral history, one of the major sources of African history, has also become one of the greatest contributors to land and chieftaincy disputes across Ghana and Africa at large.

Anyone with basic knowledge of history knows the limitations of oral tradition. Chief among these is its vulnerability to deliberate embellishment. Narratives are often reshaped, exaggerated, or selectively told to serve the interests of one party against another. Whether the dispute concerns land ownership or rightful succession to a stool or skin, each side confidently presents itself as the legitimate custodian of history. Call a representative from the opposing faction, and an entirely different “truth” emerges—one that equally claims authenticity.

Let me be clear at this point: this is not a call to abandon or disregard oral history. Oral tradition remains a vital pillar of African historical consciousness and cultural preservation. However, it must be handled with meticulous care, intellectual honesty, and moral restraint. The danger lies not in oral history itself, but in the deliberate distortion of facts to serve parochial, political, or personal interests. When history is weaponised, it ceases to unite and begins to destroy.

This reality makes oral history deeply problematic in contemporary Ghana. While it remains invaluable as a source of our past, its abuse in the present has turned it into a trigger for conflict—one that, if not carefully managed, threatens to tear communities apart.

What makes the situation even more disturbing is the role of our political, legal, and security institutions. Corruption, greed, and gullibility have weakened systems that should protect truth and justice. Today, wealth can buy legitimacy. With enough money, one can acquire a chieftaincy title or sustain a land claim through endless litigation and violence. In the process, truth, wisdom, and genuine cultural memory are silenced, replaced by half-baked narratives—even from those who parade themselves as elders.

Yet, the greatest victims of these conflicts are not the powerful actors who fuel them. I weep for the children whose education is repeatedly disrupted or completely destroyed by land and chieftaincy disputes. Schools are closed, families displaced, and young dreams shattered—all because of selfish interests rooted in distorted histories.

I am equally troubled by the plight of vulnerable women. Our mothers—the bearers and nurturers of future leaders are often caught in the crossfire of these conflicts. Many are killed. Others lose their trading capital as markets are destroyed, plunging them into misery and abject poverty. Their suffering is rarely acknowledged, yet it is immense.

Chieftaincy and land disputes have become pervasive, particularly in Northern Ghana, where their impact is most devastating. Instead of channelling scarce resources into development, many communities now invest in stockpiling weapons in preparation for the next conflict. This occurs at a time when the government itself struggles to provide basic social amenities. The result is a widening development gap between the South and the North.

It is worth asking ourselves some uncomfortable questions. Have we realised that Southerners do not migrate to the North to do menial jobs such as farming, head portering (kayayee), sweeping, fetching water, or washing dishes? These jobs are largely left for, us, Northerners—often after conflicts force us to flee our homes to the South, where we survive under harsh and sometimes inhumane conditions. I may not have done any of these jobs anywhere in the South, but I have relationships, and they do them often. In this way, conflict not only destroys communities; it also entrenches poverty and deepens inequality.

Even more painful is the gradual erosion of our reputation as a people who value education. Not long ago, our grandfathers welcomed children from the South to attend schools in the North because education was taken seriously here. Lacking cocoa, the sea, and other major cash crops, education became our economic and social capital. Today, that proud legacy is fading. Increasingly, Northern children seek education in the South, often because instability at home makes learning impossible. Why are we doing this to ourselves?

As for our political elites, the less said, the better. It is deeply ironic and tragic, that some of the most educated individuals are allegedly behind many of these land and chieftaincy disputes. This raises a fundamental question: what kind of education empowers people to destroy their own communities?

Furthermore, one cannot help but ask: when will places like Bawku, once renowned for their business vibrancy and enterprise, reclaim their former glory? Can we truly have the Bawku many of us once knew? I pause here, not because I lack concern, but because the answers are painfully complex.

Bawku is not alone. Across Northern Ghana, villages and towns are slowly being wiped out by avoidable conflicts rooted in contested histories and selfish ambitions. There is an urgent need for collective reflection, honesty, and restraint.

Let me be clear once again: I take no side in any conflict in the North. I write as a concerned citizen and as a Northerner. What affects any town or village in this country, especially in the North, concerns me deeply. If anyone feels directly or indirectly confronted by this article, I ask for forgiveness. My obsession is not with blame, but with the ripple effects of these unfortunate circumstances on our shared future.

The question is no longer whether oral history has value—it certainly does. The real question is whether we are disciplined enough to preserve it truthfully, or reckless enough to allow its abuse to destroy us.

The Trial News