Yet We Say Globalization: The Hidden Cost of Abandoning Our Traditional Games and Culture
Let me begin with a question:
Where are the traditional games we once cherished—those joyous moments punctuated by the melodies of our Akan folk songs echoing across our compounds and schoolyards?
Maybe I should jog your memory with a few of those melodies:
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Moma yen ko hwe Adwoa Ataa, Adwoa Ataa, Adwoa Ataa…
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Circle oo circle…
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I want, I want, I want Akos. I want Akos to come and dance for me…
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Dela mame ee rice water. Yee yee rice water…
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Bam bam bambaliika…
These were more than songs. They were soul-chants, rhythmic threads woven into the fabric of our communal identity. And at the heart of them were games like ampe, once so widely played by Ghanaian girls that it was impossible to walk past any open space without hearing its sharp claps and laughter.
Here we sat, chewing sticks stuck in between our teeth, watching silently as foreign cultures consumed our own—just like Moses’ rod swallowed those of the Egyptian magicians.
Yet we say globalization.
These weren’t just games. They were sacred experiences that:
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Forged and strengthened unity among us
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Preserved the communalist spirit we carry
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Offered relief to the anxious child’s heart
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Erased the reality of hunger and torn clothes, even for a moment
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Boosted our immune systems through joy and movement
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Brought smiles and seeded hope even in hard times
Yet we say globalization.
Today, we’ve replaced our heritage-rich games with digital distractions that often isolate rather than connect—like social media.
Where are the activities? Where is the sweat and laughter that used to keep our bodies and hearts alive? Where is the aerobic joy that once came from running and playing in the open air?
Could this shift be contributing to the strange illnesses we now face in the prime of our lives, despite advancements in healthcare technology? Can a body thrive when it’s barely used?
Yet we say globalization.
Let it be clear. I am not against globalization.
But I am deeply concerned about the version of globalization we’ve welcomed, one that strips us of our originality, identity, and resilience, turning us into disconnected hybrids with no sense of rootedness.
To the young men:
Yes, our elders have sold the football parks to estate developers, churches, malls, and business developers. With nowhere left to play, you now only watch football instead of playing it. We deride local football’s “quality,” yet how can quality emerge when our little boys have nowhere to play?
Let me ask you something personal:
Why are many men under 30 already developing potbellies these days?
This used to be a sign of old age. Now it’s a symptom of early physical neglect.
Yet we say globalization.
We must ask the harder questions—not about globalization itself, but about what we’ve traded in its name.
