Header Photo: Fort Augustaburg Teshie Nungua 1890, The National Archives, UK
The Ga-Adangbe peoples who inhabited this region were deeply tied to their land, chieftaincy structures, and trade networks. European powers — Danish, Dutch, and British — sought to insert themselves into this system through forts, diplomacy, and economic pressure. But local communities were never passive. Their resistance was strategic. They knew when to align, when to delay, and when to push back.
In Teshie, for example, the Danes found willing allies when constructing Fort Augustaborg in 1787 — but this alliance was conditional. Local leaders granted land and trade rights only on the understanding that their political autonomy would remain intact. When Danish demands overstepped — through taxation or attempts to control internal disputes — the Teshie elders would delay cooperation or limit access to labor. These quiet acts of refusal were forms of resistance, carefully measured to protect their interests without inviting military retaliation.
Similarly, in Prampram and Ningo, communities leveraged European presence for their own political gains but resisted deeper forms of control. Oral histories from Old Ningo speak of strategic misinformation, where locals misled foreign traders about the movement of inland goods to redirect profit. In other cases, communities simply refused to supply porters or soldiers, effectively sabotaging colonial logistics without confrontation. Resistance in these towns often took the form of withholding participation — denying the colonial project the human resources it needed to operate efficiently.
In Accra, the struggle became more visible as British colonial control deepened. After the British acquisition of Danish and Dutch forts in the mid-19th century, they began to interfere more directly in Ga political affairs — especially the appointment of the Ga Mantse, the paramount chief of the Ga people. The British sought to install chiefs who would be loyal to the Crown and facilitate indirect rule. But this interference triggered widespread dissent. Communities divided over legitimacy, and the traditional chiefly institutions began to fragment under colonial pressure.
Public demonstrations and civil resistance followed, often led by youth groups, local orators, and market women — many of whom played central roles in Ga society. These figures used public gatherings, festivals, and funeral processions to protest new colonial ordinances, especially those around taxation, land seizure, and forced labor. Resistance was often cultural: songs were composed mocking colonial officials, while symbolic clothing and gestures were used to subvert colonial authority without directly confronting it.
Perhaps the most vivid symbol of resistance came not from organized militias, but from refusal to forget. Despite efforts by British administrators to centralize power and erase local identity, Ga-Adangbe oral traditions, language, and festivals survived. The Homowo Festival, for instance, continued as a communal act of remembrance and spiritual resistance, even under tight colonial scrutiny. The maintenance of shrines, sacred groves, and ancestral lands in the face of European land claims was a profound and deeply rooted act of sovereignty.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with the expansion of missionary schools and colonial courts, a new wave of resistance emerged: legal and intellectual defiance. Literate Ga elites, many educated in mission schools, began to use the colonial legal system to challenge land seizures, petition against abusive officials, and document local grievances. Writers, translators, and catechists became political actors — wielding the pen as a form of protest. These were not isolated acts; they were part of a growing sense that foreign rule could be contested through words as much as through weapons.
Throughout the Accra–Teshie corridor, resistance did not always look like rebellion. It was often disguised as diplomacy, delay, disobedience, or cultural endurance. But it was resistance nonetheless — born of a deep desire to preserve autonomy, protect ancestral land, and negotiate survival in the shadow of empire. The forts that still stand today — whether in ruins or restored — are not just monuments to European ambition. They are reminders of the people who lived beside them, who negotiated with them, and who, in ways large and small, refused to be dominated.