Mmpayinsem Diaries: The intellectual fire stolen by our colonisers in the name of foolish respect

The cultural debate surrounding the brilliance of young Ghanaians, particularly a girl like Adobea, highlights a profound historical injury. When this little girl speaks—with the analytical depth, wisdom, and use of proverbs typically associated with a much older person—she is exhibiting Mmpayinsem (the wisdom and discourse of the elders). Yet, many Ghanaians, including some public figures, label this profound intelligence as mere "disrespect."

This knee-jerk demand for silence, I argue, is not a genuine defense of Ghanaian culture, but a crippling legacy of colonialism.

The Corruption of "Respect" and the True State of Civility

In traditional Akan society, Mmpayinsem was a form of power, a sign of deep competence and knowledge acquired not from formal schooling or books, but exclusively from traditional wisdom, elders, anansesem (folktales), and astute analysis of life. My own grandmother, for example, is an incredibly intelligent, mmpayinsem woman, whose wisdom is subtle, earned, and completely unconnected to formal education.

Today, however, an insidious definition of "respect" has taken root. It no longer means honoring wisdom; it means unquestioning obedience and silence. We see the ultimate uselessness of this forced compliance: the people taught to "keep their mouth shut" are often the same ones who are most disrespectful, easy to cheat, and hypocritical in their private lives. Clearly, "respect" didn't help those who preach it, as their silence and compliance left them vulnerable to being fooled. For the brilliant child, silence would be a tragedy—a crippling of her innate ability to reason and challenge, skills that would make her impossible to fool.

The Colonial Project: Killing Our Fire and Reframing Our Culture

The demand for silence is a direct historical inheritance. The colonial powers came to break our will, drown our voice, and seize our intelligence. They achieved this by branding our intellectual boldness not just as "barbarism," but also as a "lack of cultural refinement" or "incivility," thereby justifying the imposition of their own culture.

This was a calculated lie. Our ancestors fostered incredible societies, with a deep love for one another. Before colonialism, our societies were fantastic hubs of trade, culture, and civilisation.

My visit to the Cape Coast slave ports confirmed the colonial objective. We know of the Yaa Asantewaa women—those whose will was hardest to break. They were punished most severely because an unbroken spirit, an unwillingness to be controlled, was the greatest threat to the slave system.

What the white man stole from us was not just material wealth, but our boldness, our ability to negotiate, and our right to control our own lives. They replaced the spirit of defiance with a culture of fear, even delivering a distorted version of Christianity that taught people to be obedient slaves instead of the God-given boldness it should embody. This cultural programming aims to destroy the little girl’s fire because she is simply "too much to handle"—too intelligent, too autonomous.

The Price of Silence and the Mother's Promise

The consequence of this enforced "respect" is the political and economic paralysis we face today.

We live in a nation where governments filled with "respectful, well-educated" people feel free to steal money and enrich themselves, and where pastors use the populace to gain wealth. Yet, the people sit and are silent. The power to stand up for ourselves and defend our interests has been compromised because the cultural reflex is to equate a wise, critical voice with disrespect or even witchcraft.

Tragically, we insist on destroying our country, our river bodies, and our people through destructive actions like galamsey (illegal mining) to build mansions and possess a thousand cars—all to appease these modern, false gods of "respect" and "civility." Who, then, is the barbarian? It is the one who destroys their own home in pursuit of a hollow, externally imposed standard.

This is why the stance of the little girl's mother is so revolutionary. As she rightly noted, Ghanaians will say anything, but she is "determined not to kill her daughter's fire." This unyielding commitment to nurturing a child's boldness is the ultimate rejection of the colonial demand for silence. Her daughter embodies the Mmpayinsem that is terrifying to those who rely on compliance.

Mmpayinsem was power. We have a long way to go to unlearn the lie that wisdom is disrespect. We must choose to nurture the fire of intelligence in the next generation, rather than allowing the fear of an old enemy to make us cowards. Who, indeed, did being foolish and respectful ever truly help?

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