Sitting around a table at a gathering in a privileged neighbourhood within one of the poorest countries in Africa, I initially found myself unimpressed by the expansive two-acre property that housed an imposing mansion. Although I was struck by the grandeur of the spacious residence and its extensive walls, the history behind it did not resonate with me until a friend from Sierra Leone posed a provocative question to a Malawian: “How did you manage to expel the colonisers while they enjoyed the favourable climate and these luxurious homes?” The woman, the personal assistant of the white hostess, appeared unprepared for such an inquiry, caught between her role as an employee and the candid acknowledgement of a colonial past.

This moment illuminated for me how architectural designs, particularly buildings, are imbued with historical narratives that remain untold or obscured from casual observers like me. I began to interrogate my surroundings through the lens of history. The mansion in question, much like those found in Ridge, Accra, and other areas inhabited by Europeans (often referred to as bungalows), was intentionally designed to delineate boundaries between marginalised populations and privileged whites. I was struck by the realisation that spaces are not neutral; rather, they serve as platforms for establishing, asserting, and perpetuating power asymmetries and a continuous state of psychological inferiority.

I found myself grappling with feelings of anger and despair. Reflecting on my experience at the table, I began to view the mansion in relation to the buildings in Cambridge, some of which date back over 300 years. Having studied in Cambridge and witnessed the tiny rooms therein, my frustration grew at how foreign powers had subjected our ancestors to humiliation on their own land. Often, these mansions represented a transposition of the mental constructs of superiority, necessitating a physical separation from the inferiors whose labour they exploited. The living quarters and sanitation facilities for labourers, predominantly Black, were cramped and inadequate.

While there had been slight modifications to the mansion I observed, upon considering the 600 years of slavery and (modern) slavery associated with such structures and projecting this history onto the contemporary scene—where our natural resources are still extracted in their primary state—I felt a profound sense of reflection and severe pain in my heart. I took a soft drink and exited the party. On my way out, I handed the beverage to a security guard stationed at the gate, who was delighted and thankful to receive it while watching the festivities unfold. For me, his presence symbolised the reenactment of the history that informed the building, as he, too, was a product of that narrative. In essence, he did not belong to the class that could afford the food and drinks his two decades of salary could not cover. I managed a smile in response to his excitement, though it was difficult to mask the flood of historical injustices that replayed in my mind. In that moment, the demographic disparity was stark: three white individuals amidst over fifty Black attendees.

The next time you encounter a colonial building, consider those who inhabited it and the historical narratives intertwined with its existence. Pay critical attention to the living quarters of the slaves (indigenes) and those of colonisers (White colonisers). Do not be misled by claims of “300 years of friendship.” Instead, pause to question the true history that lies beneath the surface and reflect on whose histories are amplified and why.

As I departed, I could still hear the music resonating behind me, a reminder of the ongoing struggle. The history of Black individuals in this context warrants further exploration. Those—including government and private officials—who are acquiring (or plan to acquire) such bungalows and state lands to bequeath to their often spoiled and arrogant offspring should recognise that, one day, these injustices will be addressed. The ruling class/elite who are conspiring and conniving with foreigners to take state resources should know that they will not have the last laugh. While it may take time, justice will ultimately prevail over injustice. God forbid otherwise!

I refuse to give up on Africa (and it is very easy to do so, considering the colossal nature of the problems). Africa will rise – even if it will take a long time, swimming against the tide. To accomplish this, we need to consider the following (together with others): (1) know our history well, (2) renew our minds/attitudes, and (3) be determined to make Africa succeed – at the expense of individual interests.

Emmanuel Sowatey.

Email: emmanuel.sowatey@gmail.com