Ghana’s Foundational Women: Matriarchs Who Shaped Nations

The Silent Architects: Ancient Roots of Maternal Power

In the fertile red earth of Kintampo, long before the rise of kings or the formation of intricate clans, it was women who first established the hearths of settled life. Archaeologists have painstakingly uncovered their enduring traces: pottery vessels smoothed by skilled thumbs and twisted cords, delicate beads meticulously carved from ostrich shells, and the charred remains of yams in the soil – silent testament to their industriousness. These were the true mothers of settled existence, the unheralded architects of community. They erected the first protective walls, painstakingly ground grain to sustain their families, and domesticated the vital palm. From their meticulously tended gardens sprang an abundance that not only provided sustenance but also fostered leisure, craft, and the very first stirrings of social hierarchy.

In those nascent villages, leadership was not asserted through conquest or declared by decree, but rather through the profound principle of continuity – embodied by the one who nourished, respectfully buried, and faithfully remembered. Thus, even before the legendary Golden Stool, before the sacred skins or the revered stools of authority, and certainly before the sword became a symbol of power, the essence of governance in this land was already inherently maternal.

Matrilineal Heritage: The Enduring Bloodline

As migrants from the northern territories ventured into the verdant heart of the forest, they carried with them a fundamental principle: the mother is the root of all lineage. Among the Bono people of Bono-Manso – widely recognized as Ghana’s inaugural Akan state – descent was irrevocably traced through the woman’s bloodline. The matrilineal clan, known as the abusua, functioned as both a foundational constitution and a supreme court. Its venerable keeper was the ohemaa, the queen-mother, whose solemn duty it was to identify the rightful heir and safeguard the spiritual essence of the stool.

The ancient myth of Aberewa, “the Ancient Woman,” who is said to have sculpted humankind from clay, powerfully illustrates this truth. Though she stands as a figure half in cosmology and half in historical memory, her legend eloquently encodes a profound social reality – that the fundamental concepts of creation, kinship, and power were conceived of as female long before they were ever associated with the male.

In the region of Adanse, women were not only skilled builders but also masterful potters; indeed, the very name Adanse translates to “those who build.” From their expertly fired kilns emerged the distinctive forms that would define early Akan art and, in time, become the revered symbols of authority. They served as dedicated artisans, vigilant shrine-keepers, and the earliest recorders of law, inscribing wisdom in woven cloths and intricate symbols.

Queens in Tumult: Shaping Nations Through Crisis

The rise of Denkyira and the rebellion of Kwaman, the nascent Asante polity, plunged the Akan world into a period of brutal civil war. Amidst this profound chaos stood a formidable queen-mother: Abena Pokua, whose renown extended across the western frontier as Abla Pokou. When defeat and disunity scattered her people, she led her devoted followers westward until the formidable, swollen waters of the River Komoé blocked their path.

The enduring story recounts that she made the ultimate sacrifice, offering her only son to the churning waters so that her people might safely cross. “Ba ouli!” – “the child is dead!” – became the poignant name of the new nation she founded, the Baoulé. While chroniclers may debate the precise boundary where myth concludes and memory begins, the undeniable truth lies in her profound significance: a woman whose decisive act, whether real or remembered, quite literally gave birth to a people. Through her, the powerful archetype of the tribal mother indelibly entered Ghanaian history.

While the Akan peoples waged their conflicts inland, the vibrant Ga cities flourished beside the sea. At the dawn of the seventeenth century, Naa Dode Akaabi I reigned over the Ga state of Accra – a rare and remarkable instance of a woman monarch in West Africa’s bustling coastal polities. She governed with an authority entirely her own, enacting and rigorously enforcing laws that shielded the vulnerable and punished the violent. She courageously led her people in battle against encroaching neighbors and, according to the venerable Ga chronicles, was tragically buried alive by those she had disciplined perhaps too harshly. Her compelling story persists not as a mere legend but as a powerful precedent: a historical queen whose impactful reign firmly established the memory of female sovereignty along the coast. To this very day, every Ga coronation whispers her name when the sacred stool undergoes its ceremonial washing.

When the nineteenth century dawned, the formidable Asante empire held sway over the vast forest lands. Yet, in Akyem Abuakwa, a remarkable woman ascended to the paramount stool. Nana Afia Dokuaa, the esteemed niece of the former Okyenhene Kofi Asante, made history as the only woman in Akyem’s long history to rule as Okyenhene. From 1817 to 1835, she commanded armies, sagaciously settled disputes, and fiercely preserved Akyem’s vital independence against relentless Asante pressure. Her reign powerfully demonstrates that Akan matriliny was far from an empty formality; in times of profound crisis, it possessed the inherent capacity to place a woman directly on the throne itself. Her majestic banners proudly displayed a leopardess, and her name became a revered proverb: “When the mother sits, the town sits with her.”

In 1826, Asante faced a crushing defeat at Katamanso; its once mighty empire began to fracture. Five years later, in 1831, a distinguished royal woman – Akyaawa Yikwan, the accomplished daughter of Asantehene Osei Kwadwo – was chosen to negotiate peace. Once captured by Danish traders and subsequently freed, she championed Asante’s cause before the British governor and skillfully reopened the crucial trade routes that were essential for the kingdom’s survival. Her pivotal mission marked the first recorded instance of an African woman acting as an official state envoy on the Gold Coast. Her voice, calm yet firm, heralded a new form of power: diplomacy born of profound maternal legitimacy.

Evolving Authority: Modern Extensions of Ancient Roles

In the mid-nineteenth century, as the profound influences of Christianity and burgeoning trade began to reshape society, a new and distinct type of female authority emerged. Among the Krobo people, the revered queen-mothers (manye) evolved into vital custodians of morality and civic responsibility. Their esteemed leader, remembered as Manye Makutu Sakite, formalized the significant Dipo initiation rites, endowing them with considerable civic weight: every girl who successfully passed through her court became a Krobo woman in both legal standing and spiritual essence. In this profound way, womanhood itself became the veritable constitution of a people.

Along the coast, the Fante ohemaas sat in counsel beside their kings when the Fante Confederacy was solemnly proclaimed in 1868. They offered invaluable advice on matters of war and diplomacy, and in their trusted hands, the sacred stools were carefully safeguarded during periods of conflict. Though their individual names were not widely chronicled, their esteemed offices persist in Fante towns to this very day, serving as living proof that women played a vital and shared role in the making of modern politics.

When Governor Hodgson audaciously demanded the Golden Stool, the supreme symbol of Asante sovereignty, the council fell into a stunned silence. Then, the Queen Mother of Ejisu, the indomitable Yaa Asantewaa, rose and spoke with unwavering resolve: “If you, the men of Asante, will not go forward, then we, the women, will. I shall call upon my fellow women; we will fight.” She courageously led the War of the Golden Stool in 1900, famously laying siege to the British fort at Kumasi. Though she was ultimately captured and exiled to the Seychelles, she masterfully transformed defeat into an enduring legend. Her campaign represented the final Asante war and became the foundational nationalist memory of modern Ghana. She “transmuted the courage of desperation into the dignity of defiance.”

When the pressures of colonialism and missionary efforts began to erode older, revered shrines, one remarkable woman boldly re-centered them. At Larteh, Nana Akua Oparebea became the high priestess of the Akonedi Shrine – a revered seat of spiritual power held sacred by both Guan and Akan peoples. From the 1950s to the 1990s, she governed thousands of devoted adherents, offered counsel to presidents, and eloquently represented traditional religion on the international stage. In her, ancient spiritual authority seamlessly evolved into modern civic leadership – a direct continuation of the same maternal stewardship that had wisely guided clans for centuries.

In the mid-twentieth century, as political power significantly shifted from chieftaincy to commerce, it was often women who skillfully controlled the bustling markets – and, through them, the very pulse of the nation. Naa Dedei Aryeetey, a powerful flour magnate and the undisputed queen of Makola Market, emerged as a key financier of Kwame Nkrumah’s burgeoning independence movement. Her substantial profits filled the party’s coffers; her name resonated through Accra’s vibrant streets. Tragically, in 1961, she was poisoned – the circumstances never fully resolved – yet her enduring portrait graces Ghana’s 50 pesewa coin. She brilliantly transformed economic motherhood into a powerful political maternity: literally feeding a revolution.

Diverse Leadership: Women Across Ghana’s Landscape

In the historically patriarchal kingdoms of the north, the vital counterweight to kingship has long been the Gundo Naa – reverently known as the “Woman of the Skin.” She traces her distinguished descent to Gbewa’s first daughter, a lineage that predates the line of kings, and she presides over the intricate women’s hierarchy. From her esteemed court in Yendi, she arbitrates disputes, formally installs female chiefs, and serves as an important witness to royal enthronements. This ancient office is centuries old and remains remarkably intact today – irrefutable proof that even in male-dominated dynasties, governance was never exclusively male.

In the Gonja and Waala states, old advisory roles for elder women have been recently and thoughtfully restored as Wuriche (female chiefs) and Pognaa (queen-mothers). In 2018, Wa proudly installed its first formal Pognaa, thereby integrating women back into the esteemed institution of chieftaincy. Their important work now focuses on critical areas such as education, peacebuilding, and public health – representing modern extensions of the ancient maternal office.

Among the Ewe people, the Mamaga (“Great Mother”) serves with distinction beside the Fiaga (“Chief”). She governs women’s affairs, meticulously upholds vital rituals, and mediates disputes – a position deeply rooted in the Ewe ideal of Mawu-Lisa, the divine twin, half female and half male. Modern Mamagas like Mamaga Akua Dua I of Anlo eloquently uphold this parity, reminding their people that no authority stands in isolation.

In the Manya Krobo hills, the dynamic manye councils expanded into full-fledged civic assemblies, actively directing public health initiatives, educational programs, and the promotion of women’s rights – tangible descendants of the ritual mothers who once initiated girls into the sacred rites of womanhood.

The Living Legacy: Queen-Mothers Today

Today in Kumasi, the esteemed Asantehemaa – currently Nana Konadu Yiadom III – holds court beside the Asantehene. She serves as the indispensable matrilineal pivot of succession; no king is considered legitimate without her explicit consent. She presides over a powerful council of queen-mothers that intrinsically links the royal house to every single clan within Asanteman. Through her, the oldest matriarchal institution in West Africa remains vibrantly alive – the very same unbroken line that stretches back to Aberewa, Afia Dokuaa, and the legendary Yaa Asantewaa.

Across Ghana, these queen-mothers are now actively organizing in influential national associations, spearheading crucial campaigns for girls’ education, environmental protection, and peacebuilding initiatives. In their congresses, one can distinctly hear again the ancient heartbeat of the Kintampo mothers: the profound governance of care.

From the skilled potters of Kintampo to the revered priestesses of Larteh, from Naa Dode Akaabi to Yaa Asantewaa, from the Gundo Naa of Yendi to Naa Dedei Aryeetey of Makola, Ghana’s rich story has always been a double-voiced narrative – kings and mothers, skins and wombs, swords and words. Some women commanded kingdoms; others commanded memory. But each, in her own significant time, held the fragile order of society in the steady, rhythmic assurance of her hands.

“History is the sum of choices made in fear and in faith; in Ghana, when empires cracked or new nations stirred, it was often a woman who made the choice.”

And so it was – that the tribes and nations of Ghana were not merely ruled by kings; they were, in a fundamental sense, born of women.