Beenie Words: Focus
The King of Takoradi: What a weekend with “Aya Ramzy B” taught Me about Ghana’s “Local Giants.”
Some weekends change your perspective, weekends that remind you why Ghana’s music ecosystem is a fascinating, misunderstood organism—and then there are weekends with Aya Ramzy B in Takoradi. That one deserves its own genre.
Before I travelled, I carried with me what I now admit was my Accra mind: a slightly jaded, metrics-obsessed, industry-wired consciousness that measures an artiste’s “worth” by Spotify editorial placements, Accra billboards, and their likelihood of getting interviewed on a Tuesday morning entertainment show. By that scale, Aya Ramzy B—though nominated for TGMA Unsung and for 3Music’s Next Rated—was just another promising but still-struggling talent. A name you nod to politely but don’t put money on just yet.
But Takoradi showed me flames. Beautiful, smoky, grilled-khebab-at-midnight flames.
Takoradi’s Golden Son
Aya Ramzy B is not famous in Ghana.
He is not a household name.
He is not charting on the national playlists.
What he is, however, is royalty.
In the Western Region, this man walks with the easy calm of someone whose kingdom is secure. People don’t just recognize him—they claim him. For them, he is not part of the music industry; he is part of the community, the culture, the collective moodboard of their everyday life.
From the moment I landed in Takoradi, I realized the rules had changed. For 72 straight hours, Aya couldn’t move five steps without being swallowed by hugs, selfies, praise, questions, declarations of loyalty, and the occasional audacious groppie request whispered with the confidence of someone who believes proximity to their king is a birthright.
Restaurants refused our money—not “discount,” not “on the house,” but a full-blown how-dare-you-suggest-paying refusal. Barriers melted for the Police because the “star boy” had arrived. I’ve travelled with several A-list artistes across Ghana, artistes with national prominence and international ambitions—but never, and I mean never, have I seen this level of reverence.
It wasn’t fame.
It was worship.
The Gospel of the Pool Party
Aya Ramzy B’s pool party was Takoradi’s Tidal Rave, AfroNation, and Homowo rolled into one—but made with local spice, community muscle, and a flavor the national industry doesn’t have the palate to understand.
On the day of the show, I stood at the venue and realized I had once again underestimated the city’s devotion. Thousands—thousands—had gathered. And still they came, crowding the gates with money in hand, pushing to purchase tickets, as if entry into this event had spiritual implications.
The lineup?
Look, let me be honest. No Accra entertainment editor would have raised an eyebrow at it. Many wouldn’t know most names. And that’s exactly where my Accra mind failed me.
Because to these patrons, this wasn’t a “small show.” It wasn’t “local programming.” This was their pantheon. Their gods and angels assembled on one stage, here for them, singing to their hearts, and reinforcing the cultural truth that significance is not only determined by national validation.
The stage was modest.
The sound wasn’t “industry-standard.”
The lighting wasn’t going to give any production manager heart palpitations.
And none of that mattered.
There was a party.
There were artistes.
And there was their king—Aya Ramzy B.
I watched him step onto that stage, and the air changed. Not metaphorically. Physically. The crowd surged forward, a collective heartbeat syncing to his voice. I have been to stadium shows that felt less electric.
The Industry’s Blind Spot
Somewhere between the third performance and my fifth sigh of “Herh, this thing dies we’re sleeping on it,” it hit me: there are likely dozens of Aya Ramzy Bs across Ghana.
Artistes who are not “nationally visible,” but regionally colossal.
Artistes who are not charting, but are changing lives within their territories.
Artistes who, if the industry cared to look beyond Accra’s polished walls, could become powerful cultural investments.
But the problem is simple:
The national industry doesn’t see them.
Or worse—doesn’t think it needs to.
We have become a centrally programmed machine that assumes that greatness must ascend through Accra’s funnel to be validated. Meanwhile, regional ecosystems are thriving, generation after generation, building stars the national agenda never acknowledges until Accra decides it’s time.
Aya Ramzy B is a case study of what Ghana’s music landscape could look like if we respected and invested in our regional kingdoms—if we stopped treating local fame as the minor leagues and instead saw it as fertile soil for national impact.
What the Industry Can Learn
In Takoradi, Aya is selling out events effortlessly. He has a loyal base willing to spend, defend, and promote him. Brands in Accra are busy chasing charts, while Takoradi businesses are busy funding their king.
Home is not a stepping stone. It is a fortress. Aya’s empire is proof.
The Lesson My Accra Mind Needed
I left Takoradi humbled, inspired, slightly sunburned, and fully convinced that Ghana’s music future is not hiding—it is simply spread out. It lives in the streets of Sunyani, the bars of Ho, the beaches of Takoradi, the night markets of Tamale, the taxi ranks of Cape Coast, the chop bars of Kumasi.
Aya Ramzy B is not just a Western Region superstar.
He is a symbol, a brand, and already a legend in the making.
A reminder that fame is not only found in the spotlight—it can also burn fiercely in places the national camera has not turned to yet.
As my GMC pulled out of Takoradi, I found myself thinking:
If the industry doesn’t learn to celebrate its regional kings, it will keep missing out on the next big thing—not because the talent isn’t there, but because the vantage point is too narrow.
Because sometimes, greatness isn’t waiting to be discovered.
Sometimes, greatness is already happening—just not in Accra.
(Story: Richmond Adu-Poku)
