Today marks the end of an era in our national life with the passing of Charles Kwadwo Fosu, known to Ghana and the world as Daddy Lumba (hereafter DL).
DL was musically and culturally one of the most significant heirs of the fantastically ebullient 1980s in Ghana. The 1980s supplanted a very turbulent 1970s, which in turn had followed the magnificent 1960s. In the 1970s, the liberation fervour and great hopes of the previous decade had in many ways turned into a nightmare. The great Kwame Nkrumah had died in 1972 in Bucharest—far from Accra, where he had once won a parliamentary seat while gaoled by the imperial power determined to maintain its grip on a restless people yearning for freedom.
The 1970s were politically turbulent for Ghana, as the ruling military junta—riven by factions—attempted to navigate an international political economy thrown into disarray by OPEC. At Saudi Arabia’s instigation, the price of crude oil had skyrocketed from $5.04 to $11.65 per barrel. The knock-on economic effects were severe, as Arab states, flush with petrodollars, lent heavily to African countries that ultimately couldn’t repay. A deep debt crisis followed, made worse by volatile commodity prices. By the 1980s, under the Rawlings-led PNDC junta, the economic noose tightened further as the government turned to the World Bank and implemented the devastating ERP/SAP programmes.
As a result, many Ghanaians left the country during the 1970s and 1980s. Yet, our nation’s indomitable spirit remained intact, and the 1980s would record remarkable milestones. Azumah Nelson, arguably Ghana’s greatest boxer and one of our most accomplished global sports icons, won the World Featherweight title by stopping champion Wilfredo Gómez in the penultimate round in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in December 1984. A year earlier, the Fabulous Krobea—Kumasi Asante Kotoko—had lifted their second African Club Championship by defeating Egyptian giants El Ahly 1-0 at the then Kumasi Sports Stadium, thanks to a dramatic goal from the redoubtable Opoku Nti, assisted by the deft winger John Bannerman of Sekondi.
It would be the last time Kotoko won a continental club title, though they memorably trounced Zamalek 5-1 later, an event which some claim shattered the Egyptian team for good. The Kotoko legend was thus immortalised. Notably, in 1982, our most beloved national team, the Black Stars, won the African Cup of Nations (AFCON) for the fourth and, so far, last time. For those of us who lived through it, the 1980s were indeed a rip-roaring decade. You felt invincible as a Ghanaian. We were world-beaters.
No surprise, then, that it was in the 1980s that a new sound—along with its fashion and lifestyle—began to sweep through Accra and Ghana. Many economic migrants forged a musical revolution abroad, made possible by breakthroughs in electronics, largely led by Japan. Japan’s electronics prowess, inspired by its post-war transistor revolution, took the consumer world by storm. Ghanaian musicians in West Germany, drawing from our rich highlife traditions and blending them with the electronic wave of synthesisers, gave birth to Burgher highlife—rooted, yet inventive.
The genius George Darko led this new wave, with the anthem “Akoo Te Brofo.” His energetic yet soulful guitar riffs paired with the stirring vocals of Lee Duodu left Ghana captivated. The Burghers had landed, straight from Hamburg—sporting jerry curls wet with Alberto Culver activator, high-waisted “pimpinis” trousers, oversized sleeved shirts, two-toned shoes, and plenty of money to splash. They transformed nightlife in Accra and Kumasi, and their music lulled the cities into a blissful daze. To this day, “Burgher” remains part of Ghanaian vocabulary. The 1980s birthed this identity.
Two Charleses emerged from this cultural wave. The first was Charles Amoah, known for his creative take on Burgher highlife. The second was DL.
Daddy Lumba carried Burgher highlife into the early 1990s with his partner in rhyme, Nana Acheampong. I remember the first time I heard them—at a neighbour’s house in Teshie-Nungua Estates, just a stone’s throw from former President Limann’s residence. The song was “Yɛyɛ Aka Akwantuom” (roughly, “We’re stranded overseas”). But the track that cemented the Lumba legacy was Ankwanoma—philosophical, soaring, poetic, visceral. That song left an indelible mark.
DL’s storytelling in Ankwanoma immortalised Papa Charles Allen Gyimah: “Charles Allen Gyimah, Ghana Video City,” he crooned. In a masterstroke, DL captured the spirit of an era. Gyimah, like many business moguls of the time, was philanthropic, patriotic, and socially conscious. As video technology rose, he foresaw its social and economic promise. He established Video City in Lartebiokorshie, near today’s Radio Gold. He challenged the Lebanese-dominated cinema scene and left a mark. I knew Gyimah personally; his children were our playmates. I saw The Exorcist at Video City. I saw Gyimah’s coffee-brown Benz. I saw the African Club Championship trophy when it came to his house. Opoku Nti, thigh heavily bandaged, was there—having sacrificed his flesh to reach that Bannerman cross. Gyimah was Kotoko’s financial controller.
So DL, in his music, was not just telling his story—he was archiving a generation, an ethos, and a zeitgeist. What was the Lumba magic, then? It was his cultivated stylistic quirks—his hairstyles, fashion sense, faultless dance moves, and that unique twang in his voice. It was Akan, but delivered with an almost-English choppiness. His music spanned themes of love, defiance, beauty, death, and life. He sang for us. And he remained fresh and relevant, delivering hit after hit, long after his breakout.
Now he has left us. And in doing so, he draws the curtain on an era. Through his vast and impressive discography, Bra Charles is immortalised. He joins that rare and exclusive breed of Ghanaian creatives who were truly beloved—not just for their artistic brilliance but for the warmth they exuded. He was simply cuddly.
Icon. Legend. Master Musician. Hitmaker. Serial Award Winner. Poet. Philosopher. Trendsetter. Crooner. Balladeer. Patriot.
Charles Kwadwo Fosu. 1964–2025. Odupon atutu. Nante brɛbrɛ.
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