Why Ghanaians Love Hip-Hop More Than They Admit
For years, the narrative has been that Ghanaians don’t really support rap music. Artists and pundits have said this is why rappers often pivot to Afrobeats records instead of sticking with hip-hop. But let’s be honest: that’s not the full picture.
Ghanaians do love hip-hop. Maybe not in the polished, glossy form meant for global charts — but in its rawest, most urgent state. We connect to hip-hop that feels like it came straight from the streets: gritty, hungry, and real. Of course, we may not have the purchasing power to push every record onto Billboard, but within Accra and across Ghana, the love for hip-hop is loud and consistent.
Every few years, a new voice emerges with a record that grips the streets, proving that Ghanaians are listening. This year, Lalid is the latest example with Gonaboy still riding on his “Abele” wave and a new discovery: Kuka Perry aka Small Rasta.
Lalid’s “The Matter” has been unavoidable, its momentum leading to a remix with Medikal. Gonaboy, who first made noise with “Abele”, has shown he’s not a one-hit wonder — his delivery still cuts sharp, making listeners believe every word and Kuka Perry…his approach is different but effective; his verses feel like casual conversations, raw and familiar, the kind of storytelling people instantly relate to.
What these artists have in common is that their music doesn’t sound manufactured. It feels lived-in, carrying snapshots of realities that Ghanaians understand all too well.
This isn’t new. Black Sherif’s “First Sermon” wasn’t just a viral record; it was a cultural reset that spread organically without the machinery of a major rollout because the people carried it. Before him, the Asakaa Boys stormed through the country with their drill records, winning audiences over with urgency and rebellion. Kweku Smoke embodies that same street grit. His last project, “Born In Hell,” earned him an Artist of the Year nomination at the TGMAs, proving once again that authenticity may take time, but it will go far.. And this is exactly why many still can’t reconcile Kwesi Arthur’s transition into a more polished sound. His early music was the people’s music—raw, emotional, and grounded in street relatability. While his evolution makes sense for growth, it also highlights how much Ghanaians value the hunger and honesty that defined his rise
Afrobeats may dominate clubs and international playlists, but hip-hop in Ghana serves a different purpose. It’s therapy. Albums like Kojo Cue’s “For My Brothers” prove that people crave storytelling that reflects their struggles, victories, and everyday realities.
Every time artists like Lalid, Kuka Perry aka Small Rasta, or Gonaboy rise, it’s the streets acting as tastemakers. Listeners don’t just consume their music — they adopt it, turn lyrics into slogans, and amplify the songs until they can’t be ignored.
The love for hip-hop here isn’t conditional. We don’t only embrace it when it looks polished or chart-ready; we embrace it because it sounds like us, and maybe that’s the point. So when new voices emerge with records that may seem too raw for the global recognition we claim we cannot attain, yet are perfect for our reality, the message is simple: keep going. There’s space for it. You don’t always have to sell out to be heard.
