Private residence, Accra. Architect: Nickson and Borys, 1962–66.
Architect’s private residence, Accra. Architect: Kenneth Scott Associates, 1961.
Architect’s private residence, living room, Accra. Architect: Kenneth Scott Associates, 1961.
American Embassy, decommissioned and modified. It now houses the Ministry of Women and Children’s Affairs, Accra. Architect: Harry Weese & Associates, 1956
American Embassy, decommissioned, courtyard corridor, Accra.
Architect: Harry Weese & Associates, 1956.
Private residence, roof veranda, Accra. Architect: Nickson and Borys, 1962–66.
Student and Cultural Center, University of Cape Coast. Architect: COMTEC (Renato Severino), 1964–67.
Private residence, Accra. Tropical Modernism Circa 1960’s.
Architect’s private residence, Accra. Architect: Lokko Associates, 2005–06.
Engineering Workshops, Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST).
Architect: James Cubitt and Partners, 1953.
Courtyard, Prempeh College, Kumasi. Architect: Fry, Drew, and Associates, 1955–54
Black Star Square, also know as Independence Square, was built to commemorate independence from colonial rule. Accra, 1961.
***Paulina Opoku-Gyimah says: I’m not a jealous person but I’m feeling pretty envious of the folks living in the above architectural Gems in Ghana..
Rare, coveted more by foreigners than ‘quantity-not-quality’ Ghanaians, these aesthetically pleasing, beautifully linear and what I’d describe as the Ghanaian equivalent of UK’s Victorian or Georgian house -are sooo hard to buy, actually they are impossible to buy -as they just get handed down.. And I want one -now..
The thing is…you get none of that 80’s, Dynasty, bubblegum, meringue-like new builds that seem to be springing up all over Ghana by the nations’s wannabe MTV millionaires … Nope, what you get are; well designed, well built, solid and beautifully laid out private residences and commercial spaces that are built to last by world class Architects…
But where can the likes of me, find one to buy? I’ve been looking [in my head] for an early sixties’ warehouse in the Airport area of Accra -and do you think that such a thing exist???
I know it sounds crazy to some, but I love the concrete-y, big open veranda balconies and the way all the rooms are arranged in a linear way. I love their clean lines and their age!!
I secretly can’t stand most of the new builds in Ghana -and I think that’s why I love Accra’s hotels sooo much, -because those hoteliers are forced to use real architects and have to build -world class properties or they wouldn’t make money..
Other things I greatly dislike about blah Ghanaian soo called chichi homes are: the lack of solar power, what is going on? If Europe was as hot as Africa -don’t you think that most Europeans would have solar power?
And what’s up with faux engineered wooden furniture? I totally detest slippery floor tiles (it drives me mad that in a country blessed with rain forest, -most soo called chichi houses have cheap tiled floors, what’s sooo difficult about having real wooden floors?) -and finally, are there no alternatives to those great big air-conditioning monstrosities?
I think the real reason I love these modernist buildings is because they are from a bygone glamorous era, -an era when Ghana, -newly independent had a lot to prove, thus, used the best, built by the best -for Ghana/Ghanaians, -without the present day -uber subtle colonising new builds by foreigners or foreign money!!!
The truth is -newly built houses in Ghana aren’t well designed by noted architects, they aren’t inspirational, or sexy or that interesting.. They are MTV crib houses, built by wannabes for Ghana’s aspirational middle-classes to keep the poor and arm robbers -out..
The folowing text is taken from:
Mabel O. Wilson & Peter Tolkin: Listening There: Scenes from Ghana.....
Two years ago we traveled through Ghana, visiting the cities and
documenting the architecture that had been erected over a thirty-year
period, beginning in the late 1940s, when colonial rule was ending.
These mid-century buildings were mostly modernist, designed by
architects from Australia, the United Kingdom, the United States,
Lebanon, Italy and Ghana; they had been reviewed in contemporary
architectural publications, as part of a lively debate on what became
known as “Tropical Modernism.” Until recently, their legacy had all but
disappeared from the historical canon; and with their absence we've
failed to understand how critical the African continent was to the
discourse of modernism. Our trip was motivated by a desire to see how
these buildings had fared in the half century since their construction,
and to explore how they functioned in today's increasingly urban and
global contexts.
As agents of the British colonial regime and
then as builders for the new Ghanaian state, the architects of these
modernist schools, campuses, private homes and government offices
believed that new techniques — advanced construction methods, innovative
forms and ongoing research into climate-responsive design — could solve
the problems of living in “tropical regions.” As such their projects
shared in the period optimism in internationalism that gave rise to
CIAM, the Congress International d’ Architecture Moderne. Jane Drew, who
collaborated with architect Maxwell Fry on several of the projects we
documented, described the sanguine mood: “I have practiced architecture
at a time when architects were full of hope and optimism — at a time
when we felt that the changes in planning and in architecture would
change living conditions and improve the world. A time when there was
great hope for the future.” [1]
Universalism may have been a central tenet of modernism; but its
tropical variant diverged from this principle — it responded to
particular local conditions. Although the common denominator was
concrete — ubiquitous in modernist structures around the world —
buildings such as the U.S. Embassy in Accra, by Harry Weese, used wood
as both an aesthetic response to regional cultural sensibilities and as a
pragmatic means of fostering air circulation. The local climate (which
can vary from humid and rainy to dry and hot) drove site strategies that
harnessed shade and breezes. Innovative screen walls and brise-soleils,
along with rooftop verandahs and deep overhangs, some adapted from
indigenous building types, were incorporated to alleviate the heat and
correspond to local aesthetics. And today, although the concrete walls,
columns and screens are crumbling in places, most of the buildings we
visited still served their original purpose. Students occupied
classrooms. Original owners lived in their homes. To be sure, many of
the structures had been modified and adapted. Pitched roofs were added
to adequately shed water from heavy rains. Air conditioning — signaling
both social status and the assumption of abundant cheap energy — now
provides relief in ways that screen walls and louvered windows could
not. In such cases Tropical Modernism had been outpaced by Western,
especially American, notions of comfort and consumption.
During
our travels we began to see these buildings as situated within a
constellation of historical and contemporary forces. The hulking slave
forts of
Elmina and
Cape Coast,
for example, once stood as sentinels, guarding the thresholds of the
country, where raw materials and human cargo left Ghanaian shores on
ships bound for the New World and Europe. Along with Swedish, Portuguese
and Dutch traders, the British exploited this lucrative network; and it
was the British colonial enterprise that incubated Tropical Modernism
in what was then known as the Gold Coast. The proposed new cities and
the actual built works, particularly the many schools constructed under
British stewardship, were part of an ongoing social project intended to
cultivate "proper" colonial subjects. By the time of the first
successful independence movement in Africa, led by Kwame Nkrumah,
founder of the Organization of African Unity and the first president of
Ghana, the British Empire’s vast reach in Africa had begun to recede;
and with the establishment of Ghana, in 1957, government officials and
private citizens enlisted these same architects to build the national
museum, the office buildings, private homes, embassies, and university
buildings of the new country. Adapting the climate-responsive ethos of
Tropical Modernism to the needs of the nation state, Nkrumah remarked,
in an early speech, “We can ... develop the use of one source of energy
which we have in abundance — the heat of the sun. Already in Accra and
in other towns, architectural designs have been evolved which make use
of the sun to produce draughts of air, which, by flowing over the
surface of the roof and walls of the building, keep it cool.” Tropical
Modernism satisfied the managerial needs of the new state.
Yet
despite the Tropical Modernist promise of a better world, the rich and
poor of Ghana have continued to occupy separate worlds — worlds
nonetheless interdependent. Ghana’s modernist architectural icons now
sit within fields of hermetically sealed air-conditioned towers skinned
in purple, blue and gray reflective glass. These generic buildings house
the finance institutions and hotels, the communication, energy and
trading companies that tether Ghana to the global economy. They
accommodate the organizational conduits that connect to China, India,
the Americas and elsewhere, and that channel the goods that flood the
streets and fill the markets of regional centers like Kumasi. At every
corner, cities are peppered with cellular communication networks and
with brightly colored kiosks vending phone cards. And in between the
commercial and governmental districts, like an unstoppable flow, seep
the metal-roofed slums housing the millions who've journeyed from
country to city seeking work. Roadways are jammed with people moving
from home to work and back again. Unmistakable in their scale, the slave
forts are now destinations for tourist groups, particularly
African-American groups, returning to reconnect to their “African
roots.” But of course, as Saidiya Hartman eloquently articulates, in
Lose Your Mother — in
which she recounts her own journey, from research into her African
roots in a Yale library to a stay in millennial Ghana, where nobody has
much time for old narratives — it's impossible to return home; time has
irrevocably transformed both worlds. [2]
Perhaps the greatest
achievement of the tropical movement in modernism was its balance — the
internationalism tempered by local conditions, a set of principles that
Kenneth Frampton has summed up as “critical regionalism.” [3] It was the
movement’s apparent cultural mutability that allowed it to be employed
in building a nation that sought to unite different cultural groups into
the newly independent Ghana. Maybe it was a contradiction that the new
technologies were developed by mostly foreign architects who came “to
advance” a region they perceived as “underdeveloped.” Today, in light of
global economic and environmental crises, and given the need to rethink
our own patterns of production and consumption, architects are again
using passive energy solutions in the design of buildings. Much recent
architectural research in this area looks back to the era of Tropical
Modernism.
The social aspirations of the architects working
in Ghana and elsewhere during the colonial and post-colonial periods,
which were in some respects naïve to the harsh realities of nation
building, have been replaced by a current ethos that tends to promote
either signature forms or a mundane corporate aesthetic. Today’s global
architects often remain detached from the social and political
conditions in which they build.
It is clear that the
contributions of the Tropical Modern school are worthy of
reconsideration for how they engaged both formal and social contexts. Of
course, modernization has always fostered cross-cultural exchange. The
question of how architecture and architects can navigate the turbulence
produced by shifting global power balances is an open one. In becoming
more attuned to our interconnectedness, there will emerge new
opportunities to forge egalitarian cross-cultural collaborations. No
doubt as we move around the world, we will come across much that will
not be translatable or easily comprehendible, at least not upon first
encounter. We will need to recognize not just the promises but also the
challenges of navigating across cultural difference, and cultivate new
ways to look and to listen.
