Traders in and around Kumasi had a field day at the funeral of highlife legend, late Charles Kwadwo Fosu, popularly known as Daddy Lumba over the weekend.
By mid-morning of Saturday, December 13, 2025, at the Heroes Park of the Baba Yara Sports Stadium, grief and commerce moved side by side.
However, as thousands of mourners queued patiently to file past the body of the highlife legend, traders weaved through the crowd calling out prices.
The smell of grilled meat mixed with dust and incense, while music from nearby speakers competed with the shouts of vendors selling water, food, and souvenirs.
Daddy Lumba’s funeral was a deeply emotional moment for Ghana, but it was also a reminder of a familiar reality: wherever large crowds gather, an economy emerges.
From the early hours of Saturday, traders had taken strategic positions around the stadium precincts.
Some arrived as early as 0400 hours, setting up makeshift stalls under umbrellas and wooden tables, anticipating the surge of mourners expected to pour in from across the country.
For many food vendors, the funeral represented a rare opportunity to make meaningful income in a single day.
“Hunger does not know mourning,” said a waakye seller who had travelled from Atonsu with her children. People will cry, but they will still eat. Today’s sales will help me pay school fees.”
Kenkey sellers, fried rice vendors, grilled meat operators and sachet water hawkers did brisk business throughout the day.
Prices were slightly higher than usual, justified by transportation costs, long hours, and the sheer demand created by the crowd.
Despite occasional complaints, most mourners paid without protest, understanding the circumstances.
T-shirts bearing Daddy Lumba’s image and popular lyrics were among the fastest-selling items.
Vendors displayed stacks of black-and-white and customised designs, with prices varying depending on quality and print.
Some mourners bought multiple shirts – one to wear immediately and others to keep as keepsakes.
Nearby, portrait artists sat quietly, sketching the face of the late musician on cardboard and canvases.
With pencil and charcoal in hand, they worked steadily as Daddy Lumba’s songs played in the background, occasionally pausing to show finished work to passersby.
“This is not just business,” one artist explained. “When people take these drawings home, they remember him forever.”
Transport operators were also major beneficiaries of the day’s events-commercial vehicles; trotros, taxis and motorcycle riders made repeated trips between various parts of Kumasi and the stadium.
Some drivers extended their working hours well into the evening, capitalising on the steady flow of mourners.
Traffic congestion around the Heroes Park slowed movement, but it also meant longer fares and more frequent trips.
Among the busiest traders were those selling the smallest but most essential items.
Hawkers carrying bags of sachet water moved continuously through the crowd, followed closely by vendors selling hand fans, umbrellas, tissues, and face towels.
These items became necessities rather than luxuries under the hot Kumasi sun.
Some of the traders were elderly women, others young men, and a few were children assisting their parents.
In Ghana, funerals have long become both social and economic gatherings because beyond mourning, they serve as meeting points, reunion grounds and, often, marketplaces.
The activities around Daddy Lumba’s funeral followed a familiar cultural pattern – intensified only by the scale of his fame.
Security personnel and city authorities largely allowed trading to continue, intervening only when movement became obstructed, or safety was threatened.
The informal economy functioned within unwritten rules – staying mobile, respectful, and alert.
As the funeral rites progressed toward their conclusion in the evening, the energy around the Heroes Park began to change.
The earlier urgency of sales slowed, and traders started taking stock of their earnings.
Some counted money quietly under umbrellas, while others repacked unsold items into sacks and boxes.
A few T-shirts remained folded on tables; portraits leaned against walls, and food containers emptied or cooled.
The temporary economy that had flourished for hours began to dissolve.
Daddy Lumba’s funeral was a reminder that even in moments of national sorrow, ordinary Ghanaians must find ways to survive.
For traders, drivers, and artists, the day was not just about a loss, but about livelihood.
Their presence did not diminish the grief; it revealed the resilience woven into the Ghanaian social life.
For those who had come to mourn and those who had come to sell, the day would be remembered not only for tears and music, but for the quiet reality that life, in all its complexity, continues, even in mourning.
