The fiction of title: When the Land Act meets “land guards”

By Rasheeda Adams

Everywhere in the world, it is known: one purchases land by going through a series of established legal processes—a search, a purchase, and the legalization of documents. Even in Ghana, where documentation can be a bit of a grey area, we all know that title is king.

Imagine my surprise one hot afternoon, standing at the foot of the Aburi mountains to inspect 200 acres of land I’d been instructed to sell. I had conducted all the necessary searches and confirmed through official channels that the title was valid.

Yet, as I stood there with partners to survey the plots, the silence of the hills was broken by the sound of men wielding machetes, brandishing them menacingly toward us. Upon de-escalation and further conversation, we were told we had to come to the Chief’s palace to “discuss further”.

It was at that moment that a chilling truth dawned on me: You are never truly safe buying land in Ghana. No matter who you’ve paid money to, or what title or deed you hold, you are never safe from the “Parallel Legal System” that operates in the shadows of our statutory framework.

The failure of notice and the shadow market

The visit to the palace revealed the true depth of the rot. The original root of the title was a “gift” from generations ago—a transaction the current community now considered unconscionable.

The elders argued that the original title holder, now deceased, had not “purchased” the land in the modern sense. Instead, he had provided traditional gifts—food items, cloths, and tokens—to ancestors who were also long dead.

In their eyes, the death of the original parties had “reset” the clock, rendering my formal, state-sanctioned documents a mere historical footnote. If our formal registry does not align with this “living law” of the community, the registry becomes a Legal Fiction.

The Parallel Legal System

This disconnect is a statistical reality. As Justice Alexander Osei-Tutu (Justice of the Court of Appeal) noted on Joy FM’s Super Morning Show (January 20, 2026), over 98% of lands in Ghana cannot actually be registered with a “Title.”

In a Deed system, the Lands Commission merely records that a document exists; it does not guarantee the transaction’s validity. This creates a “Shadow Market” where land is used as currency, but the value is tied to the memory of the elders rather than the ink on the paper.

In these areas, we are governed by the ghost of Brown v Quarshigah [2003-2004] SCGLR 930, which reminds us that a customary grantor, having once divested themselves of interest, has “nothing left to give.” Yet, as I learned in Aburi, when the registry and the memory of the elders disagree, it is the machete that often settles the score.

The Contrast: Certainty vs. Combat

As an LL.B candidate at the University of Essex, the contrast between the UK’s Land Registration Act 2002 and Ghana’s Land Act, 2020 (Act 1036) is staggering. In the UK, we are taught the “Mirror Principle”—the idea that the Land Registry perfectly reflects the totality of interests in a plot.

In Ghana, however, the registration of a deed is merely the opening bell for a fifteen-year boxing match. Here, we have replaced the Mirror Principle with a “Machete Principle,” where the strength of your claim is often only as good as the physical force you can muster to protect your boundaries.

The Bureaucracy of the Blind: Taxing the Unseen

The absurdity of our land administration system is often most visible in the quietest suburbs. Recently, while walking through my neighborhood, I observed “Warning Notices” being pasted on several houses that had barely reached lintel level.

Upon further interrogation, the owners shared a familiar, nonsensical tale: they were being harassed for unpaid property rates and were told they had ignored “several previous notices”—a physical impossibility for buildings that did not exist a year ago.

This is the Permit Paradox: a cycle where the state’s left hand does not know what the right is doing. Municipal authorities often cannot grant formal building permits because the Lands Commission has not yet expanded Title Registration districts to those areas.

Since the formal path is blocked, homeowners often pay an “agreed amount” to the Assembly for a receipt—essentially “protection money” to stop harassment while they build.

This creates a state of Administrative Estoppel. The state cannot logically tax the existence of a building on Monday and deny its legality on Tuesday. Yet, we see the violent climax of this incompetence in the rubble of the Sakumono Ramsar Site, where the state demolishes homes that have been paying property rates for years.

Why does the doctrine of Acquiescence, as seen in Abbey & Another v Antwi [2010] SCGLR 17, apply to private citizens but not to a state that watches a citizen build for a decade before bringing the bulldozer?

The Digitization Paradox

The solution is often touted as “Digitization”. Yet, the Lands Commission has been “digitizing” files since time immemorial, trapped in a perpetual state of “loading”. One must ask if this delay is technical or tactical. However, let us be clear: a fully transparent, decentralized, and immutable digital database would be the single most revolutionary change to our land ownership system in a century.

Integrity as a Business Strategy: The 8-Million Cedi Liability

With 200 acres—800 potential plots—on the line, I was looking at an 8-million cedi commission. A “rational actor” in a broken system would have taken the deposits, banked the commission, and prepared for a decade of litigation. But as a businesswoman, I realized that taking that money was not an acquisition of wealth; it was the acquisition of a massive, ticking liability.

I chose to refund every cedi. I refused to let my clients become victims of a system where a dormant claim can be “triggered” the moment you clear a plot or lay a foundation. By returning the funds, I was making a smart business decision based on a harsh reality: In Ghana, when the Land Act fails to provide security, trust is the only currency that does not devalue.

Conclusion: The Price of Uncertainty

As I conclude my legal studies in the UK and return my focus to the Ghanaian landscape, the mission is clear: We must move beyond the “Deed.” But legal modernization is only half the battle. Until there are stiff, enforceable penalties for the “double sales” orchestrated in the shadows of the palace, our markets will remain stagnant.

We currently operate in a landscape where “branches” of families sprout like weeds the moment a foundation is laid—each claiming a lack of consultation and demanding their “share.” This forced double-payment is not a transaction; it is a systemic tax on development.

Until we have a transparent, digital database where a buyer can definitively see if a plot is sold or available—independent of a Chief’s memory or a family’s greed—we will continue to hemorrhage viable investment.

When citizens are afraid to invest because they lack the “muscle” to defend their boundaries, the entire economy suffers. Real estate should be an asset class, not an avenue for uncertainty and danger.

Until an officially plotted site plan carries more weight than a land guard’s threat, and until the 98% gap highlighted by Justice Alexander Osei-Tutu is closed by expanding Title Registration districts, our Land Law remains a dead letter. We do not need more laws; we need a system where the state’s registry is a mirror of the truth, not a catalog of disputes.

The author is a  LL.B candidate at the University of Essex, and a reputable expert in the Ghanaian real estate sector.

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