From 1838 until 2009—171 long years—the head of King Badu Bonsu II, the proud ruler of the Ahanta people, sat far away in the Netherlands, locked away in the collections of Leiden University Medical Centre. Preserved in formaldehyde, labeled and catalogued, it was treated as an object, not as the remains of a man, a leader, a father, or a symbol of resistance. The Dutch who had executed him had claimed victory, but in truth, their act left an unhealed wound that festered through generations.

The story of how the king’s head ended up in Leiden is a stain on European colonial history. After Badu Bonsu II’s execution and decapitation at Fort Batenstein in 1838, his head was taken by Dr. Hermanus Johannes Elout, a Dutch military surgeon who viewed it not as the remains of a sovereign, but as a specimen. Elout reportedly shipped it back to the Netherlands as part of his “scientific research” on African physiognomy—a practice rooted in the racist pseudoscience of the 19th century that sought to classify and dehumanize non-European peoples.

For the Dutch state, the head became a silent artifact in the age of empire. It gathered dust in museum archives while the Netherlands built its narrative of trade and exploration, conveniently forgetting the brutality that had underpinned its colonial reach. Generations of Dutch scholars and administrators passed by the relic, indifferent to its meaning.

No apology was offered. No acknowledgment was made. For nearly two centuries, the Netherlands carried this shame quietly, as if time could erase the injustice.

But time did not forgive. The Ahanta people did not forget.

The turning point came not through official Dutch action, but through chance and conscience. In the early 2000s, a Dutch author and filmmaker, Arthur Japin, researching a novel based on colonial Ghana, uncovered evidence of the king’s head in the archives of Leiden. Shocked, Japin contacted Ghanaian authorities, setting off a slow and reluctant process of negotiation.

Even then, it took years of diplomatic back-and-forth before the Dutch government agreed to return the remains. Bureaucracy replaced compassion. Formalities delayed justice. The Netherlands, once eager to display its colonial trophies, hesitated when it came to returning them. Every delay was another insult—a reminder that even in death, African dignity was subject to European permission.

Finally, in July 2009, under mounting public and international pressure, the Dutch government consented. In a quiet ceremony at The Hague, the jar containing the preserved head of King Badu Bonsu II was handed over to a delegation from Ghana, including officials and traditional leaders from the Ahanta Traditional Council. The moment was somber, dignified, and heavy with emotion.

For the Dutch, it was a reluctant act of restitution. For the Ahanta, it was a homecoming long overdue.

When the remains arrived in Ghana, the air along the western coast grew thick with anticipation. Word spread through towns and villages—Busua, Butre, Dixcove, and beyond—that their king was finally returning home. For elders who had grown up with stories of Badu Bonsu II’s defiance, it felt like the ancestors themselves were stirring.

Traditional priests, chiefs, and custodians of Ahanta history gathered to prepare the rites. His return was not just a political or cultural event—it was a spiritual restoration. In Akan belief, the soul (kra) of a person cannot truly rest until the body is made whole. For 171 years, the king’s spirit had been trapped between worlds. Now, he could finally cross into the realm of the ancestors.

The ceremonies began with cleansing rituals. Priests poured libations to invoke the gods and the spirits of the land, asking forgiveness for the centuries of pain. Drums beat slowly, echoing the rhythm of mourning and renewal. The people sang ancient songs—songs that had been whispered in secret during colonial rule, songs that told of the king who defied the Dutch and paid the price.

The procession carried the king’s remains through Busua, his ancestral capital, where elders recited his lineage and praises. The youth danced in his honor, the chiefs lifted their staffs high, and women wept openly. It was not just grief—it was pride, reclamation, and closure.

In a sacred ceremony attended by Ahanta chiefs, government officials, and historians, King Badu Bonsu II was finally laid to rest. His remains were buried with full royal honors, in keeping with traditional rites reserved for a paramount ruler. Drummers beat the royal rhythms of the Ahanta state, and libations were poured once more—this time in celebration, not despair.

His burial site became a symbolic space of memory, a reminder of the high cost of freedom and the enduring spirit of resistance. The people spoke of his courage, his vision, and the injustice he endured. Children were told his story anew—not as a tragic legend, but as a lesson in dignity and pride.

For the Ahanta, the return of Badu Bonsu II’s remains marked the end of a long and painful chapter. For the Dutch, it marked a reckoning—a reminder that the empire’s glories were built on cruelty and humiliation.

No act of repatriation can erase what was done at Fort Batenstein in 1838. The Dutch authorities may have restored the king’s remains, but the delay—nearly two centuries of indifference—remains a permanent scar on their national conscience. It stands as a testament to how colonial arrogance sought to strip Africans of not only their land and power, but even their humanity.

The return of the king was not an act of Dutch generosity—it was an act of justice long denied. And justice delayed, in this case, was justice desecrated.

The King Lives On

Today, King Badu Bonsu II is more than a historical figure—he is a symbol of resistance, integrity, and the enduring will of the Ahanta people. His story resonates far beyond Ghana’s western coast, echoing across the African continent and the global African diaspora.

His spirit lives in the waves that crash along Busua’s shores, in the songs sung by the elders, and in the pride of every Ahanta child who learns his name. He stands among the ancestors now, restored to the land that bore him, vindicated by history.

And though the Dutch returned his head at last, the shame of their delay can never be washed away. It remains a forever mark of dishonor—a reminder that no empire, however powerful, can escape the moral weight of its past.

In death, Badu Bonsu II reclaimed what was denied him in life: peace, dignity, and eternal belonging to his people.

• Part 0: Before the Storm — Rise of Badu Bonsu II and the World of the Ahanta Busua and Butre