The first thing a visitor notices upon entering Anum, a serene town in Ghana’s Eastern Region, is what’s missing. In many Ghanaian communities, the distant barking of dogs is as common as the crow of roosters.

But here, there is only silence. No kennels, no chained pets in courtyards, no strays weaving between food stalls. In Anum, dogs are forbidden.

It isn’t a recent by-law or a modern attempt to control noise; it is a custom, one older than anyone alive can remember.

“It has been a custom that has been observed by residents and indigenes of the town for centuries,” the town’s historians explain.

The reason lies in the story of a powerful deity called Okpei.

Long ago, Okpei is said to have led the people of Anum to their present land. Since then, he has never abandoned them. Locals believe he still walks their streets at night, a silent guardian keeping watch. But there is one thing Okpei cannot abide; the barking of dogs.

Anum; the town in Ghana where dogs can never live

Kofi Osae, the Asafoatse of the Nimfa Division, tells it plainly.

“This deity who led the people of Anum to the land where they settled likes to guard his town in silence and without any unnecessary attention. For this reason, dogs are banned entirely from the township, and any dog that is seen is killed and its owner punished both physically and divinely,” he explained.

The ban is not symbolic. It is absolute. Stray dogs that wander in from neighbouring towns do not last long. Their presence is seen as an offence to Okpei, a disruption of his work.

Yet the story goes deeper. Locals say Okpei is not alone on his rounds; he has a companion, a bodyguard - a dog of his own.

“The Okpei’s bodyguard is a dog, and if there are many dogs in the community, it means he won’t be able to see his bodyguard,” explained citizen Kwadwo Amponsah in an interview on Scanty Explores.

To ensure that this spiritual protector is never mistaken or interrupted, Okpei decreed that no mortal dog could live in Anum.

Children grow up hearing tales of this ghostly creature. Some say they’ve seen it. Amponsah himself recalls three encounters from his youth.

“At night, you can even see the dog walking around. It’s white and very furry with a wooden pestle around the neck,” he added.

In the quiet dark of Anum, such stories do not feel far-fetched. Elders whisper that the white dog has appeared to warn of danger or to shield villagers from harm many times.

To them, Okpei is more than a god; he is a messiah.

“Many have testified how he’s saved them in time of danger,” Amponsah added.

Breaking the taboo carries consequences. In the rare cases where outsiders have tried to raise dogs here, the animals were killed and the owners forced to perform purification rites to cleanse the town.

As Amponsah put it: “If a dog comes to this community, we will kill it. We won’t sack it, but we will kill it.”

And so Anum remains a place unlike any other. The streets echo with the sounds of human life but never with barking. As dusk falls and shadows stretch over the hills, people shut their doors, knowing their guardian still walks, patrolling silently in the company of a god.

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