When I first began researching West African textiles, I was struck by how much of their story is written in absence: missing labels, severed oral histories, and the quiet erasure of context that turns living cultural objects into anonymous commodities. Kente cloths, bogolans, aso-oke pieces—each...
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Interviews
I first started thinking seriously about AI-powered transcription in oral...
Heritage
I remember the first time a ritual specialist from a West African diaspora...
Heritage
When a ritual mask returns to its originating village, it can feel like a...
Heritage
When I first stepped into a small conservation studio in Accra, I was struck by...
When a ritual mask returns to its originating village, it can feel like a heartbeat found again — an object that carries memory, authority and the potential to reconnect a community with practices interrupted by displacement, colonial collecting,...
When I first stepped into a small conservation studio in Accra, I was struck by two things: the sound of conversations as much as the smell of starch and wax, and the quiet authority of a space run by a cooperative of textile artisans, conservators...
I first encountered a migrant-run radio documentary tucked away on a community station’s archive while researching oral histories for a museum project. It was raw, urgent and stubbornly intimate: the voices of seasonal workers, care workers, and...
I remember the first time I ran my hands—carefully, with cotton gloves—over a length of handwoven kente in Accra. The colours were stubbornly vibrant despite years of sunlight and handling; the weave held stories of family, ceremony and...
I first encountered a project like MemoryMap while researching community archives for a feature about contested neighbourhoods in post-industrial cities. What struck me was how a simple interface — a map, a few upload buttons, some tagging —...
I remember the first time I saw a ritual object displayed beneath pristine gallery lighting at an international art fair. It looked spectacular: lacquered surfaces, intricate beadwork, and a history that seemed palpable in its scars. But alongside...
When I first began talking to textile workers in Lagos about the idea of an archive, the question that kept coming back was not simply whether their work could be sold internationally, but whether the act of archiving might extract something vital...
I remember the first time I stood in front of a protest banner that had been part of a living campaign — its fabric still creased from repeated folding, the paint slightly faded where hands had gripped it. It felt less like a neutral object in a...
When a ritual mask returns to the village from which it was taken—whether after a museum deaccession, a restitution campaign or the quiet work of dedicated curators—it does not simply re‑enter a cupboard. It arrives with layers of history,...
I remember the first time I watched an oral testimony translated into an immersive environment. The intimacy of standing beside someone as they recounted a journey across deserts and seas felt powerful, but it also made me acutely aware of...