I first walked into the city museum expecting the usual: glass cases, carefully lit panels, a chronology that smoothed out conflict into a tidy timeline. What I found instead, a few months later, was a foyer alive with voices — not from an audio guide but from a radio booth built into a temporary...
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Features
Why I keep coming back to height increasing shoesI've long been fascinated by...
Heritage
When a diasporic ritual specialist offers to loan wearable sacred regalia to a...
Heritage
When I first began researching West African textiles, I was struck by how much...
Interviews
I first started thinking seriously about AI-powered transcription in oral...
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...
I first started thinking seriously about AI-powered transcription in oral history when a community archivist handed me a folder of cassette tapes recorded with undocumented migrants—hours of voices that risked being lost, misheard or left unread...
I remember the first time a ritual specialist from a West African diaspora community handed me a textile wrapped in plain brown paper and said, softly, “This cannot be looked at like other museum pieces.” The garment was a living object —...
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...