When Ghanaian designer Victor Reginald Bob Abbey-Hart stepped onto the Milan Fashion Week runway last January, he carried more than a collection of denim garments.

He carried a vision: that the voluminous, hand-woven smock known as fugu or batakari — a garment once worn by warriors and kings in northern Ghana — could find a new life on the global stage.

His show, which featured jackets with raglan sleeves, coat-capes, and cargo-pocketed trousers in “dirty-washed” denim, was inspired by the deconstructed forms of traditional Ghanaian attire. For Abbey-Hart, a graduate of Milan’s Istituto Europeo di Design (IED) who previously worked for Calvin Klein, the collection was deeply personal. “Coming to Italy really gave me a big door of opportunity to understand what the world really asks for, as a designer,” he told the Associated Press.

Abbey-Hart’s debut was supported by the Afro Fashion Association, a non-profit founded by Michelle Francine Ngonmo that has worked with over 3,000 creatives of color over the past decade . But his success is not an isolated story. It is emerging as a cornerstone of a broader strategic push by Ghana and Italy to transform cultural heritage into economic power — taking garments like the fugu from ceremonial occasions in Accra to the fashion capitals of Europe and beyond.

A Diplomatic and Economic Imperative

The timing is deliberate. In February 2026, Ghana’s newly appointed Ambassador to Italy, Mona-Helen Kabuki Quartey, presented her credentials to President Sergio Mattarella at the Quirinale.

The ceremony marked not just a diplomatic formality, but a “renewed phase in the consolidation of bilateral relations,” with culture and tourism featuring prominently in discussions.

Ambassador Quartey’s mission arrives amid growing recognition in Accra that the creative economy — fashion, textiles, arts, and design — represents a significant untapped export sector. Italy, home to some of the world’s most powerful fashion houses and a global leader in luxury goods, is the ideal partner.

The Italian government has signaled its interest in Ghana as a “growing market and a natural gateway to the wider West African region”.

The diplomatic push comes as Ghanaian creatives are making visible inroads into the Italian cultural scene. In May, acclaimed Ghanaian painter Amoako Boafo will open his first solo exhibition in Italy at Venice’s Museo di Palazzo Grimani, coinciding with the 61st Venice Biennale. The show, organized by Gagosian Gallery, will see Boafo engage with Renaissance portraiture traditions — a powerful example of cultural exchange flowing in both directions.

From Ceremony to Commerce

The fugu’s journey from northern Ghana to Milanese runways reflects a deeper ambition. For too long, observers argue, Ghana’s heritage textiles have been reserved for Independence Day celebrations, festivals, and ceremonial photographs — “reduced to a ceremony when it could be an industry,” as Ing. Prof. Douglas Boateng recently wrote.

President John Dramani Mahama has emerged as an unlikely champion of this cause. Speaking after a state visit to Zambia in February, Mahama noted that his deliberate choice to wear the fugu on international stages had sparked a surge in global interest.

“By the power of social media, I have given them branding and marketing they could never have dreamed of,” he said. “I’m sure searches for fugu, batakari, and smock have gone very high”.

Mahama revealed that all his clothing is made in Ghana by Ghanaian designers, and he has set his sights on taking the smock to the United Nations as “a symbol of African identity, culture, and self-confidence”.

The Industrial Challenge

Yet transforming cultural visibility into sustainable industry requires more than diplomatic gestures and runway moments.

The global winter wear market is valued at over $300 billion annually, with premium outerwear brands like Canada Goose and Moncler built on climate-driven demand in North America, Europe, and East Asia. The African diaspora, estimated at more than 170 million people living in cold-weather countries, represents a ready market seeking authentic cultural connection.

The challenge is technical as well as commercial. Traditional fugu, woven from thick cotton strips, is designed for the harmattan winds of northern Ghana — not Helsinki winters or Chicago blizzards. Industrial adaptation will require innovation: thermal linings, wool-infused blends, water-resistant treatments, and structured designs that preserve the garment’s distinctive striped aesthetic while making it functional for global consumers.

Proponents argue that the economic potential justifies the investment. A modest export target of 500,000 premium winter fugu coats annually, at an average retail price of US$250, would generate US$125 million in revenue. Add scarves, gloves, corporate attire, and school uniforms, and the ecosystem multiplies, creating thousands of jobs across farming, weaving, tailoring, and logistics — particularly in northern Ghana, where youth unemployment remains high.

A Growing Cultural Ecosystem

The Italy-Ghana cultural partnership extends well beyond fashion. In January, Ghanaian artists and cultural practitioners led an international project in Lecce, Italy, dedicated to “decolonising heritage and liberating the imagination.” Organized by Ramdom, Museo Castromediano, and Ghana’s Artlife Matters, the programme featured workshops, exhibitions, and a public parade exploring how tangible and intangible heritage can become tools for reclaiming narratives shaped by colonial structures.

Artist Kwame Akoto-Bamfo created a six-foot concrete totem representing memory and ancestry, while the “Echoes of Home” workshop brought together foreign residents in Lecce for a participatory healing process. Luigi Di Luca, Director of Museo Castromediano, stressed the museum’s commitment to redefining its role within the community and expanding international collaboration.

These initiatives build on earlier collaborations. In 2024, Ghanaian playwright Latif Abubakar partnered with the Italian Embassy to stage “The Licence,” an Afrocentric adaptation of a work by Italian Nobel laureate Luigi Pirandello. Then-Ambassador Daniela d’Orlandi expressed hope that the partnership would “set an example for other foreign countries to follow” .

The Road Ahead

As Ghana hosts a week-long celebration of its 69th Independence Day in Rome this March, complete with trade fairs showcasing textiles, music, and cuisine, the cultural diplomacy offensive is in full swing . But the ultimate measure of success will be commercial.

For designers like Victor Hart, the path forward is clear despite persistent challenges.

“Sometimes, before you even get to the room for the interview, you’ve been disqualified already,” he said of the obstacles facing Black creatives in Italy. “Take away the color, take away what I represent, just look at the job”.

His message resonates beyond fashion. As Ghana and Italy deepen their cultural partnership, the goal is not merely to export garments but to export a vision: that heritage, when industrialized with intention, can compete on the global stage. The fugu has survived the harmattan for centuries.

Now, it is being engineered for winter.

In the bustling art markets of Accra, Dakar, and Lagos, tourists browse carved wooden figures and vibrant textiles, selecting pieces that appeal to their aesthetic sensibilities.

What most do not realize is that these objects, now reduced to decor, once served a purpose far deeper than visual pleasure.

Traditional African art was never merely art. It was a conduit between the living and the spiritual realm.

“African art gets a lot of its influence from traditional African religions,” explains Gabriella in the Sankofa Pan African series. “In the past, many pieces of art were created for spiritual rather than creative purposes”.

Art as Spiritual Technology

Across the continent’s diverse cultures, a common thread emerges: art as a vehicle for connection. African traditions emphasize ancestors as intermediaries between the living, the gods, and the Supreme Creator. Sculptures, masks, and figures were not created to be admired in galleries—they were tools for ritual communication.

During religious ceremonies, masks and figures served as what scholars call “spiritual technology”—objects that made the invisible visible. The video clarifies a crucial distinction:

“The figures or masks were the vehicles through which these spirits made themselves seen and their presence known in the world of men. The objects themselves however do not embody or contain the spirit”.

This nuance separates African spiritual art from idol worship. The objects were honored and respected but never worshiped. They functioned as telephones, not deities—instruments of connection rather than objects of devotion.

The Ancestral Bridge

Among the Akan of Ghana, the Yoruba of Nigeria, and the Dogon of Mali, ancestor veneration shapes artistic expression. Carved figures, stool thrones, and ceremonial staffs honor those who have transitioned while maintaining their role in community life.

The video notes that ancestors were seen as essential intermediaries, and art provided the pathway. Funeral ceremonies employed masks not merely to pay respect to the deceased but “to guarantee safe passage into the world beyond”. The artwork did not commemorate death—it accompanied the dead on their journey.

Masks: More Than Faces

Nowhere is the spiritual function of African art more evident than in masking traditions. When a dancer dons a mask in a Dogon ceremony or a Bwa initiation ritual, transformation occurs.

The wearer becomes a channel for the spirit represented, speaking with its voice, moving with its energy.

These masks were integral to major life transitions.

“At the initiation ceremonies, the masks frequently led the boys into the bush schools where initiations took place,” the video explains. At funerals, they guided souls. In times of crisis, communities called upon spirits to settle intractable disputes, and “the decisions announced by the masks were accepted as having the weight of spiritual authority.”

Living Traditions

While colonialism disrupted many spiritual practices and scattered countless ritual objects across Western museums, the underlying worldview persists. Contemporary African artists increasingly reclaim these spiritual foundations, creating works that speak to ancestral connections while addressing modern realities.

In Ghana, funeral monuments grow increasingly elaborate, blending traditional symbolism with contemporary forms. In Nigeria, Osun Osogbo Festival draws thousands annually to honor the river goddess through art, music, and procession. The spiritual purpose endures.

What the Tourist Cannot See

For the casual observer, an African mask is a beautiful object—intricately carved, boldly patterned, aesthetically striking. But as Gabriella’s exploration reveals, true appreciation requires looking beyond form to function.

“The objects themselves were not worshiped,” the video emphasizes. Rather, they inhabited a world where “unseen spirits, each with his own path and personality,” involved themselves in human lives. The art made that involvement visible, tangible, and accessible.

Understanding African art spiritually transforms appreciation. What appears as stylized realism—disproportionate body parts, elongated necks, enlarged heads—reveals itself as intentional symbolism. Dynamic forms represent vitality and power. Youthful depictions honor the physical strength that sustained communities. Geometric patterns encode philosophical concepts.

A Different Way of Seeing

The Western art tradition, which taught generations to value naturalistic representation and individual artistic genius, often misses the point of African spiritual art entirely. Individual creators did not sign these objects. They were not displayed in isolation. They lived in communities, participated in rituals, and fulfilled specific functions before returning to storage until needed again.

This communal, purpose-driven approach challenges fundamental assumptions about what art is and why it matters. It suggests that beauty, while present, serves something greater—connection to the ancestors, harmony with the spirits, continuity between visible and invisible worlds.

As contemporary Africa navigates the complex legacy of colonialism, religious change, and globalization, these spiritual artistic traditions offer more than cultural heritage. They offer a distinctive way of seeing—one where art bridges worlds, and the ancestors remain present, accessible through the objects made in their honor.

This story was developed from the Sankofa Pan-African series video “African Arts and Its Symbolism,” which explores the spiritual foundations of traditional African artistic expression.

We have all heard stories of wars won with swords and guns. But how many have heard of a war stopped by a woman’s hips?

In the rich tapestry of Ghanaian heritage, most dances were born from joy, harvest, or worship. But one dance, cherished by the Fante people, was born from sheer panic—and the cleverness of a woman who refused to run and hide.

The story does not begin with music. It begins with a nightmare.

Long ago, according to oral tradition, the Fante community was plagued by a terrifying giant. Every night, this beast would descend upon the men, killing them one by one. The village was paralyzed.

The men, though brave, could not overpower the monster. Fear sat heavy in the air, and it seemed the lineage of the town was doomed to extinction.

Then came a night that changed everything.

@brainybairnsch PART: 3 Watch as our students dance to the apatampa beat 🙌👏👏 Ghana Day 🇬🇭🇬🇭🇬🇭 at BBS. #ghanatiktok🇬🇭 #independenceday #apatampadance #culture #bbs ♬ original sound – mfantse kasasua

As the giant grappled with the last surviving man in a fierce fight, a woman stepped forward. She did not carry a machete or a talisman. She carried only her presence. Moving with a deliberate, graceful rhythm, she began to dance. Some versions of the tale say she packed her cloth to accentuate her movements; others say her steps were simply too mesmerizing to ignore .

The beauty and confidence of her movements created a pause. The giant, distracted by the sudden spectacle, loosened his grip. The fight broke apart.

The people rushed forward, shouting in the Fante language: “Apata ampa!” — “You have truly separated the fight!” .

From that cry, the dance found its name: Apatampa.

More Than Just Steps

To the untrained eye, Apatampa looks like a cheerful, clapping game. The dancers strike their thighs twice, clap once, and tap their chests—all while smiling and moving in a slow, hypnotic walk. But if you listen closely to the rhythm of the aben (metal whistle) and the afrikyiwa (castanet), you are hearing the heartbeat of a people who were saved by the audacity of a woman.

This is why Apatampa holds a special place in Fante heritage. It is a physical reminder that wisdom and courage are not male or female. When the men failed, the woman succeeded.

Today, you will see Apatampa performed at festivals, puberty rites, and weddings . The dancers, adorned with beads around their necks, wrists, and ankles, embody the very spirit of that ancestral heroine. They remind us that sometimes, the strongest weapon a person has is not a clenched fist, but a confident step.

It is a dance of joy, yes. But underneath the smiles and the clapping, it remains what it has always been: a celebration of the quick thinker, the brave heart, and the woman who danced to save us all.