There is a moment during Ghana’s presidential inauguration that has nothing to do with ballot sheets, constitutional affidavits, or the usual political chatter.

It happens when the newly sworn-in commander-in-chief grasps the Sword of State. Time slows. The crowd falls silent. For a few seconds, a piece of metal speaks louder than any campaign promise.

On January 7, 2025, when John Dramani Mahama took his oath for the second time, that moment resonated with particular power.

This marked his third time holding the revered sword, a continuity that connects him not just to his previous tenure but to a lineage stretching back to independence.

But why all the fuss over a sword? In a modern republic, surrounded by iPhones and fighter jets, why does this ancient object still matter?

The answer lies in what the sword carries that no constitution can print.

The Weight That Words Cannot Carry

Ghana’s Sword of State is not a weapon. Crafted from solid gold and etched with symbols as old as the Asante Kingdom, it belongs to a family of ceremonial swords known as Akrafena—a name that implies soul, purity, and responsibility.

When a president holds it, they are not preparing for battle. They are submitting to something far more demanding.

The double-bladed design, rooted in the Afena-nta symbol, speaks of balance: war and peace, justice and mercy, strength and restraint.

These are not qualities you can legislate. They are qualities you must embody.

First held by Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah in 1960, the sword has witnessed every chapter of Ghana’s Fourth Republic—the triumphs, the transitions, the peaceful handovers that much of the continent envies.

It has rested in the hands of Rawlings, Kufuor, Mills, Mahama, and Akufo-Addo. Each grip tells a story.

The Commander-in-Chief Paradox

Here is the twist most people miss: Most presidents are civilians. They have never commanded an army, never worn a uniform.

Yet the moment they take office, they become the commander-in-chief of the armed forces. The sword bridges that gap.

It transforms a politician into a protector. It signals to every soldier, sailor, and airperson that the person holding that blade now holds their loyalty—and their lives—in trust.

Read Also: When a Woman’s Dance Stopped a Giant: The True Story of the Fante’s Apatampa

When the president inspects the guard, it is the sword that confirms his authority to do so.

This is why the handing-over ceremony is so charged. In Kenya, where a similar tradition exists, the sword has only changed hands a handful of times since independence.

When Mwai Kibaki handed it to Uhuru Kenyatta in 2013, it was not just a transfer of office—it was a father’s legacy passing to a son through the gleam of polished steel.

A Global Language of Steel

Ghana is not alone in this dance between democracy and tradition. Across the Commonwealth, the ceremonial sword signals that power has shifted.

In the United States, George Washington himself wore a sword at his inauguration, following the fashion of European courts.

Thomas Jefferson later refused to wear one—too royal, he thought—but the symbolism persisted.

Even in diplomacy, swords speak. When the British raided the White House in 1814, stealing James Madison’s ceremonial sword was considered a devastating psychological blow.

When a foreign dignitary presents a sword as a gift—as Ghana’s ambassador did to President Gerald Ford in 1975—it is an offering of respect, courage, and brotherhood.

The Silent Guardian

So the next time you watch an inauguration and see that golden blade rise, do not dismiss it as theatre. That word is watching the president as much as the president is holding it.

It asks a silent question every single day: Will you be worthy of the weight?

For a moment, under the African sun, with millions watching and history holding its breath, the answer is still being written.

And that is why the sword must always be there—to remind the person holding it that some things are heavier than gold.

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.