Photography by Tafari is a Detroit, MI based professional photographer brand offering a range of portrait, event, lifestyle, drone, and wedding photography services.
Specializing in highlighting African American / Black Life.
Tafari, is a Detroit African American photographer / Black photographer with over 15 years of professional photography experience.
Centered in the municipality of Bolgatanga, this study focuses on the experiences of Gurune (Frafra) women whose work sustains families, preserves cultural heritage, and contributes to the global artisan economy.
Through interviews, site visits, supply chain documentation, and cultural immersion, the project seeks to understand how these women draw strength from ancestral knowledge and collective labor to maintain their homes, empower their communities, and share their artistry with the world.
Weaving is not just an economic activity in Bolgatanga—it is a living tradition. The craft sustains nearly 80% of the local economy, and its knowledge is passed down orally from one generation to the next. In this way, weaving serves as both livelihood and legacy.
This story traces how a chance encounter at a roadside shop in Accra, Ghana, led to an unforgettable journey to Bolgatanga—and a deep exploration into the lives and artistry of the basket weavers of Sherigu.
HOW DID WE GET HERE: In March 2020, I was in Ghana, West Africa—swept up in the rising international fears of COVID-19 approaching the continent.Basket weaving in Bolgatanga is a creative pathway to financial independence and self-determination for many Gurune (or Frafra) women in Ghana’s Upper East Region. This ancestral craft is passed down through generations—most often from mothers to daughters—and serves as a vital thread in the fabric of community identity and resilience.
These indigenous artisans form the heart of a powerful cultural and economic collective, renowned for producing the iconic Bolga baskets—handwoven vessels made from elephant grass that are sold across Ghana and exported worldwide.
But a Bolga basket is more than a woven object. It is a vessel of history, identity, and survival—shaped by the land, refined by the hands of women, and carried far beyond its roots in northern Ghana.
These baskets embody the resilience of a people, the artistry of a culture, and a sacred truth: that beauty—born of earth and hand—can travel the world… and still remain deeply rooted.
As alarming news reports flooded in from the United States, life in Ghana began to shift. Borders started to close, and flights were suddenly canceled.
Uncertain of what to do next, I made my way to the U.S. Embassy in Accra—Ghana’s capital and most populous city. It wasn’t far from where I was staying, and with nervous energy to burn, I decided to walk.
Along the way, I came across a street vendor selling some of the most stunning woven items I had ever seen. The colors, the shapes, the textures—all of it captivated me, momentarily distracting me from the growing urgency of the global crisis.
I had a brief but kind exchange with the gentleman at the roadside shop, then continued on to face the unfolding reality.
The visit to the U.S. Embassy was not what I had hoped for. I left feeling defeated after being told to prepare for a minimum six-month stay in Ghana due to canceled flights and imminent border closures.
The walk back was long and hot, but I eventually returned to the shaded spot where the vendor stood beneath towering trees. Drawn in once more, I stopped to admire the baskets, ask questions, and maybe choose one to take home.
That stop turned into a much longer conversation, one that ended with Apobona Fatawu becoming like a brother to me.
A few days later, I managed to get on one of the last flights out of Ghana.
Once home, I kept in touch with Fatawu. We talked often. He shared his life in Ghana; I shared mine in the States. Our conversations ran deep and left me feeling enriched. That simple choice—to pause in the middle of a global crisis and appreciate something beautiful—turned into something truly meaningful.
Months later, I asked Fatawu more about the baskets. That’s when he connected me to the actual shop owner: Agesine Prosper. When Fatawu introduced us, things really opened up.
I arranged for some of Prosper’s baskets and fans to be shipped to the U.S. for family and friends. Everyone loved them—and from that, a small business was born. How random—and beautiful.
By October 2020, with borders reopened, I was ready to return to Ghana and pick up where I had abruptly left off during my first trip to West Africa.
When I told Prosper I was coming back, he enthusiastically offered to take me to his hometown—Bolgatanga—where the baskets are made. Weeks later, I was back in Ghana.
Prosper and I met several times to plan our arrangements and map out goals for the journey north. My excitement was building.
We went to Kotoka Airport, purchased our plane tickets to Tamale, booked accommodations in Bolgatanga—and from there, a series of experiences unfolded that changed my life and forever altered my perspective.
The flight to Tamale was short and smooth. From my window seat, the landscape below appeared arid and vast. Upon arrival, we collected our bags and Prosper officially became my guide to Ghana’s Upper East Region.
We hopped into a shared taxi for the three-hour journey to the heart of Bolgatanga. The ride was hot, uncomfortable, bumpy, and dusty—yet deeply intriguing. We passed through town after town, witnessing daily life unfold: vast farmland, scores of men on motorbikes, herds of cattle halting traffic. Mud huts. Schoolhouses. Pubs. Shops. Food stalls. I was experiencing a different side of African life—raw, real, and beautiful.
Once we arrived in Bolgatanga, I had a few hours to rest before diving into whatever Prosper had planned for me.
After some food and downtime, he arranged for us to visit the village of Sherigu. Our mode of transportation? Motorbikes. His young nephew, Samuel, showed up and would serve as my driver over the next few days. I climbed on the back of his bike, and we set off, leaving the city center behind for a long, seemingly endless dirt road. Samuel navigated it with the ease and confidence of a seasoned rider who knew every shortcut.
The ride was long and bumpy, but it ended in Sherigu, where we were greeted by a large gathering of women. They were busy preparing grasses for weaving, finishing baskets, and caring for children—all at once.
As I jumped off the bike and walked toward the group, I was met with a mix of curious stares and warm smiles.
Prosper soon joined us on his own motorbike and began introducing me to the women—these were the very artisans behind the baskets he sold in Accra.
He called forward one woman in particular: small in stature, but radiating presence and command. She was the group’s leader, affectionately known as Big Momma.
Big Momma is the boss. She oversees production, maintains quality control, manages labor hours, ensures fair pay, and coordinates the group’s collective savings. Her leadership is central to the cooperative’s success.
After Prosper’s introduction, Big Momma offered me a heartfelt welcome—expressing her love and appreciation for my visit, and for my interest in learning about their craft and livelihood.
We stayed in the village well past sunset. I noticed some of the women working right up until the last slivers of sunlight disappeared—determined to complete their baskets for the day.
The ride back to the city center was just as bumpy and dusty, but now cool and cloaked in darkness. After a much-needed shower and dinner, my first day was complete—and I was more than ready to dive deeper into all that awaited me in the days to come.
Bolga baskets are meticulously handcrafted using elephant grass—a fast-growing, tall, and highly durable natural fiber native to the savanna regions of West Africa. When properly harvested and dried, elephant grass becomes strong and long-lasting, making it an ideal material for basket weaving.
The production process begins by cracking and splitting the dried grass blades into finer strands. These strands are then moistened and tightly twisted into spiral threads, which serve as the foundational material for weaving. Skilled and developing artisans—predominantly women, gather in communal settings to weave these fibers into stunning basket designs. This teamwork not only strengthens social bonds but also reinforces the intergenerational transfer of artistic techniques.
While Bolga baskets are renowned for their beauty, they are also highly functional and versatile. They are often woven in bold patterns and dynamic shapes, reflecting both personal creativity and cultural symbolism. The vibrant colors come to life through the dyeing of elephant grass in a wide spectrum of hues—from deep earth tones to bright, contemporary palettes.
The most commonly produced basket styles for marketplace sale include shopping baskets, round baskets, and oval baskets. These popular forms are often completed in collaboration with local leather artisans, who skillfully add leather-wrapped handles and accents. This creative community partnership not only enhances the durability of each piece but also elevates its aesthetic and market value—making every Bolga basket a unique fusion of function, tradition, and artistry.
Through my conversations and interviews with weavers and community members in Bolgatanga and Kumasi, Ghana where elephant grass is harvested, I learned that not all stages of the basket-making process are smooth, creative, or community-centered. Behind the beauty of Bolga baskets lies a reality that is often overlooked: the physical risks involved in sourcing and preparing raw materials.
In several cases, I was told stories of men venturing into the bush to harvest elephant grass—only to return with severe injuries, including deep cuts and, in rare but tragic instances, the loss of fingers or limbs due to the unsafe use of machetes. The terrain can be rugged, and the tools, often improvised or poorly maintained, pose serious hazards. There have even been reports of fatalities resulting from untreated injuries, underscoring the urgent need for safety training and protective gear.
While the communal aspects of basket weaving are a celebrated part of northern Ghana’s cultural heritage, these stories reveal that the early stages of production—harvesting and processing—can carry significant risk, especially for men involved in the supply chain. Addressing these challenges is critical to ensuring that the basket-making tradition can continue sustainably and safely for future generations.
After a night’s rest, I woke up ready to continue exploring life in Bolgatanga. Over breakfast, Prosper and I organized our day. Our plans included watching him purchase baskets at the local market—separate from the weavers of Sherigu—and then visiting the weaving community, where we would provide snacks and beverages for the women and children.
With our plans set, we headed to the weekly basket market, where I observed how baskets from surrounding villages are sold to wholesalers who help distribute them across Ghana and beyond. The market was a rapid introduction to village economics—money and baskets moved all around me in a whirlwind of activity.
Most of the buyers were men, purchasing directly from weavers or through brokers. The speed was dizzying, as everyone raced to acquire the best quality, boldest patterns, and most eye-catching colors.
After this first market experience, we visited a local grocer to purchase refreshments: malt drinks at the request of Big Momma, along with soft drinks, juices, biscuits and candies for the children.
I was filled with excitement as we returned to the work site. Upon arrival, I observed the women weaving together in harmony, supporting one another in their collective labor. Amidst the rhythmic motions of their hands, you could hear stories, political discussions, laughter, frustrations, and even playful pleas for a breeze to break the heat.
While the women worked, I engaged in heartfelt conversations about their lives and aspirations. Many spoke of their commitment to weaving as a means to support their families—especially to pay their children’s school fees and secure a better future. Others expressed a desire for longer workdays, hindered only by the lack of electricity.
The need for electricity—specifically solar power—was a recurring theme. Big Momma and others spoke passionately about the importance of lighting and shelter. A solar-powered workspace would allow them to weave after sunset and continue their craft even during the rainy season, when production often comes to a halt due to heavy or persistent rains.
Without light, productivity ends when the sun goes down. The women shared a collective hope that government and community leaders would act swiftly to provide basic infrastructure—not only for the weaving sites, but for their homes as well. Lighting in the home would benefit their families, especially young children who are in school.
As trust deepened, our interactions became warmer. The women began to open up even more, and I felt deeply honored to be welcomed into their world.
Eventually, the women paused their work, and we passed out the drinks and treats. The moment was filled with joy and laughter. Children ran to collect juice and sweets, their bright eyes and endless smiles warming my heart. It was a beautiful, affirming scene.
To avoid disrupting their critical work for too long, we cleaned up after the break and wrapped up our visit to the village, returning to the city center.
I left feeling deeply moved by all that had been shared with me. What I witnessed gave me a renewed appreciation for the sheer artistry and determination of these women. In Bolgatanga, art and survival are inextricably linked. They are the threads that continue to bind the spirit and drive of these incredible weavers.
On my last day in Bolgatanga, Prosper arranged for us to do some final market shopping at a smaller venue focused on primary on fans and some baskets. He took time to teach me what he specifically looks for in the baskets he sells in Accra. I got a fast lesson on how to distinguish quality levels, assess seamless patterns, and evaluate color consistency. It was fascinating! While buying, you only have seconds to preview an item—hesitate too long and someone else will scoop it up. Attention to detail is essential.
With more market experience under my belt, we hopped on our motorbikes and made a special trip to Prosper’s family compound. There, he introduced me to his relatives and friends while offering a glimpse into what life is like in a northern compound.
The visit was capped off with me tasting a local beer called pito—a traditional fermented beverage made from millet or sorghum, brewed primarily by women. After just a few sips, I realized how strong it was and ended up dozing off under a wooden hut. When I woke up, everyone laughed at my lack of tolerance. The drink was strong and delicious! I’m not sure how much I had, but I’ll know better next time.
After our family visit, we made one final trip back to the village so I could conduct more formal interviews with Big Momma and a few members of her collective.
The interviews were relatively short but insightful. They helped fill in gaps in my understanding and gave me a deeper appreciation for the strength and unity of this group of women.
One of the key takeaways from my conversation with Big Momma was the role she plays as a pillar of her community. She is the shoulder many women stand on. They respect her, follow her lead, and heed her wisdom. She told me plainly: “If a woman wants to eat, she must use her hands.” In other words, if you’re not willing to contribute through labor and cooperation, you bring no value to the community.
With our time in Sherigu drawing to a close, we made the bumpy, dusty trek back to the city center to wrap up our final rounds. This included meeting with others in the basket wholesale business and stopping at a few more local craft markets, where I picked up some traditional cultural items. I even had a Batakari smock made for me on the spot.
Batakari, also known as fugu, are smocks traditionally worn by men in northern Ghana. They are appropriate for a range of occasions—from office work and school to weddings and funerals. Ironically, I was invited to a funeral—a major one—for the mother of rapper Guy One. So we adjusted our departure plans.
I had to witness what a funeral celebration in Bolgatanga looked like.
We jumped on our motorbikes once again and headed deep into the bush—beyond any recognizable village—until we arrived at a vast, open field filled with hundreds of jubilant funeral attendees, kicking up clouds of dust in the heat of celebration. Traditional music played in the background. Soothsayers and magicians displayed their African Black Power with pride. Music and dancing unfolded in every direction. It was almost overstimulating—in the best possible way.
As night fell, we returned to prepare for our departure the following morning. The end of a five-day journey to explore life in a remote village had arrived. Time had moved both quickly and slowly.
This type of experience must be lived firsthand. I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to immerse myself in this community—an experience grounded in trust, care, and a shared commitment to preserving and uplifting the lives of craft artisans who form the true backbone of Bolgatanga.
While Bolgatanga is certainly a patriarchal society, it is the women who carry the true strength and power to fuel abundance for all. Witnessing their resilience—women committed to raising healthy families through cooperative work and community-based economics—offered me a window into the past, present, and future.
Their artistry is not just a tradition; it is a living legacy, maintained by the sentinels of the Bolgatanga weaving community.
BACKGROUND
How long have you been selling baskets? How old were you? I have been feeling baskets since 2002. It has been 23 years now. I am now 34 years of age. I started at the Nyariga Junction Market when I was about 11 years old. I would go with my mother to the market to help my mother things. She sold kola nuts, tobacco, pipes and other smoking products, along with spices.
Why did you decided to get into the basket business? My older brother started selling baskets in Accra and he would come home to buy baskets and he got me interested in selling. He showed me how to run the business…
When you were a child, did anyone in your family weave? If someone did weave, did you participate or help? Everyone in my family was a weaver with the exception of my father. So my mother, my brothers, my sisters all were weavers. We are a family of nine. My mother had seven children. My older sister was more committed to weaving and use the craft to support the family. She was a top weaver. My father had about 5 wives.
Did you learn to weave? I can weave but do not do to sell. I weave to make repairs on damaged baskets and sometimes when I am in Bolgatanga, I will help the weavers in the village to finish some orders.
What countries do you ship your baskets to? Most of my baskets go to the United States, Canada, and Germany. At my roadside shop in Accra, I sell to people who come from all over the world. Italy, Japan, Netherlands and beyond.
What challenges or difficulties do you have in your business selling baskets? Right now, my challenges are a result of high rents in Accra. It is expensive to maintain my stand because now in Accra, landlords are charing US dollars so it is difficult to find places to safely store my baskets.
Foreigners are coming into the market to buy up local baskets from weavers and weaving groups. These buys are driving up the prices of the baskets because they are using foreign dollars that are more powerful than the Ghana Cedi. So now weavers are more attracted to foreigners to sell because they pay more than the local wholesalers and this is creating a strain in the market because baskets are less affordable.
Then annually, when it is rainy season, baskets are more expensive because weavers are concentrating on planting their farms and raising the crops to sustainability. After farming, many weavers are tired and do not weave. So those that are weaving are able to charge more because supplies are low in the market.
One of the biggest issues facing all weavers is because the materials are getting very expensive. Our grasses come from the Kumasi region in Ghana. The lands where the grass is grown is slowly being sold so this means that there is less grass being grown because people are building homes and using the lands for other crops. This leads to a higher cost of a finished baskets.
From a wholesale perspective, in 2020, a completed Bolga shoppers basket was about 60 cedis. Now in 2025, the same basket is over 120+ cedis. This does not include the increased cost to get the baskets from the village to the markets or finishing with leather trims. In 2020, it was 50 cedis send a late bag of baskets to Accra, now the cost in 2025 is about 150 cedis.
How does your work support the village? These days, I am able to meet so many people that come from around the world that are fascinated by our baskets. Many of these customers are interested in visiting the villages and we arrange for them to go. This has helped us generate money to build a new weaving center for the women to keep the craft growing.
These people spend money and help us by telling their friends to come.
Customers are inspired and offer donations to support. These donations are cash and supply support, including clothing.
COMMUNITY PERSPECTIVE
What is the typical role of women in Bolgatanga. What are they responsible for when it comes to the family.
The role of women in Bolgatanga includes keeping the home clean, taking care of the children—bathing them, cooking for them, and watching over them. Additionally, women are responsible for preparing meals for the family and maintaining a tidy household.
Are women responsible for providing money to help the family manage or is it the man’s responsibility.
Women in Bolgatanga are generally not responsible for providing money for the family. However, in cases where the man is poor, the woman may also contribute financially if she has the means.
How long does it typically take for someone to learn how to weave and what does it mean to be a master weaver?
Learning how to weave depends on regular and persistent participation. It can take six months to a year to learn the basics, and becoming a master weaver requires the ability to create different types of designs and consistently produce high-quality baskets.
When women sell their baskets, are they allowed to keep their own money?
Yes, women are allowed to keep the money they earn from selling their baskets, but due to poverty, they are often compelled to use it to provide for their children.
Do women teach the children to weave? If they do, at what age do they learn to weave or if they do not weave, do they do other basket related work like breaking the grass, dying?
Yes, women teach the children how to weave. Some children start as early as age 10, while others begin around age 15—it depends on the family’s financial situation. They start by learning how to split and twist the straw. As for dyeing, they are taught that after they’ve learned how to weave.
Do the women weavers work in groups mostly or are there some that work by themselves? Or is it a mix of both?
Yes, it’s a mix—some women work in groups, while others work independently.
How important is basket weaving to the people of Bolgatanga?
Basket weaving is a source of income for 80% of women in Bolgatanga, making it a vital part of life for our community.
Voyage to Bolgatanga began as a self-funded journey in 2020 after a chance encounter in Accra led me to the village of Sherigu in northern Ghana. There, I connected with a community of Frafra women who weave the iconic Bolga baskets—an art form that not only supports their families but also carries deep cultural and generational significance. These baskets are known around the world, yet the stories of the women who make them are rarely told.
Since then, I’ve been documenting their work through immersive field visits, interviews, photography, and video. The goal is to bring this project to life through a short documentary film, a photography and textile exhibition, and a digital archive that honors their legacy and centers their voices. This project is a celebration of resilience, craft, and culture—and it speaks to larger themes of gender equity, economic sustainability, and cultural preservation.
Now, I’m at a point where I need support to keep going. I’m currently seeking funding to complete the next phase of the project: editing the film, building the exhibition, compensating participants, and continuing field documentation. The full project budget is $7,500, and every bit of support helps move this work closer to the finish line.
This project means a lot to me, and even more to the communities that have welcomed me in. If you believe in the power of storytelling, cultural preservation, and honoring women’s labor—Voyage to Bolgatanga is a project worth investing in.
