She sits upright on a deep brown sofa. Her hands are folded loosely in her lap, and the lace of her white dress spreads in careful arabesques across her knees. The fabric is intricate, netted with floral embroidery that catches the soft, diffused light. A silver watch circles her wrist; matching earrings and a short necklace frame her face with quiet brightness. Her hair is sculpted into a high, rounded, deliberate form. She looks slightly upward and away, with her eyes fixed on something outside the frame. Behind her, the wall is plain, almost austere, giving no distraction from her presence. The room feels like a private interior where ceremony and rest coexist. Her posture suggests waiting, endurance, and the composure learned in places where time moves slowly.
— Olaniyi Omiwale
This intimate portrait of Pokuaah was taken at home on the day of her wedding. It was a rather gloomy day—sort of sad for a wedding. Amidst the chaos and the burdening weight of tradition, I noticed Pokuaah sitting quietly, almost as if she had removed herself from the scene and was merely observing everyone from a place untouched by everything happening around her.
Marriages are a huge deal in Akan culture. It is a time for families to finally join and become families themselves, but it is also a burdening ritual of tradition and performance that seems unending because it extends into the marital home. Pokuaah removed from the scene—it almost felt like she was waiting to be told “Action,” or she was getting ready for the biggest stage ever, as women have been conditioned to think about marriage. I was slowly moving through groups of women performing their beautification rituals without wanting to disrupt anything, and then I noticed Pokuaah sitting quietly.
I chose this photo because it reminds me that the radical protection of our peace is not always selfish. It reminds me that simple, small pauses are important—to reset, to rest, or even to just breathe. The stillness captured belies everything happening around her. It forced me to take a breath myself. The photograph does not answer what she was feeling. It simply holds space for the question, and in doing so, offers permission to pause.
My approach to photography is rooted in the understanding that a photograph never truly mirrors what the eye sees. The camera translates experience into something slightly estranged, and that gap interests me. I’m less concerned with literal depiction than with the emotional undercurrents that linger beneath surfaces. I think of photography as a poetic medium that suggests rather than declares. Meaning is not fixed within the image itself; it unfolds through the viewer’s encounter with it. By isolating fragments and building sequences, I create spaces where fragility, memory, and ambiguity can surface. For me, photography becomes impactful when it slows us down enough to feel what might otherwise go unnoticed.
Adwoa A. Fofie is a Ghanaian researcher and visual artist whose practice builds counter-archives of memory, ecology, and everyday life. She documents women navigating cultural shifts and ecological transformation, centering how communities forge belonging within contested spaces. Her work has been featured in the Women Photograph 2025 Annual, with writing published in Africa Is a Country and peer-reviewed journals. See more of Adwoa A. Fofie’s work on her website and on her Instagram.
