Carlos Idun-Tawiah continues his nostalgic journeying through Ghanaian culture with his latest series, ‘Hero, Father, Friend’. Like ‘Boys Will Always Be Boys’ and ‘Sunday Special’ before it, the Accra-based photographer and filmmaker mines memories – both real and wished-for – to conjure up images steeped in familial and community love while honouring the history of African photography. This time, the viewer is invited to consider the vital and often misrepresented role Black fathers play in their sons’ lives. A tribute to his own dearly departed father, and addressing the lack of photographs he possesses of them together, this moving fictional archive stages scenes of daily parenting, from travelling on the bus and cooking dinner to playing football and learning an instrument.

‘Hero, Father, Friend’ has won the Getxophoto Festival award and the Fotofestiwal Award. It is currently on view at Lianzhou Foto Festival in China, after which it’ll move to shows in Bilbao, Spain and Łódź, Poland, this summer. Here, Idun-Tawiah talks us through this warm and hopeful body of work.

What do you hope this series conveys about fatherhood and sonhood within the Ghanaian context?

I hope the audience comes to appreciate the everyday, often unnoticed moments shared between fathers and sons on the continent. Fatherhood could be intimidating with all its responsibilities and stereotypes, so focusing on these quiet yet meaningful moments through this story is my way of highlighting the privilege we have as men to raise a generation to be better, simply by showing up every day. Ultimately, ‘Hero, Father, Friend’ is a photographic biopic of my late dad that doubles as a celebration of all Black fathers taking it one step at a time, doing their best, and having fun while at it.

What did it take for you to produce such an involved body of work?

Whether it’s with a fashion stylist or a set designer, it’s always fulfilling to share creative control with a team dedicated to seeing an idea through. ‘Hero, Father, Friend’ was a labour of love with friends and colleagues who poured their unique perspectives into this work, and I don’t take that for granted [all credits below].

Can you talk us through one image from the series and what it means to you?

Much of African musical history centres around fathers who saw music not just as an art form but as a way of extending their legacies. In ‘Grandpa’s Double Bass’ and ‘Own This Sound Forever’, I honour how music is passed down through generations of Black fathers and sons. ‘Own This Sound Forever’ is particularly personal; it’s a memoir of how my grandad spent his last days teaching my sister and me to play the piano. It’s unsettling that we never had the chance to photograph such a core memory, so I use fiction here to fill that void.