The issue may well be that both African creatives and our leading decision-makers are victims of ignorance about one of Africa’s greatest heritages.

All African creatives could, in a sense, be said to come from one clan.

We descend from the same ancestral tradition: the griot and griottess, or Jeli (in the Fulbe language), whose roots stretch from Senegambia through Mali and Niger as far back as the third century.

The status of the African creative was once fluid, respected, and indispensable.

During important occasions such as durbars and royal celebrations, they dined with kings. In times of war, they inspired rulers and warriors through genealogical recitations, epic storytelling, poetry, and song.

Their role was not merely artistic; it was spiritual, ritualistic, political, and educational.

For their service, they were rewarded with precious gifts, including gold and, at times, even slaves.

This demonstrates the immense value attached to the office of the African creative in precolonial Africa.

Unfortunately, colonialism did not only dispossess Africa of its resources and knowledgeable people; it also assaulted its culture and creative institutions.

The office of the griot was demonised, and many Africans gradually came to look down upon this noble tradition.

Yet the creative pulse that once inspired the world did not disappear.

The artistic genius that influenced figures such as Pablo Picasso and William Shakespeare drew, directly or indirectly, from Africa’s rich cultural heritage.

The ancestral creative office continues to call. It is the same spirit behind the rise of Afropop and the remarkable works of Wiyaala, Salif Keita, Oumou Sangaré, Sona Jobarteh, Youssou N’Dour, and many others. Even the famous story behind Roots traces back to an African griot from The Gambia.

Its author, Alex Haley, later acknowledged controversies surrounding aspects of the work after accusations of plagiarism.

From where I stand, an African creative is often called by the ancestors, much like the griot or griottess of old.

Once that calling comes, no government, institution, or individual can truly talk such a person out of creativity. Consider Chinua Achebe, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, and Wole Soyinka.

Their creativity was not merely a profession; it was both a calling and an apprenticeship.

There is, however, a third category of creatives: those who wait for a university degree before they feel validated enough to enter the creative space.

Even then, many still wait for Europe or America to endorse their work before they consider themselves relevant.

This brings me to my central point. In much the same way that many African policymakers undervalue the creative industry, some African creatives also undervalue themselves by seeking validation, recognition, and resources primarily from the West before believing in the worth of their own industry. That is a mistake on both sides of the same coin.

Ironically, Europe and America place enormous value on their creative industries.

As a result, they produce outstanding artistic works while creating some of the world’s wealthiest creatives.

The blame, therefore, should not rest solely on African policymakers, nor on those who caution us against waiting for validation from Europe or America before acting.

It must also be shared by African creatives who have forgotten the strength of their own heritage.

Perhaps what we need is to become re-creative by reconnecting with the ancestral foundations of African creativity.

Everyone along the creative value chain has a responsibility to decolonise the industry.

Creativity is an ancestral calling and an apprenticeship. It is valid wherever it is practised in the world.

It is not mechanical; it is spiritual, cultural, and civilisational. Once Africa, and Ghana in particular, rediscovers this truth, we can regenerate our creative industry from within rather than waiting for external validation.