For decades, Ghana has welcomed the world with a single powerful image, the Akwaaba photograph. Displayed at airports, hotels, embassies, tourism fairs, textbooks, billboards, and international events, the image has become one of the country’s most recognisable cultural symbols. Yet, behind this celebrated photograph is a woman whose name, story, and rights were long overlooked: Angelina Nana Akua Oduro.

In a rare and emotional recount, Angelina has revealed that she never knew the commercial value or the amount of money her image generated after it was commercialised and widely distributed.

The Akwaaba image was taken during a period when Ghana was actively branding itself as a hospitable and culturally rich destination. Dressed in traditional attire, with a calabash and a clay pot, gracefully holding a calabash and a clay pot, pouring palm wine in a gesture of warmth and welcome, the young woman in the photo embodied warmth, pride, and identity.

What appeared to be a simple photo session at the time later transformed into a national tourism emblem. The image was reproduced endlessly, printed, digitised, sold, licensed, and displayed without the subject ever being informed of its growing economic and symbolic value.

“I never knew my picture had been commercialised to that extent,” Angelina recounts. “I didn’t know how much it was worth or how much money it was generating.”

As the image gained prominence, Angelina lived her life quietly, unaware that her likeness had become part of Ghana’s global branding machinery. She was never consulted when the image was reused, never credited in most publications, and never compensated for its continuous commercial exploitation.

In some cases, copies of the photograph were sold by third parties, including one Mr Joseph Osae, the photographer who took the picture without her consent or knowledge. For years, she watched as an image of her younger self appeared in public and private spaces, detached from her identity as a living person.

Her story reflects a wider systemic issue within Ghana’s creative and cultural ecosystem, the lack of protection for image rights, models, and contributors to cultural heritage.

Like many creatives and models of her time, Angelina entered the photo session without contracts, legal explanations, or discussions around intellectual property. She trusted the process, unaware of how photography, licensing, and commercial reproduction worked.

“I didn’t understand commercialisation, image rights, or royalties back then,” she explains. “Nobody explained it to me.”

Her experience exposes the imbalance of power between creatives and institutions, where contributors often give value without understanding the long-term implications of their participation.

After many years of quiet observation, Angelina Nana Akua Oduro has finally chosen to tell her story, not driven by anger, but by a desire for recognition, fairness, and reform.

Her testimony has sparked renewed conversations across the creative industry, tourism sector, and policy circles about:

• Image rights and consent
• Ethical use of cultural symbols
• Fair compensation for contributors
• The need for stronger legal frameworks

By speaking out, she has humanised an image that many Ghanaians had come to see as anonymous and institutional.

Angelina is more than the Akwaaba image. She is a woman whose contribution helped shape Ghana’s international identity, even if that contribution went unacknowledged for years.

Her story now stands as a cautionary tale and a call to action for photographers, institutions, brands, and policymakers to protect the rights of individuals whose faces, bodies, and identities are used to tell national stories.

Today, the Akwaaba image carries a deeper meaning. It is no longer just a symbol of welcome; it is a reminder that behind every powerful cultural icon is a human being who deserves recognition, respect, and equity.

As Ghana continues to promote its creative economy and cultural heritage, Angelina Nana Akua Oduro’s story urges the nation to do better to ensure that no contributor to its identity is ever left unseen again.