Broken, But Not Silent: Heritage Speaks Through Fragments.

In archaeological research, pottery is among the most significant categories of material culture. Unlike organic remains that decay rapidly, clay vessels, once fired, become highly durable, surviving for centuries in diverse environments. Their ubiquity across settlements and their variability in form, decoration, and technology make them essential for reconstructing human history. Pottery also serves as a proxy for understanding broader social processes. Variations in design can indicate cultural exchange and trade networks, while changes in clay composition or firing methods may reflect environmental adaptation. In West African archaeology, pottery traditions are particularly important for tracing cultural continuity, migration histories, and indigenous knowledge systems. Thus, the fragments encountered in the lab are not simply broken objects; they are datasets. Each shard contributes to a larger picture of human behaviour, resilience, and interaction with the environment.

Archaeology’s scientific rigour lies in piecing together these datasets, but its human depth lies in recognising them as echoes of lived experience. When I sat at the pottery lab in the Museum of West African Art (MOWAA), surrounded by fragments unearthed from MOWAA excavations, I felt as though I was in conversation with the past. Spread across the tables were broken pieces of clay, some faintly curved, others marked by patterns that time had softened. To an untrained eye, they might look ordinary, but in their quietness, they held centuries of living. As we labelled, sorted, and carefully attempted to refit the pieces together, I was reminded that pottery is never just pottery. In socio-cultural anthropology, objects like these are portals. They connect us to everyday practices such as cooking, storing, and sharing practices that sustained communities long before our own time. A single fragment might have once been part of a vessel used in ritual or a pot that carried water drawn from a sacred source. Touching them, I felt the residue of human hands that shaped clay into meaning.

The process of refitting was very interesting, especially when anyone in the lab matched correctly two fragments. Each fragment searching for its partner became a metaphor for how we reconstruct memory, identity, and heritage. Anthropology, in many ways, is this same act of piecing together lives and cultures from traces left behind. It is painstaking work, but it reveals the resilience of human creativity. Heritage, I realised, is fragile. It can be scattered, buried, or nearly lost. Yet, when preserved and cared for, it becomes a powerful reminder of who we are and where we come from. To hold these excavated pieces of clay was to be reminded that the past is not distant; it sits with us, if only we are willing to listen.

Walking out of the lab that day, I carried more than just the memory of broken pots. I carried the lesson that heritage is both delicate and enduring. It asks us not only to preserve objects but also to honour the stories and lifeways they embody. In every fragment, there is a whole world waiting to be remembered.