Today, his creations grace the homes of US vice presidents, feature in Marvel blockbusters, and exhibit in more than a dozen of the world’s most acclaimed museums. But for two decades, Jomo Tariku’s designs lived in exile—rejected for being “too African” for modernism and “too modern” for African curators.
“I was that strange thing that couldn’t be part of the conversation,” he reflects.
Growing up like many kids of his generation, a career in medicine or law was often talked about, but held little appeal for Jomo. Instead, he found joy in drawing—an interest nurtured quietly by his parents, who provided pencils, colors, and paper to keep him engaged.
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During school breaks, Jomo and his younger brother apprenticed at a neighborhood woodworking shop.
“We were young, so we were not allowed to touch any machines,” he remembers. “But we were around people who build things.”
This blend of discipline and exposure planted seeds deep in his subconscious. Yet, a career in design was something Jomo had not considered until a perceptive college professor noticed his talent that he was encouraged to explore product design—a suggestion that would eventually lead him to study industrial design at the University of Kansas.
Finding Voice through Design
At university, Jomo discovered both a field and a calling. Industrial design, with its practical rigor and creative potential, seemed like a good fit. But still, it felt like something was missing.
“I’d read all these magazines from the US and Europe. As much as I enjoyed them, I didn’t find anything that spoke back to me as an African,” he explains. “It was always these famous Italian and American designers. I thought—I think I can change this.”
This realization came to a head during his thesis year. While most students built one prototype, Jomo created five, from stools and a couch to reimagined Aksumite-inspired seating. His presentation drew acclaim.
“My dad even gave me the false perception that I would have a very successful career immediately,” he adds, laughing.
But outside academia, reality was harsher. The design world had little room for African aesthetics beyond the stereotypical.
“People were so focused on what they think comes from Africa— leopard prints, and the like. Furniture was not even in the conversation,” said Jomo.
Years in the Shadows
Despite the strength of his early work, Jomo Tariku found himself locked out of the very spaces he was trying to enter—excluded from exhibitions, even those specifically focused on African design.
His pieces did not align with the prevailing stereotypes of what “African” design was supposed to look like, and Jomo struggled to find a platform for his work.
“I think my work kind of stood out from their concept of what African design should be,” he reflected.
He stayed consistent in his practice, but the silence from the design world was deafening. By 2008, with little traction and no commercial viability, he made the difficult decision to close his studio in Washington, D.C. and took a full-time job at the World Bank.
Yet, even while juggling a demanding day job, he never stopped thinking like a designer. Nights and weekends were spent sketching, refining ideas, and exploring forms though he no longer had the time or resources to build.
“I wasn’t building anymore, but the ideas never stopped,” he said.
Then came the unexpected spark. In 2017, a call from Ethiopia changed everything. Jomo was invited to participate in Addis Design Week. Though he had not produced new furniture in years, he offered to present a few 3D renderings. That modest submission rekindled interest in his work. Within a year, he was invited to represent Ethiopia at Dubai.
“That was my wake-up call,” he says. “Doing something unique, something people haven’t seen, with the right audience, it came together.”
After years of near obscurity, Jomo Tariku was finally being seen.
Rising Recognition and a Global Platform
By 2019, Jomo had co-founded the Black Artists + Designers Guild, a collective created to amplify voices from the African diaspora in the design world. Through this work, and his own persistence, Jomo’s name began to appear in major design media.
His visibility grew and eventually, two of his signature pieces were selected to be part of the interior design of then–US Vice President Kamala Harris’s official residence. The Nyala Chair, named after Ethiopia’s rare mountain antelope, and the Mequamia Chair, inspired by a prayer stick used by the clergy of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, stood as quiet icons of African identity and symbolism in one of the most politically powerful spaces in the world.
Jomo later received a formal thank-you letter from Vice President Harris, acknowledging the significance of his contribution.
For him, it was more than recognition—it was validation. After years of operating in the margins, his work was finally being celebrated at the highest levels not just as design, but as cultural diplomacy.
Among Jomo Tariku’s other standout creations is the Meedo Chair, a striking piece inspired by the African afro comb—known in Ethiopia as meedo. More than a grooming tool, the comb has long been a symbol of Black pride, resistance, and identity. In the US, it became iconic during the Black Power movement of the 1960s and 70s. In Ethiopia, similar combs have been part of daily and ceremonial life for generations, tucked into natural hair and used in traditional styling rituals.
“I grew up seeing it used all the time,” Jomo explains. “It wasn’t just a tool—it was a visual element. I wanted to take that and create something sculptural and functional.”
Originally sketched over a decade ago, the piece carried a high production cost that proved difficult to meet—until the Metropolitan Museum of Art commissioned it.
Made of more than a dozen individually bent components each glued from 16 layers of thin wood, the design is far more complex than it appears.
“The construction is pretty crazy,” admits Jomo.
Around the same period, something even more unexpected happened.
A Call from Marvel Studios
“That came from a simple email that I received,” said Jomo.
At first, he assumed it was another commercial inquiry—something short-term.
“They didn’t say what the movie is, they didn’t put any details, just: ‘Can you please get back to us?’” His son did some digging and recognized the sender: Marvel Studios.
“I mean, I googled it—it just showed a blank page,” Jomo recalled, laughing. “But my son told me, ‘Hey, the domain stands for Marvel Cinematic Universe.’”
The film in question turned out to be Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. The Marvel team wanted ten adjustable stools in ten days.
“I don’t even have one,” Jomo remembered thinking, but he jumped at the opportunity.
“I pretty much worked day and night, weekends. I produced twelve of these things because I couldn’t miss an opportunity like this,” he said.
To his relief, Marvel didn’t need them sanded or painted.
“I also felt embarrassed to send them rough,” he admitted, “but later on I found out that they painted them black.”
The Nyala chair and Mukecha stools ended up on screen in Wakanda Forever. His works are also in Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis movie.
Designing for Permanence
Today, Jomo’s furniture is part of 13 permanent museum collections and that number is only expected to grow. Yet his process remains deeply personal. He draws inspiration from African architecture, hairstyles, objects, and even wildlife.
“It’s not about recreating an old piece,” he says. “It’s about creating something new that speaks to that heritage.”
His training as an industrial designer keeps him grounded in function. He often makes 20 sketch variations of a single idea before moving to prototype.
“I truly enjoy the challenge,” he says.
He also advocates for others to be included in this space.
“It cannot be only Jomo. If I leave design next year, then everything goes. So we have to make it permanent. Like the French or Italian designers,” he said.
Currently, Jomo works full-time as a designer and runs his own gallery, where his pieces retail for anywhere between USD 1,800 and USD 6,400. Among his most recent projects is a unique interpretation of the traditional Ethiopian “Medeb” or “Tefr” benches. Jomo is greatly drawn to these communal seating designs, and his take on them is another reminder that, in his hands, centuries-old craftsmanship can speak fluently in the language of contemporary design.
Jomo is unwavering in his belief that cultural identity should be at the heart of a design revolution, and he is determined to play his part.
“You can’t keep saying design is a global language when the global south is completely missing from it,” he said.
His advice to young Ethiopian designers is both practical and philosophical: research your culture, engage deeply with it, and don’t take shortcuts.
“Elevate your heritage. Don’t copy mid-century chairs—thousands do that,” he said. “It’s not enough to slap an Axum motif on a building. Struggle with it. Marry them to form and function.”
