Every Problem Has a Fix: Kojo La-Anyane on Four Decades in Architecture

For nearly four decades, Practice Advisor Director Kojo La Anyane has been a steady presence at Turner Fleischer—a mentor, a builder, and a voice of perspective shaped by experience across continents. His journey from Ghana to England to Canada, and from new graduate to a member of the leadership team, reflects not only his resilience but also his belief that Architecture is as much about people as it is about buildings. 

How did you find your way into architecture as a profession? 

Growing up, I was always building things and curious about how they were put together. I liked art and I liked science, but at the time there was no real middle ground between the two—except, in my mind, Architecture, which I thought had elements of both. So, I decided to give it a try. It was as simple as that. 

At the time, there were only three universities in Ghana that came to the schools, and handed out university application forms and the list of programs. I put down Architecture, did my studies in Ghana and England. 

And then, how did you move to Canada? 

When I was studying and working in England, one night, I was talking with my wife’s uncle—he lived in Canada—and I mentioned that I had been thinking about emigrating, maybe to Canada or Australia. The very next morning, he came by and literally, dragged me to the Canadian embassy, and made me apply right then and there. That was pretty much it. He said, “No, you’re not going to Australia—you’re coming to Canada.” Of course, he wouldn’t have any of it (laughs). 

Over the years, what made you stay at Turner Fleischer—and what challenges did you face, especially early on? 

I like it here; I like the people here. So, why not stay? 

In the beginning, though, there were definitely challenges. I’d been working in England, and when I came here, the way Peter Turner worked was a little different from what I was used to. It took me some time to really understand what he needed. That was a big adjustment. 

But now that I’m pretty much doing for our new staff, what he was doing back then. I understand the learning curve a new Studio member has to go through, slowly realizing why certain things are done a certain way.  

What are some of the lessons that you learned from those initial things?  

At the time, TF was a small Studio—maybe fewer than 20 people—so I got to work directly with Peter Turner on projects right from the start. Peter was really hands-on, and he kind of channeled me into the way things were done here. 

One of the first projects I worked on was a condominium, probably the second high-rise the Studio ever did. I learned a lot very quickly because it was so different from what I was used to in England or Ghana. The way buildings were put together here was completely different—different climate, different building science requirements, different rules from the building department.  

Being in a small office made that learning curve even steeper, but in a good way. You saw everything, not just one slice of the work. I really appreciated being able to learn directly from the people in charge. It was a good experience, and it gave me a solid foundation. 

Has your definition of being an architect evolved since you started? 

I think everybody’s definition evolves—and mine certainly has. When you’re young and just starting school, they focus on all the great architects—Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van der Rohe, and so on. Every architect is defined by their design and philosophy, and when you’re impressionable, you’ve got stars in your eyes. Naturally, like everyone else, I also dreamed of becoming that type of architect.  

Then reality sets in. You work on window schedules for three months, and you realize, “Oh, this dream isn’t quite what I thought it would be” (laughs). So, you evolve. 

Back in university, I spent a year at an Architectural school in England, which was then all about the pretty pictures and the flowery language. I hated it. I’d be sitting there thinking, “Are we going to design something we can actually build?”  

That’s where my definition really settled: Architecture isn’t just about drawings and theories—it’s about making something that stands, that works. I’ve always loved building things, so I naturally leaned toward the more practical side of architecture. 

It’s something I love about Turner Fleischer. This Studio designs and builds. 

How was your journey of becoming an Associate?  

I’d already taken on a fair bit of responsibility in the Studio, and being licensed meant I was in a position to step up. Looking back, I’d say it was really just being in the right place at the right time. But I also know it showed the confidence the Studio had in me. 

And how was that—becoming an Associate and taking on that responsibility? 

When you’re in a position of authority, people start to look up to you simply because you’re in that position. I’d like to think the people I worked with—including Clients—appreciated what I brought to the role. 

I’ve always been the kind of person who enjoys mentoring, and becoming an Associate made that easier—my advice carried more weight, my guidance landed differently. It wasn’t just “that guy in the corner” anymore. It was, “he’s an Associate, he must know what he’s doing” (laughs). 

With that came a real sense of responsibility. I felt I had to live up to the trust people placed in me, not just with the title but with the knowledge and experience I’d built over the years. That pushed me to keep learning, to be open, and to make sure I was giving people something useful they could take away. 

What is it about mentoring that you enjoy most 

I like getting people started on their journey, because that’s when it really matters. Early on, they’re keen and eager, and if they don’t get the right mentorship—or aren’t pointed in the right direction—they can lose their purpose. It’s rewarding to help them find their footing, and then, years later, see how that guidance made a difference. 

I think I’m suited for that because I’ve gone through many of the same challenges myself, especially as someone coming from outside and starting fresh in Canada. People who are new—who don’t just want to fit in but also make their way and expand their horizons—often find it easier to talk to me. I’ve always been open to teaching, and the historic knowledge I carry from being here so long gives them context they can’t get anywhere else. 

As Practice Advisor Director, mentoring also means striking a balance. You can’t just tell people exactly how to do things—that makes you a crutch. The best learning comes from chasing down the answer yourself.  

So if someone asks me a question, I might say, “Go check this part of the code” or “Take this sketch back and build on it.” That way, they’re not spoon-fed; they’re building confidence in their own process. 

Of course, half the time people just want reassurance—“Look at this, is this right?”—and I’m glad they feel comfortable bringing their work to me, even if it’s full of mistakes. We can talk openly about what went wrong and why. Sometimes I might even say, “I don’t know the answer, give me an hour.” I do the research, but when they come back, I won’t hand them the answer—point them to the right direction, so they can read it and understand it for themselves. 

And how do people react to that?  

Well, they keep coming back. So, I must be doing something right. (laughs) 

Is there a piece of advice you find yourself repeating most often? 

There’s a solution to every problem.  

I say that all the time. People come to me pulling their hair out, convinced they’re in deep trouble. And sure, sometimes the situation looks bad. But there’s always going to be some kind of solution—you just have to find it. 

I remember a project with townhouses at the base of a tower where a new computer program misprinted the drawings—every operable window showed up as fixed. Suddenly, we had a whole row of townhouses with windows that couldn’t open, and the team thought it was a disaster. 

I said, we’ll find a solution. And we did. We worked with the window manufacturer, figured out how to swap in operable panes without much cost, and even checked the code, which technically didn’t require operable windows in that case. It all got resolved. 

The point is, when you panic, you don’t think clearly. But if you step back, stay calm, and look at it level-headed, there’s always a way forward. That’s the advice I keep repeating, and it hasn’t failed me yet. 

The Site Visits with Kojo program has become such a meaningful way for studio members to connect design with real-world construction. What inspired you to start it? 

It really grew out of two things. First, we had programs like the LEED sessions I used to run at lunchtime—people would bring their lunch, and we’d go through the LEED manuals together. That showed me how valuable it was to create learning opportunities outside day-to-day project work. 

The second was seeing how much harder it had become, as the studio grew, for people to get exposure to the full process of design and construction. When I started, I did everything—drawings, coordination with Clients and consultants, and site visits. Now, someone might never even meet a client or set foot on site. So, I thought, why not take people out to nearby project sites? We kept the groups small, put a sign-up chart in Newton, and went two or three times a week if enough people were interested. 

The idea was simple: connect drawings to how things actually get built. And that’s where the real learning happens.  

You see how builders adapt methods to Canadian conditions, or how construction doesn’t always follow the neat sequence you imagine on paper. The best part is watching people’s eyes light up when they realize, “Oh, that’s how it actually comes together.” That moment is what makes it worthwhile. 

When you reflect on your journey here, what are you most proud of? 

I’d like to say I was here during the most formative years of the Studio, and I was able to produce work good enough to keep clients coming back. In my own small way, I think that helped the Studio grow. Of course, there were bigger influences at play, but I know I contributed to elevating the Studio’s position. 

Over nearly four decades, you’ve seen the industry change and the Studio grow. What’s the biggest shift you’ve noticed in both? 

Well, in the industry, everything appears to have come down to costs.  

If you’re doing institutional work and the government allocates millions for a hospital or an airport, you can really go to town. But in residential, private commercial, and industrial work, you’ve got to be mindful with resources, and sometimes the projects start to feel repetitive, like you’re on autopilot. That’s when you have to look for those little moments where you can put your own imprint on the work. 

As for the Studio, the shift has been about growth and specialization.  

In the early days, we never had departments—everybody did everything. As the Studio grew, teams became more specialized. Now we’ve got entire teams focused only on design, and then the work moves to other teams who handle construction.  

That change puts those of us who’ve been around longer in a unique position. We’ve done a bit of everything, so we can talk to any department and understand what they’re facing. If construction says they’re struggling to build something in the drawings, I know what that means. It gives you perspective. 

The other big change is scale. 

We started with small, low-rise, and commercial projects, and now we’re doing 40–60-storey towers and 100,000-square-foot grocery stores and acres of industrial facilities.  

The projects got bigger, but the core has stayed the same: adding value and doing good work. 

If you could go back to your younger self, just starting out, what advice would you give him? 

Architecture isn’t just about producing drawings or designing buildings; it’s a collaborative profession. You’re always working with Clients, consultants, City officials, and contractors. Doing exceptional work is vital, but if you can’t communicate your ideas—why a design matters, how it works, what problem it solves—your work can get lost, no matter how good it is. 

So, the advice to my younger self? Don’t just rely on your work—make sure you can talk about it too. 

Known for his candour, humour, and practicality, Kojo has left an indelible mark on the Studio—helping shape its culture, guiding generations of Architects and Designers, and reminding everyone that design must ultimately stand, work, and serve.