Togo’s Maritime Region, a narrow strip of land along the Gulf of Guinea, is a melting pot of cultures, traditions, and contemporary struggles. From the bustling streets of Lomé to the serene beaches of Aného, this region is a microcosm of Togo’s rich heritage and its confrontation with global issues like climate change, urbanization, and cultural preservation.
Lomé, the capital of Togo, is the cultural and economic epicenter of the Maritime Region. Its vibrant markets, such as the Grand Marché and the infamous Akodessewa Fetish Market, offer a glimpse into the region’s spiritual and commercial life.
Walking through the Grand Marché is an assault on the senses in the best way possible. The air is thick with the scent of freshly ground spices, smoked fish, and shea butter. Vendors hawk everything from colorful kente cloth to handmade vodun (voodoo) artifacts. This market isn’t just a place to shop—it’s a living museum of Togolese culture.
The Akodessewa Fetish Market is often sensationalized in Western media as a place of “black magic,” but for the locals, it’s a sacred space. Vodun, an indigenous religion practiced widely in the Maritime Region, is deeply intertwined with daily life. It’s not about curses or dolls; it’s about healing, community, and connecting with ancestors.
Just an hour’s drive from Lomé lies Aného, a sleepy coastal town with a hauntingly beautiful past. Once the capital of German Togoland, Aného is now a shadow of its former self, its colonial-era buildings slowly crumbling into the sea.
Aného is literally disappearing. Coastal erosion, exacerbated by rising sea levels and unchecked sand mining, has swallowed entire neighborhoods. Locals speak of homes and schools vanishing overnight. This isn’t just an environmental issue—it’s a cultural catastrophe. The town’s history is being erased, and with it, the stories of generations.
Despite these challenges, the Guin-Mina people, the dominant ethnic group in Aného, refuse to let their culture fade. Traditional festivals like the Epe Ekpe (a celebration of the new yam harvest) still draw crowds, and the haunting melodies of the akpè (a traditional drum) can still be heard at dusk.
Baguida, a small fishing village east of Lomé, is a stark contrast to the city’s chaos. Here, life moves to the rhythm of the tides. But even this idyllic existence is under threat.
The Gulf of Guinea is one of the most overfished regions in the world. Industrial trawlers, often operating illegally, have decimated local fish stocks. Meanwhile, plastic waste from Lomé chokes the coastline. Fishermen now return with nets full of trash as often as fish.
Some locals have turned to ecotourism to survive. Visitors can take boat tours to see sea turtles or learn traditional fishing techniques. But there’s a tension here—while tourism brings money, it also risks turning culture into a commodity.
The Maritime Region’s biggest export isn’t coffee or cocoa—it’s young people. With limited economic opportunities, many flee to Europe or neighboring countries in search of work.
Stories of those who “made it” in Europe are legendary in Lomé’s slums. But for every success, there are countless tragedies—migrants lost at sea or stranded in Libyan detention centers. Yet, the dream persists.
Ironically, some of the most vibrant celebrations of Togolese culture happen far from home. In Paris or Brussels, expat communities throw lavish parties with traditional music and food, keeping their heritage alive in unexpected places.
The challenges are immense, but so is the resilience of the people. From the vodun priests of Lomé to the fishermen of Baguida, the Maritime Region’s culture is a testament to adaptability. The question isn’t whether it will survive—it’s what form that survival will take.
Social media is becoming a powerful tool for cultural preservation. Young Togolese are using platforms like TikTok to showcase traditional dances and rituals to a global audience. It’s a modern twist on an ancient practice.
If the Maritime Region is to thrive, it needs solutions that respect its cultural heritage while addressing modern challenges. Whether it’s fighting coastal erosion or creating local jobs, the answers must come from within—not from foreign NGOs or exploitative industries.
The story of Togo’s Maritime Region is still being written. It’s a story of loss and resilience, of tradition clashing with progress. But above all, it’s a story worth telling.