The story of my coastal journey begins at Aflao, Ghana’s bustling border post with Togo. The air here is thick with movement—traders haggling over goods, taxis honking for passengers, and travelers weaving their way across one of West Africa’s busiest crossings.
Though today it marks an international frontier, Aflao has always been one community. Long before colonial powers arrived, this stretch of land lay between the Ashanti and Dahomey kingdoms, and its people—largely the Ewe—moved, traded, and intermarried without barriers. It was only in the late 19th century, when European powers carved Africa into territories during the Berlin Conference, that the land was claimed as German Togoland, wedged between British Gold Coast and French Dahomey. After Germany’s defeat in World War I, the territory was split between Britain and France, cementing a line that divided families and neighbors. The border post at Aflao is thus less a marker of cultural difference than a reminder of how colonial borders sliced through communities that had always been one.
Crossing over, I find myself in Lomé, the capital of Togo. Wedged into the country’s southwestern corner, the city welcomes visitors with the gleam of sunshine on Boulevard du Mono, a broad coastal highway lined with palms and the endless horizon of the Atlantic.
From Aflao, I board a weathered Renault taxi bound for Aného, the frontier with Benin—the final stop on my trans-Togo journey. Wedged into the front seat, I roll down the window to let the salty breeze rush in. Every seat is occupied, and the car groans under the weight of its passengers as it barrels along the coastal highway.
Looking out at the Atlantic, I am struck by the raw power of its waves. Their size and force terrify me. Whatever plans I had of swimming in West Africa’s waters vanish instantly. Before returning to my landlocked home country, I will spend time on the beach—sipping a cold drink, watching the waves, and relaxing like any holidaymaker. But swimming is no longer on my to-do list. Some forces of nature are best admired from a safe distance.
The Aflao–Aného highway runs for about 50 kilometers along Togo’s stunning shoreline. Has anyone else noticed that the sand here looks like brown sugar? In Lomé, soccer games unfold right on the beach. Across Africa, the love for the game transcends formal stadiums—dusty streets, abandoned airstrips, grazing fields, or sandy shores all transform into pitches, with goalposts improvised from sticks or stones.
As the journey continues, the roadside shifts between scenes of beauty and stark reality. Public beaches and palm groves give way to the ruins of an old German bridge, built in 1904. The collapsing structure looks treacherous, yet it shelters a few homeless families.
Farther along, the gleaming headquarters of Ecobank rise over Lomé. What began as a modest Togolese venture has grown into a Pan-African financial powerhouse, with branches in 36 countries. From there, my eyes are drawn to the port—West Africa’s busiest—where towering cranes, stacks of containers, sprawling pipelines, and massive ships lined up to dock reveal the sheer magnitude of trade flowing through this coastline.
East of the capital, the coastal strip transforms once more. Private beach clubs, luxury resorts, and affluent estates fade into modest fishing shacks and signposts advertising plots of land for sale. Beyond Agbodrafo, the road runs between the Atlantic and Lake Togo, offering breathtaking views in both directions.
Across the water lies Togoville, a town steeped in history and tradition, while Aného, farther ahead, also carries layers of cultural heritage. Both deserve stories of their own. For now, I watch as Lake Togo empties into the ocean beneath a bridge built to link the towns to Lomé—a product of the Corridor Project designed to boost regional trade.
At Aného, near the Benin border, the hum of activity never ceases. Traders, travelers, and transporters flow in every direction, keeping the crossing alive with motion and commerce. Standing there, I feel the pulse of West Africa—movement, exchange, resilience, and the enduring rhythm of life along the Atlantic coast.