Sassandra

The coast around the river mouth belonged to Kru-speaking peoples, the Neyo and Godié above all, who fished the sea and the lower river and traded along the shore. European ships had called here since the 15th century, and the men of this coast were hired as sailors and dockworkers across West Africa, work that took Kru crews far beyond their own villages and gave the region a reputation among shipping companies.

The Portuguese founded the settlement as Santo André and the British ran it after them; under French rule Sassandra became the port of the south-west. Timber floated down the river was loaded from a wharf built out over the surf, and palm oil, coffee and cocoa followed; trading houses, warehouses and an administration grew on the headland above, along with the residence of the commandant. For a time it was one of the busiest points on the Ivorian coast, and the town drew fishing families from Ghana, whose descendants still work the beach.

Its decline was decided elsewhere. When the state built the deep-water port of San-Pédro, which opened in the early 1970s, the wharf at Sassandra lost its purpose, and the trade, the lorries and the money went west. The colonial quarter was left to weather, some of it collapsing, and the town fell back on fishing, farming and small-scale trade. Visitors came in time for the beaches and the ruins, a trade interrupted by the conflict that split the country from 2002 and by the crisis of 2010–11, and resumed slowly since.

Sassandra is a Kru town with a mixed population. The Neyo and Godié are the original inhabitants, and their lineage elders and chiefs still arbitrate land and family matters, with observances tied to the sea, the river and forbidden places along the shore. Christianity is widespread, with Catholic and evangelical churches through the town, alongside older beliefs and a Muslim minority among traders and migrants from the north.

The fishing beach has a culture of its own. Families of Fanti origin from Ghana settled here generations ago, bringing the large painted pirogues, net-fishing methods and the smoking of the catch, and the division of labour is clear: men go out and land the fish, women buy, smoke and sell it. Boats are named and painted with slogans, and the return of the fleet organises the day for much of the town.

Daily manners are unhurried and formal in the West African way — greetings before business, respect for age, patience with negotiation. Football is followed closely, and the maquis provide the evening entertainment with grilled fish, coupé-décalé and zouglou. Visitors are noticed in a town this size, and a greeting and a word of French go a long way, particularly on the beach and around the old port, where guides offer their services.

The sub-prefecture counted about 88,000 people at the 2021 census, a modest place by Ivorian standards and a quiet one compared with San-Pédro along the coast. Most households live from fishing, from farming in the villages behind the town — cassava, plantain, rubber, oil palm and cocoa — or from trade, with a small number employed in the local administration, schools and health services.

The day begins on the water. Pirogues go out before dawn and come back through the morning, the catch is sorted and smoked on the beach, and the market is busiest early. Afternoons are slow in the heat, and the evening belongs to the street grills and the maquis. Rain governs the calendar more than temperature, with the long wet season cutting tracks and keeping boats ashore.

The town's difficulties are those of a place that lost its purpose: work is scarce and young people leave for San-Pédro and Abidjan, buildings of real historical value are decaying for lack of money to restore them, and coastal erosion is taking sand from the beaches. Tourism is the hope most often discussed, and it remains small and seasonal.

Fish dominates the table. Whole fish from the sea or the river mouth — capitaine, carp, tilapia, barracuda, sole — is grilled over wood and eaten with attiéké, the fermented cassava couscous, under a dressing of raw onion, tomato and chilli. Prawns, crab and, when the boats find them, lobster are cooked the same way. Smoked fish from the beach ovens is the ingredient that makes the sauces, and it travels inland to markets across the region.

Home cooking follows the south-west. Sauce graine, made from the pulp of palm nuts, is simmered with smoked fish or meat and eaten with rice or foutou, pounded plantain and cassava; sauce claire is built on aubergine and seasoned with akpi; and cassava leaves and other greens make the leafy sauces. Placali, a sticky fermented cassava dough, is the everyday accompaniment in many households. Kedjenou, chicken sealed in a pot with peppers and tomato, marks celebrations.

Snacks and drinks are those of the coast: alloco, ripe plantain fried in palm oil with a chilli-onion relish; garba, attiéké with fried tuna; bangui, the palm wine tapped from the groves behind the beach, and koutoukou distilled from it; gnamakoudji ginger juice; bissap from hibiscus; coconut water; and cold local lager. Pineapples, bananas and mangoes are sold along the road into town.