“Even More Ours” Historical Notes on the Landscape of Ilha de Luanda,Angola (16th–20th Century)

Abstract

Given the need to obtain reliable knowledge to contribute to further reflection on the anthropization of coastal zones, this article focuses on the colonial settlement of the Ilha de Luanda (Luanda Island), a sandspit off the coast of Luanda, the capital of Angola. Despite the strategic importance of the Ilha for the development of the city of Luanda, there are few studies on the relationship between the two elements. From the sixteenth to the nineteenth century, only the Axiluanda people lived on the island. However, following global trends, from the twentieth century onwards, the island, considered as a leisure space, was integrated into the urbanization process of the city, which led to profound changes in its landscape. Based on a wide range of historical sources, from newspapers to technical reports, this paper traces the history of the Ilha from the arrival of the Portuguese to the independence of Angola. Particular attention is paid to the so-called “late colonial period” (1945–1975), when the island was urbanized and coastal erosion began to destroy the existing infrastructure. Since then, coastal protection has become a major concern, a situation that continues to this day.

Introduction

Pois, senhores, a ilha será aquilo que nós quisermos que ela seja. ¹

[Well, gentlemen, the island will be whatever we want it to be.]

Echoing courage and boldness, the sentence above was taken from an article published in a local magazine, dated back to 1968, dedicated to promoting the social and cultural life of the city of Luanda. The title of the article, “Can the Ilha de Luanda be even more ours?,” is as expressive as the phrase quoted, showing an imperious desire for possession. Written by Cruz Leal, one of the magazine’s most regular contributors, the text expresses a certain collective perspective on the Ilha de Luanda (also known as Ilha do Cabo) ² at the end of the 1960s. These words capture the essence of the growing colonial interest in that narrow strip of sand off the coast of Luanda, the capital of Angola, a Portuguese colony until 1975.

Luanda is considered to be the first Portuguese city on the African continent, having been founded in 1576 by the navigator Paulo Dias de Novais. Due to its central role in the transatlantic slave trade, the city has been the subject of many studies focusing on the socio-political and economic aspects of slavery. ³ Also, in view of the intertwined relationship between imperial dynamics and colonial cities throughout the different stages of colonialism, various aspects of Luanda colonial and post-colonial history have been subject of detailed analysis. In relation to the period known as “late colonialism” (1945–1975), a key theme of debate is the interplay between the material and spatial characteristics of the city, as evidenced by its urbanization and modernization processes. The island, by contrast, has been overlooked by historians. From the founding of the city until the nineteenth century, the sandspit offshore Luanda was largely ignored by the Portuguese authorities and population, remaining the territory of the Axiluanda, an indigenous fishing people. It was only in the twentieth century, when Luanda, like other Portuguese colonial cities, became a center for global practices and consumption, ⁴ that interest in the Ilha began to grow. From the 1960s onwards, as authorities and investors recognized the island’s potential for tourism, it became a priority area for development. They wanted, as Cruz Leal proposed, to turn it into a major recreational area for the city’s inhabitants. However, the implementation of this plan led to significant changes in the local landscape, deeply affected the lives of the Axiluanda people and created a new, unexpected situation, as coastal erosion started to destroy what had been recently built.

Due to its relevance as a global phenomenon, studies on the relationship between tourism and coastal urbanisation are abundant and provide important knowledge to understand impact of anthropogenic activities on coast. ⁵ However, apart from a few studies on Zanzibar, Mombasa and Cape Town, ⁶ there hasn’t been much research addressing African coastal cities. In the case of Luanda, aside from Paulo Moreira’s architectural work, the environmental consequences of the introduction of leisure practices and urban development on the Ilha remain largely unexplored from a historical perspective. Against the backdrop of Africa’s rapid urbanization and the unplanned expansion of coastal cities, this article examines how leisure-oriented development and urban interventions reshaped the landscape of Ilha de Luanda from the mid-twentieth century to the present day, with lasting environmental consequences.

The paper is divided into four parts. Based on recent historiography and scientific literature on the Angolan coast, the first part focuses on the relationship between the morphological characteristics of the coastal region of Luanda and its suitability for the requirements of the Portuguese settlement project. Through the accounts of Portuguese travelers and military officers, the second part examines the early perception of the island as a place of leisure before the twentieth century. Following this idea, the third part moves on to the next period, in which the island’s landscape was adapted to new social functions. The process of adaptation was reconstructed by cross-referencing information from newspapers, urban plans and official bulletins. The fourth and final part, drawing on newspapers, local magazines, and technical reports, investigates attempts to protect both natural features and built infrastructure on the island, revealing the difficulties and limits of human interventions in a dynamic coastal environment.

“At First Sight”: Early Considerations on the Island

When Cruz Leal wrote the mentioned article, he was reminding his readers that the island could be whatever they wanted it to be; he had in mind its potential and was encouraging his compatriots to make the most of the “beauty of the calm, blue waters of the bay,” which he regarded as a gift from nature. For Cruz Leal, the island was Luanda’s most beautiful natural feature. ⁷ However, the narrow strip of sand in front of the city (Figure 1) had already undergone several transformations, especially since it had become being used as a recreational beach, a practice that increased from the 1960s onwards. The island, which existed long before the arrival of the Portuguese, was the result of a coastal phenomenon common in Angola, as well as in many other coasts around the world: the formation of restingas, or longshore sandspits. ⁸

Figure 1.

Location of (a) Luanda and (b) Luanda Island.

These are emerged sandbanks that run parallel to the coast and are connected to the mainland at one end, forming a lagoon between the sandbank and the mainland. There are several of these landforms along Angola’s 1,650 km coastline, including those of Baía dos Tigres, Tombwa (formerly Porto Alexandre), Lobito, and Palmeirinhas-Mussulo. ⁹ The process of formation of these Angolan sandspits was explained and described by experts, like André Guilcher and Fernando Manzanares Abecassis, in the 1950s. ¹⁰ These sedimentary deposits are due to a combination of factors. The predominance of waves approaching the coastline at a consistent oblique angle, combined with a low directional dispersion, promotes the development of persistent northward-directed longshore currents. These currents are the primary driver of longshore sediment transport, which is further sustained by substantial sand inputs from terrestrial sources. The southwesterly swell, longshore currents and drift combine to induce the preferential northward accretion of these sandspits. Over the centuries, some of these highly dynamic morphosedimentary features may have alternated between barrier island and restinga-type configurations, depending on whether tidal inlets disrupted or restored their connection to the mainland. ¹¹

According to the engineer Fernando Abecassis, ¹² the Ilha de Luanda, which today has an approximate length of 7 km (it had different sizes over time), is geologically one of the oldest on the coast of Angola, and is part of the Palmeirinhas sandspit system, which extends southwards, linked to the Cuanza, one of the main rivers of this African country. The Palmeirinhas sandspit and the Ilha de Luanda are separated by the Corimba inlet (Figure 2), whose width also varied over time.

Figure 2.

Plan of the harbour of Luanda, 1896. (a) Ilha de Luanda. (b) Village of Luanda. (C) Corimba Inlet. ¹³

This intrinsically vulnerable biophysical system, found by the Portuguese crew in the fifteenth century, was essential for the expansion of the European maritime empires. Despite the limited analysis of the importance of the Atlantic coastal areas in the historical processes of colonial occupation, coastlines and their particular geophysical features were fundamental gateways to the so-called Atlantic World. ¹⁴ This concept should be seen as a dense analytical construction that is essential for understanding the formation and subsequent development of early modernities and overseas expansion. From the fifteenth century onwards, the Atlantic basin became the stage for a demographic, economic, biological and socio-cultural exchange that linked four continents, necessarily including all the adjacent islands. ¹⁵ The development and growth of the slave trade on the west coast of Africa, was undoubtedly the most important milestone in terms of these interactions, encouraging different forms of coastal occupation that have evolved over time.

Indeed, in the fifteenth century the demand for greater state control over the slave trade drove the Portuguese southwards, beyond the port of Mpinda, in Soyo, a province belonging to the former Kingdom of Kongo, with whom they had commercial relations prior to the settlement in Luanda. ¹⁶ In the 1480s, the Portuguese navigator Diogo Cão, who negotiated with the Congolese authorities, visited the Ilha de Luanda on several occasions. The island, which was part of the territory of the Kingdom of Ngola, functioned as a trading post, warehouse and mine for the Kingdom of Kongo. As a result of a concession between African kingdoms, it was a place of power, inhabited by around 3,000 Africans divided into 7 or 8 libalas (villages). The inhabitants of the island, who belonged to the ethnic subgroup known as the Axiluanda engaged in fishing and collecting zimbu, ¹⁷ a type of shell that served as local currency within the Kingdom of Kongo. ¹⁸

In her analysis of the emergence of island ports in the Atlantic during the Modern Era, archaeologist Ana Catarina Garcia enumerates a number of criteria for the establishment of different types of settlement. ¹⁹ Among these, trading posts and settlement villages were the most common. As Garcia notes, the selection of key locations and the nature of the occupation were determined by a combination of imperial expansionist projects, a juxtaposition of political and economic factors, and local geophysical features. In the context of Portuguese expansion on the Atlantic coast of Africa, the requirement was for a location that could offer a secure harbor and the necessary conditions for a sustainable land-based settlement. The Portuguese found these elements in the area that later became the city of Luanda, originally known as São Paulo de Assunção de Luanda (“vila de São Paulo de Assunção de Loanda”).

The geographical conditions of the coast of Angola were by then well known by the Portuguese. According to William G. Clarence-Smith, as early as the fifteenth century the southern region of the coast of Angola was considered unprofitable. ²⁰ Among other reasons, the lack of fresh water and the strong north-westerly winds, known as the garroas, made the place absolutely inhospitable. ²¹ Luanda region, on the other hand, offered suitable natural conditions. As highlighted in a letter written by two Jesuit priests in 1591, the Ilha had water and food; based on Duarte Lopez and Filippo Pigafetta, “by digging two or three palms deep, you will find fresh water, the best in these regions.” ²² In addition to the waterholes, whose “water was sweeter at high tide,” ²³ there was abundance of marine resources, “large lobster and many noble fish,” ²⁴ which ensured relative food security for the future village. The sources also indicate the existence of oysters, lime, salt and whale oil. ²⁵ Another favorable circumstance, perhaps even more important, was that the Palmeirinhas sandbank and the Ilha de Luanda offered a natural protection from the winds and waves of the ocean. ²⁶ As Catarina Garcia explains, any initial investment depended on finding a site protected from the prevailing winds and swells and with deep waters. ²⁷ Historical sources such as Viagens, Explorações e Conquistas dos Portugueses, a collection of documents compiled by Luciano Cordeiro in 1881, ²⁸ confirm that this was a major issue when it came to choosing the location of a new port. The village of Ribeira Grande, in the Captaincy of Cape Vert, for example, had a harbor, but it was “not very clean and safe from the winds.” As for the port of Praia, also in Cape Vert, it was considered more suitable because it was “in a privileged position, protected from the sea winds.” ²⁹ In the case of the Luanda, the lagoon provided a sheltered area that was perfect for a harbor. The appropriate physical characteristics of the region in terms of safety are repeatedly assessed in the Portuguese official reports, which emphasize the “secure,” “calm,” “protected” and “clean” nature of the bay (seguro, calmo, abrigado, limpa). ³⁰ In addition to a “magnificent bay,” ³¹ the region had another feature that justified the settlement: its location on the west coast of Africa facilitated connections with various entrepots on the Atlantic. It was also the place where a significant number of captives arrived from the interior. According to a letter written by the Jesuit priest Garcia Simões in 1575, Luanda was already a stopover for “many ships from India” and other lands. ³² Meanwhile, in 1571, King Sebastião of Portugal had granted the explorer Paulo Dias de Novais the Captaincy of Luanda, which included the island, although it was still under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Kongo. As historiography attests, both the settlement on the mainland and making use of the island involved long and complicated political and economic negotiations with the African states. ³³

Initially, the Portuguese used the Corimba inlet to reach the mainland (Figures 2 and 4). From around 1620 onwards, progressive silting and reduced water depth increasingly hindered navigation through this channel, although passage remained possible for several decades. As a result, some vessels began to use the northern entrance of the bay, marked by the Lagostas lighthouse (Farol das Lagostas) (Figure 4). This gradual restriction of the Corimba inlet ultimately culminated in the definitive loss of its navigability after 1648. Consequently, the settlement’s orientation initially remained southwest, towards Praia do Bispo (Figure 4), but gradually shifted northward as maritime traffic increasingly relied on the northern approach. ³⁴ Around 1638, the fortress of São Miguel was built on the cliffs in front of the island to protect the bay and the urban area (Figure 4). ³⁵ Historical estimates identify Luanda and Benguela as two of the main Portuguese ports of used for the transatlantic slave trade from West Central Africa. ³⁶ In the centuries that followed, the “Afro-Atlantic port city of Luanda,” ³⁷ as Arlindo Caldeira called it, became the main hub for the trade of enslaved Africans, continuing in this role until the mid-nineteenth century, when slavery was abolished in mainland Portugal and all territories under Portuguese administration.

The Ilha de Luanda created the right conditions for the Portuguese settlement on the mainland, but the island itself did not offer a favorable location for permanent establishment. Beyond the issue of rights being negotiated with African states, letters from priests Garcia Simões, Duarte Lopez, and Filippo Pigafetta clearly show that the island’s narrowness and exposure were perceived as major weaknesses. The first noted that the island had “the width of a gunshot, sometimes even narrower,” ³⁸ whereas the others pointed out that its width was “as narrow as an archery shot.” ³⁹ Vulnerable to weather and other oceanographic phenomena, given its “very low land, that barely rises from the sea,” ⁴⁰ and to potential military incursions, the island was not a strategic location for European settlement. Physically and mentally detached from the city, it remained out of sight of colonial plans for a long time, subject to natural coastal forcing and the traditional livelihoods of the Axiluanda. ⁴¹

The Lure of the Sea?

The fact that there was no stable, organized European settlement on the island did not mean that the people of Luanda avoided it completely. Historical sources confirm that “from very early times” the place attracted “wealthy people” ⁴² who sought to escape the dry climate of the city. In História Geral das Guerras Angolanas (1680), ⁴³ the Portuguese military officer António de Oliveira Cardonega points out the existence in the Ilha of “farmhouses” (quintas), “good houses with balconies” and religious festivities that attracted “people to the sea” (Figure 3). In the same way, studies on the sociocultural aspects of Luanda show that the island hosted carnival events since the seventeenth century. ⁴⁴ In 1848, Joaquim António Carvalho Menezes wrote that “in the old days,” “in the heat of the summer” the locals preferred the island to the city, because the air was “free and more salubrious.” ⁴⁵ For this reason, the sick were brought there, in line with the European tendency to regard the coast as a therapeutic or healing environment.

Figure 3.

Landscape of the Island, c.1876–1886. ⁴⁶

At the time there was an “unprecedented surge to the sea,” which John Gillis describes as a modern phenomenon, closely linked to the economic, social and cultural transformations of the Industrial Revolution. These changes drove rural populations into cities and port towns, leading to the expansion of urban areas along the coast and irreversibly transforming coastal environments. ⁴⁷ This trend was also related to what historian Alain Corbin ⁴⁸ calls the “lure of the sea” or the “discovery of the beach,” which began with the practice of sea bathing for therapeutic reasons in the cold ocean waters of some northern countries, such as the United Kingdom, France, the Netherlands, and Germany. Others countries, such as Spain and Portugal, followed suit and the fashion spread throughout imperial networks, drawing many more people worldwide to move toward the beach to appreciate the health benefits of sea water and salty air. ⁴⁹

However, what attracted the Europeans to the coast of Luanda was not the lure of the sea but the transatlantic slave trade. Although slavery had been formally abolished, the practice persisted locally, albeit illegally, into the 1860s. Thus, the Luanda port area functioned as a major place for such business, similar to other Atlantic ports of the period. This commercial activity defined the atmosphere around the port, which was primarily functional and oriented toward trade and defense. According to the historian Luís Araújo, the Valongo pier in Rio de Janeiro (Brazil) was repulsive to European travelers. ⁵⁰ Like Valongo, Luanda Bay would have been utilitarian and bustling, rather than visually or aesthetically attractive, either on the mainland or on the island, where shipbuilding, shipyards and other facilities were concentrated, such as the Casa Inglesa, a major English shipping and import/export company, the Maritime Department, and the Naval Station, structures directly linked to territorial defense and commercial interests (Figure 4). ⁵¹

Figure 4.

Approximate location of key sites: (1) the tip of the island (Ponta da Ilha), marked by Farol das Lagostas/Lagostas lighthouse); (2) Casa Inglesa; (3) maritime department; (4) fortress of S. Miguel; (5) Praia do Bispo; (6) Corimba Inlet; (7) Palmerinhas–Mussulo Sandspit.

Around the 1880s, with the opening of the port to foreign and legal trade and the inauguration of the railway linking it to the hinterland, the city experienced a relative demographic growth. However, the population did not exceed 20,000 and only one fifth were European. Meanwhile, according to Ilídio Amaral, the island had a total population of 1,388, made up of 47 Europeans and 1,341 Africans. ⁵² Despite these new developments, the colonial administration, under pressure from the decisions of the Berlin Conference, concentrated more on military campaigns to pacify and control the interior of Angola ⁵³ than on investments in the port and coastal areas of Luanda. Perhaps the beginnings of this ‘lure’ were linked to the interests of a select few on the Ilha. These were probably those of an early coastal elite engaged in various commercial activities, including the trade of enslaved people and other lucrative goods, sustaining families who inhabited Luanda and used the Ilha – closer to the sea – for leisure or as secondary residences. This heterogenous group included Portuguese, Brazilian, African, Luso-African and Luso-Brazilian merchants, as well as individuals involved in commercial, nautical and military activities. ⁵⁴ Viewed from this perspective, Carvalho Menezes’ descriptions ⁵⁵ of the abandonment and destruction of some houses probably reflect a combination of local circumstances, exposure to coastal erosion and storms, and administrative negligence. Together with broader priorities and limitations of colonial governance, these factors prevented the coastal elite’s early attempts to fully embrace the European-style ‘lure of the sea,’ which they practiced intermittently and without much development.

The City and the Island: Bridging the Gap

At the beginning of the twentieth century, there was a growing desire to establish a new relationship with the Ilha de Luanda, which led to the construction of a bridge connecting it to the mainland near Fort S. Miguel. The structure was financed by the Portuguese Vasco de Oliveira, former owner of the newspaper Última Hora, in partnership with the Luanda Commercial Association. ⁵⁶ The bridge, made of iron arches and wooden planks, was intended to provide a safe passage to people and goods that previously crossed the lagoon in boats known locally as dongos. ⁵⁷ Mentioned in the chronicles as an improvised “passarelle,” the light wooden structure did not change the tide and current patterns on either side of the bridge. However, as Ilídio Amaral and Fernando Abecassis note, after its construction the island was no longer an island, but a peninsula. ⁵⁸ Its new state did not change its nomenclature or the local perception, and nowadays it is still referred to and thought of as an island. The bridge was also the first material expression of the ambition to incorporate the Ilha into the city (Figure 5). In the early 1920s, the original structure was replaced by a larger wooden and concrete one, which was built on top of a landfill that connected the island to the mainland. ⁵⁹ Unlike the initial bridge, the latter, which was enlarged over the years, had a major impact on the coastal system, because the landfill significantly disturbed the patterns of water flow and tidal propagation between the southern and northern regions of the lagoon and accelerated its siltation. Over time, the silting process not only altered the local ecosystems but also affected the viability of the harbor by reducing the water depth and limiting ships access – a persistent problem throughout the colonial period, that continues to this day.

Figure 5.

The bridge connecting the city (on top) and the island (below), undated. ⁶⁰

Despite being connected to the mainland, the island’s use for leisure and recreation was still limited in the early decades of the twentieth century, due to both the economic problems of the colonial society and the small number of people who could indulge in such practices. In 1930, the article “Ilha de Luanda: a daydream” [“A Ilha de Luanda: o sonho de um dia”], published in the Última Hora newspaper, called for the implementation of substantial interventions to embellish the island, reporting on the “ugliness” of the bridge and the lack of infrastructure for “bathing activities.” ⁶¹ Until the 1930s, population growth in Luanda was slow and investment in infrastructure was limited. Colonial policy prioritized the occupation of the interior in order to maximize profits from its many extractive activities by increasing the exports. ⁶² It was only after the Second World War, due to the decolonization and independence movements of many former European colonies, that the Portuguese administration made significant efforts to increase the European settlement of its overseas territories. ⁶³ This strategy led to a demographic explosion in Luanda, from 44,083 inhabitants in 1940 to 172,529 in 1950. ⁶⁴ In response to the evolving international scenario, colonial authorities pivoted towards a focus on the development of the populations under their rule, implementing a policy of “modernizing colonialism” ⁶⁵ that was characterized by economic restructuring and industrialization. Consequently, Luanda experienced a period of accelerated urbanization, in line with the ideological principles of colonialism. This urbanization was poorly planned, spatially discontinuous and reflected a hierarchical arrangement of spaces. ⁶⁶ The projects were driven by the ideas of “cleanliness” and “orderliness,” which entailed the erasure of African elements from local architecture and the imposition of a more cosmopolitan aesthetic. ⁶⁷ The heart of the city, the so-called Baixa, located on the west side, was the priority neighborhood for the white population and received most of the investment. On the side of the bay, the island – an open space facing the crowded mainland region – was officially included in the plans for the modern city because of its position as a privileged leisure area.

In 1942, the Boletim Geral das Colónias, the official bulletin of the colonies, published an interview with Etienne de Gröer and David Moreira da Silva, who were responsible for the new urban planning. In this interview, both architects asserted that the island “was destined to be used as a tourist attraction,” pointing to the “bathing beach, spas, playing fields” that would be constructed or improved in accordance with modern maritime practices. ⁶⁸ To this end, an Improvement Committee for Ilha de Luanda was established in the 1940s, to oversee its urbanization, approving housing and the building of amenities, such as restaurants, hotels and sports clubs. The fact that, one of its first purposes was to create a neighborhood to concentrate all the Axiluanda fishing communities ⁶⁹ is indicative of the wider ambition to “make room” for an extensive urbanization of the island. At the time, there were three fishing settlements on the Ilha called Lelu/Lunda, Ponta and Sarga. ⁷⁰ It is important to note that the fishers’ traditional houses (sanzalas) had been built using ancestral local knowledge, adapted to the island’s nature. The houses had structures of reed or paku, covered with mateba cloths (known as luandos), and thatched roofs of coconut leaves or beach grass. ⁷¹ The first two hamlets were located in a priority area for urbanization, near the bridge, in front of the Baixa on the opposite side of the lagoon. In line with the prevailing colonial discourse, the urbanization project advocated for the preservation of the local “traditional” (African) characteristics, but mainly as a repository or as folklore. ⁷² With the approval of urban planner Étienne de Gröer and project commissioner José Ferreira dos Santos, the colony’s general governor, proposed the removal of 80 fishers’ houses on the grounds that the inhabitants were living in “promiscuity” and that the “aesthetic aspect of the sanzalas was regrettable.” ⁷³ The plan was to build 124 orderly houses, establish medical posts, nurseries and other infrastructure. However, as is often the case with such projects, it was reassessed several times before ultimately being abandoned due to lack of funding.

The Improvement Committee also approved the establishment of two large clubs in the vicinity of the bridge, which was the central traffic area in the island. The Clube Nun’Alvares was founded in 1944, while the Clube Marítimo de Luanda was created in 1945. According to José Martins dos Santos, the owner of Nun’Alvares, in an interview with the newspaper A Província de Angola, the objective of his club was to “capitalize on Luanda’s underused bay,” by offering activities such as swimming, canoeing and sailing. ⁷⁴ These private clubs, located near the bathing beach (praia de banhos), just facing the bay, were racially segregated spaces and much frequented by the military elite. While reflecting the racial and socio-cultural divisions of a colonial city, the ongoing urbanization of the island transformed the ocean beach into an increasingly popular public space (Figure 6), fundamental to the social life of Luanda. It’s important to note that this “popularity” does not mean plurality. Although studies of leisure in Luanda did not include the beach at Ilha de Luanda, their findings confirm that social activities were racially structured. In the same vein, historical sources from the 1970s show that Africans rarely went to the beach: like the city center, the beach was designed for the white population. ⁷⁵

Figure 6.

Praia de Banhos (bathing beach) in Ilha de Luanda, undated. ⁷⁶

Even with the increase of the activities mentioned above, fishing continued to be practiced on the island. According to local oral sources, people used to go there at weekends to fish or buy fresh fish from the Axiluanda. They never abandoned the island or their traditional means of subsistence, despite the many attempts to integrate them into the emerging colonial modernity. Later on, this enduring relationship lent support to the idea of preserving these populations and their livelihood, thus endorsing the “lusotropical way of life,” ⁷⁷ that served as an ideological pillar of the Estado Novo dictatorial regime.

Protecting the Island

As urbanization progressed towards the ocean and expanded across the island, the sea began to encroach upon human infrastructure. From the 1940s onwards, the Ilha de Luanda experienced an escalation in the impact of the calemas, which resulted in increased damage, especially in years when the phenomenon was more intense. According to André Guilcher and colleagues, ⁷⁸ the waves from southern storms, called kaleema in Dahomey and Gabon, are referred to in Angola as calema, due to the influence of the local language. The calemas are short-period and high-energy waves characteristic of the western coast of Africa and occur during the winter months. The year of 1944 was paradigmatic with regard to the damages caused by these maritime events, as they literally cut through the southern part of the island, affecting in particular the areas of Chicala and Cabeleira (Figure 2 and Footnote 13). The former was completely cut off by the onset of a storm inlet and the latter suffered considerable devastation, leading to the removal of the Axiluanda that lived there. ⁷⁹ The calemas are a natural and familiar feature of the Angolan coast. However, as coastal development and the popularization of sea bathing increased, this phenomenon became a significant problem due to the destruction of the social structures built on the beach or too close to the shoreline. The local press provided extensive coverage of the issue, thus serving as an invaluable source to understand the situation. Coverage was largely confined to the opinions of technical experts and engineers, with the press often highlighting the ‘ambitious projects’ of these engineers, thereby promoting a positive image of technical interventions and framing public expectations regarding the development of the island, occasionally interspersed with remarks from laypersons and even members of the National Assembly. ⁸⁰ As the historian Juliana Bosslet observes, local newspapers maintained close ties with Luanda’s business and commercial sectors, which were more concerned in preserving the island than the colonial administration. ⁸¹ Both A Província de Angola and Última Hora, later renamed Diário de Luanda newspapers, published several articles on the calemas, shedding light on the island’s relevance and the diverse interests and conflicts arising from its use and governance.

In the twentieth century the island was still perceived as a natural breakwater that protected the harbor. Faced with the danger posed by the calemas, private and public interests linked to investment in the island’s urbanization and port infrastructure reached a consensus on the need to defend it. From the 1950s onwards, numerous studies were carried out to find a solution to these immediate threats. Separately, some engineering studies began to develop a broader, more holistic understanding of the ecological and sedimentary dynamics along the northern-southern axis of the Luanda lagoon system, a perspective that became more evident in the 1970s. These studies suggested that upstream factors, including river sedimentation patterns and hydrological interventions, could have significant implications for the stability of the Luanda coastal area. ⁸² The studies for the local interventions on the Ilha were conducted by engineers of the National Civil Engineering Laboratory (LNEC) in Lisbon, under the Commission for the Study of Erosion and Defense of the Luanda Sandspit, created in 1953 and chaired by engineer Carlos Krus Abecassis, then Director of Maritime Services at the General Directorate of Hydraulic Services. ⁸³ The final report of the Commission proposed the construction of an “emergency defense,” consisting of a stone sea wall along the coastal sections most threatened by the sea. These were the areas extending in front of the roundabout (Obra 1/Work 1 – Figures 7 and 8) which gave access to the bridge and to the north of the bathing beach (Obra 2/Work 2 – Figure 7). ⁸⁴

Figure 7.

Bathing beach, Tovim Groyne, and parts of works 1 and 2.

Figure 8.

Work 1 on Ilha de Luanda.

The urgency of the works was stressed by Krus Abecassis, who stated that “the advance of the sea in these areas would cause serious damage and seriously jeopardize the future.” ⁸⁵ The report also pointed out that the coastal section, correspondent to the bathing beach, which was the “favorite beach of the majority of the population of Luanda” should not be protected by the seawall (Figure 7), which would render it useless, but by sand nourishment, brought in by trucks or dredged from the bay. ⁸⁶ In 1954, when the latter measure proved ineffective, a groyne called “esporão Tovim” (see Figure 7), rooted on the northward end of the seawall, was built to protect the beach. ⁸⁷

In 1955, the waves hit again causing more damage than in 1944. The “exceptional violence of the calemas,” with wave height estimated at around 3 meters, ⁸⁸ was widely reported in the press and felt along the entire Angolan coast, causing landslides at Praia Morena, in Benguela, and a shipwreck at Porto Alexandre. ⁸⁹ Luanda was spared, but the island was badly hit. Although no casualties were reported, the bridge was cut in half. ⁹⁰ The main shipyard, the Casa Inglesa, and other facilities were partially or completely destroyed (Figure 4); many houses were ruined or greatly compromised. ⁹¹ The storm waves cut a new inlet south of the Chicala area (see footnote 13), while the road to the north was damaged at several points. The bathing beach was severely eroded and the Tovim groyne destroyed. To the north of Casa Inglesa, the coast retreated around 50 meters. Yet, the seawall resisted and protected the areas behind, which lead the experts to propose its extension both to the south and to the north of the island and the construction of a groyne field to the north, on the direction of the tip of the island (Figures 9 and 10). ⁹²

Figure 9.

View of part of the groyne field on Ilha de Luanda in 1963, extending north–south.

Figure 10.

Barracuda restaurant and the beach near the tip of the island, with the harbour of Luanda in the background, undated.

It is important to point out how the 1955 event was exploited by the press. The articles written at the time had sensationalist headlines that conveyed the idea that the island was being “attacked” by the “violent” and “destructive” power of the ocean, minimizing the role of the human activity. This narrative, which challenged scientific knowledge and questioned the effectiveness of engineering works, evoked ancestral fears about the coast. Newspapers repeatedly published letters from readers calling for the island to be “saved” from the calemas, which were perceived as agents of destruction, whose hostility threatened a “piece” of the nation: “our” island, as Cruz Leal put it. ⁹³ Until August, the press continued to remind the public of the disaster, fueling tensions and conflicts involving the experts in charge of the defenses, whose work was being questioned. The reports they wrote at the time, as well as interviews published by local newspapers, give us an idea of the difficulties they faced. These included the lack of knowledge of the island’s natural behavior, especially under the pressure of the intense human activity; the slow and complicated bureaucracy of public institutions responsible for the works; and the constant changes in atmospheric and oceanographic conditions that hampered the operations.

In view of the pressure on the experts and to study the viability of the interventions, Fernando Manzanares Abecassis, an engineer from LNEC’s Hydraulics Department, who would later be responsible for the Copacabana beach nourishment in Brazil, was called in to review the work in progress. Manzanares Abecassis drew up a report, entitled “Mission to the defense works of the Ilha de Luanda in April 1957,” ⁹⁴ on the conditions of the construction of a field of ten groynes between the Maritime Department and the northern side of the island (Figure 4), as well as the construction of two seawalls to protect the urbanized area, known as Obra 1 and Obra 2, with a total length of 1,200 m. In Abecassis’s opinion it was necessary to build more groynes on the northern side of the island and extend the length of the existing ones, to increase their sand retention capacity (Figure 9). The report on the defense works carried out on the Ilha de Luanda between 1954 and 1962 illustrates the complexity of the situation that developed in the years following Abecassis’s 1957 report, with the groynes causing more erosion, the sea and the calemas constantly damaging the recently built structures and more interventions (more and bigger groynes, and sand nourishment operations) being needed to control an uncontrollable problem. ⁹⁵ By 1960, 49 groynes had been installed along a 4.7 km stretch of beach, together with a 2,070 m-long seawall. ⁹⁶ The seawalls along the coast and the groynes became part of the island’s landscape, transforming it into something different from what it was (Figures 7–9).

The construction of the defense works was followed by a new development boom, driven by a false sense of security: that is, the modern illusion that hard engineering interventions can secure and hold the coastline. ⁹⁷ This urbanization process took place despite the warnings of experts, in reports and in the press, about the instability of the island and the lack of knowledge about its future behavior under the new conditions created by the groynes. When explaining the defense works, Engineer Krus Abecassis highlighted that the difficulties arose from “delays, negligence, and errors committed long ago,” ⁹⁸ and warned that without an integrated approach, considering the island’s physical characteristics and oceanic dynamics, the failure of the works was predictable. For the colonial administration, the risk was worth taking. In fact, the beginning of the war against the local independence movements led to the creation of the Angolan Information and Tourism Centre (Centro de Informação e Turismo de Angola) in 1961. This interest in Angolan tourism, which followed a global trend, ⁹⁹ was more of an ideological facade than a real investment, but it was important for the image of the Portuguese dictatorial regime. In short, urbanization and tourism continued on the island, but only 3% of the tourism tax was allocated to interventions on Angolan territory. In other words, there was no public budget to solve the problems that needed to be addressed. As in the past, the situation was characterized by poor planning and unfinished projects, almost always dependent on foreign capital.

An interview given in 1968 by the president of the Municipal Tourism Commission of Angola, Artur Lemos Pereira, is representative of the inconsistency of the urbanization scheme, given the lack of funds and the physical limitations of the island. ¹⁰⁰ Just a few years before Angola’s independence, Lemos declared that the Ilha, “its beaches, its pleasant surroundings” were “top priorities.” In Lemos’ words, the essence of the improvements was “demolishing to beautify” or “make space for the adequate urbanization”: parking for more than 100 cars, camping areas, luxury nautical complexes and even a small zoo were planned. Some new hotels, restaurants and a handicraft center had already been built, but many others were still unfinished. At the time of the interview large sectors of northern part of the island were being excavated to open new streets and create urban infrastructures. More than three hundred truckloads of earth were needed to replace the sand being removed. ¹⁰¹ The next decade saw the construction of the first five-star hotel, the Panorama – a three-store building overlooking Luanda Bay – and many restaurants with large balconies, including the famous Barracuda, located on the seafront, one of the most popular restaurants at the time (Figure 10). With the independence of Angola in 1975, there was a mass exodus of the Portuguese and, consequently, of funding bodies and administrative structures. Most of the works were abandoned. It was only after a long period of civil war and political stabilization (1975–2002) that the Angolan government, in consortium with private capital, gave continuity to the dream of turning the island into a luxury resort. Its gentrification, as well as coastal erosion, are ongoing processes (Figure 11). ¹⁰²

Figure 11.

Current image of the groyne field area.

Conclusion

The aim of this article was to trace the history of the Ilha de Luanda from the arrival of the Portuguese to Angolan independence, focusing on the period of so-called late colonialism (1945–1975). For centuries, this sandspit was scarcely populated, as the Portuguese considered it too vulnerable to the elements and enemies to establish a settlement there. In line with imperial trends and a worldwide process of coastal urbanization, the “discovery” of the beaches of Ilha de Luanda only took place in the twentieth century. From the 1940s onwards, with the purpose of exploring and enjoying its natural beauty, the island has undergone major changes to create the conditions for its full appreciation. As Lemos Pereira pointed out, it was necessary to “open up the space” ¹⁰³ for a modern urbanization in which the natural elements would be replaced by social structures. But this quest to bring modernity to the coast lead to unease and fear, as the calemas destroyed buildings and threatened to cut through the island. Coastal protection became a major concern. Hard engineering structures and beach nourishment were the solutions adopted. However, these are only temporary patches for a long-term problem. They require permanent maintenance, often need to be reinforced, and give people a false sense of security, frequently leading to increased urbanization that compounds future risks. This is neither new nor unique to the Ilha de Luanda, but a global phenomenon, due to increasing coastal erosion and sea flooding as human activities destroy buffer areas and sea level rise accelerates coastal encroachment. It can be said that the ambition to turn some beaches into leisure and tourist destinations has chosen to ignore coastal areas as both dangerous and fragile environments, something that people in the past were aware of. But the fact is that until the twentieth century, environmental issues were not a recurring problem, scientific knowledge of coastal dynamics was not as developed, and there was no “ecological alarm” as there is today. The problem lies in the present, in the insistence on maintaining the “status quo,” despite the consciousness of the risks it poses to the population and the burden it leaves to future generations.

There is still much to be done to improve our knowledge of European settlement on the African coast and the impact of such a process. In the case of the Ilha de Luanda, and to move forward, further research into the early formation of the coastal elite (merchants, military officers, and sea people) could contribute to a better understanding of their interest and first interactions with the island. From a decolonial perspective, cross-analyzing colonial sources with records produced by African polities prior to colonial rule may provide access to information on the island’s occupation and uses that is otherwise absent from colonial sources. Last but not least, it would be crucial to recover the traditional occupation strategies of the Axiluanda. Undoubtedly, their ancestral relationship with the Ilha holds the key to understanding some ways of preserving and coexisting with the island’s nature.