Every morning in Tsokomey, a small community just outside Ghana’s bustling capital of Accra, Beatrice Nutekpor weaves her way through dense mangrove forests and wades into the brackish waters of the Densu estuary. For Nutekpor, now 45, this ritual of harvesting oysters is more than just a means to earn a living—it’s a family tradition she’s carried since she was 15. Yet, as the sun rises higher and the tide ebbs and flows, she faces a reality that threatens not only her livelihood but the very fabric of her community’s heritage.
Oyster farming in Ghana’s coastal mangroves has, for generations, been a vital source of income for women like Nutekpor. According to the Associated Press, hundreds of women have relied on these rich estuaries, passing down their knowledge and skills from mother to daughter in a cycle as enduring as the tides themselves. But recent years have brought a tide of change—and not all of it welcome.
One of the most significant shifts came with the introduction of eco-friendly oyster farming methods. Training programs, led by organizations such as the Development Action Association, taught women to plant and preserve mangroves and to harvest oysters selectively, aiming to lessen the impact of climate change. These programs, funded in part by U.S. aid, gave hope to communities facing environmental and economic uncertainty. Yet, as reported by AP, the lifeline was abruptly cut when U.S. President Donald Trump’s administration slashed foreign aid contracts, leaving the nonprofit without the resources to continue their work.
“The oysters have started attaching themselves to the mangroves we have planted,” Nutekpor told the AP, her voice carrying both pride and concern. The replanting efforts, though physically demanding and often carried out under the harsh West African sun, have begun to yield results. Oysters, once scarce, are slowly returning to the new mangrove roots, offering a glimmer of hope for the future.
Mangroves play a critical role in the coastal ecosystem of Ghana. As Professor Francis Nunoo of the University of Ghana explained to the AP, these trees and shrubs are more than just a habitat for fish—they act as natural buffers, protecting the coastline from erosion, rising sea levels, storms, and cyclones. Yet, the scale of mangrove loss is staggering: over 80% of Ghana’s original mangrove forests have disappeared since the last century, a consequence of both climate change and human development. The search for firewood, expanding settlements, and the periodic release of water from overflowing dams have all contributed to this depletion.
The consequences are felt most keenly by the women who depend on the mangroves. With fewer roots anchoring the oysters, farmers like Nutekpor are forced to dive deeper—sometimes as much as 30 feet (9 meters)—into unpredictable waters, risking their safety just to gather enough shellfish to feed their families and send their children to school. “When you have a situation where the water body, which is already dynamic, becomes more dynamic than before, the oysters cannot grow,” Professor Nunoo said, highlighting the delicate balance between people and their environment.
For Nutekpor, the economic pressures are mounting. A single basin of oysters sells for about 47 Ghanaian cedis, roughly $4—a modest sum that must stretch to cover food, school fees, and other essentials. This year, the harvest has been noticeably smaller than last, a trend confirmed by Lydia Sasu, executive director of the Development Action Association. The decline in yield is a stark reminder of the vulnerability of small-scale farmers to environmental change and economic shocks.
Despite these challenges, the women of Tsokomey and neighboring communities refuse to give up. They have banded together in groups like the Densu Oyster Pickers Association, creating their own rules to protect what remains of the mangroves. The association enforces strict guidelines: anyone caught cutting mangroves outside of the approved timeline risks losing their oysters, and repeat offenders face police action. “The reliance of the coastal people on these ecosystems is heavy. … The rate of destruction is always higher than the rate of repopulation, so we are going to lose some species and we are going to lose some lives,” Professor Nunoo warned, underscoring the urgency of their efforts.
For many women, the drive to continue comes from a deep sense of responsibility to their families and future generations. “We keep doing it for the sake of our children and generations to come,” said Bernice Bebli, a 39-year-old oyster farmer. “The water is our livelihood.” The work is grueling and often thankless, but it is sustained by hope and the conviction that their actions today will secure a better tomorrow.
Oyster farming, as practiced in Ghana’s coastal mangroves, is more than just a job. It is an intricate dance with nature, requiring knowledge of tides, seasons, and the life cycles of both oysters and mangroves. The loss of mangroves not only threatens the oysters themselves but also the entire community’s way of life. As the AP notes, the destruction of mangroves outpaces their regrowth, putting both biodiversity and human livelihoods at risk.
Yet, amid adversity, the resilience of these women shines through. They are adapting, innovating, and fighting to keep a centuries-old tradition alive, even as the world around them changes faster than ever before. For Nutekpor, passing on the family business is a matter of pride and purpose. “Just as my mother taught me this business, I also want to teach my daughter so she can teach her child. Then oyster farming will remain our family business,” she said.
As Ghana emerges from its worst economic crisis in decades, the story of its women oyster farmers is one of both struggle and hope. Their efforts to restore and protect the mangroves are slowly bearing fruit, but the challenges remain daunting. Without sustained support and greater recognition of their vital role, the future of oyster farming—and the communities it sustains—hangs in the balance.
In the muddy estuaries of Tsokomey, the tide continues its eternal rhythm, and so do the women who refuse to let their way of life slip away. Their story is a testament to the power of community, tradition, and the unbreakable bond between people and the land they call home.