From a distance, Ayetoro has always looked like a miracle by the sea. Founded in 1947 as a utopian Christian community, the “Happy City” rose from sandbanks at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, a settlement carved out by fishermen and dreamers who believed in equality, faith, and hard work. For decades, its aside view was breathtaking—rows of houses standing proudly along Broad Street, wooden canoes bobbing gently by the lagoon, and the spire of the church catching the sunlight.
By 2021, however, that aside view told a different story.
A Changing Horizon
Visitors arriving by boat that year were struck first by the silence. Where once they would have seen lively streets and children running barefoot along the shore, they now saw water lapping against empty spaces. The sea had advanced steadily, erasing streets and pushing residents further inland. What remained of Ayetoro’s aside view was a haunting contrast: resilience on one side, destruction on the other.
From the lagoon, one could still see life unfolding—women paddling canoes with baskets of fish, youths diving into the water, and elders sitting by what was left of their compounds. But just beyond them, the ruins of collapsed homes and broken walls lay scattered, half-swallowed by the tide.
The Weight of Memory
For the people of Ayetoro, 2021 was a year of reckoning. The aside view was no longer simply about beauty or order; it was a reminder of what had been lost. Entire sections of Broad Street had disappeared, along with shops, schools, and the landmarks that once defined the town’s skyline.
One elder, gazing at the shoreline, summed it up:
“In the past, you could walk for minutes before touching the sea. Now the sea has walked to us. When I look from the side, I see two Ayetoros—one alive, one buried beneath the waves.”
Strength in the Shadows
Despite the losses, the aside view of Ayetoro in 2021 was not only about tragedy. It was also about resilience. The church bell still rang on Sundays, calling the faithful to worship. Fishermen still returned with their catch, their nets heavy with promise. Children still played, splashing in the shallow waters as though to defy the waves that had taken their schools.
From the side, one could see the full paradox of Ayetoro—how beauty and destruction, despair and hope, could sit so close together.
A Call to Remember
The aside view of Ayetoro in 2021 is now part of its living archive. It tells the world that while climate change may threaten to erase physical spaces, it cannot erase memory or spirit. For the people of Ayetoro, each aside view is a call: to remember what was built, to recognize what is being lost, and to act before the waves claim what remains.
