In January of 2016, I had the opportunity to visit Togo, Africa, a country where most people live in a seemingly permanent state of impermanence; residing in huts, living in a self-subsistent manner.

I stayed close to the beach and found a beach full of active fishermen and women, back dropped by new architecture: the machinery of the port, located miles away and the occasional foreign bank, built in an architectural language that is similarly foreign for the region.

Remaining on the beach is a dilapidated pier—the old architecture—left over from a period of German occupation, which now serves as a social space.

The new and the old are reflections through which the society discovers itself.

The new architecture looms, it holds the promise of an expanding economy, perhaps an end to the permanent state of impermanence in which the citizens of Togo live.

The old architecture is rooted, a reminder of the past. It is a subject for discovery and re-appropriation, a space to collect and plot the future.