Islands, Wetlands, and Memory: Lusophone Africa’s New World Heritage

UNESCO’s latest World Heritage sites in Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau challenge colonial conservation models—and place community-led ecology at the center.

Islands, Wetlands, and Memory:  Lusophone Africa’s New World Heritage

Heritage is too often defined by what stands still—cathedrals, ruins, colonial fortresses—while the living landmarks are overlooked. They migrate with the birds, ripple through mangrove roots, and rise and fall with the tides. These are not relics of the past but ecosystems in motion, sustaining life against the odds and reminding us that preservation is not just about memory—it’s about survival.

.On July 14, 2025, the UNESCO World Heritage Committee quietly expanded this definition by granting World Heritage status to two natural sanctuaries in Lusophone Africa: Mozambique’s Maputo National Park and Guinea-Bissau’s Bijagós Archipelago.

These designations are not merely about biodiversity—they are acts of geopolitical and ecological recognition, acknowledging African custodianship of fragile, interwoven environments at a time when global conservation is still too often dictated from the North.

Beyond Postcards: The Living Landscape of Maputo National Park

Maputo National Park, once known as the Maputo Special Reserve, is a vast expanse of wild coastline, wetlands, and savannah stretching from Mozambique’s southern tip to the border of South Africa. This new UNESCO status cements its role as a transfrontier conservation corridor, linking directly to South Africa’s iSimangaliso Wetland Park, another World Heritage site.

Covering both terrestrial and marine zones, the park protects nearly 5,000 documented species, ranging from dugongs and dolphins to hippos, elephants, and hundreds of bird species. But what makes Maputo National Park remarkable is not just its biodiversity—it’s the way it integrates ecosystems that are often artificially separated by human governance: oceans, rivers, dunes, and grasslands coexist in a single, breathing biome.

The designation is also a nod to Mozambique’s recent environmental policies. After years of civil conflict and extractivist pressures from global mining interests, the country has begun pivoting toward ecological restoration and eco-tourism. Projects such as the rewilding of elephants and antelopes—many displaced by poaching and habitat loss—are not just conservationist gestures; they are political acts in a nation seeking to heal both land and memory.

Bijagós: An Archipelago of Resistance and Ritual

If Maputo’s recognition is about reconciling human expansion with nature’s borders, the story of the Bijagós Archipelago is about cultural sovereignty embedded in ecology.

Off the coast of Guinea-Bissau, the Bijagós chain consists of 88 islands, 23 of which are permanently inhabited by about 33,000 people, primarily from the Bijagó ethnic group. For centuries, the Bijagós have maintained a matrilineal social structure, where land and ritual leadership often pass through women, and where nature is not a resource to be exploited but a cosmology to be maintained.

This isn’t the archipelago’s first recognition. It was declared a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in 1996, acknowledged locally through the "Don a Terra" heritage pact in 2001, and listed as a Ramsar Wetland Site in 2014. But the new World Heritage designation elevates the Bijagós to the global stage, potentially shielding it from the threats of offshore oil exploration, overfishing, and climate-driven erosion.

More importantly, the nomination process emphasized a community-centered model of conservation. Three central zones were highlighted:

  • The Orango Islands, where rare saltwater hippos coexist with humans in a delicate balance.
  • The João Vieira and Poilão Marine Park, where endangered sea turtles return to nest.
  • The Urok community-managed area, where sustainable fishing and traditional practices are integrated into formal protection policies.

In this sense, the Bijagós declaration challenges the typical Western conservation model that separates humans from nature. Here, the landscape is protected not by removing people but by listening to them.

Conservation in the Age of Climate Crisis

These recognitions come at a time when the Global South is both steward and victim of climate catastrophe. Rising seas threaten the Bijagós with submersion. Extreme weather patterns are already destabilizing Maputo’s ecosystems. Yet the communities that have lived in these spaces for centuries are being asked to do the hard work of planetary maintenance—often without the financial backing that Western conservation enjoys.

UNESCO's decisions could be read cynically as symbolic gestures in a system that still privileges Eurocentric heritage: more cathedrals than coral reefs, more forts than forests. But there’s another interpretation. These listings may signal a paradigm shift in heritage politics, one where ecological resilience, Indigenous knowledge, and anti-colonial memory are finally being treated as part of global patrimony.

What’s at Stake

For Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau, the challenge now is balancing increased visibility with sustainable management. UNESCO status attracts tourists, investors, and NGOs, but also raises the specter of eco-extraction: foreign-run resorts, carbon offset schemes, and biodiversity credits that rarely benefit local populations.

In Guinea-Bissau, where the GDP per capita hovers around €740, and in Mozambique, where vast natural gas reserves threaten to overshadow environmental policy, these recognitions are double-edged swords. The World Heritage label might protect habitats—but it could also invite new forms of green colonialism if not handled on local terms.

The Future of Heritage

By elevating Maputo National Park and the Bijagós Archipelago, UNESCO has—intentionally or not—opened a conversation about the future of heritage in a collapsing climate. What counts as heritage when coastlines are disappearing? Who decides what is worthy of preservation when entire ecosystems are at risk? And perhaps most importantly: can conservation ever be disentangled from the legacies of colonial extraction?

In the waters of the Bijagós, where sea turtles return to ancestral nesting grounds, and in the wetlands of Maputo, where elephants migrate across new borders, these questions are not abstract. They are lived realities. And now, the world has officially acknowledged them.