In the 1970s, Togo witnessed a staggering economic anomaly. In a region, a continent, and an era where international trade and massive fortunes were almost exclusively controlled by men (often expatriates), a massive financial monopoly emerged. And it was run entirely by women.
They sold neither gold nor oil. They sold fabric. More precisely, Dutch Wax cloth. They were called the Nana Benz. Their story is one of flamboyant matriarchal capitalism, of political power that made presidents tremble, and of brilliant cultural appropriation.
Inventing a Name, Asserting a Status
The term "Nana Benz" is a perfect semantic collision between local tradition and capitalist globalization. In Mina (the language of trade on the coast, from Aného to Lomé), Nana is an honorific title reserved for a mother, a mature woman, one who commands respect. The Benz is literal. Once they made their fortunes, these women purchased massive Mercedes-Benz sedans imported from Germany. Behind the wheel, or more often in the back seat with a private chauffeur, they showcased their success in the dusty streets of the country. The Mercedes was not just a car; it was a crown.
The Mechanics of Monopoly: Vlisco and Lomé
To understand their wealth, one must follow the cotton trail. True "Wax" print (derived from a wax-resist printing technique inspired by Indonesian batik) was originally not African at all. It is printed in vast factories in the Netherlands, the most famous being Vlisco (founded in 1846).
The stroke of genius of the first Nana Benz was to bypass the male and colonial middlemen. With legendary toughness, they negotiated the exclusive distribution rights for these luxury fabrics in Togo. They were not mere retailers. They became indispensable wholesalers. Women traveled from Ghana, Benin, Nigeria, and even as far as the Congo to stock up from the Nana Benz in Lomé. The Grand Market of Lomé (and its commercial relays in Aného) became the West African textile stock exchange.
"My Rival's Eye": Fabric as a Social Weapon
The true power of the Nana Benz was not just in importing European fabric, but in totally Africanizing it through language.
A Vlisco fabric leaving the factory in the Netherlands had nothing but a cold serial number. But the moment it touched Togolese soil, the Nana Benz invented a name, a story, and a meaning for it. It was this name that dictated the value of the cloth and created purchasing frenzies.
The chosen names drew heavily from social dynamics (often related to polygamy) and allowed Togolese women to express themselves publicly yet silently:
- "My Rival's Eye": A fabric with round eye motifs. A woman would wear it to signal to her husband's mistress or her co-wife that she saw everything.
- "If you go out, I go out": A direct message to a cheating husband.
- "My husband is capable": A highly ornate fabric, deliberately sold at a very high price, worn to publicly display the generosity or wealth of one's spouse (or the woman's own success).
By naming the fabric, the Nana Benz were no longer selling printed cotton: they were selling communication, social power, and prestige.
The Political Weight of a Financial Empire
During the 1970s and 1980s, the economic weight of these women was overwhelming. They represented a major share of the country's informal (and often formal) commercial revenue and ranked among the wealthiest individuals in Sub-Saharan Africa.
This economic weight inevitably morphed into political power. The ruling government had to negotiate with the fabric sellers' syndicate. They financed political campaigns, owned massive real estate portfolios (even in Europe), and sat in the highest decision-making circles. No major strike or economic decision could proceed without their tacit approval.
Decline and Memory Frozen in the Walls of Aného
The golden age of the original Nana Benz ended in the 1990s. The sudden devaluation of the CFA franc in 1994 sent the price of imported Dutch Wax skyrocketing. Most importantly, market liberalization led to a massive influx of Asian counterfeits ("Hitarget" and other Chinese brands), which reproduced the exact same patterns on lower-quality fabrics for a tenth of the price. The Vlisco monopoly was broken.
Yet, the myth remains intact in the Togolese psyche. It symbolizes an era of insolent prosperity and radical female empowerment through trade.
The city of Aného, deeply tied to this merchant history and the Afro-Brazilian families from which several great lineages of sellers descend, recently carved this history in stone. In December 2024, a monumental mural financed by Vlisco Togo was inaugurated in Aného, in the Kpota district (on the wall of the École Pilote Méthodiste). Created by Togolese artists Kossi Reinold Paass and Léopold Goutsop, it depicts these legendary figures standing proudly next to their Mercedes-Benz cars.
It is not just a tribute to the past. It is a reminder to the young girls of the city: fifty years ago, the most powerful people in the country did not sit in glass offices; they sat behind piles of fabric in the middle of the market, and they laid down the law.