DAKAR, Senegal — Nadege Anelka, a 57-year-old travel agent from Martinique, experienced a sense of familiarity when she arrived in Benin, a West African nation. The cultural echoes of her grandparents, evident in the headscarves worn by local women and their manners, resonated deeply with her.
After settling in Benin last July, Anelka opened her own travel agency, hoping to achieve citizenship under a newly enacted law that provides a pathway for descendants of those impacted by the slave trade. This legislation, introduced by President Patrice Talon, who has served since 2016, aims to confront Benin’s historical connections to slavery.
The citizenship law is available to all individuals over the age of 18 who do not already hold citizenship in another African country and can establish that an ancestor was forcibly removed via the slave trade from sub-Saharan Africa. Acceptable forms of documentation include DNA tests, verified testimonials, and family records. Anelka utilized “Anchoukaj” (meaning “Affiliation” in Antillean Creole) to trace her ancestry back to enslaved individuals in Martinique. If her application is approved, she will obtain a provisional nationality certificate valid for three years, during which she must spend time in Benin.
Benin is not the only nation making efforts to naturalize descendants of slaves. Recently, Ghana welcomed 524 African Americans as citizens following an invitation from President Nana Akufo-Addo as part of commemorating the 400th anniversary of enslaved Africans’ arrival in North America. Benin’s citizenship initiative, however, holds unique weight due to its historic involvement as a major departure point for slave transport.
Scholarly estimates suggest that approximately 1.5 million slaves were removed from the Bight of Benin, which encompasses modern-day Benin, Togo, and parts of Nigeria. The coastal town of Ouidah was particularly notorious in the 18th and 19th centuries as an epicenter for the slave trade, with countless individuals captured and forced aboard ships en route chiefly to the United States, Brazil, and the Caribbean.
Benin continues to grapple with its history of complicity, which persisted over two centuries when powerful local kings sold slaves to European merchants. The echoes of this past can still be felt in today’s tribal networks, making the quest for reconciliation intricate. Claims regarding President Talon’s lineage to slave merchants have fueled debates, though he has not openly addressed these speculations.
Benin has taken bold steps to confront its slavery history, a stance not routinely adopted by other countries with similar pasts. In the 1990s, it hosted a UNESCO-sponsored international conference to discuss the slave trade, and in 1999, President Mathieu Kérékou publicly apologized to African Americans for Africa’s role in slavery during a visit to a church in Baltimore.
In conjunction with this national self-examination, Benin has embraced “memorial tourism” to draw visitors by highlighting its slave trade legacy. Key memorial sites, primarily in Ouidah, include the “Door of No Return,” marking the location from which many enslaved individuals were shipped out, and the town’s museum chronicling its history.
The “Tree of Forgetfulness” symbolizes the forced erasure of identity for enslaved people. “Memories of the slave trade exist on both sides of the Atlantic, but only one side is thoroughly recognized,” stated Sindé Cheketé, director of Benin’s state tourism agency.
Nate Debos, 37, an American musician from New Orleans, became aware of the citizenship law during a visit for the Porto Novo mask festival. His interest in Vodun culture, originating from Benin, prompted his exploration of the region. Debos leads an association that celebrates Vodou, recognizing its roots in Benin’s Vodun, which emerged from the historical kingdom of Dahomey. This religion, focused on spirit worship and honoring ancestors, influenced the development of Vodou in the Americas and the Caribbean.
“Vodou symbolizes a link between Africa and the Americas,” emphasized Araujo, the history professor. He elaborated on the role of Vodun as a cultural resistance during slavery, where African spiritual practices were combined with Catholicism to preserve heritage.
Debos expressed a commitment to nurturing connections with Vodun practitioners in Benin, anticipating that this would necessitate extended stays in the country. While he plans to apply for citizenship, he does not foresee moving there permanently. “At the core, I am American,” Debos remarked, “even when clad in the exquisite fabrics of Benin.”
For Anelka, her bid for citizenship is primarily symbolic. “I realize I will never be entirely Beninese. I will always be viewed as an outsider,” she said. “But this is for my ancestors—a way to reclaim my heritage and pursue a form of reparative justice.”