When Nadege Anelka first arrived in Benin from her home island of Martinique, a French overseas territory in the Caribbean, the 57-year-old travel agent experienced a profound sense of déjà vu. “A lot of the people reminded me of my grandparents — the way they wore their headscarves, their mannerisms, their mentality,” she said. Feeling an immediate connection to the country, Anelka decided to settle in Benin last July and open a travel agency. She now hopes to become a citizen under a new law passed in September, which grants citizenship to individuals who can trace their lineage to the transatlantic slave trade. The law, introduced by President Patrice Talon, is part of a larger effort by Benin to come to terms with its historical role in the slave trade. It allows those over 18 who do not already hold another African nationality to apply for citizenship by providing proof that an ancestor was forcibly taken from sub-Saharan Africa during the slave trade. DNA tests, family records, and testimonies are accepted as proof. Anelka used a website called “Anchoukaj” (“Affiliation” in Antillean Creole), recognized by Benin, to trace her family’s history and confirm that her ancestors were slaves in Martinique. If her application is successful, she will receive a provisional certificate of nationality, valid for three years, during which she must spend at least one year in Benin to obtain full citizenship. Benin is not the first country to offer citizenship to descendants of slaves. Earlier this month, Ghana naturalized 524 African Americans, inviting them to “come home” as part of a commemoration of the 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in North America. However, Benin’s law holds particular significance due to the country’s central role in the slave trade. European merchants deported an estimated 1.5 million slaves from the Bight of Benin — an area covering modern-day Benin, Togo, and parts of Nigeria. The town of Ouidah was one of the busiest slave-trading ports in Africa during the 18th and 19th centuries, where nearly a million enslaved individuals were shipped out, primarily to the United States, Brazil, and the Caribbean. Benin has faced difficulty addressing its complicity in the slave trade, as local kings captured and sold slaves to European merchants for over 200 years. The remnants of these kingdoms still exist today in the form of tribal networks, alongside the groups who were raided. Rumors that President Talon may be a descendant of slave merchants sparked controversy during his 2016 presidential campaign, though he has never commented on the matter. In contrast to many other African countries that participated in the slave trade, Benin has openly acknowledged its history. In the 1990s, the country hosted a UNESCO-sponsored international conference examining the sale of slaves. In 1999, President Mathieu Kérékou publicly apologized to African Americans for Africa’s role in the trade, even kneeling during a visit to a church in Baltimore. Alongside this national reckoning, Benin has also embraced “memorial tourism” as a way to attract visitors and address its legacy. Many memorial sites are located in Ouidah, including the “Door of No Return,” which marks the point where many enslaved people were shipped across the Atlantic. There is also the “Tree of Forgetfulness,” where enslaved individuals were symbolically made to forget their past lives before boarding the ships. “Memories of the slave trade are present on both sides of the Atlantic, but only one of these sides is well known,” said Sindé Cheketé, head of Benin’s state-run tourism agency. Nate Debos, a 37-year-old American musician from New Orleans, learned about Benin’s citizenship law while attending the Porto Novo mask festival. Though he had never visited West Africa, his interest in Vodun, the religion practiced by millions in Benin, brought him to the country. Debos, president of the New Orleans National Vodou Day association, said the Vodun Day festival on January 10 in Ouidah mirrors the celebrations in New Orleans. Vodun, which originated in the Kingdom of Dahomey (now southern Benin), revolves around the worship of spirits and ancestors. During slavery, Vodun evolved into Vodou in the Americas and the Caribbean, blending with Catholicism. “Vodou is one of the chains that connects Africa to the Americas,” said Ana Lucia Araujo, a professor of history at Howard University. “For enslaved Africans, it was a way of resisting slavery.” Debos emphasized that Vodun was a sophisticated, noble spiritual practice that European colonizers and slave owners sought to suppress. “Our African ancestors were not tribal savages,” he said. “They had beautiful spiritual traditions.” Debos now plans to apply for citizenship, but he does not intend to move to Benin permanently. “At the end of the day, I am an American, even when I’m dressed in the wonderful fabrics and suits they have in Benin,” he said. For Anelka, her decision to pursue Beninese citizenship is more symbolic. “I know I will never be completely Beninese,” she said. “I will always be considered a foreigner. But I’m doing this for my ancestors. It’s a way to reclaim my heritage, a form of reparation.”
