Benin opens path to citizenship for descendants of the Slave Trade

When 57-year-old Nadege Anelka moved from Martinique, a French Caribbean territory, to Benin in West Africa, she experienced a profound sense of familiarity. “The people reminded me of my grandparents, their headscarves, mannerisms, and mentality,” she shared.

Inspired by this connection, Anelka has embraced her heritage, opening a travel agency in Benin and applying for citizenship under a groundbreaking law passed in September. The law grants citizenship to individuals over 18 who can prove their lineage to the transatlantic slave trade.

Benin’s new citizenship law is part of a broader reckoning with the country’s historical role in the slave trade. The initiative welcomes descendants of enslaved Africans to reconnect with their roots, offering a pathway to citizenship upon verification of lineage through DNA tests, family records, or authenticated testimonies. Applicants must visit Benin within three years of receiving a provisional nationality certificate to complete the process.

Anelka traced her heritage through Anchoukaj—an Antillean Creole term for “affiliation”—a platform recognized by Beninese authorities. Her ancestors, enslaved in Martinique, are now central to her journey of reclaiming her identity.

As one of the main departure points of the transatlantic slave trade, Benin holds a complex history. The coastal town of Ouidah was a key hub, where close to a million enslaved Africans were shipped to the Americas and the Caribbean.

Over centuries, powerful Beninese kingdoms captured and sold slaves to European merchants. This legacy remains contentious, with President Patrice Talon facing unverified claims of descent from slave merchants. However, Benin stands out among African nations for openly addressing its role in the slave trade, including hosting international conferences and issuing apologies.

In 1999, former President Mathieu Kérékou publicly apologized to African Americans for Africa’s complicity in slavery during a visit to the U.S., marking a significant moment of acknowledgment.

Benin has leveraged its history to promote “memorial tourism.” Sites like Ouidah’s “Door of No Return” and the “Tree of Forgetfulness” symbols of the enslaved people’s forced departure—draw visitors seeking to connect with their ancestry. The Vodun religion, originating from Benin, also plays a pivotal role in cultural preservation, celebrated annually on Vodun Day.

For visitors like Nate Debos, a musician from New Orleans and president of New Orleans National Vodou Day, Benin offers a spiritual connection. “Vodou is one of the chains that connects Africa to the Americas,” he said. While Debos plans to apply for citizenship, he sees it as a step to deepen cultural ties rather than a permanent relocation.

For Anelka, obtaining Beninese citizenship is deeply symbolic. “I know I will never be completely Beninese. I will always be considered a foreigner,” she acknowledged. “But I am doing this for my ancestors. It’s a way to reclaim my heritage, a way of getting reparation.”

Through initiatives like its citizenship law, Benin is not only reckoning with its past but also fostering connections that bridge centuries of history and a shared legacy of resilience.