Dahomey: timely repatriation documentary gives a literal voice to Benin’s stolen objects

Dahomey, a new documentary film from the award-winning French director Mati Diop, follows the unconditional restitution process of 26 cultural heritage objects in 2021. The items were looted by French troops during an invasion and subsequent colonial occupation of the kingdom of Dahomey, now the present-day Republic of Benin, in November 1892.

Prior to its return, the collection was kept in the basement at Quai Branly Museum in Paris. Stored under lock and key, they existed as static and lifeless anthropological objects, that only served as war “trophies” and representations of the cultures of the vanquished and colonised. They had once been exhibited under the classification of “devil, idol, fetish, kaffir, charm, evil spirit and amulet” objects.

Dahomey is timely. It comes as debates rage on the urgent necessity of repatriating the African cultural heritage objects that were appropriated by French, British, Germans, Portuguese, Spanish and Belgian forces during 18th and 19th century colonial conquest and expansion projects.

In her film, Diop has managed to restore the agency of the objects at the heart of the Dahomey restitution case by transforming them into living cultures. She gives a literal voice, for example, to object number 26 – a human-sized wooden statue that is an allegorical portrait of King Ghezo, depicting him as half bird, half man. The real King Ghezo ruled Dahomey from 1797 until 1818. In the documentary, the statue recounts his “loss of life” when he was dislocated from his place of birth by French troops in 1892.

Read more: Why stolen objects being returned to Africa don’t belong just in museums – podcast

Just as King Ghezo was depicted as his symbol – half man, half-bird – two other royal statues that feature prominently in the documentary are also kings of Dahomey sculpted as their symbols: King Béhanzin who ruled from 1890 to 1894 is a shark-man and King Glele who ruled from 1858 until 1889 is a lion-man. Each of these kings reigned over Dahomey and resided at Abomey, which was the kingdom’s capital.

I see the choice to give voice to these objects as a call for museums to rehumanise collections that were acquired as a result of colonial violence. This would mean taking a proactive approach to acknowledge how both objects and ancestors from the colonised country were dehumanised by different colonial collecting practices, from looting to grave robbing.

King Ghezo’s journey

Dahmoey follows the statue of King Ghezo as he journeys back home from France’s Jacques Chirac Museum of Branly Quay to the Republic of Benin. He wonders what his new life will be like in the country he was ripped from 129 years ago.

Upon the collection’s arrival in Benin, there was pomp and jubilation in the modern capital city of Cotonou, but the critical question remained – who now owns this heritage? Is it the state, the community or direct descendants of King Ghezo?

The staging of the return was well-choreographed, and its politicisation clearly visible. The 26 objects lay in state, heavily guarded and protected as national heroes. However, in Diop’s film, King Ghezo reflects that he felt like a foreigner, far removed and detached from the country he imagined when he was still an ethnographic museum object in Paris.

This crisis of belonging and identity can be interpreted as a consequence of how African museums were established during the colonial period. Their history mirrored the colonial practices of ordering, categorisation and classification of objects of the western museums where King Ghezo was imprisoned for more than a century. African museums are by products of colonisation and are, in many ways, still exclusionary and elitist.

Therefore, placing King Ghezo in a museum in Benin can end up reinforcing ideals similar to colonial classifications. Instead, King Ghezo needs to have his life restored by giving agency to community ways of doing and knowing, and to the heritage management systems established in Benin long before colonisation.

Repatriation debates

The film also shows students at the University of Abomey-Calavi in the south of Benin debating the repatriation. Many express dissatisfaction in view of the fact that only 26 objects were returned out of the 7,000 which were looted by the French at Abomey in 1892.

Many students dismiss the return as a non-event, without any historical significance. They see it, instead, as a charade for political mileage by the president of the Republic of Benin, Patrice Talon. Listening to the students made me reflect on the political nature of restitution, and how most European museums still hold power and authority in setting the conditions for or against returning.

These 26 objects were returned to Benin unconditionally, meaning France no longer has any claims to ownership. In conditional repatriation, however, European museums decide which objects should be given back to their countries of origin, and in most cases within the premises of short to long-term loans

For example, in June 2024, the Cambridge University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology conditionally returned 39 objects to Uganda on three-year negotiated loan deal. Ownership of these objects is still in the hands of Cambridge University. On the contrary Manchester Museum, where I work, unconditionally returned 174 objects to the Anindilyakwa people of Groote Eylandt in northern Australia in September 2023.

As a practical decolonial strategy, unconditional repatriation means that museums must not prescribe conditions of caring for cultural heritage objects to communities of origin upon their return. This is part of the process of giving communities agency to use their own heritage objects in ways that they deem necessary.

The 26 objects at the heart of Dahomey were not made to be imprisoned in museum storage. They still have potency and can be viewed by communities as living beings which they can use, touch, smell and taste. Although these “objects” may appear stagnant within ethnographic classifications in museums, they have individual biographies and carry with them important meanings connected to their ritual and cultural functions located in societies of origin.

One student succinctly captures this sentiment in the film by recounting how she cried for 15 minutes on seeing the returned sculpture of King Ghezo, who she considered her ancestor. In the end, the restitution of cultural heritage objects by European museums back to Africa must not regarded as loss but rather as a means towards building practical relationships of care with their communities of origin.

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Njabulo Chipangura does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.