My Journey Through Benin: A Land of Supreme Spirituality. By Charles Muhammad – World Traveler

Brother Charles Muhammad

I never imagined I would set foot in Benin. Yet, guided by the whispers of the ancestors, I found myself on its sacred soil, standing between the Atlantic breeze and the heartbeat of West Africa. Bordered by Nigeria, Togo, Niger, and Burkina Faso, Benin carries a history as deep as the ocean. Once called the Kingdom of Dahomey, it is a nation of resilience, mystery, and grace.

Benin’s story lives in its people, its folklore, and its faith. From the legendary warriors who inspired The Woman King to the shadowed chapters of the Transatlantic slave trade, this country holds a mirror to the African diaspora. But to truly meet Benin, you must approach its spirit — and that means understanding Vodun.

Often reduced to frightening caricatures under the name “voodoo,” Vodun is not dark sorcery. The word means spirit — the divine essence present in all things. Vodun is about reverence for God in every part of creation: in trees and stones, in rivers, in the breath of animals, and in the heart of humankind. Black magic, often mistaken for

Vodun, is merely a distortion, just as fanaticism can warp Christianity, Judaism, or Islam.

Before I ever set foot here, I experienced a revelation. While reflecting on the slave trade, a thought struck me: perhaps not all who leapt from the ships were surrendering to despair. Could some have been so spiritually attuned that they called upon the sea’s creatures to carry them home? Goosebumps rose across my skin. I sensed the ancestors saying I would one day hear stories of our people living in harmony with the living world.

That promise was fulfilled in Benin. Beside Lake Nokoué, I learned of a king who, guided by a Vodun priest, spoke to an alligator to save his people from slave raiders. Folklore says the king’s tribe crossed the water on the alligator’s back, while the king himself flew atop a great bird. Their refuge became Ganvié, a floating city where freedom triumphed over bondage. Today, a statue of that king on a bird still stands, honoring their flight to safety.

City

Ganvié is a wonder. Known as the “Venice of Africa,” its 40,000 residents live in houses on stilts above the lake, their lives carried on boats as ours are on roads. Children paddle to school, markets bustle atop the water, and art fills its shops: masks, carvings, and sacred Vodun objects — each telling a story of devotion and survival.

My journey began with family. I traveled with my niece, Tinika, and her husband, Igor, a proud son of Benin, as they returned to honor his late father. We stayed in a villa hidden behind a concrete wall, surrounded by neighbors who lived humbly yet with quiet dignity. The rich and the poor shared the same streets without envy or fear.

Benin’s roads were alive with scooters and motorcycles, sometimes carrying entire families. As a professional truck driver, I marveled at the effortless flow of traffic — a ballet of horns and patience.

Family

The week-long celebration for Igor’s father opened with one of the most moving nights of my life. In the matriarch’s home, voices rose in prayer and song, weaving a canopy of gratitude. The harmonies were so pure they silenced even the birds outside. Tears streamed down my face — not of grief, but of a joy so profound it felt like cleansing rain. I had stepped inside a living psalm.

Later, we explored several cities. In Porto-Novo, Benin’s capital, and in Cotonou, its bustling financial hub, we saw statues of Portuguese traders and local collaborators in the slave trade — a reminder that history here is complex, layered, and soberly acknowledged.

Benin changed me. It is a land where faith, folklore, and history converge; where the past speaks through song and story; where the spirit of a people endures beyond chains.

As I prepare to share more about Benin’s role in the slave trade in the next chapter of my reflections, I hold this truth close: the soul of Benin beats in its music, its myths, and the living testimony of its people — a heartbeat that calls us all to remember, to honor, and to rise.