DAHOMEY AT THE CAMBRIDGE FILM FESTIVAL
From the darkness of his narrow box, the voice of the prisoner despairs of his fate. He has been there he tells us , for 130 years. He is the spirit of the Benin King whose effigy, 220 kilos of it, has lain hidden for so long in Paris. He has forgotten his name. He is simply Number 26.Outside, the glittering city sparkles with life, Paris enviably affluent in all its splendid after-dark glamour.
So begins Dahomey, a film dedicated to telling the story of the repatriation of looted Benin sculptures, sacred Vodun animal/human works of startling beauty to their home.
The collection of 26 objects, which includes statues, thrones, and ceremonial hatchets, originated in the historic kingdom of Dahomey, in present-day Benin, and were looted when war broke out with French colonial forces in the 1890s. The first and second Franco-Dahomean wars took place in 1890 and between 1892 and 1894,. After Dahomey’s King Béhanzin’s defeat during the second conflict, the French stole royal objects as part of their spoils, including the pieces now on their way home. General Alfred-Amédée Dodds a distinctly un-French sounding figure, who led the wars , gifted the 26 pieces to Paris’s first ethnographic museum, the Musée d’Ethnographie du Trocadéro, in 1893 and in 1895. They have been in French national collections for 130 years.
The slow moving trajet from their brief show there to Benin swells into a thoughtful transition. As the impressive massive statues gingerly arrive, Number 26 is the King Himself, the people of Benin come to greet them. But the reception is mixed. We see a collection of beautiful African men and women, mostly students, the women in the traditional finery are breathtaking. One child is filmed dancing behind his parents in such an expressively African way – but identity is soon controversially in the foreground. One after another young people, far from grateful for the 26 survivors, remember that a stunning 7,000 were stolen. One young woman rails against ‘ les Colons’, in perfect French – but despairs of her lack of her own language, taken from her as surely as the Vodun infused sacred art objects were ripped from the royal throne room. Yet the film is coolly objective. The actual throne itself, wonderfully wrought in hard wood, shows signs of the Yoruba tradition. It is layered with sculpture of women around the King – but below the shackled slaves reveal the expansionist ruthlessness of Benin in its pomp.
Sitting near me in the cinema was a young woman Anjoja, who shared the sadness of losing her Yoruba language. A student at Emmanuel College she had just that day got her Nigerian passport in the post. Many of her generation speak only English but she was determined to go and visit her heritage as soon as she could.
Britain, super colonizers ,hoard a massive treasure trove looted from Benin and now sequestered in the British Museum. Thousands of bronzes, artefacts and paintings live in the London vaults. A fraction only is on display. Whilst the debate on reparations for past violations rages , the world of art and custodianship sometimes appears coolly detached Jesus College Cambridge is an exception. admittedly after some furore, they have handed over their prize possession the Golden Cockerel - credit where credit’s due. And ofcouorse in many sections of academia the struggle intensifies with such senior figures as Professor Anthony Snodgrass of Clare College for many years boldly behind the repatriation of works of Art. This film shows through the vocal protests of the young people in Benin, how passionately they feel about the loss of their heritage, their ‘patrimonie’ in French. To watch these youthful engaged hopeful debaters is to realize how much the future belongs to Africa – and how significant it is to restore it to them.
