Six Weeks in Benin: Lessons in Freedom, Legacy, and the Power of Being Human

At Sustainable Access Foundation (SAF), we believe that meaningful change begins within communities, driven by local leaders and shared knowledge.  This belief was reinforced during my recent engagement in Benin, West Africa as a Fulbright Specialist at the University of Parakou. There, I worked with student entrepreneurs to coach and mentor, as well as to establish recommendations for an innovative Incubator Lab. 

My six weeks in Benin were more than a journey across borders—they were a journey into the depths of what it means to be human, to exist authentically, and to challenge the narratives we’ve been taught. Here’s what I learned, not just about Benin, but about life, love, and the power of perspective:

With the Minister of Water and the VP of the University of Parakou

1. You Don’t Need a Box to Exist

In Benin, I met people who openly embraced seemingly contradictory identities—being Christian, Muslim, and Vodoun (often called “voodoo”). There was no internal crisis, no need to choose just one spiritual path or label themselves with the vague umbrella of "spirituality" as we often do in the West.

I watched as people honored their ancestors through Vodoun rituals in the morning, attended mosque at midday, and sang Christian hymns in the evening—all without conflict. This wasn't confusion; it was the profound acceptance of human complexity. They embodied the multidimensionality that exists within each of us, not seeking it from external validation. It was the most authentic form of inclusivity I've ever witnessed—one that starts from within.

2. Sometimes Honesty isn’t Pretty but it’s What the Moment Calls For

The kindest people I met in Benin were also capable of fierce directness. I witnessed the most gentle souls transform into formidable forces when confronted with nonsense or wasted potential. They didn't simmer in quiet resentment or engage in passive aggression—they spoke their truth with fire when needed.

But what struck me most was what happened afterward: they let it go. Having said their piece, they returned to peace. No grudges, no lingering tension—just the clean slate that comes from honest expression. Their approach taught me that kindness doesn't mean perpetual niceness; sometimes genuine care demands uncomfortable truths.

3. The Power of Watching and Waiting

When I first arrived, I thought, Wow, these people are rude. No warm welcomes, no immediate smiles—just watchful eyes and measured interactions. I did what came naturally: showed up authentically and consistently. And I learned that in Benin, trust isn't given freely—it's earned through demonstrated character. They were assessing not just my words but my actions, my energy, my entire way of being. After a few weeks, I felt the shift as their arms opened to me. That embrace meant something precisely because it wasn't automatic—it was a recognition of substance over surface. And that’s a lesson I’ll carry forever: trust is built through presence, not promises.

4. Love Isn’t “Nice”—It’s Honest

Every meaningful conversation I had in Benin eventually reached a moment of truth that needed addressing. These moments were never hostile, but they weren't comfortable either—they were necessary. The willingness to go to these vulnerable places came from a place of genuine care: "I'm willing to go there with you because I love you enough to take the time."

In contrast, Western interactions often prioritize comfort over depth. We exchange pleasantries and avoid disrupting the social script, even when deeper issues need attention. Benin taught me that real connection requires discomfort—that's where the growth happens.

5. Legacy Over Comfort

I witnessed powerful women leaving their children and husbands to pursue leadership roles. I saw men doing the same. This wasn't abandonment—it was commitment to something larger than domestic comfort.

Love wasn't measured by who managed the household together or how much time was spent in physical proximity. Instead, it manifested as supporting each other's strengths and building something lasting through authentic partnership. The focus wasn't on codependency but on collective legacy—individual sacrifices made for communal gain and generational impact.

6. Food as Medicine, Not Commodity

"100% natural, no additives" wasn't just a marketing claim for Benin's entrepreneurs—it was their baseline expectation for food. I worked with dozens of entrepreneurs selling ginger, poultry, shea butter, even beer. The purity of their products wasn't a premium feature; it was the fundamental standard.

When a product label only inches wide prioritizes stating its naturalness, it reveals volumes about cultural values. I couldn't help comparing this to American food labels with their chemical encyclopedias.  I lost 4 pounds in two weeks, not because I was eating less, but because I was eating real food. It was a wake-up call: we’ve been poisoned by convenience.

7. Vodoun: Misunderstood Harmony

Benin is the birthplace of Vodoun (or “Voodoo”), which means “to seek harmony with nature.” Television and popular culture have twisted this tradition into something sinister, when its foundation is actually about equilibrium with natural forces.

Walking through sacred groves and witnessing ceremonies, spending time in the Temple of Serpents, I understood how thoroughly this practice has been misrepresented. What Western entertainment portrays as darkness is actually about balance, community connection, and honoring cycles of life and nature. The distortion of Vodoun is a reminder of how easily we absorb misconceptions when we don't pursue understanding firsthand. Because when we don’t understand something, we fear it. And fear is the enemy of progress.

Picture moment with the students after teaching a class.

8. Resistance Against Enslavement

I visited the “Point of No Return,” where over 2 million enslaved people were shipped to the Americas. It was powerful and emotional to imagine what transpired on those shores. But what struck me most were the stories of resistance. Millions more died fighting or chose death over enslavement, refusing to submit to the transatlantic slave trade. Indeed, across the continent, individuals and communities fought fiercely against enslavement, whether through armed rebellion, escape, or acts of defiance. This resistance is a testament to the strength and resilience of a people who refused to be broken, even in the face of unimaginable oppression. This wasn’t just a history lesson—it was a reminder of the strength and resilience of those who refused to be broken, and a testament to the active resistance often omitted from Western narratives that portray Africans as passive victims. 

9. The True Cost of Luxury 

Bathing from a bucket of cold water initially shocked my Western sensibilities. Yes, that was new to me. My accommodations cost about $8 per night, meals $1-3. Most locals traveled by motorbike rather than car—more practical for navigation and much cheaper to maintain.

After the initial discomfort faded, I realized something profound: life was simpler, but it was... life. People weren't working endless hours just to afford basic necessities. They had time—for community, for rest, for being. In the West, we often "pay" for our luxuries with our peace, working ourselves to exhaustion to maintain lifestyles that exceed our needs.

When I finally returned to a hot shower, I expected to linger in it for hours. Instead, I simply appreciated the warmth, got clean, and exited. It was all I needed, not more than I needed. There is a balance to luxury if it costs you the ability to actually live.

10. The Wealth of Togetherness

In Benin, entrepreneurship can often be born out of necessity, not passion.  Despite coming from a collectivist culture, I witnessed a curious pattern among Benin's entrepreneurs: they were all going it alone. Each person was reinventing the wheel independently, struggling with challenges that could have been addressed through collaboration.

The irony wasn't lost on me. In a society naturally oriented toward community, economic pressures had pushed people toward an individualistic approach that undermined their potential success. This observation crystallized something important: true wealth isn't just about resources but about connection. The entrepreneur struggling in isolation, despite determination and skill, faces limitations that collective effort could overcome.  Going it alone is a recipe for failure. Entrepreneurs need networks, thought partners, and employees. It made me realize: individualism is a poverty of spirit. True wealth lies in community.

11. The Privilege of Dreaming

In the agrarian environment of Benin, most business ventures centered around agriculture or livestock. Few entrepreneurs offered services or innovations beyond what they had directly experienced. This wasn't for lack of creativity but from the constraints of immediate survival needs.

I realized then that the ability to dream beyond one's immediate circumstances is a privilege many in developed countries take for granted. When your daily focus must be on securing basic necessities, the mental space for imagining alternative futures becomes limited. True freedom includes the capacity to envision possibilities beyond the limitations of your current conditions.

It made me realize how much we take for granted the freedom to dream, to imagine a future beyond our current circumstances. That ability is a gift—one we should never underestimate.

12. Mindset is Everything

"I don't have the means" echoed through countless conversations with aspiring entrepreneurs. This belief became a self-fulfilling prophecy—if you're convinced you lack resources, you'll never find the creative pathways around those limitations.

The essence of entrepreneurship lies precisely in not having a clear path but forging one anyway, navigating challenges until the means materialize. Starting from a place of perceived scarcity almost guarantees defeat. The most profound barrier wasn't material resources but the mental framework that precluded possibility.

Entrepreneurship—and life—is about creating the means, not waiting for them. 

13. Colonialism's Shadow Endures

The legacy of colonialism wasn't just in the European-style architecture—it was etched into expressions, interactions, and expectations. I saw it in the defeated energy of elders, in the hesitant approaches of children uncertain about engaging with me because of my lighter skin.

This wasn't just historical trauma; it was active psychological damage still unfolding generations later. There was a tangible sense of diminished self-worth, an undertone of defeat that permeated certain spaces and interactions. Colonialism wasn't just a historical event but an ongoing psychological burden affecting contemporary lives and prospects.

At the point of no return on the slave route.

14. Expression is a Life Force

I never passed a day without witnessing some form of creative expression—dance troupes practicing, dramatic teams rehearsing, drumming circles gathering, or sports being played with passionate intensity.

While television and passive entertainment were scarce, active community engagement flourished. When people came together to create, play, and express, the weight of historical burden temporarily lifted. In those moments of joyful connection, I glimpsed resilience in its purest form—the human spirit's refusal to be defined by limitation.

I was reminded that expression is a lifeline for the soul.

15. Nobody Wants Your Charity

Not once did an entrepreneur ask me for money, despite the obvious economic disparities between us. Instead, they sought my time, energy, wisdom, and attention. They didn't want handouts; they wanted guidance to elevate themselves on their own terms.

This contradicted the common Western notion that material aid is what developing nations primarily need. What I encountered was a profound desire for meaningful exchange—access to resources earned through value creation, not charity that undermines dignity. They wanted partners in growth, not saviors offering sympathy.

It was a powerful lesson: true help isn’t about giving people what they lack—it’s about empowering them to create their own abundance.

With one of the student entrepreneurs who produces shea butter.

16. The Harm of “Helping”

This final insight was perhaps the most uncomfortable: much of what we consider "help" from the West is actively disempowering. Donating money or expressing pity for conditions different from our own often reflects elitism rather than genuine support.

Looking at someone bathing from a bucket with dirty feet and thinking "I should help them, they don't have what I have" misses the point entirely. It presumes that our way of living is inherently superior rather than simply different. True support means engaging as equals, recognizing capabilities rather than focusing on perceived deficiencies, and understanding that meaningful change comes from within communities, not from external saviors.

Real support is about respect, not pity.

Final Thought: Benin Taught Me to See Differently

Benin didn’t just shift perspective—it shattered assumptions. It reminded me that freedom isn’t about having more; it’s about needing less. Love isn’t about comfort; it’s about truth. Wealth isn’t in possessions, but in people.

These lessons will shape SAF’s work moving forward, reinforcing our commitment to sustainable, community-driven solutions. We invite you to join us on this journey of rethinking impact—not as outsiders “helping,” but as equal partners in lasting change.

Stay connected with us as we continue to invest in local changemakers and build a world where access leads to empowerment.