Kati Diop‘s film Dahomey focuses on the return of ancient cult objects to the African state of Benin

For the second time, a French documentary film has won the Golden Bear at the Berlinale. Last year it was L’Ademant about a psychiatric day hospital in Paris. Now Dahomey has been named the festival's best film, an idiosyncratic documentary about restitution and colonialism by the French-Senegalese director Mati Diop.

It begins with a black screen and an eerie voice from the off. King Ghezo, or rather his ghost, who lives in a man-sized wooden statue, whispers out of the darkness with a tinny voice. He speaks Fon, the indigenous language of Benin, and talks about his deportation from Africa, the isolation and being lost in the Paris museum cellars. We see the depots of the Musée Quai Branly, endless corridors in neon lights, surveillance cameras, locked steel doors like in a prison. Behind one of these doors, Ghezo was locked away for over 100 years. French colonial troops abducted the figure as well as countless other cult objects in 1892 from the Kingdom of Dahomey, which is located in what is now the state of Benin. Now President Macron has announced with a grand gesture that the stolen objects must be returned to their countries of origin. 

However, only 26 pieces were initially selected, including the elaborately carved throne, ritual objects and the imposing figure of the king. In the film we see the museum staff packing the objects into boxes. Beforehand, they are meticulously examined and condition reports are written, just like an autopsy on a corpse. Then the box is screwed shut and the canvas becomes dark again. King Ghezo complains that even now, on his long-awaited return home, he is still being denied his name. The statue with raised arms and metal blades on the body is only listed as object number 26 on the transport manifest. 

When the boxes arrive in Benin, the cool mood of the film changes. The restituted objects will initially be exhibited in the presidential palace in Cotonou. When transporting there from the airport you can see people cheering and dancing on the side of the road. For the ceremonial opening, tribal leaders in magnificent robes stream into the museum, soldiers with machine guns stand on the roof, and visitors inside marvel at the things that tell of their long-lost history. Ghezo's off-camera voice also becomes more conciliatory. 

The mixture of sober documentation and mythical storytelling gives the film something magical and hybrid. When it comes to the facts, however, he remains quite vague. Towards the end, Mati Diop documents a discussion at the local university. Students are speaking out who are not only enthusiastic about the return of the sculptures. They criticize, for example, the fact that of around 7,000 stolen items, only a shameful 26 items were returned. Or question what such dusty objects have to do with their lives today. Mixed in with the anger are also justified doubts that the whole return campaign is just another form of exploitation, this time disguised as goodwill - a gift for the cultureless Africans. 

Unfortunately, 67 minutes - that's how short Diop's film is - are far from enough to answer all the complex questions surrounding cultural theft, restitution and post-colonial legacy. Dahomey offers a new entry point, a perspective that shifts the focus from the robbers to the experiences of the robbed. And finally makes the nameless objects speak. There is still a lot in the dark. But the dialogue on equal terms has begun.