27/05/2025
Benin: Where Time Walks With the Present.
By: dayo Adedayo
Life, in its eternal mystery, weaves grief and wonder into the same thread.
One moment, I was mourning a friend, my brother, mentor, and boss, Sylvester Enubuzor, and the next, I am beckoned forward by destiny, by duty, by the solemn rhythm of living.
Even elephants, majestic in mourning, must eventually rise and return to the herd. So, too must we, the children of memory and hope, find the courage to walk again.
My journey to Benin was long planned, but it became more than travel. It became a pilgrimage. As the aircraft sliced through the clouds, I looked down not just upon a land but upon time itself.
A kingdom that once echoed with the power of the Oba now breathes with the pulse of modern life, Benin City, Edo State, cradle of the ancient Benin Empire.
You do not truly understand the glory of Benin until you place your feet upon its soil.
You do not feel its soul until you descend into the once-mighty Benin Moat, an architectural marvel whispered to be ten times the length of the Great Wall of China. Now overgrown and almost forgotten, it remains a testament to the vision, strength, and ingenuity of a civilisation too grand to vanish. And yet, it decays in silence. I walked its path with reverence and sadness, my mind heavy with what was and what could still be.
In a country yearning for employment and security, we overlook treasures beneath our feet, heritage that can empower our youth, culture that can employ their hands, and history that can inspire their minds.
From the Moat, I journeyed to the Aruosa Church, where faith and monarchy met under the watchful eye of the Oba. It was here I learned of the Portuguese missionaries who carved Christianity into the heart of Benin and of the sacred imprints on the church walls, symbols not merely drawn but decreed by royal authority.
And then the Oba's Palace, majestic, hallowed, whispering stories through its courtyards and bronze-studded halls. My guide, Aderonke Balogun, and the palace Chief Librarian, Mr. Benjamin Onuemu sensed the heaviness I carried. But the palace gave me pause, not just for grief, but for awe. I imagined how centuries ago, the Oba welcomed Portuguese explorers with regal grace and how diplomacy and tradition were already in full bloom on African soil.
Benin City today pulses with change, roads stretch longer, buildings rise higher. Yet its greatest strength still lies beneath the concrete—in the quiet throb of its history, in the stories etched into its bronze, wood, and earth.
We must awaken to this inheritance. We must demand that our leaders look beyond glass and steel and begin to restore the soul of our civilisation. For what are we, if not the sum of those who came before?
Benin City does not just live in the past. It carries it, as an ember of memory waiting to ignite a future full of pride, identity, and promise. More insights and unseen pictures from this journey will be featured in my upcoming book on Nigeria, a tribute not just to the places I have seen, but to the soul of a nation that continues to rise from its roots.
