The sound reached us before we saw them.

It was midnight in Ouidah, and the air pulsed with drumbeats that echoed from beyond the trees. We were led down a narrow path to a clearing, where firelight revealed a circle of dancers — barefoot, eyes closed, bodies moving like water.

This was not performance. It was invocation.

A Vodun ceremony was underway. We were not tourists here, only witnesses. Every rhythm summoned ancestors. Every chant braided the past with the now.

One elder approached and touched our shoulder gently. “You’re here,” he said, “because someone in your bloodline once danced too.”

We didn’t know what it meant. But we knew it was true.