Zélie from Haiti to Benin Where the Spirits Waited for Me

Zélie had always felt the presence of something older moving through her during Vodou ceremonies in the hills of Haiti, in the chants passed down from her grandmother, in the way the drums made her heart race like memory.

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But it wasn’t until she collapsed into a vision during a ritual, seeing a land she’d never visited, hearing a woman in white whisper her name, that she understood what was missing. The spirits hadn’t abandoned her.

They were calling her back. Not to a myth, but to a place: Benin. The ancestral ground where the gods still walked, where her bloodline began before it was torn across the Atlantic. She wasn’t just going on a trip—she was answering a call centuries in the making.

Day One – Whispers in the Fire

Zélie had always known the drums. In Port-au-Prince, they called down the spirits during Vodou ceremonies, danced in the flames, and moved through bodies like wind. But lately, the drums felt hollow. Something was missing.

That night, during a candlelit ritual, she fell into a trance—only this time, what she saw wasn’t Haiti. It was red earth. Massive trees. A woman in white standing before her, whispering in a language she didn’t know, yet understood: Come home.

The next morning, she woke with a name echoing in her chest—Benin.

She booked her flight, not for answers, but for return.

Day Two – The Red Earth Beneath Her Feet

Cotonou greeted her with dust, color, and rhythm. Zélie stepped off the plane and felt her body exhale in a way it never had before. Her Haitian Creole met the local Fon tongue like cousins at a reunion—different, but familiar.

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She visited Ouidah first—the cradle of Vodun. The energy there was thick, electric. Locals looked at her and nodded, as if they already knew who she was.

She stood by the old slave route, where ancestors once walked to the sea in chains, and whispered a promise: I have come back.

Tomorrow, she would meet those who still speak with the spirits.

Day Three – Spirits Who Never Left

Zélie was welcomed by Vodun priests in a village where the gods were never buried, only renamed across oceans. Under a straw roof, she sat in silence as the drums began to speak.

One by one, the gods were invoked—Legba, Mawu, and Sakpata. They didn’t feel foreign. They felt like family.

She joined a ritual at sunset, the fire crackling like language. A priest touched her forehead and said, “You carry them in your blood. They’ve been waiting.”

Zélie’s eyes filled. The spirits hadn’t abandoned her—they’d crossed the ocean with her ancestors and waited patiently for her return.

Tomorrow, she would learn to walk with them.

Day Four – Learning the Old Ways

By the river, an elder priestess taught Zélie how to pour libations, how to listen when the spirits speak in dreams, wind, or song. She spoke of the Dahomey kingdoms, of mothers who held power, of gods who protected even in exile.

Zélie held a carved staff passed down for generations. “This,” the priestess said, “is not just a stick. It’s memory. It’s your line.”

She danced that night in a ceremony, her bare feet stamping stories into the ground. Her body, once unsure, now moved like it remembered.

Tomorrow, she’d visit the sacred forests where the old gods still walk.

Day Five – Between Worlds

Zélie entered the forest with reverence, led by chants and the smell of palm oil. Beneath the towering trees, shrines stood—each a home for a god, a portal between worlds.

She felt her heart open, felt hands on her shoulders though no one was there. The wind carried songs she had never heard but somehow knew. She was no longer observing—she was becoming.

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At one shrine, she left a white scarf and whispered her grandmother’s name. The earth seemed to hum in response.

Tomorrow, she would be blessed by the elders to seal her journey.

Day Six – Spirit and Soil

The initiation was quiet and holy. A gathering of elders anointed her with herbs and water, spoke her name into the air, and called down the spirits to guide her.

Zélie felt tears mix with sweat, the heat of the sun, and ancestors wrapping around her like a second skin.

“You are no longer just Haitian,” an elder told her. “You are a daughter of Vodun. Of Africa. Of the in-between.”

As the sun set, she knew: her identity was no longer fractured. She was whole.

Tomorrow, she would carry it home.

Day Seven – Return, Reclaimed

Back in Haiti, the same streets felt different. Zélie carried Benin in her step, in her spirit. Her ceremonies now had new depths, her prayers new names. She taught her younger cousins the chants she learned, placed new sacred symbols on her family altar.

She told them, “The spirits are not in one place—they’re in us.”

Her journey had started with a question: Who am I, really?
 She returned with an answer: I am the daughter of the spirits who crossed oceans—and now, I walk both shores. The journey continues. The drums still call. And Zélie is listening.

Learn How to Leverage Your Story through our Story To Asset Framework.