The Foreign Legion Arrives

Panel 1:Wide shot of the ruins of the royal palace compound in Abomey. Enormous earthen red walls loom against a pale sky, their surfaces cracked and weathered. Weeds push through packed earth between crumbled structures. Nana Sika, an elderly tall woman in a faded indigo wrapper, walks quickly ahead of three children: Houéfa in a blue school dress, Dossi in simple clothes, and Gbodja in shorts and an untucked shirt. The children crane their necks at the vast scale of the place.

Narrator:“Abomey, 1955. The royal compound had always been forbidden.”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Nana Sika walking with a spring in her step, one hand extended toward the shell of a collapsed building. Her face is animated, her clear dark eyes bright. The three children cluster behind her, looking where she points.

“Nana Sika: Ruined walls once rose here. Courtyards filled with women, voices, movement.”

Panel 3:Close-up on Dossi's upturned face, eyes wide with wonder, mouth slightly open as she looks at the enormous structures around her.

“Dossi: How many Agojie were there, Nana?”

Panel 4:Medium shot of Nana Sika pausing before a vast red wall. A yawning breach marks where the main entrance once stood. Rotting timber and a rusted iron frame are all that remain of the gates. Sika stares through the opening.

“Nana Sika: So many that you could see women every day whom you had never seen before.”

Panel 5:Wide shot as Nana Sika steps through the breach in the wall, entering a broad courtyard. The three children follow close behind, unusually quiet. Before them in the center of the courtyard stands a long stone plinth — empty. Three broad marks remain on its surface where something heavy once stood. Young trees have taken root in the surrounding earth.

“Nana Sika: Beyond these walls stood the palace of King Béhanzin.”

Panel 1:Medium shot of the three children approaching the empty stone plinth slowly. Weather has softened its edges and dark moss clings to one side. Three broad marks are clearly visible on its surface. Houéfa reaches out and traces one mark with her fingers.

“Houéfa: Statues?”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Nana Sika standing before the plinth, her hand raised to indicate the first empty space on the left. Her expression is serious and deliberate.

“Nana Sika: Not statues like the French put in their squares. These were royal figures. Part man, part animal.”

Panel 3:Close-up on Nana Sika's hand pointing to the first empty space on the plinth. The stone surface shows the outline of where something once stood.

“Nana Sika: King Ghézo stood there — body of a man, head of a bird with bright plumage.”

Panel 4:Medium shot of Nana Sika, her hand moving to the second empty space. The three children watch attentively behind her.

“Nana Sika: King Glélé stood beside him. Part man, part lion. His strength warned all enemies.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Nana Sika's face as she turns toward the third and final empty space. Her voice and expression carry weight — her jaw firm, her eyes distant with memory.

“Nana Sika: And there stood Béhanzin. He had the body of a man and the head of a shark.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of Nana Sika resting one hand on the empty plinth. The children stand around her in silence. The vast empty courtyard stretches behind them, weeds and young trees reclaiming the packed earth.

“Nana Sika: The shark guarded the sea. France could place ships on the water — but the shark declared it did not belong to them.”

Panel 1:Medium shot of Gbodja studying the three marks on the plinth's surface, crouching low to examine them. His brow is furrowed.

“Gbodja: Where are they now?”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Nana Sika, her hand resting flat on the empty plinth. Her gaze is steady and direct at the children.

“Nana Sika: The French took them. They carried them across the sea as proof that France had defeated Dahomey.”

Panel 3:Close-up on the three children's faces — Houéfa grave and watchful, Dossi's round face stricken, Gbodja's jaw set with unusual seriousness. They stare at the plinth.

Panel 4:Medium shot of Nana Sika pointing toward the three empty spaces in turn, her finger moving deliberately from left to right. The children watch her hand.

“Nana Sika: The bird was Ghézo. The lion was Glélé. The shark was Béhanzin. Our history was carried in animals, colours, songs, carvings and stories.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Nana Sika's face, her eyes fixed on the children. Her expression is fierce and certain.

“Nana Sika: The French did not merely take three pieces of wood. They took three kings and tried to make Dahomey forget.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of the throne room interior — roofless, overgrown with vines, saplings reaching toward open sky. The earthen walls are scorched and crumbling. At the far end, Gbodja has climbed onto a raised stone platform and sits upright, chin lifted, waving one hand regally. Dossi and Houéfa bow before him in exaggerated, theatrical poses. Their laughter fills the ruined space.

“Dossi: King Gbodja! Houéfa: Your Royal Majesty!”

Narrator:“The peace did not last.”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Nana Sika standing apart from the children's laughter, watching them. She does not stop them. Her expression is quietly present, a faint upward pull at the corner of her mouth.

Narrator:“Once, no voice would have filled this room without permission. But Béhanzin was gone. The laughter of three children could not dishonour what remained.”

Panel 3:Medium shot of Houéfa stepping toward Nana Sika, her expression shifting from laughter to seriousness. Dossi and Gbodja stand behind her, also turning attentive.

“Houéfa: Nana — what happened after the peace?”

Panel 4:Close-up on Nana Sika's face as she draws a slow breath and looks at the three expectant faces before her. Her eyes are clear and steady.

“Nana Sika: The peace did not last. Peace built upon fear never does.”

Panel 1:Full-page establishing panel. The scene cuts to 1892 jungle. A moonless night. Torches burn near an armoury, throwing restless orange light across a crowded compound courtyard. Agojie warriors hurry between dormitories and storehouses, fastening belts and carrying bundles of equipment. Commanders stride through the confusion. Near the armoury line, young Sika stands — tall and lean in her Agojie tunic and cotton wrapper, musket across her knees — beside Afi, powerfully built, her sword already at her hip. Both women look tense and alert.

Narrator:“Ouémé. March 1892. Sika woke with a hand gripping her shoulder.”

Panel 1:Medium shot of Sena at the front of an assembled semicircle of Agojie warriors. She is a narrow-faced, greying woman with a short musket at her side. Kemi stands at her shoulder — compact, controlled, her face solemn. Sika and Afi are among the women forming the tight semicircle, muskets upright beside them.

“Sena: The French have been busy while we slept. Their vessels entered the Ouémé and attacked villages without warning.”

Panel 2:Close-up on Afi's hand tightening around the hilt of her sword, knuckles pressing firm. Her jaw is set.

“Afi: How are we supposed to fight French ships with muskets?”

Panel 3:Medium shot of Kemi stepping forward, her eyes moving across the assembled women. Her voice is measured and confident.

“Kemi: Their large ships cannot travel far upriver. We will already be waiting when the small boats return.”

Panel 4:Wide shot of Sena crouching and clearing a patch of earth with her hand. She draws a winding line through the dirt with a stick. The Agojie press closer around her, leaning in to see. Kemi and Sika are visible in the ring.

“Sena: Kemi's group takes the far bank. My group takes the near bank. Do not place yourselves directly opposite one another.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Sena's face as she looks up from the dirt map, her gaze resting deliberately on Afi.

“Sena: No one pursues a retreating boat. No one breaks position to claim a trophy.”

Panel 6:Medium shot of Sika and Afi standing only a few paces apart at the compound gate as dawn light touches the eastern sky. Two columns of armed women are assembled on either side of the gateway. Kemi's column on one side, Sena's on the other. The road beyond the gates disappears into darkness beneath the trees.

“Afi: Stay close to Kemi. Sika: I will.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of dense jungle at night. Agojie warriors lie hidden in undergrowth along both sides of a jungle trail. Faces are streaked with mud; leaves are woven into their clothing. Moonlight filters weakly through the canopy. A long column of porters moves along the trail — men bent under baskets and wooden ammunition boxes, sweat shining on their faces. Tirailleurs in French uniforms march among them, rifles across their shoulders.

Narrator:“August–September 1892. The hidden war.”

Panel 2:Close-up on Kemi's face pressed low to the earth, watching the column pass. Her raised hand is visible at the edge of the frame — the signal to hold fire. Her expression is controlled, eyes tracking the movement on the trail.

Panel 3:Close-up on Sika pressed behind the roots of a silk-cotton tree, stock of her musket against her shoulder. A mosquito is visible on her cheek. Her eyes are fixed on the trail. She does not move to brush the insect away.

Panel 4:Medium shot from Sika's POV — a Tirailleur soldier has stopped almost directly in front of her hiding place. He turns his head toward the trees, his gaze sweeping the undergrowth. His face is alert, rifle gripped in both hands.

Panel 5:Medium shot of Kemi's raised hand dropping sharply downward — the signal to fire. Her jaw is set, eyes forward.

“Kemi: Now.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the jungle erupting — muzzle flashes burst from both sides of the trail simultaneously, orange fire splitting the darkness. Smoke rolls between the trees. Porters scatter and drop their loads. Tirailleurs spin and fall. The trail is chaos.

Panel 1:Medium shot of Sika behind a fallen trunk, reloading her musket. Her hands move with practiced speed — powder down the barrel, ball, ram it home. Her face is focused, sweat on her brow.

“Kemi: RELOAD! Move your positions before they fire on the flashes!”

Panel 2:Wide shot across the smoke-filled trail. The surviving Tirailleurs attempt to form a defensive line, but terrified porters block the narrow path — some lying flat, others running blindly into the jungle. Agojie figures slip between trees on both sides, repositioning.

Panel 3:Medium shot of Afi moving through the smoke with her sword drawn, rushing toward a Tirailleur who has become separated from the others. Sena appears beside her — not stopping her, but moving with her. Their movement is coordinated.

Panel 4:Medium shot of Sika and Kemi crouching beside the body of a fallen Tirailleur after the ambush. The soldier appears scarcely older than a boy. His dark skin contrasts with his French uniform. Kemi stares down at him.

“Sika: Why would he fight for them? Kemi: Perhaps he was given no choice.”

Panel 5:Wide shot of the Agojie moving fast through the jungle, each carrying captured ammunition pouches and rifles. Sena leads at the front. Behind them, French voices and distant whistles sound through the trees.

“Sena: Take what you can carry. Destroy the rest. MOVE!”

Panel 1:Wide shot of a low jungle ridge. Sika, Kemi, and Afi lie flat on their stomachs between thick undergrowth, peering down at a road below through a break in the leaves. Sena lies beside them. Below, a massive French column moves along the trail — the sound of boots striking the earth in slow, steady rhythm. Harness chains rattle. Mounted dark-skinned soldiers in French uniforms ride ahead, each man carrying a lance with a red and white pennant.

Narrator:“La Légion Étrangère. September 1892.”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Sika on her stomach, watching the column below. Her eyes fix on a new formation of infantry entering view — men wearing blue sashes around their waists, marching in perfect synchronized step. Their faces are strikingly varied: some pale with hair the colour of dry grass, others dark-haired with sun-deepened skin, one almost as dark as the tirailleurs. Yet they march as one body.

“Afi: What are they? They do not even look like the same people.”

Panel 3:Close-up on the Foreign Legion soldiers below, seen from above through a gap in the leaves. Their blue sashes are vivid against faded uniforms. Their rifles rest at the exact same angle on every shoulder. A sergeant calls an order and every rifle shifts simultaneously on the same word. Not one man's gaze wanders from the trees.

Panel 4:Medium shot of Kemi and Afi side by side on the ridge. Afi's jaw is tight, studying the soldiers below. Kemi watches with a stillness that says more than words.

“Afi: We could attack the porters. Kemi: Not with those soldiers close enough to turn back.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Sika's face, her eyes fixed on the road below. Her expression is taut and unreadable. She watches the Legion soldiers pass in silence.

“Sika: An army that knows exactly where it is going.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the ridge from below — looking up at the dense vegetation where the Agojie lie hidden. The Legion column continues its steady march along the road beneath them. The Agojie are invisible in the foliage above.

Panel 1:Wide establishing shot of a jungle trail near Dogba. Sika lies flat in dense vegetation beside Kemi, both women pressed against the damp earth, muskets across their forearms. Leaves are woven into their clothing. Flies crawl across Sika's face. She does not move to brush them away. Ahead, a French supply column winds along the trail — porters bent under ammunition boxes and sacks, French soldiers moving among them at irregular intervals.

Narrator:“The road to Dogba. 18–19 September 1892.”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Sena a few positions back, watching the column with absolute stillness. Her narrow face is unreadable. Her raised fist holds the Agojie frozen.

Panel 3:Medium shot of Sena's fist opening — her hand drops sharply. The signal.

“Sena: NOW!”

Panel 4:Wide shot of Agojie warriors bursting from the undergrowth onto the trail. Porters scream and throw down their loads — baskets overturn, wooden boxes strike the trail, sacks split open. Men scatter into the jungle. Sika grabs two cartridge pouches from the ground. Kemi is beside her, already moving.

“Kemi: Leave the box — too heavy! Take the pouches!”

Panel 5:Medium shot from inside the jungle. The Agojie have withdrawn into the undergrowth. Sika crouches among roots. Then — hoofbeats. Senegalese cavalry riders push their horses along the trail, some carrying short rifles, others with lances lowered, probing the vegetation with their points. One lance blade enters the leaves less than a body's length from where Sika crouches.

Narrator:“Spahis. Senegalese cavalry riding back from the head of the column.”

Panel 6:Medium shot of a crack of sound — a fallen branch snapping underfoot. A horse whinnies. Cavalry riders shout. Sena's hand is already pointing deeper into the jungle.

“Sena: MOVE!”

Panel 1:Wide shot of a hidden jungle camp at dusk. The Agojie rest in small groups among the roots of large trees, some sitting with their backs against trunks, weapons across their laps. Smoke from a small, shielded fire curls upward through the canopy. Afi stands apart from the others at the edge of the camp, facing outward toward the trees. Her fists are clenched at her sides. Sika sits on a root nearby, head bowed, musket resting across her knees. Sena stands several paces away, looking through a gap in the foliage toward the distant trail.

Panel 2:Medium shot of Afi from the front. Her jaw is clenched, eyes red-rimmed and fierce. She grips her captured French rifle so tightly the knuckles of both hands stand out. Her Agojie tunic is torn at one shoulder, dried mud on her arms.

“Afi: She died because we frightened porters. That is all. We frightened porters.”

Panel 3:Medium shot of Sena turning her head toward Afi. Her narrow, greying face is composed but not cold. She holds her short musket loosely at her side. Her eyes are level and direct.

“Sena: She died because a French soldier killed her.”

Panel 4:Close-up on Afi's face in profile, eyes fixed forward into the dark trees. Her jaw is set. Tears have dried on her cheeks, leaving faint tracks in the dust on her skin.

“Afi: There should be a price.”

Panel 5:Wide shot from behind Sena. She has turned back to face the gap in the foliage, looking out toward the distant jungle trail where the French column moved. Through the leaves, far below, the faintest glow of lanterns marks the column's rearguard. Sika has risen from her root and stands a pace behind Sena, watching the same distant light. Kemi stands at Sika's shoulder, arms folded, her face turned toward Sena.

“Sena: There will be.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of the ruined throne room in 1955 Abomey. Afternoon sunlight falls through the open roofless space, illuminating vines on the earthen walls and saplings reaching toward the sky. Nana Sika stands at the center of the room, her faded indigo wrapper catching the light. The three children — Houéfa in her blue school dress, Dossi with her round expressive face, Gbodja with dusty knees — stand in a close half-circle around her, utterly still, looking up at her.

Narrator:“More than sixty years later, the throne room still carried power.”

Panel 2:Medium shot of Houéfa, face grave and watchful, her tight braids framing her serious expression. Her hands are clasped in front of her. Dossi stands just behind her, eyes wide and bright. Gbodja is at the edge of the frame, chin up, unusually still.

“Houéfa: Fala — was she one of the ones they erased?”

Panel 3:Close-up on Nana Sika's face. Her dark, clear eyes are steady. The fine ceremonial marks on her lined cheeks are lit by the afternoon sun. She holds the children's gaze without flinching.

“Nana Sika: The French took the bird, the lion, the shark. They could not take every name.”

Panel 4:Medium shot of Nana Sika from slightly below, looking up at her. She stands straight, one hand resting open at her side — the pale scar circling her left wrist visible in the light. Behind her, vines climb the crumbling earthen wall, and through the open roof, a bright blue sky is visible.

“Nana Sika: Fala was Agojie. She carried a musket for Dahomey. Now you carry her name.”

Panel 5:Wide shot from behind the three children, looking toward Nana Sika. She stands at the far end of the roofless throne room, framed by the ruined walls and open sky. The empty stone plinths are visible at the edge of the courtyard beyond the open doorway behind her. The children's small figures fill the foreground, their backs to us, facing her. The scale of the ruined palace dwarfs all of them.

“Gbodja: Will the kings ever come back? The bird, the lion— Nana Sika: Perhaps. But the story came back today.”

Panel 6:Extreme close-up on Nana Sika's left hand resting against the rough earthen wall of the throne room. The pale scar encircles her wrist. The ancient red earth of the wall fills the background. Her fingers are pressed flat against the surface — deliberate, present, claiming the space.

Narrator:“The Agojie had fallen. But their names had not vanished while someone still remembered them.”