Voters in the Republic of Benin are preparing to head to the polls this Sunday. The country stands at a point that, on paper, should signal democratic continuity: a sitting president completing his constitutionally mandated tenure and handing over power through an election. Yet, as the campaign draws to a close, that tidy narrative is harder to sustain.
Outgoing president Patrice Talon is stepping down after a decade in office, leaving behind a record that resists easy classification. His administration oversaw notable economic gains, including sustained GDP growth and a dramatic expansion of the national budget. At the same time, his tenure has been marked by a steady contraction of political space, alongside a worsening security situation as jihadist activity spreads across the country’s northern regions.
At the centre of the upcoming vote is Romuald Wadagni, the current finance minister and the ruling party’s candidate. A former Deloitte executive, Wadagni has spent the last ten years as one of the chief architects of Talon’s economic programme. His campaign leans heavily on that record, pointing to achievements such as tripling the national budget and delivering some of the highest growth rates the cotton-exporting nation has seen in over two decades.
But Wadagani’s true campaign is built on little more than continuity. He has made no effort to distance himself from Talon, describing their relationship in an interview with Jeune Afrique as “almost like a father-and-son relationship.” His policy proposals reflect that alignment: the creation of new development hubs to spread industrial and tourism investments more evenly, and expanded access to healthcare, all framed as a natural extension of the current administration’s work.
That continuity is not incidental. It is, in many ways, the point.
Wadagni enters the race as the overwhelming favourite, a position made possible not only by his profile but by the political landscape he inherits. Over the past decade, the opposition has been steadily weakened, leaving the election with little of the unpredictability typically associated with competitive democracies.
He faces just one opponent, Paul Hounkpe of the Cowry Forces for an Emerging Benin party. Hounkpe has attempted to position himself as a voice for those left behind by the country’s headline economic successes, arguing that high GDP growth and high-profile tourism projects have not translated into meaningful improvements in the lives of most citizens.
Yet even this limited contest obscures a deeper absence. The main opposition party, The Democrats, is not on the ballot at all, having failed to secure enough legislative backing to sponsor a candidate. Earlier in the year, it also failed to win a single seat in parliamentary elections. By the time the presidential race began in earnest, the field had already been narrowed to the point where Wadagni’s path to power appeared all but guaranteed.
The election itself almost did not take place.
In the early hours of December 7, disgruntled soldiers launched a coup attempt, briefly seizing the state television network and coming close enough to Talon that he reportedly witnessed clashes firsthand. The situation was stabilised through external intervention, with Nigeria carrying out airstrikes, while the regional bloc ECOWAS deployed elements of its standby force to support the government.
The episode underscored the increasing fragility of democracy on the continent. It also highlighted the broader security challenges facing Benin, which has become the hardest hit among coastal West African states by jihadist groups expanding southward from the Sahel.
Following the coup attempt, the decision to proceed with elections had been framed by some as evidence of institutional resilience. But that interpretation has not gone unchallenged. For critics, the more consequential metric lies not in the survival of electoral processes, but in how those processes have been reshaped.
A series of political reforms introduced under Talon has, over time, tilted the playing field decisively in favour of the ruling coalition. The results have been stark. In legislative elections earlier this year, the coalition secured every seat in the National Assembly. In municipal contests, opposition parties were not permitted to participate at all.
These developments have given rise to a more unsettling argument: that the real rupture in Benin’s democracy did not occur in the form of a sudden coup, but through a gradual and systematic consolidation of power. Under this view, the attempted military takeover in December was less a beginning than a symptom—an eruption within a system already strained by restrictions on dissent, limitations on free expression, and barriers to genuine political competition.
Talon’s supporters reject this characterisation, arguing that a stronger, more centralised presidency has been necessary to drive economic reform and maintain stability in a volatile region. His critics, however, point to the steady erosion of pluralism, carried out through legal and institutional means rather than overt force.
Formally, Talon is doing what many leaders in the region have refused to do: stepping down at the end of his second term, in accordance with constitutional limits. In another context, that alone might have been enough to reaffirm Benin’s democratic credentials.
But the question now is about what, exactly, he will be leaving behind when he does step down.
There is widespread speculation that Talon will continue to exert influence as a political “backseat driver,” shaping the direction of the next administration through allies and institutions carefully built over the past decade. The succession itself feeds that speculation. Wadagni, the leading candidate, was personally selected by Talon. Even his opponent is widely believed to be aligned, at least in part, with the outgoing president.
Whoever wins on April 12, Talon’s imprint is likely to remain. The implications of this extend beyond Benin. Once regarded as one of West Africa’s more stable democracies, the country now finds itself part of a broader regional pattern marked by democratic backsliding, military interventions, and growing insecurity.
In such a context, Benin might have offered a counter-narrative: a peaceful transfer of power, grounded in genuine political competition. Instead, the upcoming election raises a more complicated question: not simply whether power can change hands, but whether that change amounts to anything more than a shift in personnel.
On Sunday, voters will cast their ballots. The result, by most accounts, is already clear. What remains uncertain is what that result will mean—for Benin’s democracy, and for the idea of democratic alternation in a region where it is becoming increasingly rare.
