David Benaym: "In Nigeria, I understood that my homosexuality could cost me my life."

Senior reporter for TF1 et LCI, David Benaym has covered some of the most significant events of the last thirty years. But in July 2021, he found himself at the center of the news when he was arrested in Nigeria while filming a documentary. Accused of espionage and detained for several weeks in harrowing conditions, he now recounts this ordeal in Captive – Remember your future, published on May 11th by Écrin. A blend of survival story, geopolitical thriller, and reflection on resilience, the journalist returns for Interviews on this affair, which remained in the shadows for a long time, and on the lessons he learned from it.

Aimé Kaniki: In 2021, you were arrested in Nigeria while filming a documentary. At what point did you realize that this mission was about to turn into something much more serious?

David Benaym: We realized this the day before our arrest. Our arrival in Nigeria had been seized upon by the Biafran separatist movement. Three days before our arrival, the Biafran separatist leader had been arrested in Kenya and then extradited to Nigeria. We had come to make a documentary about a small Igbo Jewish community that had absolutely no political affiliation. But the Nigerian secret service interpreted our arrival from Israel as a Mossad operation intended to support Biafra. When we saw the extent of our presence on social media and how it was being exploited for political gain, we understood that we were at the heart of a whirlwind that was completely beyond our control.

You describe a particularly harrowing detention. What was the most difficult ordeal to overcome psychologically?

For me, the hardest part was having to hide my homosexuality. I quickly realized that it could become a major danger. Depending on the region of Nigeria, it could mean fourteen years in prison, or even worse. I knew what was on the internet: photos of my wedding, participation in Gay Pride parades, a whole part of my public life. I asked my brother to remove as much of this information as possible from social media so that my captors wouldn't find it. I also had a serious health problem. I no longer had access to my medication. We were arrested extremely brutally, transported for fifteen hours on dirt tracks in very difficult conditions before being locked in an unsanitary cell where there were still bottles of urine left by former prisoners. With my weakened immune system, I knew my body could give out.

Why wait several years before publicly telling this story?

During our captivity, we deliberately avoided all media attention. I'm a journalist; I know the media inside and out. A case like this doesn't necessarily have to become a national issue after three days. Sometimes you have to wait for the right moment. Once we were released, telling our story wasn't a priority. I started writing the book a year or a year and a half later. Then October 7th arrived. I became a correspondent for TF1 and LCI in Israel. From that moment on, it was impossible for me to talk about my own captivity while Israeli hostages were still being held.

Captive reads like a true thriller. Was it important for you to use the conventions of suspense?

Yes, because I didn't want to write a classic autobiography. I wanted to take the reader with me, to make them feel what I saw, what I felt, what I experienced. And then we really lived this story like a thriller. The suspense was constant. The kidnapping, the armed guards, the fifteen-hour drive to Abuja, the daily uncertainty… I didn't invent anything. I simply recounted what we went through. I'm also a child of television. I love series, films, stories that keep the reader or viewer on the edge of their seat. I wanted the book to be read in that way.

You often say that you could have died ten times. Has this experience changed your relationship with life?

Yes, radically. It was during my captivity that I decided to become a father. I was forty-seven years old. I had just lost my husband and had longed for fatherhood. In that cell, I told myself I had to stop putting things off. I continue to travel the world. I've returned to Uganda, Madagascar, and Ethiopia again. But I travel differently now. Today, I never post my real-time location on social media. There's always a delay of about ten days. It's become an essential safety measure.

Your detention mobilized French, Israeli, and American diplomats. What did you discover about the inner workings of international relations?

First, everyone knows each other. Diplomats, ambassadors, and consuls are constantly communicating. I discovered a great deal of humanity in some people, particularly at the French embassy in Nigeria. They were genuinely concerned about my health and helping us. But I also discovered the contradictions between the reality on the ground and certain administrative rules. I saw situations where the ambassador's wishes clashed with the procedures of the French Foreign Ministry. I also understood how much a person's fate can depend on the smallest details. The US ambassador was on vacation when we were arrested. As soon as he returned, things started moving much faster. We were also extremely lucky in terms of the legal system. The Nigerian authorities were slow to officially formalize our arrest. This probably saved us. If we had been fully caught up in the Nigerian legal system, we could have remained stuck there for several years.

You have been a journalist for over thirty years. Has this experience changed the way you look at conflicts and the people who experience them?

Absolutely. When October 7th arrived and I began covering the war for TF1 and LCI, I had a different understanding of certain human realities related to captivity. I'm not comparing what I experienced to the situation of the Israeli hostages at all. But I knew certain sensations: the violence of the transport, the separation from loved ones, the complete lack of communication with family, the constant uncertainty. This gave me a particular empathy in the way I told these stories. Furthermore, I had already been Fabien Azoulay's spokesperson when he was imprisoned in Turkey. I knew how powerful media coverage of a case could be when used at the right time.

Beyond the survival story, your book is also presented as a story of resilience. What message do you hope to convey to readers?

That you must always find a little spark to hold onto. I survived two cancers. I lost my husband. I am HIV-positive. One could look at all of this with sadness. That's not how I see the world. I reject self-pity. I try to show that even the hardest trials can become opportunities for growth. There is always a light somewhere. I am living proof.

Why choose a book rather than a documentary or a film to tell this story?

Because there's a special kind of intimacy in reading. Certain aspects of my story related to illness, grief, or sexuality naturally find their place in a book. But I certainly hope that one day this story can be adapted for the screen. Whether as a series or a film, I would love to see it told in a different way.

Several passages give the impression that light is never completely absent, even in the darkest moments. Where does this inner strength you call "warrior of the light" come from?

I lost my mother when I was eighteen. I found myself surrounded by people who looked at me with such sadness. But I wanted to keep smiling, keep moving forward, keep speaking of her with joy. From that moment on, I decided that every negative event in my life should be transformed into something positive. It became a true philosophy of life. I never imagined it would one day serve me in a Nigerian prison, but it helped me immensely during those three weeks of captivity.

One last word for the readers of Entrevue?

What's fascinating about this story is that all my identities ended up locked in that cell. My journalistic experience, the terrorist attacks I covered, the hurricanes, the American elections, my twenty-three years spent in the United States, my work with Fabien Azoulay, my sexuality, my personal history… All of that ended up in that prison. Like a kind of Big Bang that exploded in that cell and allowed me to hold on. I never close the doors to what life throws my way. When the armed men arrived at seven in the morning to arrest us, we were obviously afraid, but we also tried to keep our sense of humor. I think you have to stay focused on life rather than fear. Even when you're going through the darkest times.

Interview by Aimé Kaniki