Thursday, July 31, 2014

Le Cap


Cap Francois was a leading city of European colonialism in the Tropics, as well as the Americas. By the late 18th century, the city's population was nearly 20,000, it featured over 260 street blocks, was mostly built of stone and mortar, it featured a thriving theatre, hosted a colonial newspaper (Les Affiches Americaines), had two Masonic lodges, fountains, a large and well staffed hospital, a large but ugly church, docks, a place d'arme, followed an urban plan (like most cities in Saint Domingue), featured civilian and military buildings, a cemetery, prostitution, gambling dens, inns, waterworks, and hosted the Cercle des Philadelphes, the culmination of a century of science and colonialism coming together among white settlers. 

Sanitation in the city was horrid, meaning that it would have left a traveler with the most disagreeable smell, and the gigantic black and 'mixed-race' populations clearly distinguished Le Cap from the typical provincial city one could find in France. The black neighborhood was called 'Petite Guinee' and blacks also dominated the market at Place de Clugny. In addition, Cap Francois quickly arose as the largest and most significant town in the colony because of favorable winds that facilitated French shipping to the northern coast, perhaps explaining why the soaring profits of the plantation economy in the North of Saint Domingue was mostly traded back to France from Le Cap. As the economic and social capital of the most important colony of the 18th century Atlantic World, Cap Francois was most certainly quite a site, coincidentally built not too far from the earliest European settlement in the hemisphere, La Navidad. For more information, read the excellent Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime.

Sounds from Algeria: Rai


Funky and strange rai from 1970s Algeria, featuring Bellemou & Benfissa. I like Bellemou's brassiness and funk or Western influences (check out this one), but this is just amazing. I am no aficionado of rai or other North African genres of music, but it would seem like earlier rai styles are significantly better. Alas, if only the genre was not forced underground and recorded on inferior cassette technology in the late 1960s and 1970s...Regardless, I still think I might prefer some of the pop-rai sounds of Cheb Khaled or a less 'Westernized' sound from Cheikha Rimitti. Some of Rachid Taha's music is good, too, but I guess I just prefer African musical styles from West, Central, and Southern Africa (no offense, East Africa, though Ethiopian music can be quite good as the Ethiopiques series demonstrated).

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

African Mathematics: From Bones to Computers

African Mathematics: From Bones to Computers by Mamokgethi Setati and Abdul Karim Bangura  is a useful introduction to how various African cultures across time have incorporated mathematical concepts and logic that demolish stereotypes of the 'primitive African' one encounters nearly everywhere in Western academic and popular culture. Largely functioning as an overview and review of other scholarship on the subject of math in Africa, we learn about how numeration systems, fractals, geometry, algebra, Combinatorics, the Fourier Transform, logic, mathematical tiling, magic squares, Number Theory, and various other branches of mathematics can be seen in Africa's written and oral cultures, as well as material culture (hair braiding, pottery, murals, urban and village layout, textiles, crafts, arts, architecture, board games, riddles, and counting systems). Indeed, reading this book will challenge all of one's preconceived notions of 'Africa,' and it integrates the Maghreb and Egypt into the story of African mathematics. Indeed, the widespread use of base-2 calculations in African mathematics from prehistoric times to Ancient Egypt and the Yoruba numeral system would seem to point to some perhaps continent-wide common legacies in mathematics.

Indeed, the Lebombo Bone and Ishango Bone seem to be early prehistoric evidence of doubling system in African counting, the use of base-2 calculations, and perhaps even some sort of calendar for lunar purposes or menstruation. As the authors suggest, this is perhaps all rooted in how early hunter-gatherers had to geometricize their labor and subsistence activities, which in turn led to some forms of mathematical thought and observation. Other early evidence of important African contributions to mathematics can be found in Ancient Egypt, where base-2 calculations were prevalent, as well as strides in geometry, algebra, recognition of the Pythagorean Theorem, unit fractions, the creation of a calendar of 365 days, arithmetic, volume equations (such as the Egyptian formula for the volume of a truncated square pyramid, which was correct!), a complex numeration system that changed over time with new scripts (hieroglypic, hieratic, demotic), and accurate counting for censuses, tax collection, and maintaining an army. The authors suggest that ancient Egypt's centralization likely fueled the need for improved mathematics, since the maintenance of a strong state and the completion of monuments such as temples and pyramids obviously required some advanced mathematics. And this was no static systems of thought, it changed with the new of more efficient writing systems for describing numbers, and also incorporated fractals in temple architecture. Although not discussed by the authors in great detail, ancient Egyptian mathematics and science would have also required a centralized system of measurement for everything from measuring temples and volume to recording the Nile (nilometer). Ancient Egypt's written mathematical tradition survives from the Ahmose Papyrus, Rhind Papyrus, and Moscow Papyrus, which show that by at least the Middle Kingdom, ancient Egyptian mathematics must have been one of the most advanced systems in the world, as well as numerous example problems with answers that reveal the depth of mathematical knowledge.

Besides ancient Egypt, the Maghrebi tradition of matematics from the 9th through 19th centuries, largely drawing from the work of the Algerian scholar Djebbar, shows how various North African mathematicians contributed to the field. Indeed, they were part of the Islamic world and the 'Arab' tradition of mathematics, but also reflected an African contribution, since Berber dynasties like the Almohads cultivated an intellectual climate or became scholars themselves. It is this tradition of Arabo-Islamic North African mathematics and astronomy that contributed to mathematical manuscripts in Arabic across Muslim Spain, North Africa, Egypt, and parts of 'sub-Saharan Africa.' The Maghrebi tradition gave the world scholars such as Abu al-Qasim al-Qurash, Al-Hassa, Ibn al-Yasamin (who was black), Ahmad Ibn Muncim, and Ibn al-Banna who advanced algebra, innovated the use of symbolic writing of fractions (the origins of the horizontal bars used in fractions in Europe came from the Maghreb), studied the operations and order of algebra, abstract manipulation of polynomials, writing of equations, magic squares, Number Theory, Combinatorics, enumerations, and astronomy.

These writings represent a vast North African mathematical, scientific, and philosophical written tradition that, part of the broader Islamic world, was nonetheless very much an African creation, with reverberations in nearby Europe, Africa south of the Sahara, and Moorish Spain. In fact, translations of these writers' works into Latin and Greek by often Jewish scholars, or exposure to these innovative mathematicians by European students directly shaped the future course of mathematical knowledge. Indeed, if Ron Eglash is correct, the transmission of African divination systems through geomancy during this era in the Middle Ages, established the foundations for binary and computing centuries later in Europe. Speaking of divination, an exploration of how local Berber and West African influences impacted this Maghrebi mathematical tradition warrants further study, particularly if Eglash's convincing theory about the impact of African binary in divination proves correct. However, the text states that the Maghrebi mathematical treatises and manuals were copied and influential in West Africa, influencing writings in Timbuktu, but the decline of the Maghreb politically, economically, and socially after the 15th century may have impeded further developments. I must locate some studies by Ahmad Kani of precolonial mathematical and scientific writings of West Africans to complete the picture of how Islamic and Arab-African mathematical systems contributed to the study.

We know that Muslim Fulani scholar Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Fulani al-Kishnawi discovered the formula for calculating the magical constant in magic squares, and that he lived in Cairo for a number of years, where he died after performing the pilgrimage to Mecca. Al-Kishnawi was from Katsina, a Hausa city-state in precolonial Nigeria, and according to Paulus Gerdes, magic squares were common among Fulbe/Fulani groups in West Africa, worn as amulets. It would seem the association of magic squares with actual 'magic' and numerology was quite common in the Islamic world and among relatively non-Islamized West Africans, as well as Muslim kingdoms in the Western and Central Sudan regions of West Africa (mathematics, astronomy, medicine, horticulture, and a variety of influences reflecting local and North African mathematical traditions) were utilized in the last centuries of the precolonial era. Perhaps other instances of mathematics in the Sahel and savanna regions of West Africa merit further discussion, especially in architecture (Eglash discusses fractal elements in Senegal), divination (which Eglash discusses in Bamana sand divination), West African sculpture and art, or the megaliths of the Senegambia. Perhaps, like Nabta Playa in Egypt or similar structures in other parts of Africa, the megaliths serve an astronomical function, similar to how indigenes of the Canary Islands devised lunar calendars and one rooted in the Canopus star, an ancient cosmological system in northwestern Africa.

Besides the veritably ancient traditions and contributions to mathematics from ancient Egypt and the medieval Maghreb, what of the rest of the African continent? Surprisingly absent from this study is the architectural and mathematical traditions of ancient Aksum, Meroe, Nubia, Berber (except for the indigenes of the Canary Islands) and other well-known African societies of Antiquity. But due to the desire for brevity and accessibility, one cannot expect everything in this otherwise excellent book. The reader is introduced to a variety of mathematical concepts that are present in African material culture and languages from across the continent, such as the complicated Yoruba numeral system that was based in 20 and required 'feats of mathematical manipulation' for arithmetic. Tellem textiles from the Middle Ages, for instance, reveal geometric patterns on a plane, or Bakuba raffia cloth, with geometric designs. Tshokwe (or Chokwe) sona (sand drawings) of Angola also have a geometry that can prove the Pythagorean Theorem, according to Gerdes. Kuba raffia cloth and other African decorative arts (baskets, homes, murals, pottery) and textile designs also arrive at the Pythagorean Theorem.

The plethora of Mancala-type count and capture games of the African continent also reveal some understanding of Combinatorics, a sub-field that studies the selection, arrangement, and operation of mathematical elements within finite sets. These games, clearly, as Abginya argues, require intellect and thought, especially if a mancala game with 36 counters has a total of 10 to the 24th power possibilities! The authors also argue for a highly developed mathematical tiling or tessellation tradition in Africa, which can be seen in North Africa and Muslim Spain, as well as how fractals and the Fourier Transform were influenced by Fourier's observations in Egyptian architecture. African recursive scaling, Fibonacci Sequence in ancient Egypt, and vector geometry in rural Mozambican peasant houses also reveal the extent to which mathematics is embedded in African cultures.

The material covered in the text continues to the 20th and 21st century, but because my interests are mainly in the precolonial period, I'll cease my summary here (although one should read the fascinating chapter on the English language's impact on Black South African schoolchildren learning math). This is certainly a fascinating book worth reading, even if at its best it's mostly an overview and excellent source for additional references. I certainly gained a lot, even if there were some concepts beyond my grasp. Regardless of my own limitations, anything that contributes to the study of science, technology, and maths in African history is in my interest, including this excellent introduction.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime

After reading James E. McClellan III's Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime, one begins to see Saint Domingue in a wholly new way. Science as a tool for colonial development and the slave regime is a topic one does not usually discuss in history courses of slavery in the New World. Indeed, the most common ways to hear of the application of science and industry in slave societies of the Americas is the use of the cotton gin and the development of mechanized sugar mills in the 19th century, so it is important to uncover the various ways in which even during the 18th century, the plantation model in the colonies more closely resembled and took advantage of limited industrialization and science in a way that presaged 19th and 20th century industrial labor.

Indeed, in some cases, cutting edge technology of the 18th century West found its way into Caribbean colonies, particularly the use of the steam engine and locomotives in parts of the British Caribbean and the use of a steam engine pump in L'Artibonite area for irrigation (which ultimately failed, though remains of the Perrier engine can be seen in Haiti today, according to McClellan III). Clearly, the use of science, engineering, applied botany, and medicine were the most important sciences for colonial development, as well as cartography and engineering, which all ensured the survival of a profitable colony, which in turn justified European colonial expansion and the mercantilist policies which supposedly explains why one in eight French were economically tied by trade and profit to the colony of Saint Domingue.

McClellan also uses a worthy introduction and detailed first part to analyze how the context of Saint Domingue's towns, demographics, slaves, and various other factors of colonialism and science impacted Saint Domingue. His extensive coverage of Cap Francois and the other principal cities (Les Cayes, Port-au-Prince) is consistently compared favorably to a French provincial city. And the level of scientific inquiry and advances in medicine and hospital infrastructure in the colony were only rivaled or perhaps surpassed in Dutch Batavia, in Southeast Asia. These scientific missions began with naturalist Jesuit priests in the late 17th and early 18th centuries, who collected useful notes on the flora of Saint Domingue, while future endeavors would emphasise cartography, developing medical infrastructure in the largest cities of the colony (although the author admits that slave healing was usually as efficient or successful as 'Western' medicine, perhaps due to Africans' longer history in the tropics and dealing with tropical climes).

Most of the best scientific inquiry came out of direct state investment and researchers, especially as Saint Domingue was incorporated into French society's scientific interests and collaborations, which included astronomy, engineering (hydraulic and civil engineers collaborated in Saint Domingue, especially with funding by planters, to invest in irrigation projects that successfully fertilized the Cul-de-Sac region, and many other arid or inhospitable parts of the colony), medicine (the widespread use of inoculation for slaves against smallpox in the 18th century stands out), botanical gardens, experimentation with new crops from other regions of the world (think about it, neither sugar nor coffee were native to the Americas, but both became the basic source of wealth for slave plantations), cartography, navigation (learning how to plot one's longitude to aid in sailing, for instance, played a role in expanding trade and success in European shipping around the world), studies of poisons, and the use of science and botany in new industries and trade for the slave society.

It would seem that scientific and medical knowledge reached its zenith with the institutionalization of science among settlers with the Cercle des Philadelphes in 1784, largely forming in response to pseudoscientific 'mesmerism' which had reached popularity with all sectors of Saint Dominguan society. That so many Saint Dominguans took on the pursuit of rational and empirical science seriously against the threat of mesmerism and popular science (such as the ballooning craze of the 1780s that struck Saint Domingue with fervor before being replaced by mesmerism and 'animal magnetism') even if they lacked a background in the field, revealed the degrees to which the pursuit and application of certain branches of scientific study were deemed vital for colonial development and profitability. Of course, the well-known Moreau de Saint Mery appears in this organization, along with several prominent Freemasons (but Freemasonry is proved by McClellan to have played little role in fostering scientific endeavors), as well as the French ministries of the colonies and navy in the decades leading up to the 1780s. Thus, science and colonialism went hand in hand, and colonialism played a role in contributing to scientific communities in Western Europe as an additional source of observations, material, and a practical zone for application of new technologies.

What one wishes to see more of is how slaves themselves approached 'science,' for instance. What of slave healing and medicine? What about slave and African contributions to botany, agriculture, sugar processing and mill technology, or other fields? McClellan states that most sugar mills were powered by animals and humans, although a large minority were water-powered, and windmills were not extensively used (he argues that mathematical fields and pursuits were behind in Saint Domingue when compared to Europe, a factor in explaining some poor surveying and astronomy), but what of black Saint Dominguan contributions to those fields? And in what ways did urban slaves and people of color in the principal cities contribute to the Cercle des Philadelphes and other institutions of learning? Those types of questions will obviously require a great shift in perspective of mathematics and science in precolonial Africa, but deserve an answer. Nonetheless, this is an excellent book illustrating how two significant modern fields, by their very nature, collaborate in European expansion, paving the way for European conquest of Africa (think of the discovery and use of 'Peruvian bark' to treat malaria in the colonies). Tropical pathology, inoculation, and medical advances in general, along with industrialization, became the key fields that aided and abetted European colonialism in the 19th century.

Charles X and Haitian Recognition (1825)


Some images of French recognition of Haitian sovereignty during the reign of Charles X. One can see quite clearly the paternalism of the French artists in depicting this event, which also seems to be partially based on common imagery of slaves in abolitionist propaganda. This period began the 'debt crisis' of Haiti and a great example of foreign imperialism, although Boyer's government and that of his predecessor seemed to favor some sort of indemnity to France without heavy French military threats.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

La Grande Poste in Algiers


La Grande Poste in Algiers today. Believe it or not, some aspects of Moorish and neo-Moorish architecture seem to have an African origin, perhaps among Berber Muslims in the Maghreb, who spread the style to the north and south. Aspects of an African origin can be seen in the crenelations, prominence of ribbed domes, horseshoe-shaped archways, arches on piers and posts, intersecting arches, lobed windows with different shapes, blind arcades, stylistic variations in differing parts of the same structure, etc. are all elements of North African/West African influences in Moorish architecture. Susan Preston Blier is my main source, and she is a titan in her field of African art history.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Lysius Salomon Overview


President Salomon (1879-1888) and his Ministers, predominantly Freemasons. Salomon, despite being a "National" Party leader, perhaps did more than other 19th century heads of state to weaken Haitian sovereignty. By establishing the National Bank (with French capital controlling it), Salomon's government instituted a foreign-controlled bank that refused development loans and challenged Haitian economic self-rule. On the other hand, Salomon's presidency did bring more teachers to Haiti, as well as integrate the country with the international mail system. His daughter (via his step-daughter, thereby making her the granddaughter of Salomon's wife!), Ida Faubert, became a well-known poet in France, too. 

Salomon also bears importance in Haitian history for the 'color question' and competing narratives of Haitian history. Revived as a manje milat by certain noiriste thinkers of the 20th century, it is important to read historian David Nicholls to demolish that myth. Salomon was married to a French woman, had mixed-race children, sought French teachers to propagate French culture in Haiti, and had no problem selling out Haitian sovereignty to protect his power at all costs (including reaching out to France and perhaps the US for a protectorate to defend his regime from Liberal opposition). Although Salomon's family was of importance as a black elite in the South of Haiti, and Salomon supposedly honored the legacy of Dessalines in the 1840s when that hero of Haitian independence was vilified by mixed-race writers of the era, he himself rejected labels thrust upon him by black Nationals. 

At the end of the day, questions of color and political party labels used by the Haitian elite meant little, since both Liberals and Nationals were only competing over who would share the spoils of the state, and both black elites and mulatto elites were Eurocentric with little interest in sharing power with the urban poor or the peasantry (the vast majority of the population). To his credit, as finance minister under Soulouque, Salomon did attempt to improve prices paid for peasants' products, only to face stiff resistance from Europeans and local export traders. Furthermore, Salomon's years in exile exemplify the importance of political elite exile communities in shaping Haitian politics, often with aid from the British, French, and other imperial powers of the Caribbean. Jamaica is perhaps the best example of an island hosting large Haitian exiles, including the Liberal opposition led by Jean-Pierre Boyer-Bazelais (and supported by the British, who also opposed Salomon for refusing to compensate a British national, which failed to unseat Salomon and resulted in bloodshed, targeting of Haitian-owned businesses in the cities tied to Liberals who supported the failed coup.

Keep in mind that the 1880s was a turbulent period where increasing foreign penetration of the Haitian economy was about to give way to foreign-owned firms and retail outlets gradually replacing natives, just as the agricultural economy was in decline due to lower productivity for cash crops, lower prices for Haitian exports, and numerous methods of taxation and theft by speculateurs and foreign merchants to cheat the peasantry out of pay. Along with this simultaneous decline of the economy and burgeoning foreign intervention, sincere attempts to usher in modernization, a fair tax system, and improve agriculture and industry (the overwhelming majority of the skilled workers and industrial labor were run by Europeans (such as Italians) or immigrants, like West Indian and French Caribbean settlers) fell flat. Indeed, I would go as far to say that active attempts to ensure a weakened Haitian state and economy through imperial pressure, foreign capital's control of the National Bank, and smuggling was done in part to ensure the 'first black republic' would remain subordinate. 

Sources

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Ibadan in the 19th century


View of Ibadan in the 1850s. Ibadan emerged in the 19th century after the fall of Oyo, a period of insecurity (indeed, the 19th century happened to be the period when many Yoruba (or 'Nago') people were sold into slavery in places like Cuba and Brazil. So, Ibadan arose as an urban center lacking a single, centralized authority, but ruled by the heads of lineages organized into housing compound networks. Cities like Abeokuta and Ibadan emerged as large cities with 200,000 in the latter by the end of the 19th century. In addition to lacking a centralized authority in the form of a 'king' of something similar, Ibadan hosted specifically 'urban' features of markets, festivals, and a 'nascent' town identity, despite being a 19th century creation. Illorin, another Yoruba city, fell under the control of the Sokoto Caliphate, which explains why some Yoruba converted to Islam during this time. Picture copied from th e UNESCO General History of Africa series.

Source: Bill Fruend, "The African City: A History."

Rebel Music: Race, Empire, and the New Muslim Youth Culture

Hisham Aidi's new book was a great read, although I can't help but feel that perhaps it was too ambitious or endeavored to cover to many regions and topics. Also, at times I could not find a link to music and popular culture in some chapters, even though they were fascinating nonetheless (I am thinking specifically of the 'not quite white' chapter on Arab-Americans in the US racial order), but Aidi is certainly 'breaking new ground' by linking music and popular culture to these new stages in Muslim identities around the world. Before reading this dense text full of intriguing references, I already knew about the influence of hip-hop and African-American music and social movements on people of color and Muslim youth around the world, but this book goes even further by examining the impact of jazz and African-Americans on the explosion of gnawa music's recognition (thank you, Randy Weston), as well as exploring some of the long-established links between Islam among people of African descent in both the US and Brazil. In addition, Aidi offers an interesting analysis on Arab-Americans and where they 'fit' in the US racial schema, particularly now that there are more 'black Arabs' in the US, and because of the ways in which Westerners racialize Islam and discriminate against Muslims in government agencies and popular culture.

Moreover, the book remains accessible to scholars and the lay public who lack a deeper understanding of the various strains of Islam thought, including Salafism or even the deeper history of Maghrebi immigration in France and how music (particularly gnawa) was reappropriated by North African youths in the diaspora and at home as a result of gaining international attention in the West. It would seem that popular music across much of the Islamic world and its diaspora owes much to immigration, as well as experiences of alienation, racism, and social unrest in Europe and the US, although it clearly reverberates back in the homeland. Although much of popular music among Muslim youth around the world is influenced by African-American music (hip-hop, jazz, rock) and Afro-Caribbean forms (reggae), there also exists the tremendous influence of Islam on African-American musical forms, especially jazz (the Ahmadiyya stand out as one example, as well as other forms of Islam) and hip-hop (Nation of Islam, Sunni Islam). All in all, an enjoyable read full of unexpected facts and details that will have one reading more into Afro-Arab histories and Islamic youth cultures.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Trans-Saharan Africa in World History

I just finished Austen's accessible read, Trans-Saharan Africa in World History, and I highly recommend it. Sure, one could find dense, academic articles that see the Sahara as a model for studying African history or intra-African relations, but this is the best book-long work related to the subject that integrates the Maghreb and the Sudanic regions of West Africa into a single narrative. Austen highlights some of the Sahara's economic, religious, cultural, political, and ethnic diversity and contributions to African history and global history in a way that shows how, for several centuries, the Sahara was a global highway that connected various regions of Africa together, as well as becoming an important node in Afro-Eurasian commerce and exchange. Indeed, one learns much about how new trends in ideology and material culture traversed both ways in the northern half of the African continent, as well as placing it in a broader hemispheric and Islamic perspective so one can clearly see how trans-Saharan Africa was, in some ways, economically co-dependent, even if Austen argues that the Maghreb was less dependent on trade with the Sudan.

And the importance of Islam in regulating and fueling trade, even though trade between the Sahara and the Sudan predates Islam by at least several centuries, going back to the introduction of the camel, surely contributed to both 'shores' of the Sahara as various African societies (and Arabs) influenced each other and shaped the political destinies of states to the far north and the far south. One sees this in the Almoravids and Almohads, which were Berber dynasties with clear links to the world of Islam and trans-Saharan Africa, as well as in relations between Morocco and Songhay, the spread of Sufism and Islamic learning, and even the rise of manufactures and textiles from the Sudan into the Sahara and Maghrib, illustrating how interlinked these economies were. Sure, the Maghreb states were more thoroughly Islamized and tied to the 'Arab world' and Mediterranean, but Africans (especially Berbers in the north and the Sahara) profoundly shaped the development of new trends in trade, traversing the desert, the spread of new technology and ideas, the rise and fall of states, and the economic integration of the entire northern half of Africa into the global economy in the era before European hegemony. Indeed, this is something that merits further inquiry, how trans-Saharan commerce, movement and learning contributed to the medieval world, as well as shaping the growth of cities and intellectual thought in Africa.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Angolan Merengue

 
Who knew merengue was once popular in Angola? Because of its 'psychedelic' sounds and it is guitar-driven, Angolan merengue sounds somewhat like Congolese music or some Haitian compas of the 1970s, with very strong local rhythms (semba) invigorating the drums and ...some obvious influences of Congolese 'rumba'. Nothing short of marvelous to hear the mélange of African, Caribbean, and Latin influences in one song.



Random Thoughts and Notes on Bill Freund's The African City

He mentions Tswana 'agro-towns' in the early 19th century, near the edge of the Kalahari, with large agglomerations (ranging in population from 10,000-20,000). However, one gets the impression that Freund does not consider these Tswana 'agro-towns' to be 'urban' in the sense that the overwhelming majority of the population in these Tswana towns were agricultural workers. Tswana society in precolonial southern Africa was based on farming and cattle, and Tswana chiefdoms usually lacked the necessary surplus to foster and support 'real' urban centers, even if some of the larger walled agro-towns had the same population as Cape Town in the early 1800s. Look up Dithakong for a good example: we see the use of stone walls and enclosures on a much smaller scale than Great Zimbabwe, and the majority of the population in this area worked on farms, watched the cattle, and foraged.

Part of the reason these agro-towns never had the stimuli to become 'true' urban centers is due to the precarious existence in the arid Northern Cape region, as well as the lack of outside trade and external factors that fuel markets, specialization, and 'urban' culture. Nonetheless, these 'agro-towns' impressed early European and Cape Colony visitors, but it seems like they came and went rather quickly over the 19th century. Like Great Zimbabwe to the north, it seems like the decline of 'agro-towns' came about as a result of depletion of the soil and natural resources, leading to the settlement to move to a new site over time (although Great Zimbabwe was inhabited for about 2 or 3 centuries before abandonment). It seems like security may have been a factor in the proliferation of these vast 'agro-towns' in 19th century Southern Africa, which makes sense if one considers the expansion of the Cape Colony and European colonial intrusions and conquests in that era, as well as destabilization across southern Africa as a result of the mfecane.

Freund also demolishes certain myths about Cairo the Victorious, saying that population estimates of 500,000 for medieval Cairo are unlikely, deciding to go with a figure of 250,000 for the zenith of precolonial Cairo's population. However, Freund makes sure to give examples of Cairo's cosmopolitanism, economic and political importance, its plethora of neighborhoods, it's multi-storied apartment housing (already in the 12th century, Cairo was developing vast block-long apartment complexes and other buildings!), exquisite mosques, and hospital, which could see up to 4000 patients a day! Freund also compares Gondar in Ethiopia to Mbanza Kongo, examines Yoruba urbanism and West African and East African cities in the precolonial era, and African cities under colonialism and independence. I'm still working my way through, but this book is full of details on urban patterns, some commentary on architecture, and urban history throughout the African continent, including Fez, Algiers, Tunis, and North African and Saharan cities as part of a broader 'African city' and 'Islamic city.'

Freund also discusses Yoruba Ibadan. Its population reached 200,000 in 19th century, the city was a network of walled compounds (based on lineage), perhaps majority of population worked on farms in fields outside the city, but there was a high degree of specialization (craft-guild production widespread in 19th century Ibadan), an important market (intraregional trade very important among Yoruba cities and towns), bustling commercial life, and a number of town rituals and festivals to mark a specific Ibadan, Yoruba urban identity); Ibadan lacked a single ruler, but was led by a federation of families that came together as equals, although a large proportion of Yoruba urban populations was enslaved. In addition, Freund devotes a whole chapter to the impact of urbanization on Black South Africans during the 19th and 20th centuries, examining cultural changes, racial segregation, art, and apartheid.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Maurice El Medioni


A fascinating example of how music transcends religious, cultural, and geographic boundaries. El Medioni, an Algerian Jew living in France, was exposed to jazz and Latin music from meeting African-American and Puerto Rican soldiers in Oran during WWII. Adding those influences to the long history of Andalusian/Maghebri music, we get excellent music.

The Comedians

"...it's astonishing how much money can be made out of the poorest of the poor with a little ingenuity." 

I'll admit that when I first heard of The Comedians I expected some stereotypical trite with a racial bias. Of course, Graham Greene is an excellent writer and well-known figure of English literature, but, as of now, I have only read The Comedians. The beginning of the novel was a little rough, too, since it is set on a Dutch ship leaving the US for Port-au-Prince and it moves at a slow pace. Quickly, however, Greene's novel picks up and unites the various passengers on  the ship in the midst of Papa Doc's terror in 1960s Haiti. Sure, some of Greene's allusions to Vodou and Haitian history are stereotypical and perhaps ill-informed (he makes Henri Christophe out to be some sort of extreme tyrant, applicable to Papa Doc), but through the lens of the protagonist, Brown, Greene has a more nuanced perspective on 1960s Haiti.

During most of the novel's events, Papa Doc's government had lost most ties to the US (the Kennedy administration recalled their ambassador, Haiti and the Dominican Republic were not on cordial terms, and Papa Doc was executing Barbot and flushing out rebels in the mountains and along the border) and is clearly extending 'Duvalierism' and state terror into as many aspects of public life as possible. Corruption is endemic, violence the norm, and regular blackouts define urban life. Greene's Port-au-Prince is one where Baron Samedi, Papa Doc, with the help of Tonton Macoutes, terrorize the population, threaten and steal, kill and maim, while the vast hordes of peasants, beggars, urban poor, etc. struggle to survive. Yet, despite the deep disgust and disdain Greene clearly bears, Brown articulates a critique of US imperialism that allows Papadocracy to thrive: Haiti is a bulwark against Communism. During the height of Cold War politics in the post-Cuban Revolution Caribbean, US support for Papa Doc was inevitable, despite the obvious horrors he subjected his population to. Indeed, the Communist Dr. Magiot also notes the money to be made by US Congressmen and businesses with corrupt Haitian officials, a reality unfortunately quite real in Papa Doc's Haiti.

Despite a perhaps superficial resemblance to Naipaul's truly pessimistic (and racist) A Bend in the River, one can clearly surmise that Greene is aiming for a more nuanced view of a 'third world hotspot' peopled by descendants of Africa. Even if there are at times racist statements by Brown (who also states Haitian women to be the most beautiful of the world) and a certain level of condescension and revulsion (such as when Brown discovers Marcel, a black Haitian, was his mother's lover during her years in Port-au-Prince running the hotel, Trianon, clearly based on Hotel Oloffson), Greene's characters are generally positive and don't assume a perpetual rule of terror and dictatorship. Instead of Afropessimism, one encounters a 'balanced' narrative with a bleak, but hopeful conclusion (Dr. Magiot urges Brown, in spite of losing everything he had in Haiti, the closest thing he has had to a 'home' in his life, to not lose 'faith').

Regardless of the title hinting at the various 'roles' we play in all human societies, how we can all be comedians, this is a novel about two characters shedding all the artificial 'clothing' they have constructed in their lives and utterly 'being' themselves at the heart of it, 'confessing' and accepting life but not living through it as passive observers, not assuming roles and using deceit, but making a stand for something (even if in the case of Brown, the ultimate motives were not initially pure). Thus, in that regard, this is a powerful novel on the human condition, which, obviously, surpasses the insignificant and impoverished island of Haiti. Any attempt at resistance is admirable, perhaps even the foolhardy attempt at a Cuban-styled coup by Philipot and Joseph, led by a man with absolutely no military leadership credentials, or even the naive but well-meaning American couple (who provide some fodder for a wicked sense of humor, since they actually believe that a vegetarian centre could be established in the heart of Port-au-Prince, and seem shocked that 'law and order' in the conventional sense do not operate in Papa Doc's Haiti) who genuinely have 'faith' in the future of humanity, in a world where racial equality, erasure of poverty, and an end to animal cruelty were all possible. In addition, a dark sense of humor abounds in other instances, such as Brown becoming an undertaker in Santo Domingo with Fernandez, a role intimately tied to death and Baron Samedi, the very same lwa associated with watching over the dead (also the lwa Papa Doc was associated with, perhaps suggesting the dual connotations of the lwa as a force for good in contrast with Papa Doc's evil).

In summation, this novel about actors dropping their stage roles, individuals retaining faith, has a powerful message for all, beyond the 'benighted' destitute nations of the world as well as the wealthy. Even the dishonest Jones ultimately became a hero, proving himself similar to Mr. Smith for sharing a similar nature and belief in life. Besides the intriguing plot, the prose is direct and enthralling, giving the reader clear images of 1960s Port-au-Prince, the decline of the Trianon, and the familiar sight of the Tonton Macoute in dark sunglasses. The meta aspects of the novel, as a sort of play within a novel, is a fascinating concept, too. Each character has a role they play in the novel, and another one amongst themselves in their own world, in their relationships with each other, in the fantasies they construct, including the Tontons Macoutes, who don sunglasses to hide their own emotions and fears, insecurities and humanity.

Friday, July 18, 2014

You Do Something To Me


A lovely Cole Porter standard interpreted by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald. Perhaps like "Katie Went to Haiti," Cole Porter was thinking about the recent US occupation of Haiti to inspire the lyrics ('voodoo), but regardless of that, it's an excellent. song.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Miguel Street


Miguel Street, a collection of portraits of the characters that enliven a lower-class neighborhood in Port of Spain during WWII, has an endearing charm that perfectly encapsulates that era in Trinidadian history. Somewhat autobiographical (the narrator leaves Trinidad to study abroad on a government scholarship, like Naipaul himself), these tales weave together the culturally (and racially) diverse world of the urban proletariat and poor in Miguel Street. Hindus and Christians, Indians and blacks, seem to get along fine in this area where poverty was widespread, but nobody starved. Naipaul's brilliant and characteristic prose is interspersed with dialogue in Trinidadian vernacular English, the sounds of calypso are alluded to (as well as providing a useful look at popular culture, real calypso songs add a touch of authenticity to the world crafted by Naipaul), and the dynamics of class, race, gender, colonialism, Trinidadian identity, and a specifically 'urban' (and mostly masculine) identity shape the narrative. 

Gender dynamics surely follow a more stereotypical pattern of male dominance, men beating their wives, and male control of urban space, but women appear as leading figures and heads of households, such as the narrator's single mother, Laura, and women engaged in business. Racial relations and colonial identity appear as strong themes, too, since a Trinidadian inferiority complex in relation to Britain and the US emerges as a theme in more than one chapter. In addition, one can see how Naipaul himself expresses disappointment and disdain for late colonial Trinidad, which is seen as lacking the opportunities and sufficient educational infrastructure. Nonetheless, this portrait of a Trinidadian urban community, often compared to Catfish Row in US literature, is endearing and possesses rustic charm, since its tolerant, multiracial, subsisting, and tied to a much broader world of the Caribbean, Venezuela, and the US. Even when poking fun at Trinidad, Naipaul seems to express a certain type of pride and passion for representing life there, even if it was lacking in the higher intellectual and urban infrastructure Naipaul (and the narrator) sought as young adults. And, of course, like A House for Mr. Biswas,a jovial sense of humor permeates the spirit of the text. From humorous lines of exchange between the mostly homosocial space in the street occupied by men such as Hat and the boys, to the narrator's tough mother beating him, there is more than enough material to provide laughs and tears at this world.  

Edward Wilmot Blyden


Edward Wilmot Blyden, West Indian-born, educated in US, and significant pan-Africanist intellectual in Liberia and Sierra Leone. Blyden criticized Krio elites for emulating Western culture, praised Islamic West Africa's intellectual tradition (as well as romanticized them), believed Islam was better suited for blacks, supported a Dress Reform Society to push Krio men to wear African-styled clothes, supported "Africanization" of Krio names (something already in practice before Blyden's time), and argued for a 'Negro personality' that would lead to development on its own. Blyden was something of a hypocrite, since he never 'Africanized' his name, but his influence is sometimes overstated. Regardless, he was a towering figure in 19th century Black Atlantic intellectual thought. 

US Political Cartoon of the Occupation of Haiti


1917 cartoon by a US Marine exemplifying the culture of paternalism during US Occupation of Haiti (1915-1934), found in Renda's admirable "Taking Haiti." US Marine forces occupying Haiti looked down upon Haitians as children in need of a strong, stable, civilizing parent during that period (which, as Renda explains in her book, coincides with the growth of the American Empire and new meanings of what it means to be American, white, and male). And though most Americans today probably don't know Haiti was ever occupied by the US for so long in the 20th century, it was during those years that all the stereotypes of Vodou, zombies, and exoticized nearby Caribbean, Latin American, and Pacific societies became common tropes in film, radio, travel literature, and art. 

Monday, July 14, 2014

Arrete Mal Parlé


Amazing kadans music from the French Caribbean...some of this beats the original Haitian compas music of the 1970s.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Death in Paradise

After finishing the first 3 series of Death in Paradise, I think it's safe to say the show will maintain its quality without the brilliant Ben Miller as lead detective Richard Poole. I was drawn to the show because of its setting (in a fictional Caribbean island, but filmed in Guadeloupe), but was sad to see that the leading sleuth is English, not a local Caribbean. I suppose British audiences would not be too interested if the detective was local. Regardless, the show does well with the 'fish out of water' theme of an English detective sent to lead a small local police department.

Sure, it's paternalistic, and the show uses several stereotypes of the Caribbean (reggae, 'voodoo,' etc.), but usually to parody them, so I don't hate the show. It's endearing characters, lovable misfit leads, and simple but nicely explained murder mysteries clearly have a broad appeal. Now, if the show had a strong black detective in charge, such as Camille (Sara Martins) or Fidel (Gary Carr), I would probably love it (we don't see enough black detectives, unfortunately), but the show is nonetheless humorous, 'fun,' and beautiful. Surprisingly, the show has gotten some recognizable guest stars, too, including Camille's father (played by Lester from The Wire, Clarke Peters), and Ben Miller and Kris Marshall are more than competent actors to make up for some underperforming ones. Alas, it is unfortunate that Sara Martins's character is sexualized in ways that undermine any realistic detective (Camille never wears a uniform or formal attire, and can often be spotted in tight shorts), and I found Kris Marshall's character, who replaces Miller in season 3, to fall in love a little too fast with Camille.

Despite these aforementioned flaws, the series is enjoyable, light-hearted fun that is perfect for finding a television show that does not require one's full attention or emotional investment. Perhaps in the future a gritty, serious crime drama set in the Caribbean will appear, and Caribbean themes, cultures, and language will play a greater role in the series (instead of caricatured notions of music, religion, and tourism). For the present, Death in Paradise will suffice.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

An Untamed State

An Untamed State did not live up to some of the hype I had read about. It was certainly one of the most harrowing accounts of a kidnap and sexual violence I have ever read, but I felt that the novel was lacking a certain 'oomph' in other areas. Basically, the strongest prose and detail from the novel comes from Mireille's captivity, her reflections on her life in that hellish, untamed state, and the whirlwind of emotions, mindgames, and events that eventually lead to her liberation. Perhaps I am expecting too much from this novel, which is clearly about the prevalence of sexism and rape culture as well as the cages inside cages inside cages we experience, regardless of being kidnapped, but I would have liked to learn more about the details of the negotiations Sebastien Duval went through with the Commander, Laurent. It would have been very useful to learn more of the particularities of the ransom and deal reached between Mireille's father and her kidnappers, especially since it would show how much he values his youngest child's life (it must have been under one million US dollars, but no figure or number is shared after Mireille's 13 days of hell end).

Anyway, the second half of the book looks at Mireille's experiences with post-traumatic stress syndrome, coping with her injuries, feeling a permanent sense of danger and fear about men, and gaining some recovery, although she will never be the same. She never truly reconciles with her father after allowing her torment to last nearly a fortnight, but she makes peace and truly acknowledges how the US is her home, her identity. In some ways, it's quite a horrifying way for a Haitian-American to become 'American,' after undergoing several days in the Inferno, to be so irrevocably removed from her parents' identity and longing for 'home.' Throughout the novel, commentary on rape, sexualized violence, and the danger Mireille experiences in the US certainly belies Fabienne's point, however, that "Mr. America" (Mireille's husband, Michael) has a very selective memory of the US, since poverty and sexual violence occur there in ways that endanger Mireille, too. Thus, a woman is always in danger when around men, and Mireille's rupture from her former self includes a rupture with Haiti, the childhood home away from home she cherishes. One should certainly read this novel, and appreciate it as one of several examples of the flourishing, nascent Haitian-American literature.

Lina


A Ti Paris cover, but quite good. 

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Precolonial African Cities South of the Sahara

The following is a long, rambling email sent to a friend about precolonial African urban centers, concentrating on cities south of the Sahara. What I would love to find more research about is interconnections between cities north of the Sahara and the South beyond the stereotypical and obvious, as well as more information about how 'Black Africans' influenced North African urban cultures and aesthetics. Anyway, enjoy!

I'll skip over North Africa, although cities like Cairo were gigantic centers of trade, power, and cultural exchange that connected Africa, Europe, and Asia. Indeed, Cairo, the capital turned into a bustling city by the Fatimids, featured Jewish Egyptian communities, Greek/Byzantine traders, Italian merchants, Turks, Nubians, Berbers, West Africans, Ethiopians, Circassians, and others to create a truly global city. Indeed, Egypt's importance before the age of European hegemony was often based on its control of the Red Sea routes to the Indian Ocean, which linked western Eurasia via trade with East and Southeast Asia. Of course, Persian and Iraqi control of the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean trade could also play a role, but the Fatimid, Mamluk, and Ottoman control over Egypt and the Red Sea played a large role in Egypt becoming the principal 'middleman' in exchange between the Indian Ocean World (Swahili Coast, South Arabia, Persian Gulf, India, Southeast Asia, China) and North Africa, Europe, etc..

But I digress. Here are some important precolonial African cities, including some very large ones. I'm drawing mostly from "History of African Cities South of the Sahara," which does not do justice to Africa's urban history because it omits North Africa and ignores how trade and cultural ties shaped urbanism in both parts of Africa, below and above the Sahara.

http://www.amazon.com/History-African-Cities-South-Sahara/dp/1558763023

1. Timbuktu: at its height, the city's population reached perhaps 50,000-100,000 inhabitants. When Leo Africanus visited the city in the early 1500s, he estimated 50,000. Timbuktu's architecture reflects Maghrebi, Andalusian, West African, and Islamic styles. The city was divided into quarters, which were often largely peopled based on ethnicity/culture, and the city had more than one mosque. The city was also close to the Niger river at its northernmost point, which made it a natural meeting place for trans-Saharan trade caravans and the trade along the Niger's ports. Timbuktu's Muslim elite, highly educated, included 'blacks,' Berbers, and Arabs (although none of these groups are mutually exclusive), and residences were built in brick, clay, straw, and thatch based on status. Timbuktu's architecture reflected the local 'Sudanese' style, too, since the influence of As-Sahili has been exaggerated. Timbuktu's madrassas were flourishing in the city's golden age, under the aegis of the Sonhay empire, which largely let things be as long they the Songhay received their tribute. Like many cities in the 'Western Sudan,' there is a fusion of Maghrebi/Islamic influences with local preferences, such as the public esplanade in the center of the city, which was used by kings for royal display, to 'give justice,' etc. In addition, cities in this region of West Africa (Sahel and savanna) often prioritized open enclosures and the extended family, whereas those of the more Islamized and foreign ulama and business community preferred private homes where walls and doors only opened up to courtyards.

For similar Sahelian cities, look up Agadez, Walata, Awdaghust, Kumbi-Saleh, Niani, Gao, etc.. Agadez, founded around 1000s, became the center of the Agades sultanate and a population of around 50,000 people in the 1500s. Again, Islamic and 'Sudanese' local traditions meshed well, creating a 'skyline' similar to Timbuktu's with large mosques, a large foreign merchant community, learned Muslim clerics, use of clay and brick in architecture, large cemeteries, etc.

2. Mbanza Kongo, or Sao Salvador: The capital of the ancient Kongo kingdom, which had diplomatic relations with Portugal since the late 1400s, and its Kongolese elite converted to Catholicism in the early 1500s. At its height, the population of the city would have been somewhere between 60,000 and 100,000, while Thornton, a specialist on Kongo, estimates 60,000 inhabitants in the mid-17th century. Cities in the Kongo kingdom largely resembled rural villages in architecture and use of public space, except they featured larger royal enclosures, an aristocracy, and some monumental architecture (such as Catholic churches). Residences were usually rectangular, and little was evident that distinguished homes of elites from those of commoners except size and luxury goods. Cities in the Kongo kingdom and other well-known cities in this region (such as Loango, Soyo, etc.) often had large markets, lots of open space (often used for agriculture, the phenomenon of 'garden cities'), and intimately connected to surrounding farming area outside city for subsistence. Kongolese urban centers, like villages, could be mobile, and for this reason, buildings were constructed in such a way as to facilitate quick demolition for movement.

3. Kano: Kano had high walls, an ancient past predating the Islamization of Hausa elites, a complementary relationship with Fulbe/Fulani herders outside city walls, division of city into quarters for foreign communities and social division of labor, textile industry, 'gardens' for urban agriculture, palaces for Hausa city-state king and later, emir, mosques, use of clay bricks for elite homes, as well as the use of columns and arches for domed buildings, etc. Hausa architecture was part of the broad 'Sudanese' style, especially in the use of clay, but also had some multi-leveled elite homes and some buildings constructed with mud, thatch, etc. (round huts, etc.). Kano, at its height in the 19th century, reached a population of 100,000 people within the city walls, but much of the city's space was geared toward using open space for farming. Kano was, without a doubt, cosmopolitan (Fulani, Hausa, Arab, Berber, Muslim, non-Muslim, slave, free, dying/textile industry, social division of labor reflected in urban layout, monumental architecture, 'garden city' phenomenon, etc. Other Hausa cities were similar to Kano, such as Katsina and Zaria, which all took advantage of trade to connect with other parts of West Africa and North Africa. Hausa merchants and Muslim learned communities were present elsewhere, such as in the Asante Empire, and some Hausa cities fell under the orbit of the Kanem-Bornu empire to the east, closer to Lake Chad. Nonetheless, all Hausa city-states fell under Usman dan Fodio's Islamic reformist movement, culminating in political unification under the Sokoto caliphate, which quickly became a combined Hausa-Fulani literate elite where books and paper were imported, long-distance trade respected, and cosmpolitan urban centers vitals.

4. The capital of the Kanem-Bornu empire, which may have reached as many as 200,000 people at the empire's zenith. Kanem-Bornu, an empire with a very long history in the Central Sudan (not to be confused wiht the modern nation of Sudan), had long dominated the trans-Saharan trade through the Fezzan and into Libya and Egypt. Kanem-Bornu had brick architecture, walled cities, lots of open space, the central esplanade for the mai (king), and ties with the Ottomans and North Africa for firearms, trade, cultural exchange, the slave trade, etc. I believe the capital was Garumele or Birni N'Gazargamu, and if the population was 200,000, it was undoubtedly a vast city! Again, there would be a mixture of architectural styles based on class, origin, status, and neighborhood. Unlike the empires and kingdoms that arose to the West, which were closer to sources of gold and other valuable exports in West Africa, Kanem-Bornu had the Lake Chad area for slave raiding, which in turn led to an 'industry' of slave raiding as the horsewarrior aristocracy of Kanem-Bornu preyed on societies to the south and west. In the 1500s and 1600s, there were some innovative mais, such as Idriss Alaoma, who pursued the use of firearms, and at its height, Bornu controlled some of the northern ends of the trans-Saharan trade routes in what is now Libya (Fezzan), meaning this 'black' African state began to dominate parts of the northern and southern termini for the trans-Saharan trade. Use of brick architecture in Kanem-Bornu area has possible link to similar styles in the east, in today's Sudan, or perhaps Turkish influences through Ottoman empire and trans-Saharan trade. Urban architecture included brick, adobe, and straw, and the city had a high wall (25 feet), 660 roads, and was clearly a vast city.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/36113263/Architecture-of-Africa


5. Great Zimbabwe, the best known urban center in precolonial Southern African history, only had a population of 11,000-18,000 at its height, which would've made in somewhat comparable to contemporary European medieval towns. Great Zimbabwe's elite likely based its wealth in cattle and control of trade and gold that was traded to Swahili coast (which is why Kilwa rose to prominence in 1300s). Great Zimbabwe obviously has monumental architecture, social differentiation/complexity, vast walls of stone and the famous stone conical tower, but littrle is known of social relations or much else about the culture. Some claim the city and state declined as a result of environmental degradation as Great Zimbabwe elites' cattle ate up too much grassland. Either way, the Monomotapa empire that succeeded Great Zimbabwe in that region of southern Africa continued the use of vast stone walls, terraced hills, stairways and roads in Khami, Dhlo-Dhlo, and other sites scattered in the Zimbabwe/Mozambique area. However, due to a lack of sufficient archaeological excavations, it's hard to say much about the other stone cities of what one might call the 'Great Zimbabwe' complex. We know that elites had access to textiles, beads, Chinese porcelain, and other goods, which msut have came through the Swahili traders at Sofala (on the coast of Mozambique), and it seems likely that either Great Zimbabwe or some of its client states or neighbors organized trade caravans that went from the interior to the coast to trade with the Swahili and Indian Ocean market. Again, open space seems to be the pattern for much of the Great Zimbabwe/Monomotapa culture, especially if agriculture and pastoralism remained key to the urban sites. Residential architecture would reflect use of stone walls and some of the more stereotypical structures of the Shona today, as well as perhaps a resemblance to the Ndebele, Tswana, and other South African ethnic groups, whose urban centers and villages sometimes featured large stone walls, large cattle herds as basis of social wealth, and little monumental architecture except the walls. Ndebele architecture, however, seems to consist of round homes with the use of a vast array of colors. Look up Kurrichane, a Hurutse-Tsawan town visited by a European int he early 19th century. The white visitor estimated the city had 16,000 people and used stone walls, but agriculture remained the predominant economic/labor activity of the town (so was it proto-urban, or rural?).

6. Zanizbar and the Swahili Coast: Zanizbar had a population of 200,000 in 1870, making it a gigantic urban area where about 80% of the population were enslaved. Zanzibar and the Swahili coast have a clearly cosmopolitan architectural style reflecting East Africa, Islam, Indian, and other influences. Early Swahili towns in the 700s-1000s seem to have been constructed mostly in mud and wattle, thatch, small mosques of wood and thatch, etc., but with increasing wealth, Swahili towns adopted stone (often coral stone), and used it in ingenious ways reflecting Islamic and local aesthetics. Swahili monumental architecture included pillar tombs in ancient cities such as Gedi, as well as modern amenities like indoor plumbing, intricate stone and wooden mosques, multi-storied homes in places like Lamu, and beautiful wooden doors. The use of imported Chinese porcelain in niches of homes and tombs reflects local aesthetics, too, although for the most part it was only the Swahili merchant bourgeoisie and foreign merchants (from as far as Oman, Yemen, Persia, India) who could afford lavish, multi-storied homes with fancy, imported Chinese porcelain and silks. Swahili towns and urban centers also produced some textiles, imported paper for writing, exported iron to India a thousand years ago (other exports include ivory, tortoise shell, slaves, spices, mangroves, tropical products, etc.). Although parts of Swahili Coast came under Portuguese and later Omani domination, Swahili cities probably reached their zenith in the 1100s-1400s era, when Kilwa and other prosperous city-states developed vast trade networks, high walls, close ties with hinterland populations, vast palaces with swimming pools, and other architectural wonders. Swahili cities, therefore, had narrow streets, use of stone and thatch/mud and wattle, elite burial customs, and important ports and international ties in the Indian Ocean. Zanzibar epitomizes this role of the Swahili coast in the 19th century, when the island and its principal city dominated the entire Swahili coast and likely reached a population of nearly 200,000. Lamu, a smaller Swahili town, reached a population of 15,000-20,000 at its height, which shows that most Swahili towns never had very high populations, although some, such as Mombasa and Pate, could host higher populations based on more fertile farmland or better relations with neighboring agrarian societies.

7. Benin City, Kumasi, and Abomey are good examples of inland West African cities in the tropical forest region of West Africa. Benin City was described as being larger than Lisbon by Portuguese traders in the early 1500s, and Benin City's vast walls enveloped the city for 8 miles at a height of 60 feet, which meant the oba (king) of Benin had access to the labor of thousands of men to build the vast wall. The wall, like most walls in West African cities, was earthen and not stone, but nonetheless, very impressive. The oba's palace was a city within a city, reflecting a pattern of Yoruba urbanism as well, which may date as far back as to Ife, an ancient Yoruba city which trhived between 900 and 1200 CE. The oba's palace complex was described by Dutch traders in the 1600s as being larger than the Dutch town of Haarlem, and Benin City included lots of open space, wide, organized streets, and vast markets. Yoruba towns likely influenced Benin City, or were part of the same regional influences in architecture: vast mud walls, veranda-styled houses, high degree or urbanism, and the division of the city into royal sacred space and secular space. Kumasi, on the other hand, grew with the power of the Asante empire in the late 1600s-1800s. Kumasi probably had a population of at least 12,000-15,000 inhabitants, as well as gardens, organized streets, courtyards, gardens, tons of open space, a vast royal palace complex, and a Hausa zongo, or Muslim merchant quarter with wide streets and impeccable cleanliness. Thus, Kumasi was cosmopolitan and diverse: Muslims, Christians, 'traditional religions,' Hausa merchants, Hausa and other literatre bureaucrats who were largely Muslim, use of mud, wattle, thatch, clay, and other building materials, and elite homes with columns that were mostly rectangular. Going by Bowdich's writings and drawings of Kumasi and the Asante area she passed through, the open space was used for 'gardens' and plots to grow food, as well as utilized for public celebrations, displays of the asantehene (king)'s entourage, etc. Abomey, capital of Dahomey, also serves as an interesting example of a vast capital city by a kingdom in the tropical rainforest area of West Africa. Abomey, at its height, had 24,000-50,000 inhabitants, a large moat, a vast palace complex for the king, mostly rectangular homes, a large market, and the center of a large bureaucracy. Dahomey dominated the 'Slave Coast' of what is now Benin, including the important coastal cities of Porto Novo and Whydah, which reflected more creole and European architectural styles.

8. Kuba and the Kingdoms of Central Africa's Interior and the Great Lakes: Although the Kuba kingdom was a small polity deep in the heart of Africa, by 1892, its capital was home to 120,000-160,000 people, and was a 'garden city' that could be mobile, and walled. This pattern in Central African cities has been called a 'Bantu city' pattern by some for its prevalence in Central, Southern and Eastern Africa. Little is known about Kuba's capital city, but similar cities abound. Musumba, capital of the vast Lunda empire which dominated Katanga and the trade in copper and other metals, still had 20,000 inhabitants by its long decline in 1842 (so who knows how populous the city was at the empire's zenith?). Musumba and other Central African cities benefitted from the imported use of corn and cassava, which increased population densities and were easily incorporated into Central African diets. This increase in population density in the region as a result of trade and contact with the Americas and Europe since the late 1400s, culminated with an increase in the population of some urban centers in the region, Musumba being a good example. Again, like other Central African cities, Musumba was a 'mobile city' and it looked like the small rural villages in many ways. A similar pattern can be seen in Nyanza, Kazimbe and other royal capitals in precolonial Rwanda and Burundi, which were mobile cities built on hills. The elites of Rwanda and Burundi controlled vast amounts of cattle, the source of their wealth and prestige, but were dependent on commoners whose farming produced necessary food and supplies for these cities on the hills. Again, these cities would have seemed like the small villages in architecture and design for the most part. Part of the reason so many cities in Central and Eastern Africa were founded on hills or cliffs was for easy defense from attacks, hence the walls and exploitation of elevation and topography for natural defenses.

9. Buganda, a centralized kingdom in what is now Uganda, had a similar capital city, which was part of that trend in 'mobile capitals,' but the explosion of banana cultivation for subsistence in Buganda led to increased population densities because of its suitability to the soil. Thus, with an increase in banana cultivation and subistence, more of the population could live in the towns and pursue other occupations. Buganda became very important in the 19th century, when its capital city housed traders from the Swahili Coast, Indian merchants, Sudanese traders, Europeans, Muslims, Christians, and slaves from all over East Africa. Kibuga, the capital of Buganda, would have housed the vast palaces of the kabaka, Buganda kings, and the city had roads, but there was also an abundance of open space and use of land for agriculture within the city ('garden city'). By the end of the 1800s, a period when Buganda was a British Protectorate, the population of Kibuga was 70,000, an enormous number for a city in a part of Africa where urban centers were rarely that large. Architecture seemed to resemble the more stereotypical round 'huts' and dwellings in this very rural-urban center.
https://web.up.ac.za/sitefiles/file/44/1068/3229/9086/African%20Perspectives/PDF/Papers/NWANGWE.pdf

10. Gondar: the capital of the Christian kingdom of Ethiopia, which dominated the highlands, north, and Eritrea, was a vast urban complex. Prior to Gondar, for several centuries the Christian kingdom of Ethiopia lacked a fixed capital, but moved across the kingdom as a mobile capital and military camp. Gondar, however, had European, Indian, Islamic, local, and other influences in style and art. It reached a population of 50,000 to 60,000 at its peak, and clearly is the result of a long history of urbanism in the northern Horn of Africa that dates back at least to the pre-Akumsite period. Aksumite architecture and aesthetics, including the use of stone, arches, stellae, monumental features, and rectangular buildings and tombs, survived and influenced the Lalibela rock-hewn churches of medieval Ethiopia. Ethiopian architecture would have included elite stone homes and palaces, as well as circular, mud, straw, and thatch dwellings in Gondar, just as in ancient Aksum, Yeha, or Adulis. Addis, a modern city based on Western models and ideals, did not come into being until the late 19th century, but would quickly surpass Gondar and previous historical examples as the most important urban center in Ethiopian history. Gondar, however, had castles, churches, and other monumental architecture that likely made it an impressive urban site.

11. Other examples:
-Ancient and Medieval examples: Alexandria, Carthage, Garama, Meroe, Napata, Kerma, Memphis, Hierakonpolis, Suakin, Aswan, Luxor, Thebes, Tichitt-Walata escarpment, Rhapta, Tunis, Marrakesh, Sijilmasa, Dongola, Sennar, Mogadishu, Zeila, Ife, Oyo, etc. Nubian architecture seems interesting, especially since the ancient period. A combination of structures and styles (Egyptian, 'Nubian', Sudanese, Christian, Islamic) appear, which included vast temples, pyramids, palaces, streets, use of whitewashed mudbrick, churches, cathedrals mosques, and other monumental architecture appear to have been the trend. Supposedly elites in the Christian kingdoms of Nubia lived in stone houses with up to 2 or 3 levels and had running water, plumbing. I suspect life in Nubia remained largely rural and concentrated in villages made of mudbrick, but Nubian cities like Dongola appear fascinating. These Nubian cities would have housed Arabs, Muslims, Christians, Africans, Copts, centers for trade caravans, a diversity of slaves, and even ties with Ethiopian Christians as well as monasteries. Other interesting Nubian cities: Faras, Qasr Ibrim, Meroe, Napata, Soba, etc. Some Nubian towns and villages kinda resemble North African ones in style.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Aristide and the Endless Revolution

After reading Alex Dupuy and Robert Fatton regarding the rise and fall or Aristide, the documentary Aristide and the Endless Revolution comes off as an attempt to place the blame for the 2004 coup overwhelmingly on foreign intervention and imperialism, mainly from the US. Aristide and his supporters are often interviewed and taken at face value, whereas Dupuy and Fatton have a more nuanced perspective that emphasizes internal dynamics and factors, including some of Aristide's own problematic political actions and unattractive tendencies well aligned with Duvalierist practices. This is not to say that Aristide was entirely responsible for the 2004 coup, he was, as Fatton makes clear in The Roots of Haitian Despotism, quite acquiescent to foreign demands and even willing to concede some power to the opposition in 2004 in a compromise the opposition did not have to agree to because of US backing.

So, this documentary serves the opposite function, I suppose, of placing the 2004 coup in a broader international perspective that places the emphasis on US economic crippling of Aristide and support for the Haitian opposition. Undoubtedly, the role played by the US ensured the demise of Aristide's presidency, since it certainly weakened Haitian institutions by refusing to allow any aid to Aristide's government, as well as providing funds, arms, and support to the disbanded military and Haitian elites hell-bent on imposing a coup. However, unlike Dupuy and Fatton, the documentary overlooks how Aristide lost much legitimacy with the middle-classes and poor of Haiti for escalating violence, or even Aristide turning his back on some of the more populist and left-wing social programs he favored in his first presidency. Fatton states that as soon as Aristide agreed to a US invasion to reinstall his presidency in the 90's, he basically signed on to agree to anything the US expected him to do, which meant changing his stance on sweatshops, and abandoning some of the more populist and class-infused rhetoric of his early forays into organizing and politics.

In addition, the documentary interviews US attorneys and proponents of Aristide who deny all claims that Aristide or his government funded or used urban gangs and crime to retain power, something Fatton and Dupuy argue was likely true. If not, Dupuy and Fatton seem to concur that Aristide lost legitimacy to Haitians for being allegedly involved in the gang violence, or for being unable to control it. The documentary qualifies that observation, however, by revealing how the US economic embargo to the Aristide government included a prohibition on police equipment or supplies, which would have strengthened the National Police as well as provided additional funding for civil servants, infrastructure, government departments, and social programs. Thus, part of the reason Aristide was gradually losing more and more control was due to constraints on his administration from Washington. However, I was surprised to hear some pro-Aristide commentators in the film criticize Aristide for disbanding the army, the very same institution that has weakened democracy and the development of a stronger, inclusive civil society. If by internal security, one means strengthening the police to control gang violence and to have defended the administration from the small rebels who unseated Aristide, then I suppose that makes sense.

One thing that threw me off was the mention of Aristide asking France to repay the indemnity Haiti was coerced to accept for diplomatic recognition from France in 1825 and 1838. I was not sure how relevant it was unless one takes for face value the somewhat 'conspiratorial' claims by Ira Kurzban, that France's consul stole legal documents from Aristide's government which were going to be used in a very strong case against France for repayment of the indemnity. I suppose it was huge for the time, and even I recall hearing about it in the news back in 2003, but France's role in the 2004 seems negligible, even though I am sure Chirac's government was not fond of Aristide. Anyway, bringing up the long history of debt in Haiti probably provided another opportunity to place the blame for Haitain poverty on additional foreign powers besides the US, which clearly played the largest role in the downfall of Aristide. Indeed, Roger Noriega is interviewed accusing Aristide of ruling through lawlessness, criminality, and murder, despite presenting any evidence whatsoever, just as some Haitian elites are interviewed saying Aristide was undemocratic because in the 2000 parliamentary election, some seats were given to Lavalas without proper run-off elections (despite Aristide sending a letter to the election monitoring team from OAS that he would agree to a run-off race for those contested seats).

Clearly, this documentary features extensive interviews with a wide variety of people (including Aristide, who goes so far as to label the 2004 coup and its aftermath as 'genocide' for the targeting of Lavalas supporters by the disbanded military and interim government, a claim verified by the human rights lawyers' investigations, as well as Dupuy and Fatton) who offer differing interpretations of the 2004 coup. As a documentary, the message of the film is severely limited by its medium, unlike Fatton and Dupuy, whose texts on the prebendary Haitian state or the fall of Aristide are far more detailed, likely took advantage of sources that were not available in 2005 (the year the documentary was released), as well as offer a more nuanced interpretation that certainly raises some troubling questions about Aristide's adherence to a long tradition of Haitian authoritarianism, messianic leadership, use of parastatal forces, and corruption. This is not to say the documentary does not have value, because it reveals some new facts, gives useful interviews with key players in the background to the coup, including Aristide, his lawyer, Roger Noriega, and US officials and representatives, but it lacks the requisite complexity of academic analyses and ignores local factors. In conjunction with academic literature, however, the documentary is quite useful and eye-opening. Besides, anything that sheds light on the 2004 coup goes a long way into explaining the events that led to the catastrophic earthquake of 2010 and persistent trends in US relations with the Caribbean and Latin America.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Purple Hibiscus

"To restore the dignity of man."

I finally read Purple Hibiscus after purchasing it from a downtown used bookstore several months ago. Despite being an admirer of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie for her future novels, I took my time to devour her debut novel. It was a mistake. Without a doubt, hints of Adichie's greatness as a writer are already strong in Purple Hibiscus. Her simple, yet deep prose, skill with visuals and capturing the flowers, plants, animals, and winds (especially the harmattan winds) of Nigeria, and encapsulating the turmoil and travails of the post-colonial Nigerian state through one family offers powerful lessons regarding power, identity, and the importance of keeping the delicate alive.

In many ways, this author shares Chinua Achebe's vision and style, especially in peppering the novel with Igbo cuisine, language, culture, religion, folklore (especially through the memorable tale of why the tortoise has a cracked shell, as told by the narrator's grandfather), as well as critiquing a slavish imitation of European-styled Catholicism or speaking solely English in formal situations. Religion and the age-old problem of religion being a tool of European imperialism to colonize Africa appear throughout, although Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie provides the reader with several examples of characters whose practice of Catholicism is not embedded in Western forms and prejudice against traditional religion. The Apparition of Aokpa, a Marian apparition that never received formal recognition from the Vatican, is one successful instance of Nigerian Catholicism seeking a separate identity rooted within Igbo culture, just as the use of singing in Igbo and the mixture of traditional elements and respect for the ways of the past exist side by side with someone as abhorrent as Eugene, Kambili's father, who sees Igbo religious traditions as heathenism.

Father Amadi, Aunty Ifeoma, and Kambili herself, to a certain extent, reveal the nuanced ways in which Christianity has become 'Africanized' in a way that does not denigrate or deny the importance of the ways of one's ancestors, something that is tied to crafting a larger 'ethnic' Igbo identity and Nigerian nationality. Eugene, unlike his sister and characters, looks down on his father for never converting to Catholicism, looks down on speaking Igbo in public or the singing in Igbo during Mass, and certainly favored emulation of British culture and social manners to become 'civilized.' In other words, Papa became 'confused' and in his endeavors to 'save' his family from moral condemnation, his tyrannical rule and physical abuse toward his family mirrored the political violence and military dictatorship of the Nigerian state. Much like the dictators and corrupt police, Eugene used force, manipulation, and fear to coerce his family and impose his will, eventually refusing to let the beautiful, delicate hibiscus of family and nation to thrive.

Like other multi-dimensional characters in this excellent novel, Eugene was quite critical of the corrupt dictatorship, and used his ownership of the Standard newspaper (and its editor, Ade Coke, later targeted by the state) to 'speak truth to power.' Similarly, Eugene's family, especially his children, learn to rebel against their tyrannical father (especially after much needed respites from home with Aunty Ifeoma and their cousins, which exposes them to their grandfather and broadens their perspectives) and before one knows it, begin to see the world through lens more inclusive, accepting, and defensive of a specifically and proudly Nigerian post-colonial state.

Although the future of the family is unclear (which is similar to the case of Nigeria, too), a positive future is hinted at by the novel's conclusion, and one can only hope the purple hibiscus, ixora and other flowers are planted in the garden. So, unlike, say, Chinua Achebe's timeless classic, Things Fall Apart, this is not quite a tragic hero story, but an optimistic look at the future of independent Nigeria, free to cultivate its own flowers and pursue a tomorrow in accordance with its own cultural values and thinking. Unfortunately, the novel does not delve into the dilemma of Aunty Ifeoma's life in the US (where she is forced to go with her family by the political turmoil and deteriorating economic conditions) nor foreshadow the dark conclusion and final act of rebellion, nor does it provide a lengthy backdrop for how Eugene turned against his father and Igbo past, even if doing so would lead one away from Kambili's narration. Yet, despite some criticisms or wishing for additional background information, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie deserves accolades for such a successful and realistic portrayal of an Igbo Nigerian upper-class teenager's world. If Achebe read this work, I am sure he would be proud of the flowering of Nigerian written literature since his youth.