Yves Urvoy's Histoire de l'Empire du Bornou remains a key text on the history of Kanem-Borno. Although published during the colonial era, and deeply indebted to the Hamitic Hypothesis, and based on, from what we could ascertain, several questionable and dated translations of Arabic sources from the medieval era, Urvoy's survey provides an early overview of Kanem-Borno civilization from its origins to the colonial conquests. Unfortunately, blinded by racialist ideologies and therefore offering just-so theories of "white" nomads from the north and east interacting with "black" peasant or sedentary populations to create the "Sudanic" state in early Kanem, Urvoy's racial biases became the foundation for his explanation of its genesis.
Thus, the Sao and local "black" populations of the era were politically fragmented, 'primitive' and the great Sudanic kingdoms and empires could only have come about through "Hamitic" or "white" nomadic groups with their racial pride and contacts with the more advanced Mediterranean or Middle Eastern worlds. Without any evidence, Urvoy can reach such conclusions based on colonial-era racial ideologies and justifications. Indeed, at times Urvoy's condescending tone is quite palpable to the reader. So, Urvoy's text is weak in its theoretical foundations, offering a "racialist" perspective on African history with little to no evidence. Like Palmer, he interprets oral traditions of eastern origins as literal history, although without the faulty linguistic and etymological gymnastics of Palmer.
That said, Urvoy provided one of the better overviews of Kanem-Borno's history from its little known origins to the colonial era. His study benefitted from the collections of oral sources and primary source materials unknown or inaccessible to European writers like Barth and Nachtigal in the previous century. Urvoy also had some familiarity with primary sources like the Agadez Chronicle and early archaeological excavations in the region, all tools that seem to have not been available to Barth or Nachtigal. Of course, one can also take issue with the faulty chronology and dates for the Sefuwa dynasty mais created by Urvoy, which are certainly less accurate than that of Lange.
Moreover, some of his conclusions about the weakness of different Sefuwa kings in the 17th and 18th century may not account for the shifting base of power and authority over 1000 years. For example, a strong or reputable mai may not necessarily require constant military campaigns. One is tempted to think Urvoy may have been applying stereotypes based on the history of the Roman Empire or Europe to describe some of the allegedly weak or incompetent kings. However, we here at the blog appreciated his breakdown of Kanem-Borno imperial administration and his attempt at analysis, based on our limited sources, of various eras in the millenium-long history of the Sefuwas, and the attempts by the Shehu dynasty to defend the Empire.
Although we here at the blog have been interested in the history of Kanem-Borno and exploring the existence of links between Haiti and that ancient African civilization, it would be foolish to omit the Borno diaspora elsewhere in the Americas. In the case of Brazil, we can thank Francis Comte de Castelnau for his recording of interviews with various West Africans in mid-19th century Bahia. While many were Hausa and other West Africans, a number of his informants on the interior of Africa were from Borno. Their names were Karo, Damoutourou, Aba-Hama, Suleman, Ali, Mammarou, and Ibrahim. A sketch of one, presumably Mammarou of Mounao (in Borno), appears in the image above, as Figure 1. While the Borno informants had arrived in Brazil at different times and in at least one case was in Brazil for over 30 years, their testimonies provides some context on Borno's turbulent 19th century. The wars with the Fulani, slave raids, tensions with Bagirmi, and their own brutal path to Bahia show the ways in which Borno was integrated into the larger world.
In the case of Damoutourou, who had been in Brazil over 30 years, and could speak Hausa, Kanuri, "Begharmi" and "Wadei," it's possible he did not know of the fall of the Sayfawa dynasty. Karo, from Angoumati, another "Bernou" in Bahia, provides information of a fantastic sort on the so-called Niam-Niam cannibals. Mammarou, of Mounao, on the other hand, was a soldier who had traveled around Borno and its environs. Last, but certainly not least, Ibrahim of Borno claimed to have traveled to the east on the Mecca Route. He also claimed to have seen people who were cannibals in the lands south of Darfur....which probably goes to show how some Bornoans exaggerated and promoted tales of cannibals or humans with tails to gullible outsiders. Son of a Borno father and Hausa mother, Ibrahim's life is an additional example of the various ways in which the peoples of Borno were tied to their neighbors and beyond, from West Africa to the Red Sea.
The other Africans interviewed by de Castelnau were not from Borno, but provide a number of details about it. Aboubakar of Bagirmi, for example, saw his homeland as a tributary of Borno. Born in Massenya, the capital, he knew of the eastern routes through Waday, Darfur, and "Zambulma." As one of the central lands on east-west "Sudanic" route that went from the Atlantic coast to the Red Sea, people from Baghirmi were well-situated to know of and encounter various African peoples, especially people from Borno who passed through en route to Sudan, Egypt, and Mecca. Oddly, Aboubakar did not recognize words like Kordofan, Abyssinia, or Nubia, perhaps reflecting unfamiliarity with terms not used in Baghirmi for eastern lands.
So, Brazil is definitely on the list of places with connections to Borno. While we have a lot of work to do before one can attempt an analysis of the experiences of "Borno" Africans in Bahia or other parts of the Latin American nation, they were clearly not alone among Muslims living in the region. Perhaps more were in Bahia and the Northeast than any in Rio de Janeiro, and they presumably participated in the cultural and religious community of African Muslims. We suspect that they may have joined hands with Hausa and Muslim Yoruba in the 1835 uprising, and perhaps in acts of marronage. If events in Saint Domingue were analogous, there may have been group activities tied to marronage and slave resistance that united the "Borno" Africans with their Hausa, Fulani, and Bagirmi "foes" and friends in Brazil.
In our quest here at the blog to read all the relevant Nigerian scholarship on Borno, we finally read Bobboyi's dissertation, The 'Ulama of Borno: A study of the relations between scholars and state under the Sayfawa, 1470-1808. Due to their local proximity, access to oral and written sources, and a deeper familiarity with Kanuri history and culture, we have been trying to find more of the often inaccessible studies on Kanem-Borno by African scholars. Sadly, these excellent secondary sources are not easy to find. Lamentably, some of the precious primary sources at Nigerian archives or museums are not cited enough by outsiders, so we have to rely on Kanuri and other Nigerian scholars who have read the documents and have access to excellent sources on oral history to add context and fill in the gaps in our knowledge.
For instance, Bobboyi's dissertation, and other studies by Nigerian scholars, cite late Sayfawa-era primary sources excluded in other studies, particularly two texts by Maina Muhammad Yanbu. These sources, although late in the history of the dynasty, should be more widely known, cited, and translated to add to the list of known internal textual sources on Kanem. But besides the use of important oral and written sources, Bobboyi's study establishes a clearer idea of who and what the ulama of Kanem-Borno were during the Borno period of the dynasty, with hints of continuity from their earlier Kanem phase. We get an inkling of the reputable scholars and their disciplines, the educational curriculum, how they were fully integrated into the state apparatus of Kanem-Borno as an Islamic administration, the role of the mahrams in shaping ulama-state relations, and Borno Sufism. This last chapter was probably the weakest, but given the limitations of the sources, a step forward in contextualizing the earlier history of Sufism in Kanem-Borno. Once we have read more of the Nigerian scholarship, we shall return to these topics in light of other perspectives on the administration of Kanem-Borno and Islamic influences.
Let us examine the case of a literate African named Tamerlan in Saint Domingue (Haiti) for evidence of another link between Haiti and Kanem-Borno. We have attempted an analysis of Tamerlan in a previous post. For those who don't remember, Tamerlan is mentioned in a book by Colonel Malenfant. In one anecdote, after mentioning Arabic amulets in Saint Domingue, he describes meeting Tamerlan, in 1791, a man who could read and write in his own language, as well as that of a type of "mulattoes" with long hair. Tamerlan wrote a prayer and the name of his language on a piece of paper for Malenfant, who later lost it.
At first he thought Tamerlan wrote something in Arabic, but he said no. So, there's some mystery about Tamerlan's writing. If we look at other clues in his story, however, it seems likely he wrote in ajami for his own language, possibly Kanembu or Kanuri. The writing of the long-haired mulattoes may have been the Tuareg Tifinagh, something he could have picked up from being an educated man of Borno who interacted with Tuaregs. Perhaps a mere coincidence, but Niebuhr's description of Borno uses the Kanuri word for Tuareg, and describes them as long-haired, suggesting Kanuri descriptions of Tuareg in the 18th century also linked them to long-hair. Additional clues suggest Tamerlan was from the interior of western Africa (it took more than 3 months for him to reach the coast after being taken captive). He also described himself as the teacher of a prince and as someone who produced books or texts. This would suggest a respected scholar or royal tutor, which would have been a common practice in Borno, as various mais aligned themselves with scholars and supported students. In West Africa, such a person would almost certainly be of a Muslim background and probably from a region with a long tradition of scholarship. Borno would fit the bill quite well.
He also describes the royal town as being a vast city, estimating it to have as many inhabitants as Port-au-Prince, the Cul-de-Sac plain, Arcahaie, and Leogane. Malenfant takes this to mean the city of Tamerlan had around 300,000 people, but a more reasonable estimate would be far less, as those areas of Saint Domingue probably didn't have a total population of 300,000 people in 1791. The towns would have been usually small, with a very large enslaved population in the Cul-de-Sac plain near Port-au-Prince (tens of thousands). But something on the scale of 100,000-200,000 would be more realistic, which could easily have been the case if Gazargamu had around 10,000 houses in the late 18th century. Either way, Tamerlan describes himself coming from the African interior, being literate in 2 writing systems (one possibly Tifinagh), and coming from a vast capital city ruled by a powerful king who would pay a fortune to have him back. We know in other incidences that Borno's rulers paid ransoms for the return of relatives or valuable persons, exemplified by Ali ibn. Umar and his nephew or as Nicholas Said reveals in his autobiography.
I don't know about you, but we could see Tamerlan being from Borno. While people from Borno were not very common in Saint Domingue, "Bernon" or "Beurnon" Africans were in Saint Domingue. Indeed, Descourtilz wrote about Borno based on discussions with "Beurnon" people in the colony, who told him how highly valued religious texts were in their homeland. In addition, Hausa captives were also there, so perhaps Tamerlan could have been from Katsina or Kano, or a tributary state of Borno. Yet the vast metropolis of his king sounds like Borno's capital. Of course, Malenfant remembers Tamerlan describing a well aligned city built of wood, where most of the houses were a single story. Gazargamu would have included brick and clay structures, but very likely a lot of wooden structures or "huts" as part of household compounds or the housing of the less fortunate. Perhaps Tamerlan was exaggerating how well-aligned the streets of the city were, as North African sources suggest Gazargamu had an irregular layout without proper "streets." Indeed, with the exception of the dendal and the street leading to the principal mosque, we find it hard to believe the city of Gazargamu was well aligned.
With these caveats, we still think there's a good chance Tamerlan was indeed a native of Borno. Perhaps someone with a thorough education, who could understand Tuareg Tifinagh, and was respected and supported by the ruler of his state. While he could have been from other parts of West Africa, the fact that he claimed to be from a vast city in the African interior and comes from a society where scholarship, ajami writing, and books were highly valued, suggests a Borno origin. The enormous city he described may have been the Gazargamu said to have had 200,000 inhabitants. If so, Tamerlan's story of his origin can be additional evidence for the substantial urban civilization of Borno under the Sefuwa dynasty. In order to confirm this story, we would need to find a source that mentions a royal prince of Borno being killed in the attack that led to Tamerlan's enslavement, perhaps the very same cruel prince mentioned by Descourtilz? Alternatively, Tamerlan could have hailed from East Africa, perhaps Ethiopia or Sudan, but we consider that less likely due to the much higher numbers of West and Central Africans in Saint Domingue.
We here at the blog have finally completed our reading of McKinney's translation of The Pillow Book. Since much of the book is not written in any specific chronological order, and consists of various lists and anecdotes, we read it slowly, trying to immerse ourselves in the court culture of Heian-era Japan over the course of several days. While it occasionally became something of a chore to read certain passages or anecdotes, one is utterly charmed by the wit, character flaws, and timeless qualities of life as portrayed by Sei Shonagon. The gossip, fawning praise of Her Majesty Teishi, and dismissive attitudes toward commoners can be a bit much, but the timeless quality of life and relationships, with the typical troubles of romance, raising children, proper social relations, moments of joy with friends and loved ones, etc. all speak to modern audiences. If a woman who lived over 1000 years ago can speak to readers from around the world today, then she's produced a timeless work that will continue to entertain, provoke, resonate, infuriate, and break hearts, even when so much of the genius behind her poetry and barbed tongue is lost in translation.
Nicholas Said's relatively short autobiography is one of the most interesting textual sources produced by a native of Borno. The author of this slave narrative was kidnapped by Tuaregs and sold into slavery in North Africa. From Tripoli, Said accompanied a Turkish master who ran a tobacco shop, on the pilgrimage to Mecca. Along the way, Said traveled to Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, today's Saudi Arabia, Somalia, and Muscat. One almost wishes he told us more about the Ethiopian traders he met in Khartoum, or about the African pilgrims en route to Mecca in Sudan and Ethiopia. Alas, that was not his focus, but it would have been interesting if he met others from Borno in Sudan and Ethiopia. After his master's shop is burned down (with half of Tripoli's Turkish bazaar), our protagonist is sent to Izmir, where he is sold to a politically connected Turk who then takes him to Constantinople. After brushing shoulders with the cosmopolitan elites of Constantinople, he is acquired by a Russian diplomat and aristocrat who takes him to the Russian Empire.
Via travels with a Russian employer, he traverses Europe, experiencing all the aesthetic, technological, and cultural advances of mid-19th century West. Eventually, when in London and planning a return to Borno, a Dutch client offers him employment for an extended trip to North America and the Caribbean. Visiting US cities, the Bahamas, Haiti, and Jamaica, Said and his employer return to the US and Canada, where Said is abandoned after loaning his boss funds. Stranded in Canada, he is encouraged to go to Buffalo, New York, where there are more "colored" people. Thus began Said's experiences in the US on a permanent basis. Perhaps due to the delicate post-Civil War conditions in the US South, Said does not disclose his service in the Union Army. One is also struck by the number of elite or royal people Said claims to have met or served, including receiving a gift from the Czar Nicholas I. One almost senses in this a Kanuri cultural practice of dependents seeking wealthy or powerful men as patrons, and perhaps Said's namedropping was a reflection of that. Or perhaps it served as a counter to US racism, as a "black" man, though in a servile position, was valued and respected by cosmopolitan European elites and experienced little to no racial prejudice. One can sense some tensions, perhaps tied to his race, with European domestics in Russia, and we can be sure there was a lot more that happened to Said in Europe or Turkey than he's willing to admit. Alternatively, Said may have looked to the famous "Negro" of Peter the Great as a model for refashioning his life in the Russian Empire.
So, what does Nicholas Said's biography tell us about Borno and the experience of Borno's peoples in the modern world? First, Said himself represents Borno as a political project encompassing a variety of ethnic groups, including the Kanuri, Shuwa, Kanembu, and, in the case of Said, "Mandra" (Mandara) and Molgoy. Molgoy were a people whose ruling chief accepted a tributary relationship with Borno under Mai Barnoma. Said's mother, Dalla, was the daughter of a Mandra chief. Yet despite these non-Kanuri origins, Said seems to identify wholeheartedly with Borno and refers to the Borno or Kanuri language as his vernacular. Perhaps this a reflection of his father's military service under Shehu al-Kanemi, which meant Said grew up in Kukawa, the capital, and socialized with a son of Shehu Omar. Either way, this is an interesting example of how multiethnic the empire of Borno was, and to what extent people from "pagan" tributary or vassal states in the region could ascend the ranks of the military and social status.
After all, Mohammad Ali ben Said was the son of Barca Gana, a famous general who defended Borno against the Fulani, Bagirmi, Wadai, and other enemies or raiders. Indeed, it was presumably through his father's prominence and connections with al-Kanemi and his successor that Said was sent for schooling to Malam Katory, a reputed scholar described as being well-versed in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish. Presumably having such a respectable teacher in Arabic was expected for people of elite origins in Borno. Moreover, it was open to people who were not of Kanuri, Kanembu, or Shuwa origins, though Said clearly thought the Kanuri were the ruling class or caste and not above oppressing Shuwa, Kanembu, or other groups.
After establishing how internally diverse and dynamic Borno society was in the 19th century, it's important to consider Said as a native of Borno in the volatile 19th century world, experiencing steamships, railroads, European architecture and science. There is a long-running, underlying current of racial uplift in Said's autobiography, perhaps acquired from his experience in the US with African-Americans and whites. In his own manner, he attacks the argument of African inferiority, while implicitly casting Africans as primitive and the "race" as one in need of elevation through education and uplift. This is the basis for sensing some ambivalence in Said's experience of 'modernity' and tradition, one in which he can praise aspects of Borno and the Ottoman Turks while cursing African Islam as retrograde. Indeed, in Said's retelling of Borno's past and the history of African achievements in technology and handicrafts, he seems to think the palace ruins at Gambaru and Ngazargamu were the achievements of pre-Islamic Borno. Consequently, one can sense an ambivalence in Said's autobiography in terms of religion and race in a changing world. Thus, he can praise the example of the Haitian Revolution as an achievement for our race while wishing Haiti remained colony.
Experiencing the trans-Saharan slave trade first-hand, and 2 distinct but connected routes that carried him from Tripoli to Mecca and back), it is fascinating to see how someone who was reared Muslim and received an Islamic education for at least 2 years struggled with Islam. After baptism in Riga, at the pressure of his Russian aristocratic employer, Said appears to have gradually adopted more severe and dismissive attitudes to Islam. The religion of his homeland, indeed, is blamed for bringing destruction, fanaticism, and slave raiding. Since his audience for the autobiography consisted of Christian Americans in the 19h century, perhaps one can see Said embellishing or exaggerating his religious sentiments or identity. Yet he could have been sincere in those beliefs, and struggled to make sense of the "contest" between Christianity and Islam, the former better for Africa (and the "race"). In this light, it is interesting to compare Said with Edward Blyden. Unlike Blyden, who was not a product of an Islamic West African society, Said presented himself as a Christian who rejects Islam's influence in the continent. Blyden, on the other hand, saw Islam as preparing Africa for eventual Christianization, and in the meantime, promoting education and moderation for moral uplift. Like Said, Blyden did not truck with "fetishism" but both claimed to be for the race. Both also saw in the "mulatto" an implacable obstacle to countries like Haiti. How is it that two men with extensive traveling and education, both in favor of improving the "race," develop ambivalent attitudes toward Africa in the modern world while stressing the benefits of opposing religions? And what does this suggest for the role of Borno in the larger theme of Islam and modern Africa?
We here at the blog cannot recommend a book more passionately than Du lac Tchad à La Mecque by Rémi Dewière. Using primarily the chronicles of Ahmad b. Furtu, a French captive's writings on Borno who was enslaved in Tripoli in the 17th century, plus a variety of other local and external sources on on Borno, Dewière's study shows what can be accomplished with new theoretical models that reconsider our unfortunately limited primary source materials. By situating Borno in a Braudelian Sahara and trans-Sahelian context, one can gain new insights into the nature of the Borno sultanate's development as the dominant power in the "Central Sudan" and Lake Chad Basin. The text introduces us to the geography, climate, ecology, seasonal nature of trans-Saharan trade, shifts in Islamic practice and shifting legitimating ideologies of the Sefuwa dynasty to elucidate how Borno's rulers from the 1500s to early 1700s engaged with the wider world. Naturally, much of the story here focuses on Idris Alooma and successors like Ali ibn Umar in the 17th century, but the analysis encompasses earlier and later moments in the long-lived Sefuwa house.
Most significantly for us, the analysis includes Borno's relations with lands further east, connecting "Sudanic" Africa from the Senegal River to the Red Sea. Of course, much more work remains to be done by archaeologists and historians eager to explore this topic, but this important book on Borno at its apogee includes some theories on the nature of trade and cultural exchange between Borno and lands further east, such as the Funj Sultanate and Ethiopia. While the "Sudanic" pilgrim route was probably already in practice by the later period encompassed in the study, we hoped there would be additional sources that could shed light on this intriguing dilemma. For such an approach, however, one would probably have to contextualize the history of Kanem, Bagirmi, Wadai, Darfur and the Kordan from 1500-1710. So, a future book awaits researchers eager to connect the entirety of the "Bilad al-Sudan" and center this "Sudanic" context for the history of Africa. The primary obstacle would be the paucity of surviving records to illuminate this, since the external Arabic sources usually prioritize trans-Saharan over trans-Sahelian contacts. Either way, the oral traditions referenced in the study suggest Kanem-Borno played a key role as a brigde between the Eastern and Western "Sudan," with villages in Darfur believed to have been established by people from Borno. Indeed, the Banī Dāwud of the Sefuwa dynasty may have settled there after the dynastic squabbles in the 15th century, if oral traditions can be reliable here.
While we still wish something akin to Dewière was applied to the Sefuwa dynasty's earlier Kanem period, one must accept the limitation of the sources and hope for archaeology to shed light on early Kanem and its role in the premodern world. We here, through our own speculative reading of the external Arabic sources on Kanem and Nubia, tend to think migrations and trade between the Eastern and Western "Sudan" was already in place. Kanem may very well have already been the dominant cultural and political influence in the lands between Lake Chad and the Nile through the "Zaghawa" and the "Taju." Perhaps later polities like Uri, Wadai, and Darfur (and its previous dynasties) reflect an earlier influence from Kanem that intersected with Christian Nubia. Perhaps, for all we know, the Sefuwa rulers in Borno were continuing the political and cultural agenda of their forebears.
Cohen's ethnographic study of the Kanuri people was based on research from the 1950s and 1960s in a village called Magumeri. Focusing on the household unit as the basic building block of Kanuri society, the basis for economic, familial, political, and productive activity, Cohen's The Kanuri of Bornu suggests a certain degree of continuity in Kanuri social structure that may stretch backwards in time for several centuries. Certainly back to the time of the Sefuwa dynasty's relocation to Borno from their Kanem, some of the features of 20th century Kanuri society may have already been in place. Of course, one must be careful using the ethnographic present to inform our understanding of precolonial eras. But, the period of British colonial rule seems to have continued many aspects of local government already in place by the Shehus, who in turn retained multiple aspects of Borno's political administration already established by the Sefuwa mais. Thus, one can reasonably assert that the household with its patriarchal, virilocal structure and emphasis on discipline-respect (for relationships between superiors and subordinates/clients) has probably been a dominant trend in Kanuri culture for at least a few centuries.
Of course, the long process in which the ancestors of the Kanuri migrated to Borno from Kanem, interacting and intermarrying with other populations and becoming more influenced by Islam since the Islamization of the Sefuwas and their Magumi clan in the late 11th century, makes it difficult to know with certainty how many of the foundational elements of Kanuri society were present in the early days of the Kanem kingdom. Perhaps the early ancestors of the Kanuri during their days in Kanem were more nomadic or semi-nomadic, with less focus on agriculture and probably, as Cohen asserts, very decentralized politically. Nonetheless, the description of the household as observed by Cohen, with its focus on "discipline-respect" and the attraction of clients to wealthy men (or wealth in dependents and redistribution) probably go back several centuries. The organization of craft production on a guild model likely also exceeds far back in time, as does the widespread cottage industry level of production during dry seasons. Perhaps even under the reign of the mais peasants were able to assert some degree of agency through migration and complaints to officials, the representatives of the fief-holders who stayed in the capital of Gazargamu.
Thus, for those curious about how Kanem-Borno may have functioned in pre-19th century eras, Cohen's study offers some fascinating theories and details. Much of how trade operated in the distant past or perhaps the so-called feudal aspects of land tenure and administration in rural areas was likely different. Yet Cohen's ethnography suggests a great degree of continuity still present in the 1960s, albeit penetrated by "modernization" at varying levels. One also gets a glimpse of how the peasantry and artisans may have interacted with the upper classes through social relations filtered through the lens of the household. One weakness of Cohen's study, however, is the omission of urbanization as a historical factor in Kanem-Borno's long history. How did urban centers operate in the precolonial era? To what extent was or is there continuity? What about pre-moden wage laborers and the importance of slavery and the slave trade? Or Borno's complex history of empire and relations with neighbors? What we need next is a detailed history of Borno that integrates anthropological research with what the historical sources tell us...
Wow. Rise of Endymion is not a great conclusion to the series, although we enjoyed its rather literal title. After reading the entirety of the series, it becomes quite clear that the first book was really the only great work, combining different genres and ideas in a novel that never quite received a great sequel. The Fall of Hyperion is not a bad novel, but one can see how its flaws were inherited by Rise of Endymion. But Rise of Endymion takes the worst elements of that previous novel, such as the overwrought plot, and adds even more unnecessary length and plot developments that ruin the greater mysteries (such as the Shrike).
Rise of Endymion quickly becomes a chore to read, introducing some characters of potential interest to drop them from the narrative while expanding into some excessive and unnecessary escapades or episodes of Raul traveling via the Void Which Binds to help Aenea spread the "communion" which will finally topple the power of the Church (Pax Empire). Don't get us wrong, we enjoyed certain chapters of the novel, and appreciate the attempt at trying to wrap up a series juggling multiple concepts drawing from Keats, Muir, religion, and how humanity can evolve across the galaxy. We even appreciated Albedo and some aspects of the explanation for the origin of the Core and the Ousters (finally, we learn more about the latter). Yet, the Shrike's character and the recycling of various characters from the original Hyperion Shrike Pilgrimage did not quite work for us.
But one applauds Simmons for not pursuing the obvious type of space opera with long chapters of epic space battles between the Pax's Gideon-Drive archangels and the Ousters. The series has always demanded more of its readers, although working on multiple levels for those who know nothing of Keats, Teilhard de Chardin, Muir, Church history, AI, or the science fiction canon which inspired the galactic civilization of Hyperion. Unfortunately, some of the decisions made by the author weaken in this overly complex plot and the new characters are simply not as captivating as those in the first two novels. With the literary conceits of the first novel and its genre-bending, the reader could lose oneself in the various genres and homages of the author. Rise of Endymion is the direct sequel to Endymion, and Books 3 and 4 are rather conventional. At least Book 3 was not needlessly long and worked as a more cohesive narrative. Thus, the Cantos makes for a very uneven series. One is probably better off only reading the first two novels. Like Asimov's later Foundation works, the additions do not bring much to the table while failing to develop more interesting threads.
Due to our interests in the history of Saint Domingue/Haiti, we at the blog took a brief look at Peabody's short "There Are No Slaves in France": The Political Culture of Race and Slavery in the Ancien Regime. While not a detailed history of "blacks" in 18th century Paris, as it focuses more on the Freedom Principle or free soil ideology, and the legal and juridical position of free and enslaved "blacks" before the French Revolution, it still provides some useful information on the movement of Saint Dominguans to and from France in the 1700s. Moreover, the key case of an Indian named Francisque, petitioning for his freedom, exemplifies the shift in French racial thought where Indian "blacks" from the subcontinent were beginning to be separated "racially" from people of African origin. Since we at the blog have an interest in the fate and experience of Native American and "East Indian" slaves or free people in Saint Domingue, we thought the case of Francisque of Pondichery might be illustrative of growing racial/racist ideology in the second half of the 18th century. Of course, Peabody's sources are usually written from the perspective of the white lawyers or representatives of "black" people, so we still cannot deduce to what extent this nascent racial ideology shaped how "Indians" perceived "blacks." Overall, however, this was an interesting read that has contributed to our burgeoning rekindled interest in the history of French slave trading and Saint Domingue.
Due to our interest in the often neglected contributions of Mozambique and East Africa to the making of the Haitian people, we thought it would be worthwhile to familiarize ourselves with the general history of Mozambique by Newitt. While much weaker on the precolonial era and the slave trade than colonial and postcolonial Mozambican history, the details of Portuguese trade, influence and colonial domination of Mozambique was useful for understanding some of the dynamics that led to Mozambique contributing to the Indian Ocean and trans-Atlantic slave trade networks. The rise of the prazo system and the emergence of Afro-Portuguese leaders (often of Asian origin) who, essentially, became warlords and local rulers adopting African titles and intermarrying with local elites, helps us to understand how slavery, Portuguese influence (which was often quite weak as the prazos acted independently of Portugal) and warfare created the conditions for the French slave traders to acquire African captives who later, in part, were brought against their will to Saint Domingue. We also learned a little more about the Makonde and Makua peoples, as well as the social and economic relations occurring in the regionally divided sections of Mozambique which intensified the slave trade by the 19th century. One thing we know for sure, Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique was particularly pernicious and did irreparable harm to its people.
Due to our ongoing interest in the history of the indigenous population of the Spanish Caribbean, and their legacy today, we have been endeavoring to read more of the 16th century Spanish source material. While de las Casas may have been poorly translated by Briffault in this text, we think the "gist" of de las Casas can still be useful here for understanding how the Spanish conquest of the mainland fed captives into Hispaniola, Cuba, and Puerto Rico for decades. Sure, de las Casas is unreliable on numbers and the often confusing translation misrepresents or complicates some of his accounts, but there are numerous references to the slave trade of indigenous populations across the region. Indeed, according to our author, several Indian slaves could be traded for a horse, pigs, or other items and then be used as laborers for gold mines, agriculture, or domestics in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico.
Due to the text's emphasis on Spanish cruelty and the depopulation of the regions conquered by them, de las Casas refers to only 200 "Indian" survivors in Puerto Rico and Jamaica. Since his numbers are often imprecise or unreliable (claiming, for instance, that millions of Indians were sold in the slave trade by the time he was writing in the 1540s), and he repeats some of the same figures, we believe that it is likely that the "surviving" indigenous populations of Hispaniola and Cuba may have been much higher than 200. Particularly when one considers the large numbers of "Indians" brought to Hispaniola and Puerto Rico from the coast of Venezuela, Yucatan, Bahamas, and Florida, there must have been a large number of "Indians" who, at least for some time, maintained and "Indian" population in the Greater Antilles. Since genetic data suggests Puerto Ricans descend, in part, from pre-colonial Caribbean populations, and circum-Caribbean "Indian" populations were brought to the islands as captives, we think the genetic diversity of the Hispanic Caribbean's "Amerindian" component probably also reflects populations from northern South America, the Yucatan, Florida, and the Gulf of Paria.
In short, de las Casas remains a powerful source on the demographic collapse of "Indies" caused by Spanish expansion and conquest. As for "Indian" survival in the Caribbean, he is weak on details, but testifies to the large-scale slave trade of indigenous populations across the hemisphere. While he turns "Indians" into reasonable beings with few flaws, constant victims of Spanish avariciousness and violence, he also describes how the separation of families, forced relocations, arduous labor regimes, and negative impact on food production must have contributed to the demographic collapse of the hemispheres. While those interested in indigenous survival in the Spanish Caribbean must take this into account, clearly not all "Indians" disappeared by the second half of the 16th century.
The anonymous author of Histoire chronologique du royaume de Tripoly de Barbarie has bequeathed to future generations a great historical source on Borno in the 1500s and 1600s, focusing on Borno's relationship with the Pashas of Tripoli. History, commerce, diplomatic relations and speculations on the state's origins and geography how one of the earliest "Western" studies of Kanem-Borno as a civilization came into being. The French author, a captive in Tripoli who personally saw documents and correspondence pertaining to Borno, provides us with several details and a flawed chronology of the Saifawa dynasty. But it is through his work that we know of tensions between Tripoli's pashas and the mais of Borno, such as one pasha's attempt to kidnap a Borno ruler returning from the hajj. Or the positive aspect of Borno-Tripoli interactions, such as the liberation of Medicon, a nephew of the Borno ruler who was sold into slavery and ended up in Tripoli.
What stood out to us at the blog is the success of Borno in the early 1500s with the organization of trans-Saharan trade with Tripoli during the period of Christian rule in Tripoli, suggestive of possible links to Europe already in the 1500s. Although so far from the Mediterranean, one wonders how Borno saw itself in relation to Mediterranean Europe and North Africa. A significantly later European source mentioned one Borno prince who was witnessed in Tripoli in 1789, appearing well-informed on Europe and accompanied by his wives, one of whom spoke Italian. Although the Frenchman's account from the late 1600s does not mention Borno elites who spoke European languages, it is not too implausible that some in Borno by the 17th century attempted to gather as much information on Europe as possible. European renegades sent to Borno via Tripoli must have served as a source of information, in addition to numbers of European slaves sold across the Sahara. Borno, of course, relied heavily on an exchange of African slaves with Tripoli for goods from the Mediterranean and Europe, but definitely received some of the captives in Borno and the renegades who may have provided information about European politics and the Ottoman Empire.
The unnamed surgeon who authored the text also hints at possible relations between Borno and other parts of sub-Saharan Africa. Conflict with Agadez, which is how a mai's nephew was taken captive and sold into slavery, was clearly another factor in Borno's trade relations with Tripoli and the North. From reading Lovejoy's work, we know that Borno retained domination of the Kawar region and most of the Saharan sources of salt during this period, perhaps contributing to conflict with Agadez over that lucrative trade. Other sources mention conflict with the Kwararafa in the 17th century, including a joint attack on Borno's capital from Agadez and Kwararafa (it's possible stories of this latter kingdom being Christian were already spreading among Europeans in 17th century Tripoli, and the author confused it with Ethiopia as another Christian state). The document also references enslaved Christians from Nubia and Ethiopia in Tripoli. Were these Christian Africans brought to Tripoli through Borno's extensive trade networks with lands to the east, of which we know little? Sure, the author's confused sense of African geography led him to believe Borno and Ethiopia were close enough to frequently go to war, but could there have been a trade in goods (and people) from Sennar and Ethiopia to Borno? Could Christianity have continued in Nubia if European missions were able to reach the region via Tripoli and the Fezzan? So many unknowns, but interesting hints of Borno's relations with the wider world emerge.
Bibliography
Davidson, Basil, and F. K. Buah. A History of West Africa, 1000-1800. New rev. ed. London: Longman, 1977.
Dewière, Rémi. Du Lac Tchad À La Mecque: Le Sultanat Du Borno Et Son Monde (XVIe - XVIIe Siècle). Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2017.
Hodgkin, Thomas. Nigerian Perspectives: An Historical Anthology. London: Oxford University Press, 1960.
Kalck, Pierre. "Pour Une Localisation Du Royaume De Gaoga." The Journal of African History 13, no. 4 (1972): 529-48. http://www.jstor.org/stable/180753.
Kane, Ousmane. Beyond Timbuktu: An Intellectual History of Muslim West Africa. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2016.
Reading Kuneva Kunz's translations of The Saga of the Greenlanders and The Saga of Erik the Red is quite unlike the other sagas. Instead of the very detailed genealogies and tales of feuds and battles in Iceland, Scandinavia or Europe (there's a bit of it, however), these short sagas focus on exploration and settlement of Greenland and part of North America's mainland. The second of the two provides a bit more information on the native societies encountered by the Norse, particularly the trade in pelts for cloth and the regrettable violence. Through this saga we learn that two native boys were taken and baptized, and thus it provides us with the earliest known references to indigenous people who could speak or a European language. The saga, although stressing how the settlers realized the native population's hostility made any long-term residence unwise, hints at possible future ties through this trade in pelts. Perhaps the two indigenous children could have acted as interpreters for Greenland settlers sailing to Vinland. Moreover, archaeologists know about at least one site in Newfoundland that was inhabited for some time, so perhaps relations with the indigenous population improved. Just pure speculation on our part, of course. But interesting to ponder global connections that may have linked the Americas and the rest of the world before 1492.
Sixteenth-century geographer Lopez de Velasco is one of the few accessible sources available on the mysterious "pueblo" of Cibuco by the town of Guadianilla. Although his Geografía y descripción universal de las Indias was probably not completely accurate for the population and demographics of the Spanish Caribbean possessions, he was writing when the Cibuco settlement was, presumably, occupied by "indios." Unlike Salvador Brau, who wrote centuries later and did not always clearly provide his sources, Velasco claimed the residents of Cibuco were descendants of enslaved "Indios" brought to the island from other parts of the Americas. One can assume they were "Caribs" and Yucatecans, natives of the coast of Venezuela and probably mainland areas such as Florida and even Brazil. According to Brau's La colonizacion de Puerto Rico, Cibuco was established with 48 manumitted "Indios," suggesting a very small settlement.
Besides these "Indios" who were presumably freed after the 1542 laws abolishing Indian enslavement (though it continued in Puerto Rico and Santo Domingo anyway), Lopez de Velasco also mentioned "algunos indios" in Arrecibo (Arecibo). Salvador Brau likewise mentioned "Indios" in Arecibo, describing them as workers on hatos who also caught turtles. The island of Mona still had "algunos indios" as well. Overall, Lopez de Velasco suggests that "Indios" were few in Puerto Rico, but this is possibly due to a large mestizo population and omission of other communities, like the "Indios" of the Quebrada de Dona Catalina, near San Juan. This community owned a "hacienda" for their conucos in the 1500s, and included people of African descent. In addition, Sued Badillo illustrated other examples, such as enslaved Indians held by the governor of the Puerto Rico in the 1560s. Samuel de Champlain wrote about "Indians" in San Juan in the late 1500s, too. Nevertheless, it is clear from Lopez de Velasco's work that Cuba had more Indian pueblos (9), and mentioned Indian families in Baracoa, Bayamo, Puerto del Principe, Santi-Spiritus, La Trinidad, and Guanabacoa.
So, what happened to the mysterious "Cibuco," which may have been the only official Indian pueblo in Puerto Rico? Salvador Brau, in his Historia de Puerto Rico, argued that the population was resettled into the hills of the San German area. Anderson-Cordova, in Surviving Spanish Conquest wrote that the town was inhabited by Indians set free by Governor Vallejo and the settlement was already gone by 1582. Brau, again, claimed Cibuco was abandoned when destroyed by French corsairs, which is plausible. If the population of Cibuco simply moved into the hills of western Puerto Rico, perhaps they joined other undocumented groups of "Indians" and mestizos, since western Puerto Rico had a larger presence of "Indians" than San Juan, according to the de Lando "census" of 1530.
Did they move into the hills that would later become La Indiera, only to be joined later by Mona "Indians" resettled into the region? If Abbad y Lasierra was correct, though writing in the late 1700s and not providing his sources, many of these "Indios" in the hills near San German and Anasco were actually descendants of indigenous Puerto Ricans who fled the Spanish to live in Mona, Monico, Vieques, and other islands, but later requested to return. Thus, if the "algunos indios" on Mona were resettled in the hills of western Puerto Rico sometime in the 1600s, perhaps they joined or communicated with descendants of indigenous Indians and enslaved "indios" in the region, not to mention the probably large number of mestizos and mixed-race people represented among the free peasantry in the island. This, however, still does not explain the reappearance of "Indios" in the censuses of the later decades of the 1700s, unless it was in part a response to attempts to seize their lands or labor, which Puerto Ricans of "Indian" descent mobilized against in part through claims of indigeneity? So many questions remain...
Ivan Morris's study of the Heian era, particularly the 10th and 11th centuries when Murasaki Shikibu lived, is an excellent introduction to the period for anyone interested in Tale of Genji or Heian literature. Since we at the blog have read a few of the diaries and monogatari and poetry of the era, we were recommended Morris's study to ensure a great understanding of the cultural, social, historical, and literary contexts. And as an exploration of the Heian era, one begins to see how Japan, influenced heavily by Chinese civilization, Buddhism, and continental ideas, began to develop its literature in an insular way that looked to the past (T'ang dynasty China, for instance) while blending, in an eclectic fashion, Shinto, Buddhist and native traditions to reflect what Morris calls the cult of beauty. While not expecting the degree of isolation Morris attributes to the Heian era, it certainly helps explain how a unique and independent foray in prose fiction developed by the 10th century, and why women, in the peculiar context of this era, produced the most memorable literary works that perfectly capture the aestheticism of the age.
Everything in in the rather narrow worlds of the Heian aristocracy reflected this obsession with style and beauty, even as their world fell into decline as the Fujiwara-dominated government failed to contain provincial uprisings and the breakdown of law and order. If you're trying to learn more about how the economy functioned, or the lifestyles of the peasantry or artisans, this book won't help you very much. As Morris admits, the women (and male) writers of the Heian period looked at commoners at is they were barely human, and Murasaki Shikibu or Sei Shonagon rarely mentioned lower classes or discussed the economic basis for the wealth of the aristocrats of higher ranks. Yet one cannot help but admire Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shonagon as talented, intelligent women who, despite enjoying a higher status than women in later periods of Japanese history, were still at a tremendous disadvantage in a polygamous and sexist world. And it is they who appear to represent the zenith of Heian civilization's literature while providing a testament to the cultural accomplishments of the Fujiwara-dominated period, even as Japan languished in other fields.
One of the early West African states whose rulers converted to Islam at an early date was Takrur, located in the Middle Senegal Valley. Takrur became so well-known in Egypt and the Middle East that the name of their kingdom became a common appellation for the entirety of the "Western Sudan." Yet, despite Takrur being well-known to informed persons in Egypt, Syria, and North Africa from at least the 11th century onwards, surprisingly little is known of it. Prior to al-Bakri there does not appear to be any extant Arabic records that explicitly allude to the kingdom of Takrur. Yet archaeological evidence suggests the rise of polities along the Senegal River by the 500s, with ties to long-distance trade, iron metallurgy, riverine resources, and salt. Evidence of camel remains in the Senegal River Valley also suggest possibly ancient forms of trans-Saharan contact, or at least movement of peoples and goods from the southern Sahara to the Sahel and savanna. This period, perhaps corresponding with the early Jaa Ogo dynasty of Takrur, may have consolidated through iron metallurgy and this intra-regional trade.
Part of the problem for Takrur may be Ghana overshadowing it, despite Takrur's conversion to Islam before Ghana. Ghana was mentioned first in external Arabic sources, and although Takrur was never subdued by Ghana, the latter kingdom may have been the more powerful with better connections to the sources of gold used in trans-Saharan contact. One also suspects that Takrur, located on the western end of the Sudanic region, may have suffered from its more peripheral location with regards to the movement of goods from West Africa to the Maghrib and Egypt. Takrur, and other parts of the Senegal River Valley, would also later fall under the domination of Mali, and may have been important for access to sea salt as an additional source besides Saharan mines. Unfortunately, the number of primary sources which could shed light on the nature of Takrur and its trading partners is restricted to the external Arabic sources which point to ties with the "Lamlam" (victims of Takrur slave raids), Awdaghust, Awlil, and traders from the east and north (Arabs and Berbers were also active in towns under Takrur, including the eponymous capital and Silla.
However, surprisingly, little attention has been paid to Takrur's access to sea salt and coastal trade with North Africa. Due to the paucity of sources, one cannot ascertain to what extent this actually occurred, but Takrur was intimately linked to Awlil and, presumably, the island of Ayuna, a source of sea salt, ambergris, and turtle meat located somewhere on the mouth of the Senegal River or Mauritanian coast. Since Takrur was known for the export of gold and slaves, one would think some of these exports would have traveled west along the Senegal River to Awlil, where ships from the Maghrib were said to have visited. Indeed, Arabic sources allude to Awlil as the last point ships from the Maghrib traveled to, implying it was a well-known anchorage and presumably engaging in trade with the local Banu Gudala Berbers. For example, the Kital al-Istibsar of the 12th century makes this clear:
There is a salt mine also in the land of the Gudala at a place called Walili on the coast of the Ocean and from there it is carried by caravan to the neighboring countries. Near Walili in the sea is an island called Ayuna. At high tide it may be reached only by boats, but at low tie it may be reached on foot. Much ambergris is found there. The people there mainly live on the flesh of turtles, which are very abundant in that place and are so extremely large that a man may get into the shell (mahar) taken from a turtle's back and go fishing in the seas, as in a boat (Corpus of Early Arabic Sources, p. 142).
This same source mentions the island of Ayuna as "the farthest point reached by ships and the last anchorage in the Maghrib." And while it points to the salt from "Walili" being traded overland, earlier sources, mainly al-Idrisi, point to the use of river boats to transport salt:
The Island of Awlil is in the sea near the coast. The famous salt deposit is there. No other salt deposit is known in the land of the Sudan. The salt is carried from there to all the towns of the Sudan. Boats come to this island, and the salt is loaded on them. The boats then go to the mouth of the Nil, which is one day's run from the island. They then proceed up the Nile to Sila, Takrur, Barisa, Ghana, and the other towns of Wanqara and Kugha as well as to all the towns of the Sudan" (Corpus of Early Arabic Sources, p. 106-107).
While secondary sources seem to disagree on when or if Takrur ever directly seized control of Awlil, al-Idrisi places the town of Awlil in the lands of the Maqzara of the Sudan. Ibn Sa'id also quoted al-Idrisi's statement, indicating the use of ships to carry salt from Awlil up the Senegal River. Of course, al-Idrisi's conception of every West Africa town lying along the "Nile" was incorrect, but he was probably correct in the use of ships from Awlil to carry salt directly to the "Land of the Blacks," which would have required it to pass through lands controlled by the kingdom of Takrur, which dominated Sila, Barisa, and, by the 13th century, Qalanbu (possibly the ancient kingdom of Galam), a well-known river port. One would assume the ancient town of Sanghana, consisting of two towns on both banks of the Senegal River, and said by al-Bakri to be closest to the Banu Gudala territory, fell under the rule of Takrur.
One would think the rulers of Takrur would have endeavored to benefit from a coastal trade route to their west as well as the more well-known overland routes to Awdaghust and beyond. Al-Bakri and others mention Awlil as a source of salt for Awdaghust's trade with the lands to the south, and probably the source of Awdaghust's ambergris trade. Why not also trade gold, slaves, ivory, cotton, and other commodities along the Senegal River, dominated by Takrur, to the west to Awlil, where ships from the Mediterranean could transfer goods to the Maghrib and beyond? This would have allowed Takrur access to goods from the north without relying solely on Awdaghust or Ghana and its trading network to the east. Moreover, it may have increased the reputation of the kingdom as a source for gold from Bambuk and other lands without the costly trans-Saharan journey.
Unfortunately, none of the Arabic sources are sufficiently clear to establish a regular coastal trade at Awlil that linked Takrur to the Mediterranean. Indeed, some of the sources suggest a possible pre-Islamic trade that connected Takrur to the mysterious Qamnuriya "Sudan" to the north, using ancient overland trade routes. Besides, other accounts of shipwrecks of mariners from the Mediterranean along the western coast of Africa seem to indicate that it was not very common for mariners to travel beyond southern Morocco. If, indeed, they regularly visited Awlil by the Senegal River, one would assume more sources could attest to this. Perhaps archaeological excavations in the region will shed light on this, as well as more research into the Banu Gudala. For instance, one of the tales of lost sailors mentions Banu Gudala, who did not seem too shocked by the presence of sailors on their coast. Moreover, a mention of "Tochoron" in a 14th century Iberian book on the known kingdoms of the world mentions travel to the West African coast from North Africa, to reach the "River of Gold" (the Senegal and Niger rivers, which were believed to be connected to the Nile). While the text describes a fictional journey around the known world, its author was clearly well-informed, and perhaps was not entirely fabricating details about West Africa, the Senegal River and trading ships. "Tochoron" or 'Takrur does appear in the text, but the narrative describes an overland route to get there across the Sahara. Nevertheless, Takrur should still have been a leading power along the Senegal River Valley, and probably closely linked to any trading activities at the mouth of the Senegal River or nearby coastal regions, which might explain why "Tochoror" appeared on European maps as early as 1339.
A stirring interpretation of Coltrane's "Olé" from a live performance by Noah Howard! It's faithful, yet still distinct due to the smaller band performing it. The pianist lacks the chromaticism of the genius McCoy Tyner, and I long for Eric Dolphy's flute solo. The dual bass playing, one bowed and the other plucked, added another rhythmic layer to this hypnotic piece, but Howard's solo is passionate and brings a vitality to the piece. El Quinto Regimiento lives on.
Although so many questions remain pertaining to the authorship and interpolations in the Tarikh al-Fattash, one can see why it has become a priceless resource for understanding the history of the Songhay and the Niger Bend region. Attributed to Mahmud Kati and his grandson, with additional notes and references to a lost chronicle and family records, the text contains clear forgeries from the 19th century, predicting a future caliph of Masina. Nobili and other scholars have made a persuasive argument that what we know call the Tarikh al-Fattash was in fact an original 17th century chronicle by Ibn al-Mukhtar, and the 19th century forgery which drew upon the older text to promote a certain Ahmad of Masina. Apparently, other copies of the Tarikh al-Fattash have been located in the surviving libraries or collections of West African Arabic manuscripts, so future scholars may one day establish a clearer picture on the making of this particular chronicle. Unlike the other surviving Timbuktu chronicle, with a more clearly established author, part of the appeal and challenge of the Tarikh al-Fattash is endeavoring to make sense of its authorship and how it reflects a tradition of chronicles or "historical" writing in West Africa for centuries.
Unfortunately, however, we had to rely on the 1913 French translation of the text by Houdas and Delafosse. Despite its errors and dated footnotes to elucidate ambiguous passages or unclear translations, one felt it to be a more useful (and accessible) translation than the English version. Until a scholarly, annotated English translation of the chronicle is published, we shall have to rely on Houdas and Delafosse's translation. And, lest one be mistaken, the 1913 French translation is mostly serviceable. The incongruous mixing of authors makes for sometimes confusing reading, but the Tarikh al-Fattash provides a number of different oral traditions, slightly modified kingslists for the Zuwa and Sunni dynasties, and new data and references for everyone interested in the rise, decline and fall of the Songhay Askia dynasty.
As the product of a Muslim intellectual (possibly a real Mahmud Kati, or Ibn al-Mokhtar), it invariably promotes a certain narrative of Songhay political power, religious practice, and Islamic civilizational models the Askiya state, under Askia Muhammad I, epitomized. While also reporting new oral traditions of the early history of West Africa and the Songhay, what the Tarikh al-Fattash emphasizes in servile lineages, slavery (the 24 tribes owned by the kings of Mali, who were then seized by the Songhay and provided tribute), and caste actually reveals something of the larger world beyond the Niger Bend in which Songhay was inextricably linked. For instance, the origins of one caste lineage is somehow imagined to have begun with a former slave owned by Christians in the Atlantic, possibly an allusion to the trans-Atlantic slave trade. One finds intriguing claims of an ancient Jewish population in the area of Tendirma before its formal establishment by the Askiyas. This may have served the purpose of acknowledging the Jewish presence in West Africa or calling attention to the deeper antiquity of this part of West Africa. A similar tactic was possibly used in the Tarikh al-Sudan when al-Sa'di suggested ancient Kukiya was a source of sorcerers for the Pharaohs of Egypt. Undoubtedly, oral traditions and legends permeated both of the Timbuktu chronicles in question, such as the origins of the Zuwa dynasty of kings or the chronology used to describe the early history of Ghana (Wagadu) or even the rise of the Sunni dynasty in the character of Ali Kulun. A great episode, of course not factual, can be found in the tale of Mansa Musa's hajj, when his farba produces an artificial river in the middle of the desert for the mansa's wife.
For our purposes, if the Tarikh al-Fattash is reliable, then it is priceless for shedding more light on social structure and practices of power among the Askiya rulers. It may reflect a greater dependence on slaves in the post-Songhay imperial period, but it reveals how the Askiya was expected to be generous, redistribute wealth, and, in at least some cases, employ enslaved labor for agriculture. Thus, an Askiya is said to have given the original Mahmud Kati several gifts for his sons to marry, including land with slave laborers to make it productive. Another story of Askia Dawud's generosity mentions him freeing the entire family of an old enslaved woman, even though the woman had only asked that the Askia ensure her children and grandchildren not be separated when sold to new owners. This seems to reflect the fact that slave trading in Songhay lands did indeed separate families. But even better for this old woman and her family, Askia Dawud freed her entire family and had an official document signed in front of witnesses to attest to her family's freedom. Freeing slaves was a virtuous act, but making gifts out of them for various Islamic scholars, nobles, and subordinates was supposedly another aspect of Askia Dawud's virtue. It is in this context we learn that the population of Gao consisted of 7,626 houses, not counting straw huts, to display how no one living in the city had not benefited from the largesse of the Askia dynasty.
As for royal plantations (producing rice, it would seem), caste, artisans, and the poor, the Tarikh al-Fattash also reveals more than the Tarikh al-Sudan. The poor in Timbuktu and Gao supposedly received food directly from the Askia Dawud. In the first city, Dawud allegedly founded a plantation worked by 30 slaves to feed the poor. He also sent 4000 sunnu of grain to the qadi of Timbuktu to distribute for them. Intriguingly, to be a royal slave also conferred a degree of power, and could, in some cases (Missakoulah, the supervisor said to be from Baguirmi who oversaw a royal plantation and repeatedly gave away grain from it to the less fortunate) get away with independent actions and behavior (especially if their behavior in virtuous acts improved the status of their master). It is also in the Tarikh al-Fattash that references to the tailors of Timbuktu and artisans can be found. For instance, the Moroccan invading army included Arab shoemakers and artisans who sold their services after the pacification of the region. Supposedly, prior that, Timbuktu already had 26 establishments for tailors, the so-called tindi, which were run by a master who had, on average, around 50 apprentices. Some of the tailors were also scholars, such as a certain Boussa mentioned in the the chronicle. There must have been some kind of guild-like association for certain trades in towns like Timbuktu and Gao. Other artisan groups were treated as a caste, and expected to provide a tribute to the Askias (the blacksmiths, for example). Unfortunately, these chronicles, focused as they are on the Askias and scholars, do not tell us more about artisans, laborers, and farmers, and less about the use of enslaved labor in the salt mines or estates owned by non-Askiya. In the near future, a new translation of the Tarikh al-Fattash and critical study of it and other manuscripts may shed light on these questions, and the basis of Songhay royal power to the peasantry.
Ivan Morris's translation of the Sarashina Nikki has rekindled our passion for Heian Japan. The author of this short "notebook" had a striking passion for tales or monogatari, including several lost ones. Her devotion to tales and living in the dreams of such narratives appeals to modern readers, who likewise lose themselves in literature, perhaps to the detriment of the "real world." While perhaps less witty than Sei Shonagon and with a biography less sympathetic than the author of the Kagero Nikki, we could not avoid liking Lady Sarashina as a sensitive, delicate person dedicated to literature while struggling with the "real world" of court life, religious devotion (of Buddhist and Shinto varieties), marriage, and family life. Sometimes we all just want to immerse ourselves in The Tale of Genji or other fictional works.
Due to our recent readings of Redhouse's dated English translations of two chronicles by the imam Ahmad Ibn Furtu or Borno, we at the blog have decided to tackle Hunwick's translation of the chronicle Tarikh al-Sudan by Abd al-Rahman al-Sa'di. Unfortunately, Hunwick did not translate the entirety of the chronicle written by our Timbuktu author, skipping 2 chapters on Moroccan politics and later chapters on events after 1613, with the pasha administration and post-Songhay Middle Niger politics. That era, after 1613, when effective Songhay resistance was largely over and fewer large-scale empires operated in the "Western Sudan", was for obvious reasons quite distinct from the "imperial" era of Songhay, Mali, or Ghana.
As the general narrative of the Songhay Empire or the Western Sudan owes so much to al-Sadi and the Tarikh al-Fattash, reading this chronicle was basically an exercise in seeing how so many historians and documentarians have borrowed this or that idea, characterization, or plot point in their depiction of Songhay rulers like Askia Muhammad or Sunni Ali. We have read select chapters of the two surviving Timbuktu chronicles in the past, for our earlier projects on Ghana and pre-imperial Songhay history, so the early chapters were nothing new. As recent scholarship has shown, an overreliance on the Timbuktu tarikhs is problematic, as the authors had various political, ideological, and religious motives at play, and were relying on oral traditions for much of the earlier history of their region. For instance, today's scholars have called into question the idea of Ali Kulun and the Sunni dynasty of Songhay rulers, pointing to the alarming parallels with Tuareg oral traditions and folklore. Mande, Berber, Songhay, and Islamic influences intersect and shaped how Timbuktu chroniclers like al-Sadi perceived the Middle Niger and the "land of the Blacks" in surprising ways, and not always in what modern secular readers considered to be historically accurate style or methodology.
Thus, one must use these sources very carefully while also coming to see something of the interplay or oral and written traditions in West African literature. One can read these chronicles and see commonality with the oral epics of Sunjata, or the oral epics of the Bamana people of Segu. For al-Sadi and his audience, chronicling the great past of his region while endeavoring to avoid offending the Pasha administration relied on portraying the later Songhay Askia dynasts as corrupt and decadent, yet celebrating the security, Islamic scholarship, and cosmopolitan ties of Timbuktu and Jenne in the Songhay Golden Age (scholars who traveled to Mecca, Egypt, North Africa or corresponded with illustrious figures from Cairo). Moreover, while the author was of "Berber" descent, he also mentions a Fulani ancestor, and probably possessed other West African non-Berber forebears. Clearly, he was a man of Timbuktu and identified with the region and its peoples, and Islamic devotion filtered the lens through which he viewed West Africa. In that respect, he resembled Ahmad Ibn Furtu, the chief imam of the mosque in Borno's capital during the reign of Idris Alooma. Like Ibn Furtu, his historical chronicle sought to stress the proper and just Islamic devotion of his class and preferred rulers. For al-Sadi, this seems to have been Askia Muhammad I and Askia Dawud, and one of course must question the portrayal of these rulers in the chronicles.
It is also clear that the text pointed to the corruption and in-fighting among various siblings and cousins of the Askia royal family over the course of the 16th century as a cause for the empire's decline and relatively quick fall to the invading forces of Morocco. How the Songhay went from being able to raid Moroccan territory in the Dar'a Valley under Askia Dawud to being quickly routed by a relatively small Moroccan force armed with muskets in 1591 is difficult to conceive. Unless the Songhay state was already weakened by problems with succession that weakened its ability to maintain central authority and military capacity, muskets should not have been enough to topple Songhay. Unfortunately, al-Sadi has little to say about the slaves, artisans, and laborers, and little to say about the influence of women among the Songhay. The so-called subaltern groups were probably not seen by al-Sadi as significant historical actors, but glimpses of their role in the economy, political conflict, and marriage alliances of the Songhay rulers clearly emerge. Artisans, such as tailors and shoemakers, hardly appear in chronicle, despite the several workshops in Timbuktu run by tailors who were sometimes scholars themselves. We learn they had a quarter in Gao, created by Askia Dawud, which may also be a veiled reference to artisans as a casted group.
While we don't usually listen to much popular music or care for most of the music of Pharrell, we have a soft spot in our heart for jazz interpretations of different genres of music. Jamie Cullum's take on "Frontin" was actually quite engaging, catchy, and, in at least one respect, superior to the original. Unfortunately, we prefer the original vocals of Pharrell.
Book 3 of the Hyperion Cantos was not as bad as we initially expected. After the somewhat disappointing and torturous read of The Fall of Hyperion, we expected something in a similar vein with endless and unnecessary dialogue and excessive chapters. Sure, some of those problems remain. But Simmons uses a simpler narrative structure here, switching back and forth between fewer characters while focusing on the pursuit of Aenea by forces of the Pax, a revived Catholic Church which has accepted the cruciform and replaced the Hegemony as the dominant force of the old Web worlds. While the two later additions in the series are probably unnecessary reads, it is interesting to see how Simmons envisioned a post-Hegemony future of humanity centuries after the Fall, precipitated by Meina Gladstone when she destroyed the farcasters.
Sort of like popular representations of post-Roman western Europe, the Church emerges as the dominant institution, but only possible in this setting through a Faustian deal utilizing enhanced cruciforms for a form of near-immortality. Instead of the older cruciforms that produced unintelligent and sexless Bikura on Hyperion, the Church has promoted a modified cruciform with none of those defects. Unsurprisingly, with its nearly immortal mechanism of the resurrection through cruciforms and combination of military power, it has replaced the Hegemony on several planets while waging war with the Ousters. For those of us readers who were expecting to see more of the unbelievable Ousters and their adaptations to live in deep space, perhaps we need to wait for the final book in the series to see if there will ever be a symbiosis of Ouster lifestyles and old Hegemony humanity.
But we digress. Endymion is basically a chase story that sees Aenea (the one who teaches), the daughter of the Keats cybrid persona and Brawne, use the old farcasters in the company of an android, A. Bettik, and Raul Endymion, a descendant of indigenie Hyperion stock. First escaping on the Consul's centuries-old ship, they use a raft to sail along the Tethys river, which once connected several Web worlds via the farcaster technology, while Federico de Soya of the Vatican/Pax military pursues them. Vatican politics and conspiracies, plus hints to the survival of the Technocore and the enigmatic genocide of Jewish and Muslim worlds add elements of suspense to the narrative. We thoroughly enjoyed it, although the ending of course is incomplete, requiring us to continue with the final novel to actually understand what it is Aenea, Raul, and A. Bettik encounter at their final destination.
While less creative than Hyperion and not quite so literary in its pretensions and allusions as the first two books in the series, this is a worthwhile read for anyone interested in the universe of Hyperion. Of course, it continues the religious themes and symbolism of the previous novels, with a more overt focus on Roman Catholicism, but also attempts to grapple with the same themes of Teilhard, AI evolution into god-like beings, and the nature of God in a world so distorted by advanced technology from the future. Naturally, we are dying to know what is motivating the Shrike to protect Aenea in this novel, which will presumably be revealed in Book 4.
We here at the blog have somehow forgotten how brilliant early D'Angelo was. Contrary to most, we probably prefer his debut to Voodoo, but that may be due to our predilection for jazz. Brown Sugar was a nearly seamless mix of D'Angelo's jazz, soul, and gospel influences with a 90s sensibility.
We finally completed our reading of Grettir's Saga, translated by Jesse Byock. This saga was somewhat easier to follow than our last one, as it was focused mostly on a single character instead of a community with its complex genealogies. Of course, the reader is treated to long genealogies and a large cast of characters in this tale of Grettir. Centered on an outlaw who, though physically strong, intelligent, and a clever wordsmith, lacked impulse control and was not inclined to labor, the saga is destined to end poorly for Grettir. His personal disposition and bad luck (particularly after a defeating Glam, a revenant that was terrorizing a part of Iceland) curse him to wander the lands, living on the margins of society yet still respected for defeating berserkers, trolls, and the undead. So the quasi-heroic figure of the outlaw was clearly something that appealed to Icelandic audiences when this saga was written (probably) in the 14th century.
Perhaps every society requires non-conformers to "rock the boat" and challenge the status quo, as Grettir's complicated life exemplifies. Despite robbing for his survival, and even raping a maidservant in one particularly disturbing episode, even Grettir's enemies eventually support his kinsman after the killer of our protagonist resorts to sorcery to defeat him. Indeed, Grettir's death caused the Althing to prohibit sorcery with the threat of the death penalty, if we recall correctly. Furthermore, the manner in which his brother avenges his death in Constantinople is certainly exceptional, adding to Grettir's renown even after death. Of course, as a saga written by a Christian author, of the Middle Ages, the social order cannot be truly upended or overthrown by the likes of Grettir. Ultimately, rank, status and lineage rule the day, and those who transgress Christian morality will eventually make amends. Thus, the adulterous Spes, who eventually marries Grettir's brother, compensates for her misdeeds and the two end their lives in Rome after seeking penance for their sins.
Yet one can see a celebration of the Icelandic lifestyle and individuality of the settlers and their early descendants, a period where men (and usually men, although women like Asdis are certainly admired as powerful matriarchs) stood up for their honor and that of their kinsmen without a centralized state attempting to police their behavior. Presumably this explains the appeal of Grettir's Saga to modern Icelanders and foreign readers, who can enjoy the understatement of the characters' lines, Grettir's proverbial speech, and the attempts by one man who refuses to conform forging his own path. Such character archetypes are always appealing to a variety of readers, across time and space.
A gem from early Maxwell we have completely forgotten about. How we could forget one of the better songs from our brother is beyond comprehension to us. It's a pity more recent music from Maxwell isn't quite so catchy.
The other chronicle by Ahmad Ibn Furtu covers the Kanem campaigns launched by Sultan Idris Alooma against the Bulala leaders of the region. The conflict was, according to this chronicle that covers 7 expeditions launched against Kanem, sparked by the Bulala refusal to cede 3 districts to Borno and a disrespectful letter sent from them to Idris Alooma. What proceeds from here is a hard to follow account in Redhouse's dated translation of various expeditions launched by Idris against the Bulala, who usually choose to flee and avoid pitched battles. So, Idris and his forces subdue the Tubu, ensure the loyalty of other Tubu and Arabs, raid and pillage, and forcibly relocate various peoples of Kanem into Borno. Finally, a claimant to the throne of Kanem who is aligned with Idris manages to secure the throne with the aid of Idris, who only keeps a few provines of Kanem for Borno while returning most of the area to the new ruler, Muhammad.
Through occasional asides, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alludes to the genealogy of the Borno rulers and their ancient history in Kanem, as well as the various conflicts both internal and with the Bulala that precipitated their shift to Borno. Intriguingly, Ahmad Ibn Furtu seems to draw from both oral traditions for the early history of Borno (as well as a chronicle one a recent forebear of Idris) as well as written sources, hinting at the possibility of a number of lost chronicles of the Saifawa dynasty. Perhaps the Girgam really was just an abbreviated form of a much longer chornicle(s) that covers their lineage from their alleged Himyarite origins to the 19th century. Indeed, when covering the early history of the Saifawa kings from their ancient Kanem period, there is clearly something akin to legend and lost grandeur in Ahmad Ibn Furtu's claim that Kanem once extended as far east as Dongola and the Nile. Of course, his patron, Idris, has surpassed his ancestors as a military genius guided by devout Islamic principles, according to Ibn Furtu.
Unfortunately, we found this chronicle to be less informative and more tedious of a read than Ibn Furtu's coverage of the Borno wars. Too many encounters with the Bulala here end with the flight of the Bulala king to the deserts, and it is not entirely clear what happened in certain passages. Some of this must be due to the translation and the bewildering number of towns and place names which are not explained by the translator. Nonetheless, there is a wealth of information on military organization, tactics, and Borno's possibly "quasi-feudal" relationship with its tributary subjects and allied nomadic groups (Tubu and Arabs, for instance). A number of titled dignitaries also appear, suggesting something of the political and military administrative apparatus of Borno in the late 16th century. Allusions to merchants and the purchase of horses point to relations with North Africa and the wider world, which presumably received some of the captives from the various expeditions to Kanem. On slavery, supposedly one of the other reasons Borno was superior to the Bulala of Kanem was due to their respecting Islamic laws prohibiting the enslavement of Muslims. The Bulala, on the other hand, kept Muslim and non-Muslim captives as slaves, violating Islamic law. Perhaps Borno's Saifawa dynasty remembered events from the late 14th century when even members of the royal family became slaves sold to Egypt or Syria. Or, again, it was just another example of Ibn Furtu exaggerating the Islamic credentials of Borno and its dynasty against the pagan or insufficiently Muslim polities surrounding them.
But once we have perused the more recent translation of Lange and reviewed more of the literature on Ibn Furtu, we shall return to his work and the nature of historical writing in "Sudanic" Africa. It has always struck us as rather odd that so many are familiar with the Timbuktu Chronicles and the importance of those primary sources for the study of Songhay or even the earlier Ghana and Mali "empires" yet few seem to acknowledge or reference Ibn Furtu's 2 chronicles which predate the Timbuktu tarikhs. Why is that? Perhaps the more limited nature of Ibn Furtu's writing, which focus on military campaigns? Or simply Timbuktu being better known as an exotic and mysterious location than Borno?
Out of a desire to read more Heian-era literature from Japan, we here at the blog read a diary by an unnamed author from a minor branch of the Fujiwara family. Unlike the perhaps superior Pillow Book, The Gossamer Years tells the tale of an unhappily married woman, focusing on the sense of abandonment and resentment she feels for her husband of higher status. Since men of the aristocracy had a basically polygamous lifestyle, Kaneie, her husband, pursues other affairs and usually ignores our author, despite her raising his child. Structurally the text is more akin to a memoir, with confusing and garbles passages that have marred the translation. As one would expect from literature of its era, much of the text consists of poetic exchanges between men and women or relatives. Much of the poetry is, as admitted by the translator, far from great. One can find occasionally moving passages about the depression, suicidal thoughts, and emotional rollercoaster the author is suffering from due to her neglectful husband. As a work of literature, it seems far from the greatness of the monogatari. So its value for those of us who are still learning the basics of the Heian period history can be found in reading the source as a historical document. Our interesting narrator sheds light on gender relations, daily life, and religion for the aristocrats of the 10th century, pointing to the importance of gossip, superstition, ritual, festival, and social status. We shall endeavor to read other examples of diaries from this era for more insight.
An informative video on one of the groups Borno waged war against.
Perhaps out of boredom, we here at the blog have recently finished reading the first of two chronicles by the chief imam of Borno, Ahmad Ibn Furtu, translated by Redhouse in the 1860s. Covering various campaigns during the first 12 years of the reign of Sultan Idris Alooma in the second half of the 16th century, it is the earliest surviving historical writing in West Africa. As to be expected of a work by a learned Muslim, Ahmad Ibn Furtu endeavored to portray Idris as a model sovereign and Muslim, whose piety, completion of the Hajj, and willingness to listen to the advice of the learned made him an even better ruler than his grandfather. Unfortunately, the chronicle on the grandfather of Idris has not survived for posterity, but one can assume it was one of the primary models for Ahmad Ibn Furtu's historical writing, and thereby probably written in a panegyric tone that praised the military prowess, justness and religious devotion of Borno's ruler, stressing the Islamic models of the Prophet. Unfortunately for modern readers, much of the details of Idris's various campaigns against the "Sao" and Tuareg, the Ghizm and other peoples were lost, as the author seems to have mostly relied on oral accounts and perhaps only witnessed a few of the expeditions personally.
Thus, the reader only finds outlines of various expeditions with occasional anecdotes on the piety and Islamic virtue of Borno's ruler. For instance, Ahmad Ibn Furtu will insert examples of the Islamic devotion of Idris in the middle of or right after describing a campaign, such as the building of mosques in clay (instead of reeds) as one of the innovations of his ruler. Or, alternatively, Idris's intervention in public morality by prohibiting fornication and urging his subjects to submit to judgments of holy law instead of their chieftains. Fortunately, something of the military tactics and battle formation can be gleamed through Ahmad Ibn Furtu's history, however. We know the Borno ruler used brutal tactics against his enemies, destroying their crops and their trees or groves to reduce places of refuge for them. He also established stations or outposts which were fortified and used as bases to continually attack the crops and fortified settlements of his opponents. If Ahmad Ibn Furtu is to be trusted, Idris was one of the first Borno rulers to use more camels for carrying military provisions during campaigns in arid areas. In addition, Sultan Idris apparently was the first to think of enlarging the ships used by Borno's forces on Lake Chad and the rivers in their domain, developing larger ships to carry more people and supplies instead of the older ones constructed from hollowed out trees.
Oddly, Borno never seems to have adopted the use of the cannon, which presumably would have made their siege warfare tactics more effective against some of their "pagan" foes. Ahmad Ibn Furtu also mentioned the famous musketry of Borno's military, trained by Turkish advisors. Indeed, one of the few casualties in a Borno campaign on Denkir was a Turk, Ali Ghar, attesting to the presence of Turks in the military. On the ground, they appear to have played a significant role in the military formation of Borno, shooting from the rear while men bearing shields protected them from the front against arrows and darts. The cavalry appear to have remained in the rear unless the enemy directly engaged them, or they were used to cover the enemy forces from behind, preventing them from fleeing back to their strongholds. Despite their use of firearms, they seem to have relied heavily on archers and horsemen bearing armor. Moreover, much of the military spoils was meant for redistribution to chiefs and subordinates of the Sultan, and one can assume many of the children and women captives were destined for the trans-Saharan slave trade. Even Muslims appear to have been taken as captives, such being the case in the campaign against the Tuareg Berbers, who were loyal to Air ("Ehir" in Redhouse's dated translation) until subdued by Idris. To cap it all, according to Ahmad Ibn Furtu, Borno's military often exterminated the adult male population of their enemies and resettled some of the survivors in various parts of the empire, uprooting them from their homes and putting them to use in other areas.
But as one of our few surviving written sources from the early modern era in Borno, the document is also a treasure for its descriptions of Borno's relations with its "pagan" neighbors, ethnographic descriptions, and the extent to which Borno was integrated into the wider world. For example, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alluded to Sultan Idris's pilgrimage to Mecca multiple times in the text, even including references to the pilgrimages of Idris's forebears. This, besides establishing the Islamic devotion of Borno's rulers, also points to the extent to which these elites viewed Borno as a part of the Muslim world, and its ruler as a Protector of Muslims. One would think the pilgrimages to Mecca also helped establish Borno as a Muslim power to the Ottoman Empire and other Islamic states, possibly faciliating the introduction of Turks and other foreign mercenaries. In fact, a mysterious man, perhaps named Francisco, randomly appeared in the history, perhaps another example of foreign mercenaries or advisors who made it to Borno in the second half of the 1500s.
Borno's relations with Sahelian and West African rivals was also an interesting dynamic. Much of the reasoning for some of the various expeditions was meant to ensure security on the roads of Borno, to protect merchants. Moreover, Borno's ruler was able to shift the loyalty of various Air-aligned Tuareg to his camp, ensuring some degree of influence in the Sahel and Sahara against a rival power. Even with "polytheist" neighbors, Idris was able to overlook religious differences and act on their behalf while increasing his own prestige and influence. This can be best be seen in the case of a "Mendera" prince overthrown by his uncle, who is later restored to the throne by Idris. Borno was effective at intervening in the affairs of neighboring states, including non-Muslims, and expanding its sphere of influence when not directly administering others. Unfortunately, our chronicler was, perhaps not surprisingly, not interested in the religious practices of the Sao "polytheists," but the mention of groves of the Sao Ghafata leads one to think those woods may have possessed a religious or sacred meaning. This could add another dimension to Borno's insistent deforestation of their lands, something the Muslim historian would have applauded as a champion of Islam.
One supposes the larger question of this all is to what extent is Ahmad Ibn Furtu's chronicle a historically reliable work and what does it suggest about the nature of history, religion, and political power in 16th century Borno? As the author admitted himself, the lack of details on some of the expeditions and the fact that much, if not most, of Idris's reign is omitted, we have inherited only a limited portrait of the Idris. However, the author was clearly cognizant of precedents for his work in earlier historical works, and saw his ruler in the light of both Islamic ideals and the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. As panegyric, this work places Idris at the pinnacle of great mais in the dynasty, and probably took a few liberties to express that opinion by attributing innovations or conquests that may have not been due to Idris. It causes one to wonder if other mais or prominent people in Borno similarly commissioned likewise works on their deeds, ancestry, and accomplishments, and the extent to which writing of local history was practiced at earlier dates in the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. Regardless of the hard to believe instances in the work, clearly political power in Borno was tied to realpolitik concerns and a balancing act of supporting Islam (through pious acts, charitable works, construction of mosques, reinforcing Islamic law, respecting Muslim intellectuals) while dominating or reducing to tributary status non-Muslim neighbors. Prominent persons attracted subordinates and dependents, and were in turn called upon to support the mai in various campaigns while the majority of the population presumably toiled as farmers, shepherds, servants, and artisans in villages and towns. One can assume that the construction of the Kanuri as an ethnic group developed over the centuries of Sayfawa control in Borno. Lamentably for those interested in this history, these developments were marginal to the author of the chronicle, who sought to praise and justify the reign of the mai.
