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 GeografÃa 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.
