Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Borno?

Although our sources for Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's maternal ancestry consist solely of his short Arabic autobiographies translated into English, it is interesting to consider his life in a "Central Sudanic" context. Incorporating Borno and Katsina into his biography and family background illustrates how connected or integrated West Africa in the precolonial era truly was. Cities in the "Western Sudan" like Jenne and Timbuktu, where Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's family originated (though claiming descent from the Prophet), were closely tied to trading and learning centers such as Kong and Bouna. The ancient cities of Timbuktu and Jenne were also integrated into "Sudanic" trading routes to the east, through Hausaland and Borno all the way to the Red Sea. Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's family history exemplifies this in a variety of ways. Therefore, one can view the family of al-Siddiq in various contexts: Atlantic World, Caribbean chattel slavery, Saharan and Sahelian Africa, and Dar al-Islam. 

First, who was Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's mother? Named Naghodi in one of his autobiographies, a Hausa term meaning "I am thankful," her Islamic name was Hafsa. She was likely a later wife of his father, Kara Musa. Indeed, al-Siddiq's autobiography lists several half-siblings, indicating that his father had numerous children with at least one other woman or wife. His mother was born in the capital of Borno, presumably some time in the second half of the 18th century. However, her Hausa personal name and links to Katsina suggest Hausa heritage. In consideration of the close economic ties between Borno and Katsina, as well as the past history of Katsina as a tributary state of Kanem-Borno, we cannot rule out a Kanuri origin or affiliation for Naghodi through her father. Indeed, both Katsina and Gazargamo were major trading stops for trans-Saharan caravans coming crossing through the Fezzan and Agadez to reach the "Sudan." Migration of traders, Islamic scholars, and other groups between Katsina and Borno must have occurred on a large scale.

As for the identity of his maternal grandfather, al-Siddiq identified him as al-Hajj Muhammad Tafsir of Borno AND Katsina. His mother was an infant during the pilgrimage of her father, and the pilgrimage to Mecca would have left Naghodi and her mother in Gazargamo for an extended period of time. This makes one think her maternal grandfather may have been a native of Gazargamo and perhaps from a large household with dependents, relatives, and economic means to support his children while abroad. Moreover, the inclusion of tafsir in his name points to a scholar with a background in Quranic exegesis. Furthermore, the fact that he went on the hajj at least once would have significantly increased his standing in Borno. Indeed, those who went on the hajj were even absolved of taxes by the Sayfawa rulers of Borno. Consequently, Muhammad Tafsir must have been of means, respected in Borno and Katsina, as well as someone who benefitted from the privileges of the hajj through tax incentives that Mai Ali maintained. Even if he was a Hausa or Fulani from Katsina, performing the hajj undoubtedly aided his business or trading concerns in Borno and beyond.

So, how exactly did al-Siddiq's father, Kara Musa, meet Naghodi? According to al-Siddiq, his father traveled to Katsina and Borno frequently, likely as a trader. A man from a reputable lineage in Timbuktu and the Middle Niger was likely an attractive prospect for al-Hajj Muhammad Tafsir's daughter. Both men were probably traders, and the marriage of Naghodi to Kara Musa would have helped cement trading ties between them. One can surmise that Kara Musa was older than Naghodi and may have already possessed trade connections to Kong and sources of gold and kola nuts through his connections to Dyula trading and scholarly networks. Perhaps a marriage helped ensure honest dealings or trading partnership between Naghodi's father and Kara Musa? Evidence in favor of this can be found in al-Siddiq's allusion to his father sending gold, Egyptian silks, horses, mules, and other goods to his father-in-law. 

This may have been initially part of a dowry, but his father's past of "always" traveling to Katsina and Borno hints at trade in goods, such as gold, motivating his travels from Jenne to Kong, Ghonah, and, eventually Katsina and Gazargamo. Evidence for traders from the Fezzan, Hausaland, and Borno knowing of Kong, Bouna, Dagomba, and the "Gold Coast" can be found in other sources, but the Dyula networks of Kara Musa would have been an excellent network for Hausa and Kanuri traders from the east to tap into for opening up relations with that part of West Africa. Perhaps Kara Musa's network and access to gold (and the possibility of kola nuts) intersected with Muhammad Tafsir's connections to Borno's salt and natron exports to Hausa cities?

Our other references to Hausaland or the 'Central Sudan" in the context of Abu Siddiq are more problematic or impressionistic. John Davidson's Notes Taken During Travels in Africa reports confirmation for al-Siddiq's illustrious pedigree in Morocco and the Sahara. Other informants even claim al-Siddiq was related to the rulers of Timbuktu, Kong, and "Houssa," which must be Katsina or a generalized Hausaland. While one can surmise from the earlier autobiographical fragments that al-Siddiq came from a respectable family with roots in the ulama of Timbuktu and Jenne, the grandiose relations attributed to him may not reflect the realities of post-jihadist West Africa. For example, Borno's capital was destroyed and abandoned by the time al-Siddiq returned to West Africa via Morocco. Katsina was also in a period of decline. The Sokoto Caliphate changed the political map of the "Central Sudan" and al-Siddiq would have been in the dark for about 30 years during these momentous decades. Nevertheless, one can see that several years after his bondage in Jamaica, al-Siddiq could still believably call upon powerful and politically connected relatives in Timbuktu, Kong, and Hausaland. This illustrates just how overlapping the worlds of Islam, "Sudanic" Africa, and the Atlantic were.

Bibliography

Abú Bekr eṣ ṣiddíḳ. “Routes in North Africa, by Abú Bekr Eṣ Ṣiddíḳ.” The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 6 (1836): 100–113. https://doi.org/10.2307/1797559.

Barth, Heinrich. Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa: Being a Journal of an Expedition Undertaken Under the Auspices of H.B.M.'s Government in the Years 1849-1855. New York: D. Appleton, 1857.

Cohen, Ronald. The Kanuri of Bornu. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967.

Curtin, Philip D. Africa Remembered; Narratives by West Africans from the Era of the Slave Trade. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1967.

Davidson, John. Notes Taken During Travels in Africa. London: J.L. Cox and Sons, 1839.

Dewière, Rémi. Du Lac Tchad À La Mecque: Le Sultanat Du Borno Et Son Monde (XVIe - XVIIe Siècle). Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2017.

Gomez, Michael A. Black Crescent: The Experience and Legacy of African Muslims in the Americas. Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Lovejoy, Paul E. “The Kambarin Beriberi: The Formation of a Specialized Group of Hausa Kola Traders in the Nineteenth Century.” The Journal of African History 14, no. 4 (1973): 633–51. http://www.jstor.org/stable/180905.

Lucas, Paul, Lédyard, John, Lallemant, Antoine J. (trans.), Voyages de MM. Lédyard et Lucas en Afrique, entrepris et publiés par ordre de la Société anglaise d’Afrique ; avec le plan de fondation de cette Société, et une carte du nord de l’Afrique, par le major Rennel : suivis d’extraits de Voyages faits à la rivière de Gambie, par ordre de la Compagnie anglaise d’Afrique, et d’un mémoire écrit sous le règne de Charles II, concernant la grande quantité d’or qu’on trouve près de cette rivière ; avec une carte de ce fleuve et de ses environs, tracée sur les lieux. Paris: Xhrouet, 1804.

Wilks, Ivor. The Northern Factor in Ashanti History. [Legon]: Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, 1961.

Jesuit Letters from Saint Domingue

 Due to a recent group project relying on the use of Jesuit sources from various corners of the world, we recently explored some of the order's correspondence from 18th century Saint Domingue, ably translated by C. Rivers. Based in Cap-Francais, the Jesuits established in northern Saint Domingue were active for several years (beginning in c.1704) before their expulsion. Building parishes, proselytizing among the enslaved African population, serving the poor and sick white populations, and writing to their superiors to justify their mission and the need for funding, their letters offer another perspective on French Saint Domingue. While one would like to read sources from the other religious orders active in Saint Domingue at the same time, especially the Capuchins who were in the colony previously, as well as the Dominicans in Léogâne, the Jesuit letters provide an interesting set of sources on slavery in northern Saint Domingue. The letters of Fathers Margat and Bréban, beginning in 1725 and ending in 1743, document the transformation of Saint Domingue into a slave-based plantation society. 

Fr. Margat's 1725 letter, for instance, sees the black population of the colony as the crown and glory of the Mission. By evangelizing and serving African and Creole slaves, they see the Jesuits as playing an important role in the colony. Certainly no abolitionist or modern-day anti-racist, Margat saw "Negroes" as simple, easy to convert ("little attached to their superstitions"), and reverent with regards to the sacrament of baptism. Already, in 1725, Margat hints at tensions with white planters, perhaps due to the blacks seeking the help of Jesuit priests to intercede on their behalf. Of course, like the Jesuit Relations from other corners of the world, Margat emphasized the isolation of the 18 missionaries, and their arduous work in a hostile climate (heat, tropical storms, mosquitoes, hurricanes). By 1729, Margat appears to be more exhausted and perhaps disturbed by the negative reports of the Mission's progress. For example, Margat's superior had received news of the failure of the Mission to convert the maroon or runaway slaves. He explained the failure as the result of a pointless mission to try to convert them, viewing the maroons as lawless, comparing them to highway bandits in France. Thus, Margat's letter is a testimony of the threat to colonial society posed by maroon bands, and an elucidation of the (partial) failure of the Mission to successfully convert the enslaved population. 

His 1729 letter also covered the "extinction" of the island's indigenous population. Perhaps due to the Jesuit Missions in the American mainland with native populations, Margat's superior expressed interest in possible outreach to Hispaniola's indigenes. Margat's letter explained the destruction of the indigenous population by drawing on de Las Casas, suggestive of French adherence to the "black legend" of the Spanish. Perhaps this points to the French viewing their colonial enterprise as superior to the results of the Spanish Caribbean. Of course, the Louisiana colony's settler population were about to enter into a war with the Natchez later that year, and had already engaged in brutal conflicts with the Caribs even earlier. Even more intriguing, Margat mentioned the "Indian" village of Boya in the neighboring Spanish colony. He described them as descendants of "Indian" fugitives hiding in the mountains who were discovered by hunters. The people of Boya, though unnamed as such as by Margat, were now mixed-race and Christian, but retained some of their past customs. However, due to their virtual disappearance from the island and non-existence in French Saint Domingue, Margat believed the "Negroes" were their primary focus.

Writing in 1732, Bréban's letter sheds even more light on the Jesuits and slavery in the colony. Accepting chattel slavery as the horrible cost of bringing "true religion" to Africans, Bréban condescendingly pointed out the positive and negative traits of the black population. According to him, half of the slaves were from "Guinea" and the Africans resisted their enslavement in various ways. Indeed, revolts on slaveships were not unheard of, and slave suicides were a frequent problem for the French. The fear of poisonings was real and legitimate, as the case of one slave poisoning more than 60 blacks of one of the wealthiest planters in the region demonstrates. Africans and their descendants also used song and satire to mock others, especially whites. Thus, despite their "crude nature" and the cruel laws and practices put in place against them, they constantly asserted their humanity and creativity in a variety of ways to survive. Marronage, mentioned in the letter of Margat, undoubtedly persisted. In fact, Bréban asserted that Jesuits often became intermediaries between runaway slaves and their masters.

Although he considered blacks "half-beasts" and thieves, Bréban was somewhat sympathetic to their plight. Blaming their masters and the white population as the principal obstacle to the Mission, he saw the vanity of clothing among the slaves as a flaw inherited from their masters. Moreover, they were thieves and liars because their masters did not provide the bare necessities of food and clothing. Consequently, one could not be surprised that the enslaved population was always stealing food, attire, or other items. The French were also abusing, raping, and torturing enslaved Africans, with one case going so far as an enraged Frenchman murdering nearly all of his "property." Overall, the French were an impediment to the Christian example or model behavior the Jesuits wished to impart to their charges. The excessive work schedule and lack of basic necessities forced slaves to use their little free time to cultivate their gardens in order to feed themselves, which got in the way of their attending Mass. Even free blacks were considered harsh slaveowners. And, as one could except from someone with a low opinion of Africans and having to confront a linguistic barrier, preparing slaves to receive Communion first required questioning them several times on Catholic faith.

Our final letter examined in the exercise, Margat's 1743 letter to Procurator General of the missions of the same Society in the Islands of America, is even more detailed than all the previous correspondence on the actual priests who served in the Mission. Going back to the beginnings of the Jesuits in the Caribbean, Margat connects the early Jesuit presence in Saint Domingue and the French Caribbean possessions. Much of the body consists of an overview of the various works accomplished by leading Jesuits int eh mission. Father Jean-Baptiste de Pers of Flanders received mention for his organizational talent, skill for working with blacks, and his historical notes. Fr. Olivier of Morin Parish was a defender of enslaved blacks. Fr. Boutin was perhaps the most exceptional for his piety, comprehension of African languages, and leadership in administering the "Negro" Mass. Besides their missionary work among African slaves, Margat included examples of the work of Jesuits on behalf of paupers, the sick, and groups like white sailors. Since many came to Saint Domingue seeking their fortune but few became wealthy, the Jesuits always had poor or unfortunate whites to assist in Le Cap. As one would expect for a work of its genre, Margat requested additional assistance while emphasizing the positive impact of the Jesuits.

Although we still hope to continue our reading of Jesuit sources on Saint Domingue and French "Empire" in this era, one can already see the seeds of future conflict between the Jesuits and whites in the colony. Even their mild criticism of the institution of slavery would have won friends among local planters. It would seem that their missionary work among the African captive population probably did have some degree of success, particularly with priests like Boutin willing to use Creole and learn African languages. To some extent, Haitian Catholicism probably owes more than we realize to the Jesuits in northern Saint Domingue. Just as the Catholic Kingdom of Kongo and Catholic missions to Arada in the 17th century may have likewise shaped the evolution of our faith and spiritual practices.

Awlad Muhammad Dynasty, the Fezzan, and Borno

 

Krause's tentative chart for the Awlad Muhammad dynasty

Although difficult to research, the political history of the Fezzan after (and during) the period of the Garamantes is fascinating. Most intriguing to our purposes is the link to Kanem-Borno and trans-Saharan trade. Besides B.G. Martin's articles and G.A. Krause's German article on the Awlad Muhammad dynasty (borrowing heavily from a Tripoli source from the 18th century), finding details on the Fezzan's relationship with Kanem-Borno is difficult. External Arabic sources attest to Kanem's expansion into the Fezzan in the 1200s under Dunama Dibalemi, while later Tripoli sources mention the Awlad Muhammad dynasty and aspects of the Fezzan's relationship with Agadez, Katsina, and Borno. All things considered, it is fascinating to consider how a dynasty claiming descent from the Prophet Muhammad, via a Moroccan (or Mauritanian?) migrant who stayed in the Fezzan after returning from Mecca, was quite "Sudanese" in many aspects.

What is most interesting to observe, however, is the maintenance of Kanem-Borno influences in the Fezzan long after Dunama Dibalemi and the fall from power of Kanem's viceroy appointed in Traghen. According to Hornemann, the Awlad Muhammad rulers, who took power by the 16th century and ruled until the 19th, retained Kanuri political titles in their administration. Their capital, Murzuk, has also been described as a "Sudanese" city in its urban design, with a prominent dendal. Indeed, the Kanuri language was once widely spoken and Kanuri place names survived for centuries. Some European sources even describe the people of the Fezzan as "black" or dark-skinned and with manners and customs similar to those of the "Sudan" to the south. In fact, one 1705 European source even mentions the ruler of Fezzan as a cousin of the mai of Borno while others believed the Awlad Muhammad rulers sent tribute to Borno and Tripoli. Whether or not that was literally or always true, we know Idris Alooma of Borno did venture into the Fezzan. Moreover, the father of Ali b. Umar put to death Tahir, the Fezzani sultan who fled south after the pashalik of Tripoli invaded over the cessation of tribute. Undoubtedly, Borno remained very influential in the affairs of the Fezzan during the period of Awlad Muhammad rule. 

While much of the "Sudanic" influence in the Fezzan was probably due to trans-Saharan slave trading, pilgrimage routes, and the period of Kanem-Borno suzerainty of the Fezzan (not to mention the era of the Garamantes, which seems to have already engaged in trans-Saharan trade), it seems to resemble its "Sudanic" neighbors in a number of remarkable ways. Not only as a zone of influence for Kanem-Borno's northern expansion, but one whose rulers frequently found refuge in Agadez and Katsina. Trade, cultural, political and economic ties brought the people of Fezzan into close relations with the "Land of the Blacks," and the history of the Fezzan seems to be one heavily shaped by Kanem-Borno for several centuries. In that respect, it is interesting to consider the region as one uniquely shaped by northern expansion of a "Sudanic" state, and perhaps the northernmost area of influence for Kanem-Borno. Thus, if one can get away with it, the Fezzan joins Hausaland, the Lake Chad Region, Kawar, Wadai, Bagirmi and possibly Darfur as a vast region under the influence of Kanem-Borno. While we certainly would not want to diminish the influences from Tripoli and the Mediterranean, the Fezzan before the 19th century seems to resemble the "Sudan" in more ways than we hitherto thought. 

Ranting on the Kano Chronicle

Although it was almost certainly written in the 19th century and probably relies on legends and oral traditions for the early rulers of the kingdom, the Kano Chronicle is another fascinating source and example of historical literature in "Sudanic" Africa. Lamentably, we have to rely on Palmer's 1908 translation for our purposes, and his chronology may be incorrect. Anyway, we here at the blog believe Hunwick was probably right about the date of authorship and the ideological motivations of the author, but it is interesting to consider the document in relationship to the Agadez Chronicles, the chronicles and kingslists of Borno (such as the Diwan), other Kano kingslists, the Timbuktu Chronicles, and historical writings across the "Sudanic" belt of the continent. Indeed, the playful additional or praise songs for past rulers and historical figures, the tension between the semi-legendary "pagan" past and the Muslim or Islamic authors, or the changes in state formation with the increase of slave officials, Islam's spread, and the stability of the state across nearly 800 years. 

One can see how the Kano Chronicle was likely based on kingslists. With narrative elaboration and details that probably drew from oral literature and possibly some documents, like the Funj Chronicle, the Hausa author(s) innovatively combined the two types of literary sources for an engaging overview of each sarki or king of Kano. To what extent were the kings of Kano from ca. 1000 to 1807 really from a single dynasty is unclear, as the earlier rulers, such as Bagauda, may have been based on legends. And the ancient "pagan" religion that clearly served as a basis of authority for the early rulers appeared to influence the Bagauda dynasty for centuries, even after Yaji I established Islam. Innovative rulers such as Muhammad Rumfa and Kisoki, despite their links to the larger Islamic world, probably had to wade carefully with Islamic reforms to Kano's state structure and relationship with the masses, yet starting around the time of these post-Yaji I kings, the Kano Chronicle seems to owe less to legends. It is also interesting to see how the author inserts dialogue which he could not have been privy to for kings who ruled centuries before the 19th century, but adding life to the historical figures in question.

However, since our main interest in Kano and Hausaland is related to Kanem-Borno, we read the source in that light. Thus, one cannot escape noticing the use of Kanem-Borno administrative titles in Kano, such as galadima. A Borno prince who sought refuge in Kano in the early 15th century, perhaps Uthman b. Daud, appears in the chronicle as Dagachi. This Sayfawa royal may have introduced aspects of Borno statecraft and titles into Kano, although anachronisms in the text cause the author to use titles like galadima before the 15th century Kano sarkis. To what extent Kano may have been under the rule or within the sphere of influence of Kanem-Borno before the Sayfawa relocated to Borno is not clear, but the Sayfawa state appears to have influenced Kano in many ways. According to the chronicle, Kano paid tribute to Borno during Abdulahi Burja's reign (c. 1438-1452), while also opening roads from Borno to Gwanja for trade. During his reign, Borno also attempted an attack on Asben but a lack of water drove them back. Nonetheless, the chronicle suggests other lands west of Borno fell under some kind of tributary relationship with the Sayfawa. But probably a loose one, as Borno's campaign on Kano during the reign of Abdulahi in the period between 1499-1509 suggests a recurring need for the Sayfawa to reassert their control. Later attempts would not go so well for Borno, as Sarki Koski (given an extremely long reign by Palmer) was able to resist an attack of Borno on the city.

Kanuri or Beriberi also appear in large numbers in the middle of the 15th century, as well as Arabs, an increase in the salt trade, and Gwanja merchants in Katsina. Clearly, events by the time of the middle of the 15th century increased the movement of people and goods from Asben, Gobir, Gwanja, Katsina, Borno, and beyond in Kano. Indeed, the presence of people from Bagirmi and Logone ("Lagoni") in Kano under Abubakr Kado (c.1565-1573) must have been through Borno. In addition to Muslim Wangara and Fulanis from the west bringing books and contributing Islamic holymen and scholars to the city, Borno provided 3 brothers: Shehu Karaski, Magumi (the royal clan of the Sayfawa) and Kabi. The chronicle claims Magumi became alkali during the reign of Kisoki, and with a name like Magumi, one wonders if he was a relative of the Borno mai. Perhaps through the influence of royals with Islamic learning and political connections, Borno was able to expand or maintain its influence in the court of Kano (and other vassal or tributary states) without direct rule or intervention. As for the Kano campaign of Idris Alooma (Idris b. Ali), the chronology of Palmer would preclude it from being the Borno attack on Kano during Kisoki's reign. 

Last, but certainly not least for understanding Borno's presence in the chronicle, the Kwararafa threat. 17th century external sources allude to the Kwararafa engaging in wars with Borno during the reign of Ali b. Umar. Kano, too, fought with the Kwararafa state or confederation a number of times in the 16th and 17th centuries. Indeed, one of their attacks during the reign of Dadi (c. 1670-1703) resulted into the Kwararafa taking the capital. If other Hausa sources are reliable for the era, Borno played a role in defeating the Kwararafa threat to Katsina during this era, and may have, as the most powerful state, played the role of protector for tributary and even non-tributary Muslim states in the region threatened by "pagans" like Kwararafa  (although they became "Christian" in European sources). Unfortunately, the chronicle does not explicitly mention Borno's role in staving the Kwararafa threat, but one can imagine the Sayfawa dynasty likely played a role in weakening their threat to Hausa states. 

In conclusion, the Kano Chronicle presents not only a mine of information, questions, and mysteries on Kano and the history of Hausaland, but poses interesting questions on Kanem-Borno's in the "Central "Sudan." It corroborates, to a certain extent, Borno's hegemony or cultural impact on the Hausa states. The text itself, though almost certainly written in the 19th century, exhibits an occasionally moving fusion of oral and written sources for an actual history that elaborates on the various kingslists. Like the Funj Chronicle, one can almost see a certain shift toward narrative based on the kinglists with a plethora of influences from pre-Islamic Hausa culture. We will return to Kano in future posts on the history of the Hausa people. 

Funj Chronicle

Although far from ideal, we decided to read a public domain English translation of the Funj Chronicle. Based on a recension of the text from the personal library of a descendant of the Funj kings, Harold MacMichael included an English translation of most of the text in the second volume of A History of the Arabs in the Sudan and Some Account of the People who Preceded Them and of the Tribes Inhabiting Dárfūr. While perhaps generally accurate and reliable as a chronology of the Funj Sultanate, it's a text that is far more detailed and updated for the 19th century than earlier periods. For many Funj rulers in the 1500s and 1600s, we only read brief descriptions of their character or events that took place. Some of them are more detailed than others, of course. Badi II, Amara Dunqas, Badi IV, and certain political conflicts between different sheiks during the Hamaj Regency period receive more than the casual or limited summaries of other rulers of the Funj. 

So, it is interesting to compare the Funj Chronicle with other "Sudanic" kinglists and chronicle writings as an example of historical literature. While far from the Timbuktu Tarikhs in terms of the grand scope and level of detail, one can see overlapping traits with the chronicle writings of Agadez, Borno, Kano, and perhaps a combination of the kinglist and chronicle in a single work. The fuller entries in the Funj Chronicle probably draw on written sources that have not survived, particularly as Islamization of the Funj state grew in the 17th and 18th centuries, but the essential kernel of it probably arose from traditions like the kinglist shared with James Bruce during his travels through the region. Nonetheless, it is fascinating to observe the combination of textual and oral sources in the document, while also tracking the association of Islamic piety and Funj statecraft with proper governance. In that regard, it is probably not too distinct from the other chronicles produced by Muslim scholars extolling the Islamic virtues and support for scholarship of their respective sultans. Like the Timbuktu tarikhs, the author(s) of the Funj Chronicle seem to have continued their idealized vision of a ruler of the Nubian region well into the post-1821 era. 

But for our other purposes here at the blog, we are interested in ways to contextualize the Funj Sultanate within "Sudanic" Africa and the early modern world. Here one can find examples of this in Funj relations with Darfur, Kordofan, Teqali, Ethiopia, and, beyond Africa, the Ottoman Empire, central Muslim lands, and India. For example, Sennar clearly engaged in long-distance trade with other parts of Africa, including lands to the west like Kordofan and Darfur. Khamis, a prince of Darfur, but based in the Funj state in the 1700s, assists the sultanate in defeating an Ethiopian invasion by Iyasu II. Supposedly, if the Funj sources are not exaggerating, their Muslim victory led to various foreign embassies coming to Sennar, including those of al-Hind and al-Sind. Foreigners from as far away as Morocco were said to settle in Sennar. We also learn of Sennar's attack non Teqali under Badi II because the Teqali ruler attacked and stole the goods of a friend of his passing through their territory. The conflict resulted in Badi II imposing a fixed annual tribute. In the 18th century, the Funj state expanded into the Kordofan region and relied heavily on a man who later became an important kingmaker, Sheikh Muhammad Abu el Kaylak. 

One can see how the attempts at centralization of Funj sultans, or abuses of their power, often led to Funj nobles and provincial lords joining with the Hamaj in various coups, depositions, and civil wars which ultimately weakened the state. Thus, Badi IV favoring Nubians for political appointments instead of the Funj lords challenged the established nobility. One sees in the example of the Funj how an attempt to produce puppet kings is not a long-term strategy for success if the kingmakers are themselves feuding and relying on armed slaves and other supporters to depose kings and remove competitors. Yet in this tale of political assassinations, reliance on enslaved soldiers, growing Islamization and Arabization, and wars with neighbors, the Funj Chronicle reveals certain parallels with other parts of Sudanic Africa. We refer specifically to the tensions brought about by trade and migration across the "Sudanic" belt which threatened political fragmentation and the ways in which the Sayfawa dynasty of Borno and the kings of Sennar both became powerless by the 19th century. How is it that two Islamic dynasties of "Sudanic" Africa both declined and what does it suggest about Sudanic kingship in an age of jihads, slave raiding, and the impact of Islam?

Agadez Chronicles

Lyon's impression of Tuareg clothing and a Tuareg of Agadez

We here at the blog have developed a greater interest in the Sultanate of Agadez. In order to better understand Kanem-Borno as a civilization, closer study of its neighbors and larger regional context could be particularly useful. Indeed, sometimes one finds references or historical data from chronicles, oral traditions, and other primary sources pertinent to Kanem-Borno when looking at its neighbors, rivals, and trading partners. The Sultanate of Agadez, and particularly the chronicles shared with colonial officials and scholars like Yves Urvoy, provides an interesting example and striking example, as it touches upon 2 episodes in the history of Kanem-Borno: the shift of the royal capital and 17th century wars. While it is unlikely any Tuareg had a role in Ali Ghaji establishing Birni Gazargamo as the capital of the Borno in the late 1400s, the fact that the Agadez Chronicles and other traditions suggest a link between the Sayfawa and Air Tuaregs calls for closer scrutiny of Agadez-Borno relations.

As an example of the literary genre of the "chronicle" in a "Sudanic" context, incorporating a multiplicity of manuscripts and genres, one can immediately see how the Chronicles of Agadez, despite their brevity, can be situated within the larger context of the Tarikh al-Fattash, Tarikh al-Sudan, Ahmad b. Furtu's works, the Diwan of Kanem-Borno, Kano Chronicle, and various other kinglists or chronicles. Although short, perhaps due to manuscripts being destroyed in the 19th century during political upheaval, the Agadez Chronicles include some fascinating and innovative reworkings of the Sudanic chronicle as a genre. For example, what Urvoy calls Manuscript J, survived as a memoir of Abou-Bakar, son of Attaher-Tachi, and provides the closest thing to an autobiography that we have heard of from the 17th century. Sure, one can find autobiographical snippets and elements in the longer chronicles of Timbuktu and Ahmad b. Furtu or even the Borno mahrams translated by Palmer, but there's something else going on with Manuscript J. 

While the objectivity and problematic origin of the texts has been pointed out by scholars like Rossi, we find the Agadez Chronicles to be full of events that, in the main, probably did occur. For instance, the pilgrimages to Mecca by the son of an Agadez sultan in the late 1600s was mentioned by a French captive in Tripoli, who also mentioned the economic importance of Agadez's senna exports reaching France and Italy through Tripoli. Other data corroborates the general outline of the Chronicles, such as war with Borno, the conquest of Ader, and, probably the number of assassinations and dethronements of various sultans. European sources from the late 18th and 19th centuries likewise support aspects of the Agadez Chronicles. Thus, while one can see that Rossi is probably correct about the manuscripts being edited by 1907 to legitimize certain political actors in the history of the Sultanate, they also contain some great information on the nature of the Agadez state, its dependence on feuding Tuareg clans, the persistence of matrilineal descent among the Tuareg, "privileged" tribes and the relationship between nomads and the state, the business of war and long-distance trade, and, in one cases, one man's experience of life in the kingdom during the second half of the 17th century.

For us, the list of kings and how this sultan was dethroned or assassinated and that sultan survived civil war is useful to compare with the details on the deaths of various kings and political conflicts in the Diwan. Clearly, these kinglists were not just lists, but records of some of the major events that took place during a reign, probably based on oral and written sources, and suggestive of how the authors or compilers conceived of an ideal ruler. For us, the comparison to the Diwan and the history of Kanem-Borno would focus on moments where kings faced civil wars, the Bulala threat, famines, patronage of scholars, the frequency of pilgrimages, and various campaigns and civil wars between the Dawudid and Idrisid branches of the Sayfawa dynasty. One cannot help but notice the frequency of matrilineal succession among the rulers of Agadez, a phenomenon not present in the Diwan, despite the alleged importance of queen mothers and their clan affiliations. What does that suggest about the role of women, tribal or clan affiliation, and the stability of the government?

Moreover, one almost can see the early centuries of the Sayfawa dynasty as being perhaps closer to the Agadez Sultanate, an era in which the mai had to contend against Tubu and other nomadic elements which resisted centralization. Of course, we do not lend much credence to the assertions of authors like Heinrich Barth about a Berber or Tuareg origin of the Sayfawa and the royal Magumi clan. However, the Agadez state might shed light on what the early Kanem state was like as a ruling dynasty of Saharan nomadic origins combined pastoralist and sedentary agriculturalists. Lamentably, the Agadez Chronicles do not indicate the origins of the maternal ancestry of the dynasty, but power often passed from a male to his sister's son, and the "privileged" Tuareg tribes elected a king from the same family (such as Sataffane, a clan which may have come from the west). Thus, it is probably implied that all descend from the same family through their maternal ancestry from a specific clan. A similar pattern may be found with the frequency of queen mothers of the Sayfawa dynasty of Tubu, Tomaghera and "Keyi" origins, perhaps a reflection of marriage alliances between the Magumi clan and its nomadic allies. The Sayfawa mais also used the mahram to award certain nomadic allies with freedom of military obligations and taxations, a process the Agadez sultans may have approximated by not taxing affiliating Tuareg and deriving revenues from other sources.

What, if any relationship existed between the rulers of Agadez and the earlier 14th century Berber sultans of Air mentioned by al-Umari is unknown, just as possible influences from Kawkaw (Gao), Tadmakka, Gobir, and other polities in the region between Gao and Kanem-Borno probably impacted the development of Agadez to varying degrees. Nonetheless, the existence of two nearby dynasties of nomadic Saharan origins becoming an established kingdom in the Sahel, despite one being Berber, possibly followed similar trajectories. Kanem-Borno, on the other hand, seems to have developed into a more centralized and expansive state while Agadez, perhaps at its height under Mohammad-el-Mobarak and Mohammed Agabba, never completely dominated the various Tuareg clans and had to play them against each other or face dethronement and civil wars. Even after seizing control of the salt trade of Kawar from Borno in the 1700s, Agadez remained mired in civil wars and intra-Tuareg conflicts. 

Moving on from the similarities and differences between Agadez and Kanem-Borno, we cannot omit a deeper mention of Manuscript J, the remarkable document that, if future investigations can verify, is a memoir of Abou-Bakar ben Attaher Tachi, a politically-connected Agadez man born in 1657. The document translated by Urvoy ends chronologically in 1699, but encompasses a number of events in the author's personal life and the noteworthy happenings to the state. Coming from an educated background and probably Tuareg lineage (an assumption on the preeminence of his paternal grandmother), Abou-Bakar was born only a few years after Mohammad-el-Mobarak became sultan. Although his mother died during his infancy, he also makes a point of referencing his grandmother Tachi's death as well as the demise of his father's sister in 1673. This year also marked an invasion or campaign against the state of Kebbi. The next year, Mohammad-el-Mobarak's son, Aknafai, went on his second pilgrimage to Mecca, almost certainly via the Fezzan and Tripoli. 

According to Manuscript J, the powerful sultan then went to war with Borno in 1679, sending troops led by Mohammed ben el-hadj Ibrahim and Kel-Oui Tuaregs. This war, although the dates are slightly off, is probably the conflict mentioned by our French captive in Tripoli, who mentioned an attempt by Agadez to take the capital of Borno after internal revolts during Ali b. Umar's hajj. Defeated by Ali b. Umar, one wonders if a Borno source dated to c. 1658 by Palmer may actually be an allusion to Ali b. Umar's successes against Agadez. Perhaps the mention in the Borno source of the settlement of Borno scholars in Agadez afterwards, to spread Islam, may be a reference to a sort of tributary arrangement imposed on Agadez, even though Agadez was already an Islamic state. Further, our Frenchman in Tripoli wrote of Agadez "blacks" referring to Ali b. Umar with disdain as a "Cat King," mocking his reputed piety and saintliness. So, we are not sure what to make of the document translated by Palmer, but external sources definitely suggest an Agadez invasion of Borno and the seizure of Ali b. Umar's nephew, Medicon, who was sold into slavery in North Africa. A tense state of relations between "blacks" of Agadez and Borno in Tripoli continued after the conflict. 

One must also note the contrast between Borno and Agadez during this time with regards to pilgrimage. Ali b. Umar could afford to travel on extended trips through the Sahara and Egypt to Mecca, taking some of his children with him. Mohammad-el-Mobarak, on the other hand, never seems to have left Agadez while one of his sons and perhaps other "Tuareg princes" could take the lengthy journey to the Arabian peninsula. We wonder if this is a reflection of the entrenched political instability of the Agadez polity, as Mohammad-el-Mobarak had to engage in campaigns against not only "Zanfara" and Ader, but act as mediator between Tuareg clans like the Kel-Oui and Itissines in 1683. Thus, even in an expansionist phase under Mohammed-el-Mobarak and his son, Mohammed Agabba, it would seem that the Agadez state was always more unstable and perhaps less centralized than Borno or the earlier Songhay state which once ruled Air. 

Besides mentioning various military campaigns and political events that took place during his lifetime, Abou-Bakar's manuscript is full of rich personal details and reflects some of the social history. For instance, we know his work (perhaps a trader?) required him to travel frequently to Ader, where he sent supplies to Saleh, the brother Mohammad Agabba during a war with Gobir in 1689, the same year our author married Nana Aicha, the daughter of a haji from the Fezzan. One also finds reference to the death of a Timbuktu fiqh in Agadez, Umar-el-Tounbouktaouy, in 1687, attesting to long-established links between Timbuktu and Agadez that may indicate the city's political and religious standing in the Sahel. Through Manuscript J, one also finds additional references to epidemics, including a devastating one in 1687 in which several people perished, perhaps Mohammad-el-Mobarak himself. The fact that the sultan's death was hidden from the public is itself interesting, perhaps hinting at a struggle with the "king-making" privileged tribes and Mohammed Agabba. The Kel-Oui and Itissine wars in 1696 and the accompanying famine, which led to families selling their books to eat also suggests the degree to which feuding Tuareg clans and food insecurity imperiled the state. Indeed, the flood caused by heavy rainfall in 1699 probably didn't do any favors, causing the destruction of houses in the Imourdane quarter and destroying merchandise. 

In short, Manuscript J is fascinating for a snippet of the life of a politically important man of Agadez during a key half-century in the history of the state. The personal was indeed political, and reflected Agadez's trade, cultural, and religious ties to other parts of the region and beyond. As a work akin to a memoir, it provides some fascinating tidbits of information that appear to support the larger narrative arc of the Agadez Chronicles. One only wishes a lengthier version of the manuscript existed, which could tell us more about Abou-Bakar and the world of Agadez in the early modern era. Like the mahrams of Borno and the autobiographical elements of Ahmad b. Furtu's chronicles, they sometimes include biographical data on people outside of the ruling dynasties. But who was the audience for Abou-Bakar b. Attaher Yachi? Presumably members of the royal court and perhaps ulama with political or familial (or both) ties with the elite?

Borno in the 1820s

Mai Ibrahim (?), who was allowed to maintain a Sefuwa court at New Birni while all effective power was in the hands of Sheikh al-Kanemi, the "George Washington of Borno"

Although dismissed by some scholars for not being the best or most useful source on Borno's past,  Narrative of Travels and Discoveries in Northern and Central Africa: In the Years 1822, 1823, and 1824 by Denham, Clapperton, and Oudney remains a key text. As the first representatives of Britain to reach Borno, the trio described the trans-Saharan route used to reach it (Tripoli-Fezzan-Borno) and the climate, geography, political context, social conditions and economic factors at play in Borno and nearby regions, particularly around Lake Chad and the Sokoto Caliphate to the west. Astonishingly, some of the social features described by Denham were still relevant in 20th century Borno, if the ethnographic work of Cohen is to be relied on for Kanuri village society. Indeed, Clapperton's account actually includes extensive information on Muhammad Bello, while Denham met with Borno's Sheikh al-Kanemi several times and described his skills as a political leader. Moreover, they were accompanied by a Caribbean native, Adolphus Sympkins of St. Vincent, who may have been the first Afro-Caribbean person to reach Borno. Particularly useful were the materials in the appendix, including a court document from Kuka, extracts from a work by Muhammad Bello on the land of "Takrur" (extending from Darfur in the east to the Atlantic coast of West Africa), and various letters by Sheikh al-Kanemi and the pasha of Tripoli. 

What was perhaps most useful for our purposes, however, is the testimony of Denham, Clapperton, and Oudney on the political consolidation of Borno under the new Shehu dynasty in the 19th century. Unable to rise to the occasion of defending Borno from Fulani incursions and pillagings of the old capital and western Borno, the Sefuwa mai called for Sheikh al-Kanemi, who liberated the land from the "Felatah" jihadists and brought Kanembu and Shuwa Arab followers from Kanem. While Borno had lost some of its western territories to the Sokoto Caliphate, and faced invasions from Bagirmi and Wadai's incursions into the territory of Kanem, al-Kanemi's successful military leadership established a secure basis for a reassertion of Borno's political hegemony and influence over much of the Lake Chad Region. While former vassal states like Bagirmi and Wadai's intervention in Kanem were a threat, and Tuareg and "Biddoomah" islander raids continued, al-Kanemi established more secure conditions for Borno's subjects and traveling merchants. One cannot help but admire the man, even though his wars of conquest and raids were often generating hundreds or, in some cases, thousands of captives for the slave trade. Indeed, one must question the sincerity of al-Kanemi when he complained of the fact that Arabs would only trade for slaves. Perhaps al-Kanemi knew what Denham and Clapperton wanted to hear, and in order to promote the idea of direct exchange with Britain for manufactured goods, pretended to be personally opposed to the slave trade, which had for so long been central to Borno's trans-Saharan trade network.

But the main interest for us at the blog with regards to this text is contextualizing Borno in the 1820s within a larger "Sudanic" and African context. By this we mean Borno's relations with other parts of sub-Saharan Africa, the "Sudanic" pilgrim route, trade and migration across the continent. For instance, a man Denham wished to meet, a native of Loggun who had lived in Sennar and was in Borno, would have been an interesting interview subject on the movement of people between Lake Chad and the Middle Nile. Or the fascinating Fulani "fighi" from Timbuktu, Abdel Gassam ben Maleky, en route to Mecca, who met Denham  in Kuka. The Timbuktu pilgrim's father was a "Felatah" chief of Jenne and was living on charity to make it to Mecca with caravans. Unfortunately, the young man was said to have drowned in Lake Chad after heading for Wadai. Alternatively, people from the Muslim central lands were also in the "Central Sudan," such as El Raschid, a native of Mecca who lived in Wadai and Sennar before meeting Denham in Loggun. Perhaps even more intriguing, Denham met a "Moor" fighi named Khalifa who had been to Sierra Leone ("Seralo") and knew English! Thus, despite the difficulties with Wadai and Bagirmi that made the "Sudanic" pilgrim route dangerous in the 1820s, Borno continued to host a variety of transients and migrants from different parts of Africa and the world. People who had traveled or lived in Timbuktu, Sierra Leone, Hausaland, Tripoli, Morocco, Mecca, Fezzan, Kanem, Bagirmi, Tuareg territories, Loggun, Sennar, and beyond intersected in Borno.