Ihara Saikaku's Amorous Man

We are not sure what to make of Ihara Saikaku's The Life of an Amorous Man. Consisting of several short chapters detailing Yonosuke's escapades with courtesans, prostitutes, daijin and the motley crew of workers and revelers in the Edo period's demimonde, the novel's repetitive structure makes itself more interesting for the world it portrays. Yonosuke, born into a wealthy merchant family, dedicates his entire life to sensual pleasures associated with districts like Edo's Yoshiwara or equivalent spaces in Kyoto, Osaka, Nagasaki, and other parts of Japan. His dalliances with courtesans, actors, prostitutes, mendicant priests, concubines, teahouse patrons, and other merchants creates several opportunities for him to enjoy the pleasures of life as well as see the darker side of the economy supporting his leisurely lifestyle. 

Reading this novel helps us understand why sumptuary laws, for instance, were instituted by the Tokugawa government and why the wealthy merchant class continued to go out of its way to pursue the entertainment, consumption, and fashionable styles affiliated with their leisurely pursuits and increasing wealth. It is quite amazing to see how much of a consumer society Japan of the 17th century was. Yonosuke also shows us the other side of the tracks when his family disowns him, forcing him to fend for himself while practicing various trades, pimping, and going through a brief ascetic phase. This might be the picaresque aspect of the novel, though overall the narrator seems to condone it. Ultimately, Yonosuke remains incorrigible, sailing off in quest for more pleasure in his aged years with his companions. Our narrator offers occasional condemnation of Yonosuke's hedonism as the protagonist himself admits or accepts his likely fate, although Ihara Saikaku seems to be more on the celebratory side of it rather than offering a didactic fable on proper behavior. 

Eric Dolphy was Iron Man

Really enjoying this live rendition of Dolphy's "Iron Man" featuring Herbie Hancock. The jaunty, angular nature of the composition plus Hancock's introspective, grounded solo somehow coalesces into a beautiful 11 minutes. We are still waiting for a definitive biography of Dolphy, one of the best jazz artists of the 1960s.

Dar al-Kuti in the Periphery

Cordell's history of the Dar al-Kuti Sultanate, Dar al-Kuti and the Last Years of the Trans- Saharan Slave Trade endeavors to explain the brief state's rise and fall in the context of greater integration of North Central Africa into the wider global, capitalist system of exchange. Beginning from c.1750 and ending with the French assassination of al-Sanussi, Cordell's study situates Dar al-Kuti's rise with an increase in the scale of trans-Saharan trade impacting the area where the Lake Chad, Nile, and Zaire basins intersect, specifically the Ubangi-Shari region. Although pre-1750 contacts certainly existed in some form, and evidence for a Barma or Bagirmi influence can be found in the early Muslim presence in what later became Dar al-Kuti, the Islamic presence and scale of slave raiding grew exponentially over the course of the 19th century. By the early 20th century, the slave trade was so central to the Sultanate that al-Sanussi had no other alternative in order to acquire the firearms, ammunitions and luxury imports to support his state and dependents. 

The expansion of slave raiding and trading for northern partners and the trans-Saharan routes led to unprecedented migrations, relocations, and, gradually, a larger Muslim presence as traders, settlers, and converts participated in this new, centralized state. According to Cordell, the origins of Dar al-Kuti began with a Runga (or someone of Bagirmi and Runga origins) appointed to oversee the region on behalf of the rulers of Dar Runga, itself a tributary to Wadai. Darfur's Sultanate had previously been a major player but lost control of southern trade routes leading to Central Africa while Wadai reaped the benefits. Over time, the region of Dar al-Kuti became more significant in the mid and late 19th century under Kobur and al-Sanussi, who promoted trade. The latter especially supported trans-Saharan trade through slave raiding. Once aligned with Sudanese warlord Rabeh, and massacring a French team in order to acquire firearms, al-Sanussi established an army replenished by slave recruits and imported guns. Cordell sees this as an example of secondary empire as al-Sanusi, like his former mentor, Rabih, used advanced military techniques and newer guns to build better equipped armies that preyed on various societies in North Central Africa for slaves, ivory, and new soldiers. 

However, given the origins of Dar al-Kuti in Dar Runga and Wadai, one can also see the state as inheriting a tradition that ultimately begins with Kanem, Bagirmi, and Borno in the Chad basin. In one sense, the state of Dar al-Kuti resembled those earlier, northern ones in its establishment of a centralized state which relied heavily on the slave trade and war. By preying on Banda, Kresh, Sara, and other groups who lacked centralized states, al-Sanussi was able to procure additional labor for local agriculture as well as exchange with Jellaba or other northern traders for cloth, guns, tea, sugar, beads, and other manufactured goods. In one sense, al-Sanussi accomplished on a smaller scale some of the same things Idris b. Ali of Borno did in the late 16th century. Like his more famous Borno counterpart, he incorporated firearms into his military and engaged in many population relocations or displacements while centralizing authority. Unlike Borno, Dar al-Kuti lacked a cavalry force and did not possess a large livestock, leather, salt or textile industry. Ecological and other factors contributed to this, as did Central Africa being more of a frontier in which Islam was largely restricted to the ruling group. Nevertheless, Dar al-Kuti was certainly also part of a pattern of Central Sudanic states that began long before in the north, one which gradually spread further south as more societies invested in trans-Saharan (and Sudanic) trade. Like its better known northern counterparts, Dar al-Kuti had its core, tributary and predatory zones but time and looming French conquest prevented the process from evolving into a larger state or empire.

So, Dar al-Kuti, despite its brief existence, represented a fascinating fusion of two separate developments that impacted the Central Sudan and Central Africa. One, the "secondary empire" effect, developed as soldiers with experience in the Egyptian conquest of Sudan brought military techniques and updated firearms to new regions. Their military superiority gave them an edge over various local populations, triggering migrations, displacement, and recruitment that reverberated across the vast region between Lake Chad and the Nile. Even centralized states did not always survive the challenge represented by Zubayr and Rabih. Indeed, Borno itself fell to Rabih in the 1890s. The second process was the gradual extension of the Central Sudanic state model further south into Central Africa as the frontier pushed south by the 18th and 19th centuries. The genius of al-Sanussi consisted of his decision to model his army and state on certain aspects of Rabih's destructive empire and build his own slave trading state. Even on the outer periphery of the trans-Saharan trade, itself a periphery of the Mediterranean and European-dominated commerce of his time, al-Sanussi created a large, centralized kingdom. Unfortunately for him, French colonialism and suppression of the slave trade meant his state was not long to last in the 20th century.

Gult in Solomonic Ethiopia

Donald Crummey's Land and Society in the Christian Kingdom of Ethiopia: From the Thirteenth to the Twentieth Century has been on our reading list for quite some time. Crummey was one of those scholars interested in the larger "Sudanic" context for Christian Ethiopia, one that is often forgotten or neglected due to the religion and perceived isolation of the Ethiopian highland kingdom from other parts of Africa. For our purposes, Crummey's examination of gult is directly linked to the "fiefs" of Kanuri or Borno "feudalism" that appears in the works of Cohen, Palmer, Brenner, and other specialists. Additional parallels can be found with the Darfur Sultanate of the Keira dynasty and the land charters of the Funj. Where the Ethiopian case differs is in the much larger corpus of surviving written material and the role of the Church. 

Moreover, the case of Borno differs in that the mahrams collected and translated by Palmer do not appear to be represent the type of "fief" allocated to courtiers and the nobility from the central administration. In Borno's case, the recipients of "fiefs" received rights in tribute to the land in question, and were expected to reside in the capital while appointing representatives to maintain order and collect the tribute. A part of the collected tribute was also given to the Sayfawa administration (or that of the al-Kanemi dynasty which followed). The surviving mahrams of Borno, however, do not appear to represent cases like these but separate forms of land charters in which the recipient received tax-free land or territories. These were, presumably, usually distinct from the "fiefs" allocated by the mai to dependents and allies in the provinces.

Nonetheless, the Ethiopian institution of gult clearly resembled that of Kanem-Borno with regards to land grants in the rights of tribute from free peasant landholders. In Borno, the peasantry appeared to enjoy usufruct land rights and a certain mobility was in practice so they could migrate to other areas or fiefs if unhappy or overtaxed by the chima kura or his representatives. In Solomonic Ethiopia, free peasants benefited from rest to inherit land through an ambilineal descent system (at least among the Amhara). Both had to pay tribute, usually in kind, to an overlord (or the church in Ethiopia). While the antiquity of gult probably goes back to the Aksumite era of expansion and military colonies, some Borno mahrams purportedly date from the early centuries of Sayfawa conversion to Islam. Due to the obvious differences between Islam and Christianity, Borno mahrams granted to illustrious or pious mallams and settlements like Kalumbardo might represent the equivalent to Ethiopia's many monastic institutions which spread further across the region under the Solomonic dynasty. 

Additional parallels might be found in the role of elite marriages and class formation of a ruling class that enjoyed its higher status through the exploitation of tribute. Members of the Magumi ruling clan, for instance, sometimes received tax-free land grants and rights of exploitation, according to Muhammad Nur al-Kali. They also formed a distinct group that married among themselves and apparently resisted the alifa of Kanem due to his attempts to tax them. They were probably also distinguished by their sponsorship of Islamic scholars and holymen, such as the noble who paid Ali Eisami's father for his services. Unfortunately, their lives are not as well-documented as their Ethiopian counterparts, particularly during the Gondarine era. Crummey's study includes numerous details of the inheritance, sale, and gifting of gult lands and uses the surviving manuscripts, land charters, and edicts to illustrate how the Ethiopian ruling class did dominate a class-based society. Their lives of luxury and leisurely activity like chess, literacy, hunting elephants, consumption of mead, and the use of silks and expensive imported cloth certainly distinguished them from the average Ethiopian peasant or slaves. Their elite marriages connected them to the Solomonic dynasty and powerful provincial elites while patronage of the church demonstrated the close relations between church and state that was a cornerstone of Solomonic power for most of its 7 centuries of existence. 

Lamentably, we still know far too little about the peasantry exploited by gult. With some suggestive evidence that one Solomonic monarch, Za Dengal, actually tried to align himself with the free peasantry against the regional nobility, thereby threatening gult foundations of the empire, Crummey points to class conflict as a major factor in 16th and 17th century Ethiopia. Susenyos's conversion to Catholicism and religious conflict certainly contributed to this turmoil and instability until the early Gondarine period. Later moments of rural banditry, peasant revolts under Haile Selassie, or the formal end of gult under the Derg administration clearly attest to social conflict in the countryside. Modern Ethiopia's conquest of new territories in the late 19th century and land legislation favoring Amharic-speaking settlers over local inhabitants suggest an ethnic dimension that does not manifest itself in the earlier Gondar era. There is also too little information in the extant corpus on gult and the military in Solomonic history. What differences, if any, existed between military holders of gult and the ecclesiastical organizations who possessed gult lands? Did something akin to the influential mallams of Borno who appealed to the peasantry or the charismatic holymen of the Funj sultanate influence peasant resistance or negotiation of gult conditions? How did gender dynamics shape land ownership or rights in other parts of "Sudanic" Africa? Crummey definitely demonstrates how women could assert gult rights and, in some cases, effect policy on a "national" scale under Mentewab. 

Delorme's Republic

 

We are not sure who Michel is, but his videos on important figures in Haitian intellectual thought and history are good overviews. Here he is discussing Delorme's Les théoriciens au pouvoir: causeries historiques, a work definitely inspired by the legacy of Classical and French political thought. Eddy Arnold Jean has also summarized the important work very well in terms of what it represented in 19th century Haitian political thought. In other words, despite the opposition of the Nations and Liberals in late 19th century Haiti, Delorme, of the National side, also believed in an exclusionary political state in which democracy did not entail the the participation of the masses. Instead, democracy was government in "view" of the people, not of the people. Haiti needed a government of enlightened men (women need not apply here) in an aristocratic sense to act on the best interests of the masses. Aristocratic in this context meant those who proved their worth, not just those born into wealth and privilege. 

In a general sense, this did not differ from the Liberals who argued for power to the most capable. However, the Liberals and Nationals did, to a certain extent, represent different wings of the Haitian upper classes (largely but not solely "mulattoes" in commerce and land-owning "blacks). Of course, the "race" or "color" element is contradicted by the membership of the parties and the chief ideologues. Delorme's interests in agriculture as the basis of building a strong state might also distinguish him from some of the Liberal intellectuals who expressed interest in industrialization. Delorme understood that without addressing very basic, fundamentals like farming and roads, industrialization would not happen or would not occur in such a manner that would build wealth.  To a certain extent, he was proven correct about the utter failure of the Haitian economy and the loss of sovereignty. 

Sometimes we believe the Haitian political class should be forced to reread classic Haitian authors like Delorme but they have, in even more perverted ways, corrupted his already problematic political philosophy. The enlightened philosopher or poet presidents have either failed to materialize or proven themselves willing and able to rule in opposition to the interests of the people. The exploitation of the color question certainly did not help here, as Duvalier and other like-minded intellectuals used it as part of the justification for political power to noirs and the middle-class. While they may have, in some cases, represented a shift to a more meritocratic "aristocratie" in the Delormean sense, the Haitian political class continues to operate in the same destructive manner. 

West African Food in the Middle Ages

Lewicki's West African Food in the Middle Ages is one of those useful reference books for anyone interested in finding out more about the alimentary factors in the history of Sudanic West Africa before the changes wrought by the introduction of American crops after 1492. It covers the period from the 900s until the early 1500s, mainly drawing from medieval external Arabic sources and later post-Leo Africanus sources from Europe or West African chronicles. For anyone interested in the Western Sudan from Takrur and the Senegambia to Mali and Songhay, there will be some useful information. Even Hausaland, Saharan and Sahelian Tuareg, Mauritania, Kanem, and Borno are included. The societies south of the savanna are usually omitted, though references to kola and Yoruba cuisine will occasionally appear in the text.

Unfortunately, since the book is basically a list of the various types of food and some of the dishes prepared in West Africa's Sahel and savanna lands, there is not too much in the way of analysis. Moreover, since many of our sources are external Arabic geographies or accounts, there is a lot of room for error, doubt, and uncertainty. For instance, Lewicki theorizes from al-Umari's account of Mali that criminals or convicts may have been sacrificed in an annual yam ritual akin to that of the Asante and other groups south of the empire of Mali. He could very well be correct, but there are too many uncertainties and unknown factors in the interpretation of the Arabic sources or the chronology of certain customs or culinary habits. Some dishes and drinks, such as mead, the use of millet for beer and porridges, sorghum, and milk or butter, appear across the region and are probably of very deep antiquity in West Africa. Imported spices and things such as wheat, onions, lemons, peaches, and sugarcane attest to changes in consumption patterns tied to trade, migration, and cultural shifts. One can look at, for instance, al-Bakri's description of Awdaghust, with its North Africans (coming from societies where wheat was an important crop) and its black women slave cooks well-known for their confections as an example of the probable culinary culture that characterized other Sahelian trading towns or centers. 

Despite the structural problems of this book basically consisting of a series of lists and some of the necessarily speculative theories or conclusions, it really does provide greater clarity as to the basic diet of various West African peoples. The ancestors of the Imraguen of Mauritania, who feasted on sea turtles, or the Bambara consumption of dogs is explained adequately. Widespread eating of carrion is also elucidated, bringing more context to Ibn Battuta's negative perception of dietary habits in Mali. Moreover, the early introduction of Mediterranean and Asian crops or domesticates in West Africa raises all sorts of interesting questions. Lewicki was writing at a time when Arkell's theory of Christian Nubian influence in lands west of the Nile was great, but looking at Kanem, one finds early references to sugarcane and Mediterranean crops. Some of these were not common in Borno during the 19th century but one cannot avoid the obvious conclusion that Kanem-Borno was part of a complex pattern of agricultural and cultural change across West Africa. 

The Christian Century

Due to a friend discussing the history of the Jesuits with us multiple times, we have endeavored to read about the order in various locales around the world. Although our original interest in the Jesuits derived from their history in Louisiana, Saint-Domingue and Ethiopia, our friend has sparked our interest in the Jesuit mission to Japan. Indeed, he actually proposed the idea of a comparative study of the Jesuit missions to Ethiopia and Japan, which prompted our reading of Boxer's The Christian Century in Japan, 1549-1650. Both offer an interesting cases of non-Western civilizations in which the Jesuits enjoyed some success before a brutal crackdown and expulsion. The two also raised tantalizing possibilities of early "westernization" of Japan and Ethiopia through religion and intellectual exchange at a moment of political turmoil or conflict. Furthermore, the two also closed off most contacts with Roman Catholic European powers while investing in ties with Protestant Europeans like the Dutch, albeit more successfully in the case of Japan than Ethiopia. Both cases culminated in the exile for those of Portuguese origins as well as prohibitions of Roman Catholicism although Catholic missionaries continued to secretly enter the two states. Last but certainly not least, the two missions included some rather remarkable Jesuits: Valignano, João Rodrigues Tçuzu and Pedro Páez who produced invaluable writings on the two regions.

The two obviously differ in some key ways, however. The Ethiopians were already Christians, albeit of an Orthodox persuasion. Moreover, the Portuguese enjoyed a very lucrative trade as an intermediary of Japan and China via Macao. The Red Sea, on the other hand, was not as economically vital to Portuguese interests and Jesuits often relied on Muslim and banyan traders and ships to reach Massawa. The Japanese were also, for a time, actively engaged in shipping and external trade through Red-Seal ships traveling across Southeast Asia (and even beyond). The Christian kingdom or empire of Ethiopia relied on Muslims for much of its international trade across the Red Sea or Indian Ocean. Another vast distinction can be seen in the success of the Jesuits in converting the most powerful personage of the Ethiopian government, Susenyos. The Jesuits in Japan enjoyed some success with Kyushu daimyo and were amicably received or tolerated by Oda Nobunaga and Hideyoshi but obviously never converted the heads of the central government. 

The two also differed in that the mendicant orders appear to have been a far more important factor in the intra-Christian squabbling in Japan than in Ethiopia. The missionaries in Japan also appear to have converted more natives, although the high estimate of around 300,000 cited by Boxer may be incorrect. Additionally, the Jesuits seem to have been more effective with seminaries in Japan, although relatively few Japanese were ordained as priests or became members of the Society. Perhaps the greater esteem the Jesuits had for the Japanese explained part of the difference, as they were contrasted favorably with the "blacks" of India by Valignano. One suspects the Jesuits may have also let their racial bias shape their perception of Ethiopians in a way that was not necessarily the case for the Japanese. 

Ultimately, as argued by Andreu Martínez d'Alòs-Moner, the Jesuit missions in Ethiopia, Japan and even Mughal India failed when local political conditions shifted and elites were no longer willing to support or tolerate them. According to Boxer, the Japanese were less dependent on the Portuguese for the trade in Chinese silks by the time of Ieyasu, while in Ethiopia local resistance to the Catholics and Susenyos led to his abdication and the restoration of the Orthodox Church by the next king. A shift in socio-political conditions or economic matters meant the flimsy foundations the Jesuits built could be eradicated or at least neutralized and gradually destroyed. From reading Boxer, one cannot help but think that a skillful combination of the proselytizing tactics of the mendicant orders and the Jesuits would have been necessary to ensure the survival of Catholicism. After all, the peasants and lower classes of the Japanese were the ones who persisted in their faith the longest after the strategy of converting daimyo and samurai failed. Perhaps had the Jesuits attempted more outreach among the peasantry and poor, they could have had lasted a little longer in Japan. As for their tactics in Ethiopia, they also appear to have mainly sought to work their way down from the elites but faced too mch resistance from the local clergy and monastic figures. The main pillar of support for the Jesuits there was the mixed-race Portuguese community, who after a few generations likely adhered to more Ethiopian traditions than those of Portugal. 

Boxer's account of the crypto-Christians, priests who entered as merchants after 1614, and the Shimabara Rebellion suggest that Christianity survived and even spread further across Japan after the 1614 edict. Nonetheless, without enough new Catholic clergy to guide them and the government's economic and political persecution of local Christians driving many to apostatize, the faith could not prosper or grow. In Ethiopia, the Ethio-Portuguese were eventually exiled without much of a legacy in Ethiopia besides the Indian and Indo-Portuguese influences in Gondarine architecture. It seeems to us that the "Christian Century" in Japan and the Jesuits in the land of Prester John represent a key moment in Portuguese/Iberian expansion of the 16th and 17th centuries as well as frustrated paths that could have drastically changed the trajectory of two regions in the early modern era. 

San Sue Strut

"San Sue Strut" is one of those gems of the early swing era we forgot about in Gunther Schuller's work on the Swing Era. It might even surpass "Casa Loma Stomp" in its irresistible beat. The palpable tension and call and response of the horn section here is masterfully performed and arranged. Glen Gray and these other white cats almost got us wanting to read Lost Chords: White Musicians and Their Contribution to Jazz: 1915-1945.

The Horse in West African History

Robin Law's The Horse in West African History is one of the indispensable studies anyone with an interest in Borno history must read. Although encompassing the entirety of West Africa, Borno frequently appears as one of the centers of the West African equestrian tradition. Not only was the imported, superior horse pivotal in the military expansion of Kanem and later Borno, but Borno became a center of horse breeding that likely was pivotal for the expansion of the Islamic-influenced technology to other regions, like Hausaland. The horse, as Law convincingly demonstrates, permitted a significant enlargement of the scale of political organization. The mounted warriors of states like Kanem-Borno were able to cover more ground quickly, pursue fleeing captives or defeated opponents, and, to at least a limited extent, build the power and prestige of rulers who provided horses or expensive equipment (quilted cloth armor, imported chainmail, saddles, stirrups). While horses must have been known in Kanem before the reign of Dunama Dibalemi in the 1200s, it was the introduction of stirrups and new technology that made the cavalry units of states like Mali and Kanem-Borno so powerful. Law's study elucidates this process with some provocative conclusions on the relationship of technology, tradition, and the state.

Although horses have been in West Africa for several centuries and a pre-Islamic tradition of horsemanship developed in areas of the northern savanna and the Jos Plateau, the widespread adoption of horses for military purposes in even the forested regions of West Africa illustrate the significance of the animal and new technology in the political economy of various states. States created by or at least associated with mounted warriors appeared among the Mossi and other parts of West Africa. Oyo, the subject of Law's dissertation, represents another example. In this case, a large Yorubaland state emerged whose expansion owed much to cavalry forces used with great success. Horses were so important and prestigious in West Africa that they became symbols of status for rituals, ceremonies, and even, as among the Igbo, objects of sacrifice. Due to their expense, especially in the forest regions where a reduced life expectancy meant replacements were always required, the horse became rightly associated with wealth, status, and power. The costs associated with feeding and maintenance could also be astronomical, again conveying the association of horses with political power and wealth. 

In our beloved Borno, where the horse was bred by groups like the Shuwa, the horse was less expensive but a superior one with the finest equipment was still largely the preserve of the wealthy (and their free clients or slaves). After all, if Leo Africanus's confused account of Borno is reliable, fine horses acquired via the trans-Saharan trade were intimately linked to the slave trade, which in turn was linked to the state and its military apparatus in the procurement of captives for export. In fact, Law speculates that access to Dongola breed horses via Arabs migrating into the Lake Chad region may have been an additional factor in the Bulala driving the Sayfawa dynasty out of Kanem in the 1380s. So, clearly horses have played a huge role in the rise and fall of the Sayawa. In order to acquire the best quality of horses and equipment like chainmail, a brutal cycle of horse-slave trading developed. The horse becomes a key component of the political economy of war or the "ownership of the means of destruction" in which kings and powerful nobles armed warriors with the necessary mounts to produce the captives who then brought in more horses or luxury imports that could be redistributed to dependents or re-exported. This may have explanatory value for the "Sudanic" state in other parts of the Central Sudan and the savanna lands, even if it is not a perfect example of Aristotle's oligarchy nor a "feudal" system per se. One finds parallels for sure with Bagirmi, Wadai, and Darfur. 

What is most interesting about this is the pioneer role of Kanem-Borno in the rise and fall of the horse's military importance. Kanem was likely one of the first of the early kingdoms to adopt stirrups and acquire access to North African or Dongola horses. And while Dunama Dibalemi's expansion of Kanem is also mentioned in the context of the vast number of horses he held, earlier rulers of Kanem may have possibly initiated the process of increasingly vital cavalry units for military purposes or lightning-quick raids on decentralized or political fragmented societies. Since Kanem was associated with the trans-Saharan slave trade as early as the 9th century, one would think horses were in use for at least slave raids if not in other military ventures. Unfortunately, until archaeological evidence or new textual sources emerge, our theory of Kanem as a pioneer is impossible to prove. Nonetheless, Kanem was certainly one of the early West African states identified by Law to adopt the mounted warrior as a central component of its army, which occurred by the 13th century. States in the Kanem-Borno sphere of influence in turn adopted or adapted cavalry in ways that reflect Kanuri influence, at least in the case of Bagirmi and perhaps Hausaland.

Borno under the Sayfawa were also pioneers in the early use of firearms. Everyone knows of Idris Alooma's use of muskets and even Turkish specialists brought in to assist with their implementation. Unfortunately, subsequent mais of Borno appear to have lost interest or the resources to maintain an important musketry corps in the army, although the occasional gift of muskets from Tripoli arrived during the reign of Idris Alooma's grandson. Soon, according to Law, the western part of West Africa and the coastal zones were the first to successfully make a permanent transition to firearms in the 1700s and 1800s. But Borno preceded these zones as early as the late 1500s, only to continue its reliance on horse warriors even into the second half of the 1800s. Why did Borno not maintain an active or at least notable musketry corps? The guns were still cheaper than fully equipped horses, and could have been utilized with enslaved soldiers to further centralize political power. Perhaps, as O'Fahey suggested in the case of Darfur, the greater mobility of cavalry was the primary factor. It is interesting, however, to note that the debate on political centralization and its relationship with a dominant cavalry or musketry is more complicated, but Borno, for a moment, was, during at least part of its "Golden Age" able to draw on both. The effective combination of the two could have cemented political centralization under the Sayfawa, although a corps of enslaved musketeers may have been too much of a threat to the dominant position of the cavalry and regional elites who supplied horses. 

Thinking of Haiti

Although most "Haitian Studies" monographs coming out of US academia seems utterly irrelevant and detached from the harsh realities of Haiti today (particularly at this abysmal current moment), Stieber's Haiti's Paper Wars is probably the best work on Haiti (in English) in recent years. For some inexplicable reason, many North America-based scholars prefer to write about an alternative island nation called Haiti, one bearing little resemblance to the state everyone else knows by that name. To them, writing about Haiti is really about expressing their ideas and hopes of anti-colonialism, race, and alterity. It often has little if anything to do with Haiti or Haitian people, which we suspect to be one of the reasons for the irrelevance of most "Haitian Studies" academic writing. Fortunately, by centering Haitian literary and political thought, Haiti's Paper Wars engages with about 150 years of Haitian discourse on paths for Haiti's future. Everything from Dessalines and Madiou to de Catalogne and Louis Mercier is analyzed to contextualize Haiti's textual "war" of ideas within the grand narrative of Haitian history. This approach is refreshing for demonstrating what one can do with Haitian publications and texts and for not seeking to understand post-1804 Haiti solely through the lens of French neocolonialism or US imperialism. The Western powers undoubtedly played a role in Haiti's past misery and discord, but the problems of Haiti are mostly the result of Haitians themselves. Stieber's study demonstrates this through the ideological battles and disagreements among Haitians themselves since 1804, or really 1791. As a Haitian we have discussed this book with likes to say, Haitians never stopped fighting after 1804. 

Her dichotomy of a Dessalinean "empire of liberty" versus a pro-Enlightenment, pro-liberal republican tradition of the South does aptly describe the contrary political orientations of Haitian leaders for the last 2 centuries. The "imperial" tradition of Dessalines was inherited by Christophe, Soulouque, Janvier, and even 20th century intellectuals influenced by French Maurrasisme and Haitian integral nationalism. The other tradition, on the other hand, stems from the first republic, southern political, historical and literary writings, and a civilizationist discourse of leaders such as Geffrard, who suppressed Vodou. Stieber's amply documented sources generally support this binary along regional, ideological, and political lines as northerners like Christophe channeled the Dessalinean tradition and 20th century literary figures developed the peasant story and Cap-Haitien-based intellectual circles. Soulouque's self-declared empire also followed the Dessalinean critique of the modern West while intellectuals such as Janvier participated in the critique of liberal republicanism's failure to incorporate the peasantry.

Those following in the southern tradition of liberal republicanism were likewise very active through Haiti's early print culture. Milscent, Dumesle, La Concorde, Ardouin's geographical text, the school associated with the Nau in the 1830s, Bergeaud's allegorical novel, Faubert's play, and the Liberals of the later 19th century all represent instances of this southern, pro-Enlightenment tradition. Firmin's interests in economic reform, civilian government, and enfranchisement of citizens form another example of this tradition. One could also add more figures associated with the Liberals or 20th century intellectuals such as Edmond Paul or even colonial-era writers died before Haitian independence. The idea of Haiti as the "first black Republic" implicitly favors the southern, pro-Enlightenment liberal narrative as it overlooks or denies the imperial or monarchical governments in the island nation's political past.

Where things become particularly dicey and difficult to corroborate is the perhaps fulsome praise of the Dessalinean critique. When one reads the works of honest Haitian intellectuals unafraid to expose the generally horrific track record of all governments since 1804, it becomes difficult to see how the "empire of liberty" or those following in its tradition really differed from their southern counterparts. They disagreed on what form the government should take yet neither side ever did much for the rural masses or sought to include them in the political process. Perhaps early in Haitian independence the idea of monarchical governments made sense, considering the huge African-born population, but over time one would think any Western observer of Haitian history would want to see Haiti at least develop a basic liberal democracy that gives a voice to the poor majority and builds government stability. The terrifying reality is that neither tradition has accomplished much for the Haitian people and it is difficult to see how anyone favoring a more egalitarian, just Haiti would think the Dessalinean or bankrupt southern model offer much of value to the future of the nation. 

A reading of Trouillot, Dupuy, Fatton, and other Haitian scholars reveals this quite clearly: despotic presidential monarchism, state against nation, underdevelopment, politics of the belly, and the horrific scars of Duvalierism or creole fascism. The "empire of liberty" envisioned by Dessalines was understandable in light of the brutal history of Saint-Domingue and the context of Haiti in the early 19th century, but what it actually would have looked like or established is unknown. Certainly the examples of its followers are a cause for caution. Christophe built an economically strong state but the project withered while Soulouque, who may have been a patron of the arts who embraced new technology like the daguerreotype, nonetheless continued in the tradition of corruption. The darker 20th century manifestations are even more worrisome. It seems to us that enlightenment liberalism of the type espoused by the republican tradition and the Dessalinean tradition are morally bankrupt models which have driven Haiti to its current abyss. We do not have any solid alternatives, but clearly these two ideological currents, plus Haitian underdevelopment, foreign meddling, and the occasional assertion of the color question, have turned Haiti into the poster child for a failed state. At least Haiti's Paper Wars offers a novel approach to this dilemma that does not center the color question or Haitian cultural alterity as the primary factors in the multifaceted crises of the our troubled island. We would have liked to see a little more analysis of the years between the the Liberal and National parties and the US Occupation but undoubtedly one of the more interesting books on Haiti in some time. 

Kanem-Borno: 1,000 Years of Splendor

Although Philip Koslow's Kanem-Borno: 1,000 Years of Splendor is part of a series of books directed to young readers, we found it useful during our initial "serious" interest in the history of Kanem-Borno. As part of a series for children and with a title that uses the word splendor, one can already guess that the book general narrative will be one of uncovering a "glorious" African past that is unexpected or surprising to the average Westerner. That is undoubtedly what the book delivers, but we were pleasantly surprised to see the level of research Koslow invested in this work. Drawing on Lange, the UNESCO General History of Africa series, Palmer, Nachtigal, Barth, and the publications of Lebeuf and others on the Sao, Koslow does not dumb down the subject matter.

Unfortunately, the text problematically repeats some of the unfounded or weaker claims of Lange. For instance, the assertion on page 21 that the Sefuwa dynasty was of Berber stock but "de-Berberised" through intermarriage with local leading lineages is not clear from the available sources. Kanuri and other scholars also offer a different interpretation of the mune incident during the reign of Dunama. Furthermore, at least one of the images is paired with an incorrect caption. An engraving from the 1820s depicting a raid on Mandara is described as a village in Borno on page 33. Likewise on page 34, a caption for a photograph of the minaret of the mosque in Agadez falsely claims the use of clay for building began in the 16th century in Borno. That is almost certainly false as the use of fired brick and probably clay predates the 1500s. One could also point out the error in the caption for the image on page 48, incorrectly describing it as a depiction of a sheikh instead of a mai who, by the 1820s, was living on, in part, a subsidy from Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi. 

But a few quibbles aside on inaccurate or misleading captions and repetition of unproven assertions by a major figure in "Bornuology" or Kanem-Borno Studies, this is a good overview of a complex African civilization. There is a summary of the chronicles of Idris Alooma (Idris b. Ali), basic review of some key political points revealed from the Diwan and a short chapter on Borno's turbulent period in the 19th century (shock of the jihad, then Rabeh and European colonialism). There are some interesting photographs of Sao artifacts and an attempt to integrate this mysterious people(s) with the history of Kanem-Borno. In such a brief book, there is only so much that could be done to link the Sao and Kanem-Borno, and there remains so much to learn about the various other populations living near Lake Chad. This book at least highlights some of the neighboring societies and cultures which were either conquered or absorbed by Kanem and Borno through Sao arts and archaeology.

Korea Under Japanese Rule

Randomly encountering this video from the 1930s on Korea under Japanese rule brought back memories of Primitive Selves: Koreana in the Japanese Colonial Gaze, 1910–1945 by Atkins. We highly recommend it for a look at the way colonialism and culture interacted in the context of Japanese occupation of Korea. It brings to mind a similar book on Haiti and the US during the US Occupation of Haiti from 1915-1934 by Renda. Of course, the US policymakers, marines, and anthropologists did not see themselves as sharing a "racial" origin with Haitians, but a shared discourse of primitivism shaped both colonial ventures. We suspect Haiti also played a role in sparking the racial interests of white America and the West in "black" peoples during the interwar years, like the Japanese interest in Korean culture, shamanism, and superstition.

Ancient Ghana and Mali

Although somewhat outdated, Nehemia Levtzion's Ancient Ghana and Mali remains the best introductory overview of 2 of the early major kingdoms of the Western Sudan. Gomez's African Dominion reflects more recent scholarship and advances in archaeology for the region, but suffers from a more hermetic nature, inaccessible style, and questionable attempts at integrating race and gender into the topic. Much of Gomez's text also degenerated into lengthy analysis on Songhay of interest only to specialists while neglecting some of arguments of other scholars. Levtzion's book, on the other hand, represents a fine, albeit dated, synthesis of oral traditions and textual analysis on the development of kingdoms, the spread of Islam, and trans-Saharan trade. Unfortunately, we just do not have enough sources on early Ghana or the early Malinke chiefdoms. In addition, perhaps inclusion of early Songhay history and the Kawkaw state would have been a good addition to encapsulate the entirety of the 3 "empires" of the Western Sudan from c.500 to c.1500.

While the scholarly consensus of today rejects the Almoravid "conquest" of Ghana, Levtzion's study demonstrates how the Western Sudan became increasingly incorporated into global medieval exchange and cultural development. The gold of the Western Sudan was pivotal for Mediterranean and European monetary systems and political transformations from the Italian trading centers to Fatimid expansion in North Africa. Trans-Saharan trade also reached the forest belt and coastal regions of West Africa as the gold fields of today's Ghana fed into the trading system of Mali. Local transformations with the spread of Muslim Dyula traders and Malinke warriors to the south and east, plus Islamic conversion of local rulers in more regions of Africa led to new developments, tastes, spiritual expression and trade between Western and Central Sudan. After all, the Wangarawa were in Hausaland by the 14th century and the Diwan of Kanem-Borno mentions Mali clerics coming to Kanem by the 13th century. 

These early contacts between the Western and Central Sudan unfortunately do not appear in much of the external Arabic sources. An early trade route connecting Egypt and Ghana went through Kawkaw (Gao), and Tadmekka traded with Ghana and Kawkaw. Through Air and the early Hausa states, people from the Middle Niger and Kanem likely interacted as copper, salt, gold, textiles, and slaves were exchanged. Sadly, learning of what kinds of relations existed between Ghana or Mali and Kanem is difficult to uncover. Nonetheless, we would hazard, based on Levtzion's mention of intersecting trans-Saharan routes and the evidence of some cultural ties in other sources, that Kanem and the Central Sudan must have interacted through trade, religion and migration. After all, by the late 11th century, the ruling elites of Takrur, Ghana, Kawkaw (Gao), and Kanem were Muslims This convergence of Islamization in the most important kingdoms of the Sudanic belt in the Western and Central Sudan must have favored or fostered ties, diplomatic relations, and movements of Islamic clerics, as mentioned in the Diwan and Kano Chronicle. The two major "commodities" exported by the Western and Central Sudan, respectively, were gold and slaves. The lack of competition over the principal exports to North Africa and Egypt plus the development of textile industries in each region likely fueled exchange between the two zones.

Balancing Written History with Oral Traditions

Hassimi O. Maiga's Balancing Written History with Oral Tradition: The Legacy of the Songhoy People is one of those studies by a member of the Songhay people with so much promise. As a scholarly work authored by someone with local insights, one expects a lot from the author and his ambitious title. Indeed, one occasionally finds references to this book among online Afrocentrists who promote it.  Unfortunately, Maiga's study fails to deliver on many levels. We have learned the hard way to always be wary with the online Afrocentrists. Check their sources and one can easily discover severe limitations of their paradigm. 

What emerges from reading the text is a rather confusing attempt at face-value interpretation of Songhay or Songhoy traditions. There is no nuanced, sophisticated interpreting of oral traditions here. Moreover, Maiga relies heavily on dated sources such as Felix Dubois and J. Beraud-Villers. At times, Maiga appears to actually believe the Songhoy derive from Yemen (Dia brothers, who were somehow also Lemta Berbers?), Egypt and Nubia. Without any evidence, Maiga also asserts a deep antiquity of Katoutka and Koukya, which apparently existed at the same time as the pharoahs of Egypt. We know Gomez's African Dominion cites research demonstrating human habitation of the area of Gao since 2000 BCE, but we do not have sufficient evidence of early urbanism around that time. As more proof of the text's flaws, there's even a bizarre passage claiming potatoes were cultivated in the kingdom of Ghana! 

Furthermore, Maiga is the only writer we have encountered who claimed the Songhoy invented a writing system or script. He linked the "Kumbaw" ideogram writing system to the Kumbaw and/or Sonanche of Gao, allegedly the traditional specialists of writing. However, our previous attempts at verifying or corroborating Maiga's claim failed. There very well could have been some kind or ritualistic or ideograph system used by Songhoy specialists, but Maiga's haphazard presentation and flawed attempt at balancing written and oral sources does not inspire confidence or hope. One would also think better scholars would have discovered this Kumbaw writing system by now. Even if they were Western ethnographers and historians more interested in the political history of the Songhay kingdoms or Islamic influences, wouldn't a Jean Rouch or Hunwick have written about a Songhay ritual writing? 

One is better off consulting Hunwick, Rouch, Boubou Hama or Paulo de Moraes Farias for a much deeper analysis based on synthesizing written sources and oral history. To his credit, the author's presentation of the various dynasties from the Koungorogossi, supposedly the first, to the Dia is interesting. Does he present any evidence that the first Songhoy dynasty existed 3 centuries before the Dia brothers arrived in c.670? No, unfortunately. But the family manuscript Maiga mentions in this context sounds interesting and should be copied and analyzed by others interested in Songhay history. There are bits and pieces of his study which warrant further inquiry. A better scholar might be able to propose a more historically accurate reading of some of the traditions and family manuscripts utilized by Maiga. 

Nubian Renaissance of the Funj

Although Spaulding's coauthored Kingdoms of Sudan includes much of the analysis found in his earlier dissertation, we felt a need to read the original for more context. Ostensibly a history of the Funj Sultanate's northern Abdallab state or region from 1600-1821, in practice the dissertation is organized in two parts: political history of the Abdallab state or provincial kingdom of the Funj Sultanate and an analysis of Islam and commerce as forces undermining the Sultanate. Spaulding uses oral traditions, the Funj Chronicle, the Tabaqat and various external sources in his endeavor to reconstruct the outline of the Abdallab as well as the Funj. Funj origins and their Sultanate as a "Sudanic" state sharing many commonalities with a string of kingdoms stretching from Senegambia to Sinnar (Sennar) is a persistent theme. The Funj state as a non-tribal, non-Arab, polyethnic Nubian state with continuity from the medieval Christian kingdoms is likewise a consistent theme.

The idea of the Funj as a southern Nubian people pushed from their homeland along the White Nile by the Shilluk seems plausible enough. Linguistic evidence and Shilluk traditions do suggest it is plausible. That the Funj state retained the horned crown of medieval Nubian kingship as well as the practices of matrilineal succession and seizing vassal princes as hostages is also suggestive of continuity with Christian Nubia. The ecology and mixture of subsistence economies were additional factors of continuity from medieval to Funj Nubia. The region's mix of sedentary farmers, camel and cattle pastoralists, hill peoples probably maintained or inherited much of the same lifestyle of their medieval forebears. Indeed, according to Spaulding, the early Funj kingdom from c.1504 was barely or only superficially Islamic. In fact, the commercial factors favoring Islamic conversion were probably paramount for Amara Dunqas choosing Islam. The Beja traders and their network linked to the Red Sea plus Islamic influences from northern Nubia and Egypt made Islam attractive for serving long-distance trade. 

Nonetheless, the Funj were carriers of a more "traditional" or "African" political system based on administered commerce under royal rule. As "divine" kings associated with life, death, and sustenance through a number or rituals, accession rites, and pre-Islamic belief, the sultan was legitimate to the peasantry by looking after their interests and, ideally, defending them from merchants who abused the sheil system of advancing grains or other goods to peasants before harvest time to trap them in debt. Intriguingly, Spaulding proposes that popular Sudanese religion was neither exceptionally Christian (medieval era) nor one of orthodox Islam. Popular belief under the Funj revolved around baraka (more as a life-force), saints (fuqaha believed to possess baraka) and veneration of these saints for the transference of baraka. Noticing parallels with a number of "traditional" African religious systems from Rwanda to Haiti, Spaulding suggests this worldview was gradually undermined by Funj rulers adopting orthodox Islam to appease Muslim merchants. 

This appeasement of merchants and embrace of orthodoxy, in turn, led to a decline in the legitimacy of the kingship and nobility to the peasantry, who saw traditional rites removed from kingship. Kings also sided with the orthodox Islamic merchants, even when the latter exploited their indebted peasants or stockpiled grain during times of famine. The decline of Sinnar and Abdallab rule, especially pronounced after 1762 and the subsequent wars of the Hamaj Regency against other parties, further eroded the government through increasing control of caravans by merchants. While the state declined and fragmented with provincial rulers battling for control or domination of routes and resources, the peasantry aligned with charismatic fuqaha whose virtues and Islamic piety were respected by all. These Islamic holy men defended the exploited peasantry and challenged kings. In response, rulers bestowed land grants upon them and gifts for receiving their prayers and virtues rather than spells or threats.

On the question of the Islamic holy men and the peasantry, Spaulding's analysis is perhaps most interesting. The obvious parallel for us is Borno and mallam-peasant relations. We know, like their counterparts in the Sinnar Sultanate, Borno's Islamic holy men received land grants with tax-free rights. Some of them also criticized the government and spoke on behalf of the peasantry and downtrodden. Moreover, they too included "insider" ulama and clerics who worked with or on behalf of the Sayfawa dynasty. What we would like to know more about is the local Bornoan merchant class during the same era, from c.1500-1820. Were they also ensnaring the peasantry in debt while pressuring the local government to practice more orthodox Islam? Since so many of the Sayfawa mais had performed the hajj and were a Muslim dynasty since the 11th century, the role of Borno or Kanuri merchants in promoting (or not) Islam must have been different than conditions in Sinnar. So, was the basis of the mallam-peasant alliance in Borno due to fief-holders overtaxing cultivators? It would be fascinating to discover more on Kanuri popular religion, especially how it transformed over time to become, in part, a challenge to established authority. Sadly, the only semi-detailed account we know from before the demise of the Sayfawa dynasty occurred in the 1820s among the Manga, but explicitly against Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi. Nevertheless, the "feki" associated with that rebellion bore many of the same characteristics as "outsider" fuqaha of the Funj Sultanate.

To conclude, Spauding's work is an indispensable source on the Funj. Beginning with the fragmentation of medieval Nubia and Funj origins until the Turco-Egyptian invasion, this dissertation attempts a promising synthesis of political and social history. It is possible later scholarship has challenged his characterization of medieval Nubian states as "Sudanic." Perhaps he was wrong in his characterization of pre-Christian, pre-Islamic Nubian religion. However, he was correct about continuity as a major element in understanding the flow of Nubia's history. And the Islamization and Arabization of the region was far more complex than what modern Sudanese traditions or external Arabic sources suggest. The Funj emerge as builders of the last great Nubian state, one that promoted the forces that ultimate transformed the Nilotic Sudan whilst simultaneously bearing the flame of an ancient civilization. One cannot help but wonder how things would have developed without the Egyptian invasion in 1821.