Bingo

The classics. We don't have these anymore...

Algo contigo

 

Ya no puedo continuar espiando, día y noche tú llegar adivinando

Ya no sé con qué inocente excusa pasar por tu casa

Y me quedan muy pocos caminos y aunque pueda parecerte un desatino

No quisiera yo morirme sin tener algo contigo

Grito de Lares

Olga Jiménez de Wagenheim's Puerto Rico's Revolt For Independence: El Grito De Lares may not be the best introduction to the frustrated assertion of Puerto Rican sovereignty, but it's definitely worthwhile. This study seeks to elucidate the factors that led up to the Grito de Lares and its defeat, beyond the nationalist interpretations or those of the Spanish colonial government explanations. Using a variety of archival sources and testimony from the defeated rebels, the social, economic, and political origins of the rebellion are clearly presented in a persuasive manner. While we are not sure if the reasoning of the author for why Puerto Rico's independence movement developed later than that of mainland Spanish America is valid, framing Puerto Rico as experiencing the type of colonization the mainland had experienced centuries before might be correct. 

We are just a little unsure about how the Puerto Rican case really differed from that of the Dominican Republic and, to a certain extent, Cuba. Like the DR, Puerto Rico was a marginal Spanish colony, but having the exceptional case of the Haitian Revolution and the change in sovereignty from French, Spanish and Haitian rule definitely made it different from Puerto Rico. But the Dominican nationalists had to fight another war of independence from Spain after Pedro Santana reinvited Spanish rule. Why did the War of Restoration succeed while Puerto Rico's independence movement failed to secure widespread support from hacendados, slaves, and jornaleros (besides those of Lares and nearby western regions)? Was it really due to the strong foreign provenance of many slaveholding landowners whose wealth and connections would have been necessary for the Creoles to successfully attain independence? Or the ambiguous promises of the revolutionaries to slaves and jornaleros who joined their cause?

Indian Slavery, or Captives of Conquest

For all interested in learning about the origins of enslaved indigenous peoples in the Spanish circum-Caribbean, Woodruff Stone's Captives of Conquest: Slavery in the Early Modern Spanish Caribbean is an enlightening read. Captives of Conquest demonstrates how central Indian labor and the commodification of their very lives was to the process of Spanish colonial expansion from 1492-1550. It also highlights how the Caribbean laid the foundations for Spanish America through the role of slave raiding, slave auxiliaries, and slave trading for Spanish exploration and travel to new parts of the Americas. The often weak authority of the Spanish Crown and the evolving discourse on Indian rights, labor regimes, and "race" can be seen in the pivotal half-century or so in which hundreds of thousands of Indians were, voluntarily or involuntarily, participants in the creation of European colonialism in the western hemisphere. 

Our interest in reading this work was mainly with regard to the degree or extent foreign Indian slaves intermarried and interacted with local indigenous populations of the Caribbean and the increasingly important African population of the Greater Antilles. Citing various colonial records on the trade in Indians from Tierra Firme, Mexico, Brazil, Central America, Florida, and beyond, Woodruff Stone presents clear evidence for a vast scale of slave trading that brought more Indians to Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Jamaica. Thus, despite the dwindling local indigenous population in Hispaniola or Puerto Rico, the slave trade of Indians from throughout the circum-Caribbean introduced thousands more. Their labor was essential for Spanish sugar plantations, gold mining, and domestic service, especially since African slaves were more expensive. Despite their numerical significance, high mortality rates and the lack of sufficient records (after all, many Indians were victims of illegal Spanish slave raids, including against allies of the Spanish in Venezuela), they continued to be important ever after 1542. Indeed, this proves that some of the colonial reports of Hispaniola or Puerto Rico lacking Indian populations after 1550 were partly inspired by officials eager to hide their continued enslavement of indigenous peoples. 

Drawing on pre-contact Caribbean mobility, trade, and cultural networks, Captives of Conquest establishes that the indigenes of the region had long-established connections. However, it appears that the rapid influx of thousands of foreign Indians from places as disparate as Florida and Mexico or the Yucatan and the interior of Venezuela may have further weakened Taino caciques. If local caciques, whose authority was already eroded by the repartimiento of 1514 on Hispaniola and rapid population declines and dislocations caused by the Spanish, were also losing authority because of the introduction of thousands of foreign Indians, then we are inclined to think locals had to reconceive local political and social traditions. Even if foreign Indians were slaves and locals part of an encomienda system, in practice the distinction between a free and an enslaved Indian might not have meant much. Thus, we are inclined to think foreign Indians who survived may have joined local Indian communities and helped create new identities. Evidence of this can be seen in Yucatecan and Taino marriages in colonial Cuba. According to Captives of Conquest, some of these populations also intermarried with Africans, thereby adding more cultural diversity. 

Our guess is that Puerto Rico experienced something similar as local Indians intermarried or formed new communities with those from the Lesser Antilles, the Bahamas, Yucatan, and Tierra Firme. Perhaps this may explain why the cacique of Mona, for instance, was a native of Tierra Firme living in San German during the 1590s. If non-local Indians could rise to positions of authority, and the Taino were always mobile and engaged in long-distance trade, perhaps foreign Indians were more assimilable than we can detect from the Spanish accounts. Thus, perhaps the enslaved Indians enumerated in the de Lando census of 1530, who already outnumbered "free" Indians in Puerto Rico, may have included people who adopted local Indian practices or joined their communities. Or later did so, possibly contributing to the maintenance of Indian communities and practices that were later adopted by all the free peasantry of the island.

Popol Vuh

Our ongoing fascination with Mesoamerican civilizations might actually force us to read this, which is explained quite well for the layman in this podcast. Maya civilization is undoubtedly one of the most interesting ones in the Americas. Unfortunately, to properly delve into the history of this part of the world would require a shift away from our current Africa obsession. The best way to connect the two is probably via the Caribbean and the history of African-descended peoples in Mexico and Central America. 

Surviving Spanish Conquest

Anderson-Córdova's Surviving Spanish Conquest: Indian Fight, Flight, and Cultural Transformation in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico is a must-read for everyone interested in the cultural transformations that occurred in the first two Spanish colonial conquests of the Americas. For obvious reasons, this also has relevant implications for the topic of indigenous legacies in the Spanish Caribbean and the so-called neo-Taino movement. Although some of the conclusions remain tentative due to a number of factors, such as the lack of sufficient archaeological research (such as contact-era sites in Puerto Rico) and the loss of repartimiento documents for early Puerto Rico, this careful study of acculturation (or its absence) attests to the survival of indigenous culture for several decades. The encomienda Indians of Hispaniola, for instance, were able to preserve and maintain traditions and practices well into the 16th century, even as population decline and the erosion of the authority of the caciques continued. 

Applying the theory of compartmentalization to this process in which Indians of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico paid lip-service to Spanish impositions or Christianity but retained cohoba, areytos, ballgames, ritual feasts, and other practice allows us to see how and why elements of indigenous culture were able to survive and influence the Creole peasantry that succeeded the collapse of the gold mining economy and encomienda system. The author's ability to use colonial-sources from Spanish perspectives to uncover this is also exemplary, although many of these sources leave unanswered questions about, for instance, the degree of acculturation for enslaved Indians or the types of interactions local Indians had with slaves of diverse origins. We also lack sufficient documentation for Puerto Rico's indigenous population, which could have been as low as 30,00-60,000 when the Spanish arrived. Yet, if it is indeed true that many of the island's Indians fled to other parts of the Antilles to escape Spanish rule, we can probably assume that a decent portion of the Indian captives seized by Spanish raids in the Lesser Antilles included indigenous populations who could have come from Puerto Rico. Either way, there are written sources referencing the movement of indigenous populations from smaller islands who returned to Puerto Rico or were settled there, as seems to have been the case with the Indians of Mona. 

Unlike Cuba, however, we lack the same degree of detailed ethnographic, historical, and archaeological research that indicates indigenous survival for Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Nonetheless, the evidence does suggest that local Indians and foreign enslaved indigenous populations from other parts of the Americas remained important for the colonial economy long after 1514 (repartimiento in Hispaniola) and the de Lando census in 1530. Comparative studies of Jamaica and Cuba, plus additional archaeological and ethnographic work in Puerto Rico will likely find similar examples of indigenous survival and cultural longevity. After all, Puerto Rico is known for having noticeable levels of Indigenous Caribbean ancestry through genetic studies and historical references from Abbad y Lasierra and colonial-documents speak of an Indian population in the hills outside San German. It would be amazing for archaeologists to work in the area of San German and the Indiera for post-contact village sites showing us a Puerto Rican example like that of El Chorro el Maita in Cuba. That, with extensive oral histories could reveal ways in which Puerto Rico was similar to Cuba for indigenous survival and cultural legacies long after 1550. 

Les deux Indiens

Ramón Emeterio Betances's Les deux Indiens is probably one of the most fascinating examples of Indianist literature of the 19th century Caribbean. Written in French and as a response to Alejandro Tapia y Rivera's La palma del cacique, the ardent nationalist Betances subverts the genre. Instead of telling a tale of romance between an indigenous woman and a Spanish male, Betances has Otuké fall in love with Carmen, a beautiful Andalusian. However, due to the brutal and racist Spanish conquest, their romance is doomed. However, unlike, say, Iracema or other examples of Indianist Latin American literature, Carmen bears Otuké's son. This mestizo child, raised by Toba, the warrior brother of Otuké, must be an allegory for the formation of the Puerto Rican people and their opposition to colonial rule. The novel is followed by a short poem that also hints at the fraternal bonds created by the  African and the Indian under Spanish colonialism, another radical instance of anti-colonial sentiment expressed by Betances. 

Perhaps because he was writing in French and had, already by the 1850s, combined anti-slavery, anti-racism and liberal nationalism as the path forward, Betances was able to create the most progressive Indianist literature in the Spanish Caribbean. The indigenous legacy was alive and well, represented in the novella's conclusion by Indians in the forest resisting the Spanish. Toba, son of murdered cacique Ayma of Guanahibo, carries on the fight with Carmen and Otuké's son. Their population may have suffered severe declines and the loss of the cemi and bones of Ayma clearly required a shift in Indian social organization, but Toba and the indigenous resistance must have symbolized an ongoing effort by the Puerto Rican people to liberate the island. Sure, Betances engaged in the typical Romantic-era praise of the island's flora and fauna. Indigenous customs of worship like the cemi appear in the text. But the Indian legacy is a living one, and surely one that a young Betances could have seen in the Puerto Rican population of his day. Undoubtedly, as someone allegedly of mixed-race origins and cognizant of the way historians and travelers had noted the indigenous ancestry of the Puerto Rican population, he would see continuity in the struggle of the indigenous resistance to the conquest and 19th century struggles for independence.

The poem accompanying the novella makes this radical message even more explicit, incorporating the plight of the African into the narrative. This move also brings Betances closer to Haitian writers such as Emile Nau. One wonders if Betances had read Nau or at least heard of his history of the indigenous population of Hispaniola. If so, and in light of Betances's own pro-Haitian views, perhaps his depiction of the indigenous resistance to Spanish enslavement was partly motivated by Nau's history of Hispaniola. There, like in Puerto Rico, the European colonial conquest and subjugation of Indians and Africans was eventually avenged by the birth of Haiti as an independent state. Puerto Rico, suffering under the yoke of colonialism, must follow a similar path which Betances highlights through Toba and Otuké. Unfortunately, Betances's progressive Indianist literature was not followed or developed by subsequent writers.

Bahrey on the Oromo

Although the writings of Bahrey are sadly too brief for a deeper history of the Oromo peoples of the 16th century, his History of the Galla is a fascinating document. As an early ethnographic document of sorts, the Ethiopian monk sought to elucidate the social structure of the Oromo and its role in their often victorious raids and battles with Solomonic Ethiopia. Furthermore, in spite of his own Christian biases and panegyrical allusions to Sarsa Dengel's military prowess and zeal for Christian expansion, Bahrey strikes the modern reader as a relatively balanced source on the Oromo. He blames the small size of the Ethiopian warrior class and the egalitarian (or relatively so) Oromo social system in which all men are reared for war. 

If true, this meant the Oromo age-grade system and their lubas were able to expand and raid several parts of the Solomonic kingdom due to their large source of warriors. Their social system also, according to the end of Bahrey's brief account, included a division of labor on the behalf of the village or community. Their system, though lacking the kind of permanent centralized authority of the Abyssinians or the later Oromo kingdoms, was flexible and able to adapt to different conditions. For instance, the adoption of horses and mules under Mesle in the years 1554-1662 represented an innovation in Oromo military tactics. Thus, it is less surprising to understand how and why the Oromo migrations of the 16th century were so successful, despite occasional internal disputes or divisions. 

The success of the Oromo and the Solomonic dynasty's struggles to contain them during the 16th century remind us of other African states facing similar problems during the same era. The infamous "Jagas" of Kongo, for instance, appear to have formed effective warbands that allowed them to threaten Kongo and other kingdoms in West Central Africa. The Songhai, in West Africa, had Fulani marauders and other issues. Borno, under the Sayfawa dynasty, was also dealing with ongoing rebellions or insecurity near Lake Chad. According to Ahmad b. Furtu, whose chronicles of Idris b. Ali's military campaigns in Kanem and Borno have survived for posterity, the Sayfawa mais had to deal with the rebellious Bulala in Kanem, Tuareg incursions, Kano raids, and attacks from Sao populations near the imperial capital. Like Sarsa Dengel, Idris b. Ali appears to have been quite effective as a military leader. The displaced populations, war captives, and nearly exterminated peoples who felt the wrath of Borno were, for the most part, pacified or reduced to tributary status. 

Unlike the Solomonic rulers, Borno appears to have been far more effective at securing its internal borders by the late 16th century. Part of this must have been due to the different socioeconomic structures of their respective enemies, as well as internal factors like military tactics, adoption of firearms, and administrative practices. One wonders what the Sayfawa would have done if faced with an enemy comparable to the Oromo peoples of the 16th century. The closest enemy might have been the Tuareg along the northwestern border and some of the Tubu and Arab populations in Kanem who were initially aligned with the Bulala sultans. We know Idris b. Ali, at least, won over some of the latter two groups and was able to force some of the Tuareg raiders into vassal status.

An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians

While revisiting Griswold's translation of An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians, we were shocked to see mention of a prophecy of clothed foreigners who would overcome the locals, kill, and cause the indigenes to die of hunger. According to Ramón Pané, the indigenous population (presumably from the Cibao region of Hispaniola, where much of Pané's information was gathered?) came to believe the prophecy was a warning of Columbus. Amazingly, within a few decades of their encounter with the Admiral, their population did experience catastrophic suffering and decline. 

That eerily accurate prediction aside, Pané's brief account of the indigenous population's beliefs and practices is astonishing in other ways. Arrom, drawing on Las Casas, Oviedo, and ethnographic and linguistic data from related indigenous populations like the Arawak, shows how complex Taino mythology and religion actually was. For instance, a myth might allude to something like the origin of the sea or the creation of animals. Others, however, reflect their knowledge of astronomy and weather patterns, such that Anacacuya may have represented a mythic representation of the Pole Star. Their myths also have parallels with Arawak, Carib, and other indigenous societies of South America, suggestive of deep antiquity and possible etymologies of names for mythic places. Some of this remains speculative, naturally, but helps the reader understand some of the metaphors, symbols, and social practices misunderstood by Pané.

If, despite their limitations, sources such as An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians remain indispensable for reconstructing the history of the indigenous Caribbean, one must know how to "read" through the colonial and Christian biases. Arrom's careful footnotes do an excellent job in this regard, thereby showing how one can use colonial sources to reconstruct the history of the Taino of Hispaniola (and the Greater Antilles). One can also begin to see more clearly the numerous ways in which elements of the indigenous cultures survived the conquest and went on to play a major role in the development of the colonial-era peasantries in the Spanish Caribbean. They may have lost the behiques, zemis, caciques, and most of the religion, but inherited several other aspects of the indigenous legacy. 

Aztec Divination

 

We've just finished reading one of David Carrasco's short books on the Aztecs. It has rekindled our interest in the New Philology School and the importance of the pre-Hispanic past of the vast region. Alas, if only there were more time in the day to juggle all of our current interests...

Meroitic Lower Nubia

Millet's dissertation, "Meroitic Nubia," was not what we expected. Instead of a speculative and dated interpretation of Meroitic Lower Nubia and the Dodekaschoinos, Millet's essay focuses on interpreting the Meroitic inscriptions and texts to make sense of northern Nubia's elite administrative, religious, and kinship structures. Due to our failure to make sense of most of the Meroitic language, however, there is a lot of guesswork and attempts to corroborate guesses with Demotic and Greek sources or texts. With those limitations in mind, Millet nonetheless raises a number of interesting questions about the role of northern Nubia during the 3rd century of our era. 

According to Millet, the region's growing importance must have been linked to the adoption of the waterwheel, gold mining at Wadi el-Allaqi, and trade routes through the desert to Egypt. Intriguingly, Millet also proposes that Lower Nubia's economic importance was also based on trade with the west and southwest, with Darfur and Kordofan. The spread of the camel and Meroe's interests in peace with the desert nomads (ancestors of the Beja and others) must have been, in part, motivated by a desire to provide security for trade routes to Egypt. Although Meroe appears to have "shared" the Dodekaschoinos with the Ptolemaic and Roman rulers of Egypt, the continued importance of the temple at Philae represented another interest of Meroites in Lower Nubia. 

As for the general thrust of his thesis, on collateral inheritance of titles in Meroitic Nubia or the degree to which his tentative genealogies of elite families in the region can be substantiated, we assume more recent scholarship has partly addressed this. Our friends, the Wayekiye family, for instance, must be one of the fascinating families for analysis because of their education and links to the princely Akin lineage. Were they and other similar families also investing in land, and exploiting tenant farmers? Furthermore, it would be interesting to see if the relationship of Meroitic Lower Nubia to the heartland of the state was comparable to Lower Nubia's relation to Dongola in the medieval era. Certainly, the survival of Meroitic culture to some extent and a framework assuming cultural continuity would suggest this. 

Mona and San German

 

While reading Caldera Ortiz's Historia de San Germán: Nuevos Hallazgos para su estudio genealógico, 1512-1712 we found out that the cacique of Mona was living in San German during the 1590s. Diego Ramirez wasn't even born on Mona or Puerto Rico but came from the mainland or South America. Was this around the time when Indians of Mona began settling in the hills of San German? And from there, to Indiera and Añasco? What was going on in the 1590s that, by then, pushed the cacique of Mona to inhabit San German?

Rosaura a las diez

La Versión de Matilde

Inspector Baigorri, voy a decirle lo que ha pasado en la Madrileña con respeto a Camilo Canegato. Al principio, la primera vez que lo vi, mis hermanas y yo pensábamos que Camilo era tímido, callado y muy divertido. A diferencia de los otros huéspedes, mis hermanas y yo podíamos tutear a Camilo y pasar un rato. A causa de su edad y apariencia física, Camilo era al igual que un amigo. Camilo no podría matarla porque su carácter no es violento. Nadie puede ser tan simpático, Inspector Baigorri. 

Antes de la llegada de las cartas de Rosaura, el comportamiento de Camilo era normal. No hizo nada insólito y no tenía correspondencia con otros. La única persona que visitó el cuarto de Camilo era una mujer fea que planchó su ropa. Después de unos años, Camilo recibió cartas de Rosaura. Las cartas llegaron cada miércoles y Camilo dejó de pasar tiempo con mis hermanas y yo. Camilo parecía un hermano en nuestra familia, pero Rosaura lo robó. Por eso mi mamá y yo nos sentíamos insultadas. En cuanto a su edad, todavía creo que Rosaura le mintió a Camilo. Hoy en día las mujeres jóvenes no envían cartas a sus amantes como Rosaura. Además envió una trenza a Camilo, demasiado tradicional.  Desde el punto de vista de mi mamá, esta hazaña era romántica. Por otro lado mis hermanas y yo dijimos que las acciones de Rosaura no correspondieron con una mujer joven.

Cuando Camilo nos dijo la verdad sobre Rosaura, no creí nada. Nos mostró el retrato de ella y no era hermosísima. En vez de hermosa podría decir que Rosaura era guapa. En el caso de que usted sospeche que yo esté celosa de la relación entre los dos, no entiende la realidad de la situación. Espero que me entienda, Inspector Baigorri. No estoy enamorada de Camilo. Es un hermano en mi familia, y Camilo no la mató. Durante las semanas que Rosaura vivía en la Madrileña, nunca vi una manifestación de amor. Ellos no se abrazaron y no usaron palabras de amor como una pareja de enamorados. Entonces esta relación sin amor tuvo que terminar. Sin embargo, Rosaura no fue asesinada por Camilo. Yo dudaba que Camilo estuviera el único hombre en el hotel cuando Rosaura se murió. Es posible que su padre contrata asesinos para eliminarla. Según Camilo, su padre no dio permisión a Rosaura para casarse. Un hombre tan rico como el padre de Rosaura podría encontrar gente para matarla.

Medieval Nubia

Giovanni Ruffini's ambitiously titled Medieval Nubia: A Social and Economic History asserts a number of compelling and, despite its limited sources, plausible theories for Christian Nubia. Instead of seeing Makuria or Dotawo as lacking private land tenure or a monetized economy, Ruffini draws from the Qasr Ibrim land sales and letters to argue Makuria was a mixture of classical Mediterranean and local Sudanese traditions. Like Spaulding and others who have analyzed various aspects of Nubia's vast history, Ruffini argues for cultural continuity as a guiding theme for making sense of Nubia. Numerous examples are cited in the text of Meroitic and even pharaonic Egyptian influences in medieval Nubian religion, culture, and customs. The Choiak public festival, for instance, was likely of Osirian origin and survived in Coptic and Nubian Christian practice. Nubian rituals of today that include dipping new-born infants into the Nile and referencing Mary likely date from the Christian period, too. 

Thus, from the late Meroitic or Late Antique era until about 1821, one can arguably find much continuity across the political dimensions of the region. This can be highlighted with the adoption of the waterwheel and the role of the Nile and local ecology in both Lower and Upper Nubia. However, Nubia was, through thousands of years of contact with Egypt and the Mediterranean world, also a recipient of those influences. That impact can be seen in the Greco-Roman and Coptic traces in medieval Nubia's legal traditions. Naturally, then, one cannot be surprised to find similarities between Old Nubian land documents and those in Coptic in Egypt. Moreover, the importance of Greek as a living and even divine language used for bilingual Biblical texts, titles, amulets, and rituals attests to the survival of Roman and Byzantine influences long after Egypt fell under Muslim rule. Ruffini's Medieval Nubia attempts to demonstrate this signifiance of the classical Mediterranean's legacy through Qasr Ibrim's surviving documents, plus occasional epigraphic, ethnographic, literary, archaeological, and additional sources.

Unfortunately, our limited sources leads one to think Ruffini's study remains too speculative. While likely correct about the existence of private land tenure in Lower Nubia (and throughout Nubia, probably), much of the analysis of the Qasr Ibrim documents relies on speculation. We await further confirmation from Dongola, Soba, and other sites to ascertain the degree to which some of these speculative conclusions can be borne out. Nonetheless, Ruffini's analysis is persuasive based on the assumption of cultural continuity and the comparative data from other parts of Sudan and Egypt. The implications of this suggest a much wider territory included within what is usually considered "Mediterranean." In addition, it suggests medieval Nubia's land was productive or profitable and that elites who engaged in land sales were socially linked to the ecclesiastical and royal authorities. This elite group, whose conspicuous consumption through feasting accompanied land sales, also appears in the external Arabic sources in occasional revolts, conflicts with Nubian kings, and relations with Egypt. Alas, we are still left in the dark about the slaves, peasants, tenant farmers, and other groups in this complex society. 

The internal sources also call into question some of the problematic assumptions made by Western scholars who heavily rely on the external textual references. Some, like al-Masudi definitely reflect what might be considered a racial bias, although perhaps Ruffini overstates the case in regards to medieval Arab views of black Africans. Regardless, medieval Nubia represents a case in which one must carefully use the medieval Arabic sources when analyzing societies of the Sudan. Without understanding local dynamics, local sources, and the literary topos of the outside writers, one can perpetuate biases and omissions from the original writers, such as al-Masudi. Unfortunately, we have a lot more to uncover from Old Nubian sources and archaeological research before we can confirm some of Ruffini's conclusions. Research on Alwa would be particularly interesting here, since the external sources suggest it was wealthier than Makuria. Alwa's southern location and less reliance on the Nile also raises interesting questions about the periods of unification of medieval Nubia and Alwa's relations with societies further east and west. Either way, the future of Nubiology promises to be exciting.

Askia Muhammad and al-Maghili

John Hunwick's translation and commentary on al-Maghili's replies to 7 questions from Askia Muhammad is a difficult source for non-specialists. To truly understand al-Maghili's responses and the complex Islamic intellectual tradition he drew upon, one must have some basic familiarity with Islamic civilization, jurisprudence, and political ideology. Hunwick's introductory sections and commentary tremendously help readers make sense of this context. However, the main benefit of reading Shari'a in Songhay : the replies of al-Maghili to the questions of Askia al-Hajj Muhammad is in the glimpses of Songhay social, economic, and political life it provides. For instance, we learn of the practice of nude virgin women traveling through the streets of Jenne or the practitioners of a fox cult who appear to have been Dogon. Or the Masufa presence among Fulani marauders who were a source of concern for Askia Muhammad. These examples highlight the degree to which demographic changes, insecurity, and local cultural practices were in a state of flux across the Middle Niger. They also attest to the partly Islamized nature of the Western Sudan and its vast heterogeneity in cultural and religious identities. Since the date of al-Maghili's replies was in the early part of Askia Muhammad's reign, one must also keep in mind that conditions during his later years or those of his successors likely differed in key ways. For example, Askia Muhammad's expansion of the empire and the degree to which subsequent askias balanced secular government with Islamic precepts or the guidance of the scholars shows political dynamism and possible sources of internal societal conflict. We only wish al-Maghili and Askia Muhammad's secretary had revealed a little more about so-called "traditional" religions, practices of rituals by local Muslims, or the actual experiences of the peasantry and enslaved population.

Isla del Encanto

Looks like we are now in the throes of a full-fledged salsa obsession. Our last salsa phase was probably 6 or 7 years ago, and we barely scratched the surface of the genre. Anyway, this particularly catchy gem about Puerto Rico as an "Edenic Land" is something we are listening to on repeat. The lyrics allude to all the stereotypical things one expects in a song about Puerto Rico, but an overall excellent performance. 

Pedro Navaja

The culprit for our renewed interest in West Side Story is "Pedro Navaja" from the 1970s. Salsa is not our major genre, but this blog's ongoing obsession with Latin music is forcing us to visit or revisit old classics we have sadly forgotten or neglected. 

Tilho Mission and Borno

An example of the type of musicians expected to announce and accompany the Shehu of Borno.

The historical chapter of the Documents scientifiques de la Mission Tilho, 1906-1909 remains an indispensable source for reconstructing the history of the vast region from Lake Chad to the Niger. Landeroin and the Tilho Mission collected numerous local traditions, reports, and descriptions which, despite some severe limitations, supplement Barth and Clapperton excellently. Since they mostly base their themselves on local informants who were not always named, and they did not find much in the way of local written records (though extracts from one local source mentioning the various campaigns of what appears to have been Ali b. Umar suggest military expansionism, the centrality of slavery and the use of slave officials and relations of the mai in administration were significant) or lost chronicles, their historical chapter is most detailed and useful for the last 100 or 150 years before the European colonial conquest and partition of the region. For events and processes prior to the late 18th century, they usually rely on the speculations and analysis of Nachtigal, Barth, and guesswork based on the current traditions of the heterogeneous populations inhabiting the Chad Basin. Despite these limitations, and some of their questionable assertions regarding the chronology and origins of the Sayfawa dynasty in Kanem and Borno, we know of no other source with similarly rich oral traditions.

Undoubtedly, the major question of Sayfawa (or Toubba) origins occupies much of our attention. Repeating the tales of Yemen origins and the Toubba kings who migrated into Kanem with related and servile groups, the traditions cited here contract Barth, Nachtigal, the Diwan, and the chronicles of Ahmad b. Furtu. Despite acknowledging the monumental contributions of Barth and the written sources he was able to procure, the Tilho Mission wants one to believe that when the Sayfawa (or Seibouas) first came to Kanem, it was under Bulala rule. Then, after seizing control of Kanem, they chose to migrate to Borno by the 15th century. Other sources, however, suggest Bulala pressure was one of the primary factors that pushed the Sayfawa out of Kanem by the late 1300s. Moreover, local sources suggest the Sayfawa dynasty were the earliest major dynasty in Kanem, not relative newcomers who seized it from the Bulala. What appears to have happened here is a Kanem informant, of Magumi origins, told the version of the ruling clan's history as understood in early 20th century Kanem to the French visitors. Somewhere along the line, the chronology was distorted so that the Sayfawa reconquest of Kanem in the 1500s was pushed further back in time to match the earlier history of Birni Njimi and the dynasty's Kanem phase. However, the Tilho Mission is in agreement with Barth and others about the generally highly important reign of Ali Ghaji and his role in restoring the dynasty's fortunes in late 15th century Borno. This suggests that they may have not been careful enough when interviewing informants and collecting data, so their chronology is suspect. Perhaps the timeline for the genealogies of the khalifas of Kanem (descendants of Dala Afuno, who was either a Magumi raised in Hausaland or a slave of the Sayfawa dynasty appointed by the latter) is also suspect. If, indeed, the Tunjur were selected to oversee Kanem for the Sayfawa rulers based in Birni Gazargamo after defeating the Bulala, we cannot easily determine exactly when they were replaced by Dala Afuno. We also know that Idris Alooma had placed a Bulala vassal sultan in power in Kanem, so we still need to uncover when the Bulala sultans were finally disposed of by Borno. Much of what transpired in Kanem under the Bulala and Tunjur.

The oral traditions of the Buduma, Kanembu, Kanuri, and other groups claiming descent from the Sao also complicate any simple-minded assumptions of ethnic identity or ethnogenesis. The oral traditions of the Buduma or Yedina, by the early 20th century, linked them to a Bulu and common ancestry with the Kanembu. Since Bulu was one of the early kings remembered in the Diwan, these oral traditions suggest deep relations with the Kanembu east and within Lake Chad. Despite the ancestors of the Buduma appearing in Ibn Said' work as the Kuri infidels raided by the rulers of Kanem in the 13th century, they were and are closely related to the Kanembu and intermarriage between the two even led to the formation of new populations of Buduma, Kanembu, and Tubu origins. In addition, oral traditions of Ali Ghaji also refer to his conflicts with the Tuareg before he established Gazargamo as the capital. Traditions of this conflict appear to have been remembered and later recorded in the Agadez Chronicles, which suggest the Sayfawa rulers did conquer or at least raid the Tuareg in the area north of Borno in the 1400s. While one should doubt that the new capital was pointed out to Ali by the Tuareg, it points to the role of both northern and southern conquests and trade in the expansion of Sayfawa rule in Borno. Indeed, some of the traditions suggest merchandise and trade was one way in which the Toubbas won the favor of the autochthonous Sao, later seizing the territory through ruse and war.

Besides close ties with groups such as the Buduma, various descendants of the Sao, and even the Tuareg, the Sayfawa and related Kanembu, Kanuri, Koyam and Kanuriphone populations suggest a complex process of ethnogenesis. The Koyam, supposedly Kanembu pastoralists associated with Islamic education and piety, were also related to the Sayfawa. Various clan names that appear among the Tubu, Kanembu, Kanuri, and Koyam also point to a deep antiquity of relations and likely migratory waves that traversed Kanem, Lake Chad, and Borno. Some of these traditions claiming deeper antiquity could also be of relatively recent origin, perhaps invented traditions that spread with the growth of Sayfawa power across the region. In that regard, it is interesting that the Buduma, who were mostly independent due to their mobility and piracy on Lake Chad, would claim common ancestry with the Kanembu. Perhaps that was due to largely peaceful relations with them and the absorption of Kanembu populations? With Borno, on the other hand, the Buduma were usually independent and carried out frequent raids for booty and captives. Yet in the early 20th century, the Buduma were culturally similar to the Kanembu but less thoroughly Muslim. As for the Tomageras, Kayi, Magumi, Sugurtis, Koyam, and other widely dispersed groups claiming common origins or clan names, they might be a testament to the strategic matrimonial alliances of the millennial Sayfawa, whose marriages with women from these aforementioned groups helped secure allies across a vast area of the Central Sudan.

Despite the problematic chronology and uneven collection of oral traditions, the Tilho Mission bequeathed to posterity an amazing source. Some of the traditions may be "false" or misleading or perhaps misinterpreted, but they add rich narrative and cultural nuance. For instance, the story of Mai Ali telling the Koyam shaykh that his own followers would not die for him helps explain why he was defeated by Mandara in the 1780s. Perhaps, by then, the Sayfawa mais were no longer able to command loyalty from the military and were already losing legitimacy. Certainly, the inability of the Sayfawa mais to protect and defend the western and northwestern frontiers of the empire would have compromised the willingness of soldiers and vassals to obey. The traditions likewise report personal details that may have played a role in the final demise of the Sayfawa. For example, the attempt in 1846 to remove Shehu Umar with the help of Wadai allegedly failed, in part, because the puppet mai's daughter revealed the details of the plot to her lover, a relative of Umar. The historical narrative here also sheds a more cynical light on Shehu al-Kanemi and his son, portraying the former as ambitious and usurping and the latter as corrupt and too close to his vizier. These details need corroboration, naturally, but unveil more of the personal dynamics of the key personages. 

America

"Pedro Navaja" got us hooked on this number from West Side Story. Although never fans of this musical or musical theater in general, this is a clever (and problematic) song on Puerto Rican migration in the US. The gendered difference in perceptions of their experience in New York is interesting in itself. 

Spiks

For some strange reason, we never finished Pedro Juan Soto's Spiks during a past obsession with Puerto Rico and the Diaspora a few years ago. This time around, we devoured the slim collection of short stories and vignettes of Puerto Rican life in New York City. As the title suggests, these stories focus on ghetto life and the crushing poverty, dilapidated housing, and lack of opportunities for Puerto Rican migrants established in Harlem. Stories deal with themes of becoming an adult, frustrated romance, migration, the breakup of families, lack of work, English classrooms in school and failed dreams. Of all these tales, the most effective story is probably "Scribbles." The brief work perfectly encapsulates what happens when ambition and marital love are brutally confronted by the realities of life in New York. The father of the family will never become an artist and his one attempt to express his feelings for his wife through his talent are abruptly terminated by Graciela. Sadly the canvas of his planned artwork becomes a "wide and clear gravestone of his dreams." This is an apt description of the New York experience for more than a few of those earlier generations of migrants from Puerto Rico.

Rambling on Modern Ethiopia

Although our major interest is in the Solomonic Dynasty's medieval and early modern history, one cannot avoid the fascinating history of modern Ethiopia in the 19th and 20th centuries. Like Liberia and Haiti, Ethiopia was rather unique for being one of the few independent black countries in the imperial world order after the Scramble for Africa. Like Haiti, it also offers an example of a country of heterogeneous origins with a recognized yet compromised sovereignty. In the case of Ethiopia, it was the tripartite alliance of Britain, France, and Italy which ensured post-Adwa Ethiopia could not have developed too independently. In Haiti, the Western powers were also present and helped to ensure Haitian economic development would be limited. Thus, Haiti and Ethiopia share a common history of heroic political sovereignty won through the sword but failed economic development through internal dynamics and foreign imperialism. The Ethiopian case also adds another dimension of imperialism since modern Ethiopia's borders were based on the expansion of the Shawan ruler Menelik II and he had to defeat the legacy of the Zamana Masafent's regionalism.

Bahru Zewde's A History of Modern Ethiopia, 1855–1991 seems to be one of the better general introductions to understand this dynamic in Ethiopian history: political independence accompanied by economic dependency. Beginning with the late Zamana Masafent and the striking rise and fall of Tewodros II, Zewde suggests Tewodros possessed a modern vision without practical steps or a process for achieving it. Later emperors, like Yohannes IV, were able to muster enough power to defeat expansionist Egypt but did not fully centralize the empire. That great task was left to Menelik II, an astute leader who managed to secure the throne and expand the more to a greater extent than any of the medieval great Solomonic dynasts. Zewde's study demystifies the Battle of Adwa and shows the failure of Menelik II to follow through after Adwa. Thus, Italy retained significant influence in Italian Somaliland and Eritrea while the French exerted influence through the Djibouti railway extension to Ethiopia. The British, the major imperial power in northeast Africa, sought to protect their interests in Sudan and were willing to, with the French, allow Italy the ability to exert itself in the Horn. 

Unfortunately, Menelik's modernizing attempts were restricted and succession posed another threat to the fragile state. Lej Iyyasu, who eventually became emperor, was removed from power for his alleged immoral conduct and interest in integrating minority populations such as the large Muslim population. Eventually, the future Haile Selassie, an ambitious man and an absolutist, secured the throne over the course of several years. According to Zewde, Haile Selassie's ascent to absolute power was based on favoring men of humble or lower rank as appointees to political office instead of the hereditary nobility. This tactic, however, did not mean the Emperor was interested in any meaningful social, economic or democratic reforms. Land, especially in the southern provinces, was increasingly privatized and the lot of the Ethiopian peasantry declined. Industrialization remained weak and foreign economic penetration of the economy was strong. Much like Haiti, actually, Ethiopia was dependent on exports of coffee. This generally dismal condition continued after the restoration of imperial power with the Liberation of Ethiopia from the fascist Italian occupation. Despite a few attempted coups and assassinations, and a bourgeoning student movement, Haile Selassie clung to power until 1974, when the Solomonic lineage came to an ignominious end. 

The depressing and horrifying annals of the Derg years and the role of the TPLF and Eritrean independence forces in toppling it conclude Zewde's history. The Derg administration, which arose out of the military, was not initially Marxist, but adopted its rhetoric. Land reform was implemented, albeit not in a way that actually gave inalienable land rights to the peasant or included them in the political process. The depressing condition of the economy, widespread practice of executions and political persecution and the catastrophic famine of the 1980s shed additional light on the failures of the Derg regime. This tragic recent history highlights how the struggle for political centralization had to, in some fashion, restructure itself along federal lines, come to accept the loss of Eritrea and confront the question of ethnic and religious diversity. However, throughout the 1900s, some of the reforms which had interested some Ethiopian intellectuals since the beginning of the century finally saw the light of day, albeit after several decades of collaborating with various members of the traditional elite or through influence on the military and students. Unfortunately, throughout the period Ethiopia remained economically weak and internally divided. Replacing Britain with the US and, later on, the USSR, as major sources of financial and technical support, did little to improve the lot of the impoverished masses. Limited import substitute industrialization under Selassie remained embryonic. Thus, without real economic development, political autonomy meant little. 

La Cura

Frankie Ruiz really was one of the greats. This live performance of "La Cura" shows him at his best with an amazing band that knew how to "cook" like few others.

Ghana and Wagadu

 "A discussion of the traditions of Wagadu with some reference to ancient Ghāna, including of review of oral accounts, Arabic sources and archaeological evidence" by Abdoulaye Bathily effectively combines linguistic, textual, and oral sources. A speaker of the Soninke language who brings an internal perspective on the deeply ancient Soninke, Bathily dispels some of the worst (and racist) theories while pushing for a more balanced interpretation of the oral traditions, external Arabic sources, Timbuktu chronicles, and cultural evidence. Delafosse, Frobenius and their ilk are proven incorrect and fanciful, particularly the notion of ancient Judeo-Syriens colonizing West Africa in Antiquity before founding Ghana. Moreover, Bathily's knowledge of Soninke language and culture allows him to craft more plausible theories and interpretations of medieval Arabic sources such as al-Bakri while suggesting a more likely interpretation from the limited archaeological sources on Dhar Tichitt and Kumbi. Bathily's essay is truly exemplary and it is a shame scholarship on Wagadu has not advanced significantly since it was published. 

Bathily also applies common sense to parse the meaning of the the genealogies and oral traditions from the Soninke or the Timbuktu chroniclers who sought to link Soninke origins to the Middle East. Clearly, the Soninke were later influenced by Islamic conceptions and some "remixed" their genealogies, oral histories and legends to reflect this. If Islamization was already a process impacting the Soninke of Wagadu, or Ghana before the Almoravid movement (and Bathily is agnostic on the Almoravid conquest or its alleged role in hastening Islamization), then anyone attempting to interpret the references to the Middle East or Islam should know not to interpret it literally. Indeed, even al-Idrisi in the 12th century reported Alid ancestry for the kings of Wagadu, suggesting these should probably not be taken at face-value. In addition, Bathily's study suggests one should not interpret the legends of Wagadu's fall as necessarily meaning climate change, servile chiefs or lineages in revolt or a dramatic conflict between "traditional" religion and Islam. For instance, some of the traditions collected by Monteil suggest Sumanguru was a slave official of Wagadu who broke away. Yet other traditions do not mention that. His appendix, consisting of the Soninke original and translation of 2 oral traditions on Wagadu origin, demonstrates that any historical reconstruction of deep Wagadu history clearly require careful ethnographic and linguistic expertise. However, the current academic research may have stronger evidence today about the role climate change in influencing Ghana's decline. Nonetheless, it would not necessarily elucidate the decline of Ghana if indeed Ghana's capital city shifted. In fact, Bathily suggests that Kumbi may have only been one of the possibly many capitals of Ghana, if indeed different ruling clans or factions of the ruling clan switched political capitals. Such a theory would be consistent with post-Wagadu Soninke kingdoms and chiefdoms. It also suggests climate change might not have been so significant of a factor if indeed Ghana had a multiplicity of capitals, including some further south.

Where Bathily's essay especially shines is the analysis of the Arabic sources. Knowing that Kaya Magha as a title does not exist in Soninke, but could have been Kuya Manga (a nickname of a royal title for Wagadu), Bathily additionally explains that Ghana or Gana does not exist as a title among the Soninke. Perhaps, as suggested by Bathily, Ghana derived from the Berber word for bush, agan, since al-Bakri also identified the capital as al-ghaba. It is speculation on his part, but perhaps that Berber term was misapplied or misunderstood by al-Bakri and others to refer to the entire kingdom. Yet the identification of Wagadu as the Ghana of the medieval Arabic sources can be established from other words of Soninke origin appearing in al-Bakri. For instance, the name of a Ghana king, Tunkamenin, is actually derived from the title Tunka. Indeed, it is possible that that Tunkamenin's successor was his Tunka Lemmine, or younger relative chosen to help an elder king rule the kingdom. If indeed the kings of Wagadu were often elders or seniors of the ruling clan(s), then like later Soninke rulers, they might have chosen a younger relative to assist in administration. Perhaps this younger relative was often a nephew of the king, which confused al-Bakri into thinking the kingdom of Ghana practiced matrilineal succession. After all, according to Bathily, the Soninke were not matrilineal but practiced endogamy and stressed relations between maternal uncles and nephews. We also learn from Bathilily that a group who were probably Soninke but not identified as Ghana (the Zafun) were probably adherents of some type of snake cult or religious pratice. Even today, the Soninke possess a taboo against killing the biida snake, which suggests that the "traditional" religion of Wagadu was similar to that of the Ziafun and the Soninke today. All of this suggests the Ghana of the medieval Arabic sources was indeed a Soninke kingdom, probably Wagadu (derived from wago or wage, for the ruling clans who may have alternated in their control). Evidence from the ethnographic present, the history of later Soninke kingdoms, linguistics, and archaeology points to a Soninke identification for Ghana and it almost certainly being the Wagadu remembered in Soninke traditions.

Where things become even more speculative or questionable is the ultimate origin of the Soninke. Were they from the Sahel but eventually dispersed after Wagadu's fall? Bathily is sure they did not come from the Middle Niger. Soninke place names like Biru (Walata) and the archaeological evidence based on Munson's work does seem to point to a northern origin. But is Bathily correct about the possible role of slavery's growing importance during the increase in agricultural activity manifested during the Dhar Tichitt phase? What was the relationship with early trans-Saharan trade and Libyco-Berbers? To what extent was the Wagadu polity administered through slave officials? And what was the origin of occupational castes among the Soninke and related Mande groups? Many questions remain unanswered but Bathily's article points us in some fruitful directions with a robust use of the available sources. 

Everything You Need to Know About Puerto Rico

Although we are mainly interested in the history of Puerto Rico before US colonialism, Jorge Duany's Puerto Rico: What Everyone Needs to Know is a good overview of 5 centuries of historical development and cultural transformation. The two are, obviously, closely linked and the format of this introductory book is conducive to finding information quickly and easily. Duany also contextualizes it within the context of the current debt crisis of Puerto Rico and what we consider the checkered or perhaps failed legacy of the Commonwealth status. Clearly, Puerto Rico today and for much of its recent history has demonstrated that the "postcolonial colony" is a failed model for Caribbean "development." The persistence of colonial features in the current status of the island and the heavy reliance on federal transfers of funds is perhaps to be expected from the the outset of the PDP's model for cultural nationalism with limited sovereignty. In its defense, all of the Caribbean is defined by dependency and heavily shaped by migration, but Puerto Rico's case is a disturbing example of recurring colonial exploitation. Haiti tried to look to Puerto Rico's model, like several other countries, but without the benefits of US citizenship for its population or massive federal funds. In retrospect, it is somewhat shocking so many looked to Puerto Rico as an exemplary case of development when the entire project came to rely on outmigration to the continental US and what should have struck many as an unsustainable model. 

Felix Darfour's Haitian Child

Source

Our understanding had always been that Felix Darfour came to Haiti with an Ardouin from France. He brought with him a French wife and, after his execution in 1822, she presumably returned to Europe. Surprisingly, Felix Darfour had a daughter whose birth was registered in Port-au-Prince the year he was killed. Born in Bizoton, she was a fille naturelle of Darfour with a woman named Juilliete Pierre Louis. We wonder if Marie Louise's mother ever told her about her father from Darfur and his interesting tale connecting Haiti, France, and Darfur. We would love to know more of Darfour's origins, too. Was he Runga or from some other ethnic group near Darfur? Was he Fur?

Sufi Mystics of the Niger Desert

For anyone curious to learn some of the verifiable details of an important Sufi order or school established in 16th century Air, H.T. Norris's Sufi Mystics of the Niger Desert is a must-read. Beginning with an introduction to the topic and several lengthy translations of sections of the Qudwa, a document detailing the life of Sidi Mahmud al-Baghadi and the practices of his specific Way, Norris outlines the origins of the movement, its practices, and its influence and legacy in Air and beyond. Although Sufism in Air predated the arrival of the sharif al-Baghdadi in the 16th century, he became a favored saint in the massif. His martyrdom, in circumstances given varying details by the written and oral sources of the region, parallels that of the the first Kulumbardo Sufi community or zawiya of Borno. 

Like that of Borno, Sidi Mahmud al-Baghdadi may have been killed on the orders of the Agades sultan because court-affiliated jurists and religious figures convinced the king that he posed a threat to his power. This scenario was similar to what transpired under Mai Umar b. Idris of Borno with the two leaders of the first Kulumbaro in early 17th century Borno, al-Jarmiyu and Waldede. However, the sources are confused and give conflicting versions of who exactly ordered the killing of al-Baghdadi or the reasons for it. Nonetheless, al-Baghdadi and his followers established an influential community whose rites and practices included initiation, fasting, good works, respect for books and mysticism, and an eye for reaching the masses. If all the above were steadfastly pursued, one can see why the sultan in Agades might see this community as a threat to his authority.

 Norris offers a number of other theories as to why the movement might have been construed as a threat to royal power. Some possibilities were conflict over land, or the claims to political legitimacy based on Islam. Ultimately, it is uncertain we shall ever know the exact circumstances of his killing. But the impact on the Tuareg of the region and, later on, Shehu Uthman dan Fodio and the Sokoto caliphate, testifies to its significant legacy on later West African Sufism. The history of Sufism in the Central Sudan awaits further examination, particularly the relationship between state and religion in Borno and Air. 

Sayfawa Dynasty and the Sayf ben Dhi Yazan Epic

 

The fictionalized Sayf ben Dhi Yazan of The Adventures of Sayf Ben Dhi Yazan: An Arab Folk Epic contains kernels of historical facts while reflecting some of the geopolitical tensions in Mamluk Egypt. The historical Sayf did fight against the Axumite Ethiopians, but Sayfa Ar'ad lived in the 14th century. Moreover, the Axumites were Christians, not worshippers of Saturn, as this folk epic portrays Ethiopia. The Solomonic dynasty's thwarted threat to divert the Nile is also ahistorically recycled as part of Sayf's greatness as he ensures the domination of Ethiopia and the Sudan (Black Africa). By ensuring the Nile flows into Egypt and living up to his lineage as a descendant of Shem, the "cursed" black Africans are subjugated. There are also references to much of the known world, including China, Waq al-Waq, the Zaghawa, the Maghreb, Egypt, Persia, India, and Greece. The Nile River itself almost becomes a character, that mythical river which medieval Islamic geographers believed to traverse most of the African continent. The source of the Nile itself is a land of wonders and perhaps Nubia, or early Islamic writings on Nubia, also influenced the depiction of the African interior in this work of literature. After all, early Islamic sources claimed the pre-Christian Nubians worshipped the stars and, later on, that they claimed descent from Yemen. 

Despite some occasionally uncomfortable lines referring to "unclean black Ethiopians" or derogatory allusions to black Africans, valor and conversion of Islam can make them noble. None of the characters are developed or fully-fleshed persons, but Sayf spends much of his youth among the "Sudan" and marries or befriends several of them. Indeed, black Africans could be beautiful, comely, valorous, intelligent, or skilled in this work. Shama, the first wife of Sayf, also seems to have been "black" herself. Moreover, some of the "white" characters, especially Sayf's concubine mother, are the most treacherous, anti-Islamic characters in the story. There is undoubtedly an Islamic bias and emphasis on Arab ancestry, as references to patrilineal descent or Arab virtue make abundantly clear. Ethnocentric and Islamic biases aside, it is difficult to read this medieval work as racist (though there are elements of it). Thus, the epic may reflect an acceptance in the Curse of Ham ideology, yet Islam, which did not exist when Sayf actually lived, and a culture of chivalry could ennoble black characters. Arab lineage and Islam, ultimately, are the most important factors at play here. 

Clearly, stories of Sayf and the Tubba'i kings were exaggerated and widely circulated across the Arabic-speaking and Muslim world for centuries before this epic of magic, romance, and war was written down in Mamluk Egypt. Stories and legends of Sayf of Himyar's defeat of the Axumites, or claims his lineage included the greatest kings who had once conquered all lands, probably reached Kanem soon after its Islamization in the late 11th century. Exactly when the Sayfawa dynasty began to claim descent from Sayf is not certain, but it was repeated in North African and Middle Eastern sources throughout the Middle Ages after the state's Islamization. Sayf's appeal to a recently Islamized dynasty must have been part of this circulation of fictionalized tales of the great king. Both influenced by and influencing the circulation of tales of Sayf, Kanem-Borno's ruling dynasty could have shaped the folk epic. It would fruitful to analyze the oral traditions in Kanem and Borno for possible influences on the epic or vice versa. 

If stories of his conquests of Ethiopia and the Sudan were already disseminated by the 11th century, then the mais of Kanem might have chosen him as an ancestor to legitimize their own lineage as recent Muslims. Moreover, they might have seen their own conquests and raids of non-Muslim "Sudan" as repeating the feats of the legendary Sayf. For instance, Islamic sources reporting on 13th century Kanem's expansion and raids on the peoples south of Lake Chad or the region of Borno could have been interpreted as another instance in which Sayf b. Dhi Yazan's progeny established their hegemony over pagan "Sudan" who resisted Islam. Indeed, Kanem's expansion in the 1200s might have influenced the folk epic when it was finally written down in Egypt. Kanem pilgrims, students, and traders had already been known in Cairo, so stories of the Sayfawa's conquests in the African interior probably influenced the Sayf epic. Confused geographic notions that the Nile was connected to Lake Chad and much of sub-Saharan Africa could have made it easier to envision Kanem as accessible to (Christian) Ethiopia and pagan "Black Africa" as well. Kanem was additionally known through diplomacy, trade contacts, and as supplier of slaves via trans-Saharan networks to Egypt. All of these aforementioned factors would have meant some people in Mamluk Egypt might have interpreted the Sayfawa dynasty's dominant position in the Central Sudan as evidence of Sayf's conquests of Ethiopia and Black Africa. Like the fictionalized Sayf of the epic, his so-called descendants in Kanem and Borno were pious Muslims, militarily superior, and effective at subjugating infidels.

Like their putative ancestor, the Sayfawa mais were promoting Islam while asserting, through Islamic genealogical and historical modes of thought, an identity as sons of Shem and not "Sudan." Although they were, for the most part, obviously considered "black" in the Maghreb or Egypt, their lineage mattered more than their color or phenotype. This lineage established political and religious legitimacy as well as serving as a challenge to attempts to enslave Kanem subjects. If they were Muslims and descendants of Sayf, then enslavement of them was unlawful. Of course, the chronicles of Ahmad b. Furtu, the Diwan and oral sources commemorate the names of several pre-Islamic rulers of Kanem. These pre-Islamic rulers could have been, like the Zaghawa princess mentioned early on in the epic, easily fused with Sayf through creative genealogical reworking and fictitious marriage alliances. After all, the various foreign wives and lovers of Sayf come to symbolize his conquest of the world, so someone in Kanem could have simply incorporated Sayf into the ruling dynasty through a marriage between him and a "Zaghawa" princess. In the epic, or at least the abridged English translation, the Zaghawa princess is only mentioned once. If, however, the epic was passed down orally and subject to occasional changes by various audiences and storytellers, the earlier "Zaghawa" could have been combined with Sayf through a marriage.

Through such creative retellings of the Sayf story cycles and the political facts enshrined in royal genealogies, the Sayfawa court could easily claim descent from Sayf who defeated the Axumites and gradually moved to Kanem, where the pre-Islamic mais became descendants of Sayf, too. After all, the legends circulating of Sayf make him implausibly Muslim before the life of the Prophet Muhammad, so Kanem's rulers could have retconned their pre-Islamic past. This is part of the reason we find it hard to agree with Lange's assertion that the Sayfawa dynasty replaced an older, Duguwa house. There is simply not enough evidence to prove a dynastic change, nor would it have been necessary. Based on our current evidence, it seems unlikely since all the local written and oral sources claim dynastic continuity. Nonetheless, the fictionalized tales of Sayf b. Dhi Yazan's exploits must have reached Kanem by the late 11th century or early 12th century, if not earlier. Then, after adopting Sayf as their ancestor, reports of Kanem's conquests in the central Sahara and Chad Basin must have shaped the "authors" of the Sayf epic in Egypt. Reading The Adventures of Sayf Ben Dhi Yazan actually strengthens the theory of Abdullahi Smith just as it adds another layer to understanding the historical context of the epic. Such a theory suggests the centrality of Kanem-Borno to constructions of race, difference, and the image of Africa in Egypt and the Middle East.

Beauty and the Beast

Due to our renewed interest in Brazilian music, we were listening to Shorter's Native Dancer repeatedly a few weeks ago. Hearing the news of the death of one of the great composers in jazz was devastating. Few could match the versatility and composition skills of Shorter. The man could shine in all types of bands, writing modal jazz, funk, Latin, fusion, and avant-garde music. We are going to revisit his catalog, even giving Weather Report another chance. 

Into Yam

"Into Yam" has long been one of our favorite songs performed by Miriam Makeba. Ever since hearing it in the trailer in Come Back, Africa, actually. To make it even more amazing, Miriam Makeba performed it live in 1978 with Dollar Brand, or Abdullah Ibrahim. There's something majestic in South African music, and their jazz tradition is also exemplary. Combining the two is always a good idea, as Johnny Dyani and other South African jazz artists have demonstrated.

India, Guadeloupe, Haiti

Although we have written about the tiny Asian Indian presence in Saint Domingue, we always wondered if people of Indian descent came to Haiti from other Caribbean populations in more recent history. Guadeloupe, in at least once case, provided one such example. Named Sinasfamir Mounien, and born in Guadeloupe to parents from India, he married a Haitian woman in Port-au-Prince in 1903. The marriage act alludes to his parents as Indians and the names certainly sound like it, too. What was he doing in Haiti in 1903? Was he able to earn Haitian citizenship as someone of "Indian" origin? Or was it acquired through his marriage to a Haitian woman? Was he searching for economic or professional opportunities denied to him in Guadeloupe but open to enterprising people of color from the French Antilles in Haiti? It would be mildly interesting to uncover what brought this young man from Guadeloupe to Haiti. And where in India did his parents hail from? We know that he stayed in Haiti for at least some time, having a daughter born in Port-au-Prince in 1906. By then, he was named Louis Emilien Mounien and resided in Port-au-Prince with a domicile in Guadeloupe (Pointe-à-Pitre).

Charles of the Bambara Nation

Randomly perusing the indexed digitized records of the Haitian Civil Registration on Family Search has truly revived our interest in the African-born Haitian population of the 19th century. Here we have a Charles, of the "Banbara" nation, or Bambara, registering in 1810 in Port-au-Prince. Estimated his age at 40, he was probably born around 1770 and must have came to Saint Domingue relatively young, perhaps as an adolescent. We wish someone could compile enough sources to write a detailed study of some of these Africans in early Haiti.