Zemí in the City (Cemí en la Ciudad)

This conversation with Miguel Luciano is interesting for exploring the contemporary resonances of Taino art among Puerto Rican and other communities. Since it focuses on one of the exceptional guayacan wood sculptures from around 1000 years ago, the discussion raises a number of important questions and issues about museums, colonial legacies, and the relevance of the Taino past to Puerto Ricans today. It sounds like the Metropolitan Museum of Art's exhibit was an excellent one on the Taino and circum-Caribbean indigenous art. 

Taino Myth and South American Origins

Ricardo Alegria's Apuntes en torno a la mitología de los indios taínos de las antillas mayores y sus orígenes suramericanos is yet another study of Taino mythology using a comparative approach with South American lowland peoples. Given the fragmented nature of our understanding of Taino mythology, relying mainly on Ramón Pané  and the usual Spanish sources, one can see the advantages of an approach incorporating data from extant South American indigenous peoples. The analogies, parallels, and even repetition of the same motifs in Taino and South American mythology certainly supports it, too. In order to demonstrate this, Alegria focuses on myths about the origins of humanity, the beginning of women, divine twins, and tales of the flood or deluge. Using Pané as the basis, as well as Pedro Martir, Ulloa, and the work of Levi-Strauss and others who collected and analyzed South American myths, Alegria illustrates the mainly South American tropical origin of the Taino.

As one might expect from the linguistic, archaeological, and ethnographic evidence indicating South American origins (at least for Saladoid expansion, which seems to have included cohoba ritual paraphernalia and a specific ceramics tradition to the Antilles), Taino myth shares much of its references to cultural heroes, social norms, and ritual-religious processes with indigenous peoples across the tropical lowlands. Venezuela, Guyana, and even Brazilian indigenous peoples like the Tupi can be seen to share some of the same mythological lore. For instance, tales of the origin of women across the region refer to figures carved of stone who gain female genitalia through a wood-pecker bird. This, of course, also appears in the myths collected by Pané in Hispaniola. Moreover, several South American indigenous groups posit very similar origins of humanity. Indeed, several peoples believed humans lived in a subterranean world and only entered the surface through caves (for a notable exception, Caribs appear to have believed humans descended from the sky). They were often led out of the caves through a cord that breaks, leaving some in the other world. Those familiar with Pané can also find a similar example from Hispaniola, where humans were believed to have arose from caves. 

In addition, belief in divine twins who become culture heroes for establishing traditions and sharing their knowledge with posterity are also incredibly common. In nearly all the myths mentioned here, the divine twins are born of a woman whose husband abandons or leaves her. The father of her sons is often the Sun. After beginning a journey to take her unborn sons to meet their father, the mother is killed or faces misfortune due to a jaguar or ogro or other being. The killer of the mother then raises the twins who, after learning or mastering the skills of fire, casabe or proper behavior, seek vengeance for their mother. While several South American peoples believed these divine twins later became the Sun and the Moon, and/or one twin was brilliant and the other was a fool, the Taino myth from Hispaniola instead features 4 twin sibling (representing the four winds or cardinal directions?). Born to the same mother and an unnamed father (the Sun?), the only divine twin named is Deminan. Deminan and his brothers fulfil a similar role to Taino society as the divine twins in South American myths. Indeed, they play a pivotal role in the origins of the sea through knocking over the calabash containing Yayael. They also, through the female turtle that emerges from Deminan's back, may have become ancestors to a new generation of humans through their children with the turtle. As mentioned previously, allusions to an ancient flood that once covered the land or explains the origin of the sea also appears in Taino and South American myth.

While some of the similarities between Taino and tropical South American myth can be construed as a result of archetypes, the numerous parallels and variations of the same few details point to a distant shared past. The Taino, as explained by Alegria, would have had to modify South American traditions due to the different environment and fauna of the Greater Antilles. They were also several centuries removed from their ancient South American origins when their traditions were recorded in the 1490s. Despite the distances in time and geography, it is astonishing to see how deeply immersed South American lowland cultural traditions must have been in time. The ritual and social complex of shamanism, cohoba (or similar drug paraphernalia), and yuca culture diffused across northeastern South America along the rivers in the era preceding Saladoid expansion into the Caribbean. While some of the similarities between the Taino and their South American cousins may also be a result of later trade and migration that connected the Greater Antilles to the continent via the Lesser Antilles, the similarities across a vast region of South America suggest a far deeper antiquity. If approached cautiously, this reservoir of data can fill in some of the huge gaps in our understanding of Taino history and cultural development. 

Fouchard and the Taino

Jean Fouchard's Langue et littérature des aborigènes d'Ayti is an incredibly problematic text. Consisting of short chapters on language, literature, history, and the legacy of the indigenous peoples of Haiti, it is rather obvious that Fouchard's work was already outdated by the 1970s. One expected better of Fouchard given the more careful scholarship in his work on maroons in Haiti, but his questionable scholarship and unpersuasive attempts to find remnants of areytos in 19th century Haitian literature were shocking. Fouchard failed to offer enough context for the examples of areytos provided in the book to be taken seriously as likely survivals of the Taino past. For instance, the war song associated with Caonabo appears to be lifed from a book by Edgar La Selve on Haitian literature and a play by Henri Chauvet. Since Fouchard's sources are ambiguous, we are inclined to regard his Caonabo example as inauthentic. Something similar could be said of Emile Nau's elegy to Racumon, which appears to be based on earlier accounts of Kalinago funerary song but appears irrelevant to Haiti's aboriginal literature. 

Moreover, the Song of Cacique Henry, about Enriquillo, is reproduced in full in a version published in Frederic Marcelin's journal in the early 1900s. Supposedly Marcelin first encountered it in 1893 while in the north of the country. While it is a riveting poem extolling the just war of Enriquillo against the Spanish, and it contains references to cemis and aspects of Taino culture, there is nothing in the poem that suggests it was actually based on a real song or areyto of Enrique. Indeed, if anything it's another example of the ways in which 19th century Haitian authors drew from the history of Taino resistance to colonialism in their own struggles against the French. In this light, it is perhaps not surprising that the Song first appears in the court of Henry Christophe. Learned members of his court, particularly Baron de Vastey and other educated elites would have been in the perfect position to compose a poem in the Indianist mode that would soon become popular in the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.

Furthermore, the attempt to prove aboriginal survival through references to runaway slave ads in colonial Saint-Domingue or the death certificate of an "Indian" woman who died after 1804 are fundamentally dishonest. A perusal of these aforementioned runaway slave ads plus the writings of Moreau de Saint-Mery and other 18th century sources would make it abundantly clear that the vast majority of these "Indiens" were from other parts of the Americas or even the Indian subcontinent. To suggest otherwise, especially without providing any additional evidence, is just lazy. That said, Fouchard did draw on the research of Suzanne Comhaire Sylvain, Louis Elie, and other Haitians who argued for a Taino or aboriginal influence on Vodou veves, Haitian folklore, and in the pockets of Haitian communities alleged to be of partial Indian origin. Unfortunately, we have not yet located the essay by Comhaire-Sylvain on Indian influences in Haitian folklore. However, arguments in favor of a Taino origin of veve or lwa has yet to be demonstrated (Loko is likely from West Africa, veve is also of African origin). 

In spite of its numerous problems (such as asserting that Breton had lived in Saint Domingue) and the outdated beliefs of Fouchard on the peopling of Hispaniola and the Caribbean (somehow we are led to believe Macorix was the dominant language of Hispaniola, the people of the Bahamas spoke Carib, and Caonabo was from Guadeloupe), this short work contains some essential references. Now it will be easier for anyone seriously pursuing the topic to locate key articles by Haitian intellectuals on the subject. Moreover, the text does include a French translation of our favorite friar's recordings of Taino belief. This plus the addition of some of the literary texts are additional resources. If only Fouchard had included all of the nearly 500 words of indigenous origin collected by Nouel, then this could have been an even better resource for those perusing the topic of the Taino influences on Haitian Creole and culture. There is undoubtedly potential insights and new discoveries to be made with this topic. Lamentably, some of the key studies remain inaccessible, lost or in archives.

Caonabo, the Stranger King

Although the author admits to the speculative nature of some of his conclusions, Taino Indian Myth and Practice: The Arrival of the Stranger King, Keegan's study is a thought-provoking work on the basis of cacical authority and the inter-island connections in the late precolonial Caribbean. Using Las Casas's claim that Caonabo was from the Bahamian archipelago, Keegan endeavors to use ethnohistoric and archaeological methods to identify the possible village site Caonabo came from. Of course, since the sources are problematic and our understanding of Taino worldview less than ideal, Keegan must use potentially misleading or unrepresentative writings on Taino mythology (mainly Pané) to make meaning of the Spanish sources. Indeed, this is a necessity but there is always the danger of generalizing and homogenizing based on Pané's recordings of the specific beliefs of one particular cacicazgo of Hispaniola. Despite these risks, and  the author's recognition of far greater diversity among the peoples of the Taino Interaction Sphere, he still uses Pané (and the interpretations of Taino religion from Stevens-Arroyo's scholarship) heavily to reconstruct the mythic geography of the Taino. Caonabo's alleged origins at a specific site in Middle Caicos requires heavy allegiance to Stevens-Arroyo's work on Pané.

Since Keegan accepts the greater diversity of Taino peoples and the antiquity of ceramics in Cuba and Hispaniola soon after the Saladoid culture reached Puerto Rico, the deeper history of migrations, cultural exchanges, and eventually colonization of the Bahamas is a more complex process than one would think. Indeed, if Keegan is correct about the matrilineal and avunculocal nature of the Taino chiefdoms, perhaps some specific sites in the Bahamas were short-term and long-term settlements meant to provide fish, salt, and shell beads to Hispaniola. Caciques, whose power was at least partly based on marriage alliances with numerous other communities (as well as their ability to communicate with numinous beings), could have been linked to Middle Caicos sites from northern Hispaniola. Marriage alliances could have meant Caonabo was born at the MC-6 site excavated by Sullivan and Keegan, but his mother was from Hispaniola, perhaps Maguana. Caonabo then would have been eligible to succeed to the office of cacique in Hispaniola through his mother's kin, and perhaps would have embodied aspects of a stranger "king" with roots in an island that provided salt and marine resources (or salted fish) to Hispaniola. This remains rather speculative and uncertain, and one still has to consider the reason why Las Casas believed Caonabo rose to position of chiefdom: his military prowess. Perhaps his background on Middle Caicos may have prepared him, or he displayed distinct warrior talent in his early youth after relocating to the cacicazgo of his mother? 

Since so much remains unknown of Caonabo's origins and the Spanish sources, beginning with Columbus, were guilty of creating their own myths and legends of Caribbean indigenous peoples, much remains uncertain. Columbus himself, according to Keegan, was guilty of misunderstanding the Taino reference to the Carib as part of a mythology that also included notions of guanin and an island inhabited only by women. The fact that Columbus was sometimes mistaken to be a Carib himself has apparently escaped critical attention by many scholars. In fact, if the Spanish could also be perceived as Caribs, then the alleged cannibalism of the Caribs should be seen as part of Taino mythic geography. Indeed, perhaps this is why Caonabo, who was not born on Hispaniola, could be referred to as "Carib" by Oviedo and at the same time embody some of the mythic characteristics equated with outsiders. Indeed, Keegan goes even further, suggesting that Caonabo may have cultivated or been associated with Deminan and his 3 brothers (Caonabo was said to have 3 brothers) and possibly was seen as the guardian of the Cave of the Jagua from which humans first arose. In addition, Keegan produces evidence from MC-6 and the site of El Corral de los Indios in today's San Juan de la Maguana to point to certain patterns of astronomically aligned plazas and Taino monuments reflecting the culture's mythology or cosmovision. 

Indeed, the MC-6 appears even more unique in this regard with its own plaza recalling those of Hispaniola. Since Caonabo was ruler of Maguana, and would have been familiar with the plazas of MC-6 and Maguana, one can link him to MC-6 for its exceptional qualities. After all, it is possible that only an exceptional site in the Lucayan islands would have produced someone capable of becoming the most powerful cacique of Hispaniola. And due to his position, Caonabo would have intervened with Guacanagari's chiefdom by destroying La Navidad, in order to protect his own position as the "dominant" stranger king of Hispaniola. Even if Caonabo was, through his mother, actually part of the kinship structure of Maguana or another Hispaniola chiefdom, he was still remote or enough of a stranger to accumulate possible mythological characteristics linked to his political office. He would have felt a strong threat from Columbus as a potential contender, or perhaps someone through whom Guacanagari could have become a threat. Caonabo, already allied with Beheccio through his marriage to Anacaona, may have dominated half of Hispaniola with Jaragua. A newcomer allied with a different cacicazgo could have threatened the political stability of the island.

Perhaps most interesting is the archaeological evidence for cacical authority reflected in sites such as En Bas Saline, MC-6, San Juan de la Maguana. Citing evidence from another archaeologists analysis of En Bas Saline, Keegan presents evidence that the households of caciques were not exempt from the daily tasks and chores of commoner households. Moreover, it is possible that caciques did not actually impose sumptuary restrictions on their population, but monopolized the distribution of luxuries like iguana meat for festivals or feasts. Indeed, it remains unknown to what degree caciques actually controlled production in their polities through tribute or other means. However, caciques must have had access to skilled labor for the production of luxury crafts, communities for long-distance trade or manufacturing of shell-beads and salted fish off Hispaniola, and the construction of elaborate plazas and ballcourts. Undoubtedly, the cacique's rise to supremacy over behiques with regards to contact with the divine through the cohoba ritual was an important aspect of the ideological basis for political authority. As a result, the form of a Taino village and the most elaborate plazas with astronomical alignments for the solstice and Orion must have reinforced the cacique's authority as leader of a community spatially organized in recognition of the cemis. Whether or not this means the most powerful cacicazgos were en route to state formation from a "tribal-tributary" model is up for debate. But one is led to think that at least the matunheri caciques wielded tremendous power. Indeed, some may have even sponsored short-term and long-term colonization in nearby islands to harvest resources for use in Hispaniola.

Duhos and Cohoba

Here is a fascinating example of cave art from Hoyo de Sanabe. The picture was found in the 14th volume of the Boletin of the Museo del Hombre Dominicano It appears to depict two seated figures sitting on duhos while partaking in cohoba. If duhos were often associated with caciques in the cohoba ritual, then these figures are like caciques. Perhaps the bird figure depicted above one of the seated figures is a reference to the pelican or owl, two birds which have appeared in Taino sculpture. The strange, larger figure above could be an allusion to a specific cemi or spirit seen or communicated with through the cohoba ritual?

Estimating Puerto Rico's Indigenous Population

With the lower population estimates for the Taino population provided by one aDNA study, it is important to consider the estimates reached by historians. Although the case of Puerto Rico lacks reliable early censuses and maps of the various cacicazgos on the island at the time of Spanish contact and early colonial rule, Francisco Moscoso's Caciques, aldeas y población taína de Boriquén (Puerto Rico), 1492-1582 is a necessary read. Despite the limitations of our surviving sources and the incomplete state of archaeological research on contact-era sites in Puerto Rico, Moscoso's study is more careful than those of earlier historians who proposed unrealistically high figures (such as 600,000) or very low estimates, such as Brau's 16,000. Historians who were not methodological and consistent in their estimates of numbers of caciques and total population cannot be relied upon for those of us who are skeptical of the low population estimates from the aforementioned aDNA study. 

In short, Moscoso concluded that the island probably had 44 caciques in the first two decades of the 16th century. This number is reached through corroborating the archival sources and chronicles, emphasizing the caciques who can be associated with a specific area or region. There may have been an additional 11 caciques whose existence Moscoso could not corroborate or cross-reference. Moreover, some of the identified 44 caciques may have been captains or nitainos serving under a cacique, but Spanish sources may have misidentified or reclassified Taino elites based on their own needs during and after the conquest. Some may disagree with Moscoso about the existence of female caciques, or cacicas, before the conquest. If Moscoso is correct, then the appearance of cacicas is actually a result of the Spanish manipulating and interfering with Taino indigenous political structures for their own benefit. We know that happened through the Spanish practice of using the Taino cacique and nitano as a privileged group for implementing the encomienda system. However, we still believe it is possible that women ruled as cacicas before contact, and that because women were already wielding such power, the Spanish found a way to intervene as husbands of cacicas in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Thus, the possibility of women cacicas and the likelihood that some of the 44 caciques identified in the Spanish may not have been original "caciques" suggests that the original number of caciques could have been lower or higher. The fragmentation of cacicazgo populations by splitting their populations between different encomiendas must have also changed or impacted demographics.

After establishing his estimate of around 44 caciques for the island, most of them in the key first two decades of the colonial era, Moscoso argued for a Taino population of around 110,000. This is proposed with reservations, but based on known data on Taino chiefdom's surplus-producing capacities and the figures derived from Las Casas. Intriguingly, we believe a similar reliance on Las Casas was used for Roberto Cassá's estimate of Hispaniola's indigenous population in 1492. If Las Casas was reliable, and our theories on the productivity of yuca agriculture and the structure of a typical aldea are correct, then perhaps such a high figure of 110,000 is plausible. But, Moscoso bases this on an average aldea possessing around 2500 people. This could have been the case for Puerto Rico, assuming each cacicazgo was producing a surplus of yuca based on mound agriculture and other crops. However, one would expect that each cacique ruled or controlled the tribute of cacicazgos with varying characteristics in productivity, types of crops, and political factors that shaped their relationship to other caciques. For that reason, we see an estimate of 2500 per cacique as too high. 

Even if, one average, a typical Indian "head of household" included 10-15 relatives, that Las Casas may not have correctly identified the numbers associated with a family. Nor do we have sufficient knowledge of how many laborers enumerated in the larger encomiendas may have come from the same households. Of course, 600 Indians from Agueybana, likely only representing the laboring population, must have omitted perhaps 5 children per adult (as well as the aged and infirm). If so, then perhaps a high estimate of around 3000 can be reached for the case of some aldeas associated with powerful chiefs. But for those whose associated naborias only totalled around 100 or 150 in the 1510s, lower figures of around 500 or perhaps 1000 might be more reliable estimates. With that in consideration, perhaps the paramount caciques controlled populations of a few thousands while the rest may have headed aldeas or yucayeques of around 500-1000. We are inclined to therefore go for the lower range of estimates from Moscoso's model, perhaps somewhere between 44,000 to 88,000 Tainos inhabiting the entire island. 

As for what happened to the 44,000-88,000 indigenous people of the island after the initial conquest, Moscoso rightly questions the low numbers provided in various sources after the de Lando census. The absence of "indios" in the late 1500s and 17th century sources does not constitute proof of a complete extinction narrative. Instead, it is very probable that colonial racial or color labels encompassed people who may have been classified as "indio" previously. Then, the reappearance of "Indios" in the later decades of the 18th century also suggests survival, although almost certainly not of any "pure" Indian communities. As the descendants of the indigenous population continued to exist, they also intermarried with people of African and European descent (like the cacica or widow of a cacique who married or became a lover to Pedro Mexia, a mulato). Over time, the indigenous culture continued to be the basis for much of the new mestizo culture of the rural population of the island. Their disappearance in the later sources may reflect a wish on the part of Spanish officials and encomenderos to minimize the populations under their control, hide illegal enslavement, and promote the African slave trade to repopulate the island with laborers. This, of course, does not minimize the horrors of the conquest as many indigenous people were slaughtered, enslaved, removed from their homes, subjected to raids, or sold into slavery. Many must have also fled Puerto Rico for other islands to escape the Spanish, causing a further decline in the native population. 

Sun Ra's Queer Notions

Sun Ra loved to occasionally pay homage to our heroes. Heroes, in this case, includes important African American bandleaders and musicians in earlier epochs of jazz. Fletcher Henderson, whose "Queer Notions" is a rather strange composition, would have smiled had he heard this lively rendition from Sun Ra in the 1980. Sun Ra's cover is a bit funkier but captures that joyful, celebratory quality in swing that Henderson brought to the fore. Perhaps the contradictions of the song, alluded to by its title, capture the modalities of modern living. 

Glimpses of Pre-Islamic Soninke

Although there is often potential danger in using oral traditions and modern ethnographic analogies to understand different societies from the distant past, a reappraisal of Soninke oral traditions and the corpus of external Arabic sources supports doing so. Islam has spread among Soninke people for 1000 years, but a cursory examination of Mandinka, Bambara and similar religious traditions can inform our understanding of Ghana. In so doing, the polity's pre-Islamic roots become clearer and aspects of its social, political and economic life can be unveiled. External sources like al-Bakri, despite being of great use, suffer from not personally traveling to Ghana or letting their religious and ethnocentric biases obscure the realities of other societies. Thus, in order to delve deep into Soninke origins, we shall begin with the oral traditions as recorded in Arabic  by Mamadi Aïssa (and translated into French by Maurice Delafosse) of Nioro.

The "Histoire de royaoume de Ouagadou" begins Traditions historiques et légendaires du Soudan occidental. Tracing the origins of the Soninke clans to Dinga, assuredly a mythical figure, this report of Soninke origins reflects Islamic influences. For instance, Dinga is said to come from the East and to have been a descendant of Job, Solomon, and David. Nonetheless, there are powerful indicators of the pre-Islamic Soninke worldview in the tale of his migrations. First, Dinga traveled in the company of 300 magicians, led by Karabara Diadiane, an ancestor of the Soudoro clan (Aissa 6). This establishes right away that the mythical founder of the Soninke people was associated with magic, occult power or spiritual power. The tale of Dinga then shifts to his migrations, including a stop at a village named Dienne. Dinga takes a local wife but she fails to bear him a child after 27 years together. So, unsurprisingly, Dinga moves on to another place (Aissa 7). The fact that his first was barren or failed to become pregnant after so long, which was a cause for divorce, highlights the central role of fertility and progeny in an agricultural society like that of the ancient Soninke. Dinga's search for a wife to bear him children is likely related to the migrations of the Soninke ancestors in search of water or fertile lands.

After leaving his first wife, Dinga married a woman in the village of Diagha. This wife bears him 3 sons, twins. One of the twins dies but the other two people ancestors of the Souare and Dyikine clans (Aissa 7). Twins always have spiritual significance. The death of one of the triplets may have have been necessary for restoring a balance of two halves. Or, alternatively, perhaps the death of one of the twins was an ominous sign for the posterity of Dinga? Regardless, Dinga relocates from Diagha to Kingui, where he stops at Daraga. Dinga requests his followers, who must consist of his large body of magicians, retainers, dependents, sons, and slaves, to get water from a well. Unfortunately, a genie or jinn (or goblin, Levtzion 17) inhabiting the well prevents them from doing so. Dinga himself then confronts the jinn, but has to rely on aid from the leader of the magicians, Karabara Diadiane, to defeat the genie through sorcery (Aissa 7). This episode indicates the importance of wells and sources of water for the life of a community. Dinga, as leader, endeavored to ensure a water supply from the well but was only able to succeed with the help of a powerful magician. Royal power, therefore, relied on the supernatural or occult powers and wisdom of ritual specialists and priests. Kings or chiefs could not ensure the survival of their dependents without their assistance.

After defeating the genie of the well, Dinga accepts its offer of marriage to his three daughters. These three daughters become the mothers of several sons (the origins of various Soninke clans are traced to them). The spirit or jinn in the well, a source of water or life, therefore becomes an ancestor of the Soninke through Dinga's numerous progeny. This may symbolize water as one of the four elements to the Soninke. One of the progeny of Dinga is, according to this version of the legend, the serpent or Bida himself (Aissa 8). Thus, Bida, or the serpent, is related to the Soninke clans. The serpent may have become a totemic or powerful symbol in Soninke origins as it was a liminal animal inhabiting watery and dry spaces. Further, the snake's ability to shed its skin may have become an additional factor in its symbolic role associated with life, water, and rebirth. Indeed, the power of the snake "cult" among the Soninke was so strong that even 20th century Muslim Soninke avoided the taboo of killing or harming the bida snake (Bathily 19). If this belief was true for the "Zafun" described in the Arabic sources, then the Soninke societies described by al-Bakri and others in the 11th and 12th century likely believed the snake was a powerful entity linked to fertility, rain, gold (which could be panned from rivers after rainfall), and, thus, worthy of sacrifice and perhaps consulted for oracular powers (Levtzion & Hopkins 78). Similar beliefs about animals like the fox may have also been a factor in Soninke religion. According to Askia Muhammad, some of the self-proclaimed Muslims he freed actually believed in a fox cult and consulted shrines for idols or spirits (al-Maghili 77). 

The other sons of Dinga are worth mentioning for their role in the establishment of Wagadu. According to the this version of the tale, the founder of the Sisse or Cisse clan was the son of Dinga through the second daughter of the well jinn (Aissa 8). Maghan Diabe eventually occupies the center stage through his role in the foundation of Wagadu as a prosperous kingdom. According to the traditions, Dinga, old and blind, offers to give an older son the kingship (represented by a royal talisman) in exchange for roasted meat (Aissa 10). Considering the role of hunters or hunting in the oral traditions surrounding Sundiata and other Mande cultures, perhaps this is an indication of the importance of hunters in society and rulership. First of all, Dinga, now blind, must step down or vacate the throne. His disability means his ability to conduct the community is compromised, especially if hunting and war were essential traits of kingship. What makes things even more interesting, and perhaps influenced by Biblical traditions, is Aissa's version making Maghan Diabe king through a ruse. Again, as in the case of Dinga's success against the spirit in the well, Maghan Diabe is only able to pull it off through the assistance of the sorcerer, Karabara Diadiane. Nevertheless, Maghan Diabe's seizure of power by providing his father with roasted meat before his older brother may indicate greater prowess as a hunter or warrior. Thus, despite being younger than his brother, he was the more skilled hunter/warrior who earned the authority of the ailing Dinga. The entire episode is suggestive of the great role priests or those in control of occult forces could have in the royal court as well as the ability to hunt. Moreover, by providing food or sustenance to his father, Maghan Diabe reverses the traditional father-son relationship and demonstrates respect for elders, even if he attempted to win the "royal chains" or talisman through trickery. 

However, Maghan Diabe's older brother still receives an important gift. Instead of the kingship, Dinga bestows upon him a talisman associated with control of rain (Aissa 11). Consequently, a different branch of the royal family retained control of rain while the line of Maghan Diabe ruled Wagadu. This episode avoids fratricidal violence among brothers or clans of the Soninke while perhaps establishing a branch of the royal lineage as a line of ritual specialists or rainmakers at Kumbi. If an accurate portrayal of events, this suggests the kings of Wagadu were not directly associated with rainmaking but members of their family became a hereditary line of priests with that power. However, the fissioning of the Soninke into various clans might have been an impetus for more migrations. The next move was inspired by Diabe's consulting a diviner. The prophecy of this person predicts Diabe will become a great king and tells him to undertake another journey through the desert. The allusion to a diviner here may be a testament to the antiquity of geomancy or divination among the Soninke. This journey of the hero also presents new challenges and requires a crossing of the desert with 40 beasts of burden. By undertaking this quest through inhospitable land, Diabe may have been undergoing another ordeal that would lead him to the greener, wealthier pastures of Wagadu.

Diabe's quest through the land also included encounters with animals. In this case, hyenas and vultures enter the story. The leader of the hyenas cannot offer assistance to Diabe's group. An old vulture encountered afterwards, one that cannot fly, could direct them but requires something in exchange. After feeding the vulture all 40 of the animals in his group, it agrees to guide Diabe to the site of Kumbi (Aissa 12). Since animals besides the snake or serpent do not speak or communicate with humans, the significance of the hyenas and vultures merits commentary. The hyena, as an animal that can laugh and is a dog-like scavenger, may have become a liminal creature in between human and animal society. The hyena's human-life laughs and dog-like features would have familiar to the Soninke, yet their scavenger lifestyle may have triggered disgust or disdain. The vulture, also a scavenger, may have been a liminal being through his ability to fly and its association with death or decay. However, after feeding it, its youth is restored and it guides the protagonist to Kumbi with his renewed flying ability. Perhaps the vulture's ability to fly and be more useful in a harsh climate represented an ability to traverse different worlds or cosmos to the Soninke.

After finally reaching Kumbi, another miraculous event occurs. At the site where the vultures leads them stands a tree. As Diabe orders the tree to be cut, a giant python or snake appears. In addition, a drum falls from the tree and 9,999 men appear, including 4 Soninke chiefs (Aissa 13). This myth connects the tree or forest with the snake and a ritual drum, perhaps the same as the one identified by al-Bakri for the royal court. Historians have long known from al-Bakri that Ghana's royal capital included a sacred grove (Levtzion & Hopkins 80). The tree, through its association with the snake (Bida), possibly became the area for the sacred grove associated with the pre-Islamic religion (al-Ghaba). But, Diabe had one more ordeal to undergo before fully establishing the kingdom of Wagadu at Kumbi. Four Soninke chiefs, including one ancestor of the Silla clan, could not agree on who should rule (Aissa 13). After one proposes a test involving the drum that fell from the tree, only Diabe is able to fit his arm. This must be an allusion to the royal drums used in Ghana's royal court. Next, Diabe must form the proper relationship with the snake, or Bida. The two come to an agreement in which Diabe will provide one beautiful maiden to the snake in exchange for 20 days of golden rain. This ritual exchange was associated with a sacrificial or ritual fest in Kumbi (Aissa 14). Undoubtedly, this is a reference to the panning and mining of gold in Wagadu. The snake's origins in the spirit of the well also signified fertility, water or life. By coming into a harmonious agreement with the snake, perhaps the Soninke traditions are suggesting Wagadu developed into a prosperous ecological balance with the spirits of nature. Through ritual offerings, sacrifices, and celebrations, the king and his ritual specialists must have been tasked with maintaining this balance. 

Unfortunately for the Cisse rulers of Wagadu, the agreement with Bida ended when an exceptional man, said to possess magical powers, chose to slay the serpent. After Diabe and his 4 brothers ruled in succession, the last, Kaya Magha, experienced the dissolution of the kingdom. Mamadi Sefe-Dokhote, kills the snake to protect the woman he loved from being given to the snake. Just as Siya is about to be given to the serpent in the ritual, Mamadi slays it by cutting off its head seven times (either through its ability to regenerate the body part or magic). By accomplishing this, Mamadi ensures the fall of Wagadu as no more rain or gold causes the dispersal of its people (Aissa 17). The careful balance maintained through rituals and the political order defined by the ruling ideology was destroyed. The Soninke dispersed and Wagadu  is gone.

The next problem becomes one of making sense of Wagadu with the oral traditions and textual sources. The medieval kingdom or empire of Ghana was a Soninke state in which the Soninke royal title was identified by al-Bakri in the name of one king, Tunkamenin (Bathily 13). However, the oral traditions of Wagadu are about far deeper origins of the Soninke people than the medieval kingdom of Ghana. Indeed, some of the clans identified in the traditions appear in the external Arabic sources of the Middle Ages as separate kingdoms or polities, not always loyal to Ghana. It seems likely that the Wagadu and Cisse dynasty identified in the oral traditions refer to a predecessor state to Ghana, or perhaps an earlier incarnation of the state that ended before the 9th  or 10th century. If the "Ghana" of the Arabic sources was a later offshoot of the Wagadu kingdom, then perhaps Ghana was just the most successful of the successor states. The other alternative could be the omission or loss of several names of kings leading up to Kaya Magha, so that the oral traditions telescope events and personages into a simplified chronology of only five kings of Wagadu before its dissolution. The breakup of Wagadu and formation of new Soninke polities would, over several centuries, have led to the loss of names for Wagadu's kings after losing the institutional framework of the royal court that likely sponsored the storage and dissemination of such information. The persistence of pagan practices among some Soninke, such as those of Gajaja, did not mean the preservation of this history (Bathily 38).

Luckily, when one carefully examines the traditions of Wagadu, external Arabic sources, and the ethnographic evidence of related cultures, one can potentially reach deeper conclusions about the origins of the kingdom and how it operated. If Wagadu's name referred to the ruling clans who divided the territory into their spheres of influence, and the clan leaders were expected to report to the royal capital for an annual religious festival in honor of the serpent, one can begin to see how the state's ruling ideology used religion to buttress the king's authority (Aissa 15). The traditional religion, however, would not have been enough to ensure loyalty as provincial leaders of ruling clans may have sought power or influence. Others likely formed marriage alliances with the tunka, perhaps contributing sons to serve in the court. Indeed, the capital could have shifted when different clans jostled for power (Bathily 19). Religious practices specifically tied to localities or aspects of nature were also relevant to the ancient Soninke. According to Askia Muhammad's questions to al-Maghili, similar concerns were an issue for the Askia (Hunwick 69). While Askia Muhammad may have been attempting to overemphasize the non-Islamic practices of Sunni Ali or the previous Songhay dynasty, the "worship" of rocks, trees, and idols was likely widespread across the Western Sudan. Specialists serving as intermediaries and others offering their services as soothsayers must have been a common site. Soninke religious specialists presumably held similar beliefs in their "idols" of trees and stones in the area of al-Ghaba.

Yet the snake cult and veneration of royal kings must have contributed to making Ghana's royal grove+s a powerful center for political, economic, and ritual purposes. Indeed, the capital of Ghana near the site of the snake cult may have been significant for royal succession, too, as al-Bakri indicates for the Zafun. Indeed, for the "Zafqu" of al-Bakri, the monstrous serpent lived in a cave in the desert. It received offerings of food, milk, drink, precious garments, and was called with formulas and whistling. The snake was involved with choosing the next king after the death of a ruler (Levtzion & Hopkins 78). If, the identification of the "Zafqu" with the Zafun or Diafunu is credible, then al-Bakri's description may offer clues on the function of the serpent cult in Ghana. Of course, the Zafun were also sometimes described as nomadic people wearing the veil, perhaps a reference to Berber influences on part of the Soninke population (Levtzion & Hopkins 170). If so, perhaps something akin to a solar cult was part of their religious practices, if al-Muhallabi's description of pre-Islamic Awdaghust Berbers is reliable (Levtzion & Hopkins 168). Ghana's snake, however, may have been associated with the sacred groves and wells rather than a desert in the cave. The role of royal veneration or ancestor worship cannot be dismissed, either. For Ghana, al-Bakri describes "domed buildings and groves and thickets where the sorcerers of these people, men in charge of their religious cult, live" (Levtzion & Hopkins 80). The tombs of kings were associated with idols and additionally featured an enormous dome with carpets, cushions, ornaments, weapons, food, drink, and the men who served his meals. Furthermore, al-Bakri describes sacrifices to the death and offerings of intoxicating drinks, suggesting kings and the deceased ancestors were appeased through rituals and honored. A later example from the Mossi states, cited in the Tarikh al-Sudan includes an instance of the Yatenga king consulting his ancestors through the traditional religion about possibly converting to Islam. Such a major decision, if it really was resolved through a ritual ceremony to consult ancestors, might offer clues to understanding how "traditional" religion in Ghana shaped political decisions (Hunwick 106). Through ostentatious display of their wealth in imported textiles, luxuries, and elite tombs, the kings of Ghana likely sought to buttress their rule through ancestry and connections to the snake cult. Indeed, Ibn Hawqal also believed the wealthy of Ghana were buried with their slave girls, showing off their power through the large accumulation of dependents and slaves they possessed, who then presumably served him in the afterlife (Levtzion & Hopkins 52).

Pre-Islamic Soninke religion also raises an interesting question about the status of women. What was the role of women in their religion and society? Even if al-Bakri's claim of matrilineal inheritance of the crown is questionable, certainly women were important in the "traditional" religion. A discovery of a female statue from Wagadu, currently located at a museum in Mauritania, emphasizes fertility. Soninke kings, through their association with the snake cult and fertility, presumably also valued women's fertility as the source of children. The symbolic associations of motherhood and trees could have been a factor here. Moreover, the association of women with divination and sorcery in other parts of the Western Sudan or Sahel might offer another avenue for exploration. For example, the Damdam kingdom mentioned by al-Bakri worshipped an idol in the form of a woman atop a fortress (Levtzion & Hopkins 86). Such an idol, the site of pilgrimage for this Damdam people who lived near Gao, could be a female spirit or mother goddess figure. The example of  Kugha, a town known for its associations with Ghana through gift exchange, may be illustrative (Levtzion & Hopkins 49). According to al-Idrisi, the women of Kugha were famous for their witchcraft (Levtzion & Hopkins 112). Were women renowned for their control of occult forces also present in Wagadu? What was the status of women in the "traditional" religion of the Soninke? If sorcery and witchcraft accusations were allegedly common in 14th century Ghana and Mali, according to al-Umari, surely women were also active participants in the process (Levtzion & Hopkins 265). Perceptions of sorcery and accusations of witchcraft may have also been one way to solve community discord through litigation before the king. Women certainly would have been involved in this in ways that are not detectable in our limited source materials. In addition, Islamic sources like al-Bakri may have assumed women were not in positions of authority, religious or otherwise. 

In summation, reading the traditions of Wagadu and focusing on the religious symbolism can pave the way forward for uncovering or emphasizing different aspects about the kingdom of Ghana. Although much will remain unknown or unverifiable, it is clear that pre-Islamic Soninke religion was foundational to the state. It shaped the royal court, its legitimacy, the development of ancestor veneration, and, almost certainly, the ways in which Islamic traditions and divination practices developed among Soninke, Mandinka and Bambara peoples. It has been proposed here that the Soninke religion possibly embraced the concept of fundamental elements, included ancestor worship, and perhaps incorporated animals as totemic figures in their view of ethnogenesis. Influences from across the Sahara, Sudan, and even the Mediterranean may have shaped Soninke beliefs. For instance, the worship of the Sun, attributed to pre-Islamic Berbers of Awdaghust, may have been an influence on the Zafun or Soninke near the desert. Religious and spiritual practices of Wagadu may have also been shaped by idol worship in Takrur, traditions of magic in Kugha, and Islamic systems of divination or belief. In fact, there were likely agricultural festivals and rites organized around a sacred calendar that may have been lunar or solar. Women may have possessed far more authority or spiritual power than our sources indicate, particularly in the domain of religion and, perhaps, possession. Like the Mallal king who converted to Islam after an Ibadi prayed for rain, it is likely that Islam was also spreading in Ghana among those who found it efficacious for reaching a goal. Moreover, Ghana or Soninke religion retained many aspects of the pre-Islamic past long after the decline and fall of Ghana. By highlighting its influence on the ancient kingdom of Wagadu, one can understand the indigenous roots of a complex Sudanic civilization that did not reject cosmopolitan influences. 

Sources

Aissa, Mamadi, Traditions historiques et légendaires du Soudan occidental. Paris: Comité de l'Afrique française, 1913.

Bakrī, Abū ʻUbayd ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻAbd al-ʻAzīz, and William MacGuckin Slane. Description De L'Afrique Septentrionale. 2. éd. Alger: A. Jourdan, 1911. 

Bathily, Abdoulaye. “A Discussion of the Traditions of Wagadu with Some Reference to Ancient Ghana,” 1975. Bulletin de l'Institut Fondamental d'Afrique Noire, Série B: Sciences humaines  vol. 37. no. 1, p. 1-94

Burkhalter, Sheryl L. "Listening for Silences in Almoravid History: Another Reading of "The Conquest That Never Was"." History in Africa 19 (1992): 103-31. 

Clozel, F.-J. (François-Joseph), and Maurice Delafosse. Haut--Sénégal--Niger (Soudan Franc̜ais): Séries D'etudes Pub. Sous La Direction De M. Le Gouverneur Clozel .. Paris: E. Larose, 1912.

Conrad, David C. "Oral Sources on Links between Great States: Sumanguru, Servile Lineage, the Jariso, and Kaniaga." History in Africa 11 (1984): 35-55. Accessed November 4, 2020. doi:10.2307/3171626.

 Conrad, David, and Humphrey Fisher. "The Conquest That Never Was: Ghana and the Almoravids, 1076. I. The External Arabic Sources." History in Africa 9 (1982): 21-59. 

Diop, Majhemout. Histoire Des Classes Sociales Dans L'Afrique De L'ouest. Paris: L'Harmattan, 1985.

Fage, J. D. " Ancient Ghana: A Review of the Evidence." Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana 3, no. 2 (1957): 3-24. 

Gomez, Michael A. African Dominion: A New History of Empire in Early and Medieval West Africa. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018

Hopkins, J. F. P., and Nehemia Levtzion. Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History. 1st Markus Weiner Publishers ed. Princeton [N.J.]: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2000.

Kassibo, Bréhima. "La Géomancie Ouest-africaine. Formes Endogènes Et Emprunts Extérieurs (West African Geomancy: Endogenous and Borrowed Forms)." Cahiers D'Études Africaines 32, no. 128 (1992): 541-96. 

Levtzion, Nehemia. Ancient Ghana and Mali. New York, N.Y.: Africana Pub. Company, 1980. 

Maghīlī, Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Karīm, and John O. Hunwick. Sharīʻa in Songhay: The Replies of Al-Maghīlī to the Questions of Askia Al-Ḥājj Muḥammad. London ; New York: Published for the British Academy by Oxford University Press, 1985.

Magnavita, Soja. "Initial Encounters: Seeking traces of ancient trade connections between West Africa and the wider world", Afriques, 04 | 2013, mis en ligne le 25 mai 2013, consulté le 05 novembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/afriques/1145; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/afriques.1145

McIntosh, Susan Keech. "Reconceptualizing Early Ghana." Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne Des Études Africaines 42, no. 2/3 (2008): 347-73. Accessed November 5, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40380172.

Munson, Patrick J. "Archaeology and the Prehistoric Origins of the Ghana Empire." The Journal of African History 21, no. 4 (1980): 457-66. Accessed November 2, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/182004.

Pollet, Eric, and Grace Winter. La Société Soninké (Dyahunu, Mali). Bruxelles: Éditions de l'Institut de sociologie, Université libre de Bruxelles, 1971. 

Saʻdī, ʻAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʻAbd Allāh, and John O. Hunwick. Timbuktu and the Songhay Empire: Al-Saʻdi's Taʼrikh Al-Sudan Down to 1613 and Other Contemporary Documents. Leiden ; Boston: Brill, 1999. 

Tamari, Tal. "The Development of Caste Systems in West Africa." The Journal of African History 32, no. 2 (1991): 221-50. Accessed November 3, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/182616.

Timbuktī, Maḥmūd Kutī ibn Mutawakkil Kutī, Christopher Wise, and Hala Abu Taleb. Taʼrīkh Al Fattāsh =: The Timbuktu Chronicles, 1493-1599 : English Translation of the Original Works in Arabic By Al Hajj Mahmud Kati. Trenton, N.J.: Africa World Press, 2011.

Duhos and Taino Chiefdoms

Taino duhos are some of the best-known and most elaborate works of pre-Columbian Caribbean craftsmanship and art. Associated with cacical authority and the elites of Taino society, the best known duhos are often sculpted of wood. Many possess two-dimensional geometric patterns and designs and feature anthropomorphic or zoomorphic faces and features. Although stools are widely used in South and Central American indigenous cultures, among the Taino, duhos, particularly the ornate wooden ones, have stood the test of time and still serve as a testament to the artistic talent and technical brilliance of indigenous woodcarvers. As powerful artifacts associated with caciques and the elites, they can also be a powerful source or analysis for reconstructing something of Taino ruling ideology. Their restricted use, elaborateness, and the addition of symbols that may be based on cotton textiles, belts, navels, cemis (and/or ancestors) and entoptic phenomena suggest art and religion were closely entwined in an overall ideology of rulership.

Joanna Ostapkowicz, author of the thesis Taíno Wooden Sculpture: Duhos, Rulership and the Visual Arts in the 12th-16th Century, appears to be one of the world's leading experts on the subject. Her thesis, including an extended catalog of extant duhos and their provenience and museum acquisition histories, establishes that at least 147 duhos have survived. Unfortunately, several have been damaged and the original contextual location of the find is not always clear. More than a few pieces probably ended up in private hands and several more likely await discovery in the Caribbean. Haiti, for example, with La Gonave identified as one center of production during the time of Anacaona, might yield more duhos of wood that could shed light on their production and distribution. Ostapkowicz's study also includes those built of stone as well as wood, but the wooden ones are often the most remarkable. In addition to examining the known origins of over 100 duhos, she includes examples of other wooden sculpture in Taino art traditions. A sophisticated review and discussion of known scholarship on Taino chiefdoms, the role of women in production, animal symbolism, and the relationship between rituals and ideology in cacical authority and duho use cover the rest of the dissertation.

The technical aspects of production are likewise included, as she estimates that wooden duhos constructed out of dense, tropical hardwoods like guayacan, would have likely required a specialist artisan (part-time or perhaps master artisan) 4 to 6 hours per day and at least a year to finish. This does not include the amount of time required to fell a tree or the seasoning time, either. Undoubtedly, crafting elaborate duhos required a woodcarver who know how to select the appropriate tree and the mastery of techniques with adzes, heat, and cutting to produce a finished stool. At the time this was written, the specific type of wood used for the duho or more precise dating was lacking. Today, however, some duhos have been dated as far back as the 13th century. Ostapkowicz's analysis and dating of other wooden artifacts, such as cohoba stands, suggest elaborate woodcarving in guayacan probably developed centuries earlier. Indeed, some masterpieces of Taino Hispaniola wooden sculpture date back to the 11th or 12th centuries. Perhaps elaborate duhos carved from guayacan or mahogany were already in circulation by the 11th century, possibly of restricted, elite use and distribution? This would suggest an efflorescence of Taino arts and cacical authority a few centuries before the dates proposed by Rouse.

Where Ostapkowicz's analysis is most interesting is on the subject of women in production, exchange, and use of duhos. If, as indicated by Martyr d'Anghiera, women in La Gonave actually produced duhos and wooden sculptures, this would suggest women were not restricted only to ceramics, domestic duties and cotton cloth production. Moreover, if the duhos depict the anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figure wearing cotton bands, belts, and caps, produced by Taino women, then the role of goods produced by women were essential to elite accoutrement. Women were also involved in the transfer of duhos, as Anacaona herself gave duhos to the Spanish. Moreover, according to Ostapkowicz, duhos may have been inherited matrilineally and exchanged at weddings. Indeed, women were also participants in at least some of the ritual activities involving cohoba, and probably sat on duhos if in positions of authority as cacicas. The past assumptions of scholars for a strict gender segregation during cohoba rituals or the actual act of sitting on a duho, lack sufficient evidence. Even among various South American populations from whom ethnographic analogies are often sought, women occasionally use stools and participate in various hallucinogen-induced trances or rituals. 

Similarly important for understanding Taino society is the prominence of anthropomorphic features of several duhos. For Ostapkowicz, this emphasis is likely linked to ancestors and or cemis, as past cacique ancestors could also become cemis. By incorporating them into the duho, they literally and symbolically act as the foundation or support for the sitter. The sexual genitalia, linked to procreation, may have further supported this view. Moreover, the symbolism of trees with roots, trunks and branches associated with stages of life and connections to the subterranean world was likely linked to spirits, or seen as embodying or housing a spirit or being. Ostapkowicz, though skeptical of drawing too heavily on Pané, cites numerous episodes involving trees, wood, or, in one case, fruit. A tree moving on it own, and speaking with a behique through cohoba, can direct the shaman/carver into cutting it. Moreover, cemis carved of wood were also believed to be able to move on their own and escape from caciques or communities they were not interested in staying with. If ancestors were similarly venerated and could become cemis, their representation in a duho would become a powerful numinous quality that justified the sitter's right to office. Through sitting on the duho that was explicitly linked to powerful ancestors, and using the same duho in cohoba rituals or placing it in caves, the owner asserted their power to intercede between the human and other worlds in the Taino cosmos. In other words, elaborate duhos can be "read" as powerful texts of rulership. 

Irving Rouse

Although we cannot locate the full documentary this clip is taken from, we thought it still worthwhile to share a clip of Irving Rouse discussing Caribbean archaeology.

The Zaghawa and Early Kanem

Terio Abdelkerim's Origine et évolution des Zaghawa: Du royaume du Kanem aux Etats modernes (VIIIe-XXIe siècle) is a worthy effort to unveil the deeper history of the Zaghawa peoples and the kingdom of Kanem. Although we have reached rather different conclusions on the early history of Kanem and the relationship between the so-called Duguwa dynasty and the Sayfawa, Abdelkerim uses oral traditions and a familiarity with the history of Zaghawa or Beri clans across Chad and Sudan to illustrate the clear "Zaghawa" origin of the ruling clan of Kanem. However, as indicated by the Diwan and Kanuri, Kanembu, and Tubu traditions and clan names, the modern Zaghawa (Koubara, Wegui, Touba Koube as the three main groups with smaller clans and divisions) have ancient ties to the Teda, Daza, Kanembu and Kanuri groups. 

Indeed, if the Diwan is reliable on the mothers of various early mais, the ruling Zaghawa of Kanem intermarried with Tubu and Kanembu clans. Furthermore, as the Teda, Daza, and Zaghawa were mobile pastoralists, they also migrated back and forth through the Tibetsi, Ennedi, Borku, Kawar, Kanem, Borno, and other regions. The Zaghawa today, located on the frontier between Chad and Sudan, possibly migrated there in larger numbers after the so-called replacement of the Duguwa (Banu Duku) dynasty by the Sayfawa in the late 11th century. Or, alternatively, given the wide expanse of territory between Lake Chad and the Nile occupied by related Nilo-Saharan pastoralists, the "Zaghawa" of the medieval Arabic sources was actually a reference to the entire ensemble of black pastoralists in the central Sahara. This would probably explain why the "Zaghawa" were already known to Arabic sources as early as the beginning of the 8th century, since black Saharan populations west of Nubia and south of the Fazzan may have already formed the early state of Kanem to the south.

In addition, linguistics possibly supports a "Zaghawa" or Beri affinity for the early rulers of Kanem. According to al-Yaqubi, writing in 872, the kingdom of Kanem was "Zaghawa" and called Kakira. The Zaghawa language, however, retains the word kireh for emperor or kings, as indicated by Abdelkerim. We are thus inclined to view al-Yaqubi's brief account of 9th century Kanem as evidence of a Zaghawa ruling clan that must have been related to various Teda, Daza and proto-Kanembu groups through marriage. Indeed, genetics likely supports this scenario as population admixture studies of Chadian groups indicates mixing between a group of Eastern African origin with one of West-Central African origin around 1000 years ago. Of course, the Tubu of Chad also have significant Eurasian ancestry that reflects deeper histories of Eurasian backflow into this part of Africa. Nevertheless, this must have been the fusion of the Zaghawa, Teda, and Daza with sedentary populations already in Kanem and the Chad Basin. Their fusion would ultimately lead to the Kanembu and Kanuri populations. Perhaps the use of the term Beriberi by the Hausa to refer to the Kanuri is actually an allusion to the Zaghawa, or Beri, peoples?

Unfortunately, Abdelkerim believes the Zaghawa language is a Berber one and its population of Berber origins because of Ibn Khaldun and other medieval writers. Since some of them have classified the "Zaghawa" as Berbers or mentioned their use of the litham, many scholars have uncritically repeated this. However, the alleged Berber influence was probably restricted and more likely than not simply a case of Berbers in the Sahara and Sahel who were assimilated into Tubu and Zaghawa populations. After all, even al-Idrisi cited a similar case of this in the Sahara during the 12th century. The Nilo-Saharan language family of the Zaghawa and all the available evidence from the Diwan and Kanuri oral traditions supports an early ruling dynasty of Teda, Daza, and Zaghawa origin. Even the name Dugu or Duku, remembered as Douk Bourme in Zaghawa oral tradition, is a further testament to Zaghawa origins. Even if the name as remembered by the Zaghawa meant courageous young man with light skin, this does not require a Berber origin. "Red" and "black" clans among the Tubu, for instance, could be what the Diwan was referring to when they identified the first "black" mai as only appearing in the late 12th century. 

In consideration of the available evidence, one can justifiably question whether or not there really was a dynastic change from the Duguwa to the Sayfawa in the 11th century. Abdelkerim agrees with scholars such as Lange who see dynastic change because of the language of one copy of the Diwan or a few other sources. However, since the Diwan, Ahmad b. Furtu, and Kanuri oral traditions and Magumi sub-clan divisions support overall continuity from the Duguwa to the Sayfawa, one can plausibly reject the theory. Even if it is true that the Sayfawa embrace of Islam was resisted by some of the Zaghawa ruling elite in Kanem, who had to be replaced by Humme, one is still left in the dark about why the Magumi royal clan of the Sayfawa retained divisions claiming descent from pagan Duguwa mais? Moreover, why was the last Duguwa mai remembered as Abd Abd al-Galil, a very Arabic name? We are inclined to believe that some of the 11th century mais of Kanem may have already embraced Islam, perhaps the Ibadi sect which was active in the nearby Fazzan? 

After all, centuries of trade and contact with Ibadi traders and even Berber merchants in Kawar would have facilitated the spread of Islam by the 1000s. Perhaps the Sayfawa were really just a more devout, Sunni Muslim branch of the ruling elite who saw greater benefit through the full embrace of Sunni Islam. Whether or not this actually precipitated a mass exodus or dispersal of Zaghawa to the east is unknown, as Kanem may have exerted influence on "Zaghawa" and "Daju" in the Chadian-Sudan borderlands. As for Islam's impact on the ruling dynasty and possible anti-Muslim resistance, perhaps it is important to note the late and slight Islamization of various Tubu and other populations in Kanem and Borno. If the masses were, for the most part, left alone, and some pre-Islamic rituals like coronation rites or certain beliefs in the king's power to influence fertility of the land persisted, then the conversion to Islam could have been accomplished in a manner that did not necessarily trigger too much resistance. Perhaps something comparable to various coronation rituals and harvest festivals later observed for the Keira sultans of Darfur was practiced by the early Muslim mais of Kanem.

If the rulers of Kanem had already, by this time, been accustomed to wearing fine textiles imported from trans-Saharan trade and interacting with Muslims for centuries, it is possible that a Muslim faction was already present in the court at Manan. Like Ghana in the Western Sudan, perhaps there were local and foreign Muslims already incorporated into the administration by this time. If our admittedly speculative theory is correct, then Kanem before the reign of the first Sayfawa mai may have had Islamic rulers or at least prominent Muslim administrators, traders, and teachers. Perhaps, although our only evidence is al-Bakri, a branch of the Ummayads may have fled to Kanem. Like the later recorded history of the Sayfawa, maybe members of the royal family already converted and began their study of Islam through the help of pious teachers like Muhammad b. Mani. Muslim traders established in Kawar and the Fazzan would have been an additional vector for Islamic propagation that might have appealed to the rulers of Kanem. Embracing the religion officially would have increased the stature of the kingdom to many of its Muslim trading partners and perhaps offered way for a new branch of the ruling family to build alliances with powerful allies. 

In conclusion, the Duguwa and Sayfawa were really one single dynasty. The Zaghawa or Beri origins can be deduced from the external Arabic sources. The "Zaghawa" in the Arabic sources likely included various related populations like the Teda and Daza. Over time, the Zaghawa kingdom of Kanem, which may have arose as early as the 500s in Lange's view, became known through trans-Saharan trade. A growing Muslim presence in Kawar and Kanem itself would have created conditions propitious for an eventual royal conversion. Since many of the Tubu and Zaghawa groups were nomadic or semi-nomadic and likely not forced to convert, Kanem's Islamization did not necessarily create a Zaghawa exodus to the east. The evidence for dynastic continuity throughout the history of Kanem-Borno may be further deduced from Magumi clan divisions claiming descent from various pre-Sayfawa kings. The incorporation of various sedentary populations already established in Kanem when the Saharan forebears of the Duguwa/Sayfawa entered the region were gradually incorporated into the state to the point where even non-Kanembu groups claimed descent from pre-Islamic kings like Bulu. Amazingly, references to the Zaghawa role in the origins of Kanem may be recalled in the Hausa appellation of Beriberi for the Kanuri. 

Nubia, Ethiopia and the Latin West

Nubia, Ethiopia, and the Crusading World, 1095-1402 by Adam Simmons is one of the more interesting new books on medieval Nubia. Focusing on Latin Christian engagement and knowledge of medieval Nubia (Ethiopia of Antiquity) during the Crusades, Simmons argues rather persuasively that it was first Dotawo (Nubia) instead of Ethiopia that occupied Latin Europe's interest. Indeed, it is probable that medieval Nubia was the first African Prester John and Nubian interactions with Latin Europe, imagined or real, appear to have been the basis of Muslim Egypt's fears of a Christian military alliance. 

The king of Organa in between Mali and Nubia in this Catalan World Map.

Moreover, Simmons draws on a vast corpus of texts, including those of Latin Europe, the Islamic world, and Eastern Christianity, to support his contention of growing Latin European knowledge and interest in Nubia. It was only later, after the Solomonic dynasty appropriated the name Ethiopia and news of Amda Seyon's exploits reached Europe, that the Abyssinian Solomonic state began to attract significant European interest. In fact, according to Simmons, Solomonic Ethiopia even appropriated the Candaces of ancient Nubia into the story of their Biblical origins. Apocalyptic traditions from Eastern Christianity predicting the meeting of a Nubian (Ethiopian) king and a Roman king also fueled interest in Nubia that was later transferred to Solomonic Ethiopia. 

The main problem with the text is the paucity of Nubian and Ethiopian sources to tell their side of the story. Without a comparable rich corpus of texts in Old Nubian (or, perhaps, Syriac, Coptic and Greek) and Ge'ez, this study remains quite speculative on how Nubians, and later Solomonic Ethiopia, shaped the discourse on Christian Africa in Europe or the course of the Crusades. Suggestive encounters like Nubian pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela or interactions between the Europeans and Nubians in the Holy Land hint at possible deeper connections, but we are lacking so much information from the African side. Moreover, if we accept the quite plausible analysis of the author on a Nubian diplomatic mission to the papal court in the early 1300s, perhaps in the context of conflict for the throne of Dotawo among pro-Mamluk and anti-Mamluk contenders, we still have the interesting question of how Nubian envoys reached the Latin West. Were people in Medieval Nubia also traveling to the Mediterranean via ancient Saharan routes to the Northwest? Could Nubians have, via their interactions with western Sudanic states and the Maghreb, have endeavored to establish links to the Latin West? 

Organa and Nubia in the Dulcert Map

Furthermore, what was the response of powerful states like Kanem to these developments? Kanem in the late 1200s and for much of the 1300s faced a number of internal problems and succession crises, but could Kanem's alleged expansion to the far east, as far as the Nile, have occurred during the turbulent era of Mamluk-Dotawo relations in the late 1200s and early 1300s? Or was Ahmad b. Furtu exaggerating the past might and influence of the Sayfawa dynasty when he claimed their power was felt as far away as Nubia? One must recall al-Idrisi's mention of Nubian and Kanem spheres of influence in at least part of the vast region between the two kingdoms. Were there any tensions between them that may have also shaped the growing Latin European knowledge of Nubia and interest in alliances? 

Fra Mauro's 15th century world map included parts of Kanem and neighboring societies.

Was there any impact of the Eastern Christian apocalyptic prophecies and Islamic hadiths on Ethiopia's threat to Islam that would have shaped the Sayfawa dynasty's presentation of itself as a defender of Islam? Were people from Kanem who had traveled to Egypt or Hafsid Tunis cognizant of burgeoning Frankish interest in Nubia and Abyssinia? The improvement of European cartography in the 1300s and 1400s suggests that European cartographers had informants from Kanem or who had at least traveled there. The possible appearance of Kanem, or "Zaghawa" as Azagouc in a medieval romance might indicate this growing awareness of Kanem to Europeans. One must also remember the lodge for pilgrims and students in Cairo, funded by the kings of Kanem and established in the 1200s. Perhaps Kanem travelers and students were able to learn of Nubian-Latin Christian relations and Egyptian fears of the a Nubian-Franksh alliance. Despite our inability to answer any of these questions, Kanem's relations with Nubia is a fascinating one that would possibly connect events in the Chad basin with Dotawo for a more Sudanic-centered perspective on Nubian history. It could also lead to new questions about the Kanem-Tunis connections during the Crusading era and possible interactions with Latin Europe that overlapped with Nubian-Latin Christian relations.

Fly Me To the Moon

In other words...

The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction

Tony Castanha's The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction: Continuity and Reclamation in Borikén (Puerto Rico) is an infuriating and exciting read. For anyone interested in the neo-Taino movement and indigenous reclamation among Puerto Ricans, this book is full of rich details from oral history and everyday Jibaro culture. These do support the author's contention that the indigenous population of Puerto Rico is not extinct. This is now clear from the combination of genetic, historical, and ethnographic evidence supporting a major indigenous component in the making of Puerto Rican culture. Indeed, even in the 1800s, foreign writers noted an "Amerindian" element in the Puerto Rican peasant population's culture and physical appearance. Furthermore, Castanha uses the word Jibaro (and imaginative etymology) to designate the indigenous people of Puerto Rico. They were Jibaros and part of the "Carib" culture of the Antilles. Instead of buying into theories of Taino-Carib dichotomies, Castanha appears to prefer a cultural unity of the two while rejecting the idea of Carib ritual cannibalism (one of the other myths, according to him). 

By drawing on non-mainstream research by Puerto Rican intellectuals like Lamourt-Valentin and numerous local informants, Castanha basically argues against most of the conclusions of mainstream academics in academic "Taino Studies." Instead of primarily South American origins, Castanha believes the indigenes of Puerto Rico were of Mesoamerican origin. Lamourt-Valentin, Fernandez Mendez, and some of his informants support this notion of a Mesoamerican, Mayan influence on the Jibaro. While there may indeed have been a Central American origin for some of the "Archaic" population of the Antilles, and perhaps a Mesoamerican influence on the batey ballgame, the academic mainstream researchers present far more convincing evidence of a South American origin. The Taino dependence on yuca, linguistic evidence, the corpus of myths and religious practices recorded in the Spanish chronicles, and archaeological evidence does seem to support a much stronger origin for the "Taino" along the Orinoco. For example, the numerous similarities between Taino myths as recorded by the Spanish and a number of Amazonian indigenous myths clearly supports a South American link. Unfortunately, until we can locate a copy of Lamourt-Valentin's Cannibal Recipies Fernandez Mendez's study of Taino art and its Mesoamerican affiliations, we have the unconvincing work of Castanha to evaluate. 

Since Castanha borrows heavily from Lamourt-Valentin's work and alternative, non-mainstream paradigms for the study of the indigenous Caribbean, it is no surprise that he also reaches questionable conclusions about the nature of indigenous survival in post-conquest Puerto Rico. While the indigenous population definitely survived, Castanha believes in an alternative on colonial demography for the island. According to him, the Jibaro fled to the mountainous interior of Puerto Rico relatively early in the 16th century. Other historians, such as Sued Badillo, suggest the population movement into the mountains during the colonial era occurred later. Castanha also asserts population numbers that are unbelievably high for the precolonial and colonial eras. Despite the careful estimates of scholars, Castanha accepts estimates that are unbelievably high for the Greater Antilles before conquest. More disturbing, however, is the analysis of late 18th century censuses. Based solely on local informants, the author somehow reaches the conclusion that the actual population Indian origin of La Indiera (which was supposedly much larger than the later Indieras of the 19th and 20th centuries) was in the hundreds of thousands. The colonial censuses were undoubtedly flawed and many regions, especially in the mountainous interior, were undercounted. However, Castanha's estimates appear to be significantly inflated and would suggest Puerto Rico's population in the late 18th century was several times larger than the recorded population of the island. Even if one accepts the idea that most of the pardos designated in the censuses were people of partial indigenous origin, in addition to the nearly 2,000 recorded for the San German area, Castanha's figures are implausibly high. 

Despite our problems with some of the conclusions of the author, this is still worth reading. By drawing on the family histories and traditions of his informants, one can see how family narratives of Indian origin and certain customs do reflect indigenous heritage. The oral histories also refer in surprising detail to 19th century events, an era in which the Spanish conquest of the interior was finally completed. For instance, family traditions of the tortures inflicted on the population during the compontes are a powerful demonstration of how descendants of 19th century Jibaros remember the Spanish colonial era. Traditions of Espiritismo, healing, and syncretic Catholic rituals likewise suggest the maintenance of some indigenous traditions in Puerto Rico. Just as interesting is the case of the Puerto Rican diaspora, which is largely left out of this study. However, Arroyo's research on Puerto Ricans in Hawaii refer to traditions of Indian descent or origin that would be fascinating to explore further. Are there Puerto Rican Diasporic communities in other states of the US with similar traditions of specific Indian ancestry and heritage? Oral history and folklore indicate the indigenous legacy was and is more significant than we initially thought. Perhaps that should be one of the areas of concentration for future researchers. A systematic collection and analysis of these traditions, one more meticulous than that offered here, could shed light on the ways the largely unlettered Jibaro defined themselves and related to the colonial state. 

Ancient DNA and Archaic-Saladoid Interactions

While reading Antonio Curet's Caribbean Paleodemography this week, we were reminded of the studies of ancient DNA from the Caribbean. Although Curet raises a number of sound critiques and questions of Rouse's model for Caribbean pre-Columbian history, it is interesting that so little of the Archaic population's DNA was found in the later, Ceramic Age populations sampled by the researchers. If Curet's right about the Saladoid expansion into the Caribbean requiring past relations or ties to the peoples already established in the Caribbean, one would think that biological exchanges would have contributed to the later Ostinoid expansion that developed nearly simultaneously in Puerto Rico, Hispaniola, Cuba, and the Bahamas. Perhaps the sample size was too small to adequately measure the degree of Archaic-Saladoid admixture. If not, then the evidence found for Archaic populations adopting and adapting aspects of the Ceramic population's culture did not include intermarriage. This strikes us as a bit odd, as it would have placed a limit on the effective population size of Saladoid and post-Saladoid expansion. Either way, we need to read more recently published work by archaeologists and historians who have attempted to use the Spanish sources from the early colonial era and excavations of various sites in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico to calculate estimated populations.

Southern Ethiopia and the Christian Kingdom, 1508-1708

Southern Ethiopia and the Christian Kingdom, 1508–1708: With Special Reference to the Galla Migrations and Their Consequences  is Merid Wolde Aregay's seminal thesis on the Solomonic kingdom. Seeking to elucidate the fall of the centralized state and the decline of imperial control of a regimented military which had made the Solomonic state's expansion to the south possible, Aregay's state contextualizes this development with the history of Ahmad Gran's invasion, Oromo expansion, the Jesuits, and religious controversies between unctionists and tewahedo groups of the Ethiopian Church. Drawing on the voluminous royal chronicles, Jesuit sources, land charters, and travelogues, Aregay presents a convincing case for the various crises being so devastating to the Solomonic state due to the rise of the provincial nobility in power against the emperor. 

Over time, imperial control was effectively lost in some provinces while the chewa regiments and professional soldiers either formed mutinous bands or became part of the provincial elite's retainers. Emperors like Lebna Dengel exacerbated these above problems through tyrannical rule and slave raiding that aroused opposition and even support for Ahmad Gran's conquest. The past ability of the Solomonic state to check the expansion of pastoralist lowland groups into the highlands was lost through the united Muslim front of Adal and the weakening of the military defenses and centralized imperial government. This only facilitated Oromo expansion as, in their early migration waves, Oromo clans were often more effective as there was enough land and booty for various clans to collaborate in their raids. The military, through its ineffectiveness or imperial abandonment of provinces, led to some peasants and tributaries bearing arms to defend themselves or becoming dependents or clients of Oromo groups. 

Subsequent emperors, particularly after Galadewos, continued the trend of weakening central authority and the military by relying on slave raiding, not resisting the growing autonomy of regional governors and nobility, and failing to check rapid Oromo expansion. Minas, who was a pawn of his mother and her influence, and Sarsa Dengel who succeeded him, were often ineffective or unable to check provincial officials like the bahr negash Yeshaq. Later neguses, such as Susenyos, a former bandit, tried to administer the empire by allowing the provinces to be mostly ruled by his brothers and sons-in-law. Susenyos, according to Aregay, weakened the position of emperor by rejecting the pomp and ritual associated with his office. His reliance on slave raids targeted non-rebellious pagan Agaw and other groups to raise revenue instead of reforming the administrative structure of the empire to increase revenue derived from the provinces. The attempt to impose Catholicism on the population drove the Church into revolt, further weakening the central government as it illustrated for posterity that the Church could act independently of the emperor. 

This contributed to the later conflicts within Ethiopian Christianity between the unctionists and orthodox positions on Christological controversies. Unfortunately, these religious controversies became even more problematic in the 17th and 18th centuries as emperors from Fasiladas to Iyasu I struggled to contain the conflicts between clerical and monastic groups that involved nobles, warlords, and Oromo groups in their struggles with each other and the imperial court. Thus, even a "traditionalist" emperor like Fasiladas appeared to rule a state with flimsy foundations as the Solomonic state faced internal Christian religious division, Oromo raiding, nobility vs. imperial court intrigues or civil wars, and pretenders to the throne. In other words, the system which had been established by the early Solomonic rulers that had led to the formation of an empire was not maintained.

For the interests of this blog, it is interesting how the Solomonic Dynasty appears to have followed a similar trajectory to the Sayfawa during this same period. The Sayfawa appear to have reasserted themselves in the Central Sudan as a major power from c.1500 until the early 18th century. While Sayfawa rule seems to have declined after Ali b. Umar in the 17th century, Sayfawa rule may have suffered from overtaxation of the peasantry, slave raiding on certain tributary or predatory areas that could have been more effectively integrated into the core, and the increase of mallamtis and Sufi centers that might have challenged the imperial court's authority or religiously-based legitimacy. Some of the seeds of their decline may have already been evident in the uprisings, political discord and factions over succession, and inability to protect the western frontier from Tuareg bandits, lacustrine settlements from Yedina attacks and Kanem and Kawar from Tubu and Tuareg incursions. However, like their Solomonic counterparts, the Sayfawa occasionally produced great or competent mai who attempted to challenge the decay or complacency of the court. But circumstances eventually reached the point where the mais were unable to stamp resistance from former tributaries like Mandara.