Jazzy Little Star

A very charming performance of the classic "Estrellita" by Manuel Ponce. 

The Taino Woman

Although possibly dated in some respects, Jalil Sued Badillo's La mujer indígena y su sociedad is a very valuable read for anyone interested in the Taino. The author does an excellent job outlining the basic known factors in that complex mosaic of Tainoness found in the Antilles. Explaining the rise of cacicazgos, the greater development of stratification in said societies, and the importance of Puerto Rico and Hispaniola in this process, the author then examines what is known about indigenous women for various topics. It becomes clear that women were vital players in most aspects of society, particularly in the wielding of power and providing the labor for much of the subsistence, arts, crafts, and sociocultural activities of the Taino. Consequently, the Spanish conquerors quickly realized this, so the colonial order established by Europeans was very much a gendered one.

For instance, in religion and myth, women are, unsurprisingly, central. Perhaps as a product of the common pattern in ancient farming communities, women were associated with the land, fertility and the moon, all important associations in the Taino cosmovision and daily life. This significance is reflected in what is known of Taino religion from the Spanish sources. For instance, Guabancex,and her role in storms known as hurricanes. Or the mother of Yucahu, who had 5 names. Indeed, having so many names was, to the Taino, a sign of power. Some of the mythological figures we know of, like Guahayona, were a source of power. As illustrated by Guabonito, through whose aid Guahayona receives guanin and symbols of cacical authority (acquired through matrilineal succession patterns). All of these religious and mythological associations are connected to the associations of femininity with fertility, the moon, land, and, through myth, as the source of power. In addition, women also serves as shamans or behiques, according to at least one source from early colonial Hispaniola.

The Taino woman also played necessary and essential roles in agriculture, labor, artisanry and production. Women's labor was key in agriculture, preparing casabe, and producing a number of utilitarian tools and objects for daily life. Women similarly were artisans, involved with producing cotton textiles or objects associated with trade and ceremony. An example not cited by Sued Badillo can be seen in the role of women in La Gonave as producers of fine wooden objects. Women may have even been involved in gold mining, something we do not know enough about yet. Thus, women's labor was essential for subsistence, ceremony, arts and for items of exchange between communities. For these reasons, control of women's labor must have been one of the factors contributing to conflicts between communities or caciques. 

From what can be deduced on Taino family structure and the life cycle of women, it appears that women may have went through initiations upon puberty and possibly followed marriage customs similar to those observed in the Lesser Antilles and South America. We know from the Spanish chroniclers that girls began to wear a short skirt upon reaching puberty. Then, once they married, women wore longer skirts, especially those from the Taino elite. There were likely rituals or initiations attached to puberty and marriage. Divorce, on the other hand, may have been a simpler affair. In terms of sexuality, it seems likely that women before marriage were allowed to have sexual partners. Women as wives were additionally important for establishing alliances and kinship between different cacicazgos. As suggested by Sued Badillo, perhaps Agueybana's relations with Andres de Higuey were based on a marriage of relatives. However, unlike male caciques or nitainos, we have no evidence of female rulers having multiple husbands. Likewise, one wonders if husbands or males were ever buried with a deceased cacica to accompany them. Sued Badillo speculates that such a practice may have been a late development in the precolonial Caribbean for wives of caciques to be buried with them.

Besides in the areas of religion, economy, and arts, the Taino woman was similarly important in other areas of life. Women were participants in the batey games. They were also participants in areytos, with the famous report of 300 maidens involved in one for Anacaona of Jaragua. This reveals that women were not excluded from major community events that were of a public, communal nature and tied to the history and cosmovision of the Taino. Moreover, women could exercise authority themselves as cacicas. These female rulers likely enjoyed all or most of the prerogatives that their male counterparts possessed. So, not only was access to the position of cacique usually through the female line (patrilineal descent may have been in the process of spreading), but women could emerge as leaders in their own right. Even mothers of caciques exercised a political influence, as Agueybana's mother had been a major voice in favor of peace with the Spanish. Sued Badillo ends the essay by outlining a few examples of cacicas of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, such Anacaona and Ines de Cayacoa.

Unfortunately for the Taino, the gendered dynamics of the Spanish conquest severely weakened the sources of authority and basis for their civilization. The dramatic decline, for instance, of the Indian labor force at the Hacienda Real de Toa from 1513-1530, is partly related to this process. Using the cacique Caguas and his successors at this hacienda, Sued Badillo makes a clear case for matrilineal succession and female rulers. However, the Spanish helped destroy the naboria population serving under these caciques through their manipulation of a cacica named Maria. Sexually exploited and then married off to Diego Muriel, Maria must have been powerless to save the remnants of her community. While caciques and nitainos received better treatment and pay in the encomienda system, the inability of caciques to protect their flock must have contributed to an erosion of their authority. This is hinted at by another cacica mentioned by Sued Badillo, one whose encomienda naborias had largely fled. Due to this, and the Spanish subverting of a cacica's authority via marriage and exploitation of resources, one cannot help but wonder if the dramatic decline of the Hacienda Real de Toa's population from 2000 to 30 was in part a result of flight and erosion of actual power of the indigenous elite. After all, if your traditional leaders are unable to protect you from exploitation, rape, and overwork, why would you continue to obey them, especially if they marry the European invaders who are busy destroying your society's foundations?

In summation, the Taino woman, our foremothers, deserve our attention and respect. Although the precolonial order was no utopia, women were, in many instances, capable of reaching high positions and participating in various sectors of the economy, culture, and religion. One cannot romanticize this past, but compared to what transpired during and after the Conquest, one cannot help but lament the destruction of indigenous society. The imposition of colonial rule undoubtedly relied on gender as mostly male Europeans exploited local women for labor, sex and access to resources. In so doing, they further weakened the indigenous authority and undermined the cultural and economic bases for Taino society. 

Quebrada de Doña Catalina

One of the more interesting finds is recently realizing that the Boletín histórico de Puerto Rico, Volume 12 contains some of the surviving documents on an "Indian" community in Puerto Rico. Although not enough to reconstruct the story of this community, the indios of the Quebrada de Doña Catalina, living near San Juan, were active in 1568. However, the writings of the governor of the island at the time, Francisco Bahamonde de Lugo, establish that their community, cultivating conucos as their own hacienda, were multi-racial. Indios, mestizos and blacks (negros horros) formed part of it. Interestingly, Bahamonde de Lugo, who was accused of having Indian slaves in his house, actually admitted to having 2 Indian servants that he treated very well! So well, in fact, that they chose when and how to serve him and were treated like his own children! Elsewhere, this very same man bragged about being loved by the poor, including negros, indios, mestizos and mulatos. 

Although living outside San Juan, this community tried to defend itself from white landowners and elites eager to take their land. According to Sued Badillo's contribution to Making Alternative Histories, the community sought redress for the abuse and harassment of its members.  Unfortunately, the reality was even worse. A man using the title Protector de los indios y mestizos actually went against the provisor, Cristobal de Luna, in the ecclesiastical judge in 1568. First of all, it is astonishing that as late as 1568, when indios were supposedly few or extinct, that there was a man, Francisco del Rio, possessing a title that presupposes the existence of indios and mestizos on the island (while also claiming to be a protector of grifos, too). 

The particular man who particularly wounded the Indian community of Quebrada de Doña Catalina was also guilty of violently attacking its members as well as interfering with their lands. According to the governor, Bahamonde de Lugo, two members of its community died and they also wanted restitution for the economic losses caused by the attacker (who cost them more than 500 pesos). The case was somewhat confusing, since it was unclear if the Governor of the Bishop should resolve the issue. Bahamonde de Lugo apparently had a low opinion of the Church on these matters, but mentioned that Franciso del Rio wanted to petition to the Audiencia in Santo Domingo and the royal government This shows just how far the community was willing to go to seek compensation for their losses. Although it was likely a different person, a Cristobal de Luna was supposedly sent as a prisoner to a monastery in Spain in the year 1578, perhaps connected to this case?

Overall, the Quebrada de Doña Catalina community, which cultivated conucos and was of unknown size, appears to have acted like some of the documented indio pueblos of other parts of the Spanish Antilles. Relying on protections allegedly bestowed upon Indians by the Spanish Crown, they claimed protection from others to protect their lands. However, they also appear to have been under the Church, which failed to protect or stand up for their interests. Considering how Church officials often underreported the Indian population of the island in the period from the 1540s through the 1580s, and their own interests as landowners (including access to slave labor and cheap labor), it seems like this rural community knew it had to rely on the "protector" of the Indians and other forms of redress. While not a pueblo de indios like those of Boya, Cibuco, Guanabacoa, or El Caney in other Antillean colonies, the community appears to have perhaps acted like one. Their dedicated to conuco agriculture was probably also rooted in the precolonial people's agricultural practices, too. 

What happened to them? If these people, already indios, mestizos and free blacks, were cultivating conucos near San Juan, they presumably became pardos in the 1600s and 1700s. Similar patterns likely occurred elsewhere in late 16th century Puerto Rico, as "indios" in areas like Arecibo, San German, Mona, and other locations were reclassified or reconceived as other "ethnicities." That Indians of Mona were still recognized can be found in the 1590s, as officials discussed what to do with their trading with enemies of Spain and the presence of a "cacique of Mona" in San German. Overall, Indios and mestizos must have been a major component of the population, but as a distinct group, they gradually disappeared in much of the island. Except for San German and La Indiera, where local definitions of "Indio" remained relevant, the indios and mestizos of Puerto Rico became pardos and jibaros of later centuries. After all, from the testimony of Abbad y Lasierra in the late 1700s, we know that "indios" did not disappear but, as the example of Anasco illustrates, "disappeared" through racial mixture with people of European and African origins. As the "Indian" population "transformed" into mestizos and pardos, one can presume titles like "Protector de los indios y mestizos" also disappeared or completely lost their relevance. 

Agueybana in 1511

Since it is a document written in 1511, it is very difficult to read. Fortunately, PARES has summarized the letter and one can make out Guaybana's name in this letter. This document is supposedly telling him that they will speak of him to the Spanish crown but interesting to see since Agueybana obviously could not read it. Still, it shows the way in which the Spanish dealt with a paramount cacique as a sovereign leader. Furthermore, if Miguel Diaz d'Aux had a relationship with a Higuey cacica before moving to Puerto Rico, it is possible Agueybana was already well-aware of who the Europeans were. 

Above is a more readable version of the letter from the Spanish king to Agueybana. For some reason, unknown to us, Llorens Torres thought it was written in 1512. 

The "Indien" Prunier Connection

One surprising and random discovery made from examining the Baynet and Grand-Goave parish records is the find that the Prunier claimed "Indian" ancestry. Although we are missing adequate details on the origins of the Prunier, it would seem that two daughters of Michel Pitiot and Marie Victoire Gory married Prunier men. The earliest indication of a connection is the 1782 marriage of Christophe Prunier to Therese Anne Zabeth. Christophe Prunier's father's name is not given, but his mother was identified as a deceased "mestive indienne" named Marie Louise Petit. Christophe Prunier was thus claiming part "Indian" heritage or ancestry through his mother. This could have been something done at a time of increased racial prejudice against those of African ancestry. Again, to indicate what a small world Bainet and Grand-Goave were, our friend Jean-Baptiste Marillac was a witness to this wedding.

However, other sources from Baynet parish may elucidate this alleged "Indien" ancestry of the Prunier. There was indeed a teenager named Marie Louise, of the "Indian" nation, who died in in 1755. Marie Louise's father's name is difficult to read, but it looks like Don Pedre, Indien. She also died on the habitation of Peronneau (Louis?), which could be a useful clue. After all, the Perronneau habitation in 1764 appeared in a map, showing it to be on the coast and not too far from Baynet's bay. It was likely a cotton or indigo plantation. So far, however, it establishes that there was an "Indien" man with a daughter who passed away in 1755, supposedly around the age of 13. If that age is accurate, she probably is not the mother of Christophe Prunier. If the estimated age is off by a few years, and she was perhaps closer to 16, then perhaps she was indeed the mother of Christophe Prunier.

Another possible connection to the "Indien" origins of Prunier can be found in the death of a Pierre Petit, an "Indien." This Pierre Petit, who died in Jacmel in the year 1780, was around 50 years old and married to a Marguerite. Her surname is difficult to decipher and we have not figured out who she was. However, if this Pierre Petit was the same person as the "Don Pedre" identified as Marie Louise's father, this could be helpful. After all, Baynet and Jacmel were neighboring parishes and perhaps, by 1780, Pierre had moved there. 

Alternatively, in 1771, a Marie, with no name but designated as an Indien, died in Bainet. Said to have been around 40 years old, this Indian Marie could also have been the mother of Christophe Prunier. Unfortunately, the surname Petit does not appear. Moreover, no connection to the Pruniers or Pierre Petit is obvious from this. If Marie Louise Petit was from Baynet or Jacmel, then she may have been the one who passed away in 1755. Exactly where she came from is unknown, since they could have had Amerindian or Asian Indian ancestry. Alternatively, Christophe Prunier may have also called his mother a "mestive indienne"to just avoid the stigma associated with blackness?

The Domain of the Solomonic Kings

Derat's  Le domaine des rois éthiopiens (1270-1527): Espace, pouvoir et monachisme is a fascinating study of Solomonic Ethiopia. Derat makes an interesting case for the centrality of Amhara and Sawa as "domains" of the Solomonic rulers in the period 1270-1527. If her interpretation of the royal chronicles, hagiographical literature, monastic chronicles, and other sources (especially Arab Faqih, Francisco Alvares, and other exogenous writings) is correct, then the tradition of Takla Haymanot playing a key role in the rise of the Solomonic dynasty under Yekuno Amlak is an invented one that did not reflect what actually happened in 1270. Instead, she proposes that Dabra Asbo/Libanos (the monastery started by Takla Haymanot in the region of Sawa) invented the tradition of their founder having a central role in the rise of the Solomonic dynasty to increase their prestige. Instead, Dabra Hayq, a monastery started in the 1200s by Iyasus Mo'a, appears to have been more central in the early rise of Yekuno Amlak against the Zagwe dynasty. 

She also suggests that these monastic networks were vital for the expansion and extension of the Solomonic dynasty in the two provinces of Amhara and Sawa, mountainous provinces that are defensible and, in the case of the latter, agriculturally rich. So, the Solomonic rulers, especially Zara Ya'eqob and his successors in the 1400s, began to establish and build more monasteries and churches in the provinces (and nearby ones that were recently conquered from Muslims or pagans) and in the process, force prestigious (and formerly autonomous monasteries, like Dabra Asbo) to supply clerics and monks to the religious foundations. In order to grease the wheels, kings like Zara Ya'eqob gave more land as gult or rest to these monasteries, appointed abbots (or tried to do so), used royal monasteries and churches as centers for councils that affected religious policy, and even used others as tombs for kings and pilgrimage centers. She argues that Amhara, and especially Sawa (and later Gojjam) became solidly part of the Solomonic kingdom through these religious networks in which the kings increasingly dominated religious policy and sought to use the "monastic holy man" as a pillar of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Derat's book is somewhat repetitive and her evidence relies on deductions that hope to make sense of fragmentary or contradictory hagiographies and traditions.

But she makes a persuasive case that the image of the monastic holy man changed. Monasteries like Dabra Asbo/Libanos, which once prized the martyr and depicted the Solomonic rulers as corrupt or heretics for having multiple wives, abusing their power, or seeking to change Church doctrine, later shifted to a new image of holiness in which the monastic leadership collaborated with the king to protect Christian society. As one can imagine, this process was part of the strengthening of Solomonic power in Amhara, Sawa and other provinces as the monastic and church network ultimately built or expanded bases of power for the Solomonic rulers. Even in this era of ambulant courts, Solomonic rulers made frequent visits to the religious foundations they sponsored, and those containing tombs for past rulers became centers of pilgrimage and commemoration of the Solomonic rulers. I guess it would have helped to see how this process differed in northern Ethiopia, like in Tigre, where the origins of Ethiopian monasticism could be found. Perhaps a hint can be seen in the way that Yekuno Amlak erected a church in Lasta, the center of the Zagwe dynasty, possibly inserting himself into the tradition of religious pilgrimage and sacred geography espoused by the Zagwe dynasty. Nevertheless, the most interesting figure to emerge out of this history is Zara Ya'eqob, the fascinating emperor who heavily promoted the cult of Mary, reduced the independence of Dabra Asbo, imposed the observation of the Saturday Sabbath, and convened councils on Church doctrine which were destined to support his own views. The guy also wrote a number of homilies and religious treaties and even had two of his wives killed for plotting against him.

I would still like to learn more about the actual process of Christianization of Sawa and other provinces, which is hinted at here or there. We also have some enigmatic references to the Falasha and other non-Christians but it would have been important to see how the Solomonic dynasty asserted itself and its legitimacy in other parts of the empire. Derat suggests some continuity from the Aksumite and Zagwe dynasties in terms of building churches as royal tombs but perhaps opening up to consider Christian rulership in Nubia and the Byzantine Empire would have been fruitful. After all, Ethiopians were still making the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, had contacts with the Coptic Church of Egypt (whose Patriarch also had Nubia in its jurisdiction) and may have sought to establish an Ethiopian "caesaropapism" that may have had parallels in medieval Nubia. Comparisons with Sudanic Africa, as suggested by Donald Crummey, may have been of use, too. After all, one can see some parallels with Islamic kingdoms in the Sudanic belt, despite the obvious differences between Islam and Christianity. The parallels, for instance, with the Sayfawa of Kanem-Borno may offer clues to the allegedly sacred royalty theme. Or, for instance, the support for religious foundations and Islamic holymen found in the Borno mahrams could potentially offer a similar case in which the Sayfawa dynasts used their patronage of Islamic holymen to buttress their authority in disparate regions of their empire. 

Enslaved Ancestors

Although we are more interested in Haiti, genealogical research in Puerto Rico is usually easier. Much of the parish books are available online and quite a few have been indexed on the Family Search Website. This, plus the large volume of digitized material on the site, makes it somewhat easier to trace ancestry back to the 17th century. This time, we would like to emphasize on an ancestor, Maria Faustina baptized in the early 1700s but born to an enslaved woman.

We know Maria Faustina, the wife of a "pardo libre" named Marcos Rosado (also known as de la Rosa), was baptized in 1703. Her mother, Simona, was a "negra esclava" owned by the estate of a Maria (?) or Andrea Amezquita in the San Juan area. Her godfather, Jacinto Gomez, is unknown. However, perusing the parish registers of San Juan for other Amezquita reveals it to have been a large family. They were presumably related to the Amezquita who defended the city against a Dutch attack in 1625. Jacinto Gomez was also the godfather to another "pardo" child in 1709, this time to the daughter of the alferez Agustin Ruiz and Maria de la Cruz. Jacinto Gomez may have been in the military and knew the father of Maria Faustina. 

What do we know about Simona, the black slave mother of Maria Faustina? Sadly, nothing. However, it is possible that the inheritors of the estate that owned her came from the family of Juan Amezquita, the owner of an ingenio and slaveholder in the late 1600s. According to the 1673 "census" of San Juan, studied by David Stark, Juan Amezquita owned 25 people. Perhaps Simona was one of them? Slaves in late 17th century and early 18th century San Juan were also of diverse origins. The African-born ones were often from Angola, but Maria Amezquita and Isabel Amezquita also owned "Tari" slaves who had their children baptized in the San Juan church. According to David M. Stark, the Tari were from the region of the Slave Coast (modern-day Benin) but West Africans were outnumbered by Central Africans in the early 18th century. Overall, adult slaves baptized in San Juan during the end of the 17th century were from Angola, Loango and Tari. Assuming Simona was African-born, and probably came to the island in the later decades of the 1600s, she was probably from West Central Africa. 

Details on Maria Faustina's life can only be gleamed through the baptisms of her children with Marcos Rosado. Marcos Rosado and Maria Faustina appear to have been "pardos" (or classified as such). Marcos Rosado, the son of a Maria de la Rosa, was baptized in 1702. His mother may have been the Maria de la Rosa baptized in 1688, the daughter of two slaves, Geronima and Tomas, owned by the Andino. If true, then her parents were owned by Don Baltazar Andino's family, a captain in San Juan who was also involved with illicit trading. If Geronima and Tomas were typical adult slaves of the 1680s, and they were born in Africa, perhaps origins in West Central Africa are most likely. 

Of course, we need more proof of the identity of Maria de la Rosa, Marcos's mother, before we can confirm our theory that she was the daughter of two slaves owned by Captain Baltazar de Andino. Interestingly, the priest who recorded her baptism in 1688 described her parents as legitimately married. However, when searching San Juan marriage records, we could not find them. Nonetheless, some of the general trends scholars have noticed among the enslaved population of San Juan in the late 1600s and early 1700s does tell us something about the world in which our ancestors lived. 

Full Circle on Victoire

After revisiting old parish registers and notes, we have returned to believing the mother of our Anne Marie Joseph Gaury was indeed Victoire Susanne Monteise. The other possibilities we know about either do not fit or are too unlikely. For instance, we once thought a woman baptized in 1778, Marie Victoire Sanite, could have been the mother. Sanite was the illegitimate daughter of a Marie Magdelaine Beaubrun Dupuy and her godmother was none other than Marie Victoire Susanne Monteise. However, Baynet parish records indicate that a Marie Victoire died about 5 years later in 1783. The mother is only identified as a Marie Magdelaine, but this probably means that Marie Victoire Sanite died in 1783, about ten years before the birth of Anne Marie Joseph Gaury. 

Another candidate for the mother, Marie Victoire Pitiot, appears to have been married to a Diegue Prunieu (or Prunier?). Marie Victoire Pitiot, baptized in 1765, was incorrectly identified as a Pichot by the parish priest. However, it becomes rather clear that Pitiot was her surname since her mother was identified as a Marie Victoire Gory. We later learn when Marie Michelle Gabrielle Pitiot was baptized that her godmother was Marie Victoire Pitiot, the wife of Diegue Prunieu. If Marie Victoire Pitiot was married to a Prunieu by 1787, and descendants of the Gory/Pitiot would also marry them in 1800s Grand-Goave, it is probably unlikely for Marie Victoire Pitiot to have been the mother of Anne Marie Joseph in 1793.

The original Marie Victoire Gory is also worthy of attention. Baptized in 1749, Marie Victoire Gory was the daughter of Francois Gory and Francoise Saugrain. She married Michel Pitiot in 1765. They went on to have at least a few children, including Marie Victoire Pitiot, Jean Joseph Gabriel Pitiot (baptized in 1781), Marie Michelle Gabrielle Pitiot (baptized in 1787) and even another child, Marie Anne Francois Pitiot, in an unknown year. It seems highly unlikely that this Marie Victoire Gory was the mother of Anne Marie Joseph. She was more likely to have still been married to Michel Pitiot in 1793. 

The loss of Marie Victoire Gory (baptized 1749), Marie Victoire Pitiot (baptized 1765) and Marie Victoire Sanite (baptized 1778) as possibilities leaves us with Victoire Susanne Monteise. Baptized in 1764, she was the daughter of a white Frenchman and Marie Francoise Gory. Her godmother, Marie Victoire Gory, was the source of her name (which was written as Marie Victoire Susanne Monteise by the priest who recorded Sanite's baptism). We know that this Victoire Susanne's sister married Jean Baptiste Marillac, a frequent witness to events affecting members of the Beaubrun Dupuy, Pitiot, Gory, and other Baynet families in the late 1700s. We also known that all these women were related to or connected to each other in Baynet during the second half of the 18th century. 

Of course, one still needs to understand why Anne Marie Joseph's mother was recorded in 1793 as simply Victoire Gory. Was it due to to her illegitimate birth? Or was there yet another Victoire Gory living in the same area of Baynet and part of the same kinship networks? And who was the Joseph mentioned as Anne Marie Joseph's father in her 1859 death certificate? The only Joseph Gory was the son of Jean-Baptiste Gory, a cousin of Victoire Susanne. A Joseph Deslande was also present, but he married Agathe Gaury in 1775. With Agathe, he had a son named Joseph Guillaume Deslande, baptized in 1776. It seems improbable that Joseph Deslande was the father of Anne Marie Joseph, although we cannot rule it out. After all, Agathe Gaury died in 1788.

An alternative clue to the identity of Anne Marie Joseph's origins may also be found by looking at her godparents again. Both of her godparents were from the Marillac family, and siblings. Indeed, her godmother, Marie Marillac, was a widow who also had an illegitimate child after her husband's death. According to the Bainet parish books, Jean Baptiste Marillac's sister had her illegitimate daughter baptized in 1788. She used her own name, Marillac, and had her relatives, including the sister of Victoire Susanne Monteise, serve as a godparent. Whatever stigma of an illegitimate child in this era clearly did not stop men like Jean Baptiste Marillac from acting as a godparent to the children of his relatives. We are inclined to believe the same thing applied to Anne Marie Joseph Gaury, whose mother's name was inexplicably written as Victoire Gory. There may have been another Victoire Gory out there, perhaps in Grand-Goave, whose existence we cannot affirm. Based on the sources we currently possess, the simplest explanation is that Victoire Gory and Victoire Susanne Monteise were indeed the same people.

Bonaventure Connection

While randomly perusing old digitized vital records from Bainet, I encountered another person named Bonaventure. Remember, Bonaventure was also the name of a brother of our great-great-great-grandfather, Beresfort Francois. Bonaventure Francois, according to one marriage license from the 1880s, was born in or around 1816. Knowing that their sister, Almaide, was also born in c.1818 helped me guess that Anne Marie Joseph Gaury and Pierre Francois had their children in the 1810s (and possibly 1820s). The family was usually mentioned as residing in the valley section of Bainet or in the bourg. Bonaventure appears to have also had at least a few children of his own. One of his sons, with a woman named Marie Rose Cupidon, was a Joseph Francois dit Desvelus, who married in the 1880s. According to this marriage license, Joseph Francois was 42 years old, so likely born sometime in the 1840s or so. In addition, a fils naturel of our Beresfort also named one of his sons after Bonaventure, his uncle. 

Learning that the half-brother (Pierre, or Pierre Michel, born in the early 1850s to Beresfort and an Adelaide Gabriel) of our great-great-grandfather named one of his sons after Bonaventure suggests that he probably wanted to honor Bonaventure. This Bonaventure Francois, born in 1891, was the son of Pierre and his wife, a Dubresil. Well, there may be evidence of another relative of Beresfort Francois and Bonaventure Francois naming a child Bonaventure. 

This time the evidence is more difficult to decipher from the text, but it would explain the Barreau connection of someone related to Bonaventure and the Alexandre. In this case, in 1848, a Jean Baptiste Barreau and a woman named Belpomine (?) Francois, residents of the valley, had a son they chose to name Bonaventure. We cannot help but wonder if Belpomine Francois, who lived in the same area of Bainet as Beresfort Francois and similarly born in the 1810s or 1820s was a sister of the two. Or, perhaps more likely, Charles Barreau was related to the Francois through his marriage to Izile Francois, something that could explain his connection to them.

If Belpomine (?) Francois was also related to Beresfort and Bonaventure, that might explain why someone said to have been a daughter of Bonaventure was related to Charles Barreau. Indeed, when Veronique Francois, wife of Destin Carriere, passed away in 1912, her death certificate listed Charles Barreau as a relative and Valerius Adrien as a neighbor of her home on "Church Street." If Veronique Francois truly was a daughter of Bonaventure Francois and Justine Alexandre, another woman who had at least 2 children with Bonaventure, her kinship to Charles Barreau could perhaps be explained if Barreau was a son of Belpomine Francois. Of course, other documents suggest the wife of Destin Carriere also went by another name, Izemie (?) Francois.

Another child of Bonaventure Francois and Justine Alexandre also has a death record from 1907. Confusingly, the widow of a Tournesy, Dexes, was likewise identified as a child of Bonaventure. However, this record seems to confuse Bonaventure with his brother, since it names the mother of the child as "Ifloride" Michel (presumably an error for Iflorine or Ifloride, the wife of Beresfort Francois. This woman, bearing a name that looks like it could be the Isemerie, was perhaps named after Veronique or the officer of the etat civil may have mistook the two, who were likely cousins.

So, after perusing through these records from Family Search again, one begins to see Bonaventure everywhere. He must have lived a long life, probably from the 1810s until the end of the 1880s or even into the 1890s. We do not know yet, since we are missing so many years of records for Bainet. Nonetheless, it is clear that he was married at least twice, had children with different women, and it is interesting to note that another woman, who may have been his cousin, named a child after him. Beresfort, his brother, had a grandson named for him. One also begins to see the various connections between these families in a small area like Bainet. Indeed, even our old friend Roselin Carriere was arguably connected by marriage to Beresfort and Bonaventure. Indeed, according to his 1852 marriage record, Roselin Carriere, or Jean Marie Francois dit Roselin Carriere, was the son of a Francois Marie Guillaume and rooted in the valley. The Destin Carriere who married a Francois is a descendant of him.

Aksum and Nubia

George Hatke's Aksum and Nubia: Warfare, Commerce, and Political Fictions in Ancient Northeast Africa is a short but rather persuasive study of Aksum's relations with Kush (Nubia) during the early centuries of our era. Based primarily on Aksumite sources such as inscriptions, relevant archaeological material, and occasionally Greco-Roman, Coptic, Syriac, and other Near Eastern textual sources, Hatke argues persuasively that Aksum and Kush, despite their proximity, did not interact in significant ways. Instead of being seen as commercial rivals or states which exerted significant influences on each other, the two appear to have only engaged in small-scale trade. Aksum was mainly oriented to the Red Sea and Indian Ocean for its commercial contacts with the broader world. Kush, or the Meroitic state, on the other hand, focused on the Nile and contacts with Egypt for its long-distance trade. Since the two northeast African polities possessed different commercial axes and thus did not have any reason to be commercial rivals, Aksum and Meroe engaged in small-scale trade without much interaction beyond this. Instead of any major cultural or economic influences on each other, Aksum's interests in the modern-day Sudan were more focused on the Beja/Blemmyes of the Eastern Desert. 

Indeed, records of Aksumite intervention or spheres of influence among the Beja to the borders of Roman Egypt in the 3rd century testify to the importance of security in the Eastern Desert area and Aksumite interests in the Red Sea coasts of Africa and Arabia. Aksum appears to have also been more invested in South Arabia, the Ethiopian Highlands, and parts of the Ethiopian-Sudan borderlands for economic and political expansion, with Nubia only being invaded during the reign of Ousanas and Ezana in the 4th century. In fact, according to Hatke, relying on the inscriptions of Ezanas and linguistic clues about Ge'ez, Greek, and South Arabian languages, has dated Ezana's famous Nubia campaign to March 360. His father appears to have also attacked Nubia, leaving evidence at Meroe itself. The son, however, was only in Nubia to launch a punitive campaign against the Noba, who had caused trouble on Aksum's frontier with groups such as the Barya. Meroe itself is not even mentioned in the inscriptions of Ezana's campaign, although some Kushite towns and people were undoubtedly captured or killed in the Aksumite raid. This political situation in Nubia possibly reflects the political fragmentation of Kush by 360, with Nubian-speaking Noba and Kushites perhaps acting independently of whatever authority remained at Meroe. Instead of Ezana wielding the final blow to Kush as an independent state, whatever authority was still claimed by the Kushite rulers may have been limited by the political fragmentation of Nubia. Further evidence from the toponyms in the inscriptions that Ezana's campaign did not affect Meroe but likely targeted towns to its north also suggest the ancient capital's demise should not be attributed to Aksum. 

Despite Aksumite claims to Kush as one of its vassal territories, the available evidence suggests this was often political fiction. Indeed, according to Hatke, it is very likely that Ezana's campaign in Nubia led to no long-last political suzerainty of the Noba. Furthermore, Aksumite sources from the 6th century king, Kaleb, also claimed Kush as part of Aksum's dominion, even though the Kushite state had ended by the late 4th century. Indeed, even in earlier moments in the 4th century, when Aksumite raids and campaigns reached Nubia, it is possible that the "tribute" sent by Kush to Aksum was actually more along the lines of gift diplomacy. Even the 6th contacts between Aksum and Nubia, suggested by Longinus meeting Aksumites in Alodia and the proposal by Emperor Justin to provide Nubian and Blemmye mercenaries for Aksum's use in Himyar, do not suggest large-scale trade, cultural influence or contacts. Nubia and Ethiopia, despite their proximity and some common interest in their frontier, and both impacted by the Eastern Desert nomads and the Beja, appear to have diverged from the period of Aksum's rise to the end of the kingdom. While the question of Nubian-Ethiopian contacts in the Middle Ages offers more avenues for contact, archaeologists have a lot of work to do in the borderlands.

Maritime Interactions in the Greater Caribbean

We are still obsessed with the question of interactions between the Isthmo-Colombian region and the Caribbean in the pre-Columbian past. While much more needs to be uncovered before we can speak confidently about the subject, a number of finds by archaeologists and the probable import of guanin from Colombia suggest long-distance trade and interactions.

Tairona and Muisca

Although they not our Taino, the likelihood of South American indigenous cultures like the Tairona being the source of the Taino guanin is likely. Moreover, the stylistic similarities in Tairona and other indigenous arts of Colombia suggest trade and other forms of relationships with the indigenous peoples of the Antilles.

Hausa Religion and Islam

Joseph Greenberg's short The Influence of Islam on a Sudanese Religion is an interesting account of the "pagan" religion of Hausa in the Kano area. Although dated and perhaps incorrect about the particulars of early Hausa history and Islamic conversion (influences from Kanem-Borno appear to be important, not just Islamic influences from Mali or the Fulani), Greenberg traces the relationship between Islamic/Mohammedan religion and the local, "pagan" bori and iskoki worship of the Maguzawa Hausa. Through centuries of living alongside Muslims or being in interaction with Muslims (initially said to be West African Muslims influenced by Maghrebi Islamic practices), the children of bori have absorbed elements of Islam and even created a new spirit based on their knowledge of the faith. Nonetheless, two religious traditions are distinct and reflect the ways in which West African religions have coexisted and adapted elements from Islam into their own local settings. 

In this regard, Hausa "traditional" religion brings to mind traditions like Haitian Vodou, where interaction with a monotheistic religion has led to some acculturative results while not diminishing the importance of the spirits. Even Hausa Muslims, like non-Vodouisant Haitians, often believe in the power of the spirits. As devotees of their respective Abrahamic faiths, however, they see "serving the spirits" as unlawful or wrong. But continued belief in the efficacy of these spirits for healing and other purposes must play a role in the survival of Vodou and Maguzawa religion. Furthermore, like Haitians, the Maguzawa believe Allah is a distant, remote Creator and focus on sacrifices to spirits for help. Like the Catholic saints sometimes identified with spirits, the Hausa associate jinn, including those of Islamic origins, with the iskoki and have adopted a dichotomy of "black" and "white" spirits based on the urban vs. rural, Muslim vs. pagan factors in their history. Last but certainly not least, the domestic, rural practices of the cult are rooted in patrilineal sibs among the Hausa in which the male head of the extended family is often in charge of the rites. Spirit possession rituals, tied with specific drum rhythms and instruments, are also important in the bori possession cult (linked to healing), like that of Haitian Vodou. 

Even more intriguing is to see the similarities of Hausa traditional religion with other parts of West Africa. The belief in a serpent-rainbow deity, Gajimari, for instance, and the known historical and cultural contact between the Hausa and other peoples like the Yoruba, may hint at ancient influences. The past importance of the Kutumbawa Kano kings in pre-Islamic rituals, including sacrifices that allegedly included humans, also brings to mind some other West African kingdoms. Even the Hausa word used for a "pagan" medicine man who consults the spirits to cure patients, sounds a little like the bocor or bokono of the Yoruba and Benin areas. While some of the iskoki included in Greenberg's table may differ from Hausa descriptions of the spirits outside of the Kano region, it seems likely that the Hausa iskoki spirits are generally similar and indicate a belief in spirits as the cause and cure for various ailments. Moreover, the Hausa seem to believe the iskoki reside in a city to the east, Jangare, with a political administration similar to the Hausa kingdoms. Hausa "paganism" is undoubtedly related to those of other West African peoples and, perhaps, one of the contributing traditions to Haitian Vodou. 

Song of Bagauda

After finally reading M. Hiskett's translation and study of The Song of Bagauda, one cannot help but feel disappointed. We thought it was a major Hausa source derived from oral traditions that was more useful for reconstructing the history of Kano. Instead, much of it is actually about Islamic orthodoxy and resisting "pagan" or non-Islamic practices. The main part of the text of interest to us, a list of kings of Kano which differs in significant ways (especially with regard to uncertain chronology and other variations) from that of the Kano Chronicle, is unfortunately too brief to be of use. Some descriptors of various kings of Kano may be of use, as is the claim that Umaru was the first Muslim king of Kano. As suggested by Hiskett, it does appear that the Song was updated after the death of each ruler and it is less interested than the Kano Chronicle in the "pagan" pre-Bagauda past of the city. That much of the song is concerned with proper Islamic belief and practice and calls for Muslims to avoid sorcery, divination, bori cult practices, and for the proper treatment of the dead and orphans suggests the authorship of the song reflects the concerns of Hausa Muslims. Indeed, one of the sources for Hiskett's version of the text is from a woman who learned the song from a malam. 

Sword of Truth: The Life and Times of the Shehu Usuman dan Fodio

Mervyn Hiskett's Sword of Truth is a short biography of Uthman dan Fodio, the reformer and leader whose movement revolutionized Hausaland and much of today's northern Nigeria in the 19th century. Although the full history of the Sokoto Caliphate is not the main topic of Hiskett's monograph, a biography of its foundational figure is important for establishing the theological, intellectual, cultural, and political contexts of its origins. Beginning with an overview of Uthman dan Fodio's origins in a scholarly Fulani Muslim community and the larger world it was a part of, the reader is taken on a journey into the late 18th century landscape of Hausaland. Although one wonders if more recent scholarship has added more nuance to the question of "mixed Islam" and the relationship of Islamic scholars with the Habe ruling courts of the Hausa states, Hiskett's biography suggests a number of causes for the outbreak of the jihad. For instance, tensions between Fulani nomads and Hausa chiefs, the global currents of Islamic intellectual thought (though, according to Hiskett, the Shehu was not a fundamentalist or a devotee of Shaik Jibril b.Umar's iconoclasm), Hausa political corruption and abuse, arbitrary enslavement, and the Shehu's belief in his own divinely sanctioned position as a renewer of the faith. Indeed, to prepare the way for the Mahdi, the Shehu felt compelled to lead what eventually became a militant movement against the rulers of Gobir and other states for their adherence to "paganism" (or tolerance of it) and restrictions on orthodox Islam. 

While the biography of Uthman dan Fodio is revealing of intellectual and religious thought in the Central Sudan during his era, Hiskett's sources are mainly from the Shehu or his family and supporters. This inherent bias does place limitations on his general narrative of the Shehu's career. The perspective of the Gobirawa dynasty, for instance, has to be gleamed from the pro-jihad sources Hiskett relies on. With the exception of the correspondence with al-Kanemi of Borno, one finds little, at least in terms of Central Sudan's Muslim intellectuals, of the regional scholars opposed to the jihad. Perhaps recent scholarship, with access to more Arabic (or Hausa) manuscripts from the pre-jihad era, can shed fuller light on the array of opinion and intellectual climate within the region and the relationship of the scholars to issues of reform, ulama-state relations, and, eventually, Uthman dan Fodio. 

Nonetheless, there is much insight in Hiskett's biography and use of local Hausa sources (in Arabic and Hausa), particularly as they shed light on the transformation of the Sokoto Caliphate and the ideal state based on Sharia the Shehu and his followers sought to establish. For instance, Hiskett argues that the Shehu accepted ijma and was a devout Sufi, therefore disqualifying him from classification as a fundamentalist or Wahhabi-influenced. The gradual readoption or return to Hausa political titles in the Sokoto Caliphate, for example, or accusations of corruption and greed against political officials in it also harkened back to pre-jihad political problems of the Hausa states. While the Shehu sought to, through his brother Abdullah b. Muhammad and son, Muhammad Bello, to lay the foundations for a state closer to their Islamic ideal, the Sokoto Caliphate fell short of its initial goals. However, it further entrenched the importance and spread of Islam in the area through uniting most of the Hausa areas into a state based, in theory, on Islamic law and the prominent role of scholars. Through the encouragement of local writing in Hausa and Fulfulde on Islamic themes, the Shehu and his followers undoubtedly played a pivotal role in strengthening northern Nigeria's Islamic identity and orientation. 

Aztec and Maya Influences in the Greater Antilles

Influencias mayas y aztecas en los taínos de las Antillas Mayores: del juego de pelota al arte y la mitología by Osvaldo Garcia Gocyo is another speculative study on Mesoamerican influences in the precolonial Antilles. Following in the footsteps of Eugenio Fernandez Mendez, Garcia Goyco suggests the number of parallels between Taino and Mesoamerican cultures in religion and the ballgame are proof of Mesoamerican & Taino contact. He even goes further than Fernandez Mendez in his analysis of the religious and mythological parallels, believing the similarities could not be the product of deep archetypes or independent evolution. In order to affirm this theory, Garcia Goyco takes the reader on an excursion through Taino and Mesoamerican art (usually less persuasive than other evidence), religion, and mythology, with occasional references to the Carib and South American indigenous groups for comparative purposes.

In terms of the actual evidence, like Eugenio Fernandez Mendez, Garcia Goyco's argument is strongest with regard to the ballgame and the plazas or courtyards associated with it. The astronomically-aligned Taino batey does not have an equivalent in the northern South American regions their ancestors came from. Moreover, there is possible evidence for human sacrifice in the plazas and the use of stone collars that are reminiscent of those found in Mesoamerica. While the ballgame and courtyards associated with it can be found as far back as the Olmecs, there is so far no evidence for the construction of elaborate plazas in Venezuela or the Orinoco Basin. Thus, Garcia Goyco finds it quite likely that Mesoamerican influences reached Hispaniola and Puerto Rico by or around the 600s or 700s of the Common Era, around the time for the earliest known courtyards in the Greater Antilles. Why we do not find evidence of such elaborate plazas in western Cuba or Jamaica early on is perhaps, according to our author, a product of the later spread of the Taino culture to those islands. It is suggested that the less "advanced" cultures resident on the island were less interesting for economic or cultural purposes to Mesoamerican peoples (perhaps akin to the Putun Maya traders?). 

Besides the evidence from Taino and Mesoamerican ballgames, the rest of the evidence is more suggestive than anything else. The fact that the Taino on one side and Mayas and Aztecs on the other believed in cosmogonic eras and believed there was once a flood or deluge is one example of the types of sources utilized by the Garcia Goyco. It is certainly interesting that in Taino myth children are transformed into frogs, an animal associated with rain. However, it could be purely random that the mother goddess figure of the Aztecs, called Tona, happens to have a name similar to the cry of the children-turned-frogs in Taino myth. Indeed, the association of the frog with rain among the Taino, Aztecs, and Maya does not constitute evidence of Mesoamerican influence on the former. Furthermore, the deity or god Juracan or Hurakan, supposedly tied to the Yura-can of the Galibi Caribs, may not be connected to the Maya Hurakan. Garcia Goyco tries to develop this theory based on Coatrisquie, a deity associated with Guabancex. Coatrisquie's name is similar to the Aztec Coatlicue, who was associated with subterranean waters. Perhaps Guabancex had multiple names like other cemis of the Taino, so Garcia Goyco postulates that Juracan was one of these additional names. Moreover, the Hurakan of the Maya in Guatemala is part of a trilogy of gods associated with the sky, sea, land and life. Indeed, Hurakan to the Maya meant heart of the sky and "a leg." For our author, Jurakan may also be another reference to Anacacuya, whose name points to the Polar Star (hurricanes also rotate around the Polar star).

In addition, the author suggests more parallels between Taino and Mesoamerican mythology. For instance, take the Xibalbay mentioned in the Popol Vuh. Since it bears a slight resemblance to the Taino Coaybay and both were the land of the dead, it is possible there may be a connection between Taino and Maya beliefs. The two cultures also associated bats with death or spirits. Similarly, the Taino Opiyelbuobiran, a cemi with four legs, is linked to the Chacs of the Maya, which also are associated with dogs, forests, and lagoons. Perhaps even more intriguing is the alleged relationship between the Aztec montecitos and the three-pointer cemis of the Taino. Believing the three-pointers to be identified with Baibrama and fertility, Garcia Goyco argues for similar practices among Taino and Aztec communities with regard to the reverence attached to these objects. He even argues that the myth of Deminan and his three brothers has a Maya parallel in a tradition collected from the Yucatan by Antonio Mediz Bolio. Indeed, the tale of Deminan, Yaya, Yayael and the deluge does bear some common features with the Yucatecan tradition of Giaia and his two sons, Giayala'el and Halal. In the the Maya version, however, the father, Giaia, is killed by one of his sons but the same ending with a flood caused by siblings occurs. In fact, perhaps even the 4 Bacabes or brothers in Maya tradition is also an influence on the Taino myth of Deminan and his twin siblings (gemelos divinos). Something similar may also be seen in the Taino and Maya perception of the land as a giant iguana or reptitle floating in water. 

Overall, Garcia Goyco's study finds some interesting parallels between Taino and Mesoamerican cultures. While his evidence is strongest with regard to the ballgame and plazas, some of the similarities in mythology might point to deeper shared influences or cultures. Mesoamerican cultural influences spread far and wide so it is certainly not impossible for elements of them to be found among the Taino of the Greater Antilles. However, is it not possible that some of the mythological similarities might be a product of later influences? Perhaps Taino who accompanied the Spanish to Mesoamerica introduced elements of these myths and traditions? And one cannot discount the possibility of Taino (and Carib) seafarers in the Caribbean traveling to Mesoamerica in the distant past. Perhaps some of the similarities are also merely a coincidence of similar mythologizing based on animals like bats, frogs, and reptiles. By and large, studies pointing to greater similarities with South American lowland Indians are more convincing. Of course, it does seem likely that Mesoamerican influences must have also reached the Antilles either via Central America or directly from Mesoamerica at some point in the precolonial past. 

Indians of Cuba in Historic Times

Felipe Pichardo Moya's Los indios de Cuba en sus tiempos históricos is a fascinating but dated work. Focusing on the history of Cuba's indigenous peoples since the arrival of Columbus, Pichardo Moya finds evidence of indigenous survival everywhere. First, he demolishes the myth of an easy conquest of the island. In addition to Hatuey, a number of indios alzados and other Cuban indigenous rebels and maroons continued to resist the Spanish for several years. Some of these resisters were leaders who opposed Velasquez while others were leaders like Guama who seized opportune moments to rebel (such as the Florida expedition). Indeed, they also were well aware of Enrique and the Taino resistance on Hispaniola. With the official end of Indian slavery and the disappearance of the encomienda system, the surviving indigenous population of the island experienced two processes: the settlement or establishment of pueblos de indios like Guanabacoa or El Caney and the descendants of Indian maroons settling in marginal or distant areas of the island, away from colonial authorities. According to Pichardo Moya, those in the pueblos de indios were likely more influenced by colonial society and ways, but even they conserved Indian dances and customs. Those living in marginal areas and less likely to be documented, were supposedly able to preserve even more indigenous practices and customs. To what extent this is actually true is up for debate, but Pichardo Moya neglects the potentially significant impact of Indian slaves and migrants from other parts of the Americas in Cuba. 

Nonetheless, there are some interesting sources cited for the 1600s, 1700s and 1800s on Indian Cuba plus the author's own grandfather was involved in El Caney's legal struggles in the 1800s to protect their land. Last but certainly not least, the fact that some isolated areas of Cuba have retained matrilineal inheritnce, a practice also said to have been practiced among the indigenous people of the island, is also suggestive of another area of Indian survival. Despite Cuba's pueblos de indios being better documented than those of Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic, the conditions in the other two Spanish Caribbean colonies were possibly similar. It would be interesting if ethnographic work in Puerto Rico, for instance, indicated evidence of matrilineal inheritance in areas with oral traditions of native ancestry. Perhaps a thorough examation of the libros parroquiales may be in order for some areas of Puerto Rico, too, since they could reveal "Indian" survival in parts of the island in the 1600s and 1700s that is not documented elsewhere.