Maracatu Atómico

A classic (and funky) number from Gilberto Gil. Brazilian music is close to perfection.

The Cacicazgos of Hispaniola

Bernardo Vega's Los cacicazgos de la Hispaniola raises a number of important questions about the political and geographic map of the island in late precolonial times. Arguing against the traditional narrative of Haiti and the Dominican Republic in which there were 5 cacicazgos, with borders conceived of or based on those described by Oviedo and Las Casas, Vega believes it is better to rely on the map of Andres Morales and the writings of Pedro Martyr. Although Las Casas first came to Hispaniola before Morales, who drew his map in 1508, he did not actually write in detail about the cacicazgos of the island until several decades later, when his advanced age led to errors. Oviedo, the other chronicler heavily relied upon for the history of the Taino cacicazgos and the idea of the 5 principal ones being Higuey, Marien, Magua, Maguana and Xaragua, however, came to the island in 1514 and was therefore only present several years after the Spanish conquest. Morales, on the other hand, was on the island during the time of Ovando and had traveled across the island. With his personal travels across Haiti, Morales was more likely to have accurately recorded the territorial divisions and geographical features that were used by the native population. Pedro Martyr, who relied on the map of Morales and interviews with him and other Spaniards who traveled to Hispaniola in the early days of the Spanish conquest, was able to transcribe Morales's information into the map and record for posterity the major provinces of the island. These five provinces included Bainoa, a large province which covered most of modern Haiti and included the Xaragua cacicazgo.

It is possible that, despite the lapses in the memory of Las Casas and the fact that the writings of his and those of Oviedo postdate the earlier work of Pedro Martyr, the traditional idea of the 5 paramount caciques whose territory did not align perfectly with that described in the map of Morales may be at least partially accurate. If the provinces described by Morales and Martyr, with their natural borders based on rivers, mountains, and other geographic provinces are not exact matches with the 5 dominant cacicazgos described by the other chroniclers, this may reflect a different interpretation by the natives of the island's political and territorial maps. Of course, we lack evidence for this, but we find it unlikely that the cacicazgos described by Las Casas and Oviedo as the dominant ones, did not have some large degree of territorial control which fluctuated over time and was not necessarily based on the borders and divisions of the provinces. Furthermore, the indigenous cosmology and view of the island's geography as described by Pedro Martyr suggests a magico-religious interpretation that may not have been meant to indicate the political divisions of cacicazgos. For example, if the far west of the island was the anus of an island conceived as a living being, with a cave considered to be the origin of the island's first people, perhaps there were other types of religious symbolism in the other provinces like Bainoa or Cayabo. 

In spite of our own reservations about Vega's conclusions, his use of the map of Morales plus that of other 16th century maps and surviving toponyms of Taino origin in Haiti and the Dominican Republic is rather impressive. His success in identifying about 90 percent of the places indicated in the map of Morales certainly fleshes out our understanding of the island's geography and indigenous toponyms. For example, Vega's theory of Xaragua's capital being located in the area of Port-au-Prince, probably directly north of Kenscoff, is intriguing. The river they relied upon for their irrigation canals, Camin (or Cami) identified as rio Blanco is certainly useful information for those interested in pursuing the specific history of Xaragua. Some of Vega's conclusions about the ciguayos is also worthy of consideration, although we find it highly unlikely that Caonabo was a Ciguayo. Furthermore, we find the notion of a cave-dwelling or primitive population of foragers in the far west of Haiti to be less likely, since we know the Indian population that fled from the Spaniards to live in the mountains subsisted on roots, hunting, and food sources available in areas far away from Spanish control. While there could have been an archaic, pre-farming population in the southwestern corner of Haiti in the late precolonial era, it seems more likely that the area was populated by agriculturalists. In addition, ciguayos who preyed upon inhabitants in the plains near their mountainous abode, where they were ruled by Mayobanex, emerge from Vega's analysis as an intriguing and distinct indigenous population of the island. Whether or not the archers encountered by Columbus at the Golfo de los flecheros is an unresolved question, but Vega's idea of a Carib temporary residence there is plausible. Indeed, such a case seems to have been present in nearby Puerto Rico.

A un Pintor

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Some of Ramito's music is so enchanting and beautiful. This particular number, supposedly in the style of Caguas, is irresistible. 

The Taino of Hispaniola in 1517

Reading Rodriguez Demorizi's Los dominicos y la encomienda de indios en la isla Española has been a profoundly rich source on the indigenous history of the island of Haiti. Including in its various sources the 1517 Interrogatorio de los Jeronimos, the reader is treated to the testimonies of several Spaniards on the island answering 7 questions on what can or should be done for the Indian population, the encomienda system, and if the Indians are capable of living politically or rationally, like a laborer or common person in Castilla. Unsurprisingly, most of the men shared a belief in the incapacity of the Indians to be placed in liberty. Even the lone person who thought so, Fray Bernaldo de Santo Domingo, believed that the freed Indians must be placed in communities under Spanish administration for a period. Nonetheless, these highly biased sources reflecting the views and opinions of vecinos, regidores, a treasurer and other men in colonial society do shed much light on the conditions of the colony and what the indigenous population was like. Indeed, one of the men who answered the questions was married to a native woman of the island and could draw from his own experience and that of his wife and her connections to buttress his claims about the Indian or Taino population in 1517.

First, the sources stress the indigenous populations inability to live politically or with reason. Unlike the average person in Spain, the Indians lacked the ability (to the Spanish) to save for tomorrow, work consistently or maintain any kind of devotion to the Catholic faith and meet tribute or tax requirements. Without Spaniards holding encomiendas or Spanish administrators to oversee them, the Indians were said by most of the informants to idle away their time with the batey ballgame, cohoba, areytos, and trading valuable things like hammocks for trinkets or things of lesser value. The informants cite numerous examples of this, including caciques who failed to meet tribute obligations before the repartimientos as well as the example of instances in which caciques or Indians educated or raised among the Spaniards completely failed to become successful holders of repartimientos. Instead, the whites claimed that these Indians, such as Alonso de Caceres and Pedro Colon, were addicted to wine and even exchanged their naborias for it or let others access their wives. Other educated caciques and Indians, such as Masupa Otex, don Francisco in Bonao and the Doctor (el Dotor) in Santiago also failed to be successful holders of repartimientos as their Indians produced less than those hold by the Spaniards and they wasted resources and time on what the Spaniards considered to be the typical idleness of the Indian. To the Spaniard, the Indian's inactivity and laziness meant they were even enemies of labor. They would always prefer to spend their time in leisure, playing the batey game, eating to excess and holding areytos, or wasting time with cohoba. The irony of Spaniards claiming Indians were incapable of living on their own account is rich, especially since the surplus of Taino production had enabled the sustenance of large populations before the conquest and even fed the Spaniards.

Indeed, the indigenous population of the island were often able to spend leisure time in what the Spaniards considered frivolities by their choices in settlements. While the original Spanish pueblos were often founded near the settlements of principal caciques, the Indian population of the island preferred to live at a distance from colonial pueblos. In fact, doing so was the best way to ensure some protection from the worst abuses of the colonial system. Nearly all the witnesses in the Interrogatorio claim that the Indian settlements were always at a distance from the Spanish towns, and if Spaniards made attempts to forcibly relocate these Indians, they either fled into the montes or killed Spaniards or threatened to commit suicide with the venom from yuca. Indeed, the threat of this vivid enough to be recalled when similar ideas were proposed for the Indians in the area of Azua and San Juan de la Maguana. There, the cacique Ojeda and other Indians conspired to flee and resist the Spanish attempt to relocate them. So, the Indian population was able to retain significant autonomy even under the abusive encomienda system. By choosing to live separately from the Spaniards, they could ensure that the 4 months or so of the year they had for themselves was spent in a way that was in accordance with Taino customs and practices. Verily, this was what motivated the desire by the Spaniards to reduce the Indians into pueblos in or close to the Spanish settlements, since they would be easier to monitor, proselytize, and control. Otherwise, left to their own devices in far away asientos or hiding in the montes, the Tainos were continuing their cemi worship, consultation of bohites (behiques), and pre-Christian customs that so offended the Spanish that some of witnesses referred to it as a bestial life. 

However, the question of what to do with the Indian population posed so many problems. The aforementioned practice of flight to the mountains, suicide and revolt was paired with a fear of the African population on the island. While one witness claimed the cacique Tamayo fled to the mountains because of African maroons who kidnapped women from his community, other Spaniards expressed deep fear of an alliance of the Indian and African population. If forcibly relocated, they feared that the Indians would flee to the mountains and collaborate with the negros alzados to attack the Spaniards and possibly take the island. Even if they did not, forcing the Indians from their homes to live in new settlements closer to the Spaniards would eventually culminate in the depopulation of the island. The Indians would resist, flee to the mountains, kill Christians, possibly align themselves with Africans, with whom they were allegedly friendly according to one witness and then the mining and agricultural economy linked to the encomiendas would collapse. In order to preserve the colony, while also ensuring the better treatment of Indians held in encomiendas, the witnesses believed it was better to assign encomiendas to Spaniards who were, ideally, married and dedicated to staying on the island. If they were planning on building stone houses and/or had participated in the conquest of it, they were even better, since these men were more likely to reside on the island for a long-term, to be invested in the island's well-being, and more likely to care for and treat their assigned Indians better. Thus, to most of these witnesses, the encomienda system was best kept as maintained, with assignments to men likely to stay on the island and no more absentee holders. Perhaps, over time, the better treatment Indians received from resident encomenderos and the attraction of a better meat diet would have been enough to gradually convince the Indians to stay permanently on or nearby the land of their encomendero. This, was of course, wishful thinking but it was likely true that the Indians held by absentee encomederos fared even worse than the others while the Indian diet and the negative impact of moving back and forth between their homes and that of their encomendero placed an additional burden. 

What is most intriguing to those eager to understand the nature of the Taino cacicazgo and society, however, are the numerous details on the role of behiques or bohites and the cemi spiritual tradition. Indeed, the bohites, who could be male or female, were considered worthy of a special punishment in one rather utopian experiencia conceived by the final witness. Bohites and old Indians were also blamed for the lack of Christian devotion and practice among the Taino. For instance, the elders were said to have mocked younger Indians who adopted or disseminated Christian teachings. Furthermore, the bohites were at the center of an island-wide conspiracy to kill the Christians and retake the island. After the initial success of Agueybana and the revolt in Puerto Rico, his relative, a cacique named Andres in Higuey, celebrated the success of the rebels in Borinquen. Then, with other caciques and bohites or shamans, they plotted to use what amounted to chemical warfare against the Spanish! Unfortunately for the indigenous population of Hispaniola, the conspiracy was unveiled and the bohites were revealed to have been the ones who knew how to prepare the toxic gas. So, the behiques or bohitis were central to ongoing Taino resistance to Christian evangelization and were, with caciques, part of a plot to kill the Spanish. While their revolt was ultimately unsuccesful, one can see how the combination of cemis, caciques, and cohoba continued to be central to cacicazgos after the conquest. Indeed, elements of Taino religion likely persisted well into the colonial era since the population had managed to live apart from the Spaniards for so long and chose to either flee or resist when the Spaniards attempted to do so. 

Consequently, the foundations of cacique authority persisted in a weakened fashion after the Spanish imposed the repartimientos, yet the caciques were not able to command their naborias to produce gold or labor along the lines of what the Spanish sought. Instead, the authority of caciques appears to have been based on command of their subjects in terms of food production, fishing, and related activities. In other words, a tributary system in which caciques exerted some authority over the labor of their subjects, but without the full means to enforce what the Spanish encomienda system was intending to procure for the Crown and the colonial government. Moreover, the Indian population was best not concentrated near the Spanish to avoid conflicts between caciques over women, resources and followers. This matches what Las Casas wrote about past conflicts between cacicazgos and suggests another reason why Indian demographic patterns favored a dispersal away from the Spanish and other possible competitors. Perhaps the cacicazgo, even in its attenuated and somewhat weakened form due to the pressure of the Spanish conquest, can still partially reflect the precolonial cacicazgo? Of course, in a highly modified fashion with smaller populations and the addition of Spaniards and Africans who, in some cases, joined Indian communities. In fact, such an experience allegedly occurred with some of the Spaniards married to Indian women who lacked encomiendas. Nevertheless, this source is quite suggestive on the nature of the Taino polity and how early colonial society in Hispaniola (and Puerto Rico and Cuba) was still fragile. 

Pawoli

Another one of our favorites from the Haitian jazz group Foula. The rhythm here appears to be or is at least very similar to one used in personal favorite of ours from Haitian Vodou music, Azouke Legba. 

Reading Shaykh Dan Tafa

Although its brevity diminishes its use, Dan Tafa's Rawdat’l-Afkaar is a fascinating local source on the history of Hausaland and the Central Sudan. Presumably drawing on oral traditions and other written sources, Shaykh Dan Tafa's brief account outlines the history of the "Sudan" and in particular, the Hausa states. Gobir's history in particular is quite important given that Shaykh Uthman dan Fodio lived in Gobir before the jihad that led to the establishment of the Sokoto Caliphate. What is particularly interesting for our purposes, however, are the references to Borno and earlier epochs in the history of the Hausa states of the area. 

First, Borno. According to Shaykh Dan Tafa, Borno once dominated all or most of Hausaland. And, according to him, it was Gobir which first refused to pay tribute to Borno. However, Borno was never able to, according to Dan Tafa, conquer Air or Ahir. However, he does corroborate the role of Borno in coming to the aid of Ahir against the Kanta of Kebbi in the 1500s. Indeed, a brief account of mai Ali's battles with the Kanta of Kebbi can be found in Dan Tafa's chronicle. One also finds the familiar tradition of a man appointed to rule Hausaland by the ruler of Borno in the distant past, although one wonders if the translator's choice of the term "political captive" is accurate. Using that terminology might lead one to suspect slaves were appointed to administer subject provinces due to the greater expectation of loyalty, yet the actual conditions and type of provincial rulers or leaders could have been different when speaking of early Borno expansion into Hausaland. Indeed, even the question of tribute and what it actually entailed brings to mind one Nigerian's scholar's important point about reconsidering the relations between Hausaland and Borno as one of empire or Bornoan or Kanuri imperialism. Indeed, when Dan Tafa explains how an increasingly powerful Gobir demanded tribute from other Hausa states, it is also stated that Gobir sent fine gifts of horses as well. So, the gifts or tribute given to Gobir were reciprocated and it is not clear to what extent Gobir exerted any real control of tributary states. One can assume that a similar relationship existed when the Hausa states sent tribute to Borno through Daura. In fact, Heinrich Barth's description of Katsina's relationship with Borno seems to confirm this.

Unsurprisingly, however, the bulk of the short work is most useful for the history of Gobir and Hausaland. While its chronology is not always clear or perhaps is unreliable, it does offer some tentative and clear chronologies for certain events in the history of the region. First of all, Amina of Zaria or Zakzak is said to have raided as far southwest as the Atlantic Ocean. While this is perhaps exaggeration, one wonders if, when using the dates suggested by the Kano Chronicle, one can perhaps detect Zaria raiding and trading as far south as Yorubaland in the 1400s. Where the chronology seems more than a little unreliable, or perhaps earlier Gobir rulers were forgotten, is Dan Tafa's allusion to an alliance of Agabba of Ahir, Muhammad ibn Chiroma of Gobir and the ruler of Zamfara against Kebbi. If accurate, this would suggest a date in the late 1600s or during the reign of Muhammad Agabba of Air (who also established the sultanate of Adar through his line). However, Dan Tafa's chronicle claims Muhammad ibn Chiroma was the son of the first ruler of Gobir after their expulsion from Air, an event which must have occurred centuries earlier than the late 1600s and early 1700s. Thus, Chiroma was either the first "Gobir" king or the earlier rulers before they firmly established themselves as the kings of Gobir were forgotten or not recalled by Dan Tafa's sources. 

Despite the omission of Gobir's political history before the late 17th century and early 18th, Dan Tafa's account gives the reader an idea of Gobir's political power in Hausaland and in relation to its neighbors. Indeed, they were so bold as to attack the outskirts of Borno and Bawa, who ruled in the late 1700s, refused to send or pay tribute to Borno. One also finds interesting allusions to the power of Kebbi in the 1500s, particularly when its ruler established a capital at Surami that received water brought by the Tuareg who were forced to do so. Although Kebbi's power lasted for only about a century, one benefits from learning a few more details about this powerful Hausa state. Sadly, Kwararafa is only mentioned briefly and one is left in the dark about this southern power.

Haitian Genealogy

Enjoy a nice conversation with Haitian genealogist Gilles Hudicourt available on Youtube. Although our interests in Haitian genealogy comes and goes, we always find it worthwhile to listen to experienced researchers share their insights and tips on conducting genealogical investigations in Haiti. We hope to one day continue our own research in Bainet and with Haitians who have family roots there with the ultimate aim of writing a history of our beloved region.

The First Social Experiments in America

Lewis Hanke's The First Social Experiments in America is a problematic yet fascinating account of the attempts to "reform" an Amerindian population to live liked "civilized" 16th century Spanish peasants. Since it is a dated work originally written in the 1930s, the author draws interesting analogies between these early attempts at "civilizing" a colonized people with 20th century attempts in Africa and elsewhere. In addition, the author seems to also have accepted theories of racial difference in intelligence or mental development. Consequently, he assumes the experiencia and attempted reforms in which Taino Indians were an experiment to see if Indians were capable of living "politically" like people with reason, were perhaps doomed to failure. However, in the most detailed example of the author, the experiencia in  the 1530s near Bayamo, Cuba, the social experiment largely failed due to the corrupt administrator, Guerrero, who abused, exploited, and neglected the Indians placed under his supervision and failed to live up to his end of the arrangement. So, can one truly say from that experience that the Indians of the Greater Antilles lacked the ability to live as people with reason? 

Sure, perhaps the ultimate aim of these social experiments, which was to turn the Indians into peasants of Castile, was likely impossible in the colonial conditions of its era, but some of the colonists interviewed by the Jeronymites in the 1510s were able to acknowledge that the indigenous people of Hispaniola were capable of agriculture, living in communities, and having political order before the Spanish conquest. Where Hanke's book is more useful is in its references and the occasional commentary. While later historians such as Guitar and Anderson-Cordova have used similarly sources on the Taino response to Spanish conquest and the encomienda system in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, Hanke uses these sources from a slightly different perspective. Since he was not interested in the social experiments from the perspective of the Indians themselves, his lens was quite different. But intriguingly, even he found evidence of resistance among the indigenes of the Spanish Caribbean. For instance, Miguel de Pasamonte's opposition to freedom of Indians due to the danger of them being friends with the black population illustrates the severity of Spanish fears of Indian and African alliances at the time of the Jeronymite Interrogatory. 

Similarly, the experiment of Ovando, which began in 1508 when he granted repartimientos to 2 educated caciques, Alonso de Caceres and Pedro Colon, only to see that these Western-educated Taino caciques failed to uplift or turn their charges into civilized Indians. Instead of viewing them as failures, perhaps these literate and educated caciques understood and knew how their authority was based or rooted in pre-conquest norms and kinship, thus they could not or would not force their assigned Indians to live like Spaniards. Even the cacique Don Francisco of Bonao and the "doctor" of Santiago acted similarly, which may illustrate again how some Taino elites sought to use their Spanish knowledge and education to protect their communities. One wonders similarly about the 3 villages of free Indians in the "experiment" of Rodrigo de Figueroa in Hispaniola. Of course, like the later experiencia in Cuba, Figueroa was accused of corruption and the villagers were almost certainly exploited and abused by the Spanish administrators assigned to watch over them. Perhaps even the Francisco de Figueroa who received 16 Indians as experimental gold miners, to see if Indians were capable of mining for gold without being coerced to do so by the Spanish, could be an example of Indian resistance since they only produced a paltry amount of gold and chose to organize their time and labor in a manner closer to preconquest patterns. 

Fernando Ortiz and the Areito

Although Fernando Ortiz's La musica y los areitos de los indios de Cuba is rather outdated, it still offers some very interesting insights on the areito and Cuba's indigenous musical influences. Written after his also dated essay on hurricane as a god to the Taino or indigenes of the Antilles, Ortiz sets out to establish the character of the areito, its social, religious and economic functions, and the weakness or general absence of indigenous influences in Cuba's music today. A large part of this is demolishing the wrong-headed notion of a surviving areito by Anacaona, which is nothing but a song or chant of Kikongo origin and which was sung in colonial-era Haiti. Interestingly, Ortiz sees the maraca as a possible example of indigenous influence on Cuban music but otherwise, Cuba's music is largely of European and African origin. The areito itself is demonstrated in its various facets, including drawing upon accounts of it we are not familiar with (such as one describing Indians in Trinidad, Cuba, singing and dancing during a hurricane). Ortiz, drawing from the Spanish chroniclers and ethnographic analogies with other indigenous people, sees the areito as something which was associated with war, divination, genealogies, history, and cemis. And, perhaps, like Moscoso once wrote, as "forced" redistribution that helped prevent the accumulation of too much wealth for the elites. 

That songs were taught to the sons of caciques suggests the rise of rank and status as important parts of the areito, particularly for those who hosted them due to the exorbitant costs involved (in providing food and drink). The areito's religious associations, particularly with the prominence of behiques and the association with decisions that affected the collective were particularly important. What we found interesting however, was the notion of some areitos as rites of passage, an idea substantiated by indigenous cultures in other parts of the Americas. Sadly, we lack any real notion of what the music really sounded like, but since it was mainly based on voice and rhythm, Ortiz rejects notions that see fine melodies in Cuban music as a legacy of the indigenous past. For him, Cuba's musical and dance heritage is of European and African origins. One wonders what he would make of the theory of the ceremonia del cordon being partly influenced by the areito? After all, indigenous Cubans did survive for a long time in Cuba, perhaps retaining aspects of the areito dance long after the dissolution of Taino communities. 

A Memory Called Empire

Arkady Martine's A Memory Called Empire was recommended to us a few years ago by an avid science fiction reader. We purchased a copy last year and recently read the novel. It's an excellent example of science fiction borrowing from the history of empires to craft engaging space operas or tales of galactic imperial sagas. In this case, Martine has drawn from both the Roman/Byzantine Empire (like Asimov in Foundation) and the Aztecs. A number of words in the Teixcalaanli Teixcalaanli Empire's language are clearly inspired by Nahuatl, as are references to the Sun, sacrifices, the names of the citizens of the City, and even their physical features. Of course, references to the Byzantine Empire can also be found, such as a text referred to as The Buildings, a nice nod to Procopius. The City itself, a planetary metropolis and capital of the Empire, features pyramids and features that also reference Tenochtitlan. In short, it's an impressive example of crafting an intriguing empire in the far future with some inspiration from the Aztecs. 

The creative decisions by the author in the use of technology, especially the imago technology which allows the memory of someone who passed away to be implanted into another, raises a number of interesting questions about identity just as Mahit Dzmare, the Lsel ambassador, confronts her own position as a barbarian in love with the empire poised to devour her homeland. This, I believe, is where Martine's book really shines as a space opera. There are no epic space battles, but the internal tension of Mahit as she struggles to protect her people's independence and juggle her own loyalties while desiring so strongly to be accepted as something other than a barbarian. However, no matter how hard she tries, that sense of being a barbarian never truly accepted in the heart of Empire is inescapable. Anyone familiar with the literature of colonized people can immediately sense something deeper in this novel, as it explores the depths to which imperialism can wreak havoc on colonized (or, in the case of Lsel, semi-colonial territories, since it retains its independence) peoples. 

Fortunately for Mahit, however, Lsel possesses information on a greater threat that will preserve the station's autonomy for at least a little longer. So, even though we felt the ultimate conflict over imperial succession could have been resolved in a better fashion in this novel than the diplomat's political maneuver, and there are still so many loose threads, this novel was so suspenseful and captivating that we must read the sequel. We cannot wait to see how Mahit and Three Seagrass will communicate with the unknown threat beyond Lsel that is nearing the Empire. 

Xaragua

How Samuel M. Wilson mapped the area of Xaragua in Hispaniola: Caribbean Chiefdoms in the Age of Columbus. 

The history of Xaragua remains elusive. Despite its recognition by authorities such as Las Casas as the zenith of the Taino chiefdoms on Hispaniola, and perhaps in the entire Caribbean, we know nothing about it besides what the Spanish chronicles have described. Indeed, with the exception of Behechio and Anacaona, we know nothing about its presumably long dynastic list. Furthermore, archaeological research in Haiti has been less rich than other parts of the Greater Antilles, so who knows what may be buried under Leogane and Port-au-Prince that could shed light on the indigenous past of the region. However, since Xaragua was recognized as having the most refined manners and language, the most beautiful women, served as the "court" of the island, uniquely practiced irrigation, produced the best cotton and batatas, and included the largest number of nobility or nitaino, one cannot stop but to think of what the sources on Xaragua reveal about the zenith of Taino cacicazgo polities. Despite knowing less about it than other cacicazgo, a perusal of Xaragua may reveal greater dynamics and accomplishments of Taino civilization.We shall attempt to examine the cacicazgo with Las Casas's Historia apologética, Oviedo's Historia general y natural de las Indias, Peter Martyr d'Anghiera and the general sources on the topic we have been reading for this blog.

First, Xaragua's demographics and resources. According to Oviedo, the area around modern-day Lake Azuei included several villages. Indeed, as late as 1515, when he visited the area, it was still full of large villages. These villages, according to Oviedo, fed on the marine life that lived in the lake, since seafood was a major source of protein in the Taino diet. In addition, the Taino villages living in proximity to sources of water, like Lake Azuei and other bodies of water, facilitated the use of ditches for the irrigation of their conucos. The proximity of seafood protein, bodies of water, and irrigation increased the density of population. This, in turn, meant the caciques of Xaragua were in a more powerful position since they could draw on the tribute of their subjects for resources, trade, and redistribution through areytos and other communal services. This large, densely populated cacicazgo could support a large class of nitaino, too, perhaps over 100 or 200, if Las Casas is to be trusted. In fact, according to Oviedo, the main village of the rebel cacique, Enrique, could have held 1500 residents in previous times before the decline of the indigenous population. If that figure is reliable a Taino village near a lake, then Xaragua's population must have included villages with perhaps several thousands of residents living around and near Lake Xaragua. This sustained the large population of "lords" (in the Spanish parlance of the time) which could be supported through the labor of the rest of the community, a sign of relative wealth and abundance with sufficient resources. If, as d'Anghier claimed, the caciques assigned occupations to his subjects, such as fishing, hunting, and farming, the caciques of Xaragua must have benefited from a tremendous population to extract labor services or tribute from. The nitainos could have been subordinates who also measured property of estates or cacicazos, since land was likely held by the family unit or village. The surplus production of the chiefdom probably facilitated the rise of more specialized behiques and schooling for elites who learned the history of the chiefdom through songs and poems. This, in turn, must have led to more refinement in language and courtly manners, the organization of areytos, and, perhaps, the cacicazgo's ability to attract dependents, alliances through marriage, or trade. 

Moreover, d'Anghiera alluded to Anacaona's village near the Xaragua capital which served as a storage center for her treasure or wealth, which consisted of finely made wooden stools or duhos plus everyday bowls, vases and pottery. The finely crafted duhos she gifted to Bartolome Colon were supposedly produced in La Gonave, by women specialists. Considering the amount of time and skill that went into producing the finest duhos, often of guayacan and with gold incrustations and intricate patterns and animal or human features, Xaragua was perhaps capable of producing one of the most highly valued objects in the Taino sociopolitical system (the duhos). Indeed, Xaragua's fine cotton, later an item of tribute to the Spanish after Behechio agreed to render tribute to the Adelantado, must have been cultivated in relatively large amounts and used to produce naguas, hamacas, items for everyday use, and for trade with other cacicazgos, on the island and perhaps in Cuba and beyond. If Careibana, for instance, was a port with a large population, perhaps Xaragua sent and received canoes bringing items of trade. This seems rather likely, since the Spanish remembered the Taino as fond of trade or exchange. Furthermore, Oviedo mentioned a lake which contained fine salt, probably exploited and exchanged by the Taino from its origin in the Bainoa province before 1492. One could see Xaragua's salt, cotton, surplus casabi, and fine duhos as items of trade and gifts for guanin or other imported goods. This, in turn, enhanced the cacicazgo's position since the finest cotton goods were used for chiefly adornment and naguas, just as the more elegant duhos, an item of particular ritual and spiritual importance attached to the caciques, could have been gifts or objects of exchange between Xaragua and other chiefdoms. Indeed, the rich resources of the cacicazgos that sustained a refined elite could also have served the cacicazgo in its relations as other caciques were taught areytos or the aristocratic manner of Xaragua in exchange for allegiance, tribute, or alliance. This is the only way Xaragua could have possibly reached over 200 nitainos. One, perhaps, sees a glimpse of this in the lavish pomp, ceremony, areytos and feasting for the Adelantado and Ovando when they visited Xaragua's royal capital. If Xaragua was capable of organizing large festive dances, feasts, and entertainment that even included a mock battle (perhaps meant as a message to the Spanish of their military potential?), for the Guamiquina of the Christians, then they were clearly able to draw from vast resources. Really, if wives of caciques, such as at least one of Behechio's, could be buried with their deceased husband, the Taino society was able to sacrifice the lives of women. Caciques were also buried by being wrapped in cotton bandages, another sign of the extensive resources of the Taino who used cotton for burial purposes, cemis, and clothing. The Taino likewise had sufficient leisure time for the construction of plazas for the batey, which in Xaragua, could have likely included more than one plaza. 

These nitainos and lesser caciques would have been included in meals, eating from the fine ware of the Xaragua caciques as well as, through marriage, receiving favor or potential connections as kin of the next heir. Indeed, Behechio was said to have had at least 30 wives. These women, presumably all kin of lesser caciques and allies of Behechio, gave him tremendous power and connections around the island. First, in marriage, lords often had to give stones, shells, and guanin to the fathers, per Las Casas. Behechio undoubtedly had access to great wealth to be able to marry so many women. His wives' relatives may have felt invested in the cacicazgos through kinship ties sealed by marriage, the sharing of Xaragua areytos, and redistribution of the cacique's goods when he or she died (their property was split between relatives and affiliated visitors). Besides, through the marriage of his sister to Caonabo in Maguana, a powerful cacique who was perhaps from the Bahamas or the Lesser Antilles, Behechio ensured Xaragua's influence extended into the eastern part of the island. For example, when the Adelantado first crossed paths with Behechio, it was on the Rio Neyba. According to some, such as Hermann Corvington, Behechio was actually en route to engage the Spaniards in combat. Others, like chronicler d'Anghiera think Behechio was on a military campaign against recalcitrant rebels or perhaps to pacify a province that was once loyal to Caonabo, already killed by the Spanish conquerors. Either way, Behechio's alliance with Maguana had given it some influence to the east. Further, If succession was matrilineal, a child of Caonabo and Anacaona could have become a heir or successor to Behechio. This would have made Caonabo, not native to the island, secure as the Xaragua chiefdom could potentially have been ruled by his progeny. Similarly, Behechio, if one of his 30 wives produced a child, could possibly have had one of his flesh and blood as the ruler of Maguana. Hence, marriage alliances must have played a great role in cementing alliances and increasing the investment of, perhaps, lesser caciques in the success of a cacique matunheri like Behechio. This was perhaps also done in the west, in Haniguayaba and possibly as far as Cuba. In the west, according to Las Casas, the cacique of Haniguayaba acted as independent lord because of his distance from Xaragua. However, there is an implied fealty or at least semblance of subordination to Behecio even as far west as the "boot" of Haiti. Perhaps some of Behechio's 30 wives included caciques and nitainos from these western provinces, who would also have been drawn into Xaragua's cultural orbit through its elegant court, lavish areytos, and food surplus. Indeed, this seems to have been the case in the modern Sud-Est of Haiti, too, where Yaquimo and other regions were part of Xaragua's sphere of influence. In fact, aligning with Xaragua may have given lesser caciques and nitainos the protection they needed against "Carib" raids as well as conflict with other Taino. If, as claimed by Las Casas, Taino chiefdoms often went to war over land, seafood resources and over failed promises to deliver a bride, a powerful cacique like Xaragua could have supported dependents. 

As one can see, Xaragua's control of its resources, its ability to cultivate dependents, and the highly refined nature of its court must have made it rather influential on there est of the island. The alliance with Caonabo, albeit rather late in the precolonial period, made it the dominant cacicazgo on the island. Shifting alliances aside, Behechio's court must have represented the zenith of the island's indigenous civilization. And due to the close association between religion and power and religion and culture for the Taino, one may speculate that some of the myths and traditions recorded by Fray Ramon Pané in the other part of the island reflect Xaragua's myths and traditions. If the areytos and some of the cemis of Xaragua were influential across the island, then surely Pané's brief account offers some insights into the nature of Xaragua, too. After all, d'Anghiera reported that the areytos were part of the preserved traditions at the houses of the caciques, where behiques traiend the sons of caciques. Due to its wealth, cultural power, and the probably higher number of behiques who may have been somewhat freed from everyday labor, one suspects that Xaragua possibly influenced other cacicazgos through its spiritual practices and behiques. While some cemis and venerated ancestors undoubtedly only came from particular areas or regions, one wonders if some of the beliefs reflecting universal spirits or the entire island may have had a strong imprint of Xaragua.

Unfortunately for the Taino, their finest cacicazgo was defeated with little (overt) resistance. After Caonabo's heroic decision to destroy the Europeans left at La Navidad, he was later trapped and defeated. Why wasn't Behechio involved in Caonabo's battles with the Europeans? As the most powerful cacique, one would think he was certainly aware of the Spanish and their misdeeds and exploitation of indigenous people in other cacicazgos. Did he really think they would never come to Xaragua? The Spanish sources like to blame Anacaona for Xaragua's rapprochement with the Spanish, although one must question their narratives. After all, Anacaona's husband had been killed by the invaders and her homeland's autonomy was next on the chopping block. We are inclined to believe that Anacaona was perhaps plotting something against the Spanish, although it seems unlikely that Roldan and his band of robbers would have been the allies to use against the official colonial government. Either way, Behechio and Anacaona agreed to pay tribute in cotton and casava bread. This happened even as Behechio and Anacaona could have likely murdered the entirety of the Spanish company of the Adelantado. Perhaps Anacaona, after seeing the destruction wrought by the Spanish, hoped for a situation in which the cacicazgo of Xaragua would survive by paying tribute and, over time, revolting once familiarity with European weapons and technology was achieved. Is this why she was so intrigued by the caravel of the Spaniards? Or, perhaps, was a fatalism spreading due to the prophecy given by a cemis that clothed strangers would conquer them? Either way, Xaragua's lamentable end as Ovando massacred perhaps 80 or more Xaragua elites and hung Anacaona destroyed the most powerful cacicazgo of Hispaniola. With this ignominious massacre and deception, Xaragua's capital was replaced by Spanish towns in which, at Vera Paz, anything but, 60 or 70 European males were said to be married to women from the elite, a group of unparalleled beauty. Sadly, neither Las Casas nor Oviedo thought to record any of the areytos that could have given us more historical traditions of Xaragua's origins. 

Timbuktu and the Arma

Michel Abitbol's Tombouctou et les arma is an important work on the history of the Pashalik of the Arma. Most people often ignore the 2 centuries or so of political and social history of Timbuktu and the Niger Bend after the fall of Songhay. Abitbol's work shows just how important that later, post-Songhay period was in terms of the Pashalik's political, social, economic, and regional importance. Indeed, the Pashalik persisted for so long partly because Timbuktu continued to be a major center for commerce and bridge between the Maghrib and the Sudan, long after the decline of al-Mansur's dynasty and the end of the Askias of Gao. However, even the Askias survived in a fashion, since a branch of them became close allies with the Arma regime. And while the authority of the Pashalik was later limited to Timbuktu, Djenne, Gao and other areas of the Niger Bend, and often became reduced to a ceremonial power of investiture for Tuareg chiefs who could sometimes attack or pillage the area with impunity, the Pashas continued to be the recognized authority of Timbuktu and a major power until the rise of Macina. Intriguingly, Abitbol believed the Arma, who became acclimatized and, later on, developing dominant families who dominated the position of pasha, despite the usually short tenures, were not a class per se. Instead, they were a leadership elite of essentially military origin and function. However, their alliance with the sharifs, ulama, merchants, Askias, and ownership of large numbers of slaves (who sometimes worked the land they owned) and dependents or haratins suggest something on the nature of a class society. The rather large corpus of sources used by Abitbol also suggests Timbuktu's importance in trans-Saharan trade retained its significance, too, surpassing in overall value the exports of other areas of the Sudan to North Africa. Clearly, there was a basis for great wealth accumulation and, in one case, a Pasha who even endeavored to emulate the great emperors of Mali and Songhay, possibly with the intention of recreating their grandeur for the Pashalik.

Kamimizye

Foula always struck us as one of the more successful musical groups to fuse jazz with Haitian rhythms. This particular number is irresistible and features brilliant percussion, vocals, guitar, and a delectable saxophone solo. What happened to this band? And isn't the album from which this song is taken actually called Voodoo Jazz?

Anacaona as Lwa

Although her account is so brief and problematic, L'Ayiti des indiens: textes d'historiens by Odette Roy Fombrun includes a short account of a Vodou service to Anacaona as a lwa. Visiting an area in the mornes, the habitation Badè, which she did not specify the location of, Roy Fombrun saw someone possessed by Anacaona. In addition, the lakou featured a "maison" of Anacaona and honored her every year in early December. Unsurprisingly, when Anacaona possessed or mounted someone, they adopted the attitude of a queen. She received offerings of perfume and flowers, too. The other detail Roy Fombrun reported is that Anacaona was represented by a painting placed against a ship symbolizing Agwe. Apparently the painting of Anacaona was supported by an image of Erzulie Freda, which might explain why the offerings to Anacaona were the same as those of the other lwa. Perhaps this lakou's commemoration of Anacaona, like in the 21 Divisions in the DR, associated her with water (hence the Agwe connection) and with the beauty and sensuality of Erzulie Freda? At the tiny "maison" of Anacaona at this lakou, offerings of clothes were made to the cacica. Furthermore, as if to prove that this area of Haiti was populated by descendants of Indians, Roy Fombrun remarked that the inhabitants of the area en route to the lakou had Indian features. 

What particularly stands out to us is the final comment of the author. She claims Gerard Fombrun owned a cigar store Indian that had been found in a houmfort. This indicates that, like some Espiritismo groups and in 21 Divisions Vodu, some Vodou temples in Haiti were using Native American statues imported from the US and incorporating them into ceremonies for Indian spirits. Like their Dominican counterparts, the particular temple visited by Roy Fombrun apparently honored Anacaona but in a way that suggests she was given some of the attributes of Erzulie Freda. The association with Agwe may be a nod to the similar association of Indian spirits with water in Dominican Vodou. However, this is the only account we have encountered suggesting such a thing. Usually water spirits like the Simbi have African antecedents or origins. However, in this case, it is possible that Anacaona was incorporated as a lwa based on Erzulie Freda and there may have been an influence from 21 Divisions. The fact that Gerard Fombrun apparently possessed a cigar store Indian that was once in a houmfort tells us that the incorporation of Indian spirits into Haitian Vodou may have been a little more widespread than one thinks, too. Geo Riply's work on Dominican Vodou suggests a Dominican influence here. Indeed, the Indian Division is associated with Saint Nicholas, whose feast day happens to be the same day Anacaona is commemorated at the site visited by Roy Fombrun. Moreover, Martha Ellen Davis's work indicates a preponderance of Indian spirits in the Dominican Southwest, probably the region close to the area visited by Roy Fombrun.

Sadly, without knowing more about the specific details of the area visited by Roy Fombrun, all we can say is that Anacaona was, or perhaps still is, honored in Haitian Vodou to some unknown extent. It appears to be in a way very similar to that in the Dominican Republic, which makes it likely that the area visited by Roy Fombrun was probably near or not too far from the Dominican Southwest. The offering made to Anacaona in a "grotte" does bring to mind Taino customs, although this worship of Anacaona undoubtedly blends African influences with whatever vestiges of Taino spirituality survive. And while there remains more work to be done on this, perhaps Haitian Vodou traditions also associated Indian spirits with the water. We have the evidence of Deita Guignard's La Légende des Loa: Vodou Haïtien that Maitre Clermaille was supposedly an Indian of the island, a Taino. However, earlier traditions recorded by Simpson contradict that, suggesting General Clermeil or Clermaille was believed by northern peasants to have been a cruel Frenchman. Others write that he was the father, not the husband, of his daughter, also associated with the sea and people with light skin. 

Enrique's War Song

Jean Fouchard's Langue et littérature des aborigènes d'Ayti

Although it is difficult to research, we are currently obsessed with the story of a song said to come from the time of Enrique's rebellion in Hispaniola. According to Emile Nau, writers at the court of Henri Christophe wrote the song based on oral traditions and a refrain (Aya bombe). Nau is skeptical that the song is authentic yet he also implausibly believed the chica, djouba and carabinier dances of Haiti were of Amerindian origin. Unfortunately, Nau did not reproduce the song of Enrique and we have yet to find any written evidence of it from the time of Henri Christophe's kingdom. However, Henri Christophe was compared to the famous cacique and the song was likely composed by the literati of his kingdom. Whether or not it is based on any "authentic" tradition is difficult to say. Nonetheless, the refrain of Aya bombe, which sounds very African, is repeated multiple times. African words in a song celebrating Enrique are not too surprising when one considers that he had African followers or supporters. 

According to Jean Fouchard, Frederic Marcelin was the first person to publish the complete song of Henry, in 1905. Marcelin wrote that he first heard the song from an old man in the North of Haiti. This old man supposedly had worked on the construction of the famous Citadel. The elder also told Marcelin about the corpses or skeletal remains of Indians around the island. This led to the old man, who claimed to have heard the song from a grandfather of Indian blood, to recite it in a language Marcelin could understand (presumably French or Creole) instead of the original Indian language. This story is repeated in Marcelin's Au gré du souvenir, published in 1913. However, he first heard the song in the 1890s. If true, Marcelin's informant was probably someone born in the early 1800s or late 1700s. His grandfather, who was supposedly Indian and from the most powerful tribe on the island (Xaragua?), could have been someone of indigenous descent who heard something of the traditions of Enrique. Is it possible that there were people of indigenous descent, perhaps related to those from Boya, who were in Guarico (Cap-Haitien) or the northern part of Haiti, sharing an oral tradition that reached the court of Henry Christophe? Indeed, Moreau de Saint-Mery reported the presence of descendants of Enrique's community living in Banica, near Hincha. Hinche, in modern-day Haiti, would have been near Christophe's kingdom. In addition, there was a movement of people from the Cibao and other parts of the Spanish part of the island into the north. According to Johnhenry Gonzalez's Maroon Nation, captives from the 1805 campaign in the East were brought to the Haitian side. These examples show that there could have theoretically been a group of people in the northern part of the Haiti with some degree of oral traditions pertinent to Enrique. Indeed, some of these people may have been of partial descent from the band of Enrique while others, including Haitians, would have celebrated the figure of Enrique and his heroic resistance from Bahoruco. The Aya bombe refrain was perhaps just added due to the strong African influences on Haitian oral traditions and songs.

The other interesting part of the song's history is Edgar la Selve's reproduction of Caonabo's war song. Supposedly chanted right before he destroyed La Navidad, Caonabo delivered a lengthy war chant that includes some of the same imagery as Enrique's song. While Edgar de la Selve's work, a history of Haitian literature, was published in 1875, he does not clearly indicate his source for Caonabo's war song. Thus, Fouchard is inclined to think that the French author made some major changes to the text. Is it possible that Caonabo's song was based on the song for Enrique that was written in the court of Henri Christophe? It is difficult to say, but Edgar de la Selve or whoever wrote Caonabo's song was evidently familiar with the several important words and concepts to the Taino and Kalinago languages and cultures. Caonabo's song references several Kalinago spirits, words, and even claims he was from the island of Ayay, in the Lesser Antilles. Oviedo also believed Caonabo was a "Carib" but if this song is authentic, then Caonabo was probably from the Lesser Antilles instead of the Bahamas. However, was Caonabo's song, which spoke of using European skulls as drinking dishes just a riff on the song of Enrique pledging to use the skin of Europeans for hammocks? It is difficult to say, but the more explicitly Kalinago words and allusions in the text lead us to think that it is perhaps less authentic. Although it is possible that, since other learned Haitians of the time sometimes saw the Taino as being very similar to the Lesser Antilles Indians, they merely copied names of spirits or words like karbet into a Taino context? 

Overall, we are inclined to believe that the Song of Enrique, though definitely "edited" and transmogrified over time and space, may represent an authentic tradition or song. It also features undeniable African influences in the refrain, and we lack anything like a Spanish or Taino text to work with. Yet the song could have been based on a popular tradition that appealed to Haitians who celebrated the maroon ideal represented by Enrique and the Africans in Bahoruco. And free people of color, especially people from the Spanish-speaking part of the island, may have found a common hero who they already possessed oral traditions for. Indeed, Christophe's court even included a Cibao native, Jose Campos Tavarez, a mulatto former slave who could have shared traditions of Enrique that were current in his region. In addition, we have the testimony of Marcelin's informant, an old man who claimed his grandfather knew the song in another language, presumably an Indian tongue. If the song was around before the rise of Christophe's kingdom, in some form at least, then it could potentially be a remnant of an areito. An areito, nonetheless, already creolized over the centuries and including African elements. And, as indicated by Nau, probably set to European-styled music by Henri Christophe's court. 

Simbi Dlo

Yet another classic we used to listen to repeatedly in our youth (because a parent owned the CD). I always found the use of the horn instrument in this song for Simbi to be especially effective. An infectious beat, captivating lyrics and an additional instrument adds multiple layers of depth to this. Even our ancestors in Kongo would be proud.

Deux Caciques de Xaragua

While pursuing our latest obsession, the cacicazgo of Xaragua, we came upon a short essay by Hermann Corvington at the Digital Library of the Caribbean. While definitely dated and basically relying on familiar sources (Nau, the Spanish sources), it does seem to reflect how Haitian intellectuals of that particular moment viewed Anacaona and her brother as leaders. Indeed, the short work was apparently written after Corvington saw a play about Anacaona that was published in the 1940s. Corvington, however, tries to, admittedly without much source material, to understand why the strongest cacicazgo on the island essentially submitted to Spanish rule without putting up a fight. He believed Behechio was perhaps, due to age, guilty of a miscalculation. This is especially so since Corvington adopts the stance that Behechio was ready to fight the Spanish when he crossed paths with the Adelantado by the Neyba River. Anacaona, presented as more astute and consistent in her opposition to the Spanish, apparently went along with her brother's will despite the Spanish killing her husband, Caonabo. According to Corvington, Anacaona had probably convinced Behechio to assist or at least stand by while Caonabo killed the Spaniards at Navidad. Then, after the defeat of Caonabo and Guarionex, perhaps Behechio was wary of direct conflict with the Spaniards. At first, paying tribute to them and keeping them out of Xaragua seemed to work, at least temporarily. However, Roldan's predations and the change in policy by Ovando who decided to crush the cacicazgo spelled their doom. Whether or not Anacaona really was scheming or ploting something against the Spaniards before Ovando's massacre is not clear, though Corvington believes any scheme she had involved the Spaniards who loved her daughter. It is clear that Corvington was influenced by Emile Marcelin's historical fiction and other traditions here.

Cric Crac

 

Georges Sylvain's Cric? Crac!: Fables de La Fontaine racontées par un montagnard haïtien et transcrites en vers créoles is a fascinating work. More of a reimagining or adaptation than a faithful translation, Sylvain Haitianizes La Fontaine while satirizing and reflecting upon Haitian society. While several stories or fables are recognizable, they usually have Haitian settings, include Haitian Creole proverbs, and allude to historical or social factors of Haiti life. For instance, setting some stories during the reign of Emperor Soulouque, using Bois-Verna as a setting, or referencing popular songs of the day throughout the fables. The best fables are those with direct implications to the state of Haitian society. For instance, the tale of the shepherd and his two goats who mistakenly thinks he can, through contraband and illegal trade at the port, become wealthy, learns the hard way to forsake a life of dishonesty. Clearly, the widespread practice of contraband was a recognized ill of Haitian society and the economy to Sylvain. 

Similarly, one of the last fables includes a farmer telling his three sons to work hard and maintain their farm, also passing on a story of buried treasure from colonial times. The sons dig and search persistently, but after failing to find it, continue to cultivate the land left by their father. The three brothers become prosperous and overtime, learn that the real treasure was land and their labor to make it prosperous. Similarly, the tale of the woman from Bois-Verna who dreams of selling milk and becoming a wealthy food vendor who dresses up for the balls in Bel-Air, learns the hard way to not get distracted by dreams when in the middle of her task. These vignettes and fables in Creole and French offer a poignant social commentary on the problems facing the country at the beginning of the 20th century. Of course, they are filtered through the lens of an elite male writer who borrows from the montagnard narrator and Haitian oral traditions to offer this perspective.

Other fables reference the belief that the poor or lower-classes should stay in their place or avoid the the corrupting influence the state, usually through animal fables. Unsurprisingly, there is a strong sense of justice as well as a conservative stance reflected in these tales. Ultimately, the lower-classes are supposed to know their place, be productive (useful, laborious), and stay out of politics or intrigue. Vodou, surprisingly, makes an appearance here or there or in the story when referencing music or popular customs. However, Sylvain seems ambivalent about these aspects of Haitian culture, perhaps simply including them because they were a real part of everyday culture in those times. Nonetheless, it is interesting to finally read this and think back on the lodyans of Lherisson and Antoine Innocent's novel. Written around the same time, each of these 3 authors wrote a "national" literature that reflected Haitian language, culture, spirituality, and worldview. Lherisson, despite not completely writing in Creole, was perhaps the most successful in terms of capturing the linguistic question while offering a more successful satirical look on the state of Haiti. 

Vodou Adjaie

Hearing this brings back to mind our youth. Not that we were ever huge fans, but a parent loved listening to this band back in the 1990s. There's even a nice tribute to the Taino.

Ollanta

Markham's undoubtedly dated translation of Ollanta: An Ancient Ynca Drama from 1871 is an interesting read. Firmly believing that the play was preserved orally from precolonial times, probably during the reign of Topa Inca Yupanqui or Huayna Capac, Markham sees the play as one of the few or only surviving theatrical works from the time of the Incas. Indeed, we know from sources such as Garcilaso de la Vega and the eventual colonial suppression of it after Tupac Amaru's rebellion that theatrical works from and about the Inca past were preserved. Sadly, the version of Ollanta, here based on the surviving manuscripts written down in the 1700s and 1800s, appear to be a condensed or incomplete version. Inexplicably, ten years pass before the eventual reunion of the lovers Ollanta and Cusi Coyllur. The battles between the general sent by the Inca to defeat Ollanta after his revolt are quickly glossed over. One would think that the original narrative included more scenes or episodes for a fully fleshed story. The play also seems to contain an implicit critique of Pachacuti for his excessive punishment of his daughter yet the Inca is presented as the source of all moral authority and order. Why is it that his son, the Topa Inca Yupanqui, who eventually pardons Ollanta for his revolt in Antisuyu and promotes him to the highest rank, is presented as the complete opposite? Is the message here that the Incas were not infallible, and access to the higher ranks could be opened, rarely, to those without aristocratic backgrounds if they proved their merit?

An Account of the Antiquities of Peru

 

Although far shorter and featuring cruder artwork, Juan de Santa Cruz Pachacuti-Yamqui Salcamayhua's "An Account of the The Antiquities of Peru" is a fascinating historical source on the Incas. Written from the perspective of an elite Indian Christian, it offers an interesting perspective on the precolonial past with some similarities and differences from Guaman Poma's more detailed chronicle. Unlike Guaman Poma, there is no indication that this Indian writer had an obvious political motive for writing his brief account, except perhaps as a Christianized indigenous perspective on the rise and fall of the Incas. Indeed, the author's Christianity has profoundly shaped and perhaps distorted the history of the Incas who, at various times, were presented as opponents to the huacas, idolatry and demons which had plunged Peru into heathenism before the Spanish conquest. 

It would appear that our chronicler hear believed Viracocha may have been St. Thomas, the apostle, an idea also found in Guaman Poma's work. According to this Christianized interpretation of Viracocha, the apostle promoted the worship of the Creator or universal Creator while opposing idolatry and the worship of huacas throughout Peru. This Tonapa, another name reported for this figure Juan de Santa Cruz merges with St. Thomas, is attributed an important role in the origin of the Incas since it is his staff that is inherited by Manco Capac. In other words, the Incas were, early on, at least, exposed to some ideas of a single God or Creator. The chronicler, however, appears to consistently mistake the worship for the Sun with the worship of the Creator, causing a number of problems in his portrayal of this or that Inca ruler as an enemy to the huacas. Nonetheless, some of his reports of Incas opposed to huacas from one province or another may reflect historical moments in which the religious policy of the Inca state opposed those of other peoples or provinces. Other moments in the lives of the Inca seem a little questionable or perhaps of Biblical inspiration. For instance, the report of Manco Capac sacrificing his son to receive a sign from the Creator bears an uncanny resemblance to the Judeo-Christian Abraham. 

Overall, this brief account provides the usual overview of the lives and deeds of the Incas, with some occasionally rich detail, report of a miracle or exceptional event. The Incas were occasionally corrupt and unjust, abusing, exploiting and promoting idolatry. Others, however, established good laws and supported the worship of the Creator. By the end of the Empire, Huascar, portrayed as more sinful and incompetent than Atahualpa, is presented as so corrupt as to allow men to have their way with the virgins in the square of Cuzco. The Spanish conquest, therefore, helps to reestablish monotheism and the "true faith" as the "Viracochas" return with the Bible. Perhaps the believe that Tonapa was St. Thomas was a way to reconcile the brutal shock of two different worlds when Pizarro arrived? By accepting Christianity, they were just returning to the ways of Tonapa that they had deviated from under the Incas. Does this also help to understand what the sources are indicating when they claim Tonapa carried a book with him during his travels? Was this mysterious "book" in precolonial Peru a reference to what they would later know as the Bible? Or some other type of holy text and writing besides the usual records in khipu? 

Aji Caribe

An amazing salsa number from a Venezuelan group, Septeto Karibe, this song includes some irresistible percussion.

Bam pam san douce

A classic mereng recorded by Dodof Legros. Trying to find the origins of this song is difficult, but a song of the same name was published by Fernand Frangeul. If so, this means the song probably dates back to the early 1900s. Did Legros sing an altered or modernized arrangement of it? All we learn from Constantin Dumerve is that the piece was a popular tune.

Polo de Ondegardo's Report

The unfortunately brief report of Polo de Ondegardo, included in Markham's Narratives of the Rites and Laws of the Yncas in a probably problematic translation, is an interesting read on the Inca Empire and colonial Peru. Written by one who had traveled and benefited from close observation of Inca records (quipu), monuments, shrines and traditions, Polo de Ondegardo's report and lost writings must have been a major source of information for subsequent Spanish chroniclers. While too brief to offer a full breakdown on the Incas, de Ondegardo reasonably traces the origin of the Incas back 350-400 years before his time. Relying on their memory of their history as preserved in their quipus, he traces Inca expansion to the successes of Pachacuti and his successors. Indeed, according to him, the wars of expansion of the Incas were recorded in the registers of the Incas, presumably the quipu. What is somewhat unique, at least from what we can recall of our readings of the chronicles on the Incas, is the allusion to the mother of Pachacuti. In Polo de Ondegardo's retelling, Pachacuti's mother had a dream in which the initial success of the Chancas against the Incas was due to the Incas showing greater veneration to the Sun than the universal Creator. Thus, in this version of that pivotal moment in Inca history, Pachacuti's mother was important for her dream which led to the Incas showing greater dedication to the Creator. 

The rest of the brief report offers a number of observations on the Inca system of taxation, tribute, land ownership in ayllus, and the administrative success of the state. Polo de Ondegardo clearly was describing these things since the Spanish Crown succeeded the Incas as the legitimate rulers of Peru, and borrowing from the Inca system offered a model for creating an orderly colonial system. Instead of, say, taxation that ignored the precolonial system, which led to an unjust burden, following the Inca practice could pave the way for a more stable colony. Indeed, the Inca system of tribute was, in some ways, less onerous and more favorable to the common good. In fact, those who worked the lands for the service of religion or the Inca, ate and drink at the cost of the Inca. In addition, the impressive efficiency of the Inca postal system and their custom of preserving forests, hunting grounds, and protecting the population of their livestock all seemed like excellent practices the Spanish should adopt. One cannot help but detect some admiration for the Inca when de Ondegardo reports that the Incas sometimes received fish from the coast of Tumbez via their roads and postal system. 

Jean Fouchard and the Meringue

Fernand Frangeul from Histoire de la musique en Haïti by Constantin Dumervé

Jean Fouchard's La méringue, danse nationale d'Haïti is another one of his interesting and infuriating works on Haitian history and culture. In this work, Fouchard focuses on the méringue as a national dance intimately linked to the history and culture of Haiti since the colonial period. Tracing its development from the chica, calenda, and the fusion of sorts that occurred between the chica of African origin (probably of Central African provenance) and the menuet (and contredanse), the early antecedent of the méringue, the carabinier, was likely born by the late 18th century. Surely, the carabinier was around before its earliest written attestation in 1824. Furthermore, Fouchard's deconstruction of the legendary story of the carabinier's creation during the 1805 siege of Santo Domingo is quite persuasive. The campaign was brief and while that particular mistress of the Emperor was likely present for the campaign, other sources point to the popular dance resembling the contredanse already popular in the balls attended by Dessalines in 1805. In other words, Dessalines, an avid dancer and man with many mistresses in various towns across the nation, was indeed fond of the carabinier. But the carabinier appears to have already been in existence before the 1805 campaign and was, based on descriptions of its rhythm and movement, a creolized descendant of the chica with European menuet or contredanse influences. The voluptuous, sensuous chica and its fusion with dances and instruments of European origin mastered by some slaves and free people of color were popular, alongside with the sacred and profane Vodou and other forms of African dance. 

Thus establishing the origin of the earliest méringue by the end of the colonial era, Fouchard posits that the meringue developed from the carabinier Fouchard associates the early carabinier with the bal or balanced rhythmic version particularly popular with Henri Christophe's court and the carnaval version that was used by the carnaval bands, for coundialle, and the type of music commonly heard in the streets. Rejecting theories of a significant Spanish influence, at least before the 1920s with the invasion of jazz, Cuban music, and Dominican merengue, Fouchard more reasonably asserts a Haitian origin of the Dominican merengue. Indeed, citing Dominican sources, which trace the origin of their merengue to the 1820s, and appearing as merengue after 1844, Fouchard believes the Haitian carabinier was the basis for the méringue and merengue. Like the later méringue of Haiti, carabinier was also associated with popular songs and satires lampooning politicians, mistresses of powerful politicians, or others. Fouchard cites a few examples of these poking fun at the Haitian president in 1844 as well as others poking fun at various late 19th century or early 20th century presidents. In addition, some carabinier-méringue may have melodies that originally developed from French berceuses that possibly traveled to Cuba and Louisiana with the exodus of Saint Dominguans during the Haitian Revolution. Fouchard mentions a few interesting examples of this that traveled to Cuba with Saint Dominguans then later returned to Haiti.

By the 1840s, Haitian meringue and merengue were taking form. In Haiti, carabinier was still used to describe the dance in the 1860s by Ducas Hyppolite and Spencer St. John. Nonetheless, Fouchard postulates that the introduction of new instruments by the 1840s and the suspicion around the word carabinier after Izidor Gabriel's conspiracy favored the use of the word meringue. The clarinet especially became popular for bands playing meringue music. Indeed, an early example of a Haitian composition using the word meringue is a song composed by Occide Jeanty's father, Occilius, in 1860. As further evidence against the Dominican origin of the Haitian meringue is the Dominican versions's absence in the list of Dominican influences Ducas Hyppolite encountered in 1863 at Mirebalais. If the Dominican version was the origin of the Haitian meringue, why was it not present near the Haitian border in the 1860s? The Spanish influences, particularly from danza or the habanera, appear to actually have been limited to some of the salon pianists like Ludovic Lamothe, and not representative of the majority of popular meringues such as "Nibo" or the music of Candio. 

Therefore, the Haitian meringue was simply a modified version of the old carabinier dance already so popular since the end of the colonial period in Haiti. Its name, according to Fouchard, is not of French origin but may have derived from the mouringue dance of the Bara of Madagascar. Sadly, the evidence for this is not as strong as Fouchard wants us to believe, though there were enslaved Africans from Mozambique and Madagascar in Saint Domingue. Nonetheless, it is certainly possible that the name for the dance comes from Africa while its actual development was a local creation in Saint Domingue and early Haiti. The fact that by the mid-1800s a dance called meringue or merengue was found in Haiti, Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico cannot be a coincidence. The name may indeed derive from the accepted French source, but became the name for similar dances based on the creolized contredanse that was already present around the Caribbean. 

The rest of Fouchard's observations on Haitian music are interesting yet perhaps limited by his nationalist bias. In his desire to construct Haitian music's legitimacy on the foundation of tradition, he sees the jazz, Cuban, and compas as deviations, especially the first two whose consumption spread in Haiti at the same time as the US Occupation and Jean Price-Mars's indigenism. That said, there is a kind of irony to this moment where just as some Haitians were looking to Vodou, folklore and what was considered traditionally Haitian, the youth were drawn to jazz, Cuban styles, and the spread of radio and recorded music favored this. The meringue, of course, stayed relevant throughout Haitian history. Indeed, even our elites with their bovarysme collectif still preserved it as the closer of concerts and dances while the masses never forgot it. Indeed, even the contredanse and carabinier are remembered in the countryside dances. Ultimately, our "national dance" is closely linked to the history of our people, but has not been static. One wishes Fouchard had been able to explore more deeply the various incarnations of the meringue since the mid-19th century until the 1970s, exploring how its popular and elite manifestations diverged and their relationship with other forms of dance in Haiti. 

Juan de Betanzos and the Incas

Juan de Betanzos's Narrative of the Incas is yet another chronicle by a Spaniard on the history of the Inca Empire. The advantage of this chronicle is that it was composed in the 1550s and its author was married to a woman who was a mistress of Pizarro and a wife to Atahualpa. Through her and her elite Inca relatives and connections, Betanzos undoubtedly received many traditions and narratives on the past of the Inca Empire. By and large, he provides what became the standard account of Inca origins beginning with Pacaritambo and the early Inca kings or rulers If one reads between the lines, there may be a story of conflict among the 4 brothers and their wives who left Pacaritambo since one of them, Ayar Cache, was tricked into returning to the cave and trapped.. He has less to say on the period preceding Pachacuti and that final century of imperial expansion. Basically, Pachacuti established all the greatest aspects of Inca civilization, laws and urban planning in Cuzco and beyond. Indeed, Betanzos credits him with rebuilding Cuzco, establishing storehouses, building the Temple of the Sun, and probably with the practice of reciting narrative poems on the exploits of past Inca rulers at their statues. His role in the creation of an Empire after the defeat of the Chancas is undoubtedly idealized. Indeed, according to Betanzos's informants, Pachacuti was so great that he applied the laws equally to nobles and commoners alike. 

The rest of the first part of the chronicle covers the conquest of Quito, wars and conflicts against rebel provinces or peoples, the Andesuyo campaign against Amazonian peoples, and Pachacuti's prediction of the Spanish conquest after the reign of Huayna Capac. The ethnographic details reported in the Andesuyo campaign are fascinating since the description of its people reveals similar customs with those of indigenous people in the Caribbean (storing the bones of deceased relatives on the top of the wall of one's home). Perhaps the Incas also saw the "naked" Amazonians as savage, too, since they were reported to be lazy cannibals. Yet from their region gold dust, jaguars, parrots, amaro snakes and Amazonian people were brought to Cuzco. I could be entirely wrong here, but I wonder if Guaman Poma de Ayala's reference to an Inca ruler who could transform into a jaguar was actually a reference to the brother of Topa Inca Yupanque. According to Juan de Betanzos, this brother was famous for killing a jaguar and then actually ate Amazonian enemies after their rebellion. Maybe there's some kinda mystical or shamanistic belief that this guy, Inca Achache, actually "became" a jaguar when he killed/ate enemies. And somehow Guaman Poma mixed him up with his brother? This leads one to think about the subtle changes in the portrayal of the Incas in the different oral traditions.

The rest of the chronicle covers the conflict between Huascar and Atahualpa and the Spanish conquest. Perhaps due to the bias of his wife, who was in Atahualpa's camp, Huascar is portayed as an alcoholic and incompetent ruler who triggered the disastrous war with his half-brother. Atahualpa, also apparently drunk at inopportune times, was more skilled and had excellent generals and warriors that defeated Huascar. The Spanish, of course, benefit from the confusion caused by the belief of some that they were viracochas and the recent war between Atahualpa and Huascar. The long, murderous section on this violent end of the empire largely ignores the conflict between Pizarro and Almagro but ends while describing the Vilcabamba Incas. Sadly, a black woman of Diego Mendez, who warned the Inca that his Spanish allies were about to betray him, was killed after the assassination of the Inca. Overall, some of Betanzos's account of this period is difficult to follow and certainly reflects the bias of his informants. But it is interesting to think about what would have happened if Atahualpa had not been captured by Pizarro. Would he have finished the move of the capital from Cuzco to Quito? Would the war-torn empire have been able to recover and survive longer into the 16th century?

Tombouctou et l'empire Songhay

Sékéné Mody Cissoko's Tombouctou et l'empire Songhay is a fascinating yet problematic work. Originally published in the 1970s, and by an author who accepted the theories of Cheikh Anta Diop and believed in the need of connecting postcolonial African nation-states to their precolonial past, the Songhay Empire is presented as the apogee of Western Sudanese civilization. We are led to believe or accept a number of premises, including that the Songhay state was a modernizing one and that the pyramidal character of buildings and mosque construction in the region may be a reflection of connections with Ancient Egypt. Cissoko also asserts that the level of learning at Timbuktu was comparable to a university, despite his acknowledgement that the city lacked the madrasas characteristic of Egypt or the Maghreb and the decentralized nature of instruction which emphasized Islamic religious education or law. In addition, Timbuktu, as the intellectual and economic capital of the vast Sudanese empire, characterized the Islamic influence that was largely marginal or absent in the South and east of the Empire. Indeed, Cissoko's work reflects this dichotomous view of Songhay civilization as one torn between the "high" Islamic culture and literacy of the towns and western provinces versus the found of traditional beliefs and religions in areas like Dendi. In fact, Sonni Ali's infamous relations with the ulama of Timbuktu is presented as an example of anticlericalism while the Sonni were and are associated with magic or sorcery in the "traditional" Songhay culture. 

Despite it's flaws, perhaps Cissoko's synthesis is worthwhile as a testament to the methodology and value postcolonial African historians practiced with regard to the Western Sudan. Cissoko clearly sought to balance the usual written sources with oral traditions and ethnographic work based on his own work and that of scholars like Jean Rouch and Boubou Hama. While it was not especially successful in Cissoko's case, and perhaps he overstates the "clash" between "animist" traditional religion and Islam, Cissoko's study raises a number of relevant historical questions and contemporary dilemmas. For instance, is it true that the Songhay Empire, at its zenith under the Askias, created a modern state in which the rulership was independent and dissociated from the individual with a greater degree of political centralization? The evidence utilized by our author, mainly restricted to the Tarikhs, al-Maghili's responses to Askia Muhammad and Leo Africanus, do not suffice to adequately answer this question. Furthermore, if the masses of the population of Songhay were slaves, why was it not a slave society? Surely the lack of sufficient documentation makes the demographic analysis of Cissoko questionable, particularly in his high estimates for Timbuktu's population. 

Furthermore, one could ask if it is a fair portrayal of the bourgeoisie marchande in Cissoko's analysis? Was it true that they did not invest their profits locally into things like land, new enterprises, or industries that could have revolutionized the economy? If 16th century Songhay truly enjoyed such a prolonged period of commercial success and growth, is it fair to make Cissoko's generalization given our paucity of sources? One can see how Cissoko thought addressing that question would be rather relevant to 20th century postcolonial Malian or African readers of his work. As their postcolonial states sought economic growth or development with different models, perhaps Cissoko's critique of the alleged wastefulness of the Askias and Songhay elites had more to do with the modern political and economic elites in Mali. That said, Cissoko's study does offer a (dated) comprehensive overview of the Songhay Empire that raises a number of interesting questions. We shall endeavor to explore some of those questions with Michał Tymowski. Subsequent authors have perhaps more delicately sought a balance in the "traditional" Songhay worldview and the Islamic culture represented by Timbuktu and Djenne in the Western Sudan.