The People of Esperanza

Esperanza: An Ethnographic Study of a Peasant Community in Puerto Rico, Carlos Buitrago Ortiz's ethnographic study of the rural population of Esperanza, Puerto Rico is a detailed study of kinship and its ramifications across various facets of social life. Based on fieldwork conducted in the region during the 1960s, during a phase of great change due to emigration, the work captures a rural Puerto Rico that was already losing its "traditional" character. Nonetheless, the barrio of Esperanza's population was still predominantly poor and relied on Arecibo, San Juan or the United States for a variety of services, access to work, or representatives of church and state. Most of the residents also claimed to embody or still adhere to traditional values of Esperanza before large-scale emigration's impact. In addition, most of its population continued to value kinship and affinal ties, compadrazco relations, and defined itself based on communal values in opposition to those of the state. 

For our purposes, this ethnography does not reveal much about the indigenous inheritance of the rural population. Perhaps this is due to the specific barrio in question having substantial or conspicuous ancestry traceable to the Canary Islands. Indeed, Buitrago Ortiz himself stresses the Hispanic and Mediterranean features of rural Puerto Ricans. Like those other communities, the people of Esperanza lived in a culture in which males completely controlled the public sphere, women were to remain in the domestic sphere, and to become an adult male signified marriage with children. In other words, to become a full adult male member of the community, one must marry, (eventually) live on one's own in a separate household, and have children. Strict gender roles were commonly observed and adhered to across classes. For those unable to reach this ideal, a common-law union or consensual union was accepted as long as both parties stuck to the expected gender roles. However, the preference was on a marriage through the church. Furthermore, the male was always expected to be the provider and care for his wife and dependents, laboring on his own land or for wages to provide a house, food, and supplies for the family. 

Undoubtedly, the very Hispanic and Mediterranean aspects of Puerto Rican culture represented a sharp contrast with those of pre-Hispanic populations on the island. Nonetheless, some elements of continuity may be observable in religion, spirituality, and popular belief. It is possible that the importance of bilateral kinship ties among the people of Esperanza can also be a remnant of indigenous and African heritage. In addition, the practice of inheritance in which all children inherit equally could potentially have non-Hispanic origins or influences. Compadrazo ties created between adult males of usually equal status may be an additional example of African and indigenous legacies as well as the obvious Catholic and Hispanic heritage. 

Overall, the indigenous elements are probably best expressed in religion and spirituality. For instance, the practice of vigils organized in honor of saints after a vow to the saint for aiding one included sacred and secular phases. The vigils included secular moments with men drinking alcohol, women and children enjoying soft drinks, and the serving of coffee, cheese and crackers. Vigils lasted all night and included prayer with rosaries. The close connection with a saint for their intercession on the behalf of someone who suffered from illness, debt or an accident has obvious Catholic overtones. But one may also detect indigenous and African influences through the possible substitution of cemis with saints, the Virgin, or even Jesus Christ. The vigils could become a tradition, organized annually several years after the initial promesa or vow to the saint. In addition, wakes for vigils for the dead similarly combine sacred and secular phases. According to Buitrago Ortiz, vigils included music of the type typical of rural Puerto Rico, meaning indigenous influences were likely found. The fusion of sacred and secular in an affair open to the community brings to mind Taino areitos, with their collective or communal focus.

Besides the custom of vigils, the countryside population also engaged the services of spiritualist mediums and made promesas to the saints. Saints were represented by santos de palo, or wooden figures, and often passed down for generations. These wooden figures of the saints were associated with saints who received the promises or vows of those seeking their intercession. The curative powers of these saints made them important for healing practices. Curanderos, such as Menelao, combined the chanting of prayers while manipulating or massing limbs to cure his patients. This brings to mind the curing practices of behiques of the indigenous period, who probably also used chanting and moving of the arms and legs (in addition to stones and other practices) to cure patients. Last but certainly not least, an element of indigenous beliefs likely persisted as the rural population believed in ghosts, wandering souls, and apparitions. Certain areas at night were avoided due to the fear of ghosts, just as the indigenes of Hispaniola were afraid of walking around at night due to the opias.

While Buitrago Ortiz's ethnography is more revealing of Hispanic and Mediterranean features in the culture of Puerto Rico, one can still detect indigenous (and African) characteristics. Although not the focus of the study, and perhaps the area in question was more influenced by Canary Islanders, indigenous features in rural Puerto Rican spirituality, devotion of the saints, and the healing traditions of curanderos. Future research on this theme could possibly uncover far more indigenous "retentions" if healers like Menelao were the focus of study. Moreover, bringing the question of race into social relations could have possibly led to some interesting insights on social stratification and lineage.

Aubin and Haitian Vodou

Eugene Aubin's En Haïti; planteurs d'autrefois, nègres d'aujourd'hui is quite valuable for its portrayal of Haitian Vodou of the early 20th century. Although Aubin's experience at hounfort and with Vodou priests and priestesses was closer to those in the plains and other regions near Port-au-Prince, his observations and conversations with Vodouisants provide some interesting insights on the religion. This is so in spite of Aubin's view of Vodou as a resurgence of African superstition. Regardless of Aubin's own biases, there's a useful account of the various lwa here and some of their attributes. For instance, the association of Saugo with lightning (probably Shango), or characteristics of Ogou, Loko, Legba, Agwe, Dambala, and other lwa appear in Aubin's travelogue. Furthermore, practices of pilgrimage in Vodou and Catholic elements with the use of prayers, chromolithographs of saints, and the fusion of Vodou and Catholic features in centers of Marian devotion were already deeply established. 

One valuable revelation from Aubin's account is the still strong distinction between papaloi and houngan. The houngan, according to Aubin, was still more akin to a sorcerer or the modern bocor. That said, Vodou was still, when Aubin traveled through Haiti, based in the family. The head of the family was the one who led the group in the service to ancestors, particularly through the manger-ignames ceremonies. Nonetheless, the greater wealth in the plains and the rise of papaloi whose services were purchased (for hundreds of gourdes, depending on the service) from clients drawn from Port-au-Prince and the countryside attests to the development of temples, extended networks, and more elaborate hounfort featuring a combination of various rites (Arada, Congo, etc). Clearly, by this date, the papaloi-houngan distinction was losing some of its significance.

One finds this development in Aubin's discussion of some of the prominent papaloi and manbo he met or heard of in Haiti. For instance, Romulus Jacques, or Aisse, a reputable Vodou priest from la Petite Plaine near the capital, came from a family of Vodou priests, was a renowned papaloi who followed the Arada rite. Serving Dambala, Agwe, Ogou Badagry, and Loco, his temple had an inscription referring to Roi d'Engole. So, there was some hint of "Congo" connections from his temple. Moreover, Aubin found old coins at Aisse's temple left for the lwa, which included coinage from the late 18th century as well as Haitian currency from the presidency of Boyer. This amazing mix of coinage from over a century ago could be an indicator of the age of the hounfort. If so, Aisse's temple may have begun with someone in his family from the beginning of Haitian independence.

Another renowned Vodou priest, Manbo Zera Vieux, was also consulted in Port-au-Prince and in L'eau de Cazeau. She was married to a military man who was the son of Cadeau Bois, the head of a hounfort on the road to Petionville.  Aurelien Bernard, another respected papaloi, was based at du Mornay-Laboule. Both of his parents were Vodou priests and he observed both the Guinee and Congo rites, each rite with a separate section. Part of his Congo ritual practices involved pacquet Congos and the use of Catholic chromolithographs. Besides these, a manbo named Tela from the Bellot family of habitation Le Francois was also well-known. Her father was a houngan and the family held 2 temples, one dedicated to the Arada rites and Dambala and another for Congo and Nago rites. Clearly, by this time, Vodou prominent religious leaders held sufficient knowledge of a number of rites of Central African and West African origins. These aforementioned leaders came from families of manbos and papalois, yet notice how, per Aubin, their services were sought by a far-ranging clientele and their services could cost hundreds of gourdes. 

As part of the growing specialization of Vodou religion, Aubin additionally noted some of the other politically connected papalois. One, a Durolien of Croix-des-Missions, was the papaloi of President Hyppolite. Ti-Plaisir of Mariani, or Plaisimond, was another Vodou leader with significant economic resources and political connections. Indeed, a picture of his houmfort is featured in Aubin's book. It's painted exterior and the wealth of its leader must have made it a more impressive temple than smaller temples or family-centered cult spaces in the hills. Indeed, Ti-Plaisir's service in honor of Agwe included a large procession with hounsis and others. This type of elaborate service with drapeau, societies and titles, hefty fees for services, and political connections at the Presidential Palace attest to the high status of Ti-Plaisir. Indeed, Ti-Plaisir was considered by Milo Rigaud to be one of the famous papaloi, fictionalizing his life for a character in his novel thinly based on Haiti under Borno. 

Religion and Politics in Haiti

A collection of 2 essays by Harold Courlander and Remy Bastien, published as Religion and Politics in Haiti in 1966, presents an interesting moment in the study of Vodou and politics. Written at a time of economic malaise and authoritarian rule by Papa Doc, both Courlander and Bastien present Vodou in a provocative fashion. To Courlander, whose studies of Haiti always struck us as superficial, Vodou is not to be blamed for the woes of Haiti. Indeed, Vodou was actually something that represented a complete worldview and ethos for the Haitian masses. Due to the extreme poverty and precariousness of life for the Haitian peasant, Vodou offered something lacking in Catholicism and it continued to play such a pivotal role due to ongoing governmental neglect, incompetence, and exploitation. 

Bastien, a Haitian, offered a more extreme position. Indeed, Bastien went as far as accusing the Haitian ethnological movement of a trahison des clercs. Instead of dedicating themselves to the betterment of their illiterate brothers trapped in backwards, regressive living conditions and a magico-religious worldview disconnected from modernity, the Haitian intellectual sought to make Vodou (and folklore) the pillar of Haitian identity and authenticity. According to Bastien, these Haitian intellectuals, followers of the school of Price-Mars, lacked the brakes necessary to stop their extremism. So, unlike the situation in sub-Saharan Africa, the Haitian ethnologists took things too far and neglected their ultimate responsibility of ameliorating conditions for the Haitian peasantry. 

Of course, Bastien's brief essay is excessive itself, especially in light of the writings of Haitian ethnologists like Price-Mars which directly concerned social inequality and the failure of Haiti's elite. However, one can also see the justness of Bastien's critique at a time when Vodou had become another institution corrupted or controlled by Francois Duvalier. By 1966, at least in Bastien's eyes, Vodou had become part of the oppressive panoply of Duvalierism's toolbox of administration. Furthermore, Vodou was incompatible with the types of modern change, education, healthcare, and poverty eradication that Bastien believed was necessary. No houngan would sponsor or support these aforementioned reforms since their achievement would, in Bastien's perspective, defeat the purpose of the houngan's existence in the first place. This characterization of the houngan is unfair, or at least lacking the evidence for such a broad generalization. Nonetheless, the Haitian religion was, by then, a product of long-term marginalization and growing impoverishment of the Haitian. Consequently, Vodou reflected those regressive conditions of living and would be threatened by progressive changes in the Haitian countryside. Indeed, the Vodou of 1966 or even 1915 was far from the conditions of 1791. Instead of fetishizing folklore and Vodou, Haiti's intellectuals should have devoted themselves more passionately to the question of bringing the peasantry into the 20th century. 

History of the Inca Empire

Bernabe Cobo's History of the Inca Empire, translated by Roland Hamilton, includes an introduction by Rowe praising the author. According to Rowe and Hamilton, the Jesuit Cobo, though writing in the 17th century and mainly relying on older chronicles, exhibited greater discernment and judgment in his interpretation of the sources. In addition, Cobo also lived for several years in Peru and was able to personally witness the ruins of Inca buildings and discuss related matters with Cuzco informants, such as Alonso, a grandson of Guayna Capac. The longevity of his stay in Peru and his access to several earlier chronicles, including some which have not survived, make Cobo one of the great synthesizers of the Spanish chronicle historiography on the Incas. However, he seems to have especially relied on Polo de Ondegardo, so we will have to consult his works later. 

However, the first part of the text is mainly about the indigenous peoples of the Americas, including lengthy sections on why Peru was not Ophir and why the ancient Hebrews were not the populators of the Americas. Furthermore, Cobo spent several pages describing the allegedly barbaric and backwards customs of the Indians, clearly reflecting a colonialist and Catholic perspective on the Indians. To his credit, despite the alleged similarities across the entirety of the Americas in terms of barbaric customs and similar features, Cobo at least acknowledged 3 different types of Indian communities or polities. Those of the behetrias lived without caciques, those of an intermediate level who did possess caciques and some degree of political centralization beyond a community level (like our Indians of Hispaniola and the nearby Antilles), and then the third stage, achieved by the Aztecs, Incas, and the Muiscas. However, these last three, despite their superior stage of civilization, remained barbarians. 

Part of Cobo's colonialist and anti-Indian bias also appears near the end of his description of the Inca rulers, portraying their reign as one of pure tyranny and unceasing exploitation of their subjects. The Inca ruling class, according to Cobo, prevented their subjects from owning their own land or possessions, imposed heavy labor tribute obligations, imposed heavier punishments for commoners, seized children for sacrifices to the huacas, and otherwise oppressed their subjects to be even more oppressive than the colonial regime. Of course, Cobo's also admitted that the Inca rulers did try to ensure their subjects were able to live at least at a subsistence level and that their practice of relocating communities to new provinces usually aimed at resettling them in areas with similar environments. Nonetheless, Cobo's colonial and Christian biases perhaps forced him to portray the Incas as despots and cruel pagans. Fortunately, did not prevent him from occasionally expressing admiration for their achievements in other fields. Architecture, textiles, mining, the accuracy of khipu records, the effectiveness of Inca postal services and roads, and the rulers' successes in creating an orderly system across a huge swath of South America warranted praise from the biased Cobo.

What is particularly useful in Cobo's relatively scientific or rationalist approach to the study of Inca history is his judicious judgment of Inca history. According to him, the history of the Incas (and most Indians) probably reached back no further than around 400 years. In addition, unlike El Inca Garcilaso, Cobo did not claim that all Inca rulers married their sisters, a custom which more likely arose among later kings, beginning with Tupa Inca Yupanqui. Moreover, Cobo's account includes references to several moments of rebellions and conflict within the Inca aristocracy. For example, conflict between the ruler and "bastard" brothers over the throne occurred more often than El Inca Garcilaso indicated. The greater ruler Pachacutic, for instance, had to have a brother, Inca Urco, murdered for trying to rebel. Guayana Capac also had to defeat a usurper supported by his uncle, Gualpaya. Even more disastrous, the conflict between Atahualpa and Huascar for the throne involved military leaders who had participated in the conquest of the Quito provinces aligning themselves with the former. They believed Huascar, ruling from Cuzco, would have favored others over them and therefore offered their greater military experience to Atahualpa. In other words, conflict over the throne and internal discord were present among the Inca elites. Unsurprisingly, the Inca empire's instability was therefore a consistent problem. Imposing the worship of the Sun, Cuzco huacas and the incorporation of the huacas of other regions into the Cuzco-centered pantheon must have consolidated this sociopolitical system in which the administration was based on the labor tribute, or mita, of commoners while using curacas and others appointed to office or recognized by the Inca. Unfortunately, the intricate details of moments of threat to this order are not always clear, besides pivotal moments like the Chanca rebellion that nearly took Cuzco. 

As for the Incas and our ongoing obsession with the Taino, one sees more possible commonalities. The Taino cacicazos perhaps shared the similar revenue system, one in which subjects were expected to provide labor for caciques. Like the Peruvian example, the Spanish likely adopted or adapted aspects of this precolonial structure into the colonial encomienda system. The two also shared the similar practice of the rulers exchanging or gifting women, since the Inca was said to have gifted maidens to favorites or those who performed wondrous feats. Human sacrifice among the Taino has not been incontrovertibly proven, but both Tainos and Incas shared a similar veneration of the bones of ancestors. For the Taino, human bones and cranium could become cemis. Cobo also wrote of mummies of Inca rulers which had eyes made of thin golden cloth, such as that of Pachacutic. One wonders if this may have a similar connection with gold-encrusted eyes in duhos of Hispaniola. Last, but certainly not least, the use of duhos, a word not used by Peruvians, was an important symbol of chiefly authority. Indeed, the Inca gave duhos to caciques appointed by him. Just as duhos were symbols of chiefly power among the Taino, the Inca and caciques or curacas in Peru also used similar stools. 

Tupac Amaru

Although our ongoing obsession with the Incas and Andean civilizations may be the cause of this, Gato Barbieri's "Tupac Amaru" is now one of our favorite "Latin jazz" compositions. Gato Barbieri was a master of playing in a more "free style" while his sidemen remained grounded in less free structure. And while the song does not sound particularly Andean, one can interpret Gato's wailing as the last laments of an Inca emperor or the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II. 

Papa Lauco

We are loving the Haitian Art Society website. Their site features several paintings by Hector Hyppolite we have not seen before. While Hyppolite is not our favorite Haitian painter, some of his works are quite striking and fascinating for those interested in Haitian Vodou. The above, depicting Papa Loko, is a good example of this.

Asante and Its Neighbors

J.K. Fynn's brief Asante and Its Neighbors, 1700-1807 seeks to elucidate the rise of Asante under Osei Tutu to its position as the predominant power of the Gold Coast by the early 1800s. While mainly relying on records of the European trading posts and forts on the coast and occasional oral or ethnographic evidence, Fynn's narrative account appears to follow an accurate chronology of Asentehenes also used by scholars like Wilks. The Asante, who were little known to the Europeans in the late 17th century, were able to seize upon the opportunities of greater trade and access to firearms to pursue political and economic expansion. The "northern factor" was also relevant for the trade in gold, ivory, kola nuts, textiles, and slaves with markets in the Sudanic land and trans-Saharan networks. However, access to firearms gave an advantage to the Asante against the militaries of the Dagomba, Gonja, and others. However, Asante access to the coast was hindered by the Fanti and, at various times, by other polities of the Gold Coast. Thus, the history of 18th century Asante, according to Fynn, is, to a large part, the tale of Asante expansion to the south, subjugation of other polities as tributaries, and the eventual establishment of Asante control of the southern ports in the early decades of the 19th century. Unfortunately for them, however, the British commitment to anti-slave trade measures became a problem just as the Asante achieved more complete, unhindered access to the coast.

Part of the problem of the Asante state in the 18th century was the failure of Osei Tutu, who, despite his excellence as the founder of the state who bequeathed a number of customs and practices to foster unity, to develop a more effective administrative system for ruling conquered peoples. Opoku Ware, his successor, attempted reforms that were later blocked by provincial rulers. This, plus ongoing revolts, internal discord, and struggles with the vassals made it difficult for Asante to emerge as the hegemon of the region until closer to the end of the period under examination. Fortunately, later rulers, like Osei Kwadwo, were able to accomplish administrative reforms with a bureaucracy that improved imperial administration. The Asante rulers may have also relied heavily on access to northern markets (and captives, such as the "Duncoes" and their Akwamu allies to still receive firearms, trade goods, and find areas for political expansion. Asante's conquest of Gonja and Dagomba, for instance, must have assisted with these aims as Asante expansion to the coast was hindered by the Fanti or tributary states in rebellion. The northern factor, therefore, must have remained of great political, military and economic significance while the Atlantic trade with European was ultimately the source for the Asante's expansion through access to muskets and gunpowder. Trying to understand this dynamic role of northern trade and Atlantic trade in the fortune of West African states like Asante and Oyo seems especially relevant, even though Asante did not rely on cavalry supplied by horse imports from northern trade.

Of interest for our purposes is Fynn's comments on the "Dunko" or "Dunkoes" sold into slavery from the Gold Coast. According to sources cited by Fynn, the word "Donko" meant slave. In addition, the Dunkos often had tribal marks on their faces and were often associated with northern territories like Dagomba, Mossi, Frafraf and others. We know from the Arabic chronicles of northern Ghana and contemporary Europeans at the coast that the Asante were active in north in the 1740s and again in the 1770s and subsequent decades. Indeed, a revolt against the Asante in 1780-1781 was likely one of the Dagomba, referred to as Duncoes. The Dunkos of Saint Domingue, or colonial Haiti, were therefore a mix of people from what is now northern Ghana and surrounding areas. Some of these Dunkoes or Dokos were also maroons of Le Maniel. If some of them were natives of Dagomba, then perhaps there may even have been an Islamic presence among the Duncoes in Saint Domingue. To what extent the Dunko were associated with marronage raises even more questions.

Fables and Rites of the Incas

The translation of Cristobal de Molina's Account of the Fables and Rites of the Incas provides more interesting information on Inca rites and religious practices. Based on the testimony of elders in Cuzco, who recalled the customs of the empire in its later years, were interviewed by de Molina, who was a priest in Cuzco and master of the Quechua language. Of course, an immediate problem arises with this work. While he may have been fluent in the Quechua language, the fact that he was a priest and his main informants only represented the elite, does suggest that some omissions and bias likely influenced this short account of Inca religion and rites. Nonetheless, de Molina's expertise in indigenous languages and the fact that his description of, for example, rites like the initiation of young adult males can be corroborated elsewhere make him a reliable source.

For our purposes, however, the main interest in de Molina's description of Inca religion is some of the connections we see with other parts of South America, including Amazonian areas. Like other accounts of origin myths, one sees parallels with other Amerindian peoples through archetypes, such as origins in a a cave (Tambotoco at Pacaritambo). Like the Taino origin myths recorded by Pane, some people were also turned into stone. In addition, during the puma skin dance, Incas inserted gold into the heads of dead pumas that were worn. This brings to mind our past fanciful notion of a possible South American connection with the gold encrusted mouths of duhos from pre-Hispanic Hispaniola. The author, de Molina, also refers to healing practices and ritual fasts, something we have already noticed may have connections with other South American shamanistic practices and medicinal practices. Furthermore, the Inca ritual calendar and its link to imperial expansion may be illustrative of similar spread of cemis in the precolonial Antilles, at least in areas where some caciques were able to dominate several others. Naturally, the Inca state, for more expansive and centralized, developed this to a much greater extent. Indeed, the Capacocha sacrifices, which took place across and empire and were recorded with quipus, undoubtedly reflected the greater centralization of power and ritual in the Andes. 

Last but certainly not least, de Molina's brief description of the Taqui Onqoy millenarian movement warrants attention. Although he erroneously connected it with the last bastion of Inca resistance at Vilcabamba, the movement appears to have arisen independently. Moreover, it represented a shift in the tradition of the huacas, who now possessed Indians and urged them to fight and eradicate the Spanish. While in some ways a restorationist movement that threatened the colonial system, this novelty of spirit possession by the huacas raises several interesting questions. Was it due to the radical shift and demographic collapse caused by colonialism? Or, perhaps, was the belief in spirit possession by the huacas also influenced by European and African beliefs? This seems unlikely, but something we would like to pursue.  

Tezeta

Relaxing vibes from Ethiopia. 

Voodoo and Politics in Haiti

Papa Legba

Michel Laguerre's Voodoo and Politics in Haiti is one of the more interesting studies of the intersection of Haitian Vodou and politics that warrants a follow up, perhaps with greater historical detail and a chapter on Vodou and politics in the 21st century. Beginning with the colonial era and the role of Vodou in sustaining and providing a meeting ground for enslaved people to interact and plot the eventual liberation of the colony, Laguerre argues persuasively for the importance of colonial-era Vodou (or Vodous, given the great religious diversity of African captives in the 18th century). The rest of the book consists of chapters exploring marronage, secret societies, pilgrimage to Saut D'Eau in its folk Catholic and Vodou dimensions, the Duvalierisation of Vodou, and the necessity for the Haitian government to commission a study into Vodou and provide some of the basic protections to the populace so that secret societies are less necessary. 

As a reflection of the religious and spiritual values of the Africans, and something understood by colonial authorities as a threat to the security of Saint Domingue, Vodou, and the related phenomenon of marronage (but one wonders if the Bahoruco maroons really did interact with Indians if, by the time of large-scale French slave trading to the island, there were probably not indigenes around outside of the Creolized, Spanish-speaking colony's population), are presented as revolutionary. Due to the limited Christian evangelization in the colony and the huge demographic transformation as Saint Domingue became a slave colony with blacks vastly outnumbering the French, Vodou and marronage became even greater threats to the established order. The connection to maroons is also made explicit by the detailed use of archival and other written sources that attest to the frequency of religious leaders as heads of maroon bands. Likewise, the Vodou or religious leaders were significant among the slaves on the estates, too. By continuing to preserve and practice values that were in opposition to those of the French and providing a space for slaves and maroons of different backgrounds to congregate, it is no surprise that Vodou leaders were also vital during the Haitian Revolution itself. 

The period after Haitian independence, however, does not receive the same kind of detail. While mention of the occasional persecution of Vodou practices by various Haitian governments appears in the text, the full history of the relationship between the state and the "Voodoo church" is not explored. Undoubtedly, Vodou and some of its priests were consulted by different heads of state and other politicians skillfully exploited or observed Vodou practices for popular appeal and control. For instance, President Salomon is cited as an example of a Haitian president who consulted a Vodou priestess and was a believer. Others made donations to temples and even before Duvalier, surely endeavored to tap into the network of Vodou temples. But the necessity of presenting Haiti as a civilized state to the rest of the world, anti-Vodou crusades of the Catholic Church, and the Western cultural orientation of Haiti's elite (both black and mulatto) ensured that the state either ignored, persecuted or never officially recognized Vodou as a religion. Surely, the full history of how Vodou was an influence on the Haitian state before Duvalier remains an importance question, particularly for administrations of leaders such as Soulouque, Antoine Simon, Salomon, Nord Alexis, Hyppolite, and others. Vodou was also very much a part of the ongoing resistance of the masses to abusive or exploitative authorities through the piquet uprisings (those black anarchists, to paraphrase one source) and the caco resistance to the US Occupation. 

Unsurprisingly, the masses continued to consult their Vodou leaders and further developed the related secret societies, such as the Bizango (named after the Bissagot). Secret societies such as the Bizango operated like a government, providing a measure of security and protection to members against rival Vodou communities or even defending the land and property of peasants in their jurisdiction from avaricious elites or the civil authorities. Amazingly, secret societies like Bizango even issued passports for their members and adopted or adapted titles that display the political history of Haiti. Although the actions and operations of secret societies, which were an outgrowth of colonial-era maroon communities and Vodou, sometimes pursued actions that a modern state would not approve of, Laguerre adopts a reasonable approach that sees their presence as ongoing and necessary in a Haiti without a central government capable of providing the same degree of security to its membership. 

Where Laguerre's study exceptionally shines is the chapters on Saut D'Eau and the "Voodoo church" under the Duvalier dictatorship. Saut D'Eau, first developing as a pilgrimage site due to Fortune Morose seeing the Virgin Mary near today's Ville-Bonheur, was clearly linked to the Soulouque administration's search for a new pilgrimage site and further legitimation for his coronation. Furthermore, the separation of the Dominican Republic made Haitian pilgrimage to Higuey more difficult. Thus, the convenience of developing a pilgrimage site within Haiti itself and one that could be adroitly exploited by Soulouque to justify declaring himself emperor made it more likely for Saut D'Eau to become an important territory in Haiti's spiritual map. In addition, Soulouque, who earlier tried to use apparitions of the Virgin in Port-au-Prince, may have been influenced by the type of popular devotion to the Virgin Mary that was already evident in the band of Romaine the Prophetess as well as Frere Joseph among the piquets. These two religious leaders, one from the era of the Haitian Revolution and the other part of the piquets, both drew upon the Virgin Mary for spiritual succor and justification of their causes. Laguerre does not go into any detail here, but this suggests that the cult of the Virgin Mary was already of some significance in Haitian popular Catholicism and folk belief. Soulouque, by seeking to align himself with it, was able to exploit popular beliefs derived from Catholicism as well as Vodou practices.

Laguerre's real contribution of a detailed overview of pilgrimage at Saut 'Deau is revealing. Damballah, Ayida Wedo, and the Virgin Mary share the space in a characteristically Haitian fashion. The "Voodooists" collect donations, give alms, congregate at the sites associated with Damballah and Ayida Wedo, and will even pay for masses. Other pilgrims focus on the Catholic Church, attending services, giving alms, visiting the area near the tree the Virgin first appeared at, fulfilling vows, and asking for the intercession of Mary. The Catholics and Vodouizan both believe the site is holy and seek miracles, cures, or use the pilgrimage as an opportunity for building community, relationships, or aiding the less fortunate. Residents of Saut D'Eau benefit from the pilgrims renting homes and buying local goods. The gamblers, prostitutes and mendicants congregate in the area to make money, too. Pilgrims coming for spiritual reasons also benefit, or believe they do. Those coming from the same village or town travel together, strengthening bonds and representing friends and family at Saut D'Eau. Ultimately, the pilgrimage tradition affirms the status quo and has been used by Haitian leaders, who send donations, to sustain popular legitimacy. Nonetheless, Saut D'Eau's history and the cult of the Virgin Mary in Haiti can have an anti-establishment dimension.

The other gem in Laguerre's study is the chapter on Vodou and the Duvalier regime. While the Duvaliers, especially Francois, is often remembered as an ethnologist and someone who exploited Vodou for political purposes, Laguerre's explanation of how the regime actually accomplished that is revelatory. Instead of viewing Vodou as completely decentralized, Laguerre argues that it is better to understand Vodou temples as networks. These networks come in different forms, but basically point the prominence of houngans or manbos of central temples which also possess satellites. The satellite temples may not always follow the leadership and guidance of central ones, but they usually do because the central temple may have been led by priests who trained the satellite temple priests. A shrewd politician who understands this could, therefore, increase their political power by focusing on exploiting the priests of central temples. These central temple leaders then, as macoutes, beneficiaries of Duvalier's government, and spies, could greatly increase the likelihood of Duvalier winning more votes or neutralizing centers of opposition. 

The Vodou priests who went along with this process were allowed to continue their practices (although some allegedly incorporated Francois Duvalier himself as a lwa) and, as Tonton Macoutes, protect their own temple network from others while also exploiting their position for status and power. This role of the Vodou priest as a broker, especially in electoral politics, made identifying, coopting, or enforcing the cooperation of central temples a key pillar in the Duvalier regime's rise and longevity. Thus, even though Duvalier himself may have not been a practitioner of Vodou and never gave the "Voodoo church" official status, he (or those in his administration) knew how to "Duvalierize" Vodou as one of the major institutions of the country. Like the Catholic Church and other institutions, the Duvalier dictatorship exploited their understanding of Vodou and Haitian social structure to weaken or eliminate sources of opposition in all corners. It was not his mystical power per se that made this happen, although Duvalier undoubtedly understood how to use that for political ends, that was the basis for Vodou's politicization. Understanding how Duvalier excelled at this to a greater extent than past Haitian political regimes is one of the key elements of the dictatorship. Surely, as admitted by Laguerre, Francois Duvalier's sour relations with the Catholic Church and the ideological currents underpinning noirist and ethnological schools of thought provided a context for this. But how did this process work in rural Haiti, where Laguerre's direct evidence is slighter than that of Port-au-Prince?

Marie the Natchez

Although the fate of the Natchez who made it to Saint Domingue after being sold into slavery is not fully known, some of the survivors do appear in local records of the colony. One case, from the inventory of a deceased planter in 1737, Gilles Bourgouin, lists a Marie priced as 900 livres. This find comes from a Haitian genealogy group on social media, which occasionally shares interesting information, documents, and oral traditions. What is interesting about this case from 1737 is the identification of the enslaved Marie as being of the Natchez nation. She was likely part of the 164 Natchez brought to Le Cap in 1731. Was she a domestic on the habitation of Bourgouin? All we can say is that she was living in Saint Louis du Sud and was around 25 years old in 1737.

Revisiting Sufi Mystics of the Niger Desert

Due to a rekindled interest in the history of Sufism in Kanem and Borno, we decided to revisit H.T. Norris's Sufi Mystics of the Niger Desert. Largely consisting of a translation of the Qudwa (at least part of it likely written in the late 17th century or certainly before the 1800s) with commentary and additional contextual information on Sidi Mahmud al-Baghdadi and the question of Sufism in the region of Air, the study is of great potential importance for understanding how Sufism functioned in the Sahel and Central Sudan. While Sufism in, say, Kanem-Borno, was undoubtedly of greater antiquity than the appearance of Sidi Mahmud in the Air region in the first half of the 16th century, various sources connect the Mahmudiyya with later Islamic scholars, holymen, and mystics in the Central Sudan. For instance, Shehu Uthman dan Fodio, was initiated into Sufism with a silsila that linked to Sidi Mahmud. In addition, Uthman dan Fodio lived for some time in Agadez and was undeniably exposed to those who followed in or were influenced by the "Way" of Sidi Mahmud. Furthermore, Muhammad Bello, whose writings on Air and Mahmud al-Baghdadi bear an uncanny resemblance to the Qudwa, also revered the memory of this Sufi mystic. Moreover, North African sources similarly attest to the far-ranging contacts and influences of the Mahmudiyya and Air Sufism. Shaykh Ahmad al-Yamani, a native of the modern Sudan, visited Air after spending time in Kalumbardo, a Sufi settlement in Borno. According to al-Yamani, who reported on Kalumbardo and the Mahmudiyya in Morocco, reputation of Sufis like Shaykh Ahmad al-Sadiq b. al-Shaykh Uwayis al-Lamtuni was of the highest standing. 

What is particularly useful for our interests, with regard to the Mahmudiyya, is their possible influence on or shared characteristics with Kalumbardo. While Norris suggests Sidi Mahmud had links to Anatolia and the Muslim East in his approach to Sufism, the Qudwa mentions, with some detail, the practices of dhikr, wird, khalwa, discipline, fasting, ritual ablutions, meditation and group prayer and states of ecstasty achieved by members via prayer. Mahmud did not reject fiqh, either, since he saw the need for both fiqh and gnostic, mystical knowledge. However, his pursuit of ma'rifa and importance of his status as a sharif may have been more unique traits of his particular moment, perhaps including the prohibition on taking the lives of animals during retreats, too. According to the Qudwa, the sultan of Agades had Sidi Mahmud executed after jealous jurists convinced him that the Sufi leader posed a threat to his throne. Only after the fact did the Agades Sultan, Ahmad b. Tilzay, discover that Mahmud truly was an ascetic Sufi and sharif. The tale of his martyrdom has not been corroborated by other sources, although writing by Ahmad Baba from the early 1600s suggests that the Mahmudiyya were heretical mytics who believed that the only "Way" was through their own, rejecting some of the main tenets of the Islamic faith.

The Koyam Sufis and ascetics, descendants of the Kalumbardo community dispersed after a Tuareg attack eradicated Shaykh Abdallah al-Burnawi's community, represent an interesting tradition of Islamic mysticism in the Central Sudan. According to Norris, their prayer rituals resemble those of the Mahmudiyya. Moreover, evidence from the Nashr al-Mathani points to contacts between Kalumbardo and the Air mystics. Further, some of the early followers of Sidi Mahmud were Hausa and Fulani, and Tuareg were also known at Kalumbardo. To what extent the Kalumbardo community of Abdallah al-Burnawi was directly linked to the first settlement associated with a Tuareg, al-Jarmiyu, and a Fulani, Waldede, is muddled in Muhammad Bello's account. However, the earlier Kalumbardo community was destroyed by Umar b. Idris of Borno, who had al-Jarmiyu executed while Waldede fled to Bagirmi. If the community led by Shaykh Abdallah al-Burnawi was following similar Sufi practices yet met favor with Ali b. Umar of Borno, then the asceticism and mysticism of the second Kalumbardo community was perhaps similar to that practiced in Air by the Mahmudiyya. 

What is truly amazing then is the vast network of Sufism and its political impact in the Central Sudan. For example, the founder of the Wadai sultanate, said to have studied in Borno and Baghirmi, may have been influenced by Kalumbardo through the Bagirmi center of Bidderi, which included Fulani with ties to the early Kalumbardo settlement suppressed by Umar b. Idris. Shehu al-Kanemi was also said to have had ties to the Koyam, the descendants of the Kalumbardo community led by Abdallah al-Burnawi. Likewise, subsequent Koyam shaykhs, descendants of Abdallah al-Burnawi, were also connected with the Sayfawa dynasty and protecting the frontier of Borno. Of course, ongoing links to Air and Hausaland were also ongoing, providing a possible additional influence on the spread of Sufism in the Hausa kingdoms. While the origins of Sufism in Kanem-Borno surely predate the 16th and 17th centuries, the Mahmudiyya provide a window into how one community may have functioned for centuries in the area. Remarkably, the descendants of Abdallah al-Burnawi persisted into the 20th century, proving themselves to be long-lasting and effective at forging a long-lasting relationship with the Sayfawa. 

Marche des Gibaros

This is a particularly lively and jazzy rendition of Si Me Dan Pasteles, aguinaldo music of Puerto Rico that was the basis for Moreau de Gottschalk's Souvenir de Porto Rico, Marche des Gibaros. The drummer is especially impressive here, breathing vitality into a classic. The clarinetist's solo is also striking, almost sounding like the "jungle" style of older jazz and a bit like Benny Goodman. 

Guaman Poma de Ayala and Peru

The partial English translation of Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala's massive chronicle, translated by Roland Hamilton, is a fascinating read. Although the entirety of the text is not available in English, Hamilton's translation covers the precolonial history of Peru as presented by an indigenous writer to the king of Spain. Unfortunately, the original text probably could have benefited from an editor, but the author bequeathed to posterity an unparalleled intellectual work of indigenous intellectual production in Peru, Latin America and the Americas. As part of the Catholic Indian elite, Guaman Poma's chronicle reflects the contradictory tendencies of colonial indigenous peoples with a foot in both the precolonial past and the colonial present. While he consistently criticized the Spanish colonial regime for its abuses of Indians and the spread of moral, sexual, and criminal vices brought by the Spanish, the author also sought to fix the precolonial past of the Incas into Biblical genealogies and history. 

The Inca, despite bearing responsibility for the spread of idolatry and worship of huacas across Peru, were also responsible for sound laws, a just social order, and a harmonious system in which people knew their place. Furthermore, Guaman Poma came from a provincial family, not Cuzco or the Inca royalty, like El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega. Thus, his view on the pre-conquest Peruvian imperial government reflects a provincial and Christian view of the indigenous past. While simultaneously praising Christianity and expressing admiration for the Spanish monarchy, our chronicler is also presenting the Inca as the upholders of a superior system of justice, despite their idolatry. This ambivalent position of Guaman Poma probably also reflected the interests of his social class as they sought to protect or pursue positions of authority in colonial Peru. By presenting the Inca imperial past as one with a more just arrangement of society, and exaggerating the importance of his own lineage within that system, Guaman Poma was undoubtedly arguing for more power for those like himself in colonial society.

According to Hamilton, the chronicle's structure was likely influenced by quipu, the system of recording information using strings and knots. The translator suggests that Guaman Poma's penchant for long lists to describe the emperors, queens, nobility, age divisions, social classes, and epochs was probably a product of the quipu system. Indeed, this is probably true, since Guaman Poma must have relied on both quipu and oral traditions to construct a narrative of the Inca past. Although this sometimes makes for rather dull reading, some amazing levels of details and narrative elaboration breathes life into ancient rulers and personages of Tawantinsuyu. Despite his own provincial and Catholic biases and the attempt to prolong the history of the Inca imperial line to encompass over 2000 years, Guaman Poma de Ayala's presentation of this past undoubtedly presents it as superior to the corruption and excessive exploitation of the colonial system. Unlike his contemporary society, the Incas suppressed crime, sexual excess and libertinage, promoted virginity and chaste living, protected the poor and disabled, and supported institutions like nunneries. In spite of their idolatry and the alleged origins of the Inca monarchs with a sorceress who married her son, aspects of this past were deemed superior to those of the colonial Spanish and were used for a scathing critique of the the Peru of the late 16th and early 17th centuries. Given the intended audience for Guaman Poma's chronicle, one wonders how he would have written the history of the Incas for local audiences and what a Blas Valera or El Inca Garcilaso would have made of him. 

And last but certainly not least, a possible connection to the Antilles may be evident in some of the customs of Indian populations described by Guaman Poma. Although he sometimes exaggerated the extent of the Inca Empire, even going so far as to claim Panama and Santo Domingo (Hispaniola) were part of it, one interesting custom of burying the dead with gold, silver and coca inserted into the mouth of the deceased stood out. Indeed, some of the most elaborate and precious precolonial Caribbean duhos or stools once featured gold-encrusted mouths. While only one specimen with the gold still intact survives, one wonders if the Taino practice of inserting gold into the mouth of zoomorphic or anthropomorphic faces of duhos could possibly be a remnant of a similar practice with the burial customs of some South American Indians? Instread of doing it for the dead, however, the Taino practiced the same custom for duhos, whose carved faces must have had some religious and spiritual connotations due to the use of duhos for cohoba ceremonies. 

Sirat al-Habasha

E.J. van Donzel's translation of A Yemenite Embassy to Ethiopia 1647-1694: Al-Haymi's Sirat Al- Habasha is an interesting account by a Yemeni traveler to the court of Fasiladas in the 1640s. Although the Yemeni envoy failed since Fasiladas was not actually interested in converting to Islam, his brief account, too vague in some parts, adds another perspective on the diplomatic policy of the Ethiopian ruler (as well as the intrigue and conflict within the royal court). The Ethiopian emperor was only interested in improving the security of the route to the Red Sea port of Baylul, believing that closer relations with Yemen and a regular exchange of envoys would attract more merchants (the Yemeni envoys traveled with soldiers, and the improvement of security along the route could have made Ethiopia less dependent upon Turkish-ruled Massawa. However, the insecurity caused by the Oromo near the route, plus its desolate, desert conditions, inhibited the development of trade via Baylul. Indeed, as explained by van Donzel, the Yemeni imam's success in defeating the Ottoman Turks was likely another reason why Fasiladas was interested in closer relations. Unfortunately, for al-Haymi and the ruler of Yemen, Fasiladas was only interested in trade, and even the hint of a possible conversion sparked opposition from members of the court in Gondar.

Despite the failure of Fasiladas to establish closer ties and increase the significance of the Baylul for Red Sea trade, al-Haymi's account suggests other areas in which the negus was successful. For instance, he was able to neutralize an abuna who was perceived as too powerful (and corrupt), imprisoning him on an island in Lake Tana. His brother, called Claudius by Lobo, was also imprisoned due to the threat of his military leadership. In fact, Fasiladas's full brother was also supposedly sympathetic to the Jesuits and Catholics. Of course, al-Haymi, who saw Fasiladas's leadership fail in instances like the arson committed against his lodgings on more than one occasion or in the way some officials ignored their orders to protect the Yemeni envoys on their return, had a more negative perspective. To him, Fasiladas was said to have been a drunk and unaware of the occurrences in the provinces due to his conniving ministers (who were also accused of corruption, bribery, and oppression). Nonetheless, the ruler was able to establish a royal capital with an impressive royal castle, supposedly built by an Indian. In addition, the royal court was splendidly attired, showing the ostentation and lavish consumption of the Ethiopian elite. Surely these demonstrate the power of the Ethiopian rulers in terms of acquiring luxury goods and the capacity of the Gondar rulers to built monumental architecture. Fasiladas was also able to eliminate possible threats to the throne and avoid plunging the kingdom into further religious conflict or divisions. Furthermore, Fasiladas was able to convert many of the Falasha to Christianity, albeit through violent means. 

In other respects, al-Haymi's account also provides some account of Ethiopia's religious diversity and cosmopolitanism. The Indian architect of the royal castle was said to have built it in an Indian style. The Ethiopian elite used luxury goods like mattresses and silks imported from distant lands, such as India and the Middle East or swords from Sinnar. The Arabic interpreter for the king was a sharif who converted to Christianity and may have come from Bukhara in Central Asia. Even al-Haymi, who lamented the lack of intellectual accomplishment among most Christians, found inquisitive minds among some Christians and Muslims in Gondar. Despite Christian hostility to any local conversion to Islam and the alleged ignorance of the monks, Solomonic Ethiopia under Fasiladas was a cosmopolitan place and well-connected to other powers of the region and beyond. 

Schoelcher and the Jibaro

  

One of the interesting contrasts in the French perception of the jibaro of Puerto Rican can be found in the works of Victor Schoelcher and Adolphe Granier de Cassagnac. Approaching the Caribbean from opposed perspectives on race and slavery, both shared a view of the jibaro as a biological and cultural mestizo with significant indigenous features. However, in the case of Schoelcher, the jibaro's bare subsistence and meager lifestyle demonstrated an example of non-black Caribbean populations languishing economically, socially and politically. In fact, Schoelcher actually visited peasant bohios and collected goods produced by them, meaning he was able to gather more information. Adolphe Granier de Cassagnac, on the other hand, wrote more impressionistically of Puerto Rico's jibaros. To him, they were mestizos who shared the general disdain of blacks found among the red-skinned races. In addition, they were excellent laborers and gladly hunted runaway slaves in the colony. The account of Schoelcher, undoubtedly based on more research and personal experiences with the free peasantry of Puerto Rico, was more perceptive about the nuances of race among the jibaros. After all, included among the jibaro were the pardos who shared a similar culture, suggesting that the free peasantry of partial Amerindian ancestry was very much one that also included people of African origins. Overall, Schoelcher, the abolitionist, probably saw in the racially mixed free population of Puerto Rico an example of non-black Antillean indolence. Indeed, Schoelcher apparently favored attempts by the Spanish governors of the island to coerce the jibaro to work, something similar to post-emancipation apprenticeship programs implemented elsewhere in the Caribbean. Nonetheless, the diametrically opposed interpretations of the jibaro from these two French authors, both writing in the 1840s, illustrates how the personal racial biases of the writer can lead to drastically different conclusions. 

Ethiopia and Alexandria

Stuart C. Munro-Hay's Ethiopia and Alexandria: The Metropolitan Episcopacy of Ethiopia is perhaps somewhat dated but an interesting read. Focusing on relations between the Patriarchate of Alexandria and the Aksumite (then the Zagwe and Solomonic Dynasties) kingdom from Frumentius in the 4th century to Amda Tseyon in the 14th century, Munro-Hay's study illustrates how important our sources on the Patriarchs of Alexandria are for reconstructing Ethiopian (and Nubian) history. While much of the period covered in this book are well-trod and familiar to anyone interested in Aksumite and medieval Ethiopian history, the emphasis on Alexandria's connection to Abyssinia provides a different focus for one of the remarkable relationships of Christian history. Indeed, the very relocation of the Patriarchate of Alexandria to Cairo was, in part, motivated by the easier communication with Nubia and Ethiopia. Moreover, the chronicles and other Coptic, Syriac, Arabic, Greek and Ge'ez sources highlight the international role of the patriarchs as a major force in Egyptian relations with Nubia and Ethiopia during after the Muslim conquest of Egypt. 

Unfortunately, some of the gaps in our knowledge of the later centuries of the Aksumite king and the paucity of clear data and chronologies on the transition from the Aksumite rulers to the Zagwe dynasy are not clarified by the familiar sources on the Coptic Church. Nonetheless, the sources on the patriarchs, the metropolitans they appointed for Ethiopia, and correspondence between Egyptian and Abyssinian rulers do seem to confirm the chronology of the Zagwe dynasty favored by Munro-Hay. Nonetheless,Munro-Hay had to rely on speculation for some of the possible omissions of metropolitans in Ethiopia, the melkite and Jacobite metropolitans, and the legends of Gudit, late Aksumite kings lists, and Ethiopian relations with the Nubian kingdoms. Indeed, it is the relatively unknown nature of relations between the Nubian statea of Makuria and Alwa with Abyssinia that are most interesting. 

While Solomonic rulers like Yekuno Amlak and his son corresponded with the Mamluk sultans of Egypt via a Yemeni ruler as an intermediary, the land route to Egypt, via the Nubians, was an important route. Numerous envoys, metropolitans, and traders traveled through the route, but Nubian-Ethiopian relations are sadly still a topic of conjecture. Makuria and Alwa were also in the position of having local bishops or metropolitans, with the confirmation by the patriarch in Egypt. Surely, one would think Aksumite and later Ethiopian rulers would have also attempted to force the Coptic Church to recognize local metropolitans, too. Yet despite this, the Ethiopian rulers remained dependent on Alexandria to appoint metropolitans who, in turn, ensured local bishops and clergy could be created. In fact, Nubia appeared. to have played a supportive role in helping Abyssinia regain the favor of Alexandria while both Northeast African Christian regions also saw themselves as supporters of the Christian communities of Egypt. In fact, a perhaps large number of Copts even fled to Nubia and Ethiopia to escape Muslim persecutions. This long-standing history of Christianity in the northeast corner of Africa is a story that, one day, should be told in a way that fully connects Copts, Nubians, and Ethiopians. 

Acaau of Les Cayes

Although we were hoping to trace the roots of the Piquet leader, Acaau, deeper into the colonial era or back to Africa, we did find a few instances in which his name appeared in the civil registry of Les Cayes, available at the Family Search site. According to the above document, registering the birth of a fille naturelle in the 1830s, Acaau was already a sous-lieutenant of the district's rural police. This position must have prepared him well for his future role as a leader of the rural population in the area in the 1840s. He was already known and had some authority. 

From another birth record for Acaau's child, we learn he had a brother, Gil Acaau. Unfortunately, I was unable to find any Caroline Acaau, but the birth records at least tell us that the famous leader had a brother. According to Madiou, Acaau was literate, which one can see in the signature in one of the birth records. Either way, it is interesting to have a very limited glimpse of Acaau before his (in)famous movement in the 1840s. 

Gods of the Andes

Sabine Hyland's translation of an important text by Blas Valera is very interesting for those interested in the Inca past. Blas Valera, a mestizo Jesuit, was a fervent believer in the study and use of indigenous languages to effectively serve and convert indigenous communities in Peru. Unfortunately, he perhaps went too far in the eyes of the Jesuit leadership and other religious orders. According to Hyland's introductory essay, Blas Valera was comparable to missionaries like Roberto Mobili, endorsing inculturation as the best path for converting people from different cultures. While this is not immediately apparent in this text, which mostly translates Relación de las costumbres antiguas de los naturales del Pirú. Essentially, Valera's pro-Indian views and his sympathetic portrayal of aspects of indigenous religion and spirituality were too heretical and eventually led to his incarceration and later removal to Spain. Sadly, much of his great manuscript on the history of Peru was lost during an English attack against Cadiz. But our old friend El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, also a mestizo, found fragments of Valera's text and incorporated his data into the Los comentarios reales. 

The connection with El Inca Garcilaso is where Valera's influence seems especially profound. Although El Inca was from the old Cuzco elite via his mother's family, and could draw on oral history gathered through these relatives, Blas Valera had traveled across the colony and was able to gather information and observations from a variety of communities. Like El Inca, he was also a fluent speaker of Quechua but was able to use his linguistic skills to work among more indigenous communities. After reading the brief text translated here by Hyland, it becomes immediately apparent that much of the framework adopted by El Inca Garcilaso was based on Valera. Like Valera, he stressed the absence of human sacrifice in Inca religion and praised the strict laws and benevolent justice of the Inca imperial system. Moreover, Garcilaso also saw aspects of Christianity in Inca belief, almost portraying the indigenous religion as establishing the path for the true religion of Christianity brought by the conquest. This can be seen in the way Garcilaso stressed the sun cult as the main religion of the Inca, which was heavily supported and/or imposed across the Empire. One can see elements of a similar admiration of Andean religious beliefs in Blas Valera, who, despite the various superstitions and idolatries of the natives, also found admirable qualities such as the practice of making confessions and the various convents for nuns, or aclla. Of course, the two authors differed on the case of Atahuallpa, with Valera praising him and El Inca seeing him as an illegitimate, violent ruler who eradicated many elites in Cuzco.

The main importance of Blas Valera, besides his detailed account of Andean religious beliefs as he saw in the late 16th century, was his careful use of khipus and oral traditions to construct a history of the Inca. Indeed, unlike El Inca Garcilaso, Valera referenced various khipu and specialists in their interpretation for data on religious and political history. Naturally, this meant khipu could be used to record more than numerical data for censuses or supplies. Indeed, Valera references them for the history of religious practices as well as the history of political rulers. Khipu, to him, were as valid as other sources of information, like written accounts in European languages or oral traditions as reported to him by indigenous people. Why, for instance, El Inca Garcilaso only saw khipu as useful for recording numerical data and occasionally as mnemonic devices for speeches, may have been based on the different experiences of the two mestizos. Furthermore, Garcilaso left Peru while still relatively young and admitted to not inquiring into certain customs whereas Valera spent more time in Peru. This must also have been a source for Valera on some of the events that transpired during the Incan imperial period as well as pre-Inca rulers. These khipu were able to record, for example, the disputation of Amaro Toco, an amauta from the era of Inca rule. They were also references for information on the history of the convents for virgins. If only Valera's magnum opus was not lost, perhaps there could be even more information on how khipu were used to record historical and biographical data. 

Voyage to Wadai

Traveler al-Tunisi's Voyage au Ouadây is the sequel of sorts to his earlier narrative on his travels through the Darfur Sultanate. Even more extended and featuring additional tangents and chapters on his traversing of the Sahara, al-Tunisi's account provides detailed informaton about a pivotal era in the history of the Sudanic region (and Tripoli). Traveling to Wadai during the reign of Sabun, who opened another route for trans-Saharan trade to Benghazi, al-Tunisi personally witnessed (or heard via his father and others) the exploits of Wadai's victory against Baghirmi. In addition, al-Tunisi witnessed the last days of the Awlad Muhammad sultanate in the Fezzan, some of the career of Yusuf Qaramanli in Tripoli, and stories of the decline of Borno via jihad of Zaky (Uthman dan Fodio). Thus, al-Tunisi's travels and anecdotes captured a significant moment in the history of the Sudanic region as major figures like Sabun, Yusuf Qaramanli, al-Kanemi, and Uthman dan Fodio reshaped the economic, social, and political landscape of much of Africa. Indeed, through his experience in Egypt and witnessing the reforms of Muhammad Ali, one can even include Egypt and the Sudan as part of this era of momentous change which significantly impacted the Sudanic areas.

A native of Borno who studied at al-Azhar in Cairo.

Undoubtedly, the major importance of this work is the overview of the kingdom of Wadai. Probably founded sometime in the early 1600s, al-Tunisi reported some of the traditions of its origins. Claiming Abbasid origins and other traditions, Wadai's first ruler united the region and established a tradition in which successors could only be born to mothers from 5 privileged tribes. Moreover, the sultans of Kordofan, Darfur, and Waday purportedly shared a common origin, which could be a reflection of the previous political history before the 17th century. While, sadly, the people of Wadai and Darfur, to al-Tunisi's knowledge, did not write or keep chronicles of their history, he was able to write a brief summary of the history of Wadai's sultans before Sabun. Indeed, it was clearly one in which conflicts with the Keira sultans of Darfur were frequent. Darfur's rulers intervened in the affairs of Waday while those of Wadai attempted to do the same in the other country. In fact, before al-Tunisi's arrival in Wadai, conflicts with Dar Tamah, the mountainous region subject to Darfur that stood between the kingdoms, were supposedly fueled by the Fur sultan's interest in weakening Darfur. However, neither kingdom could truly subjugate the other. Perhaps the vast distances and relatively equal military forces (despite Waday's troops being braver) lowered the chances of success. However, after Sabun's death under mysterious circumstances (was he killed by cow thieves or did he die from illness), one of his brothers later seized the throne with the aid of Darfur, pledging to pay tribute. That brother, however, was able to relatively easily take power due to internal divisions and a recent plague that struck the kingdom. Needless to say, he was able to easily enough throw off the yoke of tribute to Darfur. 

The major area of focus for al-Tunisi, of course, was the piety and brilliance of Sabun. Intriguingly, he personally was not well-treated by Sabun. Blaming it on a Moroccan sharif who abused his position and influence in Wadai's court, al-Tunisi was not the recipient of the totality of Sabun's largesse. Instead, it was the privileged position of al-Tunisi's father, who served as an advisor to the sultan, which seems to have accounted for the high praise of our author. His father, who received land grants, gifts, and helped in some of Sabun's campaigns (including the violent one which denuded Tamah of crops), must have told his son of some of the brilliance and piety of Sabun. According to our author, Sabun vanquished injustice, centralized administration (by shortening terms of service for administrators and using others to spy on them), welcomed ulama and Islamic holymen, and engaged in just campaigns against the incestuous, violent mbang Ahmad of Bagirmi. Furthermore, Sabun revealed himself as a reformer and visionary, planning to create coinage (a plan he was persuaded not to pursue by his court), open new trade routes to the Magreb to decrease his dependence on the Fazzan, and employ firearms with slaves especially trained in their use. While some of Sabun's reforms and visions did not materialize, he was able to, despite the significant loss of lives, open a new trans-Saharan trade route, expand Wadai's influence in Bagirmi and make Wadai one of the strongest kingdoms of the Bilad al-Sudan. The story of his rise was also an admirable one, relying on cunning and careful planning to outmaneuver his brothers. Sadly, after his death, Wadai witnessed a series of ineffective or corrupt rulers who disputed the throne until a brother of Sabun returned decades later. 

One of the most interesting chapters of al-Tunisi's voyage tells the tale of the conquest of Bagirmi, a major kingdom once tributary to Borno. Unlike other sources, claiming Sabun of Wadai only invaded Bagirmi upon the request of a (weakened?) Borno, al-Tunisi places all the blame on mbang Ahmad. Ahmad was so perverse he married his half-sister, ignoring the wishes of the ulama and Islamic law. Then he went so far as to lust after his daughter! Meanwhile, his fetcha was busy raiding Wadai territory despite several peaceful letters from Sabun. To provide even further justification, ulama in Bagirmi allegedly wrote to Wadai asking for intervention from the tyranny, corruption, and perversity of the mbang. Unsurprisingly, after the raids on Wadai territory continued unabated, and the alleged corruption of Bagirmi's ruler descended into further degeneracy, Sabun launched a campaign. Sabun's troops continued their advance onto Massenya while the mbang pretended his troops could handle the invasion and there was no immediate threat. By the end of the campaign, Bagirmi's mbang was killed in battle, Massenya was sacked (the treasury of the mbang supposedly had the equivalent of more than 200,000 francs) and pillaged (including the enslavement and rape of several inhabitants) and Sabun placed another member of the royal family on the throne. Unfortunately, a son of the previous mbang and his fetcha continued to resist Wadai, fleeing to Kotoko and then plotting against the king placed on the throne by Wadai. After more campaigns, Sabun agreed to allow this prince to become the new mbang of Bagirmi, with an agreement to pay a lowered annual tribute to Wadai. The effects of this campaign were such that the price of slaves decreased and a number of Bagirmi subjects ended up in Wadai. 

Photo from Lebuef's Ouara, Ville Perdue.

For significantly increasing the size of the kingdom, welcoming Islamic scholars, and opening new trade routes, and combating corruption and tyrannical officials in his kingdom, Sabun was compared to Muhammad Ali of Egypt. While the comparison was probably just in some regards, Sabun's reign was perhaps too brief to consolidate all of his achievements for subsequent rulers. Nonetheless, al-Tunis's description of the customs and cultures of Wadai and the the rest of the Sudan (Black Africa) are occasionally fascinating and problematic. As in his book on Darfur, one can occasionally detect ethnocentric biases. Indeed, the depiction of the sexual and marital practices of Wadaians may reflect a belief in the lasciviousness of black Africans. The pagan populations to the south of the Muslim Sudanic states, naturally, are beyond the pale in terms of civilization and culture. Pagans who do not possess any law, they were also decentralized and did not unite when it would have been feasible to do so against the Muslim raiders to their north. But al-Tunisi was not so biased as to not recognize great talent in the artisanry of some weapons and tools produced by the southerners, the Fertity, Kirdaouy, and others. In addition, his account of the operation of Darfur slaving expeditions, very distinct from those of Wadai in that they were operated by private individuals with a firman from the sultan, illustrates how easily tributary pagan populations to the south could be victims of raids as well as benefit from the slaving expeditions. Some of these Darfur expeditions penetrated deep into the heart of Africa, with one 18th century group allegedly reaching a vast river with people who looked like Indians (this is not explained in the text). This deeper penetration of the African interior from the North is interesting in light of the deeper penetrating of slave trading from the Indian Ocean to the east as well as the ongoing slave trade to the Atlantic World.

Besides his general commentary on the military, administrative, religious, and marital customs of Darfur and Wadai, al-Tunisi also applied a theory of Ibn Khaldun to explain the decline of Borno under the Sayfawa. According to him, the forces of Zaky (dan Fodio) were initially so successful against the Bornoans due to the latter's customs of luxury and comfort. Becoming too comfortable and attached to their luxuries, the Bornoans were no longer able to field the type of brave resistance necessary against their opponents. Consequently, they required the aid of the al-Kanemi, mistakenly represented as the alifa of Kanem, to defeat the Fulani and liberate Birni Gazargamo. Unfortunately, al-Tunisi never personally traveled to Borno. But his father and other informants did, one source even reporting that the soldiers of Borno were such cowards that they mistook a flock of ostriches from afar for the vast army of their foes. The frightened Borno soldiers then were ready to turn around and flee. While the reality of Borno in this phase was more complex and al-Tunisi did not have enough information, it is possible his testimony reflects a shift in the Sayfawa dynasty's basis of power. Instead of pure military force, which likely retained importance, the Sayfawa mais may have relied more on their perceived spiritual and religious authority. One wishes al-Tunisi had been able to gather more information on Borno in the early 19th century instead of reporting a few anecdotes and commenting on the treatment of his father who was robbed there due to the ongoing conflict with Bagirmi. 

Overall, al-Tunisi's two-part travelogue is a fascinating account of much of the Sudanic belt of Africa in the early 19th century. His numerous tangents are occasionally delightful treats to information about various topics. For instance, the pretensions of Tubu Rechad "sultans" who take advantage of their desert setting to repeatedly demand gifts from travelers. Or, for instance, finally returning to Tunis only to have his father steal his money while taking a bath! Then the ordeal with his uncle when he endeavored to collect the goods and inheritance of his father, who passed away during his final trip to Waday. Our traveler experienced a number of setbacks and wonders, including people stealing his water while crossing the Sahara and being saved by a devout, faithful slave. He even experienced the perils of internal discord and war in the Regency of Tripoli when the Awlad Sulayman rebelled against Yusuf Qaramanli. The poor traveler even had to bear the risk of traveling with goods of Yusuf Qaramanli overland. One only wishes al-Tunisi and Perron had collaborated on an account of his experiences after his travels to Black Africa, such as the wars over Greek independence and events in Egypt after his final return to Cairo.