Lugé Sucrerie Workforce

Whilst perusing a short article by Gabriel Debien, again, we encountered some pretty remarkable tables on the bossales in Saint Domingue's plantations in the Arcahaie and Saint-Marc areas. One of the very large sugar plantations near Montrouis held 317 enslaved people in c. 1783, almost half Creoles. Nonetheless, it is remarkable to see the degree to which the captive African population there drew from all sources of slaves in the French colony. One can see "Mozambiques" from southeastern Africa, Hausas from the Central Sudan, a large number of Congos, and a variety of peoples likely purchased from the Slave Coast. Interestingly, this part of Saint Domingue was not noted for a large Igbo population, so the Ibos were not as numerous as one might think. Debien's short article, "De l'Afrique a Saint Domingue" includes multiple tables showing the breakdown by "nation" and gender for enslaved people held in the Nord, Arcahaie, and Leogane areas. 

Ghana, Togo and Benin

Although our Haitian parent shares a Ga DNA match with me, suggesting an identical by descent relationship, we wonder if we are matching these Ga from Ghana via their Benin & Togo marked chromosome segments or via what Ancestry refers to as "Ivory Coast and Ghana." We suspect part of the reason for matches with Ga from southern Ghana is their genetic overlaps and historical interactions with the Ewe and peoples to the east, a major source of the Haitian people's ethnogenesis (the Slave Coast).

We were able to check on Gedmatch for a Ga person (judging by their surname, suggesting roots in the Ada region) who matched our parent, and compared the shared DNA segment to the label assigned to Chromosome 18 from Ancestry (with the help of the DNA Painter tool). Well, it turns out this Ghaianain person's shared segment with our parent falls under the Benin and Togo-marked segment. We wonder if it is similar for the other Ga we matched with, all of whom had very high Benin and Togo estimates. As for the Ga in Saint-Domingue, Geggus has described them as being lumped into the Coromantees (Cramanti in the Saint Dominguan press) category with the Akan. If one of our ancestral regions, Bainet, was partly supplied in captives by British smugglers, then the "Coromantees" were definitely present in the Jacmel Quartier, perhaps under the more frequent name of Mine (Mina). What makes things more confusing is the broad use by the French of the term Gold Coast, likely overlapping with the Slave Coast trade and perhaps bringing in Ga and Ewe groups from southeastern Ghana to French ships there, too. Descourtilz even mentioned the Ga peoples of "Acra" in a short chapter of one of his books on the African "nations" of Saint Domingue. There they were, unsurprisingly, lumped in with Akan groups.

Interestingly, our mother matched a Mandinka person from Sierra Leone on a segment of Chromosome 2 marked Ivory Coast & Ghana. We would love to know which populations were used for the reference panel for that area, although it is no surprise if someone from Sierra Leone might have similar DNA to some of the groups in Ivory Coast and Ghana. However, at least her match with a Congolese person did fall on a segment assigned to "Western Bantu Peoples" even if the specific match is not from one of the ethnic groups present in colonial Haiti. 

Updated 23andme African DNA Matches

With all of the problems at 23andme, we wanted to do a more thorough search of our Haitian parent's African matches as soon as possible. Thus, the table able represents our attempt to tally the number of matches she has based on a search from two days ago. We suspect more matches ("DNA Relatives") will disappear since they are deleting their data from the site. However, we were able to find 16 African matches. Fortunately, some even included basic data about the birthplace of their grandparents, which helped us to clarify their possible ethnic origins. Unsurprisingly, they are overwhelmingly West Africans, with obvious Nigerians more than half of the total. 

Immediately, one is struck by the number of matches to southeastern Nigerian groups (Igbo and possibly Ibibio) and the paucity of Yoruba. Unlike her Ancestry DNA matches, our Haitian parent only has 1 unambiguous Yoruba match here (someone whose name might indicate an Islamic background, too). Despite sharing more DNA with the lone Yoruba than most of the others, it is quite interesting to see so few of this ethnic group on 23andme among her matches. We are not sure if that is due to the lack of a Benin & Togo category in which Yoruba groups overlap more frequently with Haitians through shared ancestry in the Bight of Benin? Either way, 23andme is picking up on closer genetic ties to the Igbo and groups in southeastern Nigeria, including what appears to be Ibibio or Efik (our parent's largest matches, at 0.54% shared DNA). This ancestral tie to southeastern Nigeria is also suggested by her 7 matches to Igbos on Ancestry as well as her shared 29 cM of DNA with an Igbo on that site. Indeed, the only ethnolinguistic group specified in her 23andme Ancestry Composition report was also the Igbo. Seeing a closer match to the Ibibio or Efik, however, suggests ties to other groups in southeastern Nigeria, too. 

Besides the obvious Igbo and southeastern Nigeria-related ancestry implied here, one can also see Central African represented by two individuals with roots in Congo. According to my limited understanding of Congolese surnames, these two individuals may be of Luba or Lunda origins. So far, we have yet to uncover any particularly close matches to Central Africans. The more obvious suspects for Congolese and Central African ancestry in Haiti would be groups from or near the Kikongo-speaking peoples, but they are likely not represented well among customers of 23andme and Ancestry. A quick perusal of the varieties of Central African captives imported into colonial Saint Domingue, however, would likely include groups from inner regions of Central Africa, too.  

Moving on to Ghana, one finds here yet another Ga match! Our parent had 2 Ga DNA matches on Ancestry, although both of those had elevated levels of "Benin & Togo" estimates. Here, the Ga match is someone with all 4 grandparents from the Accra. Their "Nigeria" score was only 17.4%, but that may be the algorithm's attempts to capture the ancestry of people from eastern Ghana to Benin. The Ga-Adangbe were likely represented among the captives in Saint Domingue, too. Perhaps they were under the label of "Mina" ("Mine" in some of the colonial Haitian documentation) or mixed with other groups from the Bight of Benin and Gold Coast. One of our few shared DNA matches was actually with another Ga person on Ancestry, making us think that a meaningful link with this area is possible. 

As for her two Fulani matches, these are almost certainly due to shared, non-Fulani ancestry in Upper Guinea .The two Fulanis, who both possess typical Fulani surnames, also have elevated Senegambian & Guinean ancestry (as well as minor North African) that clearly establish their origin. We suspect they are from Mali, Guinea, Sierra Leone or, in one case, possibly from Nigeria (an assumption based on their 7.6% Nigerian estimate). Since our parent had one DNA match with a Mandinka from Sierra Leone on Ancestry, we would not be surprised if the matches with the two Fulanis might stem from a Mandinka-related shared ancestry (or, perhaps, Senegambian or Malian, which could be inferred from the high numbers of "Bambara" and "Mandingues" in colonial Haiti). Of course we are merely speculating here, but we suspect that shared ancestry with the Fulani via actual Fulani ancestry would have led to more matches from this group. After all, they seem to be more heavily represented among West Africans using DNA testing services like Ancestry or 23andme. 

Last, but certainly not least, the two Liberian matches. One, based on surnames, is at least partly Vai in origin with some grandparents from the Cape Mesurado area. Our parent shares the most DNA with this Liberian (besides Igbo or southeastern Nigerians) who appears to be of Vai ancestry. In Saint Domingue, groups from parts of Liberia were known as Miserables, Canga and other terms. We would love to find more matches from Liberia and Sierra Leone to fully explore the possible ancestral ties to this area.

Overall, the 23andme matches are consistent with the largely Lower Guinea ancestry of our parent. Unfortunately, the ancestral ties to the Bight of Benin are not so easily seen here in her matches, but a link to the slave trade from the Bight of Biafra is very clear. As to be expected, the lower numbers of African customers from Benin, Central Africa, and Upper Guinea limits the data and analysis, but it is largely consistent with her 23andme Ancestry Composition. It also, by and large, is in accord with the general pattern of her Ancestry matches.

Yoruba Matches

Looking at our Haitian parent's Yoruba matches is also interesting. Many of these matches received Haiti in their journey on Ancestry, probably since Ancestry uses Yoruba samples for both the Benin/Togo and Nigeria regions, both areas being major sources of the Haitian people's ethnogenesis. Of course, the Yoruba (known as "Nago" in Saint-Domingue) were present in our colonial period, too. But their numbers were usually smaller than those of the "Arada" and various other peoples sold to Europeans along the Bight of Benin. Of course, actual Yoruba ancestry among Haitians is still likely, though we assume many of these matches are not identical by descent ones. It is likely many are due to the genetic and ethnolinguistic overlap between Benin and Nigeria, as well as historical migrations, military conflicts (think Dahomey and Oyo, or Allada and Ouidah), and cultural influences that brought various peoples together. For instance, the prestige of the Yoruba language in Allada, according to European reports, or the spread of Ifa divination into Benin attests to long-standing cross-cultural ties and interactions between the Yoruba and the other peoples of Benin. In other words, the various peoples brought to Saint Domingue during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade included peoples we nowadays refer to as Fon, Ewe, Adja, Yoruba and, in smaller numbers, the Bariba, Nupe, Hausa, and others. In the Haitian case, oral traditions and the Vodou religion sometimes include very specific references to groups like the Gedevi or a pantheon of spirits or deities associated with different peoples or regions of Benin and southwestern Nigeria. 

What is most striking here is the very high Benin & Togo score for the closest match, at 16 cM shared on one segment. This Yoruba person, whose last name is common enough among that group, appears to be from Nigeria. Nonetheless, their high Benin & Togo score suggests that they very well could have ancestry from Yoruba groups in or near Benin rather than Nigeria. Other possibilities exist, too, but we suspect their match with or parent is based on Benin & Togo (our parent's estimate is 27%). Of course, the next largest Yoruba matches was with someone who only received an estimate of 16% for Benin & Togo and another at 39%, so the possible ways of being related here are complex. Note how one person, whose surname is Yoruba but may be of multiethnic background, received no Benin & Togo in her results. All but one of these persons, however, did receive some minor estimate for the largely useless "Yorubaland" category (our parent also has an estimate of 1% for this dubious region). 

As for our own feeble attempt to track down Yoruba matches, I only found 2. However, like those of my parent, they both have substantial Benin and Togo estimates (35% and 36%). Since our own Benin and Togo estimate (15%) is much higher than our "Nigeria" category and my Haitian origin, I suspect these matches are via the Benin and Togo region. Sadly, I could not find a Yoruba match shared by myself and my parent, but we do share a match with a Ghanaian person whose results indicate a largely "Benin & Togo" estimate. Our hope is to one day find more testers with roots in Benin and Togo to compare our results to. 

Shared African Matches

Since we have been perusing African matches on Ancestry again, we couldn't help but notice that I only share a handful of the same with my Haitian parent, the source of most of my sub-Saharan African ancestry. While we generally shared matches with the same regions of West Africa, we rarely shared the same individuals. Often, however, they were Yorubas who received Haiti as a Journey. Their last names and the predictable mixture of "Nigeria" and "Benin & Togo" in their admixture results are usually a dead give away of this. However, looking at our shared matches might give us more probably identical by descent matches, or perhaps more specific ones. 

First, we both shared 10 cM and 11 cM across 1 segment with someone from Ghana. Based on their last name, a Ga origin is probable. However, that Ghanaian match was only 28% Ivory Coast & Ghana in his admixture results, a pattern Tracing African Roots has demonstrated to be more common for Ewe. Thus, we highly suspect this person has Ewe origins. The Ewe of Ghana overlap with those of Togo and, thus, Benin. Of course, we could also share DNA with this person through their Ivory Coast/Ghana estimate. For example, our parent has another Ga-Dangme match on 23andme. All of his grandparents are identified as Accra natives and his surname suggests Ga-Dangme origins. Our parent even has another Ga match on Ancestry, with 8 cM shared DNA. This Ga's results included a 34% Benin & Togo estimate.

The next shared match was a big surprise. It was an African DNA match that I missed previously. And it is to a woman from Cameroon (estimated 95% Cameroon results). Her last name is also common in Congo, but her low Western Bantu score leads me to think she hails from a Cameroon ethnic group, likely the Bamileke. According to a Cameroonian friend, our match's surname is specific to western Cameroon. Since areas of Cameroon sent captives to the Biafran coast, perhaps some Haitians do harbor distant Bamileke or Cameroonian origins. Intriguingly, the Cameroonian match is supposedly from our parent's maternal side.

Perhaps even more baffling is our shared match with a person with roots in Sierra Leone and Nigeria. Judging by their admixture results and surnames, we assume one parent is of Temne extraction while the other may be Edo or Urhobo. I assume our shared ancestry in Nigeria is more likely than Sierra Leone Temne peoples to explain the match, but more information is needed to reach any conclusion. Indeed, this person may have some Fulani ancestry, too, if their trace North Africa estimate and Senegal estimate are any indication.

Finally, the Igbo connection. This one always struck us as clear based on the documented presence of a large Igbo population among the captives in colonial Haiti's South. Similarly, the only close African DNA matches for both myself and our Haitian parent was with an Igbo from Nigeria. Furthermore, our parent's 23andme results also identified the Igbo and Southeastern Nigeria as a close match. Igbo ancestry (as well as other Nigerian lineages) are undoubtedly part of our origins.

North African Ancestry in the (Spanish) Caribbean

Although our North African ancestry estimates (based on Ancestry DNA's results) are low (1% now, but 2% before the update), it was interesting to see that we have DNA matches with actual North Africans. In addition, we also matched three people of Jewish origin who share North African ancestry (but lacked Spain and Portugal). This does support the idea of inherited North African/Berber origin inherited through our Hispanic side (via the Spanish Caribbean). In our case, this could be via the Canary Islands and the Iberian Peninsula, although we have not yet documented any Canary Island ancestry which might explain our North African admixture. In fact, it could just as likely be a result of the early Iberian population in Puerto Rico including more people who harbored North African ancestry in the 1500s and 1600s. Or, perhaps, the presence of "esclavas blancas" and other captives of morisco and/or North African descent brought to the Spanish Caribbean in the 1500s may have introduced another avenue for North African ancestry. 

Looking at our specific matches with North Africans (and Sephardic Jews, or their descendants, who matched us based on Northern Africa in Ancestry DNA's Compare Regions feature) we suspect a closer tie to the Maghreb rather than Guanches of the Canary Islands. This, however, is just a supposition based on our slightly closer shared cM of DNA with people of Sephardic ancestry. However, for transparency's sake, there is a small chance three of the North Africans we matched with could be the result of shared West African ancestry. One of them, North Africa 2, actually received 4% North-Central Nigeria, 2% Senegal, and 1% Yorubaland in the latest update. Therefore, there is a tiny chance we matched him via his small West African ancestry. Likewise, North Africa 3 harbored even more West African ancestry (20% Senegal, 7% Mali, 3% Yorubaland). Again, North Africa 4 also had West African ancestry (Senegal, Mali, Benin/Togo, and Yorubaland) so there's a small chance we are a DNA match via West Africa. Likewise, our shared 11 cM with North Africa 6 could also be due to their trace amounts of Spain, Portugal and Sardinia, each at 1%, in their estimated results. Anyway, if Ancestry one day allows its users to see exactly where on the chromosome they align with their matches, I could confirm it is via shared Northern African DNA that I match these two. Nonetheless, the match of 8 cM with North Africa 1, whose results are 99% Northern Africa, are indicative of a North African ancestry. In fact, North Africa 1's surname indicates a possible Berber background. 

To make sense of the matches with Jews, who, according to Ancestry, only share Northern Africa with me as a region, complicates things. With one of them, who we are calling Jewish 2, he is actually only 7% Sephardic Jewish. He is overwhelmingly of Askenazi Jewish origin (more than 80%), yet we share 9 cM and the only common region on Ancestry is Northern Africa. The other case, Jewish 1, is a slightly closer match (10 cM). Like Jewish 2, he has no Spain or Portugal in his ethnicity estimates, but a 1% Northern Africa. However, he is 39% Sephardic Jewish (plus 26% Ashkenazi). Jewish 3 harbored even more Northern Africa ancestry according to her estimates, but we only share 9 cM. Jewish 3, however, is 43% Sephardic Jewish. We find it interesting that our closer North African matches are often with Jews, perhaps hinting at shared mutual ancestry that goes back in time to medieval Iberia and North Africa. In fact, Jewish 4, who appears to hail from the same family as Jewish 1, was another distant DNA relative. Indeed, through the paper trail, we suspect some distant ancestors were Jews who converted to Catholicism. In fact, we have 3 additional distant matches with Jews on Ancestry who appear to be of (at least partial) Sephardic ancestry, but not always showing Northern Africa and/or the Iberian peninsula regions in their admixture results. 

Of course, to actually confirm this would require using chromosome painter and a more extensive search for potentially bigger matches (8-10 cM is still small and there's a chance for false positives). It would also be worthwhile to compare results on Gedmatch to ancient DNA samples from North Africa or with Guanches from the Canary Islands. Alas, the closest we have come to that is the sub-par Hunter-Gatherer estimate on Illustrative DNA, which assigned us 1.6% North Africa. These are the next steps, particularly for making sense of how North African ancestry is part of the story of not only Spain, but Latin America. 

Miscelánea Antártica

Although this is far from ideal, one can get the gist of Miguel Cabello de Balboa's chronicle of the Incas in a 19th century French translation. Completed by Ternaux Compans in the 1840s, the partial translation covers the chapters pertinent to the Incas, omitting most of the large chronicle's chapters on various other topics. Obviously, we would prefer to read the entire work. But, reading 16th century Spanish chronicles is harder than 19th century French translations. Despite this less than ideal context for reading Cabello de Balboa, one is struck by some of the differences in how this chronicler approached the past of the Incas.

First, Miguel Cabello de Balboa drew from a lost work by Cristobal de Molina and his own sources. Some of these sources seem to reflect greater familiarity with the coastal regions of Peru and Ecuador rather than Cuzco. This means that Miscelánea Antártica may be useful for reconstructing the general narrative of Inca history written by Molina. It also adds a little more knowledge of the Chimu, Lambayeque and other coastal or plain areas, including stories and traditions of the rotation of rulers in the Lambayeque valley and what happened to descendants of the ruling class there. Alas, we do not have anything akin to a detailed chronicle of Chimu or the coastal dynasties, but it shows how the power emanating from the coast was growing at the same time as that of the Incas in Cuzco. Migration to and fro between the coast and the highlands has also been an ongoing factor that must have impacted the relationship between yungas and highlanders in many ways not explored in this chronicle.

Even in his account of the rise of the Inca rulers at Cuzco, Cabello de Balboa differs from others. The early Inca rulers, as one might surmise, left Pacaritambo but it took generations before their power was felt beyond the Cuzco valley. With the rise of Pachacuti, the empire truly took shape. Hailed as a reformer, conqueror, able administrator, and the man who dethroned his father, our chronicler seems to mix him up with his son, Topa Inca. The familiar story of the rise of the Incas under these two into a formidable empire is here, but one gets a sense of just how unstable things could be with the rapid growth of empire. For instance, a plot against Topa Inca by his brother, Topa Capac, threatened the former's reign. Succession crises were also common, as Topa Inca was said to have preferred his bastard son, Capac Guari, to succeed. However, Huayna Capac and his mother resisted this move and went so far as to accuse the mother of the bastard heir of poisoning Topa Inca! Even regents could be a threat to young rulers, as Huayna Capac's regent, Apoc-Gualpaya, sought to seize the throne from him, too! Even during his campaigns against the Caranguis, the orejones warriors revolted due to their poor treatment by Huayna Capac after their shameful retreat. It required the miraculous story of the mother of Huayna Capac's speech and intervention (plus generous gifts and supplies of food from Huayna Capac) to restore the loyalty of orejon troops. One might add that these were troops from Cuzco, too, not warriors gathered from the provinces. In light of the fratricidal conflict between Atahualpa and Huascar on the eve of the Spanish conquest, it was perhaps very common for conflict over succession or the throne to occur in a context where the Empire grew so rapidly over a short century. 

The rest of Cabello Balboa's observations on the Incas are occasionally interesting. Thrusting a love story here or there, for example, might be an example of how his Inca informants combined engaging personal narratives with history. He also was very negative in his evaluation of Huascar. The latter is depicted as a brutal tyrant without any real military leadership ability. Atahualpa, on the other hand, gives a stirring speech in which he justifies his conflict over the throne as a defense of the rights of his supporters. Atahualpa's troops committed atrocities too, yet Cabello de Balboa's chronicle (or his sources) appear to have been pro-Atahualpa. Some of the other observations made in the chronicle are a reference to the use of khipu to "record" a will (the testament of Huayna Capac) and the maritime voyages of Topa Inca to two mysterious islands in the Pacific.

Child Population of Indians in Hispaniola (c.1514)

Using the total numbers in Arranz Marquez's breakdown of the 1514 repartimiento of Hispaniola, one can easily find numbers for the child population of the island. According to Arranz Marquez, only 6.1% out of the total population of 26,189 were children (1,600). Out of that Indian child population, slightly over 1/3 were assigned to encomenderos in the Santo Domingo region. This was followed by La Conception, San Juan de la Maguana, and Santiago. Clearly, the indigenous population of the island was not prospering since most areas had very small child populations. However, one must keep in mind that the Indians enumerated in 1514 were not the total population of the island. Thus, many areas probably contained hidden communities whose members are not likely counted here. Nonetheless, it is interesting to note how the only areas with sizable (around 100 or more) child populations in western Hispaniola were Salvatierra de la Sabana and Vera Paz, areas built on the ruins of the cacicazgos of Xaragua and Hanyguayaba. Xaragua likely once held a much larger proportion of the indigenous population of the island in 1492. Indeed, it may have even grown demographically before its conquest as some Indians from the eastern part of the island may have sought refuge there before Ovando destroyed it. 

Hanyguayaba Cacicazgo of Hispaniola

One area we wish to learn more about is the Hanyguayaba Cacicazgo of Haiti's Southwest. An important node near the "anus" of the living animal that was Hispaniola (in the mind of the island's native populations), our only detailed references to it are a few allusions in the Spanish chronicles and encomienda records. However, we know the plain of Les Cayes was an attractive area of settlement due to the fertility of its land. Indeed, the numbers from Arranz Marquez's study (the source of the table) of the 1514 repartimiento of Hispaniola suggest the area once had a substantial Indigenous population. In fact, the number of enumerated Indians here (835) exceeded that of Vera Paz (built near the ruins of Xaragua's capital). Of all the Spanish settlements in what is now Haiti, only Yaquimo had a larger population of Indians, but only slightly more than Salvatierra de la Sabana. Of course, the numbers reflected here in 1514-1515 are not necessarily very reliable for what population patterns were like before 1492. Indeed, it is likely that the area of Salvatierra de la Sabana may have experienced less population displacement or relocation since it was so far away from centers of gold mining. 

From the little one can glimpse of Hanyguayaba from reading Las Casas, the area was ruled by a powerful cacique who acted as an independent lord due to the distance from Xaragua. Like Xaragua, this cacicazgo was also destroyed after Ovando ordered the destruction of Xaragua. Indeed, Diego Velazquez, the future conqueror of Cuba, had Hanyguayaba's paramount cacique hung. Since the area still had a larger Indian population in 1514, and Las Casas might be more reliable than Oviedo here (the latter, as well as Peter Martyr d'Anghiera, believed that cave-dwelling or hunter-gatherer "primitives" still resided in Haiti's Southwest), we suspect the Hanyguayaba cacicazgo was once a prosperous area. The elusive "primitive" population described in Spanish records was likely fugitives from the destruction of the cacicazgo who sought to maintain their autonomy from the Spanish settlements at Salvatierra de la Sabana. 

However, one cannot help but notice that some of the caciques (and their subjects given in encomiendas) were rather large groups, with Diego de Matute leading a group of 86. Even more striking is the rather large child population for Indians in this part of what later became the country of Haiti. In the Southwest, about 95 out of 835 Indians were children, or about 11% of the total population. This is a far higher proportion of children than any other area of western Hispaniola. The only other areas in western Hispaniola that even come close to this proportion of children were Yaquimo (6%), La Vera Paz (8%) and Puerto Real (6%). Of course, if one assumes the 715 adults of child-bearing age were evenly split between men and women (which is likely a false assumption), there may have been around 358 women in this part of the island in 1514. If there were only 95 children, that means there were only 0.26 children per woman, far below what would have been necessary to sustain population increase. The only parts of the island where one could have found more children were in the eastern half, where the majority of the island's population was already shifted to by 1514. For example, San Juan de la Maguana may have had about 0.24 children per woman, slightly fewer than Salvatierra de la Sabana. On the other hand, the Santo Domingo region had 520 children, slightly more than a third of the entire enumerated child population. However, for western Hispaniola, more than 1/3 of its share of the total child population lived in the Salvatierra de la Sabana area/Southwest. 

Talking Taino

Keegan and Carlson's Talking Taino is an entertaining collection of essays exploring (Lucayan) Taino culture and civilization through language and natural history. The informal and occasionally humorous writing makes it quite a breeze to read. The authors both draw on their experience with archaeology of the Caribbean to give the reader a general overview of the Taino and Caribbean precolonial history. Sadly, some of the words they propose as Taino appear to be from other languages or, in the case of areito, misspelled. Nonetheless, their fun, easygoing approach covers the material culture, diet, agricultural and hunting practices, as well as religious and cultural practices of the Taino. It would be great to build on this with a more detailed study of Hispaniola, Cuba and Puerto Rico, where one has more written sources to use for reconstructing our pre-Hispanic past. 

Rouch's Contribution to the History of Songhay

Jean Rouch's Contribution à l'histoire des Songhay is rather outdated yet still useful for insights on Songhay history and culture. A reputable ethnographer who studied Songhay religion and magic extensively, Rouch's understanding of their history unsurprisingly emphasizes Islam as an alien element that laid the foundations for the collapse of the Askia. Despite this problematic frame for Songhay history, Rouch's work is one of the best earlier attempts to make sense of Songhay history from its shadowy early origins at Kukiya to the late colonial period. 

Unfortunately, Rouch repeated some of the mistakes of Delafosse and early colonial scholars. For instance, the Za dynasty were said to have been Christianized Lemta Berbers who left Tripolitania around 670. In addition, the early state of Ghana (Wagadu) is attributed to Judaeo-Syrian colonists. These mistakes inhibit a deeper understanding of early Songhay, one which clearly indicates an important role for the Sorko, Gow, and farming populations living near and along the Niger as the foundation of the first Songhay polity. This later inhibits Rouch's analysis of the Za, Si, and Askia dynasties since Islam, promoted by Askia Muhammad, is blamed for the fall of Songhay. Sonni Ali, on the other hand, was the champion of a "black" state that brought Songhay to its zenith, something commemorated in Songhay oral traditions, religion, and Rouch's problematic view of Islam's relations with Songhay religion. 

Of course, later scholars have benefitted from new approaches to the Timbuktu chronicles, epigraphic evidence from Bentia & Gao, as well as archaeological excavations at Gao and other sites in Mali to throw into question a number of theories held as gospel in Rouch's day. The picture that emerges now is one far more dynamic and one that calls into question some of the older generation's stereotypes of Kukiya as the fount of "black" Songhay paganism and even the historicity of Ali Kulun. Nonetheless, Rouch's insights are occasionally insightful here, particularly his proposed translations for Za dynasty rulers recorded in the Timbuktu chronicles. His familiarity with Songhay oral tradition and religion also adds a new dimension to the ways in which Sonni Ali and other rulers are remembered for building their empires through military conquests aided by magic or occult knowledge. 

Atabey, Yucayequey, Caney

Gilbert Valme's Atabey, Yucayequey, Caney is an intriguing yet somewhat meandering work. Since we are always interested in what Haitian intellectuals have to say about our island's indigenous past, we read it all, despite the unnecessary passages on paysages culturels or the occasionally misleading reference to pre-Arawakan peoples in Hispaniola as "ancestors of the Mayas." While a Central American provenience for some of these populations is a legitimate theory, consistently referring to them as sharing ancient ancestry with the Maya is a little misleading or awkward. Despite these missteps, Valme engaged in extensive research on the island of Haiti's hydrographic networks, water entrenchments, and engagement with archaeologists and academics who have researched the development of various pre-colonial cultures in Hispaniola.

Valme's study of the indigenous peoples of the island and how they related to their own cultural landscape through settlement patterns, domestic architecture, subsistence patterns, and political organization in simple and complex caciquats serves as a nice "refresher" on the scholarship of the "Taino"by 2012. Indeed, sometimes he draws from research we have not yet read ourselves. For instance, the possible location of Hatuey's principal village at Gros Morne (with around 15,000 residents) and high population estimates for the area suggest western Hispaniola likely held the largest concentrations of people in what were likely "proto-towns" or cities rather than simply villages. It is perhaps not wise to put too much stock in some of the population estimates for principal villages cited by Valme, but it would suggest 19,080 people lived at Guacanagaric's principal seat of En Bas Saline. One can imagine Xaragua, with its favorable location near lakes, rivers, and the sea, could have hosted an even larger concentration of people, too. The construction of large bateys at sites like En Bas Saline and Maguana also point to large population centers with intensive ritual activity related to the "Taino" cosmovision. This topic receives a lot of treatment here as it relates to the axis mundi concept, reflected in what Valme refers to as the poto mitan structure of the caney or bohios and the role of the batey itself as an axis mundi. 

What strikes us as particularly confusing, however, is Valme's allusion to Xaragua as a simple caciquat. Bainoa, however, was the "complex caciquat" which encompassed Xaragua and other simple caciquats in western Hispaniola. This is a rather confusing interpretation that reflects the author's best efforts to make sense of the conflicting Spanish sources on the political divisions of the island in 1492. Either way, by the late 1400s, Xaragua was undoubtedly the most powerful or influential caciquat in Bainoa (and probably the entire island). The caciquat was even expansionist in terms of the island's southwest corner, although we will likely never know the exact borders between cacicazgos or how their dimensions probably changed based on the power of various paramount caciques.

Reading Inca History Thoughts...

Catherine Julien's Reading Inca History is a work we rather struggled to complete. Due to our difficulties finding physical copies and the time to read, in full, Cabello Valboa and Murua (as well as a few of the hard to find Spanish chronicles), we were unsure how to tackle Julien's work. Her study of Inca historical consciousness and how it manifested in the sources used by the Spanish historical narratives or chronicles is fascinating, but does require a fuller familiarity with more of the Spanish sources. Nonetheless, Julien constructed an intriguing account of how Inca dynastic genealogy and life history of Inca rulers like Pachacuti were major sources of information used by the Spanish chroniclers. Tied to the panacas or descent groups of the Inca, mummies, songs, traditions, and even khipu were all part of the historical records of the Inca past. The use of paintings, ushered by Pachacuti, further establishes his central role in the development of Inca historical consciousness. 

Undoubtedly, an Inca historical consciousness existed. However, it was significantly changed or codified beginning with the reign of Pachacuti. Once Inca imperial expansion began, the need arose to establish descend from the patrilineage of Manco Capac and his sister (though sister marriage was not clearly established until much later) as the elite, power-holding group allegedly descended from the Sun. Using the Spanish chronicles and how they differ or share details about the early Inca past and the peoples of the Cuzco valley, Julien uncovers some hints at how the Incas were, at the beginning, just one of many groups in the Cuzco valley and their rulers engaged in marriage alliances with neighboring groups who even shared descent (or claimed it) from Pacaritambo and the Ayar brothers. But, with the expansion of Inca power and the need for a select group to consolidate its position, history and ritual were used to confer kingship to descendants from a more restricted kinship group that no longer had to rely so extensively on marriage alliances or acknowledge its shared origins with other groups in the valley. While much of the Inca source material that shaped the Spanish chronicles is still obscure, it is clear that historicist approaches to said Spanish chronicles can still be used to gain deeper glimpses of how the Inca constructed their own understanding of their past. The "mythic" elements and aspects that can perhaps be contextualized in the conflict between panacas or the growth of Christian influences on Andean belief may still reveal something of this historical consciousness that has been omitted or forgotten. 

1000 Years of Economic Growth and Regression on the Middle Niger

Le développement et la régression chez les peuples de la boucle du Niger à l'époque précolonial by Michael Tymowski is an ambitious work. An attempt to make sense of around 1000 years of economic progress and regression along a key part of the Western Sudan (centered on the Middle Niger), Tymowski relies heavily on the Timbuktu chronicles, external Arabic sources, and oral traditions. He persuasively makes the case for economic development with the growth of urban centers, limited private land tenure, and accelerated long-distance trade, which later declined in the 1600s and 1700s. This shows that the history of "development" in sub-Saharan African areas has always been dynamic, and not simply one of timeless "backwardness" or irrelevance. 

However, Tymowski's study is quite outdated and relies on French translations of sources in Arabic. It also relies heavily on Jean Rouch and other somewhat outdated scholarship on Songhay ethnography and oral traditions, even repeating the unproven claim that the Dia/Za dynasty of early Songhay rulers were actually Lemta Berbers. In addition, he heavily relied on the problematic Tarikh al-Fattash chronicle for assertions about servile/caste populations. This dependence on French translations of Arabic sources and outmoded scholarship on Songhay ethnography and oral traditions suggest possible limitations of Tymowski's study. While one must acknowledge that the aforementioned Timbuktu chronicles are probably reliable for the 1400s and 1500s (at least more so than for earlier centuries), Tymowski's attempt to derive meaningful conclusions or theories about the economic development of the Mali Empire and Songhay Empire may be misleading or problematic. Nonetheless, there are a number of intriguing ideas about the relationship between the towns (Gao, Djenne, Timbuktu) and the countryside, as well as the role of the state in promoting land tenure arrangements along the lines of property property or through state domains (those of the askias) that controlled and promoted the redistribution of goods.

On Magloire Ambroise...

Whilst perusing an article on Magloire Ambroise by Alix Ambroise in the Revue of the Haitian Historical Society, we noticed some inconsistencies. according to Alix Ambroise, Magloire was born on the Pasquet habitation. He married Theophile Cangé, the daughter of Pierre Cangé. However, when checking the parish registers, we came across a Marie Rose Theophile who was the daughter of Jean Louis Cangé and Marie Charlotte Favre. It would seem that Alix Ambroise, presumably a descendant of Magloire Ambroise, the hero of Jacmel, made an error.

Careybana

Although this is purely speculative, one wonders if the place name, Careybana, may have simply meant a flooded or wet plain. Identified in the Spanish chronicles as an area situated on a plain with a large concentration of people in the cacicazgo of Xaragua, the first part of the name, Carey, bears a slight resemblance to a Palikur word for a flooded plain. According to Launey's book on the Palikur tongue, kariy means flooded plain. While Palikur is an Arawakan language distantly related to Taino, we suspect carey and kariy might be related terms. Sadly, we could not find any similar words in Island Carib, Garifuna, or other Arawakan languages. In the Arawak of Suriname, however, Goeje did record kalhao or kalho as words for grass. Perhaps it is far more likely that Careybana simply meant a wet plain where seaturtles could be easily caught near the coast, assuming carey is really the Taino word for sea turtles.

Christianity in the Sudan

Giovanni Vantini's Christianity in the Sudan is a dated work which, by and large, is mainly about Christian Nubia. Heavily based on the corpus of "Oriental" sources (plus some European ones) Vantini published, much of the text is like reading that compilation with some narrative commentary. It was a refresher for certain points in the history of medieval Nubia that we have forgotten about, but without any deeper investigation of the source materials, rather limited. Fortunately, advances by archaeologists and studies of Old Nubian and other textual sources has shed more light on the nature of the Nubian political system, economic structure, and religion. For instance, Dotawo is now more widely accepted as being the same state as Makuria. Sadly, Alwa, in Upper Nubia, remains a mystery in Vantini's text, but that is no surprise given the year this work was published (1980). More intriguingly for those interested in the later centuries of medieval Nubia, one can find here useful Western sources on Nubia and some important references to the Vatican's attempts to replant the Christian seed in Nubia. Some of this correspondence even touches upon the Kwararafa south of Borno, confusingly believed by some Europeans in Tripoli to have been Christians. Last, but certainly not least, some European sources also alluding to the survival of Christianity in pockets of Nubia as late as the 1740s suggest fruitful areas of research for scholars interested in Christian traces in Nubian culture. Some observations noted here on possible areas of Christian Nubian influence in Kordofan and Darfur also suggest medieval Nubian kingdoms really did exert some degree of influence to the west of the Nile...Indeed, the place name in the Dilling area mentioned in the famous Tabaqat may be further evidence of this.