Tabaqat and Sudanic Africa

MacMichael's abridged translation of the Tabaqat in A History of the Arabs in the Sudan and Some Account of the People who Preceded Them and of the Tribes Inhabiting Dárfūr, Volume 2 is outdated and probably riddled with errors. That said, it is, to our knowledge, the most complete English translation of a major source on the history of the Islamic holymen of the Funj Sultanate. Written in the early 1800s by Muhammad wad Dayf Allah, it contains rich biographies loaded with anecdotes, stories, miracles, and portraits of the lives of major figures in Sudanese Islam since the 16th century. Moreover, some of the biographies illustrate the Islamic ties to Kordofan, Darfur, Borno, Wadai, Hausaland, the Maghreb, Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, and more. Let us take a closer look at some of these ties to Sudanic Africa

First of all, it is interesting to note that one of the major founding figures associated with Sufism in Sudan was Tag El Din Bahari, a native of Baghdad (in the translation of MacMichael, his full name is given as Muhammad El Bahari Tag El Din El Baghdadi). He arrived in the Sudan after completing the pilgrimage and is frequently mentioned in the text for his students and acolytes. There is no evidence of contacts for this Sufi teacher and al-Baghdadi of Air, yet one cannot help but notice the presence of two Iraqi Sufis of major import in both the Air region and in the Funj Sultanate in the 16th century. Given the evidence of later contacts by the 1600s between the Eastern Sudan and Central Sudan, one should delve deeper into the history of Sufism and Eastern influences on its practices in Air, Hausaland, and Borno, possibly tracing signs of influence or exchange with the domain of the Funj rulers. 

Additional signs of contact with the Central Sudan can be seen in the case of Muhammad ibn Adlan el Shaf'ai El Hoshabi, said to have done missionary work in Borno and Hausaland (256). Alas, there is no precise date given to make sense of the chronology of his time in the Central Sudan. Yet we know from Krump's account of his travels in the Sudan, that caravans including Borno and Fezzan Sufis and travelers were going to the Funj Sultanate. Thus, by the early 18th century, it was at least not unheard of for Sufis to travel between the Fezzan and Borno and the Sinnar Sultanate in caravans. Indeed, one of the holymen included in the Tabaqat was allegedly from the Fezzan, Abdulla el Sherif (227). In fact, some of the holymen of Funj kingdom even studied under West Africans in eastern lands. For instance, Khogali ibn Abd el Rahman ibn Ibrahim studied in Medina under Sheikh Ahmad el Tabankatawi el Fellati (250). The latter, whose precise origins are unclear in MacMichael's translation, was probably from the Western or Central Sudan but established in Medina, where he was an influential scholar of Islamic studies. Amusingly, MacMichael translates the anecdote of Khogali ibn Abd el Rahman ibn Ibrahim stopping Bukr of Darfur from attacking Sennar by striking him with his rod (251).

Additional holymen from the Funj sultanate who traveled to western lands included Abu Surur El Fadli, who taught in Darfur and was murdered in Wadai by his concubines (229). Likewise, Abu Zayd ibn el Sheikh Abd el Kadir traveled to Darfur and Borku during the reign of Sultan Ya'akub, said to have ruled in Wadai from 1681-1701 and to have lost a war with Ahmad Bukr of Darfur (281). Last, but certainly not least, Hasan ibn Hasuna ibn El Haj Musa, who died in 1664, was a wealthy holyman who owned many slaves and livestock. He was said to have traded many horses to Tekali, Borku and Darfur (244). This last individual's trading ventures establishes the tie between commerce and religion as well as the significance of the horse trade with areas far to the west of the Nile. Undoubtedly, the expansion of Muslim-ruled states in Darfur and Wadai favored this economic, cultural, and religious exchange with both the Funj Sultanate and Borno. Alas, the absence of a Tabaqat for Borno, Kanem, Wadai and Darfur makes it harder to explore these connections and movements that entailed commerce, Sufism, and Islamic scholarship. 

Anacaona, Poème Dramatique

Anacaona, poème dramatique by Burr-Reynaud, Frédéric Burr-Reynaud and Dominique Hippolyte is yet another play inspired by Haiti's indigenous past and the Spanish conquest. First staged in 1927, the play continues the Haitian tradition of connecting the struggles of the "Taino" with the descendants of African slaves who avenge them by defeating the French in 1804. Since it was also staged during the US Occupation, one can easily imagine the play appealing to nationalist sentiments in favor of Haitian independence and anti-imperialism, too. 

However, this short play fictionalizes aspects of the Xaragua Massacre orchestrated by Ovando. Although Ovando is portrayed as already plotting to destroy Xaragua and even convinces his officers that the Indians are plotting against them, the authors also add romance. Ovando actually falls in love with Anacaona, so completely seduced and beguiled by her charm, beauty and etiquette. Anacaona, however, cannot forget the fate of Caonabo, and only hopes to win over the Spanish with her charms to avert greater disaster. Sadly, Ovando nonetheless orders the massacres and becomes irate when rejected by Anacaona, who is later killed. 

Throughout the play, an old woman, Mataba, repeatedly warns of the Spanish plot to destroy Xaragua and enslave and oppress the Indian population. Alas, the other Indian leaders do not heed her warnings, so Mataba predicts the eventual vengeance of the indigenous population by blacks (today's Haitians). Thus, through a fraternal bond based on their exploitation and subjugation by Europeans, Haitians and "Tainos" are connected. Again, this is neither surprising, nor deviating from typical Haitian literary portrayals of the island's indigenous peoples. One can also see the authors continuing to use words derived from sources on the Kalinago, too. Thus, moutoutou, ouicou, Nonun, Savacou, Kouroumon, and other Kalinago words make an appearance. One scene even has Anacaona and her court praying to the cemis, including among them names from Kalinago (Island Carib) religion and spirituality. 

La fille du Kacik

In spite of its flaws, Henri Chauvet's La fille du Kacik is an interesting work of drama for the context in which it was produced. Published in 1894, ten years before the Centennial of Haitian independence, the play was undoubtedly connecting Caonabo's resistance to Spanish oppression and invasion with the origins of Haiti as an independent state. Needless to say, Chauvet took many liberties with history to portray Caonabo as a proto-nationalist leader eager to build an alliance with caciques across the island to defeat the Spaniards. The play, as one might expect, also focuses on his defeat of the whites left at Navidad by Columbus and the routing of a group led by Arana sent to avenge the men killed by Caonabo. Anacaona, who is mentioned once in a line by Mamona, the daughter of Caonabo, appears to either not be married yet to Caonabo or is marginal to the story. Xaragua, however, is mentioned briefly, and Bohechio as in agreement with Caonabo's plan to drive out the whites left in Marien. 

Much of the plot is centered on the tragic romance of Rodrigo, a "good" white who is opposed to the avarice and abuses of his fellow Spaniards eager to find gold and take advantage of indigenous women. Mamona, the beloved daughter of Caonabo, is rescued by Rodrigo from a caiman one day whilst resting near the Artibonite River. Because Rodrigo saved Mamona's life (who also happens to be named after Atabey, the mother of Yucahu), he is spared by Caonabo when Macao, a guide, leads the reconnaissance mission of the Spaniards straight into the domains of Caonabo. The powerful cacique, driven by a hatred for the Spaniards after their numerous depredations across the island for gold and women, has the Spaniards on the reconnaissance mission executed while Rodrigo, spared because of Mamona's love, is torn by his sense of honor and his feelings for Mamona. In a twist that is promising and liberatory, Caonabo later goes on to defeat the forces led by Arana to avenge the death of the Spaniards executed by the powerful cacique. In one moving scene, Caonabo similarly alludes to the barbarism of the Spaniards, despite the latter referring to the Indians as barbarians instead of civilized. Anyway, as one might expect, the romance of Mamona and Rodrigo is a tragic one, ending in the former's death and the suicide of the former. Nonetheless, Caonabo's pledge to liberate and defend Haiti, frequently alluding to the Aya aya bombe chant (which is actually of African origin) and even the Tree of Liberty, expresses Chauvet's desire to insert Caonabo into the pantheon of national heroes and founders. Guacanagaric, on the other hand, is more akin to a traitor and perhaps comparable to Rigaud?

Despite its anti-colonial themes, however, Chauvet's play surprisingly refuses to pass judgment on Columbus. Instead of the Admiral bearing any blame, it is really the rapacious appetite of the Spaniards in his service who are responsible for the abuses and exploitation of the island's indigenous people. Chauvet, through Rodrigo, prefers to portray Columbus as a heroic figure whose accomplishments represented an advance in science and human knowledge. Obviously, this version of events is not matched by the historical record, but it falls into line with the depiction of Columbus in Nau's history of Haiti's indigenous past. Another intriguing feature in the play is Chauvet's heavy reliance on Kalinago language and culture for what is ostensibly "Taino" Haiti. Instead of referring to clubs by their Taino name, macana, Chauvet uses boutou. He also uses Kalinago names for a variety of things, like karbet, Nonum, Louquo, Kouroumon, and Mabouya. Although the Taino and Kalinago cultures were definitely in contact in the precolonial Caribbean, the ubiquity of references and names derived from cultures non-indigenous to Hispaniola is a bit jarring. However, it does reflect 19th century Haitian knowledge of the island's indigenous peoples, which sometimes carelessly applied data from the Lesser Antilles to Hispaniola. Likewise, one wonders if, like Nau, Chauvet also believed the false idea that the sambas of 19th century Haiti were somehow derived from or influenced by the Taino singer-poets and their areytos, even though the word points more to Africa. 

The Serpent and the Rainbow

Although we have known of the "problematic" horror film, The Serpent and the Rainbow, for several years, it was only this year that we sat down and watched it. It's actually a bit more sophisticated and intriguing than we initially thought. Indeed, director Wes Craven actually shot some scenes in Haiti, too. Judging from the architecture of the houses in what is supposed to be Port-au-Prince, we suspect shooting was done in Cap-Haitien. In fact, one scene even takes place at Sans Souci, the palace of Henri Christophe! So, this mediocre horror flick actually shows viewers some of Haiti's rich patrimony. Strangely, the story is set in Port-au-Prince despite the use of Cap-Haitien and Haiti's distinctive Nord. Nonetheless, the writer and director clearly went at least somewhat beyond the eponymous study which inspired this film for sources. This surprising mix of evidence of depth with the typical horror shlock is what makes this movie distinct.

Let's briefly discuss the bad things about this film so we can better appreciate its strengths. First, the Haitian characters. Most, if not all, are played by African American and other non-Haitian actors. You know what that means...horrible, inconsistent Haitian accents! One actor, who plays Mozart in the film, sometimes drops his ersatz "Haitian" accent in the middle of his lines. The film likewise exploits the usual stereotypes of Haiti and the "Other" as barbarian and violent, although this is mainly associated with the Macoutes and/or forces of Duvalierism rather than Haitian Vodou. To its credit, Craven's movie tries to highlight that dichotomy, so that beautiful, pious, celebratory and devout rites, rituals and practices drawn from Haiti's syncretic mix of Catholicism and African traditions can be seen in all its beauty. One is also a little confused by the Amazonian shaman and the experience of Alan in South America, although we suppose it helps establish for the audience that our protagonist is no ordinary US anthropologist. Indeed, he's willing to "go native" and try unknown concoctions and experience alternate states of consciousness. To the film's credit, this Amazonian adventure, in which the protagonist manages to make it back to "civilization" on his own (well, with the aid of a jaguar-spirit guide) is only a small part of the film's overall narrative. But this leads to the film's other inconsistencies. 

Part of our protagonist's reasons for traveling to the Amazon and Haiti was on behalf of pharmaceutical interests in the US hoping to develop drugs and medical treatments from unknown plants and healing practices of indigenous peoples. Thus, Alan is actually acting on behalf of the extractive forces which seek to exploit the knowledge and resources of indigenous and Global South populations. Perhaps this was written intentionally to highlight the similarly colonialist position of the academic anthropologist in non-Western societies. Yet this also contradicts the film's subtle anti-colonial critique of US imperialism and its morally inconsistent desire to portray the protagonist as a hero for defeating the Tonton Macoute chief, Peytraud. The white American protagonist is more loyal to Haiti than to the profits of the medical industry, represented in part by his boredom and discomfort after returning from Haiti, but it is hard to see him as exactly heroic when it is the Haitian people themselves who are responsible for bringing to an end the Duvalier regime and storming the structure in which the Macoute captain uses for macabre rituals, torture, and, most importantly, the film's final part. Last, but certainly not least, the first torture scene, in which Alan is suffering at the hands of Peytraud, the latter rejects the idea of disfiguring the "pretty white face" of the former, highlighting a racialized dimension of power and status that does not seem to match Peytraud's defiant attitude against the US, inferred from his reference to Grenada and the haste with which the US rushes to assert its control of the Caribbean in the name of "stability." 

Despite our misgivings about the aforementioned features, we found it actually thrilling to see the film match the fall of the Duvalier regimes with the likewise defeat of Captain Peytraud and the Macoutes (associated with zombification and sorcery). The shadow of Duvalier lingers everywhere in the film's Haitian scenes, with posters of Papa Doc and Baby Doc frequently appearing. The Tonton Macoutes are likewise omnipresent, spying on Alan's movements and participating in the disappearance of others or the torture and killings against dissidents and free thinkers. Indeed, the zombie whose story instigates Alan's travels to Haiti, Christophe (almost certainly a name inspired by Henri Christophe), was formerly a schoolteacher who spoke his minds and paid the consequences via zombification by Peytraud (whose name evokes Petro, perhaps matching his violent and aggressive tendencies). The Serpent and the Rainbow actually does a decent job capturing this element of repression, fear, and exploitation of Duvalierist Haiti, even when the plot makes no sense and the Vodou ceremony scenes are illogical. 

Similarly great, it would seem that Craven and his team actually did some research about Haiti. For example, one scene in which revelers and penitents travel to a site and pray to the Virgin Mary/Erzulie was probably inspired by Saut d'Eau. Another area in which the writers seemed to do some homework was the character of Marielle Duchamp, a Haitian doctor whose father was a houngan. Duchamp is a devotee of Erzulie, and based on her sensual, loving, and romantic interest for Alan, she lives up to that lwa. She's also one of the few "mulatto" Haitian characters, perhaps another sign that the film's writers were aware of one of the popular forms in which she can be depicted. In fact, one almost wonders if Rachel Beauvoir-Dominique was the inspiration for Duchamp's character, particularly since the book which inspired the film featured Max Beauvoir and his daughter. Finally, the character of Lucien Celine, a houngan and ally to Alan and Marielle, seems to run a hotel based on the famous Oloffson. These nice touches and little things make the film somewhat more respectful of Haiti than the typical US horror movie.

The Incas

The Incas by Franklin Pease García Yrigoyen is a short overview on the civilization of the Incas worth perusal. Though meant as an introduction, we are trying to read more studies of the Incas written by Peruvian and South American historians and scholars. Pease's study is also worth reading for representing the state of historiography of the era on the Incas, drawing on both Latin American and European/North American historical and anthropological studies. In that regard, it is interesting to note that some of the themes Pease focused on were similar to those of Maria Rostworowski's study of the Inca Empire (Tawantinsuyu). Like her, he focuses on idea of reciprocity as the basis of Inca power, a feature which allowed the rulers of Cusco to receive tribute in labor services in exchange for the distribution of products and goods like cloth. While we personally disagree with some of the ideas here (such as a dualism in the Inca position) and are probably still more biased in terms of the "historic" rather than "mytho" elements of Inca History as recorded in the Spanish chronicles, The Incas is a useful reminder of the ongoing debate on so many elements of the Incas and pre-Hispanic Andean Civilization. For instance, the position of the Inca itself sometimes being assumed to be comparable to a European monarch or certain assumptions about, say, yanacona that hastily compare their position to servitude or bondage, are all subjects for debate and further inquiry. The notion of the term Inca being derived from the Aymara enqa is an intriguing one, too. This would connect with the idea of the Inca and "generative principles" that highlight the connection of the Incas to religion and ritual in Andean cosmovisions. The author has also inspired us to look more closely at Andean resistance to the Spanish from c.1535-1571 to make sense of what extent the Vilcabamba Inca rump state actually was linked to wider subversive events and revolts in the early colonial period. 

Modern Analogies and Medieval Nubia

Ali Osman's Economy and trade of medieval Nubia is premised on the notion of continuity across Nubian history. With this probably fair assumption, his thesis proceeds to explore possible mechanisms and systems of economics and exchange in Nubia based on analogous practices in modern Nubia. This can be justified by the, again, probably fair, conclusion that relations with their environment, technology, and rural/village systems of land proprietorship and lineages have not changed drastically until the 20th century. While Osman is undoubtedly correct to point to the necessity of using contemporary Nubian ethnographic and linguistic evidence to make sense of Christian Nubia, his analogous model does veer a little too far by attempting to compare Nubia's river trade of the early 20th century to the organization of trade 1000 years ago. Again, the environment hasn't changed that much and there undoubtedly was much continuity at the village level (at least) from the Christian period through post-Christian kingdoms. But, one suspects that the impact of religion and the gradual shift to Islam may have introduced more changes in social, economic, spiritual, and political features than we think. Despite some similarities between the state of Kokka, for instance, and medieval Nubia, the practice of Islam and changes in the "superstructure" of society may have introduced or led to other changes on the micro-level. Despite our own hesitations about some of the study's conclusions, it was fascinating to read Osman's personal, autobiographic details. Indeed, oral traditions of his own lineage identify a Christian ancestor who lived several centuries ago! And the author's comments about official versus popular trade seem reasonable. 

Fra Mauro, Kanem, Organa

Source

Fra Mauro's depiction of the Lake Chad region correctly named some of the peoples and features of the area, like Bagirmi, Bulala (after they were the dominant power in Kanem), and the Mandara Mountains. He must've had 'native' informants from Kanem or Borno or access to decent Arabic sources by geographers.

Source

But why continue to use the name "Organa" instead of Kanem? Fra Mauro knew of the Marghi, Mandara, Bagirmi, Bolala (Bulala in Kanem and Lake Fitri), and perhaps he thought Lake Chad was a giant marsh due to its seasonal fluctuations. But why continue to use the name Organa when his Arabic and/or Africans sources have specified Kanem and Borno as place names by the mid-15th century. Was it due to the fact that the Bulana rulers had already seized power in Kanem by this time? It could have been due to the already established pattern in medieval European Cartography to refer to Kanem as Organa, something which was already apparent in the 14th century map of Angelino Dulcert.

Source

The Angelino Dulcert map also mentions the king of Organa fighting naked "blacks" by the sea, which I interpret to mean Lake Chad. There's a French translation and commentary of his map here that makes it even more likely to be Kanem.