Cosmic Music and Alice Coltrane

Although it took some time to procure a copy through the library, we have finally finished Andy Beta's detailed biography of Alice Coltrane. Entitled Cosmic Music: The Life, Art, and Transcendence of Alice Coltrane, one can already guess the author's approach to her life and music. He tries to balance the spiritual and musical aspects of Coltrane's life, showing much respect for her as Swamini who led an ashram in Agoura Hills. Significantly longer and benefitting from more recently released or reissued recordings of Alice Coltrane's work, Beta's biography is more comprehensive than that of Berkman's earlier study of Coltrane. By adroitly balancing the various aspects of Coltrane's life and showing great respect to her faith, readers understand how the sacred was always part of Alice's aesthetic. Though sometimes leaning toward credulity, one suspects Beta wants the reader to come to their own conclusions about Alice's spiritual transformation and abilities. For examples, see how Beta nonchalantly reports Coltrane's claims to levitate, or astrally project. Or, for instance, her somehow learning Ancient Egyptian for "Er Ra." The biography abounds with examples of Turiya's claims to astral projections, meetings with deceased composers, and karmic healing. This undoubtedly informs the reader of all aspects of her life and work, from Alice's own perspective. He's also effectively demonstrates how the jazz establishment dismissed her for sexist reasons and how Alice went on to shape New Age music, a field for which we must confess a lack of interest.

Naturally, as one can expect in the standard jazz biography, Beta contextualizes Coltrane's work in the larger social, cultural and political spheres of her time. This means highlighting the impact of race and gender on limiting opportunities for African Americans, the context of the Civil Rights Movement and Black Power, and the sexism of the jazz and music industries. Thus, the story begins with Detroit and expands significantly beyond the confines of Alice's own upbringing and church community. Black Detroit, despite the ugly racism of the past, was a vibrant center for music and the arts. Even the schools, less segregated, provided an excellent musical education accessible to black students. This background helps to explain the rise of not only jazz musicians like Alice Coltrane and her older brother, but the eventual ascent to stardom of Motown (also connected to Alice Coltrane through her sister's career as a songwriter). This important historical/cultural context for Black Detroit was unknown to us, mainly the reputation of Detroit jazz artists as excellent musicians in the genre and often becoming major figures of the second half of the last century. Thus, Yusef Lateef, Alice Coltrane, Terry Pollard, and Joseph Henderson were just some of the brilliant players to come out of this musical environment. Beta also emphasizes the role of jazz musicians like Terry Pollard and Dorothy Ashby, also from Detroit, to indicate how female instrumentalists were also renowned in the city. 

The subsequent section of the biography covers Alice's early career as a musician. Despite dreams of Juilliard, she makes a name for herself in Detroit, playing with groups like the Premiers. She also spent time in Paris, meeting with the legendary Bud Powell (whose technique she was said to resemble in her piano style) and hearing Coltrane with Miles Davis at the Olympia. She even toured with Terry Gibbs, being one of the better soloists on his recording of Jewish music. Indeed, one can already detect her eclecticism here since Alice was performing music from bob, African-American spirituals, Jewish, and the jazz traditions. Her time in New York City is mentioned here or there, including the time she spent at a Loft where each morning greeted the musicians with the fresh aroma of flowers. Coltrane even married Hagood, another musician, yet faced the misfortune of his drug addictions and had to raise Michelle on her own. But the next part of her life proved to be more momentous in her musical and personal development. 

Next, Alice meets John. Both were shy, very shy. Alice had already seen him perform in Paris and John's stature in the music was very well established. The two hit it off and Alice eventually married John. Although she did not immediately join the quartet, her conversations with John obviously included their shared passion for music, such as Stravinsky. Over time, as Coltrane's music went further "out," the group fell apart while Alice replaced Tyner as pianist. By this period, Alice's playing was less of the Bud Powell-influenced style she was known for. She was still very much connected to her musical roots, but her shared interest in spiritual jazz, avant-garde music, and alternative religious systems led her and John to create more daring, freer music. One can only wonder how their music would have developed had John lived into the 1970s and 1980s.

Of course, Coltrane tragically died from illness in 1967. After a harrowing time that was likely part mental breakdown, part spiritual awakening, Alice recovered and established herself as the bearer of John's legacy whilst continuing her own musical voice. This growing interest in Hinduism and what might be seen as New Age thinking was part of a broader current in the United States at the time. Fortunately, Beta does highlight this, even mentioning how Alice Coltrane met and worked with Laura Nyro and others interested in Eastern religion and philosophy at the time. Other jazz musicians likewise explored Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, or their own Afrocentric mythologies, like Sun Ra. Sun Ra is mentioned by name here for being one of the influences on John's interests in esoterica. It's perhaps under-analyzed here how Alice Coltrane's ascent to guru is part of a Black counterculture, with all the limitations and problems of the larger phenomenon of the 1960s and 1970s.

Now paired with her Hindu-inspired spiritual awakening and harp playing, Alice's music was polarizing for the jazz establishment. Perhaps aiming for low-hanging fruit, Beta occasionally quotes and eviscerates sexist jazz critics who naively dismissed Alice's albums or "tainted" the last recordings of Coltrane by overdubbing strings or her own music. Some of this music is sheer beauty and cosmic delight, like World Galaxy, and was recorded with excellent jazz artists like Pharoah Sanders, Charlie Haden or Rashied Ali. In more recent times, musicians and critics have finally recognized the brilliance of Alice's music, both the secular and her unique recordings of bhajans accompanied by the singing of her students. Alice has finally received the recognition she was due, and not just as the wife of John Coltrane. One can only hope more female jazz instrumentalists receive the recognition they are due instead of being ignored or reduced to their relationship with more famous men.

Overall, this was a very readable, accessible, and entertaining biography. Our interest in Alice Coltrane as a guru or spiritual leader remains slight, but Beta successfully balances this aspect of her career with her earlier life. Indeed, his interviews with members of Coltrane's ashram as well as various producers, musicians, and family members who knew her well reveal how deeply researched this book is. And, as he makes abundantly clear in how Alice Coltrane was always performing or playing music after the end of her contract with Warner, members of the public could even visit her center on Sundays for rousing performances of bhajans. Music was constantly in the home, too. Still, it is a travesty that some of her recordings from studio dates or live performances have been lost, as well as much of the television material she created. Beta's biography fills in as much of the gap as possible, highlighting as always her dedication to music's sacred dimensions. Indeed, her son, Ravi, appears to have maintained some of this aura. At a concert we attended, of which the audience was at least a quarter Indian or South Asian, and performed in a church, one could feel the "cosmic" and divine. Therefore, the Coltrane legacy (both John and Alice) lives on in the music of Ravi and many others, both jazz or non-jazz artists, who imbue a "cosmic" dimension to their work. Unsurprisingly, we have been inspired to explore all of Coltrane's recorded works now. We have moved beyond our youthful dismissal of her music after the early 1970s and can appreciate the beauty of her bhajans.

One Nation Under a Groove

Just another classic from Funkadelic...Nothing can stop us now.

Thoughts on Lebeuf's Les principautés Kotoko: essai sur le caractère sacré de l'autorité

Les principautés Kotoko: essai sur le caractère sacré de l'autorité by Annie M.D. Lebeuf is rather difficult to "use" for those interested in the relations of the Kotoko states and Kanem-Borno. Despite Lebeuf's (and that of Griaule and her husband) work on both ethnographica and archaeological studies of the Lake Chad Basin, oral traditions are sadly vague on any kind of chronological precision. Consequently, Lebeuf engages in a deep discussion of myths heard in various Kotoko states, seeking to identify the symbolic meanings of these mythic origin tales. Doing so allows some insights into the nature of Kotoko cosmology and socio-political organization in the various principalities or states, like Logone-Birni or Makari. 

Unfortunately, this approach means that one is entering a terrain in which more exact notions of the historical development of the Kotoko states are elusive. The "Sao" period remembered as preceding the states as we know them is recalled through myth. Likewise, the long lists of names of Sao and post-Sao rulers of different Kotoko towns are just that, a list of names. Most, at least as understood by Lebeuf, have little or nothing specifically remembered about them beyond their names. As a result, Kotoko royal genealogies and oral traditions sadly cannot fill in much of the gap in the history of relations between the states of the Sayfawa (Kanem, and then Borno) and the so-called "Sao" or Kotoko principalities. 

Nonetheless, one can gleam some useful nuggets of information from Kotoko traditions. The royal families of Makari and Afade, for instance, were said to be of Kanuri Muslim extraction. Indeed, the first Muslim ruler of Afade, Assana or Meskeri Tchigo, was said to be the brother of Ousseini of Makari. To what extent they actually were of Kanuri origin is unclear, but Lebeuf's ethnographic observations often found foreign maternal ancestry among the Kotoko princes of recent times. More intriguing is the claim to Bulala origin of the first Muslim king of Goulfeil. Even if not entirely accurate, it attests to an instance of Bulala interest and possible expansion into this region south of Lake Chad, presumably during the 1300s-1500s.  Likewise, the Babalia ties of Gawi and through them to Yao in the Lake Fitri region is another interesting tradition, although difficult to place chronologically.  One can certainly detect the use of Kanuri titles and influences in some of the Kotoko states, perhaps beginning or expanding after the rise of Muslim dynasties. For instance, the possible Kanuri influence in Makari and Afade was certainly established by the 1500s, although Borno traditions point to contacts by the 1300s (see H.R. Palmer's work for the relevant traditions). This influence even affected Kotoko myth to some extent, with the bull, turtle, and primordial waters story appearing here. But Kotoko traditions remain very ambiguous when it comes to the specific details of relations with their northern neighbors from Kanem and Borno. 

In other respects, there are broadly shared regional commonalities among the Kotoko states, Bagirmi, Wadai, Kanem and Borno. For example, the central role of the nguva, or dendal, is shared between the Kotoko towns and cities of Borno. The centrality of the palace is also important, although in this region the Kotoko masons did not apply brick. Instead, their palace complexes and monumental gudu or guti were made of earth. Nonetheless, the emphasis on monumental architecture that, to Lebeuf at least, symbolized the meeting of the sky and the earth, could match the role of monumental mosques used in Wadai, Borno, and Bagirmi. To what extent moieties and quarter systems seen in Kotoko towns correspond with similar notions in Kanem, Borno, Wadai and Bagirmi is a topic we shall have to explore in the future.

What of the Kotoko states themselves? To Lebeuf, analysis of myths of origin and their symbolism provide the key. The foundation myths often refer to hunters and fishmen, the fusion of distinct populations in one region, and the sacrifice of children by representatives of the two populations. Animal symbolism is also key here, with the varan and serpents or other animals often appearing in tales. The "Sao" are accorded an important place here in these origin stories, often associated with the founders of towns like Makari. Over time, larger towns existed as agglomerations of communities walled their settlements after unifying. The Kotoko princes, to use Lebeuf's vocabulary, were sometimes seen as descendants of outsiders who forged alliances with the local people. This is perhaps why the gumsu was often chosen from among the descendants of the first families of a town or city, to maintain this pact between the dynastic line and the original settlers. Interestingly, however, succession in the Kotoko states usually passed to sons of slave women. Complex age grades were used as well as the moieties or quarter system to organize the people of the towns themselves. 

Over time, some began to increase their power over their neighbors, but the Kotoko states were never unified into a single polity. Instead, 3 broader sub-regions appear, with Makari as the dominant state in Mandague, Mser led by Kousseri, and Lagouane under Logone-Birni domination. This was not always the case, since Houlouf was remembered as once being a powerful state. A close study of references to the Kotoko states in Bagirmi, Bulala, Borno and Mandara traditions and chronicles will undoubtedly shed more light on this.

Overall, Lebeuf's work remains important for attempting to center Kotoko myths, symbolism and ethnographic fieldwork. Undoubtedly, archaeology will remain central for understanding the deep history of this region and the so-called "Sao" often associated with the early period of the Kotoko states. Nonetheless, a thorough examination, comparison and analysis of references to the Kotoko states in the historical traditions of its neighbors can shed more light. Sadly, Lebeuf scarcely attempted this. Except for some more recent history still partly recalled in Kotoko traditions on the expansionist activities of Logone-Birni by the 1760s, little else is remembered specifically. Future research on this region must include attempts at triangulation of disparate traditions as well as a  reexamination of all the relevant written sources from neighboring states. 

Jaya Jaya Rama

"Jaya Jaya Rama" is one of those early gospel blues compositions of Alice Coltrane inspired by her interest in Hinduism. She would later go on to perfect it, but it's always interesting to trace her development as a pianist in this style. 

Exploring Caizcimu, or Higüey Chiefdoms

 

Eastern part of Hispaniola (including Caizcimu and Higuey) from the 1517 Morales Map.

Higüey, or Caizcimu, the eastern part of Hispaniola, represents another region which hosted a major cacicazgo in the time of Columbus. But when one examines surviving documentary evidence, the theory of a paramount chiefdom in eastern Hispaniola becomes much weaker or ambiguous. Instead, as Alice Sampson has hinted, the peoples of Caizcimu, the face of the island of Haiti or Quisqueya, may have been part of a shifting network of chiefdoms which were not necessarily dominated by a single one for long.[1] This model is perhaps more appropriate for understanding how the societies in eastern Hispaniola were organized before colonialism. Alternatively, the area may have once been under the rule of a paramount cacique. But, at some point early in their conflicts with the Spanish, this paramount chief, Cayacoa, died. Succeeded by a wife, who later converted to Christianity, the area may have reverted to a shifting network of alliances without one single cacique paramount. In order to explore these theories, what follows will be our attempt to trace the history of Higüey (or Caizcimu) over time using documentary sources.

Spanish Colonial-Era Sources

            Naturally, one must begin with the sources from the early colonial encounter, conquest, and the rest of the sixteenth century. Beginning with Columbus, early Spanish sources provide important glimpses of various aspects of indigenous societies on the island. While few answer the types of questions we have today about the origins and political organization of the indigenous peoples of the island, the standard chronicles usually imply a powerful, paramount chiefdom existed in the eastern part of the island. Some sources name it as Higüey, yet others, like Oviedo, center it on Cayacoa, also called Agueibana.[2] The discrepancy on which cacique in the east occupied a dominant position is not clear.

Furthermore, another limitation is that our most detailed sources on the eastern tip of the island are often centered on the two wars to “pacify” the region in the time of Ovando. This means that they rarely provide historical context or background of the region’s political landscape before the wars. Except for emphasizing the leadership of Cotubanamá in these military campaigns, they cannot easily be used to claim Cotubanamá was a paramount cacique of this region. In addition, the later sources associated with the encomienda system in the 1514 Repartimiento name many caciques of the east. Depending on which chronicler one prefers, Higuanamá, Higüey, or Cayacoa each appear on the list with large numbers of indigenous followers assigned to different encomenderos in Santo Domingo, Higüey, or other towns. But from this alone, one cannot easily presume which cacique was once the most powerful before 1492.

Nonetheless, the 16^th century sources do provide some clues. One important chronicler, who never went to the Americas but was well-positioned to read the works and speak with travelers who did cross the Atlantic, was Peter Martyr d’Anghiera. Through him, readers discover that the districts of Caizcimu, the eastern “face” of Hispaniola, included Higüey, Guanama, Reyre, Xagua, Aramana, Arabo, Hazoa (Azua), Macorix, Caicoa, Guiagua, Baguanimabo, and the mountains of Haiti (Haitises). Springs of an exceptional character were in Iguanamá, Caiacoa and Quatiaqua. Further, Caizcimu extended from the eastern point of the island to the Ozama river.[3] This information, derived in part from Andrés de Morales, whose excellent map of the island drew from indigenous toponyms and references, establishes the boundaries of Caizcimu. Within this much larger space, Higüey was just one district or section of the island’s “face.”

Additional cronistas in the 1500s wrote about Higüey. For Oviedo, perhaps one of the more racist and Hispanocentric writers of this period, Cayacoa was the paramount cacique. Ruling from the Santo Domingo area to Hayna River, and to the Yuma, Cayacoa died soon after the Christians warred with him. Succeeded by his wife, Inés de Cayacoa who converted to Christianity, Oviedo unfortunately did not elucidate further.[4] Nevertheless, Oviedo, who came to the island several years after the “pacification” of the east, believed Cayacoa was once the most powerful cacique in the region. With Higüey, his area of influence extended to the mouth of the Yuma, this included Cotubanamá and Higüey under his authority.

On the other hand, the testimony of Las Casas, who arrived in the Indies earlier than Oviedo, contradicts Oviedo’s understanding of the east. In his Historia de las Indias, Las Casas specified that Cotubanamá’s settlement was near La Saona island (although the indigenous pueblos were often located in the montes). He also believed that Higuanamá was the king or cacique of Higüey, although he expressed uncertainty regarding his memory.[5] Moreover, Las Casas provided an overview of the 2 campaigns against Higüey, led by Juan de Esquivel. Despite the first one ending with a guatiao between Esquivel (who later led the conquest of Jamaica) and Cotubanamá, the second one ended with the demise of the latter. Interestingly, the Spanish forces were accompanied by indigenous auxiliaries from Ycayagua in the second campaign. This is yet another instance in which political divisions and conflict between competing chiefdoms in the eastern part of the island were implied. To what extent Ycayagua was opposed to Cotubanamá or Higüey in precolonial times is unsure, but they clearly believed it was in their interests to align with the Spanish against Cotubanamá.[6] Even more intriguing is the long-distance ties to indigenous peoples in Puerto Rico, since they enjoyed constant contact through canoes across the Mona Channel.[7] As the aforementioned name of Agueybaná for Cayacoa makes clear, there may have been alliances with indigenous peoples in Puerto Rico that shaped how different groups within Caizcimu related to each other.

After the cronistas, some Spanish sources in the form of letters or records generated by or affiliated with the encomienda system provide some clues. For instance, one letter by Pedro de Cordoba, perhaps written in 1516, alluded to Higüey. Its importance as a source of casabe for Santo Domingo was highlighted. This correspondence also blamed Salamanca’s dog for the attack on a cacique which triggered one of the wars with Higüey. Likewise, the letters also allude to 1500 indios allegedly killed whilst 17 caciques hung in Higüey.[8] If true, then many caciques of the eastern part of Hispaniola were eliminated or removed in the early 1500s. This makes it even more arduous to attempt any reconstruction of Caizcimu’s political landscape based on the 1514 Repartimiento of Albuquerque. It nonetheless hints at an alliance of at least 17 caciques who joined forces with Cotubanamá against the Spanish in the second war of Higüey. Meanwhile, the 1517 Hieronymite Interrogatory clearly establishes a link between caciques in Higüey and those of Puerto Rico who had revolted against the Spanish in the 1510s. There a cacique named Andrés celebrated the victory of indigenous people in Borinquen whilst plotting to spread a revolt against the Spanish in Hispaniola.[9] This suggests, once again, the relevance of Puerto Rico to Higüey’s indigenous leadership in the past. With exchange, migration, and alliances being relevant factors in the area before 1492.

Map of eastern Hispaniola from 1566, showing Aguiebana near Santo Domingo (Gallica).

As for the 1514 Repartimiento, multiple caciques with names linked to paramount status appear. Some even led hundreds of followers, often split to serve different encomenderos in Santo Domingo, Salvaleón de Higüey and other towns established by the Spanish. In Salvaleón de Higüey itself, Arranz Márquez’s tabulation of the figures points to about 922 indios assigned to encomenderos in the area. The following caciques were listed: Carolina de Agara, Juan Bravo, Catalina del Habacoa, Maria Higüey, and Isabel de Iguanamá. Apart from Catalina del Habacoa, who likely came from the western tip of the island, these others were apparently from Caizcimu (or near it?). Note the appearance of cacicas with Higüey and Iguanamá in their names. Based on the names alone, one may presume some continuity with preconquest chiefly lineages or territorial divisions. Yet the occupation of the office of cacique by two women in Higüey and Iguanamá may be a sign of the role of the Spanish wars in decimating the previous leadership.[10] Either way, these two women oversaw about 85% of the indigenous population enumerated in the repartimiento, a remarkable figure.[11] Besides these two women, other caciques whose names indicate some kind of relationship with major cantons of Caizcimu also led substantial numbers of indigenous people. Take (Gonzalo Fernandez) Cayacoa, whose 405 subjects were allotted to encomenderos in Santo Domingo. Besides Cayacoa, 241 people were affiliated with Diego Leal de Aramana. Moreover, another 284 were associated with Catabano del Higüey and 211 with Agueybaná de la Saona.

Naturally, using demographic data from 1514, many years after the “pacification” and the encomienda system had drastically impacted the indigenous population, can lead to misleading results. In addition, Santo Domingo as the colonial capital with encomenderos sometimes associated with the Spanish king, colonial officials, and the upper echelons of society, undoubtedly drew upon indigenous communities from various parts of the island. One wonders how the dislocation, indigenous flight from colonial centers, and deaths caused by the “pacification” campaigns of Ovando affected the population of Caizcimu, especially those close to Santo Domingo. Despite the problems with this demographic information, it suggests Maria Higüey (and her at least 2 nitaínos) led the largest number of indigenous people in the East, 443. After her, Cayacoa, closer to Santo Domingo, led 405. Catabano del Higüey, a cacica we highly suspect led the remnants of Cotubanamá’s area of  Higüey only led 284.[12] The admittedly problematic demographic evidence points to Maria Higüey, Isabel Iguanamá and Cayacoa as leading larger communities than Catabano. If this pattern was true in precolonial times, and each of these cacicazgos included similarly large numbers of people, one can speculate that Cayacoa, Iguanamá, Higüey, and Catabano were the dominant chiefdoms in the region, perhaps without one achieving permanent superiority.

Considering the limited evidence from documentary sources and the plethora of unanswered questions and contradictions, sources from the 1500s only provide glimpses of Higüey, or Caizcimu’s indigenous sociopolitical organization. That Higüey was perceived as one of the larger kingdoms or confederations of the island, and associated with both Cayacoa and Iguanamá, may be proof of the lack of a singular paramount cacique. Perhaps the region was briefly dominated by Cayacoa to the west, then Iguanamá or Higüey achieved temporary success as most powerful cacicazgos in Caizcimu?

Analyzing Later Histories of Higüey

Moving forward to the 1700s, scholarship on the topic has not progressed much. While archaeology would later become especially important in the 20^th century, in the 1700s and 1800s, most writers usually repeated the earlier accounts by cronistas. Fortunately, ethnohistorians and archaeologists with all the advantages of new methods and perspectives in these respective fields, will raise deeper questions and challenge the narratives. This section shall briefly review writings on Higüey’s indigenous past from the 1700s and 1800s. Then, a swift reading of some of the more important studies of the island’s indigenous past will follow, focusing on modern historians writing in the late 1900s and early 2000s.

First, the 1700s. Here one often comes to Charlevoix, the Jesuit priest whose history of Saint Domingue was quite good for its time. To Charlevoix, Higüey’s population were distinct for using arrows. Like Oviedo, he named the cacique as Cayacoa, who allegedly died soon after the arrival of the Spanish. For Charlevoix, Cotubanamá then succeeded the widow of Cayacoa, Agnez Cayacoa, after her death. The familiar narrative of the 2 wars between Higüey and the Spanish then followed, with Juan de Esquivel and Cotubanamá’s guatiao relationship.[13]

Besides Charlevoix, Luis Joseph Peguero, whose history of the Spanish conquest of Hispaniola was published in the 1760s, stands out. Peguero sometimes deviated from the chronicles of prior centuries, occasionally making mistakes in his analysis. However, like Charlevoix, Peguero also viewed Cayacoa as one of the principal “kings” of the island (Guarionex, Caonabo, Behechio, Cayacoa, and Guacanagari). For him, Cayacoa “dominava toda la tierra oriental.” This encompassed the cabo de Samana to San Rafael, and from Rio Hayna to Rio Yuma. Further deviating from the standard narrative, Peguero wrote that Cayacoa’s court “se llamo Acayagua.”[14] Although Las Casas wrote of the people of Ycayagua collaborating with the Spanish in the campaign against Higüey, there is no hint of Cayacoa’s capital at Acayagua or Ycayagua. To contribute further to the confusion on the part of Peguero, he later wrote that Cotubanamá was killed alongside Cayacoa in the second war of Higüey. Nevertheless, Peguero did emphasize the significance of the montes for the indigenous people of the area: Tenían los indios de Higüey las más poblaciones dentro de las Montañas.”[15]

Next, the 19^th century witnessed the appearance of Haitian writer Émile Nau’s magisterial history of the caciques of the island. Even before Nau, Beaubrun Ardouin, in his Geographie, repeated the common claim of Cayacoa as the ruler of Higüey.[16] Nau, on the other hand, wrote extensively on the indigenous peoples and their conquest by the Spanish. Like Peguero, Nau preferred a sequence in which Cayacoa, then his widow, and finally, Cotubanamá, were the rulers of Higüey. He expanded further by speculating on “Carib” ancestry in Higüey and the allegedly colossal stature of Cotubanamá. Nau also wrote about the use of smoke signals by the Indians of Higüey during their war with the Spanish. In terms of the provinces of Higüey, he broke it down in the following list: Azoa, Maniel, Cayacoa, Bonao, Cayemi, Macao, and the capital was at the town of Higüey.[17] Nau’s focus understandably centers on Higüey’s two wars with the Spanish, but his speculations about “Carib” admixture in this part of Hispaniola may be related to the use of the bow and arrow in this region. It may be a sign of Ciguayo influence or Macorix presence.[18]  But in the main, Nau follows the standard narrative of the early chronicles with an emphasis on Cayacoa as the original “king” of Higüey.

An area of Alonso de Santa Cruz's map of Hispaniola seems to read Cotubane or Cotubano in the area of Higuey. 

In the following century, one can begin to trace the advances in the field of indigenous Caribbean archaeology, history, and linguistics. Unsurprisingly, one of the early major figures in this was Sven Loven, whose Origins of the Tainan Culture represented a major contribution. Nonetheless, he too repeated the Cayacoa narrative, in which Cayacoa and then his wife, Inés, were the rulers of Higüey.[19] Dominican historian Casimiro N. de Moya followed this, except Higuanamá succeeded Cayacoa before Cotubanamá. Moya also claimed that the people of Higüey sold captives to the Caribs and Juan de Esquivel allegedly ordered the hanging of Higuanamá.[20] Later, the Haitian academic, Michel Aubourg, in Haïti préhistorique, emphasized the bellicose nature of the Higüey Indians was due to their fighting with the Caribs. They were ruled by Cayacoa, succeeded by Cotubanamá.[21]

Subsequent authors of the last century, particularly in its second half, contributed greatly to a more nuanced reading of the various cacicazgos of Hispaniola. Anderson-Córdova’s Surviving Spanish Conquest noted the uniqueness of Higüey in the 1514 Repartimiento. Indeed, Salvaleón de Higüey was the only town that had a high average number of Indians per community (172.60 in her reading of the numbers). Although about 28% of Higüey’s remaining indigenous population was expected to provide labor for encomenderos in Santo Domingo, Anderson-Córdova was correct to note the special demographics of this part of the island.[22] Stone’s Captives of Conquest: Slavery in the Early Modern Spanish Caribbean was similarly important for stressing the enslavement of many Higüeyanos in the wars of “pacification.” She also viewed Cotubanamá as a lesser cacique of the region who, despite his lower status, was the first to rise against Ovando’s labor policies. In all, the Spanish may have brought a minimum of 4000 slaves from Higüey in those two wars, suggestive of the scale of enslavement and the dislocation experienced by communities in the early 1500s. Notarial records even indicate that dozens of Taíno slaves were in Sevilla in 1503, many likely the product of the war in Higüey.[23]

Besides these aforementioned authors, several other academics or writers have addressed the issue of Higüey’s precolonial past. Gilbert Valmé, for instance, drew from archaeological and historical literature to approach the topic. According to Valmé, Higüey, the site of El Atajdizo, of 0.47 hectares and built 1000-1300 CE, may have been at least one of the centers of the region. Caizcimu supposedly contained about 11 of what Valmé considers to be simple caciquats. Yet once again, Cayacoa (considered to have been located around Los Llanos) was presumed to have been the greatest caciquat of Caizcimu.[24] In fact, archaeological evidence does support the importance of El Atajadizo and La Aleta as ceremonial centers of the region in the past.[25] Indeed, Samuel M. Wilson has referred to El Atajadizo as a large ceremonial center, meeting the expectations of a possible center of a major cacicazgo.[26]

Last but certainly not least, more recent scholarship has produced some of the most useful works on tentatively determining the confines of Higüey. Bernardo Vega, for example, drew from various maps, the chronicles, and other sources. According to Vega, Higüey, or Higuei, was centered on the zone of the Yuma. Guaygua was located at an affluent of the Soco river. Guanama may have been an area east of La Romana. Cayacoa was in today’s Los Llanos. Aramana, by his reckoning, was to the east of Hato Mayor. Arabo was likely between La Romana and Cumayasa. Vega even proposed an etymology for the name Higuei, linking it to jaguey. This may be true since the region was full of jagueyes or springs.[27] Indeed, Peter Martyr d’Anghiera reported the presence of exceptional springs in Iguanamá, Caiacoa (Cayacoa), and Quatiaqua, perhaps support for Vega’s theory. Vega’s theory also shifts our attention to Caizcimu as a larger region encompassing Higüey and other centers, presumably based on Andrés de Morales.

Besides Vega, Jose Oliver has also investigated Higüey’s history. Whilst also reporting the general narrative of Spanish-indigenous conflicts that triggered two wars, Oliver also raises more interesting questions of the area’s precolonial antiquity. Thus, the shared material culture in cemis, stone collars, and other artifacts suggest potent ties between caciques of Puerto Rico and eastern Hispaniola, stretching back to 600 CE. Oliver contextualizes this within a larger period of 450-800 years of sustained relationships connecting Higüey to Puerto Rico.[28] Consequently, Higüey’s cultural similarities with Puerto Rico’s indigenous groups point to some inter-island or broader Caribbean exchange and relations. Moreover, one could suggest these ties may have been a factor in the appearance of common names like Agueybaná on both islands. If Cayacoa, or Agueybaná and Agueybaná in Saona were bound by kinship with what may have been the leading chiefdom in Puerto Rico, the story of Caizcimu’s competing polities or perhaps peer polities may have been related to the international dimensions of its relations.

Conclusion

Upon consideration of many of the available sources on Higüey from the 1500s to the present, its status as a paramount chiefdom remains in doubt. From sources in the 1500s, one hears of either Higuanamá or Cayacoa as the dominant cacique. While this contradiction may have been related to the different wars between the Spanish and indigenous peoples in eastern Hispaniola leading to the capture or execution of some caciques, Higüey is remarkable for the persistence of indigenous cacique names or toponyms tied to the precolonial past. Led by women, Maria Higüey and Isabel de Iguanamá, Higüey was unique for one of the only regions of the island where two women still led substantial communities comprising most of the indigenous people assigned to encomenderos in a town. Since one cannot use demographic data from 1514 to fully reconstruct what the situation was like in 1492, the data tentatively supports the existence of at least a handful of substantial chiefdoms in the “face” of Hispaniola. Later data often inherited the same confusion or contradictions in the early colonial sources, but often emphasizing Cayacoa, Cotubanamá, or Iguanamá as the paramount leaders of Higüey. This conflicting data best fits the model proposed by Alice Samson. Essentially, Higüey was not a singular or unified chiefdom but more of a network of intricately connected chiefdoms. Occasionally, one may have achieved dominance, but the available sources do not allow for a clear identification. Unlike, say, Xaragua, where sources concur with Behechio and, after him, Anacaona, as paramount chiefs, Higüey may have lacked a singular leader or matunheri chief.

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[1] Alice Sampson, Renewing the House: Trajectories of social life in the yucayeque (community) of El Cabo, Higüey, Dominican Republic, AD 800 to 1504, 95.

[2] The appearance of the name Agueybaná in Cayacoa (near the site of Santo Domingo), Saona, and Puerto Rico is hardly a coincidence. Given the longstanding ties between eastern Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, and the fact that at least one cacique in Higüey claimed to be related to caciques in the neighboring island, one can assume the name was part of the system of guatiao fictive and biological kinship relations.

[3] Peter Martyr d’Anghiera, Francis Augustus MacNutt (trans.), De orbe novo, the eight Decades of Peter Martyr d'Anghera, 366-367, 379.

[4] Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo y Valdés, Historia general y natural de las Indias, Primera Parte (1851), 65.

[5] In his Apologética historia sumaria, 244. Las Casas wrote of Higuanamá as an old woman who ruled Higüey in his time (presumably referring to when Las Casas participated in the second Higüey War of 1504-1505?). Cayacoa or Agueibana was to the west of Higüey, but he clearly viewed Higüey, under Higuanamá, as the paramount cacique of this region. The reference to an old woman named Higuanamá raises questions. Was she the widow of Cayacoa? And what does one make of Macao, supposedly a large pueblo of the Indians in the region (Apologetica historia sumaria, 116)? One is inclined to view large settlements or villages as more likely capitals of paramount chiefs.

[6] Bartolomé de las Casas, Historia de las Indias Vol. 3, 41-42, 46-47, 85.

[7] Ibid., 235. For a speculative theory which traces the origin of the three-pointer cemi in Puerto Rico to eastern Hispaniola, see Marcio Veloz Maggiolo, Arqueología prehistórica de Santo Domingo, 251. There the author offers a fascinating theory for cultural influences from Hispaniola to Puerto Rico, which undoubtedly made Higüey an important part of this relationship.

[8] Medina, P. M. A. “CARTAS de Pedro de Córdoba y de La Comunidad Dominica, Algunas Refrendadas Por Los Franciscanos.” Guaraguao 21, no. 54 (2017): 182-183, 206.

[9] “Interrogatorio jeronimiano, 1517” in Emilio Rodriguez Demorizi, Los domínicos y las encomiendas de indios de la Isla Española, 346-347.

[10] Women leaders, or cacicas, were not necessarily a result of Spanish conquest and wars. However, the predominance of women cacicas, Catabano del Higüey, Higüey, Iguanamá and Aramana, may be partly a consequence of the brutal Spanish wars killing off or enslaving males.

[11] See Luiz Arranz Márquez, Repartimientos y encomiendas en la Isla Española: el repartimiento de Albuquerque de 1514, 560-564 for numbers of indigenous people associated with caciques assigned to encomenderos in Higüey and Santo Domingo.

[12] The map of Alonso de Santa Cruz in Islario general de todas las islas del mundo depicts a region called Cotubano or Cotubane across the sea from Saona. We highly suspect this part of Higüey was ruled by Cotubanamá given his proximity to Saona.

[13] Charlevoix, Histoire de l'Isle espagnole ou de S. Domingue. Tome 1 (1730), 63, 222.

[14] Luis Joseph Peguero, Historia de la Conquista, de la Isla Española de Santo Domingo trasumptada el año de 1762: traducida de la Historia general de las Indias escrita por Antonio de Herrera coronista mayor de Su Magestad, y de las Indias, y de Castilla, y de otros autores que han escrito sobre el particular, Volume 1, 79, 110.

[15] Ibid., 147, 149.

[16] Beaubrun Ardouin, Géographie de l'ile d'Haïti: précédée du précis et de la date des événemens les plus remarquables de son histoire, 3. Haitian historian Thomas Madiou had little to say on this, although he did note that Higüey and Seybe contained a population of mixed Spanish-Indian ancestry. See Histoire d’Haiti, 1492-1807, 452.

[17] Émile Nau, Histoire des caciques d'Haïti (1894), 51, 62, 235, 242, 248, 318.

[18] The use of the bow and arrow by indigenous people in Samana was noted by Columbus in the 1490s.

[19] Sven Loven, Origins of the Tainan Culture, West Indies, 504, 526.

[20] Casimiro N. de Moya, Bosquejo histórico del descubrimiento y conquista de la isla de Santo Domingo y narración de los principales sucesos ocurridos en la parte española de ella desde la sumisión de su último cacique hasta nuestros días. Epoca de la conquista y gobierno de los españoles hasta la sumisión de los últimos indios. Libro primero, 30, 114. This notion of the Higüey Indians selling captives to the Caribs is interesting but appears nowhere else (to our knowledge) in the sources.

[21] Michel Aubourg, Haïti préhistorique: mémoire sur les cultures précolombiennes, Ciboney et Taino, 48.

[22] Karen F. Anderson-Córdova, Surviving Spanish Conquest: Indian Fight, Flight, and Cultural Transformation in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, 100-101.

[23] Erin Woodruff Stone, Captives of Conquest: Slavery in the Early Modern Spanish Caribbean, 44-45.

[24] Gilbert Valmé, Atabey, Yucayequey, Caney: 6000 ans d'amenagement territorial prehispanique sur l'ile d'Ayiti / Haiti/ Republique Dominicaine, 180, 200, 214-215.

[25] Kathleen Deagan, En Bas Saline: A Taíno Town before and after Columbus, 40.

[26] Samuel M. Wilson, Hispaniola: Caribbean Chiefdoms in the Age of Columbus, 21. In terms of Higüey’s leadership, Wilson also repeats the narrative of Higuanamá as the major cacique, based on Las Casas.

[27] Bernardo Vega, Los cacicazgos de la Hispaniola, 23-24, 77.

[28] Jose Oliver, Caciques and Cemi Idols: The Web Spun by Taino Rulers Between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, 203-204.

Jinmon

While reminiscing and revisiting various episodes from the early seasons of Detective Conan, we were reminded of one of the show's best songs, "Jinmon." Featuring a heavy bass and some intense saxophone, it encapsulates a better era in the show's run. These were the days to be a fan of Detective Conan. The Black Organization was still interesting and had occasional run-ins with Conan and the FBI...the little brats were not yet entirely insufferable. 

Thoughts on Yusuf of Katsina

Part of Landeroin's list of Katsina rulers from Documents scientifiques de la Mission Tilho

Whilst revisiting various sources on relations between Kano and Borno over the last several weeks, our interest in Katsina has been rekindled. However, the inaccessibility of many of the detailed studies of its history has largely limited our readings on its past to Landeroin, Palmer and Yusufu Bala Usman. Dankoussou's Katsina: traditions historiques des Katsinaawaa après la Jihad is also a great resource, drawing upon rich oral traditions. Sadly, his chronology is hard to reconcile with other sources and contains additional problems. This is unfortunate, since Katsina was one of the most important Hausa kingdoms in the centuries before the jihad. 

Part of the problem with even making sense of its history and its connection with Borno is the difficulty of establishing a timeline. Palmer used some Arabic manuscripts listing the kings of Katsina as well as the Kano Chronicle and other sources. Yusufu Bala Usman likewise utilized similar written lists. Others, such as Landeroin and Issaka Dankoussou draw more from oral traditions. Indeed, Dankoussou's list of Katsina kings is similar to that of Landeroin, collected at the beginning of the 1900s. Hunwick has also drawn from some manuscripts to revise our chronology of Katsina kings, but it is less useful for the 1500s. Unfortunately, no manuscripts have come to light from the Fazzan, which could shed light on Katsina's kings since more than once Awlad Muhammad sultan fled to Katsina during troubles with Tripoli. 

But the particular Katsina sarki we are interested in, Yusuf, was given a relatively lengthy reign by Dankoussou and Landeroin. Landeroin reported that Youssoufou reigned 14 years, while Dankoussou also dated his reign 1599-1613. Both concur that Yusuf succeeded Ibrahim Maje and preceded Abdul Kadir (or Abdoul Kerim, in Landeroin's list). Where they disagree most glaringly is in the very long reign Dankoussou assigned to Ibrahim Maje (1531-1599). Landeroin only reported a reign of 18 years. 

When one looks upon Palmer and Yusufu Bala Usman's work, a different picture emerges. Palmer's "History of Katsina" does not even include Yusuf among the list of kings, despite collating different kinglists. Instead, his list jumps from "Maje Ibrahim" (dated 1494-1520) to Abdul Karim and Ashafa. Intriguingly, his list concurs with Landeroin on the exceedingly short reign of Ashafa (8 days to 1 week). Later, Usman's study of Katsina history did include Yusuf, relying on an oral informant for what was supposedly a brief reign. If Usman's dating is correct, Yusuf reigned c. 1562 or 1563 before his deposition or abdication. One cannot help but wonder if Usman's informant was actually mistaking Yusuf for Ashafa. Moreover, Usman also changes the order of succession, having Yusuf succeed Abd al-Karim. 

Ultimately, one may why any of this matters? Well, according to Dankoussou, Borno attacked Katsina during the reign of Yusuf. If this tradition has any merit, one would like to have a better chronology for Yusuf and to determine if it was part of any larger campaigns launched from Borno into Hausaland. One would also be interested in knowing what role, if any, Borno played in the abdication or deposition of Yusuf (assuming that is not a mistaken tradition confusing him with Ashafa). In addition, we also find problematic the dates used by Usman for Muhammad Wari (c. 1575-1587). According to Dankoussou, Kwararafa attacked Katsina during the reign of Muhammad Wari, and his dates (1625-1637) "fit" more evenly with that period of Kwararafa aggression against northern states (mentioned in the Kano Chronicle for the reign of Muhammad Zaki, c. 1582-1618). Until we have a better chronology of Katsina's history that can be corroborated by different texts or oral traditions, much of its history before the jihad will remain elusive.