Thursday, May 14, 2026

Common Commentaries on the Incas

            What follows below are reading reflections and thoughts on various chronicles or texts written in the 1500s and 1600s on the Incas, written over the course of the last few years. Included also in the compilation are a singular play composed in Quechua, supposedly dating from the Inca period, as well as a treatise on idolatry in colonial Peru. As of now, we have yet to procure a physical copy of the important illustrated chronicle of Martín de Murúa, but we were able to access the texts of the other main chroniclers of the Inca past in English or French translations. While some of these translations omitted sections of the larger texts from which they were drawn, we nonetheless felt it was important to include them in our compiled reflections. Exploring the Inca past is always interesting due to our reliance on conquest or colonial-era reports, chronicles, visitas and other texts to reconstruct the past. Although archaeology has undoubtedly advanced our understanding of the deep antiquity of Andean precolonial civilizations, the Spanish chronicles are a great nexus for exploring how colonialism shaped the production of historical narratives. One can see here parallels with the ways in which colonialism and knowledge production on the history of sub-Saharan Africa developed.

El Inca Garcilaso’s Royal Commentaries

El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega's Comentarios Reales de los Incas has long been on the reading list. The translation of Maria Jolas, based on the annotated French edition of Alain Gheerbrant, provides easy access to one of the major sources on the Incas. Despite our first interest in the past of the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean, a burgeoning interest in the South America mainland soon developed. Although the Andean civilizations of South America were very distinct from the Taino, it is interesting to read about other cultures in precolonial South America.

But let us return to El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega. A mestizo born to a mother from the Inca royal family and a Spanish conqueror, he was part of both worlds. However, his desire to portray Inca civilization as a great, peaceful society in which the rulers were, apart from Atahualpa the usurper, expanding the empire through persuasion and eradicating sinful customs like human sacrifice, idolatry and sodomy, is contradicted by other sources. And due to his devout Catholicism and Spanish heritage, El Inca Garcilaso also sought to justify the Spanish conquest since it spread the light of the Gospel. That said, the great Inca civilization, radiating from Cuzco, a city he compared to Rome, was almost preparing Peru for Christianity. The Incas, believing themselves to descend from the Sun when their first ruler, Manco Capac appeared, promoted the worship of the Sun and attempted to end the idolatry and human sacrifices committed by various subject peoples. In addition, their wondrous roads, monuments, palaces, promotion of a uniform language, and spread of their culture through state-directed migration and provincial administrators and vassals assimilated into Cuzco's culture and rituals suggest Peru was a "civilized" land of peace, laws, justice and equality.

Clearly, El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega exaggerated a little bit and downplayed customs of the Inca that were abhorrent to European or Christian perspectives. Furthermore, he relied on oral traditions passed down from his mother's family, sources from one camp of the Inca elite and likely to have promoted a vision of their past as benevolent, excellent rulers. According to this narrative, the Incas, the sons of the Sun, consistently expanded their empire (often through peaceful means), built wondrous palaces and erected temples to the Sun. They also organized an orderly society in which everyone received their subsistence. This version of the history of the Inca rulers did not completely omit setbacks and internal discord. Occasionally, some of the more "savage" Indians on the frontiers of the Empire rebelled or resisted conquest. But overall, until the conflict over the throne between Atahualpa and Huascar, the Inca rulers were almost invariably great, just, lovers of the poor, conquerors, and able administrators. Thus, one must be cautious with El Inca Garcilaso's portrayal of the 12 Inca rulers.

Despite the limitations of his work, his Royal Commentaries are nonetheless a major source of information on a major indigenous civilization from someone partly descended from the Inca aristocracy. His detailed references to the khipu, for instance, reveal how knots could be used so skillfully to record numbers for imperial administration. At other points in the text, he mentioned the use of quipus to record a speech of Atahualpa in Cajamarca. Elsewhere quipu and those trained in their use could also use them to record history, a process not fully explained by our mestizo historian. According to him, quipucamayoc learned, via oral tradition and memorization, how to record speeches, events, and historical narratives that they sometimes recited to curacas and Inca rulers. Consequently, khipu must have served a function besides counting people or supplies for administrative purposes. Exactly how, for example, khipu were used to record speeches is unknown. Perhaps it was truly through oral traditions and the use of quipu as a mnemonic device that allowed them to be used for recording narrative? It is a pity El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega left Peru without learning more about this topic. His royal connections and ties to those closer to Inca traditions could have potentially elucidated khipu to him and enriched his historical reconstruction of the Inca past. That would have resulted in a history that went beyond earlier chronicles written after the conquest or the traditions and stories passed down from his mother's family.

Besides the overview of the Inca rulers, El Inca's account also includes some interesting reports, legends, and traditions of maritime expeditions and visitors across the sea. One of the Inca rulers, according to Sarmiento, even left for a maritime expedition of 9 months from the coast of modern Ecuador. Topa Inca Yupanqui supposedly returned after the discovery of the islands of Auachumbi and Ninjachumbi. He also brought back "black" men, gold and a copper chain. The annotated edition of the text suggests this Inca ruler may have reached Easter Island. However, the references to gold, copper, and "black" men are somewhat uncertain. Did the Inca ruler really travel with 20,000 people on balsas specifically constructed for a Pacific voyage? The traditions as reported by Sarmiento are surprisingly detailed but include mention of "horse" bones brought back to Cuzco. Since the Inca were, according to El Inca Garcilaso, unfamiliar with and amazed by horses when they encountered the Spanish, surely it must have been some other type of animal. What to make of the gold and brass chair is also uncertain, but the "black" people may have been Melanesians? Of course, El Inca Garcilaso's earlier comments about fishing and ships suggest "rudimentary" shipbuilding technology and little seafaring beyond a short distance from the coast. But coastal populations later subjected by the Inca could have provided the skills, labor and technology for a large-scale Inca expedition into the Pacific. After all, genetic evidence of contact between populations related to indigenous peoples of Colombia and those in Polynesia hint at contacts, which could have included navigational and sailing knowledge. El Inca Garcilaso even reported a legend about "giants" from across the sea with beards and long hair who stayed on the coast in the distant past. Last but certainly not least, one of the late Inca emperors may have even plotted to conquer as far north as what is now Colombia's Caribbean coast, perhaps illustrating Inca knowledge of the Pacific and Atlantic.

As for why the Inca of all indigenous civilizations, appealed to Dessalines, who even briefly named the Indigenous Army after them, a number of theories have been proposed. Since El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega had been available in French and other pro-independence movements had drawn from his work and the history of the Incas, perhaps the Haitians were also recalling the past of a grand indigenous empire that, going by El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega's analysis, was an advanced state that administered its territories well. The quasi-utopian society described by the Peruvian probably influenced Dessalines through his educated secretaries and supporters. As proposed by Geggus, perhaps the theory of a Peruvian origin of the Taino that was in a novel published during the Haitian Revolution also contributed to the fascination with the Inca among the Taino.

Blas Valera and Andean Religion

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

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

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

Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala’s Chronicle

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

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

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

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

Account of the Fables and Rites of the Incas

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

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

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

Bernabe Cobo and the Incas

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

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

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

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

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

Inca Religion and Customs continues Bernabe Cobo's work on the Inca Empire. Instead of history, however, the author emphasizes religion, customs, rites, superstitions, and everyday life among Peruvian Indians. Those who have read El Inca Garcilaso and other sources on life in the Inca Empire will be familiar with much of the information reported here. However, since Cobo relied heavily on a lost work by Polo de Ondegardo, plus his own observations and travels across Peru, one occasionally finds gems of information or additional references to further research. For instance, some ideas of the role of constellations in Inca cosmology and understanding of the origins of humans and animals are clear here. In addition, a detailed list of several guacas and the types of service or tribute and sacrifice they received helps one comprehend the tight relationship between the guacas and the Inca state. One can even find a functionalist and rational explanation for the practices of sorcery, divination and magic among the elderly in Inca society since, according to Cobo, elderly men had no other source of living except selling or exchanging their spiritual or magical services. Furthermore, Cobo mentions juntas or convitas among the farmers of the empire, the monopolization of the services of specialized artisans by the Inca and caciques, and the accomplishments of the pre-colonial Peruvians in architecture, weaving, agriculture, infrastructure, and metallurgy.

Sarmiento de Gamboa and Writing Inca History

Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa's 1572 chronicle of the Inca Empire, The History of the Incas, is one of the more fascinating early Spanish colonial histories of the Incas. While undoubtedly a product of Francisco de Toledo's vision for the colony and Sarmiento de Gamboa's pro-colonial outlook that aimed to delegitimize the Incas as tyrannical despots, the chronicle was also based on oral testimony and traditions from members of all the royal ayllu of Cuzco. Moreover, Sarmiento de Gamboa had planned the chronicle to be the second of a three-part work covering the viceroyalty, based on extensive travels around the colony. His chronicle even included the names of various Cuzco Indian witnesses who were present for a reading of the work and whose commentary on it was incorporated into the text. That said, Francisco de Toledo and the colonial officials likely exerted pressure on the Cuzco indigenous informants. And since the actual testimonies collected by Sarmiento de Gamboa appear to have been lost, it is possible that the author changed or modified things or perhaps misunderstood some of the oral traditions he heard. Due to the overriding goal of Sarmiento de Gamboa to portray the Incas as tyrants and to legitimize Spanish possession of Peru, this chronicle likely deviated from the perspective of the descendants of the Incas.

Despite these aforementioned problems with Sarmiento de Gamboa's work, and its problematic chronology that places Manco Capac's death in 665, thereby distorting the chronology of the Incas, he reports a number of interesting traditions and accounts of the 12 Inca rulers. For instance, a detailed version of the Inca origin myth from Pacaritambo and the days of Manco Capac that led to the conquest of Cuzco from its native inhabitants is presented in a way that points to internal conflict among the Inca and their alleged tyranny and despotism. Surely this way of presenting the Incas, like that of the later work of Cobo, may not have been the most faithful retelling of the myth. Sarmiento de Gamboa's work also mentions historical details and an earlier tradition of Inca history from the times of Pachacuti. It is possible that Sarmiento de Gamboa’s work, and the painted cloth that similarly reproduced the history of the Incas, were based largely on the painted boards and the collected historical narratives produced after Pachacuti gathered elder historians from across the provinces to Cuzco. Pachacuti, as such a prominent ruler and pivotal figure in the Inca state's expansion, probably helped consolidate and organize an "official" history of the Incas that drew from oral traditions and quipu. While the oral traditions kept by members of the royal ayllu were naturally major sources to Sarmiento de Gamboa, the Cuzco royal ayllus would not have escaped the influence of Pachacuti's historical investigations. Unfortunately, since none of the painted boards Pachacuti had designed have survived, one cannot ascertain further details of this.

Besides reporting a number of traditions and sometimes conflicting accounts of the reigns, rebellions, achievements, and conflicts of the Incas, Sarmiento de Gamboa recorded a fascinating tradition of an Inca's travels in the Pacific Ocean after the conquest of Quito. In short, Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa's account of Topa Inca's Pacific expedition to the islands of Avachumbi and Ninachumbi was based on an account given to him by Urco Guaranga, an important Inca who was one of the Inca elite informants of Sarmiento's chronicle. Apparently Urco Guaranga also owned the skin and jawbone of the horse brought back from the Pacific island by Topa Inca. Additionally, Urco Guaranga also named several of the prominent Inca who accompanied Topa Inca on their expedition into the Pacific. Sarmiento is sure that the islands visited by Topa Inca must have been the ones he "discovered" in 1567, about 200 leagues west of Lima (the Solomon Islands). But something does not add up. If Topa Inca had really visited the Solomon Islands after his conquest of Quito, how could he have brought back the skin and jawbone of a horse? There were no horses in the Solomon Islands or Polynesia during the 1400s, right? 

But the account does seem to describe something that occurred before Topa Inca became emperor. During the conquest of Quito or Ecuador, merchants who traveled across the Pacific with sailboats described their island homeland as possessing gold and Topa Inca, after using the supernatural abilities of Antarqui, confirmed the story of the merchants. Then he traveled with 20,000 soldiers on rafts into the Pacific, disappearing for at least 9 months. However, when Topa Inca returned, he brought "black" men, a brass chair, and the previously mentioned skin and bone of a horse. If all this truly occurred, as seems likely, the coast of Ecuador was in contact with traders from the Pacific (somewhere in Oceania) and these islanders included "black" people (Melanesians?) with access to brass and a "horse." If the horse parts were those of some other type of animal, which seems likely, and the Polynesian sailors were from a part of Polynesia which engaged in a trade of gold, metals (brass?) and other goods with the coast of Ecuador, this is probably evidence of transoceanic trade contacts between South America and Polynesia in pre-Columbian times. Contacts between coastal Ecuador and/or Colombia with Polynesian people has been proposed based on genetic evidence, so it is certainly plausible that an Inca prince could have journeyed to Polynesia after meeting said merchants.

Ultimately, however, Sarmiento de Gamboa wished to portray the Incas as illegitimate rulers and oppressors of the Indians of Peru. The tale that began with Manco Capac having a brother killed and the Incas usurping Cuzco ends with the fratricidal war and massacres of Huascar and Atahualpa. As admitted by Sarmiento de Gamboa, Pizarro and the Spaniards were only able to defeat the Incas because of the war between Atahualpa and Huascar that had decimated the empire and led to divisions within the ruling elite. Moreover, Inca expansion from Pachacuti to Huayna Capac relied on, to his eyes, oppressive and extreme exploitation, excessive taxation, and control of the conquered Indians. They didn't even respect their own customs when dealing with their kin and fellow Incas. Thus, such a tyrannical dynasty that was only able to control its subjects through extreme brutality, was wholly illegitimate and the Spanish were morally justified to replace them. Despite Sarmiento de Gamboa's obvious bias here, one can read between the lines and detect how imperial overexpansion and an unstable system of succession perhaps led to the Inca Empire's rapid dissolution. 

Juan de Betanzos’s Narrative

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

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

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

Polo de Ondegardo’s Report

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

The rest of the brief report offers several observations on the Inca system of taxation, tribute, land ownership in ayllus, and the administrative success of the state. Polo de Ondegardo clearly was describing these things since the Spanish Crown succeeded the Incas as the legitimate rulers of Peru, and borrowing from the Inca system offered a model for creating an orderly colonial system. Instead of, say, taxation that ignored the precolonial system, which led to an unjust burden, following the Inca practice could pave the way for a more stable colony. Indeed, the Inca system of tribute was, in some ways, less onerous and more favorable to the common good. In fact, those who worked the land for the service of religion or the Inca, ate and drank at the cost of the Inca. Finally, the impressive efficiency of the Inca postal system and their custom of preserving forests, hunting grounds, and protecting the population of their livestock all seemed like excellent practices the Spanish should adopt. One cannot help but detect some admiration for the Inca when de Ondegardo reports that the Incas sometimes received fish from the coast of Tumbez via their roads and postal system. And to do so without horses but only a system of runners and yet remain more efficient than the system implemented by the Spanish!

An Elite Indigenous Christian View 

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

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

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

Fernando de Montesinos and the Question of Early Inca (Peruvian) History

Fernando de Montesinos’s Memoriales antiguas historiales del Peru is a tricky source. The manuscript translated by Philip Ainsworth Means includes a critical introduction by Clements R. Markham indicating that the chronicle was likely based on a lost text by the Jesuit mestizo, Blas Valera. However, Montesinos endeavored to force the long history of Peru into a Christian timeline based on the arrival of Noah's son, Ophir, in Peru and reckoning years by 1000-year periods since the Flood. It also appears that Montesinos frequently confused ancient, pre-Inca kings with those better known from other sources on the Inca period. Nonetheless, despite the clearly legendary character of many of the pre-Inca kings and the problems with the chronology suggested by Montesinos, his work is an invaluable source on how, filtered through his own bias, the amautas and quipucamayocs possibly conceived the ancient history of Peru. Furthermore, the idea of the Incas rendering time through cycles with new suns in which, after every 500 years or so, a Pachacuti reigned, is a fascinating one that could point to Mesoamerican influences. Alas, the more reliable work of Blas Valera is lost, forcing us to make sense of the Montesino's work with what has survived from various other Spanish chroniclers, Garcilaso de la Vega and Guaman Poma de Ayala. 

In some respects, the chronicle is mainly an extensive list of names with some receiving detailed attention on events during their reigns. This recalls sources like the Diwan of the Sayfawa in Kanem-Borno. Like this African dynasty, several critical questions have arisen about the chronology used, the possibility of telescoping or confusion, the inclusion of early kings who are of a more legendary character, and the function of such long lists. Sadly, unlike Kanem-Borno, we lack written sources from the pre-conquest period that corroborate it. But, following the chronicle of Guaman Poma de Ayala, one can also see how a chronicle written as a lengthy list would be likely based on oral traditions preserving history through songs and genealogies while also, perhaps, reflecting the use of quipus. Verily, Montesinos himself said this, as he claimed amautas and quipus were the sources of his chronicle. However, unlike any other source, this is the only one that delves deeply into the matter of pre-Inca kings, before the Inca state of Cuzco developed into a powerful empire that dominated Peru and surrounding areas. It even alludes to migrations and invasions from the Amazonian region and north that, if even remotely true, show how well-connected Peru was to other parts of South America. 

Were some of these pre-Inca kings, also said to have been based in Cuzco and of the same origin as the Incas in other creation myths recorded in the chronicles, references to Wari and Tiwanaku kings? Why were they then later remembered as kings based in Cuzco? Was this simply an example of Inca-period amautas transforming the past in a way that affirmed the ultimate Inca authority over Peru based on antiquity? Or was this a reflection of a cyclical view of the past, with similarly named kings assuming to have ruled over various periods of greatness and decline for thousands of years? Undoubtedly, the chronology used here reminds one of that used by Guaman Poma de Ayala, who, instead of multiplying the number of kings, extended the reigns and lifespans of the Inca emperors and rulers back to about 2000 years ago. However, the traditions recorded by Montesinos allude to interesting events that, while perhaps mainly of an apocryphal character, include a loss system of ancient writing, wars and migrations with people from the East and North and across the sea (including "black" people in their ranks), and the earlier expansion of the Peruvian kings into Quito. Again, Montesinos confuses some of these earlier kings and their exploits with the better known (and significantly later) Inca period of imperial expansion, but perhaps these tales reflect earlier Tiwanaku, Wari, and Chimu states. 

Ultimately, we are of the view that the exhausting list of 93 kings or more of Peru likely does reflect earlier periods in which Wari and Tiwanaku were major powers in the region. The extended chronology and the possibility of collateral succession probably indicate that the extended chronology of Montesinos is far too long. Nonetheless, some of the details reported here are fascinating though difficult or impossible to prove. The idea of the ancient Peruvians having a system of writing using parchment and leaves is fascinating, especially since other traditions about Viracocha (sometimes confused with St. Thomas the Apostle) mention him carrying a book. Whether or not it was true that an oracle demanded they cease the use of this writing system seems more legendary, but it would suggest that the Incas developed quipus (including the phonetic ones) from an earlier system based on a writing script. Why Guaman Poma's sources did not include this extensive list of pre-Inca kings may have also reflected his dissimilar sources, not based in Ecuador, as well as the influence of Christianity on his conception of time. Perhaps thinking of the Biblical stories and Christian traditions of long-lived patriarchs and the way other traditions in Peru stretched out the chronology of Inca rulers, Guaman Poma instead followed the traditional list of Inca-period rulers based at Cuzco while attempting to preserve the longer time period with inexplicably long reigns. Guaman Poma then was freed from the long list of others who, to be even somewhat accurate for the pre-Inca period, must have been referring to Wari and Tiwanaku rulers whilst forcing that earlier period into a history of the Cuzco-based kings.

Pedro de Cieza de Leon and the Incas

Completing The Incas, Harriet de Onis's translation of Pedro de Cieza de Leon was a time-consuming endeavor. Translating parts of different books of Cieza de Leon's history of Peru, the text is somewhat disjointed and a jarring. Nonetheless, it is a major source as one of the early chronicles on the Incas written by someone who traveled widely across South America. Moreover, he also had access to some of the early conquistadors and Spaniards who came to Peru with Pizarro or during the 1540s. This means that Cieza de Leon had access to dependable informants, as well as indigenous informants or ruins he saw throughout his travels. Even more intriguing is the degree to which the author admired the achievements of Inca civilization in terms of its roads, architecture, administrative efficiency and economic organization. The Spaniards, particularly during the course of the civil wars after the conquest, were seen as the major ruin of the Indians, particularly in many coastal areas and valleys where the indigenous population was decimated by the Spaniards. 

As a major source on the Inca Empire, much of the text is spent describing the various provinces and regions under the control of Tawantinsuyu. The northernmost area of conquest, Pasto, was seen by the Incas sent there as a way of time. But Ecuador and much of the modern-day areas of Peru and Bolivia were described in detail. Though some of Cieza de Leon's sources were muddled or confused, he alluded to various provinces and under which Inca they were added to the empire. Some areas were remembered for the defeat of the Incas, such as Huayna Capac's failure to conquer the natives of Bracamoros. According to Cieza de Leon, one Inca ruler, Yahuar Huacac Inca, was killed or assassinated by Cuntisuyu captains to prevent him from making further conquests. Inca Urco, the son of Viracocha Inca and thus a brother of Pachacuti, is described as a corrupt, ineffective ruler who was later replaced by Pachacuti. Strangely, however, the story of Pachacuti's victory against the Chancas did not feature stones turning into soldiers. Intriguingly, our chronicler also alluded to moments of revolts and coups by Cuzco elites, such as one crushed by Huayna Capac and another. One also finds a few more references to unrest in the provinces, such as a revolt by the Colla Indians against Pachacuti while the latter was in the East. 

Surprisingly, despite his detailed account of the regions of Ecuador under Inca rule, one does not find any reference to the Pacific Islands visited by Topa Inca. Instead, islanders bringing gold were said to have visited the southern coast of Peru at Acari. The Puna Islanders, however, were described as traders and pirates. As for the eastern lands, or Amazonian regions, Cieza de Leon makes an interesting reference to orejones disguised as traders to the East. Paititi, the mysterious land somewhere in the East, is also mentioned. One cannot escape reading this chronicle without noting Cieza de Leon's admiration for the Incas and even his respect for indigenous peoples (despite his constant lamentation of their demons and superstitions). His ability to note the deeper antiquity of the pre-Inca civilizations is also noteworthy. 

Miguel Cabello de Balboa and Incas in the Pacific

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 grew at the same time as that of the Incas in Cuzco. Migration to and from between the coast and the highlands has also been a recurring factor that must have affected 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 differed 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 confused him for 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 illegitimate son, Capac Guari, to succeed. However, Huayna Capac and his mother resisted this move and went as 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. Considering the fratricidal conflict between Atahualpa and Huascar on the eve of the Spanish conquest, it was perhaps quite 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 extremely 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.

Acosta’s Synthesis

Reading Jose de Acosta's Natural and Moral History of the Indies for a deep chronicle of the Inca Empire is bound to disappoint. Acosta's work, which focuses on the Americas in general (though Acosta had traveled to other parts of the Americas like Santo Domingo), synthesized older accounts of the Inca past, particularly the works of Polo de Ondegardo. Consequently, his account of the Inca past is derivative and, besides references to the flora, fauna, and superstitions of Indians in Peru, adds little. In some respects, his coverage of the Inca and Aztec Empires emphasizes how these peoples, deceived by Satan from Acosta's Jesuit perspective, built impressive civilizations that paved the way for Christianity to spread. Thus, unlike the indigenous peoples of Brazil or other parts of the Americas which lacked large kingdoms or polities, the Incas and Aztecs promoted religious cults that, like ancient Rome, eased the spread of Christianity through the state's institutions and influence across a vast territory.

Acosta's perspective also reminded us of Edward Blyden's views on Islam in West Africa, which he similarly praised while also expressing the belief that Islam will prepare the path for the Christianization of black Africans. This is undoubtedly part of the reason Blyden could write positively about Islamic cultures or societies in West Africa yet still believe Christianity was soon to succeed Islam in lifting the region. But to return to Acosta as a chronicler of the Incas, this does not offer much. Acosta shifts between condemnation of the Incas and admiration, and there are interesting moments of comparative ethnology of the various peoples of the America (and East Asia). But we hope to read another cronista with a more substantial narrative of the Inca past. And really, 1000 people sacrificed to accompany the dead Huayna Capac?

Extirpating Idolatry in Colonial Peru: Religion and History 

Pablo Joseph de Arriaga's The Extirpation of Idolatry in Peru is a fascinating report on the widespread maintenance of precolonial religious traditions and spirituality among indigenous peoples in colonial Peru. A Jesuit priest who promoted "visits" by priests to identify huacas, "sorcerers" and practitioners or observers of the pre-Christian faith, in order to destroy relics, mummies, huacas, and force "sorcerers" and those who still consulted them to cease, Arriaga is an important source on the nature of Andean indigenous religion and spirituality. For instance, one chapter provides a wealth of detail about the sorcerers or witches who plagued a coastal community, gathering at night to kill their victims through supernatural means. Supposedly, this league of witches honored a "lion" deity. 

Much of the text also describes other aspects of Andean religion, particularly the veneration accorded to huacas, mummified ancestors, and household gods or clan-affiliated gods and myths of origin. This information was considered particularly important for the clergy operating in these areas so they could better refute the "errors" of the Indians in the communities they served. Arriaga also reserved criticism for the Spaniards and Church, which often failed to educate the Indians about the fundamentals of the Catholic faith. They likewise did not provide a good example to inculcate proper Christian values and practice. Furthermore, far too few priests mastered indigenous languages like Quechua or Aymara to give effective sermons or provide a fuller education to Indians about the "true" religion that they had been exposed to since the Spanish Conquest. 

While modern readers today might find much to lament or be disgusted by in Arriaga's account, it nonetheless helps to identify some of the religious practices and traditions of precolonial Peru. Unfortunately, we do not have more texts like the Huarochiri Manuscript to shed fuller light on what must have been the incredibly detailed and regionally specific traditions, legends, fables, and huacas of more areas in colonial Peru. Arriaga's account on how the visits should work and the state of Christianity among Indians in the early 1600s helps fill in the gaps. 

Theater and the Inca Past 

Markham's undoubtedly dated translation of Ollanta: An Ancient Ynca Drama from 1871 is an interesting read. Passionately believing that the play was preserved orally from precolonial times, probably during the reign of Topa Inca Yupanqui or Huayna Capac, Markham saw it as one of the few surviving theatrical works from the time of the Incas. In truth, we know from sources such as Garcilaso de la Vega and the eventual colonial suppression of it after Tupac Amaru's rebellion that theatrical works from and about the Inca past were preserved. Sadly, the version of Ollanta, here based on the surviving manuscripts written down in the 1700s and 1800s, appear to be a condensed or incomplete version. Inexplicably, ten years passed before the eventual reunion of the lovers Ollanta and Cusi Coyllur. The battles between the general sent by the Inca to defeat Ollanta after his revolt are quickly glossed over. One would think that the original narrative included more scenes or episodes for a fully fleshed story. The play also holds an implicit critique of Pachacuti for his excessive punishment of his daughter, yet the Inca is presented as the source of all moral authority and order. Why is it that his son, the Topa Inca Yupanqui, who eventually pardons Ollanta for his revolt in Antisuyu and promotes him to the highest rank, is presented as the complete opposite? Is the message here that the Incas were fallible? Lastly, did this signify that access to the higher ranks could be opened to those without aristocratic backgrounds if they proved their merit?

Tuesday, May 12, 2026

Odara


Although we are not usually fans of Gato Barbieri's later music, which was usually in a pop-oriented direction, we found his version of "Odara" to be quite listenable and occasionally interesting. It would have been better if the lyrics were entirely in Portuguese, but beggars can't be choosers. 

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Vodou Hermeneutics and Vodou's Transatlantic History

Although it took a while, we have finally finished A Transatlantic History of Haitian Vodou: Rasin Figuier, Rasin Bwa Kayiman, and the Rada and Gede Rites by Benjamin Hebblethwaite. An ambitious work, Hebblethwaite explores the African background of the Rada and Gede rites in Haitian Vodou. Using what he terms Vodou hermeneutics, Hebblethwaite draws from ethnomusicology, linguistics, history, and other fields to explore Vodun in Benin as a source (and foil) for Vodou in Saint Domingue (and Haiti). Although previous generations of Haitian ethnologists or foreign academics have explored the African background of Vodou, observable to some extent already in Duverneau Trouillot's ethnographic sketch, Hebblethwaite seeks to explore more seriously African history and religious cultures. This means that the book is structurally divided into two halves, focusing on Vodun in Benin and Vodou songs in Haiti read through the author's "Vodou hermeneutics.'

The first two chapters focus on the historical context of Vodun in Benin, particularly Allada, Hueda and Dahomey. This historical context is key for understanding what the author sees as royalist Vodun tied to the slave trading states of Dahomey, Allada and Vodou versus the communal or local Vodun cults or traditions of victims of the slave raids. Unsurprisingly, in Haiti, where many victims of these slave raids were eventually trafficked through the French slave traders on the Slave Coast, the more familial or communal aspects of Vodun were more relevant for the development of Vodou. That said, elements of Haitian Vodou retain, perhaps, memories of Agaja of Dahomey. But this intervention here is key for understanding why some African "traditional" religions in Saint Domingue were associated with rebellion, as dissident Vodun priests or groups were sometimes targeted by Dahomey for enslavement and export. Indeed, Hebblethwaite compares the royalist Vodun slave trading states like Dahomey to the royalist Catholic French slave traders and enslavers, with our ancestors as the victims of both. Of course, one could also explore why, if what became Vodou in Haiti was not marked by royalist sentiments, why is it that many of the hieratic titles used in Vodouist groups, rara bands or other manifestations of Haitian popular culture featured kings, queens, generals, and the like?

Overall, these two chapters on the politics and practice of Vodun in the Slave Coast are the richest chapters of the text. While one has some quibbles over the author's interpretation of Dahomey's origins and its relations with Allada, Hueda and other polities, he demonstrates how Vodun was inextricably tied to power and community (Law and other historians specializing in this region seem more skeptical or ambivalent on the traditions of Dahomey tying their royal dynasty to Allada, as well as other traditions of origin). This included slave raids, conquests, the incorporation of foreign Vodun into the expansionist Dahomey state, and the proliferation of Vodun cults through migration and refuge. In Saint Domingue, the victims of these processes who were sold to the French inherited these practices. As for why the Rada and Gede rites became so prominent in Sèvis Ginen, the structure of Vodun and its ability to incorporate new or "foreign" ideas and concepts provided a foundation for Vodou. This surely cannot be merely a result of the timing of the arrival of huge numbers of "Arada" captives in Saint Domingue (though it probably played a role). After all, if the timing of arrival was such a significant factor, why is it that the Senegambian and Upper Guinean African "nations" have less influence in the formation of Vodou? 

This is also relevant to the Central African influence, which the author admits has a huge legacy in Haitian Vodou. And while their numbers may have increased exponentially later in the 1700s, the impact of Kongo Catholicism and other religious traditions from West Central Africa must be considered as foundational to the development of Haitian religion. Indeed, even Allada, whose own history of relations with Portugal and Catholicism are worth exploring, may provide signs of Catholic influence in the formation of Vodou in the African past. We can only hope Hebblethwaite or other writers explore these dimensions of Haitian Vodou's transatlantic past.

The last two sections of the book shift to analysis of songs. The Rasin Figuier recordings are fascinating examples of not only retentions of Vodun spirits, Fon or Aja words, but reworkings of Aja-Fon concept and theology. The fourth chapter's analysis of songs from the Gede Rite, however, are less successful. Despite offering a persuasive case for a Gedevi or Gedevi-Yoruba origin for the rite, the historical Gedevi are less visible in the book's historical chapters. Although undoubtedly due to their conquest, absorption and sale to Europeans, the lack of clarity regarding these peoples hinders a deeper historical context for them. The Gede spirits are numerous in Haiti, and while they too reflect African origins, they appear very much Creolized with Miragoane being the source of some (according to Vodou myth). Despite their prominence and their irreverent allusions to sexuality, death, or taboo-busting possessions, the Gedevi connection appears elusive. It also didn't help that many of the Gede songs analyzed here, while lamenting or criticizing social inequality, remind one of the role of "signifying" and tricksters in African American culture. In short, it's less revolutionary or egalitarian than some would like to think...

In spite of the issues with the final two chapters, it is wise to see Hebblethwaite's Vodou Hermeneutics as an analytical tool for a work in progress. With so many rites and traditions of Haitian Vodou to explore, as well as the larger histories of West and Central Africa to help contextualize it, one can only hope the Nago, Kongo, and other rites receive their due for a more comprehensive study of Vodou. One should also extend the field of analysis to more sections of Haiti to see which areas have preserved or maintained some traditions rather than others, and what the impact of urbanization and migration was on those regions. As always, the analysis must include linguistics, African and Haitian history, religious studies, and other fields for an interdisciplinary approach.

Saturday, May 9, 2026

Ezili Danto "fè yo wè"

Whilst reading on the African history of Haitian Vodou and Vodun among the Aja-Fon, we have been struck by Vodou songs from different Haitian groups. Racine Figuier's songs in particular, are quite hypnotizing.

Thursday, May 7, 2026

The Caribbean in the Islario General

 

Although not immediately useful for our primary interests, we found the maps of the insular Caribbean in Alonso de Santa Cruz's Islario general de todas las islas del mundo fascinating. We are primarily interested in indigenous toponyms in the Greater Antilles, for which the map of of Hispaniola is perhaps the most detailed or useful.





Wednesday, May 6, 2026

Video: Towards an Art Historicization of Pre-Columbian Caribbean Archaeology

 

We really enjoyed this lecture by Lawrence Waldron on indigenous Caribbean art. Besides Arrom and Eugenio Fernandez Mendez, the only other author whose works we've read on "Taino" art and material culture is Ostapkowicz. We don't count Osvaldo García-Goyco's work here since his speculative attempt to link Taino art and symbolism with Mesoamerica was even less successful than Fernandez Mendez's work. Anyway, Waldron's approach here was really interesting, especially for noting continuity and change from Saladoid to Taino period ceramic arts.

Tuesday, May 5, 2026

Mbang Burkomanda I: Bagirmi's 17th Century Rise in Sudanic Context

 

          Investigating the history of Bagirmi before the 19th century is an arduous task. Due to the lack of detailed sources on the history of this part of the Chad Basin before the 1800s, Bagirmi receives less attention than its more famous neighboring polities, Kanem and Borno. Moreover, the 19th and 20th centuries provide far richer source materials, consisting of travel reports, al-Tunisi’s account of Sabun’s invasion of Bagirmi, and a plethora of colonial-era publications and reports. This material, naturally, makes it far easier to research Bagirmi in the 1800s whilst its earlier period remains somewhat shadowy. In an attempt to explore early Bagirmi history, this brief article will analyze the reign of mbang Burkomanda I of Bagirmi, whose reign has been tentatively dated c. 1635-1665 by Gustav Nachtigal. In spite of the paucity of written sources from this time, one can triangulate various traditions from Bagirmi, Wadai and its neighbors to create a fuller narrative of Burkomanda’s reign. Moreover, Burkomanda I’s reign was part of a much larger trend of dynamic political leadership across much of the Chad Basin and the Central Sudan in the 1600s. Indeed, Burkomanda’s reign overlapped with a period of political change and unrest to the east of Lake Chad, one which Bagirmi endeavored to profit from through far-flung raids and political interventions. Symbolically and materially, this was represented by the erection of brick walls around the palace in Massenya, cementing the ascent of the mbang in the wider region.

A Commentary on the Sources

          Whilst a few important works have been written by Anglophone and Francophone scholars on Bagirmi’s royal genealogy, much remains to be done. Even so, studies of the kingdom’s cosmological symbolism, political structure or its model of predatory accumulation have been produced. Still, little has been done to advance the study of pre-1800 Bagirmi. John Lavers, in a brief essay published in Annals of Borno tentatively sketched this lengthy period of Bagirmi history (c. 1500-1800), but largely repeated Nachtigal. Besides Lavers, of course, many colonial-era writers wrote studies on Bagirmi kingship, history, the Barma language, or the specific Melfi district. But few have been able to advance beyond this due to the contradictions in the oral traditions, which all the sources ultimately rely upon. In other words, unless new textual sources come to light, historians will not progress from Nachtigal’s schematic view of Bagirmi history.[1] Indeed, some scholars, such as Viviana Pâques, have even gone as far as to challenge simple assumptions of linear historical narratives in the oral materials. In a move that recalls the ways in which Zuidema interpreted the Spanish cronistas on the history of the Incas, Pâques seems to believe that much of what is reported in the traditions reported to Nachtigal, Barth, and others is ultimately tied to a mythological and cosmological order of thinking.

            However, close examination of the various 19th century and colonial-era reports and texts can be triangulated for a deeper understanding of Burkomanda I’s reign. For instance, the various lists of Bagirmi kings produced by Nachtigal, Escayrac de Lauture, Barth, Lanier, and Palmer can be subjected to greater scrutiny. This can unveil commonalities and patterns.[2] Using Henri Carbou’s writings on the Bulala and Wadai, as well as al-Tunisi, highlight some of Wadai’s traditions as relevant for reconstructing Bagirmi history. Abadie, Palmer, Tubiana, Barkindo, and Hagenbucher on the history of Bagirmi’s neighbors and rival polities can shed further light. For example, a number of Bagirmi-oriented sources allude to ephemeral reigns of Wadai kings usually omitted from the Wadai kings lists. By using the general dates for Wadai, the Bulala sultans in Fitri, Mandara, as well as Kanem and Borno, one can better contextualize the events associated with Burkomanda’s reign. In addition, utilizing these sources permits a likely more accurate reading of Bagirmi’s attempts to assert itself in a politically dynamic Chad Basin and Central Sudan during the 1600s.

Mbang Burkomanda I’s Rise to Power

          Although little is known of Burkomanda’s early life, he is intriguingly remembered by the name of his mother, Aisa Bele. Furthermore, he was reportedly the son of Omar, who reigned from c. 1608-1625 in Nachtigal’s chronology. Surprisingly, Burkomanda was tchiroma during the reign of his uncle, Dalai (r. 1625-1635).[3] One can surmise from this that Burkomanda’s mother may have hailed from a powerful faction or family in Bagirmi, if Burkomanda’s maternal kin helped him succeed his uncle.

          Burkomanda also benefited from the political reforms and accomplishments of Abdallah (r. 1568-1608). This powerful mbang promoted Islamic reforms in Bagirmi’s state structure and created several powerful posts held by individuals of slave origin. Indeed, Nachtigal seemingly believed that the powerful military officer, the fatsha, was held by a slave since the time of Abdallah. This may have been done to weaken the influence of brothers, uncles and other relations in Bagirmi’s royal disputes and military leadership. Abdallah was also believed by Nachtigal to have completely reversed the tributary relationship with the Bulala sultans, too. By 1608, this seminal Bagirmi ruler was allegedly responsible for imposing a small tribute on Middogo and receiving annual presents from the Bulala, Logon, and Kousseri.[4]

          In short, Bagirmi had already demonstrated signs of greater political centralization and expansion during the reign of Abdallah. Indeed, this may have triggered a campaign from Borno’s Idris b. Ali (r. 1564-1596) which led to his death.[5] Undoubtedly, Burkomanda benefitted from the reforms of his grandfather and may have sought to surpass his predecessor, Dalai, who was less successful in his military raid against the Musgo (Musgun).[6] Burkomanda later succeeded in expanding the scale of military actions, intervened in Fitri, and even struck Borno territory in Kawar.

Raiding Far and Wide for Three Years

          Believed to have begun a long series of campaigns soon after his reign began, Burkomanda led his troops far and wide. Targeting Burlum, Bayo, and Bolongo districts, Burkomanda threatened the Kenga. Crossing to Middogo and Fitri, Burkomanda went even further afield. His troops crossed Batha and the Bahr el-Ghazal to Kanem, then moved to the Karka region. Then, Bagirmi raiders struck Borku and Kawar, before passing to the south and plundering the Shuwa in the Kotoko principalities. This was followed by another attack, this time against Mandara. Fellata to the south of Mandara were also targeted before Burkomanda camped his troops in Musgo territory. Due to the wishes of his soldiers to return, Burkomanda eventually agreed.[7] Given that tradition remembers this taking place over the course of three years, one must ask why the ruler of Bagirmi was eager to launch several punitive raids and actions against Bagirmi’s neighbors. Given the volatile conditions in Kanem around this time and the formation of Wadai, perhaps in c. 1635 (to use Nachtigal’s chronology), one can best interpret Burkomanda’s actions as an attempt to profit from and exert Bagirmi’s status as a regional power.

Beginning with Kanem, a political vacuum made raids and possible expansion attractive. The Bulala sultans were defeated by the Tunjur and were no longer relevant here. Borno, whose ruler, Umar b. Idris, likely appointed Dala Afuno to oversee Kanem around this time, relied on the alifas to ensure the tribute from Kanem. However, Dala Afuno was remembered in Kanem for having to wage war on various groups to receive any tribute. Indeed, Dala Afuno had to fight the Tubu, Daganas, El-Lassalas, Shuwas and Koukas to the west of Lake Fitri to pay tribute.[8]

Besides trouble receiving tribute, conflict with the recently arrived Tunjur, migrating after Wadai’s foundation in c. 1635, soon arose. Tunjur tradition, according to Gros, remembers conflict between the Tunjur and Bulala occurring at Mao during the time of Dawud’s grandson, Smain. While the Tunjur eventually seized Mao, Tunjur tradition specifically named their leader, Ramadan, as dying in conflict with the Dala Afuno.[9] In other words, Kanem during the 1630s was politically volatile and unstable as the first alifa sent by the Sayfawa was engaged in conflict with various groups refusing to pay tribute. Sensing this insecurity and instability, Burkomanda may have viewed Kanem as relatively easy to raid. This would explain why he was able to reach beyond to Borku and Kawar.

As for the raids on Borku and Kawar, one sees another aspect of Bagirmi’s long-term regional aspirations. Due to its geographic position, the kingdom lacked direct access to towns in the southern Sahara used for profitable trans-Saharan trade. Bagirmi needed access to these to become less dependent on Borno for North African, European, and other goods. Thus, it is likely Burkomanda envisioned long-term acquisitions to the far north.[10] Lavers was correct to note this possible motive for Burkomanda’s actions, perhaps aiming to maintain Kanem’s openness for commerce or to assert Bagirmi control over routes to the north.[11] The ultimate failure of this strategy may be explained by the distance involved and the eventual restoration of Sayfawa authority in Kanem through the consolidation of the alifas. Nonetheless, memories of this Bagirmi raid in Bilma were vivid enough when Maurice Abadie reported it. In Kawar tradition, however, the Bagirmi attack which resulted in a massacre of the town’s population was the result of a Bulala attack.[12] This may have been a result of Burkomanda’s close relationship with the Bulala sultans in Fitri, particularly as his sister, Zara, was married to the Bulala ruler.

Afterwards, Burkomanda’s forces moved south and west. Attacks against the Shuwa certainly included many cattle and horses among the booty. The assault directed against Mandara, which may have been ruled by Abale at the time, was probably inspired by Mandara expansion into the Musgo (Musgun) territories. Burkomanda’s goal was undoubtedly intended to minimize the expansion of rival polities into Bagirmi’s own raiding zones and tributary regions. Mandara, at the time not yet Islamic, was possibly also attacked by Borno during the reign of Ali b. Umar (c. 1639-1677). This suggests that Mandara’s rulers were expansionist at this time or threatening its peer polities. In fact, according to Barkindo, Bagirmi’s attack “appears to have had the purpose of checking Wandala expansion into what was assumed by Bagirmi, to be her own area of influence.”[13]

Lastly, Burkomanda’s whirlwind campaigns included the Fitri region for an important reason. Heading toward that direction was important for the alliance between the Bulala sultans and Bagirmi at this time. Sealed through the marriage of Burkomanda’s sister to the Bulala sultan, this seemingly developed after the Bulala already established the dynasty in the Fitri region, after defeating the Kuka. Bulala oral traditions attribute this to a half-Tubu Bulala prince, Djil Esa Tubo, or Djili Esa Toubo. According to traditions not cited by Carbou, this Djil Esa Tubo actually lived in Bagirmi with his mother for some time. If so, it is no wonder that Djil Esa Toubou was likely the Bulala ruler who married Burkomanda’s sister. He was already raised there and probably connected to Bagirmi elites.[14] Carbou, presumably drawing on oral traditions as well as the earlier work of Nachtigal, provides strong evidence for a Bulala-Bagirmi alliance around the time of Burkomanda, confirmed through the marriage of Burkomanda’s sister to Djil Esa Tubo. This, in turn, explains why Burkomanda may have included the Fitri area in his lengthy military excursions during his reign.

Map of the region in  Bjorkelo's State and Society in Three Central Sudanic Kingdoms: Kanem-Bornu, Bagirmi, and Wadai.

By contextualizing this seemingly random series of attacks within the wider political changes affecting Kanem as well as the foundation of Wadai to the east, one can perceive how Bagirmi’s actions were likely done in response to a politically volatile moment. Burkomanda sought to strengthen his position within the Central Sudan through raids, political expansion, and achieving long-term economic goals through access to Kawar and Borku. Attacking Mandara due to the latter’s expansion into Musgun lands was designed to ensure Bagirmi’s own sphere of influence there and source of captives. Bagirmi interests in Fitri were tied to their relationship with the Bulala and, perhaps, a desire to keep an eye on developments further east in Wadai.

The Later Years of Burkomanda I

Unfortunately, the remainder of Burkomanda I’s reign becomes much harder to contextualize. Besides campaigns against the Sarua and Ndamm about 3 years later, little else is known, except for a war with Wadai. Nonetheless, one can detect Burkomanda’s continued interests in expansion and promoting his own position across the region with brick walls for the palace. A later war with Waday suggests Bagirmi was, at this time, still a stronger power.

 Nachtigal, one of the better sources, wrote of subsequent campaigns led by the mbarma and fatsha. Directed against the Sarua and Ndamm, they were not especially successful.[15] Burkomanda’s later execution of his fatsha and mbarma due to a small offense is not explained by Nachtigal but may be connected to this. Perhaps their failure to achieve success like Burkomanda’s earlier campaigns aroused his anger. Or the two were involved in a plot. Given the vast military authority these figures held, it is difficult to imagine Burkomanda ordering their execution on a simple offense. Lack of success in military ventures or a political conflict may have been part of it.

Developments in architecture or the material expression of royal authority also occurred at this time. Burkomanda appears to have been the first to construct a brick wall for the palace in Massenya. According to Nachtigal, at least.[16] The use of brick for royal or elite structures has a longer history in Kanem and Borno, areas which influenced the development of the Bagirmi state. To see them used here in Burkomanda’s reign must be interpreted as an expression of the state’s political ascent in the Central Sudan. After all, besides Bagirmi, the use of fired-brick had been practiced by the Bulala and Sayfawa, rival dynasties which had once dominated Burkomanda’s polity. By employing them in his own palace, Burkomanda demonstrated Bagirmi’s ascending status as a Sudanic power.[17]

Finally, Bagirmi’s war with Waday during Burkomanda’s reign raises more tantalizing questions. Sparked by Waday’s attacks on the Bulala state in Fitri, which led to the capture of Burkomanda’s sister, they clearly indicate the importance of the Fitri area for Wadai and Bagirmi. Nachtigal wrote that Burkomanda freed his sister after a battle at Rabbana on the west bank of the Fitri.[18] Carbou, on the other hand, saw a possible Kuka role in fostering a Waday attack in Fitri, perhaps to force the Bulala sultans out of the region.[19]

With Lanier, likely drawing from Escayrac de Lauture, one learns more about Wadai’s leader during this war. Apparently, Wadai’s troops were led by a king named Mohamed ez Zaouni, who supposedly attacked twice. In the second attack, at Middogo, Wadai forces captured Burkomanda’s sister. But Burkumanda was able to “refouler les Ouadaiens.”[20] In Escayrac de Lauture’s version of events, Burkomanda’s victory against Wadai took place at a place called Sadao. His version emphasized that after the capture of Wadai’s Mohammed-Zaouni, “qui avait occupé le trône pendant six mois,” Wadai replaced him with a king named Issa. But, tellingly, any war with Bagirmi was finished by an unspecified epidemic.[21] In other words, Bagirmi not only captured the Wadai king, but the conflict continued until an outbreak of disease or pestilence forced an end.[22]

Unfortunately, none of the Wadai king lists mention this Mohammed-Zaouni or Issa, but Lauture’s list of Wadai rulers places them after Abd el-Kerim and a king named Edris (Idris).[23] As it appears quite likely that the standard lists of Wadai kings tend to omit names of rulers who only lasted briefly on the throne, Mohammed-Zaouni and Issa may have been very brief rulers sometime in the 1650s or 1660s. Indeed, Lauture’s list places Issa right before Saleh-Dered, clearly omitting many Wadai kings of the 1700s. Another writer, Carbou, likewise noted at least one king often not included in the Wadai kingslist: El Djezam, who succeeded Kharif.[24] If, as Lauture indicates, Mohamed-Zaouni and Edris ruled for less than a year while Issa reigned for under 2 years, it is possible they briefly occupied the throne after c. 1655, when Abd el-Kerim likely died (according to Nachtigal’s chronology).[25]

Undoubtedly, much of Burkomanda’s relatively long reign of 30 years has not survived in traditions. Nevertheless, the later annals of his reign included the use of brick walls, the victory against Wadai, and Burkomanda’s actions regarding the Surua and Ndamm. Of course, the executions of his fatsha and mbarma raise a number of tantalizing questions, too. The victory against Wadai raises important manners related to the known chronology and list of kings of this state in the 17th century. Despite the unexplained factors in the rest of his reign, the use of brick attests to a regional aspiration to status and power in the Central Sudan. Likewise, the ruler’s continued interest in Bagirmi’s expansion and influence in neighboring peoples demonstrates an ongoing interest in “predatory accumulation.”

Conclusions on Bagirmi in the Pivotal 17th Century

Despite the limited written sources for this period in Bagirmi history, deep investigations into the earlier centuries of Bagirmi’s political history are feasible. Endeavors to make sense of the contradictions must keep in mind the importance of looking to traditions from neighboring societies and rival polities, too. Whilst some contradictions and gaps will remain unresolved, one can approach a holistic view of pivotal Bagirmi mbang reigns prior to the 19th century.

This tentative analysis of Burkomanda I’s reign was an attempt to do so. By contextualizing what is reported about Bagirmi’s neighbors and rival states in the middle decades of the 17th century, one can make sense of (or at least approach a reasonable interpretation) how Bagirmi, for some time during the dynamic 17th century, asserted itself as a major state in the Central Sudan. This was accomplished or attempted through military raids and wars, the adoption of brick buildings, interventions in Fitri and Kanem, and Bagirmi success against Wadai. Future scholarship on this period of Bagirmi history must examine more closely the question of religion, particularly in the aftermath of Umar b. Idris of Borno’s termination of the first Kalumbardo. Subsequent research must thoroughly revisit the list of kings for Waday, the Bulala in Fitri, the alifas of Kanem and the Tunjur to better understand how the Bulala sultans losing Kanem led to Bagirmi’s attempt to fill a political void.



[1] Of course, Nachtigal’s retelling of Bagirmi history was based on what may have been relatively informal conditions in the 1870s. His claim to have spoken with multiple descendants of elite lineages in Bagirmi who could recount specific details of various campaigns their forebears participated in throughout Bagirmi history is undoubtedly useful. However, like Sarmiento de Gamboa, whose interviews with various panaqa Inca descent groups was methodogically sound, descendants of different branches of the royal family and elite groups can disagree on many relevant historical questions. One wonders if, despite Nachtigal’s travels to Bagirmi predating European colonialism, his elite informants told him contradictory narratives about their past or the larger history of the Bagirmi royal dynasty. If so, Nachtigal’s retelling of it is far too “neat” and free of contradictions.

[2] See Alain Vivien, “Essai de concordance de cinq tables généalogiques du Baguirmi (Tchad)” in Journal de la Société des Africanistes, 1967, tome 37, fascicule 1. pp. 25-40.

[3] See Gustav Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan Vol. 3, 405. In other kings lists of Bagirmi, Burkomanda I is not listed, or he is conflated with Burkomanda Tad Lele, who reigned in the 1700s. See H. Lanier, “L’ancien royaume du Bagirmi” in Bulletin du Comité de l'Afrique française 35, 1925 for an example of Burkomanda possibly listed as Osman, succeeding Omar (Oumar) and reigning 1612-1631. Escayrac de Lauture also evinced signs of confusion in his list of Bagirmi kings. For instance, his list of Bagirmi kings places Bourkoumanda, or Osman, after Abdala (Abdallah), and only assigns him a reign of 9 years. Yet his informant, presumably the Shaykh Ibrahim he met in Cairo who was believed to be a relative of the Bagirmi royal line, reported to him that Burkomanda defeated Wadai and captured their king. See Escayrac de Lauture, Mémoire sur le Soudan, géographie naturelle et politique, histoire et ethnographie, moeurs et institutions de l'Empire des Fellatas, du Bornou, du Baguermi, du Waday, du Dar-Four, rédigé, d'après des renseignements entièrement nouveaux et accompagné d'une esquisse du Soudan oriental, 74-75.

[4] Ibid., 328, 403-404. For a different perspective on Bagirmi-Bulala relations, see Henri Carbou, La région du Tchad et du Ouadai, Premier Tome, 298. In Carbou’s mind, it was the Kuka who once imposed tribute on the Fulani in what became Bagirmi during the 1400s. However, given the likely Fitri origins of the Bulala sultans ruling Kanem, they too may have exercised a loose suzerainty or influence on the Kuka state in the 1400s and early 1500s.

[5] John Lavers, “An Introduction to the History of Bagirmi,” Annals of Borno 1, 31.

[6] Gustav Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan Vol. 3, 404.

[7] Ibid., 405.

[8] See Landeroin, “Notice historique,” in Documents scientifiques de la Mision Tilho, 380.

[9] See Behique Dunama, “Siècles Obscurs: The Alifas of Kanem and the Tunjur in the 17th and 18th Centuries,”  https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2025/11/siecles-obscurs-alifas-of-kanem-and.html. Tunjur traditions in Kanem suggest conflict with the Dala Afuno and Ramadan occurred in c. 1735, which is likely a century too late. A c. 1635 date is more plausible given the genealogy of the Kanem alifas based in Mao.

[10] See Heinrich Barth, Travels and Discoveries (1890), 86.

[11] John Lavers, “An Introduction to the History of Bagirmi,” 34.

[12] Maurice Abadie, Afrique centrale: la colonie du Niger, 133. This could also be possible evidence of Bagirmi’s forces incorporating additional soldiers from their Bulala allies.

[13] See Bawuro M. Barkindo, The Mandara Sultanate to 1902: History of the Evolution, Development and Collapse of a Central Sudanese Kingdom, 107, 111-112.

[14] Henri Carbou, La région du Tchad et du Ouadai, Tome Premier, 307-308, 311. While Hagenbucher’s “Notes sur les Bilala” is essential reading, he dates Djil Esa Tubo to c. 1536 based on a problematic Bulala royal genealogy. Hagenbucher’s dates are too problematic and difficult to reconcile with the wider regional history of Fitri, Kanem, and Bagirmi during the 1530s. Instead, Djil Esa Tubo was more likely to arrive in the Fitri area during the 1630s, which matches the general c. 1630 dating for the arrival of the Tunjur in Kanem. After their defeat at the hands of the incoming Tunjur, the Bulala may have spent some time in Massoa, to the east of the Bahr el-Ghazal, before moving to Fitri. Whether or not the Bulala were asked to intervene there against the Kuka is unclear, but it could very well have involved Bagirmi military assistance. As for the question of Bagirmi interests in Kanem possibly being related to their ties to the Bulala sultans, the question remains ambiguous. Bagirmi sources certainly suggest the Bulala were reduced to vassals or tributaries, so it would seem Bagirmi’s actions in Kanem and Kawar were not motivated by a desire to restore the Bulala sultanate in Kanem. For a reference to Bagirmi’s overt conquest of the Bulala, see H. Lanier, “L’ancien royaume du Baguirmi,” 460. According to Lanier, who confused Burkomanda I with Burkomanda Tad Lele, “Il fit la guerre au sultans des Boulalas, conquit son pays, le soumit et donna à son nouveau vassal une de ses soeurs en mariage.” Either way, Burkomanda exerted some degree of influence over the Bulala in Fitri.

[15] Gustav Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan Vol. 3, 405.

[16] Ibid., 406. For a speculative attempt at contextualizing the usage of bricks in Massenya, see Behique Dunama, “Speculating on Massenya and Bricks in Bagirmi,” https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2025/12/speculating-on-massenya-and-bricks-in.html.

[17] Religion may have provided an additional avenue for Bagirmi to assert its position within the Sudan. Umar b. Idris (c. 1619-1639) of Borno’s destruction of the first Kalumbardo forced Shaykh Waldede to flee for his life, returning to Bagirmi where the town of Bidderi had a long history of ties to Islamic scholarship (and the rulers of Bagirmi). See Behique Dunama, “Umar b. Idris (r.1619-1639) and the First Kalumbardo,” https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2025/09/umar-b-idris-r1619-1639-and-first.html. Though Nachtigal and other sources do not mention this in the context of Burkomanda’s reign, it would be interesting to explore how Umar b. Idris’s assault against the first Kalumbardo may have had political repercussions in Bagirmi. After all, if Waldede came from Bagirmi and had long-established ties to Bagirmi, including one associated with designing the palace, would Bagirmi’s rulers continue to look positively upon the Sayfawa? In terms of their own state’s Islamic legitimacy, they may have began to harbor more animosity against Borno’s ruler. Even more intriguing in this context is Wadai tradition linking the founder of the state, Abd el-Kerim, with Kalumbardo’s other leader as well as Bidderi in Bagirmi.

[18] Gustav Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan, Vol 3., 405.

[19] Henri Carbou, La région du Tchad et du OuadaiTome Premier, 312.

[20] Henri Lanier, “L’ancien royaume du Baguirmi,” 460.

[21] Comte Escayrac de Lauture, Mémoire sur le Soudan, 74-75.

[22] The only reference to anything close to a plague early in Wadai history is a cattle pestilence and drought during the reign of Ya’qub Arus (1681-1707, in Nachtigal’s chronology). See Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan, Vol. 4, 208.

[23] Comte Escayrac de Lauture, Mémoire sur le Soudan, 77.

[24] Henri Carbou, La région du Tchad et du OuadaiTome Premier, 111.

[25] Comte Escayrac de Lauture, Mémoire sur le Soudan, 77.