Doing the Impossible with Sun Ra

Greetings, black youth of planet Earth. The latest documentary on Sun Ra, Sun Ra: Doing the Impossible aired on PBS recently. It is very well done and even includes interviews with members of the Arkestra. The filmmakers also did a great job integrating video clips and recordings from Sun Ra's lifetime with the mainstream narrative. They perhaps decided to play it safe and focus on the more immediately accessible side of Sun Ra's music rather than fully immersing the listener into the frantic free-jazz of some of his work. For a presumably similar reason, the film does not fully explore the complex and questionable framework of Sun Ra's writings in his Chicago period. Even his poetry was charitably described by Ishmael Reed as notes expressing the importance of music in his life. But overall, they succeed in portraying Sun Ra as a visionary who survived the Jim Crow South. His passion for music and his belief in its potential for communicating deeper message will undoubtedly resonate with many viewers. Even the concept of alter destiny is presented persuasively and with a powerful message of self-empowerment.

As the title suggests, the film focuses on the positive sides of Sun Ra's penchant for mythocracy. While there is an ugly downside to Sun Ra's occultism and esoterica (which is partly explored by members of the Arkestra describing it as being cult-like), this documentary portrays it in the context of African Americans and their marginalization. Stripped of their own past and forced to live someone else's myths, Ra's inventive imagination sought to counter this with a new future that looked to space. While one writer who appears in the film claims Sun Ra was a pioneer or a "first," it is actually quite clear that Sun Ra based his stage persona (and real life, since the two were so entwined) on past generations of black bandleaders, the traditions of Western and African American esotericism, Afrocentrism and black autodidacticism. Indeed, his vast library even included at least one work by J.A. Rogers and when the Arkestra visited Egypt, members of the band viewed it as "their" history (the Egyptians who can be seen in the shots of the Arkestra at the Sphinx or Great Pyramid must have been completely baffled!). Sun Ra was certainly the first to encapsulate so many of these elements in a jazz band, however. And since the documentary wisely sidelined most of Sun Ra's prose writings expressing his worldview, viewers are instead treated to an engaging overview of Ra's life and career. Even for those who have read biographies of Ra, there are some interesting aspects in his life we had forgotten about. For instance, the Arkestra's Philadelphia base was purchased for a dollar from Marshall Allen's father. Or that Esquire published a poem by Sun Ra on the eve of the Moon landing. 

Sadly, the 90 minute time slot severely limits how comprehensive these documentaries can be. Despite a pretty good overview of Sun Ra's upbringing and early career in Birmingham and Chicago, the New York years are hastily covered. The film highlights how Sun Ra was not accepted by critics, but one wishes they explored how Ra was a fixture at Slug's Saloon. Nor are jazz musicians from the free jazz period interviewed, even though they could have added a much-needed musician's perspective on how Sun Ra really "fit" in the avant garde New York jazz scene. Likewise, one would have liked more attention on John Gilmore and Marshall Allen as key members of the Arkestra who kept the band's legacy alive. In fact, when we saw the Arkestra live about 7 or 8 years ago, Allen was still leading the band in a performance very faithful to the multimedia aesthetic of Sun Ra. But without shedding light on these figures who kept the band going after Sun Ra's death or their own widely regarded musical talent (Gilmore), another example of how excellent the Arkestra truly was is missed. Obviously, Sun Ra ran the show and the band supported his vision, but truly remarkable musicians who were faithful to his band were what made the Arkestra work. This is clearly expressed in the almost spiritual relationship between Sun Ra and vocalist June Tyson, whose presence in the band is regal.

Our minor nitpicking aside, this is an excellent introduction to the complex life and oeuvre of Sun Ra. The timing does not allow for extra details, even though Ra's life was full of remarkable episodes and anecdotes. For instance, Sun Ra thinking "Nuclear War" could be a pop hit and trying to get major labels interested. Or the story of the white judge who Sun Ra told would never see another black person like him. Hopefully, viewers of the documentary will go on to read Szwed's fantastic Space Is the Place. Sun Ra was a very unique person, but rightfully built his own myth to escape the myth of black inferiority and subjugation. We are almost inspired to revisit his broadsides and the reading lists for the course he taught at UC-Berkeley.

Port-au-Prince au cours des ans (1804-1888)

The volume covering Port-au-Prince from 1804-1888 in Georges Corvington's Port-au-Prince au cours des ans is very important for establishing the pattern of urban (under)development that has characterized Port-au-Prince throughout Haiti's history as an independent nation. Of course, Corvington focuses on the history of Port-au-Prince's urban confines, characteristics, economy, and cultural life means the larger story of Haitian underdevelopment and peripheral status in the world system of the 19th century are largely ignored. But any full understanding of why Port-au-Prince, despite some positive reforms in the years of Geffrard's presidency, or even part of the Salomon years, often failed to consistently maintain urban policies to rebuild or expan infrastructure, must be seen within the larger structural problems of Haitian political economy beyond the capital. By narrowing one's focus on the capital, however, the nefarious consequences of Haiti's structural woes are immediately clear, elucidating why the city in 2026 is unfortunately like its 19th century counterpart.

While the seeds were undoubtedly sown in the colonial era, this volume demonstrates how the various governments for most of Haiti's first century after the Revolution failed to manage and sustain the capital's growth. The perennial problem of instability and frequent revolutions, fires, natural disasters, or economic woes made the capital one which often lacked the infrastructure to adequate house its people. In addition, a large class of urban poor who were either unemployed or underemployed were already evident, with beggars known for congregating in public places and sleeping by the cathedral. Like today, the city's poor roads, badly managed tramway service (driven by horses in the 1870s and 1880s), and the failure of the municipal and national authorities to maintain sanitation, roads, or the distribution of water made much of the capital an unagreeable place. 

Despite these many problems, the capital was not without its charms. For instance, the Geffrard years witnessed a flourishing moment for the elite and bourgeois while Salomon's tenure saw the city expand further, beginning to look more like the capital of today spatially. Various governments did endeavor to improve infrastructure (often running out of funding before completion or relying on questionable concessionaires). The city's urban poor and laboring classes were actively involved in Carnival and the bourgeois homes formed elite salons or patronized theaters and high-end shops. Some degree of mixed neighborhoods could be seen in Bel-Air when petite-bourgoisie families established homes in the area or even parts of the Bord-de-Mer where families with means lived relatively close to impoverished quarters. Naturally, the seeds of the suburbanization and wealthy enclaves also developed in the 1800s, with Turgeau being one of the desirable neighborhoods of the time. 

But those on the other side of the tracks became a burgeoning problem for different neighborhoods, not just Bel-Air or Morne-a-Tuf. The capital's frequent fires, political turmoil, and the government's dependence on German or other foreign interests severely limited the ability of the state to adequately manage and restore the city after its numerous fires. These sadly meant that, as the population gradually grew, the state was usually not able to ensure urban infrastructure or services that would make the city livable. Naturally, this problem became extreme in the second half of the 20th century, but one can already detect traces of it in the 19th century. Even a Salomon who partly encouraged home ownership on the new outskirts of the city or the growth of charity, social aid, and Catholic churches, schools, and hospitals werenot adequate to meet the challenge. Not wholly explained by Corvington but very significant, the urban masses who supported the charismatic Salnave represent one eruption of proletarian or urban poor assertion. Although failing with the fall of Salnave and the return to power of the old bourgeois interests, the specter of the urban poor remained a threat to established interests. For that reason, one wishes Corvington explored more deeply the question of crime, labor (domestic servants, artisans, stevedores), and religion or spirituality of the urban poor and workers. For instance, how did Vodou shape the lives of the urban poor and neighborhood organization or politics? To what extent did the Church's new chapels and parishes in the growing city shape popular Catholic identity and practice? Their lives are partly represented in his numerous references to areas like Bel-Air, but a deeper sense of their class position and daily experienes may have helped readers to understand how inequality was exacerberated whilst benefitting the elite and political classes. 

In other words, we should probably read the subsequent volumes of the series. There Corvington would have had more sources to draw from to paint a more complete social picture of the Haitian capital. Nonetheless, this is a fine start for a basic overview of how Port-au-Prince did evolve in the 19th century. Corvington is careful with sources, often relying on newspapers from the period in question, foreigners' accounts, memoires, and using maps and photographs to display the changes over time. Perhaps engaging with oral traditions and family histories, especially among families frrm the lower-class or middle classes could have helped to fill in the gaps for much of the 19th century.

21st Century Romance

Long one of our favorites from The Night of the Purple Moon, Sun Ra's "21st Century Romance" is the confused highpoint of Western civilization. In all seriousness, this comforting piece is pensive and features some nice honking from the horn player (Gilmore?) whose brief solo adds a bit of edge to what is rather tame material by Sun Ra standards. It's one of the better outings from a rather accessible Sun RA LP with no long tracks. 

Thoughts on Manan and Early Kanem

Dierk Lange's reconstruction of a map of the Lake Chad basin based on Ibn Sa'id (from "La région du lac Tchad d’après la géographie d’Ibn Saʿīd. Textes et cartes").

Manan, the earliest known capital of Kanem, remains an enigma. Its exact location remains unknown. Nor is there much information on the nature of this settlement or town from external Arabic sources. Oral traditions in Kanem and Borno shed little light on the matter, too. Revisiting the various sources on Manan, however, suggests its antiquity predated the 10th century. Moreover, by using what we know of later capitals in Kanem and Borno, it may be possible to reconstruct some of the characteristics of Manan. Doing so emphasizes the importance of continuity over time in the annals of Kanem and Borno. Of course, various changes took place over several centuries, but distinct features of the Kanembu, Kanuri, and various peoples living near Lake Chad persisted. In addition, reconsidering Manan as a political capital also requires rethinking what we know of early Kanem and how the consolidation of Kanem under a single dynasty required the unification of many peoples inhabiting the region.

Manan and Early Kanem in Medieval Sources

Naturally, one must begin with the medieval Arabic sources. Most of them are available in the Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History, edited by Levtzion and Hopkins. The first to unambiguously allude to Kanem was al-Ya’qubi in the 800s. According to him, there was a Zaghawa kingdom in Kanem. He wrote, “Their dwellings are huts made of reeds and they have no towns.”[1] It is possible that a settlement later known as Manan already existed in this century, but al-Ya’qubi did not consider it a city due to all its structures being reed huts. Intriguingly, he also described another Zaghawa group, al-HWDN, with a king from the Zaghawa. Then he mentioned an enemy kingdom called Malal, “who hate the king of Kanim.”[2] Malal, ruled by a king called MYWSY, could have been a smaller polity later absorbed into Kanem. The place name, Malal, does recall Manan and, according to one spelling, M.lan.

Besides al-Ya’qubi, the next detailed accounts of Kanem are by al-Muhallabi from the late 900s (quoted by Yaqut). This author reported that the Zaghawa had 2 towns: Manan and Tarazki, both in the first clime at latitude 21 degrees. Yet their houses were still reed huts, including the palace of the king: “Their houses are all reed huts as is also the palace of their king, whom they exalt and worship instead of Allah.”[3] This source is important as the earliest to unambiguously name a city or town of Manan in Kanem. Although the source also expresses the idea of a multiplicity of Zaghawa, it is quite clear that it is Kanem being described. Moreover, a glimpse of how the king’s authority may have been seen and what counted as wealth can be gleaned from the evidence: the king’s wealth was counted in livestock like sheep, cattle, camels and horses. The latter is especially significant due to the importance of horses in Kanem’s military power. The subjects were also said to go naked or wear skins, while the king wore silk and woolen clothes.[4] Unfortunately, there is no clear indication of where Manan was located, but the site must have had access to trade routes through the Sahara and perhaps to the east.

After al-Muhallabi, al-Idrisi wrote about Manan. To this 12^th century geographer, Manan was 12 stages from Tamalma. According to al-Idrisi, “Manan is a small town without industry of any sort and little commerce. Its people breed camels and goats.”[5] This description suggests that Manan was quite small and about 8 days travel from Anjimi (Njimi, the capital of the Islamic Sayfawa rulers). Because he utilized sources from different time periods without reconciling their inconsistencies, one must interpret al-Idrisi cautiously. For instance, he also wrote that Manan was 13 stages away from the Tajuwa “town” which may have been an example of al-Idrisi inventing a town. He also claimed that Manan was where the “governor” of the country lived, who led an army mostly consisting of naked archers. This is a fascinating piece of information, but possibly evidence that al-Idrisi uncritically repeated outdated information. The reference to naked archers also suggests the Haddad, an artisanal caste group in Kanem who were known in much later times as the only people to use the bow and arrow.[6]

Last, but certainly not least, Ibn Sa’id wrote a detailed account of Kanem that drew heavily on the lost work of Ibn Fatima. The description of Kanem is that of the period of Dunama Dibalemi (c. 1210-1248). It is also thanks to Ibn Sa’id that we know Njimi was southeast of Manan. Apparently, the earlier Kanem capital was level with the angle of the Lake (Lake Chad) at longitude 51 degrees, latitude 13 degrees. Manan was specifically said to have been the capital of the pagan ancestors of Kanem’s king (in other words, the Duguwa branch of the Sayfawa). Ibn Sa’id also specifies that to the east of Manan wandered the Zaghawa and to their north, the Akawwar (presumably Teda-Daza groups in Kawar?).[7] Basically, Manan was to the southeast of Kawar (and south of the Tibesti Mountains and Borku) while to its southeast, Njimi was closer to Bahr al-Ghazal (40 miles away from this river). When one considers the higher water levels of Lake Chad in the first millennium of our era and the fact that the Bahr al-Ghazal was consistently flooded in the period from 900-1150, agricultural settlements could have thrived in Kanem.[8] Manan, located closer to Lake Chad than Njimi, would have made sense for a capital since it was closer to the areas from which the ancestors of the Sayfawa migrated: Tibesti, Borku, Kawar. At the time, it would have been able to support farmers, herders, and enjoyed closer proximity to the trans-Saharan routes. Naturally, shifting the capital to Njimi with Islamization may have been partly motivated by a desire for better agricultural land as the population moved toward greater sedentarism.

Considering Manan and Early Kanem in Today’s Scholarship

Moving into the modern era, where did scholars believe was Manan? Borno historian Muhammad Nur Alkali postulated a possible location in the Shitati region of Kanem. Some ambiguity can be seen in his attempt to locate it along the northeastern shores of Lake Chad yet also indicating a general location in the Shitati area.[9] When this region was visited by Nachtigal in the 1870s, it was in a part of Kanem that had become largely the terrain of nomadic groups. By this era, it did not neighbor Lake Chad but included numerous valleys. In total, more than 50 valleys could be found in Shitati, which also featured a natron lake. In Nachtigal’s time, most of the people residing in Shitati were Yuroa, Orabba, and Qadawa, the latter a Kanembu group of the Dibbiri with Daza ancestry. The Dibbiri, of course, appear early on in the Diwan since the mother of the first “black” mai, Salmama, was the son of a Dibbiri woman named Hawa.[10] Besides these aforementioned groups, some Kanembu and Danoa (Haddad) farmers also resided in the area. Most importantly, Nachtigal named a place called Maten el-Milah that was no longer part of Shitati. Instead, it consisted of valleys on the path to Borku.[11] It is likely a coincidence, but Manan was sometimes rendered as Matan in written Arabic sources. In the case of this place, Nachtigal reports that it was an Arabic name (Fountain of Salt) and not an indigenous one of deeper antiquity. In other words, Shitati may have once harbored the early capital of Kanem, but there is no smoking gun to irrefutably demonstrate it. In its favor is its location northwest of Njimi and proximity to Lake Chad, which enjoyed higher water levels over 1000 years ago.

Also worthy of consideration is the theory of H.R. Palmer. Palmer, a towering figure in colonial-era scholarship on Borno, was guilty of contemporary racial theories, shoddy or questionable linguistic connections, and sometimes lacking transparency for his sources. Nonetheless, Palmer did work with local elites to gather traditions or translate various manuscripts, meaning that his work is unavoidable for any serious interest in the history of Borno. In terms of Manan and early Kanem, he even gathered traditions (which appear to contain anachronisms) of Dugu’s alleged southerly campaign.[12] As for Manan, Palmer apparently connects it to the Kulu or Kuluwan region.[13] Since Madan or Malan appears to have been the place where the early mai Fune died, this is consistent with Manan as a royal capital. Against Palmer’s theory, however, is the area of Kuluwan between Kanem and Bagirmi. This is not consistent with medieval Arabic sources placing Manan to the northwest of Njimi. It was also the area where Katur, a successor of Fune, died, according to the Diwan. Ultimately, Palmer’s attempt to link Manan or Matan with the Kuluwan region is not persuasive and contradicted by the Diwan which places Manan (or M.lan) in Kanem.[14]

Manan, Malal, and Early Kanem

Besides Palmer, John Lavers also proposed an intriguing theory for early Kanem with relevance to Manan. Based on the brief description of Kanem by 9^th century author al-Ya’qubi, Lavers has suggested that in c. 872, Kanem had “Zaghawa” rulers but also competed with neighboring “Zaghawa” polities. One of these groups was called Hawdin, and another was Malal. Since the ruler of Malal was called Mayusi or Mai Wasi, and the Zaghawa king Kakarah (according to one reconstruction), is it possible that the rulers of Malal superseded the early rulers of Kanem and became the reigning dynasts?[15] This theory is, of course, based on the assumption that the title of the ruler of Malal was mai and since that is the title used by the kings of Kanem and Borno, Malal’s rulers may have replaced another polity and became the dominant power in what became known as Kanem. Of course, the absence of sufficient evidence limits its probability though it would possibly correlate with the M.lan (or Manan) mentioned in the Diwan as the place where Funa died. Assuming, of course, that M.lan is equivalent to Manan and possibly related to Malal.

This theory is likewise interesting if one accepts Terio’s notion that the Zaghawa king of Kanem named by al-Ya’qubi was actually the title kireh, used by the Zaghawa for kings.[16] Alternatively, the rulers of Malal may have intermarried with the “Zaghawa” or so-called Duguwa in Kanem, since the Diwan presents Dugu as the father of Funa, the mai who allegedly died in M.lan. Furthermore, Zaghawa traditions remember a Zaghawa king of Kanem named Douk Bourmè, presumably the same Dugu recalled in Kanuri girgams and the Diwan.[17] Since dating these figures is a hazardous exercise, one can only tentatively assign dates. If the excessive reign lengths in the Diwan are meant to refer to generations as well as to stretch the dynasty back to Sayf b. Dhi Yazan, we cannot be sure which kings are semi-legendary or when their reigns may have taken place.

Obviously, this makes any endeavor to tie the polities mentioned by al-Ya’qubi with the tentative chronology of Lange problematic. Yet Lange has written, “Un souverain du nom de Funa semble avoir régné au milieu du VIIIe siècle, Arsu à la fin du VIIIe et Katur au milieu du IXe siècle.”[18] If one accepts this mid-700s date for Funa, who died in a place called M.lan that may be Manan, then it is difficult to reconcile with the theory that Malal in the 870s was in conflict with Kanem and ruled by their own independent king. Unless one proposes that Funa died in a war with Malal sometime in the 700s or later traditionists merely fused the two dynastic lines together after their intermarriage, it is difficult to square with Lange’s suggested chronology for these “Duguwa” kings. Nonetheless, the possible Malal kingdom or polity as a rival of Kanem under the “Zaghawa” could be a reference to a fusion of Zaghawa, Teda-Daza, and Kanembu elements that occurred over several centuries, consolidating as a single dynasty with regional supremacy in the 900s or 1000s. Malal may, if the theory has any validity, have been a smaller polity of Kanembu-affiliated people whose capital was changed into Manan.

Concluding Thoughts

Clearly, the location of Manan is a subject of debate. The early medieval sources provide only glimpses of pre-Islamic Kanem and must be used cautiously. Indeed, due to some of these authors never actually seeing Kanem themselves, their reports are not based on direct experience. Nevertheless, they provide a few clues about how early Kanem developed and a rough idea of where Manan could have been.

Subsequent scholars from the colonial and postcolonial eras offered new theories, but without any definitive evidence to pinpoint exactly where Manan was. With the recent confirmation of Njimi’s likely location at Tié, and the general idea that Manan was to the northwest of Njimi, we can more confidently assert that it was closer to Lake Chad. This makes the theory of Muhammad Nur Alkali plausible. The more speculative theory proposed by Lavers could facilitate identifying the placement of Manan, too. Of course, our interpretation of it relies on the questionable assumption that Manan, Malal, and M.lan were designating the same place in the medieval Arabic sources and the Diwan. Such a theory could elucidate why Manan has been forgotten in Kanuri tradition, too.

In spite of its obscurity, Manan’s position as the earliest known capital of Kanem makes it significant in the growing sedentarization and consolidation of a powerful kingdom to the east of Lake Chad by the 9^th and 10^th centuries. While definitive proof remains elusive, the cumulative evidence suggests that Manan was an early political center northwest of Njimi, and possibly linked to the polity of Malal that appeared in the writings of al-Ya’qubi in the 800s. With future archaeological surveys and excavations, a more confident location for Manan can be found which could meaningfully change our perception of the origins of urbanism in Kanem.

---

[1] al-Ya’qubi in Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History, 21. Some possible references to the area of Kanem may predate c. 872, but the earlier Arabic authors only use the name Zaghawa. This term may have been used very broadly for many different ethnolinguistic groups living between Nubia and the central lands of Black Africa. It is possible, nonetheless, for some Zaghawa groups to have lived as far west as Kanem in the 9^th century (or earlier) and interacted with groups more closely related to the modern Teda, Daza, Bideyat and Kanembu.

[2] Ibid. John Lavers has also proposed an interesting idea about this polity, although it remains purely conjectural without additional sources.

[3] Ibid., 171. The reference to the house of the king is important, even if it was built with reed and not the monumental type of architecture Kanem and Borno developed after Islamization. The town of Tarazki is also intriguing as it bears a resemble to the later Kanem town of Daniski.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid., 114. Earlier, al-Muhallabi reported that livestock and horses were the wealth of Kanem’s ruler.

[6] For more information on the Haddad, see Henri Carbou, La Région du Tchad et du Ouadaï. This group has been the subject of more than a few unlikely or highly problematic theories. Lange, for instance, has proposed identifying the Haddad or Danoa with the so-called Duguwa dynasty. There is perhaps some basis in this theory due to Haddad oral traditions remembering an early ancestor called Dana and the fact that the Haddad, an Arabic name, are referred to as Duu or Dugu by the Kanembu (See Edouard Conte, Marriage Patterns, Political Change). Contrary to the theory of a Banu Duku or Duguwa origin, the Haddad are remembered in oral traditions as sharing a common descent with the Bulala or perhaps with slaves or servile populations in Kanem during the period of Bulala rule. This theory, of course, requires deeper analysis but Carbou’s traditions of origins for the Haddad seem to only go as far back in time as the Bulala period. Interestingly, Nachtigal himself focused more on the N’Galma Dukko as a group descended from an early prince of the Sayfawa dynasty, perhaps Duku or the so-called “Duguwa” branch. See Sahara and Sudan Vol. 3.

[7] Ibn Sa’id in Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History, 188-189.

[8] For information on the fluctuations in the levels of Lake Chad, see “Floods, Droughts, and Migrations: The Effects of Late Holocene Lake Level Oscillations and Climate Fluctuations on the Settlement and Political History in the Chad Basin” by Karsten Brunk and Detlef Gronenborn in Living with the Lake: Perspectives on History, Culture and Economy of Lake Chad. These authors have argued that the Bahr al-Ghazal was flooded throughout this period and the Sahel zone was semiarid and subhumid. But the Sudanic savannah lands would have been humid. Their theory that the center of early Kanem in c. 900 was the Bodele region is fascinating, but this seems too far north (and east) to help one determine Manan’s probable location.

[9] Muhammad Nur Alkali, Kanem-Borno Under the Sayfawa: A Study of the Origin, Growth and Collapse of a Dynasty, 24, 57. For yet another 20^th century scholar’s theory, see Zeltner’s Pages d’histoire du Kanem, which has suggested Manan was in the Egey region of Kanem.

[10] Dierk Lange, Le dīwān des sultans du (Kānem-)Bornū: Chronologie et histoire d'un royaume africain (de la fin du Xe siècle jusqu'à 1808), 70.

[11] Gustav Nachtigal, Sahara and Sudan Vol. III, 65-68.

[12] See H.R. Palmer, Bornu Sahara and Sudan for several examples of similar types of stories, legends or traditions on the kings of Kanem and Borno. Included is one 1751 manuscript which traces the origin of the first Saif to Aghani, a land Palmer claims was the Zaghawa, called Aghna (Arna) by the Kanuri.

[13] H.R. Palmer, Sudanese Memoirs Vol. I, 7, 74-75.

[14] Dierk Lange, Le dīwān des sultans du (Kānem-)Bornū: Chronologie et histoire d'un royaume africain (de la fin du Xe siècle jusqu'à 1808), 66.

[15] John Lavers, “Kanem and Borno to 1808” in  Groundwork of Nigerian History, 189.  

[16] Abdelkerim Souleyman Terio, Origine et évolution des Zaghawa: Du royaume du Kanem aux Etats modernes (VIIIe-XXIe siècle), 94.

[17] Ibid., 89.

[18] Dierk Lange, Le dīwān des sultans du (Kānem-)Bornū: Chronologie et histoire d'un royaume africain (de la fin du Xe siècle jusqu'à 1808), 143. 

Musique Des Princes - Fête Des Tohossou (1955)

Just some enchanting music from the 1950s recorded in Dahomey. 

Hermes Trismegisto E Sua Celeste Tábua De Esmeralda

If you know, you know...

Lake Chad in the Beatus Map

Whilst perusing Jean Maley's "Histoire lac Tchad durant le dernier millénaire" online recently, we noticed that the author proposed an early map depicting Lake Chad from medieval Europe. The Beatus map follows the conventions of medieval European cartography inspired by Ptolemy, but does depict a large lake south of the Sahara (Deserta arenosa, or sandy desert?) in what would roughly be the Lake Chad region. The connection to the Nile does match the incorrect view of Islamic geographers that Lake Chad and the Nile were connected. It probably resulted from a mistaken belief that the Bahr el Ghazal and the Nile were one and the same. But is it possible this map only placed Lake Chad in its correct location through chance or error? It's clearly based on ancient maps since it still refers to the "Isle of Meroe" and does not name specific places in the Lake Chad Basin. Yet unlike Isidore of Seville, the large lake believed to be the source of the Nile is not named Nilides, nor does this match show the river turning south before rising north to Egypt.