The following are my initial thoughts to reading Hyland's commentary and study of the Quito Manuscript, passed down to us through a copy made by Fernando de Montesinos in his own chronicle, Memorias antiguas, historiales y políticas del Perú. Upon reading more about Fernando de Montesinos himself and the intellectual and ideological context of his work and time (justifying Spanish conquest of Peru, linking Peru to Ophir, and praising the Spanish monarchy as the Kingdom of Israel), one can appreciate how radically different the Quito Manuscript is from this worldview. Instead, as argued by Hyland, the anonymous author (mestizo or indigenous, and apparently from Quito) was celebrating the Incas and the precolonial past of the Andes,albeit in a highly Christianized context.
Hyland is pretty confident that the Quito Manuscript (as preserved by Fernando Montesinos) was written by an indigenous or mestizo man from Ecuador who did not speak Spanish or Quechua as a first language. She's also sure that the stories and legends of 93 kings of Peru cannot be correlated with the Tiwanaku or Wari kings. She thinks the indigenous or mestizo author of the chronicle copied by Montesinos was profoundly Christian/influenced by the Old Testament and wanted to adapt legends gathered from amautas in and Around Quito that could give the Andeans a deep antiquity and status as a civilized people who once worshiped the "True God" before the Spanish conquest. The Quito Manuscript is also pro-Inca, unlike Montesinos, although one wonders if the anonymous author of the chronicle was exaggerating the extent to which the Incas attempted to stamp out idolatry and sodomy because of the inculcation of Christian values by so many Indians by the 1600s.
Supposedly, there would still have been enough amautas or descendants of amautas around Quito in the late 1500s to consult, but due to the non-Quechua speakers and distance from Cuzco, a distinctly northern perspective and set of traditions were recorded and modified by our anonymous author (and then modified again by Fernando de Montesinos, the racist priest who believed Indians were inferior yet also viewed Peru as the land of Ophir once connected to the ancient kingdom of Israel. To make a long story short, I guess the list of 93 kings of ancient Peru must be mainly legendary, although it would be cool if some of them were based on Wari or Tiwanaku kings. We just dont have any evidence of that since places like Lake Titicaca or Ayacucho are not mentioned in the text.
Although Pankhurst's compilation of royal Ethiopian chronicles consists only of extracts and omits some of the emperors, it is a worthwhile read for an introduction to Ethiopian royal chronicles. Unfortunately, Pankhurst does not tell us too much about the authors and audience of these documents, but by compiling extracts from several of them (plus an inscription of Ezana), one gets a sense of historical writing from several centuries of Ethiopian history. These chronicles occasionally hint or mention interesting things, even if some undeniably altered, obscured, or bent the "truth" to flatter certain emperors or patrons. If one is looking for a great example, compare the Funj Chronicle of Sinnar with the Ethiopian royal chronicle that mention the military conflict between the two kingdoms! Nonetheless, Pankhurst's compilation is a nice primer of chronicles from an African civilization with occasionally interesting noodles of information or surprises. For instance, we here at the blog did not expect to come across so many references to imperial interests in foreign technology, innovation, and, perhaps, agricultural practices. It would be interesting to learn more about early Ethiopian interests in sugarcane, for example, or the history of naval, architectural, and military innovation in Ethiopia (and why they were not usually sustainable).
Although obviously from a different time and era than the chronicles of Ahmad b. Furtu, Huntingford's translation of the royal chronicle of Amda Seyon's 1332 campaigns brought us back to Borno and the campaigns of Idris Alooma. Of course, the chroniclers of their respective kings relied on their own religious traditions and unique political and dynastic claims to legitimacy, but both created relatively detailed and panegyrical chronicles of specific military campaigns during the lengthy reigns of pivotal rulers in the Solomonic and Sayfawa dynasties.
For instance, both Ahmad b. Furtu and the anonymous chronicler of Amda Seyon undeniably sought to justify the military campaigns of their patrons on religious grounds, with their respective kings reestablishing or restoring the true faith while engaging in large-scale military campaigns that transformed the larger region with population displacement and realignments through imperial expansion. Similarly, both chroniclers compare their patrons to their alleged illustrious forebears, Sayf and the House of Solomon with the expected references to the holy texts of their respective faiths. The major difference here, of course, would be the primary antagonism between Islam and Christianity in the case of Ethiopia while Christianity was a non-factor in Borno's campaigns during the the reign of Idris Alooma.
Despite these probably superficial parallels, we are fascinated by the idea of a comparative study of the Sayfawa and Solomonic dynasties as examples of long-lasting African political systems. Both drew on "world religions" of Christianity and Islam but of course owed much of their origins to an ancient, deeper past in their regions of the Lake Chad Basin and the Ethiopian highlands. Both also provide interesting examples of the vicissitudes of these dynasties during the 19th century and European imperialism as they transformed, declined, or, in the case of the Solomonic rulers, maintained their independence.
Lange's A Sudanic Chronicle: The Borno Expeditions of Idrīs Alauma (1564–1576) is an indispensable work. A scholarly, modern translation of one of the chronicles of imam Ahmad b. Furtu, it is one of the earliest extant West African chronicles, written in 1576. It is also one of the most detailed primary sources from Borno on the Sayfawa dynasty and the reign of Idris b. Ali. Indeed, when paired with the 1578 chronicle on the Kanem campaigns of Idris b. Ali against the Bulala on the opposite shore of Lake Chad, Ahmad b. Furtu is probably our most important written source on Kanem-Borno from the precolonial era. Unfortunately, the chronicler only covers the first twelve years of his ruler's reign, but he provides an intimate look at some of the social, political, demographic, military, diplomatic, religious and economic dynamics in 16th century Borno. Moreover, Lange's scholarly translation is more accurate and usable than the 19th century Redhouse translations or the Palmer ones with their egregious errors. For that reason alone, plus the detailed footnotes by an academic who specializes in the region, Lange's translation is required reading.
What stands out more clearly in this translation than that of Redhouse is the literary allusions, Quranic references, and the role of military tactics. For instance, the expertise in which Idris, the brother of Vizier Kursu organizes the musketeers, shieldsmen, and cavalry to effectively defeat Ngizim towns was far more explicit here. The greater precision and contextual knowledge of the translator vividly brings to life some of the combat, military strategies, and long-term goals of Idris Alooma to wear down, defeat, displace, destroy, and starve rebels, external enemies, and nomadic foes (like the Tuareg of Air). Snippets of the population movements and displacements, such as the construction of ribats to end "pagan" incursions, are additional evidence of large-scale movements across Borno which reveal the long-term strategy of the Sayfawa to consolidate their power. Furthermore, Ahmad b. Furtu's individuality and background as the chief imam of Birni Gazargamo are more readily discernible here, perhaps due to useful footnotes of Lange.
Unfortunately, Lange never followed this with a similar scholarly translation of the second chronicle of Ahmad b. Furtu. It's a shame since the two chronicles, both panegyric in tone and clearly meant to flatter the sultan, nonetheless constitute hugely significant sources on events in Kanem and Borno during the late 16th century. The Kanem campaigns described by Ahmad b. Furtu are essential for highlighting the larger regional ambitions, influence, and extent of Sayfawa power across the Central Sudan. It also would have been interesting to read a similar gazetteer of towns and settlements in Kanem as well as Lange's commentary to shed light on the Quranic, literary, or linguistic peculiarities of the text.
Although it was almost certainly written in the 19th century and probably relies on legends and oral traditions for the early rulers of the kingdom, the Kano Chronicle is another fascinating source and example of historical literature in "Sudanic" Africa. Lamentably, we have to rely on Palmer's 1908 translation for our purposes, and his chronology may be incorrect. Anyway, we here at the blog believe Hunwick was probably right about the date of authorship and the ideological motivations of the author, but it is interesting to consider the document in relationship to the Agadez Chronicles, the chronicles and kingslists of Borno (such as the Diwan), other Kano kingslists, the Timbuktu Chronicles, and historical writings across the "Sudanic" belt of the continent. Indeed, the playful additional or praise songs for past rulers and historical figures, the tension between the semi-legendary "pagan" past and the Muslim or Islamic authors, or the changes in state formation with the increase of slave officials, Islam's spread, and the stability of the state across nearly 800 years.
One can see how the Kano Chronicle was likely based on kingslists. With narrative elaboration and details that probably drew from oral literature and possibly some documents, like the Funj Chronicle, the Hausa author(s) innovatively combined the two types of literary sources for an engaging overview of each sarki or king of Kano. To what extent were the kings of Kano from ca. 1000 to 1807 really from a single dynasty is unclear, as the earlier rulers, such as Bagauda, may have been based on legends. And the ancient "pagan" religion that clearly served as a basis of authority for the early rulers appeared to influence the Bagauda dynasty for centuries, even after Yaji I established Islam. Innovative rulers such as Muhammad Rumfa and Kisoki, despite their links to the larger Islamic world, probably had to wade carefully with Islamic reforms to Kano's state structure and relationship with the masses, yet starting around the time of these post-Yaji I kings, the Kano Chronicle seems to owe less to legends. It is also interesting to see how the author inserts dialogue which he could not have been privy to for kings who ruled centuries before the 19th century, but adding life to the historical figures in question.
However, since our main interest in Kano and Hausaland is related to Kanem-Borno, we read the source in that light. Thus, one cannot escape noticing the use of Kanem-Borno administrative titles in Kano, such as galadima. A Borno prince who sought refuge in Kano in the early 15th century, perhaps Uthman b. Daud, appears in the chronicle as Dagachi. This Sayfawa royal may have introduced aspects of Borno statecraft and titles into Kano, although anachronisms in the text cause the author to use titles like galadima before the 15th century Kano sarkis. To what extent Kano may have been under the rule or within the sphere of influence of Kanem-Borno before the Sayfawa relocated to Borno is not clear, but the Sayfawa state appears to have influenced Kano in many ways. According to the chronicle, Kano paid tribute to Borno during Abdulahi Burja's reign (c. 1438-1452), while also opening roads from Borno to Gwanja for trade. During his reign, Borno also attempted an attack on Asben but a lack of water drove them back. Nonetheless, the chronicle suggests other lands west of Borno fell under some kind of tributary relationship with the Sayfawa. But probably a loose one, as Borno's campaign on Kano during the reign of Abdulahi in the period between 1499-1509 suggests a recurring need for the Sayfawa to reassert their control. Later attempts would not go so well for Borno, as Sarki Koski (given an extremely long reign by Palmer) was able to resist an attack of Borno on the city.
Kanuri or Beriberi also appear in large numbers in the middle of the 15th century, as well as Arabs, an increase in the salt trade, and Gwanja merchants in Katsina. Clearly, events by the time of the middle of the 15th century increased the movement of people and goods from Asben, Gobir, Gwanja, Katsina, Borno, and beyond in Kano. Indeed, the presence of people from Bagirmi and Logone ("Lagoni") in Kano under Abubakr Kado (c.1565-1573) must have been through Borno. In addition to Muslim Wangara and Fulanis from the west bringing books and contributing Islamic holymen and scholars to the city, Borno provided 3 brothers: Shehu Karaski, Magumi (the royal clan of the Sayfawa) and Kabi. The chronicle claims Magumi became alkali during the reign of Kisoki, and with a name like Magumi, one wonders if he was a relative of the Borno mai. Perhaps through the influence of royals with Islamic learning and political connections, Borno was able to expand or maintain its influence in the court of Kano (and other vassal or tributary states) without direct rule or intervention. As for the Kano campaign of Idris Alooma (Idris b. Ali), the chronology of Palmer would preclude it from being the Borno attack on Kano during Kisoki's reign.
Last, but certainly not least for understanding Borno's presence in the chronicle, the Kwararafa threat. 17th century external sources allude to the Kwararafa engaging in wars with Borno during the reign of Ali b. Umar. Kano, too, fought with the Kwararafa state or confederation a number of times in the 16th and 17th centuries. Indeed, one of their attacks during the reign of Dadi (c. 1670-1703) resulted into the Kwararafa taking the capital. If other Hausa sources are reliable for the era, Borno played a role in defeating the Kwararafa threat to Katsina during this era, and may have, as the most powerful state, played the role of protector for tributary and even non-tributary Muslim states in the region threatened by "pagans" like Kwararafa (although they became "Christian" in European sources). Unfortunately, the chronicle does not explicitly mention Borno's role in staving the Kwararafa threat, but one can imagine the Sayfawa dynasty likely played a role in weakening their threat to Hausa states.
In conclusion, the Kano Chronicle presents not only a mine of information, questions, and mysteries on Kano and the history of Hausaland, but poses interesting questions on Kanem-Borno's in the "Central "Sudan." It corroborates, to a certain extent, Borno's hegemony or cultural impact on the Hausa states. The text itself, though almost certainly written in the 19th century, exhibits an occasionally moving fusion of oral and written sources for an actual history that elaborates on the various kingslists. Like the Funj Chronicle, one can almost see a certain shift toward narrative based on the kinglists with a plethora of influences from pre-Islamic Hausa culture. We will return to Kano in future posts on the history of the Hausa people.
Although so many questions remain pertaining to the authorship and interpolations in the Tarikh al-Fattash, one can see why it has become a priceless resource for understanding the history of the Songhay and the Niger Bend region. Attributed to Mahmud Kati and his grandson, with additional notes and references to a lost chronicle and family records, the text contains clear forgeries from the 19th century, predicting a future caliph of Masina. Nobili and other scholars have made a persuasive argument that what we know call the Tarikh al-Fattash was in fact an original 17th century chronicle by Ibn al-Mukhtar, and the 19th century forgery which drew upon the older text to promote a certain Ahmad of Masina. Apparently, other copies of the Tarikh al-Fattash have been located in the surviving libraries or collections of West African Arabic manuscripts, so future scholars may one day establish a clearer picture on the making of this particular chronicle. Unlike the other surviving Timbuktu chronicle, with a more clearly established author, part of the appeal and challenge of the Tarikh al-Fattash is endeavoring to make sense of its authorship and how it reflects a tradition of chronicles or "historical" writing in West Africa for centuries.
Unfortunately, however, we had to rely on the 1913 French translation of the text by Houdas and Delafosse. Despite its errors and dated footnotes to elucidate ambiguous passages or unclear translations, one felt it to be a more useful (and accessible) translation than the English version. Until a scholarly, annotated English translation of the chronicle is published, we shall have to rely on Houdas and Delafosse's translation. And, lest one be mistaken, the 1913 French translation is mostly serviceable. The incongruous mixing of authors makes for sometimes confusing reading, but the Tarikh al-Fattash provides a number of different oral traditions, slightly modified kingslists for the Zuwa and Sunni dynasties, and new data and references for everyone interested in the rise, decline and fall of the Songhay Askia dynasty.
As the product of a Muslim intellectual (possibly a real Mahmud Kati, or Ibn al-Mokhtar), it invariably promotes a certain narrative of Songhay political power, religious practice, and Islamic civilizational models the Askiya state, under Askia Muhammad I, epitomized. While also reporting new oral traditions of the early history of West Africa and the Songhay, what the Tarikh al-Fattash emphasizes in servile lineages, slavery (the 24 tribes owned by the kings of Mali, who were then seized by the Songhay and provided tribute), and caste actually reveals something of the larger world beyond the Niger Bend in which Songhay was inextricably linked. For instance, the origins of one caste lineage is somehow imagined to have begun with a former slave owned by Christians in the Atlantic, possibly an allusion to the trans-Atlantic slave trade. One finds intriguing claims of an ancient Jewish population in the area of Tendirma before its formal establishment by the Askiyas. This may have served the purpose of acknowledging the Jewish presence in West Africa or calling attention to the deeper antiquity of this part of West Africa. A similar tactic was possibly used in the Tarikh al-Sudan when al-Sa'di suggested ancient Kukiya was a source of sorcerers for the Pharaohs of Egypt. Undoubtedly, oral traditions and legends permeated both of the Timbuktu chronicles in question, such as the origins of the Zuwa dynasty of kings or the chronology used to describe the early history of Ghana (Wagadu) or even the rise of the Sunni dynasty in the character of Ali Kulun. A great episode, of course not factual, can be found in the tale of Mansa Musa's hajj, when his farba produces an artificial river in the middle of the desert for the mansa's wife.
For our purposes, if the Tarikh al-Fattash is reliable, then it is priceless for shedding more light on social structure and practices of power among the Askiya rulers. It may reflect a greater dependence on slaves in the post-Songhay imperial period, but it reveals how the Askiya was expected to be generous, redistribute wealth, and, in at least some cases, employ enslaved labor for agriculture. Thus, an Askiya is said to have given the original Mahmud Kati several gifts for his sons to marry, including land with slave laborers to make it productive. Another story of Askia Dawud's generosity mentions him freeing the entire family of an old enslaved woman, even though the woman had only asked that the Askia ensure her children and grandchildren not be separated when sold to new owners. This seems to reflect the fact that slave trading in Songhay lands did indeed separate families. But even better for this old woman and her family, Askia Dawud freed her entire family and had an official document signed in front of witnesses to attest to her family's freedom. Freeing slaves was a virtuous act, but making gifts out of them for various Islamic scholars, nobles, and subordinates was supposedly another aspect of Askia Dawud's virtue. It is in this context we learn that the population of Gao consisted of 7,626 houses, not counting straw huts, to display how no one living in the city had not benefited from the largesse of the Askia dynasty.
As for royal plantations (producing rice, it would seem), caste, artisans, and the poor, the Tarikh al-Fattash also reveals more than the Tarikh al-Sudan. The poor in Timbuktu and Gao supposedly received food directly from the Askia Dawud. In the first city, Dawud allegedly founded a plantation worked by 30 slaves to feed the poor. He also sent 4000 sunnu of grain to the qadi of Timbuktu to distribute for them. Intriguingly, to be a royal slave also conferred a degree of power, and could, in some cases (Missakoulah, the supervisor said to be from Baguirmi who oversaw a royal plantation and repeatedly gave away grain from it to the less fortunate) get away with independent actions and behavior (especially if their behavior in virtuous acts improved the status of their master). It is also in the Tarikh al-Fattash that references to the tailors of Timbuktu and artisans can be found. For instance, the Moroccan invading army included Arab shoemakers and artisans who sold their services after the pacification of the region. Supposedly, prior that, Timbuktu already had 26 establishments for tailors, the so-called tindi, which were run by a master who had, on average, around 50 apprentices. Some of the tailors were also scholars, such as a certain Boussa mentioned in the the chronicle. There must have been some kind of guild-like association for certain trades in towns like Timbuktu and Gao. Other artisan groups were treated as a caste, and expected to provide a tribute to the Askias (the blacksmiths, for example). Unfortunately, these chronicles, focused as they are on the Askias and scholars, do not tell us more about artisans, laborers, and farmers, and less about the use of enslaved labor in the salt mines or estates owned by non-Askiya. In the near future, a new translation of the Tarikh al-Fattash and critical study of it and other manuscripts may shed light on these questions, and the basis of Songhay royal power to the peasantry.
Due to our recent readings of Redhouse's dated English translations of two chronicles by the imam Ahmad Ibn Furtu or Borno, we at the blog have decided to tackle Hunwick's translation of the chronicle Tarikh al-Sudan by Abd al-Rahman al-Sa'di. Unfortunately, Hunwick did not translate the entirety of the chronicle written by our Timbuktu author, skipping 2 chapters on Moroccan politics and later chapters on events after 1613, with the pasha administration and post-Songhay Middle Niger politics. That era, after 1613, when effective Songhay resistance was largely over and fewer large-scale empires operated in the "Western Sudan", was for obvious reasons quite distinct from the "imperial" era of Songhay, Mali, or Ghana.
As the general narrative of the Songhay Empire or the Western Sudan owes so much to al-Sadi and the Tarikh al-Fattash, reading this chronicle was basically an exercise in seeing how so many historians and documentarians have borrowed this or that idea, characterization, or plot point in their depiction of Songhay rulers like Askia Muhammad or Sunni Ali. We have read select chapters of the two surviving Timbuktu chronicles in the past, for our earlier projects on Ghana and pre-imperial Songhay history, so the early chapters were nothing new. As recent scholarship has shown, an overreliance on the Timbuktu tarikhs is problematic, as the authors had various political, ideological, and religious motives at play, and were relying on oral traditions for much of the earlier history of their region. For instance, today's scholars have called into question the idea of Ali Kulun and the Sunni dynasty of Songhay rulers, pointing to the alarming parallels with Tuareg oral traditions and folklore. Mande, Berber, Songhay, and Islamic influences intersect and shaped how Timbuktu chroniclers like al-Sadi perceived the Middle Niger and the "land of the Blacks" in surprising ways, and not always in what modern secular readers considered to be historically accurate style or methodology.
Thus, one must use these sources very carefully while also coming to see something of the interplay or oral and written traditions in West African literature. One can read these chronicles and see commonality with the oral epics of Sunjata, or the oral epics of the Bamana people of Segu. For al-Sadi and his audience, chronicling the great past of his region while endeavoring to avoid offending the Pasha administration relied on portraying the later Songhay Askia dynasts as corrupt and decadent, yet celebrating the security, Islamic scholarship, and cosmopolitan ties of Timbuktu and Jenne in the Songhay Golden Age (scholars who traveled to Mecca, Egypt, North Africa or corresponded with illustrious figures from Cairo). Moreover, while the author was of "Berber" descent, he also mentions a Fulani ancestor, and probably possessed other West African non-Berber forebears. Clearly, he was a man of Timbuktu and identified with the region and its peoples, and Islamic devotion filtered the lens through which he viewed West Africa. In that respect, he resembled Ahmad Ibn Furtu, the chief imam of the mosque in Borno's capital during the reign of Idris Alooma. Like Ibn Furtu, his historical chronicle sought to stress the proper and just Islamic devotion of his class and preferred rulers. For al-Sadi, this seems to have been Askia Muhammad I and Askia Dawud, and one of course must question the portrayal of these rulers in the chronicles.
It is also clear that the text pointed to the corruption and in-fighting among various siblings and cousins of the Askia royal family over the course of the 16th century as a cause for the empire's decline and relatively quick fall to the invading forces of Morocco. How the Songhay went from being able to raid Moroccan territory in the Dar'a Valley under Askia Dawud to being quickly routed by a relatively small Moroccan force armed with muskets in 1591 is difficult to conceive. Unless the Songhay state was already weakened by problems with succession that weakened its ability to maintain central authority and military capacity, muskets should not have been enough to topple Songhay. Unfortunately, al-Sadi has little to say about the slaves, artisans, and laborers, and little to say about the influence of women among the Songhay. The so-called subaltern groups were probably not seen by al-Sadi as significant historical actors, but glimpses of their role in the economy, political conflict, and marriage alliances of the Songhay rulers clearly emerge. Artisans, such as tailors and shoemakers, hardly appear in chronicle, despite the several workshops in Timbuktu run by tailors who were sometimes scholars themselves. We learn they had a quarter in Gao, created by Askia Dawud, which may also be a veiled reference to artisans as a casted group.
An informative video on one of the groups Borno waged war against.
Perhaps out of boredom, we here at the blog have recently finished reading the first of two chronicles by the chief imam of Borno, Ahmad Ibn Furtu, translated by Redhouse in the 1860s. Covering various campaigns during the first 12 years of the reign of Sultan Idris Alooma in the second half of the 16th century, it is the earliest surviving historical writing in West Africa. As to be expected of a work by a learned Muslim, Ahmad Ibn Furtu endeavored to portray Idris as a model sovereign and Muslim, whose piety, completion of the Hajj, and willingness to listen to the advice of the learned made him an even better ruler than his grandfather. Unfortunately, the chronicle on the grandfather of Idris has not survived for posterity, but one can assume it was one of the primary models for Ahmad Ibn Furtu's historical writing, and thereby probably written in a panegyric tone that praised the military prowess, justness and religious devotion of Borno's ruler, stressing the Islamic models of the Prophet. Unfortunately for modern readers, much of the details of Idris's various campaigns against the "Sao" and Tuareg, the Ghizm and other peoples were lost, as the author seems to have mostly relied on oral accounts and perhaps only witnessed a few of the expeditions personally.
Thus, the reader only finds outlines of various expeditions with occasional anecdotes on the piety and Islamic virtue of Borno's ruler. For instance, Ahmad Ibn Furtu will insert examples of the Islamic devotion of Idris in the middle of or right after describing a campaign, such as the building of mosques in clay (instead of reeds) as one of the innovations of his ruler. Or, alternatively, Idris's intervention in public morality by prohibiting fornication and urging his subjects to submit to judgments of holy law instead of their chieftains. Fortunately, something of the military tactics and battle formation can be gleamed through Ahmad Ibn Furtu's history, however. We know the Borno ruler used brutal tactics against his enemies, destroying their crops and their trees or groves to reduce places of refuge for them. He also established stations or outposts which were fortified and used as bases to continually attack the crops and fortified settlements of his opponents. If Ahmad Ibn Furtu is to be trusted, Idris was one of the first Borno rulers to use more camels for carrying military provisions during campaigns in arid areas. In addition, Sultan Idris apparently was the first to think of enlarging the ships used by Borno's forces on Lake Chad and the rivers in their domain, developing larger ships to carry more people and supplies instead of the older ones constructed from hollowed out trees.
Oddly, Borno never seems to have adopted the use of the cannon, which presumably would have made their siege warfare tactics more effective against some of their "pagan" foes. Ahmad Ibn Furtu also mentioned the famous musketry of Borno's military, trained by Turkish advisors. Indeed, one of the few casualties in a Borno campaign on Denkir was a Turk, Ali Ghar, attesting to the presence of Turks in the military. On the ground, they appear to have played a significant role in the military formation of Borno, shooting from the rear while men bearing shields protected them from the front against arrows and darts. The cavalry appear to have remained in the rear unless the enemy directly engaged them, or they were used to cover the enemy forces from behind, preventing them from fleeing back to their strongholds. Despite their use of firearms, they seem to have relied heavily on archers and horsemen bearing armor. Moreover, much of the military spoils was meant for redistribution to chiefs and subordinates of the Sultan, and one can assume many of the children and women captives were destined for the trans-Saharan slave trade. Even Muslims appear to have been taken as captives, such being the case in the campaign against the Tuareg Berbers, who were loyal to Air ("Ehir" in Redhouse's dated translation) until subdued by Idris. To cap it all, according to Ahmad Ibn Furtu, Borno's military often exterminated the adult male population of their enemies and resettled some of the survivors in various parts of the empire, uprooting them from their homes and putting them to use in other areas.
But as one of our few surviving written sources from the early modern era in Borno, the document is also a treasure for its descriptions of Borno's relations with its "pagan" neighbors, ethnographic descriptions, and the extent to which Borno was integrated into the wider world. For example, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alluded to Sultan Idris's pilgrimage to Mecca multiple times in the text, even including references to the pilgrimages of Idris's forebears. This, besides establishing the Islamic devotion of Borno's rulers, also points to the extent to which these elites viewed Borno as a part of the Muslim world, and its ruler as a Protector of Muslims. One would think the pilgrimages to Mecca also helped establish Borno as a Muslim power to the Ottoman Empire and other Islamic states, possibly faciliating the introduction of Turks and other foreign mercenaries. In fact, a mysterious man, perhaps named Francisco, randomly appeared in the history, perhaps another example of foreign mercenaries or advisors who made it to Borno in the second half of the 1500s.
Borno's relations with Sahelian and West African rivals was also an interesting dynamic. Much of the reasoning for some of the various expeditions was meant to ensure security on the roads of Borno, to protect merchants. Moreover, Borno's ruler was able to shift the loyalty of various Air-aligned Tuareg to his camp, ensuring some degree of influence in the Sahel and Sahara against a rival power. Even with "polytheist" neighbors, Idris was able to overlook religious differences and act on their behalf while increasing his own prestige and influence. This can be best be seen in the case of a "Mendera" prince overthrown by his uncle, who is later restored to the throne by Idris. Borno was effective at intervening in the affairs of neighboring states, including non-Muslims, and expanding its sphere of influence when not directly administering others. Unfortunately, our chronicler was, perhaps not surprisingly, not interested in the religious practices of the Sao "polytheists," but the mention of groves of the Sao Ghafata leads one to think those woods may have possessed a religious or sacred meaning. This could add another dimension to Borno's insistent deforestation of their lands, something the Muslim historian would have applauded as a champion of Islam.
One supposes the larger question of this all is to what extent is Ahmad Ibn Furtu's chronicle a historically reliable work and what does it suggest about the nature of history, religion, and political power in 16th century Borno? As the author admitted himself, the lack of details on some of the expeditions and the fact that much, if not most, of Idris's reign is omitted, we have inherited only a limited portrait of the Idris. However, the author was clearly cognizant of precedents for his work in earlier historical works, and saw his ruler in the light of both Islamic ideals and the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. As panegyric, this work places Idris at the pinnacle of great mais in the dynasty, and probably took a few liberties to express that opinion by attributing innovations or conquests that may have not been due to Idris. It causes one to wonder if other mais or prominent people in Borno similarly commissioned likewise works on their deeds, ancestry, and accomplishments, and the extent to which writing of local history was practiced at earlier dates in the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. Regardless of the hard to believe instances in the work, clearly political power in Borno was tied to realpolitik concerns and a balancing act of supporting Islam (through pious acts, charitable works, construction of mosques, reinforcing Islamic law, respecting Muslim intellectuals) while dominating or reducing to tributary status non-Muslim neighbors. Prominent persons attracted subordinates and dependents, and were in turn called upon to support the mai in various campaigns while the majority of the population presumably toiled as farmers, shepherds, servants, and artisans in villages and towns. One can assume that the construction of the Kanuri as an ethnic group developed over the centuries of Sayfawa control in Borno. Lamentably for those interested in this history, these developments were marginal to the author of the chronicle, who sought to praise and justify the reign of the mai.
