Qui sont les vrais ancêtres des Haïtiens ?

We found Haiti Inter's video, "Qui sont les vrais ancêtres des Haïtiens?" to be an intriguing video exploring the African ancestry of the Haitian people. Nothing new, but still interesting. 

23andme Sub-Saharan African Ancestry

Since hearing mostly positive things about 23andme's new African Genetic Groups, we decided to finally do it. Since our African ancestry is mainly inherited through our Haitian parent, our results were, unsurprisingly, similar to theirs. However, we are about 50% sub-Saharan African and all our African Genetic Group matches are distant (our parent had a very close one with the Igbo). Nonetheless, it was interesting to see how 23andme's overall regional estimates are similar to Ancestry's. We are mainly of West African ancestry with an emphasis on Nigeria (southeastern and southwestern) and Ghana, Sierra, Leone, Liberia. Since 23andme lacks a Benin and Togo region, our results are split in a slightly different way for the Bight of Benin-derived ancestry so many Haitians have. 

Moving on to the Genetic Groups, they are broadly consistent with the matching patterns we noted for ourselves and our Haitian parent on Ancestry. They are mainly consistent with Igbo and Yoruba Nigerians, Ewe, Ga and other Ga-Dangme, Sierra Leone (mainly for our Haitian parent), and Liberia. Since, again, 23andme does not yet have reference samples for more populations in Benin and Togo (and many other regions), our Ewe, Ga-Dangme peoples and Ga people matches are probably hinting at ancestors who were trafficked to the coast from this general vicinty. 

Likewise, the Yoruba people match for our Nigerian Genetic Groups is perhaps another reference to Bight of Benin-derived ancestry from populations not well-represented in 23andme's database. The Igbo people match is also hardly surprising since we shared an Igbo match with our Haitian parent for a higher than average amount of cM on Ancestry. Unfortunately, we did not receive any genetic groups for Central Africa or Senegambia and Guinea. Hopefully future updates will add more populations.

"Congo" Maroons in Haiti

 

Since captives from West Central Africa comprised a very large proportion of Africans trafficked to French Saint Domingue, we recently read through every runaway advertisement mentioning "Congos" in the colony. Some of the ads actually reveal intriguing details about the background of so-called "Congo" Africans. For instance, Jean-Pierre, named above, knew how to read and write. Was he from a literate background in Kongo or Soyo, perhaps first learning to read and write in Portuguese? The short description of him seems to imply he was literate in French.

Sometimes, "Congo" slaves were given additional descriptors. The above case, a Congo "Monbala" named Choisi, is an example. Monbala may be a reference to the Mbala people of Congo who are to the east of modern-day Kinshasa.

The Congo-Mouyaca may have been the Yaka peoples. This suggests that slaveholders in Saint Domingue did have some kind of basic understanding of the ethnic heterogeneity of so-called "Congos" on the plantations. 

Some of the "Congos" listed appear to have retained their African names. Angoulou, above, is an example of this. Someone familiar with names and the languages of Central Africa might be able to identify their origins more precisely. 

For instance, the "Congo" named Pierrot was "dit Cimba." Cimba definitely sounds like an African name, probably from a Bantu language like KiKongo. 

One of the "Congo" runaways was said to be a "Congo Binda." We wonder if Binda is actually the Mpinda of Angola. Their language is said to be closer to Kimbundu.

Lucanda was another "Congo" maroon with what appears to be an African name. Lukanda is used as a place name in Congo (DRC) and appears to be used as a name, too.

Another type of "Congo" were the "Congo-bord-la-mer." Like Crispin, we assume they were Kongolese from the area near the Atlantic coast. 

Sometimes, runaway "Congo" were given more than one additional descriptor. In the case of Jolicoeur, he was a "Congo Sondi bord de la mer". If so, he was likely from a coastal area or Kongo and of the Sundi sub-group. 

Another "Congo" named Louis was apparently "owned" by Baudry Deslozieres, a colon whose notes based on conversations with Kikongo-speakers in Saint Domingue was published in the early 19th century. Was Louis one of the unwilling captives who provided information to Baudry Deslozieres?

As for the "Congo Mondivi" group, we are unsure of their origin. The above case,a Joseph around 30 years of age, is ambiguous. There is a place called Mavivi in eastern Congo (DRC), but this seems far too unlikely to have been a source of "Congo" captives. We wonder if the "Mondivi" were the Vili people of Loango.

The "Congo-Mayombe" were one of the more frequently named Kongo sub-groups in the runaway ads. They are undoubtedly linked to the Mayombe.

A useful reminder of how ambiguous these "national" labels were is the case of Vincent. Though he was considered a "Congo" by his "owner" in Saint Domingue, he called himself Senegalese. Given the huge distance and cultural differences between people from the Senegambia and West Central Africa, one wonders if Vincent was trying to take advantage of a certain esteem for "Senegal" captives.

Again, someone with familiarity with Central African languages might have some luck determining possible ethnic origins for "Congo" captives. One of the above 3 maroons, Gazambi, appears to have an African name.

Another pattern we noticed is the frequency with which the name Pedro could be found among "Congo" Africans. We wonder if this is due to some Kongo peoples using Portuguese names in Africa or if it was simply another instance of slaveholders giving their chattel exotic or foreign names.

The "Congo-Monteque" nation most probably refers to the Teke peoples and/or the Batéké Plateau. 

Some "Congo" captives were remarkably mobile. In the above case of Jupiter, we see an example of a slave "owned" by a resident of Kingston, Jamaica yet he escaped to Saint Domingue.

Sometimes "Mayombe" was written in different ways. Thus, we can see the example of so-called "Congo Mayambe" captives in the colony.

In another case of a "Congo" bearing an African name, we can see the case of Minerve, or Pinba. Pinba sounds like the Haitian Creole word Penba, which is used for a "Sly, malicious woman."

Two additional "Congo" captives with what may be African names appear above. Kicony and Bamby are difficult to trace, although kikoni a word in the Taabwa language. 

The "franc Congo" in Saint Domingue likely came from a term used by French slave traders. According to Baudry Deslozieres, the term referred to captives purchased from the "canton of Ambriz." They were considered excellent slaves by the French.

As for the "Missi-Congo" nation, this is presumably an allusion to the Mwisi-Kongo, or MwisiKongo, another term for the Kongolese.

We suspect Mabilla, a "Congo" maroon "due bord de la mer," was from a coastal region.

Macaya is a name of Central African origin that can be found among people of "Congo" origin. It can still be found in the Congo.

As for the "Souty" nation, we assume it is perhaps a reference to the Nsundi or Sundi.

The above "Congo" named Mabiala appears to be another case of a "Congo" with an African name.

Similarly, Bajaca may be an African name for the above "Congo" maroon. 

Some "Congo" slaves spoke other Creole languages of the Caribbean. The above case of Tam illustrates this, since he understood Papiamento.

Yet another "Congo" with an African name can be seen in the case of Matta, or Magloire.

The "Mazelingua" nation could be from Zambia. In Zambia, the name Maselinga exists. 

Recognition of similarities or overlap between the "Congo" and "Mondongue" nations can be see in the case of a woman called Diane. In her own country, she was called Ougan-daga, which bears a resemblace to the surname Ogandaga in Gabon.

As for the "Mazonga-Congo" nation, Narcisse may have hailed from what is now the Pala-Masonga region of Kasai Oriental. Was he of Luba origin?

Another ambiguous "Congo" group were the Masoula. Apparently, 12 of them, labelled Congo in the colony but calling themselves Masoula, ran away. 

Another group we suspect to be of Central African origin, Massangui, were in Saint Domingue. The use of the name for a place can be found in both Congo and Cameroon.

A "Congo" (Kongo?) Prince in 1782

One of the more interesting notices of a runaway "Congo" slave in colonial Haiti is the 1782 case of a "Prince de Congo." Unnamed in the notice, the said maroon spoke of himself as a "Prince of Congo" and was apparently able to wound the son of his "owner" before his escape. Indeed, he was even said to have killed the mother of his sixth child before running away, perhaps a sign of how desperate and eager this Prince was to escape the plantation in Marmelade. From what we can tell, this is the only runaway notice for a "Congo" captive alluding to noble background. Was he from the Kingdom of Congo, as appears likely, and perhaps from one of the competing factions or lineage groups which periodically engaged in battles over the throne of Kongo in the 18th century?

A History of West Central Africa to 1850

John K. Thornton's A History of West Central Africa to 1850 is a difficult but occasionally intriguing read. As an update of sorts to Vansina's dated Kingdoms of the Savanna, a work we have mostly read several years ago, much of Thornton's regional history was novel or at least a good refresher. Nonetheless, the same problems persist: absence of written sources, problematic traditions collected in the colonial era in a highly politicized context, and a focus on elites or noble lineages. The absence of written sources for much of Central Africa in the precolonial era and the lack of adequate archaeological research across the region means that much of our knowledge of various polities is stuck in a speculative stage. Hints and glimpses begin with the Portuguese arrival in West Central Africa in the 15th century, but detailed accounts only emerge much later. Even for Kongo, a kingdom whose local elites embraced to at least some extent Portuguese literacy, the surviving sources are usually from and by Europeans. But due to the Portuguese contact and trade with Kongo, Ndongo and Matamba, further inland polities became gradually known. This vast interior, including the area of the Lunda empire which became a major power by the 18th century, included a very important belt of textile production, widely traded and used as currencies in Angola. Much of the problematic oral traditions are contradictory, however, especially when one can compare documented traditions recorded at different moments in the past with later traditions. For instance, this becomes clear with the expansion of Lunda, as others, including some of Imbangala origin, began to claim connections with Lunda in their founding traditions. Lastly, the oral traditions are, unsurprisingly, mostly centered on royal genealogies and barely shed light on free peasants or slaves, groups who must have comprised the majority of the population. This is useful for historians, particularly when kings remembered in tradition can be identified in Portuguese or European sources, and can help establish a chronology. Thornton's study of the region often does this to aid in constructing a timeline for various polities in the region from c.1500 to 1850.

Despite our aforementioned problems with the study of the region, Thornton's study raises a number of questions on the nature of slavery, the slave trade, and cultural exchange within West Central Africa. The slave trade, which essentially financed Portuguese Angola's existence, was often fed by captives raided and captured by the Portuguese, Luso-Africans, and African soba allies. Yet demographics suggested by censuses suggest the colony may have been similar to other polities in the region: men were sold abroad, but women retained. The large-scale forced relocation of people to concentrate wealth by elites was another commonality that allowed kings (and Luso-Africans and Portuguese Angola) to expand their power and revenue bases. The gender imbalance in the population and the central role played by slaves as sources of production (in plantations and estates) and export commodities demonstrates how the slave trade in West Central Africa both adapted and changed the region's various polities. The other ongoing issue in many polities, of centralization versus federation-styled governments played out along this dynamic, as control of people and dependents, including slaves and forcibly relocated farmers, could lead to some rulers succeeding in centralizing their administrations. In other kingdoms, however, political fragmentation followed centralization, as the cases of Kongo, Soyo and even Loango illustrate. This could have tragic consequences when many of the victims of the various civil wars in fragmented states were shipped to the Americas. Indeed, the so-called Jaga and Imbangala bands who ravaged parts of the region appear to have perfectly exploited the sociopolitical conditions of West Central Africa as militarized societies practicing infanticide, ritual cannibalism, and widespread depredations. While some, like Kasanje, eventually formed a permanent state, the militarized bands capable of spreading terror, seizing captives, and selling them to the Portuguese, with whom they occasionally formed alliances with against other African societies, suggest insecurity was rampant. When one also considers the prevalence of burdensome taxation collected by officials in centralized states, the lot of the commoners in much of the area must have been perilous. Even in areas where descendants of relocated populations had at least some guarantee of not being sold abroad, illegal enslavement and sale of people occurred in Portuguese Angola, too.

The most interesting aspect of the book is the question of trade and influences between the Atlantic and Indian Ocean coasts. Lunda, whose rise is based partly on trans-African contacts between the coast due to Portuguese interests in both Mozambique and Angola, occupies a major role in this theme. Trade in textiles, copper, European and Indian commodities and slaves must have factors of consideration for Lunda and other African polities in the center of Central Africa. The inability of Portuguese attempts to reach Ethiopia via Kongo in the past due to a misunderstanding by the Portuguese on the extent of Central Africa did not deter their interests in trade with Lunda from both coasts. How exactly, and to what extent, polities like Lunda, its Kazembe, and other polities in the region interacted with the Indian Ocean coast is another question which deserves further exploration. In fact, particularly for the East African connections of West Central Africa before the rise of Lunda. 

Mondongues of Saint-Domingue

Whilst reading John Thornton's history of West Central Africa, we have been revisiting the runaway advertisements in colonial Haiti for any and every allusion to Congos, Mondongues and other likely Central African captives. We have always believed the Mondongue to be a particular people or "nation" and not a category entirely concocted by slave traders and slaveholders in Saint-Domigue (and elsewhere in the Caribbean and Latin America). Since Oldendorp met "Mondongues" who told them they lived far away from the coast, spoke related languages, and were of 3 different groups, we hoped to find evidence of that in Saint Domingue's "Mondongue" Africans. Sadly, the runaway ads usually not too detailed about the African origins of captives in the colony. Sometimes, they weren't even sure who was a "Congo" or "Mondongue" among runaways.

Some of the runaway ads for Mondongues in the colony do refer to them by their native names. Thus, one, named Moyala, may be an instance of a Mondongue name. Comparing this name with personal names in Central Africa might reveal clues about the ethnic origins of the Mondongues.

Another Mondongue was named Petiton in his country. This name doesn't sound particularly Central African at all, although Goulau might be.

Gouala, or Favori, another Mondongue runaway, bears an African-sounding name. 

More ambiguity on the differences between Mondongues and Congos can be seen in the case of Azor. If he only spoke Congo, does this mean the Mondongue were speakers of Kikongo or a closely related language? 

Another Mondongue with an African name, Ougoulou dit Charlemagne, was "owned" by someone in Bainet. The name sounds African, but to what extent it could be matched with a particular area or language of Central Africa remains unknown. 

African Matches on My Heritage

Although we are by no means fans of My Heritage, their features at least allow one to see where on their chromosomes they share segments of DNA with others. Using this feature allowed us to see where and how our Haitian parent matched different Africans. Regrettably, we could only find a few on their My Heritage DNA matches (and none were shared by me). Surprisingly, one was a match on 23andme, too (Yoruba 2) while the others were unknown. The overall results are consistent with the general pattern of African DNA matches observed previously. More than half are of Nigerian origin (Yoruba and Igbo) with 1 representative of Central Africa and one from Upper Guinea. The Bight of Benin and southeastern Nigeria are clearly major sources of her ancestry. However, we did not expect the Yoruba match to be the closest one (perhaps this is an issue with the user base including fewer Igbo Nigerians?). 

Overall, the segments of shared DNA as classified by Ancestry and mapped with DNA Painter meet expectations. The lone Congolese match shared a segment of DNA with her that was assigned "Western Bantu Peoples." The "Igbo" match, unsurprisingly, shared a segment assigned to "Nigeria." The Wolof match was somewhat ambiguous since the person appears to be only half Wolof. However, the most probable shared segment was assigned to "Mali" by Ancestry. The Yoruba matches appear to be most likely matches on Benin & Togo assigned segments. This is no surprise, although somewhat ambiguous since Yoruba are used for both "Nigeria" and "Benin & Togo" by Ancestry. However, the largest segment of shared DNA, with Yoruba 2, is almost certainly along a segment assigned to "Benin & Togo."

Updated 23andme African DNA Matches

With all of the problems at 23andme, we wanted to do a more thorough search of our Haitian parent's African matches as soon as possible. Thus, the table able represents our attempt to tally the number of matches she has based on a search from two days ago. We suspect more matches ("DNA Relatives") will disappear since they are deleting their data from the site. However, we were able to find 16 African matches. Fortunately, some even included basic data about the birthplace of their grandparents, which helped us to clarify their possible ethnic origins. Unsurprisingly, they are overwhelmingly West Africans, with obvious Nigerians more than half of the total. 

Immediately, one is struck by the number of matches to southeastern Nigerian groups (Igbo and possibly Ibibio) and the paucity of Yoruba. Unlike her Ancestry DNA matches, our Haitian parent only has 1 unambiguous Yoruba match here (someone whose name might indicate an Islamic background, too). Despite sharing more DNA with the lone Yoruba than most of the others, it is quite interesting to see so few of this ethnic group on 23andme among her matches. We are not sure if that is due to the lack of a Benin & Togo category in which Yoruba groups overlap more frequently with Haitians through shared ancestry in the Bight of Benin? Either way, 23andme is picking up on closer genetic ties to the Igbo and groups in southeastern Nigeria, including what appears to be Ibibio or Efik (our parent's largest matches, at 0.54% shared DNA). This ancestral tie to southeastern Nigeria is also suggested by her 7 matches to Igbos on Ancestry as well as her shared 29 cM of DNA with an Igbo on that site. Indeed, the only ethnolinguistic group specified in her 23andme Ancestry Composition report was also the Igbo. Seeing a closer match to the Ibibio or Efik, however, suggests ties to other groups in southeastern Nigeria, too. 

Besides the obvious Igbo and southeastern Nigeria-related ancestry implied here, one can also see Central African represented by two individuals with roots in Congo. According to my limited understanding of Congolese surnames, these two individuals may be of Luba or Lunda origins. So far, we have yet to uncover any particularly close matches to Central Africans. The more obvious suspects for Congolese and Central African ancestry in Haiti would be groups from or near the Kikongo-speaking peoples, but they are likely not represented well among customers of 23andme and Ancestry. A quick perusal of the varieties of Central African captives imported into colonial Saint Domingue, however, would likely include groups from inner regions of Central Africa, too.  

Moving on to Ghana, one finds here yet another Ga match! Our parent had 2 Ga DNA matches on Ancestry, although both of those had elevated levels of "Benin & Togo" estimates. Here, the Ga match is someone with all 4 grandparents from the Accra. Their "Nigeria" score was only 17.4%, but that may be the algorithm's attempts to capture the ancestry of people from eastern Ghana to Benin. The Ga-Adangbe were likely represented among the captives in Saint Domingue, too. Perhaps they were under the label of "Mina" ("Mine" in some of the colonial Haitian documentation) or mixed with other groups from the Bight of Benin and Gold Coast. One of our few shared DNA matches was actually with another Ga person on Ancestry, making us think that a meaningful link with this area is possible. 

As for her two Fulani matches, these are almost certainly due to shared, non-Fulani ancestry in Upper Guinea .The two Fulanis, who both possess typical Fulani surnames, also have elevated Senegambian & Guinean ancestry (as well as minor North African) that clearly establish their origin. We suspect they are from Mali, Guinea, Sierra Leone or, in one case, possibly from Nigeria (an assumption based on their 7.6% Nigerian estimate). Since our parent had one DNA match with a Mandinka from Sierra Leone on Ancestry, we would not be surprised if the matches with the two Fulanis might stem from a Mandinka-related shared ancestry (or, perhaps, Senegambian or Malian, which could be inferred from the high numbers of "Bambara" and "Mandingues" in colonial Haiti). Of course we are merely speculating here, but we suspect that shared ancestry with the Fulani via actual Fulani ancestry would have led to more matches from this group. After all, they seem to be more heavily represented among West Africans using DNA testing services like Ancestry or 23andme. 

Last, but certainly not least, the two Liberian matches. One, based on surnames, is at least partly Vai in origin with some grandparents from the Cape Mesurado area. Our parent shares the most DNA with this Liberian (besides Igbo or southeastern Nigerians) who appears to be of Vai ancestry. In Saint Domingue, groups from parts of Liberia were known as Miserables, Canga and other terms. We would love to find more matches from Liberia and Sierra Leone to fully explore the possible ancestral ties to this area.

Overall, the 23andme matches are consistent with the largely Lower Guinea ancestry of our parent. Unfortunately, the ancestral ties to the Bight of Benin are not so easily seen here in her matches, but a link to the slave trade from the Bight of Biafra is very clear. As to be expected, the lower numbers of African customers from Benin, Central Africa, and Upper Guinea limits the data and analysis, but it is largely consistent with her 23andme Ancestry Composition. It also, by and large, is in accord with the general pattern of her Ancestry matches.

23andme African Matches

Our Haitian relative's African matches are quite similar to their results on Ancestry DNA. One conspicuous difference is that she now has fewer (obvious) Yoruba matches. She also had fewer Upper Guinean matches, the only example here being someone with a Fulani surname (common in Guinea, Sierra Leone, and Gambia) who she shares 0.17% of her DNA (she also matches another Fulani with 0.12% shared DNA). That person's results were 53.6% Senegambian & Guinean, 29.6% Ghana, Liberia and Sierra Leone and 7.6% Nigeria, so we cannot say with greater certainty where exactly in West Africa they hail from. The few matches from Central Africa (Congo) were also consistent with her matching patterns on the other site, too. Intriguingly, there were a few "exotic" matches, including one with a North African or Egyptian who harbored significant sub-Saharan African ancestry (including 12.5% Nigerian). The other match was with a half-white Kenyan Kikuyu, but we did not include them in the results since the match could be due to shared European ancestry. For similar reasons, a half-Yoruba British person was excluded, since the shared DNA could also be partly due to European ancestry.

What was a surprise to see here was matches with people from Calabar and other parts of southern Nigeria outside majority Igbo areas. Nonetheless, they were mainly clustered in southeastern Nigeria, which seems to match the Ancestry Composition report identifying Igbo as a "Very Close" genetic group (including various Nigerian ethnic groups, however).  As for the one obvious Yoruba match, it was with someone bearing a Muslim name. We suspect one of the unspecified Nigerian matches was also Yoruba. As for her Ghanaian match, it was with someone likely hailing from the Ga-Adangme group. The Congolese matches were with people whose exact ethnic background we could not determine based on surnames alone. 

As one might expect for a Haitian looking at distant genetic matches with modern African individuals, the amount of shared DNA is usually low. Surprisingly, the closest match was with someone at 0.54% shared DNA, with roots in Akwa Ibom, Nigeria. It does seem rather likely that captives imported into Saint Domingue's southern coast (many likely smuggled by the British) included a large number from the Bight of Biafra and today's southeastern Nigeria.

Africa Mokili Mobimba Updated

Although we have always preferred the original version of the classic "Africa Mokili Mobimba" from the early 1960s, Tshala Muana's version is actually quite catchy. It's an obviously more modernized take. 

Civil War and Transition in Kongo

After a brief attempt of reading it 12 years ago, we finally went back and finished The Kingdom of Kongo: Civil War and Transition 1641-1718 by John K. Thornton. A short study based on his thesis, Thornton endeavors to elucidate a process of historical change in an African polity. Since the Kongo kingdom before the 2nd half of the 17th century was a centralized, town-centered polity in which Mbanza Kongo dominated a large territory, one must understand what led it to become a fragmented, decentralized state with a village-centered economy. Thornton, differing from other scholars, does not see the Portuguese in Angola as a primary or major factor at all in this development. Instead, the origin of the process was in the ability of Nsoyo to rise to prominence as a competing (and independent mbanza) which destabilized a centralized polity based on Mbanza Kongo. 

However, in order to understand exactly what transpired in Kongo from the reign of Garcia II to 1718, one must comprehend how the Kongo state operated before the civil wars of the post-Mbwila years. Thornton's thesis relies on an understanding of Kongo society, administration, economy and religion mainly drawn written sources. The changes in Kongo oral traditions already apparent in the 18th century, and those of the 20th century, reflect changes that may mislead researchers who rely too heavily on modern ethnographies or oral traditions to reconstruct the earlier past of Kongo. So, with that perspective and drawing on textual sources, Thornton develops a model of Kongo state and society. It was a society of nobility and powerful kings based in Mbanza Kongo, with the latter appointing provincial nobility to administer provinces that yielded taxes. The nobility and ruler, however, did not control production in the villages. Instead, peasant producers retained control of production and simply paid taxes to the state (and the kitomi and nkuluntu. In the mbanza, or towns, which were really overgrown villages, the aristocracy were able to control production through the use of slave labor. By concentrating large numbers of people in the mbanza and controlling production through the exploitation of slaves (who, were more akin to European serfs), the nobility were able to accumulate much larger surpluses than what the villages could provide. 

One mbanza, the royal capital, far surpassed all others and the dream of the Kongo nobility was to find a position in the capital where access to luxury goods and control of greater surpluses was possible. With the exception of Nsoyo, no other town in Kongo rivaled the capital. The Kongo order that was perhaps at its height during the reign of Garcia II, was able to thus impose a system that brought in revenue from taxes on villages and used the royal court to appoint, remove, and circulate nobility in various provinces. The nobility wanted to be in Mbanza Kongo and Kongo kings could use this central economic role of Mbanza Kongo to reward loyal and faithful dependents. The royal household and the nobility functioned as houses, comparable to those of medieval Europe. Competition within houses for the throne or for access to the spoils of power did, inevitably, occur. But the centralizing status and nature of Kongo as the economic, social and political capital ensured that even rivals to the throne or competitors wanted to be in Mbanza Kongo instead of eking an existence in the countryside with meager surplus or despoiled peasants.

In a sense, Hilton and Thornton have similar perspectives on how the decline of Mbanza Kongo and a centralized Kongo was related to economic concerns. It was not so much the Portuguese victory in 1665 that finally caused the decline of Kongo. Instead, it was the closer, internal threat represented by Nsoyo, an autonomous province with its own economically important mbanza and access to Atlantic trade, which revealed the changes on the horizon. Soon, after 1665, various contenders, often from the Kinlanzi and Kimpanzu houses, fought for decades for control of Mbanza Kongo. The capital was sacked during these civil wars and the nobility, dispersed into the rural provinces where chances for greater amounts of surplus to expropriate wealth were minimal, became permanently based in the rural areas and relied on the Kongo peasant producers (who retained control of production). While the civil wars created conditions in which some nobles could seize captives and sell them, or loot, none of the nobles were powerful enough to permanently seize Mbanza Kongo and restore a unified kingdom. Furthermore, Nsoyo interfered throughout the civil wars of the late 17th century, promoting rival claimants to the throne but never providing enough support for them to succeed. Indeed, a reunified Kongo would actually have posed a threat to Nsoyo, which preserved much of pre-civil war Kongo administrative structure and enjoyed prosperous trade links with the Dutch, Vili and others north of the Zaire. 

In the end, Kongo survived its period of civil wars to reemerge as a fragmented state by 1718. By this date, however, the king was a far weaker figure and the provincial nobility were mostly autonomous. Christianity remained important, especially for the nobility, and indeed religion played an important role in the later years of the civil wars during the Antonian movement. According to Thornton, Dona Beatriz's movement, which was popular and helped repopulate Mbanza Kongo, also sought to have her ritually install the next Kongo king, like the kitomi. Instead of some sort of anti-colonial movement, Dona Beatriz's movement wanted to restore a united Kongo while also demonstrating the ways in which Christianity had been so adapted and incorporated into Kongo cosmology. Ultimately, the Kongo that was restored in the 18th century was to forever lose the pattern of centralized authority with kings appointing nobility to provincial posts and with a large degree of control of production in mbanza based on slave labor.

The Kingdom of Kongo

Anne Hilton's The Kingdom of Kongo offers a broad overview of the Kingdom of Kongo's rise and fall based on local adoption and adaptation of Christianity, Atlantic trade, and slavery in West Central Africa. Relying on, for the most part, written sources and some 20th century ethnographies, Hilton suggests the origins of Kongo lay in a redistributive economic system in which goods produced by distinct ecological zones of the Kongo state were exchanged. The mani kongo, or king, emerged sometime by the early 15th century as the dominant figure in this system, controlling the redistribution of local cloth, salt, nzimbu shells, and copper from beyond the borders of Kongo. The early state, however, was built on 3 distinct religious dimensions and different kinship structures, including matrilineal kanda and what later emerged as patrilineal groups based on descent from the daughters of Afonso I. 

However, the early Kongo state was relatively decentralized and the kings were eager to find new sources of legitimation. The mbumba, nkadi pmemba, and kitome dimensions were all important, but the Catholic cult and its association with the mani Kongo and aristocratic Mwissikongo aristocrats provided a religious or spiritual source of legitimacy that connected the kings with the cult of the ancestors and the sky spirits. While it is perhaps debateable to what extent this cosmovision really influenced the way Afonso I adopted Catholicism, Kongo was accepted as a Christian state by Europeans and adopted literacy, some Portuguese names, and even tried to buy or purchase European-styled ships. The kings of Kongo and the Mwissikongo supported the new religion, used literacy to enhance administration, accepted new crops from the Americas, and took advantage of the copper, slave, and nzimbu trades to expand Kongo's power in West Central Africa. Indeed, Kongo's cloth production was central to the currency and trade of the Portuguese colony of Luanda and Portuguese slave trading in the interior. 

Unfortunately for Kongo, however, Catholicism and the centralization achieved by Afonso, Diogo I and Kongo kings until the early decades of the 17th century was challenged by new developments. Sonyo, a province of Kongo, became increasingly independent and weakened Mbanza Kongo's economic importance through new trade routes with the Vili and others. Instead of the old Makoko-Mbanza and Luanda trade routes for slaves, ports like Mpinda and alternative slave routes developed that bypassed Kongo or did not rely on Kongo's cloth. In addition, Portuguese expansion of the Luanda colony and the seizure of the nzimbu-producing Kongo territory, as well as attacks on vassal states or chiefdoms of Kongo, further weakened Kongo. The Kongo kings were also not successful with establishing complete control of the Catholic Church, an institution which was central to the further legitimation of the rulers. The Portuguese refused, despite Afonso I's son serving as a bishop, allowing for an independent see of Mbanza Kongo and the clergy, prefects, and priests in Kongo were often dictated by or led by men based in Luanda. Even the Capuchins, who came to Kongo and were initially seized upon by Garcia II to strengthen his rule, eventually became more aligned with Luanda while criticizing the state of Christianity in the Kongolese provinces. Even the Dutch occupation of Luanda was a failure in the sense that Kongo did not eradicate the Portuguese presence and, in fact, was blamed for anti-Portuguese massacres. The enmity between Kongo and Luanda governors, who could also block envoys and letters from Kongo to the Pope or to Spain and Portugal, eventually led to the fateful battle of Mbwila.

The later centuries of Kongo cover its existence as a splintered or fragmented state, with autonomous provinces like Sonyo and warlods and competing lineage groups competing for the throne. Kongo Catholicism survived, even leading to a site of pilgrimage devoted to the Virgin Mary and the close relationship between Mwissikongo and the Christian cult. Kongo indigenous religion likewise continued, even experiencing a revival during the reign of Garcia II and that of his son due to Capuchin aggression Nonetheless, the Kongo of the 18th and 19th centuries was very different from the state system consolidated by Afonso I and his successors. While the Portuguese and the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade did not destroy Kongo, one can undoubtedly see how Atlantic trade was a double-edged sword that paved the way for Kongo centralization and decentralization. The main reason why Kongo, however, was not able to maintain its dominant position was related to its increasingly peripheral role in the main trade routes used for the slave trade and the decline of the mani Kongo's role in redistributing regional or international goods to his clients. The failure to establish a church under royal control further undermined the Kongo kings since one of the major ideological sources of their legitimacy was controlled by external actors not always acting in the interests of Kongo or its state. 

Congo

A lovely Brazilian jazz composition in honor of Congo (Nos ancêtres les Congolais). 

Franco de mi Amor

Beautiful. I haven't listened to Congolese music in quite some time, but this is very catchy. It is a lovely tribute to one of the legends of the Congolese music scene, including the immortal song, "Mario."

Puerto Rico-Congo Musical Routes and Roots

One of my favorite things about listening to classics of Congolese music is the covers and allusions to popular songs from Cuba or the Caribbean. In this case, a classic from African Jazz (one of my favorite groups who recorded numerous songs praising Congolese independence), one hears a horn arrangement from Cortijo y su Combo that is quoted by African Jazz. Although it's only the horn arrangement, it's excellent to hear music from Cuba and Puerto Rico taking on 'local' colors and distinctive style in the Congo. El chivo de la campana!

Merengue Sounds from West Central Africa

Lovely Congolese 'rumba' band plays a merengue. It's uncanny how similar these Congolese merengue songs were to the guitar-based merengue from the Dominican Republic, and the widespread appeal of Caribbean and Latin music in Central Africa (in addition to influences from Europe, such as Tino Rossi). I highly recommend Dr. Nico's music, African Jazz, and an Angolan band, África Ritmos, for Angolan takes on merengue. If I remember correctly, some members of Les Bantous de la Capitale ended up in the French Antilles, further complicating the waves of musical exchange that connected the Caribbean and Africa during this time. Here's one more merengue from Les Bantous, here!

Combo Congo

A lovely fusion of Haitian kompa and Congolese music.

The Beauty of Ryco Jazz

From Congo-Brazzaville to the French Caribbean, enjoy Ryco Jazz! Their Congolese 'rumba' is thoroughly rooted in the Cuban son and the Afro-Caribbean music of the Caribbean, so it's magical to hear their recordings from their relocation in the French Caribbean. Check out the following songs:

1. "Tu bois beaucoup" is jazzy, Cuban-sounding, proudly affirming a Creole identity, and in every conceivable way classic.

2. "Kumbele" is a classic recorded earlier by Les Bantous de la Capitale, a band from Congo-Brazzaville.

3. "Marie Jose (Merengue Scoubidou)"

4. "Bana Ryco"

5. "Wachi Wara"

6. "Josephine Mama"

Papy Sodolo

Africa Mokili Mobimba! Hearing a live version of this song two years ago from a CD of their performance in London during the 1980s is what sparked my interest in the original Congolese 'rumba' sounds of African Jazz, Franco & OK Jazz, and other legends of Congolese music. Africa!

Isoboye, Oko, Merengue Scoubidou, and Merengue

Listening to beautiful, jazzy and happy highlife from Nigerian master Cardinal Rex is very relaxing. Check out "Isoboye," and see the great debt West African highlife owes to Caribbean music. However, what I've loved about so much of the highlife of the 1950s-1970s of Ghana and Nigeria is the jazziness of the music and the uniquely West African percussion solos that are quite melodic and irresistibly get your feet moving. I have no idea what the song is about, and though I am not overly fond of the vocals on this track, the light, breezy atmosphere of this piece, really built around the guitar, is unforgettable. 

"Oko" is even better because of more frequent horn contributions to the song. Moreover, it's supposedly a 'merengue' or at least inspired by Caribbean merengue. Like "Merengue Scoubidou" by African Jazz, it shows how other non-Cuban forms of Caribbean music were consumed in West and Central Africa, the very homeland of Afro-Caribbean music! Listen to that guitar! Pure and not contaminated with so much distortion common in rock or metal. Oh, listen to "Merengue Scoubidou" by African Jazz and just try to tell me that Dr. Nico's deceptively simple guitar lines and solo don't uplift your soul! The Ry-Co Jazz version ain't bad at all!

While you're listening to the above, don't forget about "Merengue" by Franco & OK Jazz. Like so much Congolese 'rumba,' it sounds much more like Cuban son than Dominican merengue, though I believe Franco, if he was like Dr. Nico, the guitar sounded somewhat like merengue music to them. Franco's early music from this period and the 1960s is undoubtedly better than his later soukous music and most contemporary Congolese music I have heard.