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

 

Lancer of the Sultan of Begharmi.

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

A Commentary on the Sources

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

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

Mbang Burkomanda I’s Rise to Power

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

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

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

Raiding Far and Wide for Three Years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Later Years of Burkomanda I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusions on Bagirmi in the Pivotal 17^th Century

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[7] Ibid., 405.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kingdom of Allada Timeline

The following are some general dates for the history of Allada, ending with its conquest by Dahomey in the 1720s. The dates are all drawn from Robin Law's The Kingdom of Allada and The Slave Coast of West Africa, 1550-1750: The Impact of the Atlantic Slave Trade on an African Society. Researching the history of Allada is quite difficult, although we have scarcely scratched the surface. Jacques Lombard and Robin Law are good to start with, but from consulting their sources and references to oral traditions, much of Allada's early history is difficult to reconstruct.

c. 1485: map of Pedro Reinel shows Allada

1540/1 (or 1551/52): Allada ambassador to Portugal, Dom Adȃo. Allada king interested in trade and Christianity

1539: Portuguese report on Benin mentions kingdom of Allada's ambassadors mistreated by the oba

1553: Portuguese attempt to trade at Popo

mid-1560s: appearance of "Arara" captives among African slaves in Peru

1570: Allada marked on Portuguese maps

1591: James Welsh destroyed a Portuguese ship anchored at Allada

1602: Account of Pieter de Marees published

1607: Portuguese source estimated value of trade at Allada as 800,000 reis

c.1610: Kokpon king of Allada (Lombard's reckoning)

1620: Report mentions Allada, as well as Benin, Ijebu, and Calabar as "friends" of Portugal. One or two ships were sent annually from Sao Tome to trade at Allada for slaves, yams, palm oil, ivory and cotton cloth.

1622: Dutch ship came to Allada, but didn't stay to trade.

1627: Alonso de Sandoval's work mentioning Allada traditions published

1639: Dutch West India Company establish a factory in Allada

1646/47: Dutch bring an Allada native to the Gold Coast to train as an interpreter. The man dies.

1647: Dutch WIC in negotiations with Allada king over his debts to the company

1653/54: English ship purchased 170 slaves at Allada

1657: Bans, or Vans, arrived in Cartagena as ambassador of the king of Allada, 

1658: Publication in Madrid of a catechism in the language of Allada

1659: One source claims Allada was subject to or a vassal of Benin

1659/60: WIC establish a lodge in Allada once again

1660/61: Capuchin mission to Allada

1663: English company, Company of the Royal Adventurers of England Trading into Africa, established a factory in Allada

1664: An English letter addressed to the king of Allada, but never arrives

1668: Publication of Dapper's account

1670: Allada sends Mateo Lopes to France as its ambassador

1671: French factory transferred from Offra to Whydah; Allada and Benin reportedly at war

1672: Publication of Joseph de Naxara work alluding to Allada

1679: Trade in Allada disrupted by war (possibly Offra rebellion)

1680: Contact between Allada and Gold Coast disrupted by "Lampi Black" bandits, led by Aban

1682: Report mentions imports of cloth in Ape from Benin (or Lagos area)

1688: One account claims Allada's rule extended further west, once encompassing Great and Little Popo and Whydah

1690s: Dutch account on Benin kingdom refers to use of Allada women to brew maize beer there

1692: Destruction of Offrah by Allada (through the use of foreign mercenaries)

1694: "King Tom" of Allada was exiled and living in Whydah, banished for alleged crimes

1698: Oyo war with Allada after subjects of the latter appealed to Oyo (due to misgovernment by viceroys of Allada)

1703: Dutch WIC moved factory to Whydah

1704: Publication of Bosman's work

1705: Allada trade embargo on Whydah 

1709: Allada blocked trade to Whydah

1714: Allada king tried to redirect slave trade through Jakin instead of Whydah

1715: Apa's ruler said to be too far to be compelled to obey Allada

1716: Report suggests Dahomey was former vassal of Allada

1717: Death of Allada king reported

1718: King of Allada forced an English captain to buy 20 slaves of his

1722: Hussar in alliance with Agaja of Dahomey; king of Allada, claiming the English were indebted to him, made Bulfinch Lambe a prisoner

1724: Dahomey's conquest of Allada; King Sozo said to have raised 50,000 troops to face Dahomey

1726: Hussah of Allada said in one source to have solicited the Oyo invasion of Dahomey in his bid to regain Allada

1730: Agaja of Dahomey settled in Allada, but at new site near Togudo

1743: Tegbesu moved Dahomey capital back to Abomey from Allada

Exploring Caizcimu, or Higüey Chiefdoms

 

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

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

Spanish Colonial-Era Sources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Analyzing Later Histories of Higüey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[15] Ibid., 147, 149.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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