More on the Nago (Yoruba) and Haiti

Milo Rigaud's La tradition voudoo et le voudoo haitien includes this beautiful veve for Ogou Batala.

The Yoruba legacy in Haiti survives in some rather influential ways. For instance, Haitian Rara music appears to be at least partly influenced by the Yoruba. According to J.B. Romain's Africanismes haïtiens, the word rara is likely derived from Yoruba. Although it is culturally a fusion of different elements, the use of a name derived from the Yoruba language attests to the presence of Yoruba speakers among the enslaved. In addition, the "Nago" are remembered and some of their orishas are honored in Haitian Vodou tradition. In fact, some Haitians still used the name Nago as a family name well into the 19th century. This important legacy suggests the Nago were remembered in Haitian tradition for far more than facial scarification on their cheeks or a penchant for stealing, as Malenfant described them in the 18th century. 

Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou includes many examples of songs alluding to the Nago spirits. 

In Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou (Rite Arada), numerous allusions to the Nago and Nago-derived lwa can be found. The Nago orishas are often subsumed in the category of Ogou (Ogun to the Yoruba), in various manifestations or forms. Thus, some, like Ogou Chango, are clearly a reference to Shango. Others, like Ogou Olicha, appears to be an allusion to a lwa whose name includes the word orisha. Considering the military leadership and skill needed for Haitian independence to materialize, one can imagine Ogou was a major lwa for many in Haiti.

Hector Hyppolite's Ogoun Chango.

Additional Ogous whose names refer to the Nago are Ogou Feraille, Batala (Obatala), Ogou Badagri, Olisha, and Ossange. Badagri, whose very name refers to the slave trade port of Badagry, is hardly a surprise as a Nago divinity. Batala is undoubtedly derived from Obatala of Yoruba tradition, while Ossange, a healer, is Osanyin. Unsurprisingly, the Nago appear to be associated with war, military prowess, and iron in Haitian tradition. Such a reputation can be seen in the role of Nago war leaders during the Haitian Revolution, such as Halaou and Gracia Lafortune. Yet Marcelin also reported that the Nago lwa Ogou Badagri was the father of the Haitian "mulatto." We are not sure if this association with "mulattoes" may be an allusion to mixed-race generals and military leaders during the Haitian Revolution. 

Estimating the "Nago" Captives Brought to Saint Domingue

One very rough method of estimating the possible Yoruba imports in Saint-Domingue is to combine estimates and data from Manning, Geggus, and other sources. Manning, whose study of the slave trade in Dahomey was a major source used by us for another group, has provided us some rough estimates for the ethnic origin of Slave Coast exports in the period from 1641-1870. Using his estimates for the period 1641-1800, we calculated that about 10.35% of the total exports were of Yoruba captives. If one applies this estimate of 10.35% to David Geggus's data on Bight of Benin imports in Saint-Domingue, one reaches the figure of around 16327 "Nago" captives. Intriguingly, Geggus's own dataset of 13,334 slaves from 1721-1797 included 1580 Nago captives. That makes them about 11.85% of the slave population in that particular dataset. But applying that percentage to the total estimated slave imports would wield an unreasonably high number,  about 71,077. 

When checking the Slave Voyages site on the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, one finds different numbers. For the period from 1709-1792, the data gives us a total of 185,248 captives brought to Saint Domingue from the Bight of Benin. If one uses Manning's data for a general estimate of 10.35%, then perhaps 19173 Yoruba were brought to the colony of Saint Domingue in the 18th century. This is higher than our earlier estimate of 16327 but still plausible. It also seems likely that in the later decades of the 18th century, the Nago presence among the African-born population was proportionally greater or more conspicuous. Nonetheless, it is likely that the numbers of Nago captives brought to the colony were perhaps anywhere from 16327 to 19173. Using the latter high, one might suggest the "Nago" were nearly 3.2% of the total imported into the island on French ships. The number was likely higher since smuggled captives were not considered and the data isn't as reliable as it should be. 

Thoughts on the Nago in Saint Domingue

 

We have been revisiting the few sources on the Nago, or "Yoruba" captives in Saint Domingue. Runaway ads or notices in the colonial newspaper have severe limitations as sources, but they nonetheless provide some details about Africans of Yoruba extraction in the colony. For instance, Adidon, mentioned in the runaway ad above, appears to have a Yoruba name. Adidon could be the Yoruba term for sweatmeats and confectionery. 

Another interesting example from the corpus of runaway slave ads in Saint-Domingue is the case of the Bambara above who spoke Nago. Considering the distance between Yorubaland and the "Bambara" lands of Upper Guinea, one assumes this unnamed "Bambara" captive learned the "Nago" tongue in Saint Domingue. 

Also intriguing is the case of a Nago runaway in 1783 named Sola, also called Ambroise. Sola is likely the Yoruba name Ṣọlá. Although it has long been known that the Nago were from Yoruba-speaking backgrounds, it is still fascinating to see examples of names from that language among Africans in Saint Domingue.

We similarly found the case of a Nago runaway from 1777, Aboky, intriguing. The name Aboky could actually be related to the Hausa word, aboki, meaning friend. If so, one wonders if Aboky actually was Hausa or from the lands north of the Yoruba-speaking peoples. It also appears that most Hausa captives trafficked to Saint Domingue in the 18th century arrived via Slave Coast ports and likely passed through Oyo and other Yoruba-speaking communities before reaching the coast. Perhaps not unrelated, modern Nigerians in the south sometimes use the word aboki in a derogatory fashion when referring to northerners.

Yet another ambiguous case of a "Nago" is the Nago-Taqua, Hector. Taqua appears to have been one of the terms used for Nupe peoples in Saint-Domingue. Was Hector of mixed ethnicity, both Nupe and Yoruba? Or was he a Nupe person who had spent time in Yorubaland before being sold on the coast to Europeans?

Yet another runaway ad alluding to a Nago with what sounds like an African name is the case of Labidan. No obvious Yoruba name comes to mind with Labidan. In fact, there was a kingdom called Labidan on the Gold Coast, an area French slave traders sometimes extended to the Slave Coast.

Our final case of one of the interesting African maroons who was said to speak Nago despite hailing from another "nation" is Medor. Supposedly Ibo, he appears to have been owned by a Rossignol of the Gonaives area. Did he learn Nago in Saint Domingue?

Last, but certainly not least, visiting ANOM's digitized parish registries for Saint-Domingue reminded us of Julien Raimond. His African grandmother, who died in 1761, was of the Nago nation. It is somewhat unclear if her name was actually Marie or Catherine (or perhaps Marie Catherine?), but she married Raimond's grandfather, Francois Begasse, in 1706. To what extent, if any, she shaped the upbringing of her grandchildren is unknown, but her status and the growing wealth of her family in Bainet and Aquin may have made her one of the wealthiest African-born women in this part of Saint Domingue.

Sakara Music

 

Sakara music recorded in Benin in the 1950s. The singing is quite engaging while the insistent rhythm of the drums and the droning stringed-instrument or violin make this quite the alluring song. According to Wikipedia, this genre of music among the Yoruba has Islamic influences, and the goje instrument used in it has some resemblance to similar instruments among West African cultures of the Sahel.

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."

Yoruba Matches

Looking at our Haitian parent's Yoruba matches is also interesting. Many of these matches received Haiti in their journey on Ancestry, probably since Ancestry uses Yoruba samples for both the Benin/Togo and Nigeria regions, both areas being major sources of the Haitian people's ethnogenesis. Of course, the Yoruba (known as "Nago" in Saint-Domingue) were present in our colonial period, too. But their numbers were usually smaller than those of the "Arada" and various other peoples sold to Europeans along the Bight of Benin. Of course, actual Yoruba ancestry among Haitians is still likely, though we assume many of these matches are not identical by descent ones. It is likely many are due to the genetic and ethnolinguistic overlap between Benin and Nigeria, as well as historical migrations, military conflicts (think Dahomey and Oyo, or Allada and Ouidah), and cultural influences that brought various peoples together. For instance, the prestige of the Yoruba language in Allada, according to European reports, or the spread of Ifa divination into Benin attests to long-standing cross-cultural ties and interactions between the Yoruba and the other peoples of Benin. In other words, the various peoples brought to Saint Domingue during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade included peoples we nowadays refer to as Fon, Ewe, Adja, Yoruba and, in smaller numbers, the Bariba, Nupe, Hausa, and others. In the Haitian case, oral traditions and the Vodou religion sometimes include very specific references to groups like the Gedevi or a pantheon of spirits or deities associated with different peoples or regions of Benin and southwestern Nigeria. 

What is most striking here is the very high Benin & Togo score for the closest match, at 16 cM shared on one segment. This Yoruba person, whose last name is common enough among that group, appears to be from Nigeria. Nonetheless, their high Benin & Togo score suggests that they very well could have ancestry from Yoruba groups in or near Benin rather than Nigeria. Other possibilities exist, too, but we suspect their match with or parent is based on Benin & Togo (our parent's estimate is 27%). Of course, the next largest Yoruba matches was with someone who only received an estimate of 16% for Benin & Togo and another at 39%, so the possible ways of being related here are complex. Note how one person, whose surname is Yoruba but may be of multiethnic background, received no Benin & Togo in her results. All but one of these persons, however, did receive some minor estimate for the largely useless "Yorubaland" category (our parent also has an estimate of 1% for this dubious region). 

As for our own feeble attempt to track down Yoruba matches, I only found 2. However, like those of my parent, they both have substantial Benin and Togo estimates (35% and 36%). Since our own Benin and Togo estimate (15%) is much higher than our "Nigeria" category and my Haitian origin, I suspect these matches are via the Benin and Togo region. Sadly, I could not find a Yoruba match shared by myself and my parent, but we do share a match with a Ghanaian person whose results indicate a largely "Benin & Togo" estimate. Our hope is to one day find more testers with roots in Benin and Togo to compare our results to. 

Northern (Hausa) Influences in Oyo

Whilst perusing Samuel Johnson's History of the Yorubas, one notices multiple examples of Hausa influence in the Oyo state. Even when referring to the mythical or semi-legendary rulers like Sango, examples of this Hausa or northern presence can be detected in Yoruba historical tradition. For example, one of the Yoruba legends of origin traces the people's descent from Lamurudu of Mecca. This figure was said to have been the father of Oduduwa as well as two kings of Gogobiri and Kukawa in the Hausa region (3). Kukawa may mean Borno. Even the (legendary) Sango was said to have had a Hausa slave, too (149).

Some titles used in the Oyo government were also words of Hausa origin. Take the Magaji, for instance. This title was said by Johnson to go to the heir of a great estate, usually the eldest son of that family. The alafin of Oyo's court also included an official called the Magaji Iyajin. He functioned as an official "elder brother" who defended the interests of the king (69). Well, magaji in Hausa means heir or successor, according to An English-Hausa Dictionary. Another word of Hausa origin used by Oyo's government was the seriki, derived from the Hausa word for king. According to Johnson, the seriki was an military leader who was comparable to the Balogun but more for the young warriors. A successful seriki could even succeed the Balogun (133).

Some of the specific trumpets and instruments associated with kingship also came from the Hausa or via Nupe peoples. The kakaki and ivory trumpets were only used for the king (121). Johnson also referred to a cymbol (aro) or the Bembe drum as instruments introduced by the Hausa. The use of these instruments may have been through the Nupe as an intermediary, but it demonstrates how the northern peoples exerted a significant influence on Oyo.

As noted by various scholars, such as Adamu in The Hausa Factor in West African History, Hausa captives and artisans were also a significant presence. Hausa captives were the main labor force for taking care of the cattle owned by the chiefs. In addition, Hausa and Fulani peoples were often the barbers and ropemakers in Oyo (123). Hausa traders were also a familiar presence long before the 19th century. One of them, named Alaja-eta by Johnson, had his goods seized in Oyo until Aole, the alafin, ordered them returned. The failure to return the Hausa merchant's Koran contributed to the political tensions of Aole's reign after the zenith of Abiodun (190). Later, the Hausa slaves in Oyo joined Afonja as soldiers for Ilorin, but that development is better known or documented.

Overall, the Hausa influences in Oyo seem to be of a much deeper antiquity than we initially thought. While much of it was likely indirect through Nupe and Bariba peoples, the actual Hausa presence in Oyo was clear. And it was not restricted to slaves and Hausa or Fulani-oriented crafts and trades. It even included titles and political offices that used words of Hausa origin. Some were said to marry with the elite of the Oyo kingdom. Thus, Abiodun, remembered in tradition as one of the greatest kings of the Oyo Empire, married his daughter to a Muslim who had secretly harbored a son of Gaha for several years (186)! According to Johnson, Abiodun was previously a trader in potash before ascending the throne and defeating Gaha (187). Is it possible the potash trade increased Abiodun's dealings with Muslim traders from Hausa land and the north? 

Exploring African Matches

Whilst searching for matches on the maternal side, we also sought to take note of any African matches. Going by family trees and surnames, we only encountered a few on Ancestry DNA. Unlike our Haitian parent, we did not find any matches with Malians or people from Sierra Leone. Nonetheless, we did find it interesting to note a shared 10 cM match with a person bearing a Ga surname. The Ga, who speak a Kwa language, would have been present in Saint Domingue to some degree, and can be found in Ghana. Since the French slave trade along the Gold Coast was on a smaller scale, it is possible Ga or related groups may have been acquired via intra-Caribbean slave trading or, perhaps, via the Slave Coast. The more surprising match, and of course the weakest, was with a Ugandan person at 8 cM of shared DNA. This is almost certainly due to the common ancestry of Bantu-speakers in Uganda and populations in Central Africa. I guess this is perhaps evidence of Central African ancestry that Haitians bear, although I did not detect any closer matches with Congolese or Angolans. 

The more common and to be expected matches were with Igbo and Yoruba individuals from Nigeria. We seem to have inherited, through the maternal side, matches with members of one particular Igbo family. Based on a posted family tree, all of their ancestors were Igbo and they seem to hail from Owerri. What we found remarkable here is the rather high 23 shared cM with one of these Igbo, only somewhat smaller than our Haitian parent's shared 29 cM with this individual. This does seem to strongly suggest Igbo and southeastern Nigerian peoples contributed heavily to the genetic makeup of Haitians. One finds evidence of this in records of the French slave trade and plantation inventories in Saint Domingue. As for the Yoruba matches, this is not too surprising either, as the "Nago" were undoubtedly present in Saint-Domingue. Yoruba or people from southeastern Nigeria and Benin with related genetic components were clearly present in Haiti. Through Ouidah, Porto-Novo, Badagry (which is recalled in the name of a lwa in Haitian Vodou) and other ports of call along the Slave Coast, captives of Yoruba origin were sucked into the hell of Saint Domingue.

Overall, the results of this search demonstrate the largely Lower Guinea ancestry in Haitians. We were surprised to not find Mali or Mandinka matches, like our Haitian parent, but in the future more users from Senegal, Mali, Sierra Leone, and other parts of Africa might upload their results and show up as matches. What is most striking for now is the strong Igbo connection, something noted in our Haitian parent's African matches. Trying to check for African matches assigned to our other side should be next, although the vast Hispanic customer base showing up as matches presents more difficulties for finding them. As a side note, it was also amusing to see distant matches with white people in Quebec, showing matches from the maternal side with France-associated ancestry. 

The Slave Coast...

An additional pleasant surprise was to see the 9 ethnic groups comprising the reference populations for Benin/Togo in the Ancestry update. According to the site, they now have Aja, Ewe (Eʋe), Fon, Gen, Gun, Tori, Waci, Weme and Yoruba (Ìran Yorùbá) listed. Our estimated 15% supposedly comes via our Haitian ancestry, and the history of the slave trade in this part of West Africa suggests members of all the above groups were probably present in Saint-Domingue. Our estimated 15% ancestry from this area probably reflects groups that were called Arada, Fon, and Dahomey in the Caribbean. We assume we likely have Yoruba ancestry since our Haitian parent now has Yorubaland (and Nigerian Woodlands) as some of their regions in the update. But surely some "Arada" of unknown derivation were also among our ancestors. It is interesting to note, too, that many Arada (named after the kingdom of Allada) in Saint-Domingue were not necessarily natives of that kingdom. Indeed, many were probably captives of Allada's conflicts as well as people from deeper into the interior. One suspects Bariba, Nupe, Cotocoli, Gedevi, and other groups must have been filtered to the coast via Ouidah and other ports. The pronounced Creole plurality of the enslaved population in Bainet and Jacmel by the late 1700s likely included people descended from captives purchased along the Slave Coast...

Song for Ogunde

A lovely tribute to Ogun, our orisha, from the legendary John Coltrane. Coltrane appears to have based his arrangement of the song on a version harmonized by a Brazilian composer and sung by Bidu Sayão. One can also find a Cuban group performing the song in 1957 with what appears to be different lyrics in Lucumi (Yoruba). Ogun arrives, chief of Ire. I vaguely recall once finding a recording of the same song (or a variation of it) from Dahomey (modern Benin) but was unable to locate it. Fortunately, Yoruba speakers have sought to enlighten us with the actual meaning of the song in its Cuban incarnations. 

Oyo Empire, c.1600-c.1836

Robin Law's Ọyọ Empire, c.1600-c.1836: a West African imperialism in the era of the Atlantic slave trade was one of those important studies of a major West African polity that we found difficult to read a year ago. We believed it was relying too heavily on fragmentary traditions and hearsay that entered into the contemporary European sources to be sufficiently accurate. However, since it was published in the 1970s and of course relied heavily on local oral traditions in addition to classic studies by Yoruba authors like Johnson, we decided to revisit Law's book. As he himself admitted, his study relied on limited sources and some of its conclusions will hopefully be advanced or rebutted by subsequent scholarship. Nonetheless, as one would expect from a meticulous like Law who has written extensively on the Slave Coast, his study of the Oyo Empire during the same era endeavors to contextualize Oyo's expansion in the era of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. 

Oyo, as major supplier of captives to the ports of the Slave Coast, was, however, a hinterland kingdom based on a cavalry force. This cavalry, supplied from the north, meant Oyo was deeply connected to Nupe, Bariba, and even Hausaland and Borno for horses, equipment, and goods acquired through trans-Saharan trade. Thus, Oyo provides an interesting example of an Atlantic trading state (which for a time commanded tribute from Porto Novo, Badagry, Allada and Dahomey) which also had close ties to the savanna states to the north. Indeed, the mention of "Yoruba" slaves by Timbuktu scholar Ahmad Baba and the trade in horses and slaves between Kano and the Nupe must have brought the Oyo Yoruba into contact with Muslim Sudanic West African traders by the 16th century. After a period of Bariba and Nupe rule, a resurgent Oyo was able, by the 1600s, able to expand and use its own cavalry to assert itself effectively in savanna territories around Oyo (and the southwest). Even some hilly areas or regions with politically fragmented Yoruba fell under Oyo rule, through a combination of Oyo colonists and military force. Gradually, Oyo was able to profit from both the Atlantic trade via the coast as well as the northern trade routes that linked it to the Sudanic regions. 

Instead of providing captives to the north in exchange for horses, like in its earlier period of growth, Oyo was able to trade cowries and European goods for horses from northern suppliers. Indeed, by the late 18th century, with access to the coast through ports like Porto Novo, Oyo was likely a major supplier of Hausa and northern slaves to the Atlantic trade. Oyo's own textile industry and far-ranging traders also continued to prosper, seeming to avoid any negative internal impact of the slave trade (such as insecurity) until its later years of decline. Indeed, Oyo may have benefitted from a more monetized economy stimulated by trade, cowries, textiles, foodstuffs produced for traders (and captives) and redistributed imported European goods or silks, natron and leather goods from the north. Oyo, like Dahomey and Asante, appears to have been able to combine imperial expansion and Atlantic slave trade to become wealthier states. Unfortunately for Oyo, however, political centralization did not reach the level of Benin, Dahomey or Asante. The alafins of Oyo were never able to completely subdue the powerful Oyo Mesi and the Basorun, who controlled the capital's army. Instead, the alafins of Oyo had to rely on palace slaves and officials they appointed to oversee provinces, collect tribute, and command the provincial army to expand the state and increase their own power. 

However, after Basorun Gaha seized power in the middle of the 18th century, Abiodun was only able to restore the alafin to effective authority through an alliance with the head of the provincial army. This, however, led to further problems with the coup d'etat against Awole in c.1796, when the head of the provincial army decided to rebel against Awole. This, followed by Afonja inciting a Muslim rebellion and further conflict between provincial leaders against an Alafin who could accumulate too much power, paved the way for Oyo's eventual collapse. Oyo, according to Law, was thus unable to attain a comparable degree of centralization to that of Benin, Dahomey and Asante. Whether or not it was really due to the reliance on cavalry for the military (the costs of maintenance for imported horses being too costly for kings alone to finance), Law appears to be correct in noting the lack of adequate centralization to ensure imperial stability. Consequently, after reaching perhaps its imperial and slave trading peak in the 1780s, Oyo declined afterwards as Afonja and the repercussions of Uthman dan Fodio's jihad destroyed Oyo. 

What we find interesting about Oyo is in its role as an imperial middleman between the Sudanic states and the Atlantic. Horses from the north, captives and luxuries acquired through the trans-Saharan trade were sold in Oyo just as European products and cowries circulated north. Oyo, through its reliance on cavalry, may have lacked the degree of centralization of Borno (despite a similar "fief" system of allocating tribute rights) since it had to incur the costs of importing horses and maintenance. Oyo, nonetheless, appears to have faced limitations on its expansion as the forested southern Yorubaland territories were able to resist cavalry. Northern expansion was thwarted by the Nupe and Bariba states who possessed easier access to horses, even if Oyo did succeed in imposing tribute on southern Nupe and Bariba states. Even Oyo expansion to the southwest, for access to the coast through Dahomey and Porto Novo, was likewise limited by the rainy season that made it difficult to permanently retain control over the area. In conclusion, Oyo may have been more restricted than some of its northern, cavalry-based trading partners due to the geographic and climate factors in Lower Guinea. Perhaps these checks imposed on Oyo expansion contributed to the weakening of centralization? If, perhaps, an interior kingdom with access to horses had been able to permanently conquer and administer Dahomey and Porto Novo, unhindered access to Atlantic trade and ongoing northern economic exchange may have stimulated a more centralized Oyo with effective use of firearms?

Oyo

Despite some video quality troubles and a few errors, this short lecture by Paul Lovejoy is well worth the listen. Oyo was a northern Yoruba state with a cavalry and links to the Nupe, Bariba and Hausaland. Ali Eisami was also enslaved in Oyo so the state was connected to Borno via trade and the slave trade. I just wish we had more sources on the history of this fascinating Yoruba empire. Robin Law's monograph endeavored to make do with the fragmentary oral traditions, limited external sources and later Yoruba histories of the post-imperial Oyo years. What he accomplished was quite impressive for reconstructing the political, economic, social, and administrative features of Oyo, but it all seems so speculative. 

Death and the King's Horseman

"Life is honour. It ends when honour ends."

Wole Soyinka's Death and the King's Horseman is one of the most intriguing examples of postcolonial literature I have encountered. Inspired by a historical event that took place in 1946, the short play examines the consequences of colonial intervention during a suicide demanded by custom in Oyo. Open to multiple interpretations based on gender (it is mostly women who uphold traditions in the text), generational conflict, postcolonial thought, duty, 'tradition' vs. modernity, or tragedy (as well as death, or the cycle of life), the play is much more than a simple dichotomy of West versus tradition.

Certainly, this tragedy is an indictment of colonialism in its entirety and the white man's hubris going so far as to disrupt the natural order. Yet it is by no means a rejection of all of the West, as Olunde's powerful character shows. The cycle of life and death, for posterity's sake, by no means condemns all aspects of British civilization, but proffers a coexistence cut short by colonial intervention in the ritual suicide. Olunde's character, educated in England and studying medicine, the new generation of Nigerians who carry the best of the West and local traditions, is ultimately made to the pay the final cost and Nigeria loses the potential of such courageous figures. 

Furthermore, the play throws into question categories such as 'civilized' or 'modern' because 'modernity' in Europe, as Olunde explains, is the contemporary savagery of World War II and the mass suicide of soldiers. If the ritual suicide of the deceased Yoruba alafin's horseman to accompany him into the other world is barbaric, what does that say about 'modern' Europe, as Olunde poses the questions to Pilkings's wife, Jane? And what of the excess and decadence of holding a ball for the Prince of England when Britain is at war? While the Europeans desecrate the ancestral spirits and culture of death in Oyo (the use of egungun masks for the masked ball at the European club foreshadows Picklings's dishonor of the community by disrupting the suicide and arrested Elesin), they are in the midst of a global conflict where millions of Europeans died. 

Where Soyinka further complicates things is in how the dishonor wrought by the colonial state's intervention to prevent the suicide is the wavering commitment of Elesin himself to carry out the act, suggestive of an internal conflict within Yoruba culture and society regarding its cultural values and traditions as somehow static or evolving over time. The very notion of tradition itself is undermined by the play's powerful conclusion, and, as the 'mother' of the market, Iyajola, explains, the world of the Yoruba remains cast into the void. 

This play is well-worth the time for a serious literary endeavor into colonialism in an African context. While undoubtedly critical of British cultural imperialism, arrogance, or brutality, the play does much more than construct some impenetrable wall between the West and Africa, which would be too simplistic or reductionist of a viewpoint. Instead, Soyinka welcomes the reader to contemplate the very notion of value judgments of civilizations as 'civilized' or barbaric. In addition, the play is steeped in the Yoruba worldview and cultural world, revealing its sophistication and lyrical beauty of the riddles and oral traditions. Possibly the take away of such a complex play is that the worldview of Yoruba culture is equally developed and contradictory like that of British civilization, or any other human society on the face of the globe. 

Ibadan in the 19th century

View of Ibadan in the 1850s. Ibadan emerged in the 19th century after the fall of Oyo, a period of insecurity (indeed, the 19th century happened to be the period when many Yoruba (or 'Nago') people were sold into slavery in places like Cuba and Brazil. So, Ibadan arose as an urban center lacking a single, centralized authority, but ruled by the heads of lineages organized into housing compound networks. Cities like Abeokuta and Ibadan emerged as large cities with 200,000 in the latter by the end of the 19th century. In addition to lacking a centralized authority in the form of a 'king' of something similar, Ibadan hosted specifically 'urban' features of markets, festivals, and a 'nascent' town identity, despite being a 19th century creation. Illorin, another Yoruba city, fell under the control of the Sokoto Caliphate, which explains why some Yoruba converted to Islam during this time. Picture copied from th e UNESCO General History of Africa series.

Source: Bill Fruend, "The African City: A History."

Eglash on African Fractals: Architecture, Design, Binary, and Divination

I finally got around to watching Eglash's TED talk on African fractals and I was blown away. It shatters so many of the stereotypes of African cultures as 'primitive' and lacking advanced mathematics or scientific innovation. As an amateur Africanist, I of course knew better (the stunning skill and quality of African metallurgy, for instance, or manuscripts from West Africa in Arabic or using the Arabic script for African languages for analyzing astronomy, geometry, philosophy, Islamic law, and history), but it's always fascinating to see examples of African contributions to mathematics and science. 

My fascination with the subject of fractals began with this random discovery of this BBC video on the use of binary for multiplication in ancient Ethiopia, which was similar to that used in Egypt. That led me to Ron Eglash's video, which is excellent for an introduction to debunking so many stereotypes of the African continent. Sure, some of the binary math rooted in doubling in various African societies can be found elsehwere in the world, but what struck me the most about Eglash's work is his claim for an African origin of 'geomancy' or divination that reached medieval Europe through the Islamic world. Eglash himself focuses on fractals and specific algorithims used in different African societies (through architecture, design, mancala, etc.) and  the Bamana sand divination's use of binary with a specific algorithim that reflects deterministic chaos theory.

Although his evidence for his claim is not too strong, Eglash believes African divination practices such as that of the Bamana spread to the Muslim world (which may have some support from the long coexistence of Islam and local religions in West Africa and North Africa) and through Islamic alchemy spread to Europe (via Hugo Santalia, Ramon Lull, and other alchemists) as geomancy. In turn, these ancient African divination practices influenced Leibniz, computational theory, and helped give the world computers.

For an interesting study on how Yoruba Ifa divination compares to computer science, check this out. Expect future posts on similar subject material and how it pertains to African Studies, history, and Black History Month.

Solomon Ilori's African Highlife

Solomon Ilori’s African High Life

A Blue Note record from the early 1960s and early ‘worldbeat’ or ‘world music’ fused with jazz, it is a sometimes cute, high-life record with some amazing Afro-Jazz bonus tracks. As a fan of highlife, I must admit that the highlife from West African bands in Nigeria and Ghana were much better than this, such as E.T. Mensha’s band, or Fela Kuti’s Kola Lobitos. Nevertheless, some of the songs come out quite well, such as “Tolani,” featuring a competent drum choir, Ilori singing (presumably in Yoruba?), talking drum, melodic drumming solos reminiscent of some of my favorite highlife, and what sounds like a band having fun in the studio. “Tolani (African Love Song)” is presumably a love song, and although I have no idea what Ilori is saying, compared to some of the other ‘highlife’ material on the album, is quite good. The saxophone solo, far from Fela Kuti, is okay and one can tell the musician is trying to sound like a highlife soloist. His solo is ‘cute,’ “African-like,” melodic, and, at times, sounding like Eastern-inflected avant-garde with some dissonances. “Ise Oluwa,” the next track, is a Yoruba hymn to God and reflects Christianization and missionary activity in 19^th century Yorubaland. It has a very simple melody and at over 5 minutes, is a little too long, but nice for cultural value and some perspective on Yoruba religious music. But there is very little to it that is ‘jazzy,’ but Ilori does play a pennywhistle, very easy on one’s ears. 

 

As for “Follow Me to Africa,” one hears that 6/8 ubiquitious rhythm and drum and pennywhistle solos, but, ultimately, the song gets old quickly because of its uninteresting theme and repetitiveness. The drum solo gets things moving again, but otherwise, it’s a piece of ‘exotica’ that unfortunately bores. Fortunately, the more ‘highlife’-sounding “Yaba E” is adorable, Caribbean-inflected (highlife is partly shaped by calypso and Cuban son), and features nice marimba and saxophone, sounding almost like something one could hear in Haiti or Trinidad. The lyrics also work here, too, with great band accompaniment to the likely Yoruba lyrics. In addition, the chorus and back-up vocals make it a celebratory, communal effort with catchy rhythms and appropriate use of the marimba or xylophone. The saxophone solo is a work of art, a mixture of bebop and highlife. “Jojolo” also has that community-oriented, Caribbean-driven beat and marimba or xylophone. The lyrical and clean guitar sounds like something straight out of Cuba or the Congo with some American influence, and the singers and percussionists give life to the guitarist and horn section. Although definitely not ‘jazz’ per se, but quite beautiful in its own ways with playful and often simple improvisation and appropriate call and response vocals, especially on the parts of the guitarist and saxophonist, the latter hinting at Middle Eastern or North African themes in his solo at one point before giving over to the drummers. One feels like this could be at a venue in Lagos or Accra in the 1950s or 1960s, and something I very much enjoy. The last track on the album before the entirely jazz bonus tracks, “Aiye Le,” also features vocals, and an easy, deceptively simple guitar accompaniment. Eventually, back-up vocalists join in and Ilori is not alone. Fortunately, the song is less than 4 minutes, because it becomes monotonous rather quickly. 

 

“Gbogbo Omo Ibile” is the first of where things become interesting. In a jazz band with Ilori’s drummers (I think McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones may have a part in this, it definitely sounds like it), the band does indeed sound like it is going home, home to Africa. The melody seemingly quotes from “Wade in the Water,” a famous Negro spiritual, and the percussionist, especially the talking drum, add in a wave-lake texture to the piece, so the jazz band, through their percussionist accompanists, wading across the water to the land of our ancestors. The soloists here are firmly rooted in jazz, too, the saxophonist sounding bop-oriented and refined, while a brilliant jazz drummer plays in time with the African drum ensemble to give structure to the turns and shapes conjured by the sax. At times, it almost sounds like it’s trying to break free of the confines of the polyrhythmic jam, until the trumpeter’s solo asserts his presence with extended notes or shouts. To me, he sounds like Freddie Hubbard, possessing his vigor and firm breaths of joy infusing the trumpet. The pianist keeps things funky with some well-chosen chords until the drummer, sounding like Jones, solos with the drum choir. He adeptly takes advantage of the bass and larger drums, pounding and hammering, as if he is drumming for his life to ‘wade in the water.’ One of the drummers, likely Ilori, gets in on the fun, too, speaking through his hand percussion while the jazz drummer swings and, with precise, fast hands, shows the beauty, complexity, and dexterity in West African percussionists, responding to his own rhythms while the song keeps swinging.

“Agbamurero” takes the jazz band and drum choir on a more “African” route, with cowbell, call and response chants, and prominent piano. “Agbamurero” apparently alludes to the rhino, and the composition’s force, strengthened by the drum choir and chants and the ‘drum-like’ piano pounding, could easily evoke a rhino stomping through the savannah. Then the pianist and trumpet take over, exerting a more blues-rooted style that comes out as funk that somehow meshes well, particularly during the trumpeter’s ‘fully’ jazz solo. He breathes in long gasps of blues and soul, stretching the notes to form a river of aural funk on the polyrhythmic waves from the band, especially with additional help from the pianist. Thus, what we have here is a seamless fusion of hard bop with thunderous West African drumming, and a flute or pennywhistle solo that is also jazz-rooted. The drum solo here is also quite nice, and similar to some highlife band’s drum solos, though those are also highly influenced by jazz in addition to West African and Afro-Caribbean rhythms. But here everything succeeds, the cowbell, the jazz drumset, hand percussion, each contributes to something great than the sum of all its parts. Ilori and the jazz drummer play call and response, too, each one soloing and playing in tandem.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. “Igbesi Aiye,” translated as “Song of Praise to God,” is a spiritual, jazz poem for God. Like “Gbogbo Omo Ibile,” brilliant trumpet improvisation with religiously fervent piano accompaniment contributes to an ethos of divine tribute. The trumpeter, blowing away, sounds like someone chanting for God in a Yoruba ceremony, as in “Ise Oluwa,” while the saxophonist also plays in a relaxed style but with utmost gravity, bop-like at times, while holding the notes at times for exhortations. Whoever the flautist is, they perform superbly, invoking God(s) as the trumpeter did, and, for a lack of terms, calling the spirits as if located in the deep recesses of the forest. The drummer, likely Ilori, plays his drum melodically, in response to the vamp that the entire song is built on, showing off his chops at “praising God,” since no deity could avoid the infectious rhythms here. The essential cowbell rhythm, forming part of the clave and basic component of much Afro-Caribbean music, is appropriately used in this quasi-religious spiritual. For any fan of Blue Note’s “experimental” releases with “African” music, this is a must-hear. Indeed, much better than Art BLakey’s “worldbeat” releases of percussion-oriented travels in Caribbean and African music, two of the tracks, “Jojolo,” and “Yaba E,” as well as the three jazz bonus tracks, indicate fascinating, Afro-Jazz. On the strength of the last bonus tracks, with their jazz bass, West African percussion, and attention to blues, modal jazz, as well as African music forms, this is a five star release. Any fan of jazz, especially the type of jazz that was becoming en vogue in the early 1960s, such as the universal spiritualism of Coltrane’s music, fusing African and Asian spiritualties and musical influences, must listen.

Nago/Yoruba Slaves in Saint Domingue

The above refers to the percentage of enslaved peoples on plantations in different provinces of colonial Haiti who were of "Nago" or Yoruba origins, coming from the Bight of Benin. Apparently, during the 18th century, nearly 2 out of every 10 slaves were sold to work in Saint Domingue with the majority of the rest going to Bahia, Brazil, according to this wondrous site here. As the author of the piece explains, the concept of a Yoruba identity really did not exist until the 19th century. Like other ethnonyms projected upon Africans sold into slavery in the Americas, Nago reflected a distorted European view of enslaved peoples' ethnic and cultural identities as well as something redefined by slaves on the ground as they mixed with one another in the Americas. The link above explains that Nago referred to a specific group of Yoruba-speaking peoples (who occupy what is now southwestern Nigeria and parts of Benin) and somehow spread to refer to other presumably Yoruba-speakers sold into slavery. In other parts of the Americas, Nago was also widely used to refer to people who are now called Yoruba. In Cuba, the word Lucumi was also used, perhaps referring to a sub-group that was over-represented or conflated with the entirety of the Yoruba in 19th century Cuba. Regardless, the concept of a "Yoruba" identity really dates to the 19th century and most of the "Nago" in Saint Domingue would have not understood or considered themselves Yoruba. Either way, the "Yoruba" diaspora in the Americas is clearly quite extensive and their influence lives on to this day in Nago rites of Haitian Vodou, Cuban Santeria, Brazilian Candomble, and elsewhere. 

John Coltrane's Ogunde

Loosely based on the Afro-Brazilian Candomble song, Ogunde Arere, one can see the influence of Babatunde Olatunji on Coltrane was larger than one thought. Though the recording that probably inspired John Coltrane's recording of the this sacred song for his Expression album is a Brazilian opera singer's rendition of it in the 1940s, Coltrane had Olatunji (himself a Yoruba, the culture that exported the worship of the orisha/lwa Ogou/Ogun/Ogunde in Brazil, Haiti, Trinidad, and Cuba. Olatunji could've provided Coltrane with the history and sacredness of this ancient Yoruba religious chant that has survived centuries of slavery and creolization to surface in Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil despite the huge diversity in the slaves that arrived to each of the aforementioned nations.

We already know that Olatunji played a significant role in Coltrane's discovery and use of African, Asian, and Afro-Latin music within his own compositions due to the titles of some of Coltrane's 1960s work, such as Africa/Brass, and through the friendship that existed between the two men. It is known that Olatunji, who was one of the earliest artists to record 'authentic' world music in the United States (his Drums of Passion LP was recorded in 1959, I believe) and was a percussionist and singer who willingly shared his music with jazz musicians and befriended African-Americans in Harlem, where he started an African Cultural Center for African-American youth to learn something about African cultures. Indeed, Coltrane's final live concert was at Olatunji's African Cultural Center in Harlem, where Coltrane played a 28-minute version of Ogunde that tests the listeners ability to withstand dissonance (free jazz is often atonal, and Pharaoh Sanders and the other musicians on the stand take lengthy solos). Thus, is it a coincidence that Coltrane would perform an Afro-Brazilian religious song of Nigerian origin at a Nigerian of Yoruba descent's community center? Obviously Olatunji had encouraged Coltrane's interest in African-derived music and through their long friendship, probably provided the African music that inspired Africa/Brass and other 'spiritual' works of Coltrane, such as A Love Supreme. By the way, Olatunji was also a friend of Nina Simone, to whom he introduced the Yoruba song, Zungo. Nina Simone would perform in live at a show at The Village Gate in New York City in the early 1960s. This website does a great job explaining the origin of Ogunde and its connection to Coltrane's spiritual awakening that saved him from a heroin overdose:
http://www.wumingfoundation.com/english/wumingblog/?p=1293

Nina Simone, Zungo

Babatunde Olatunji, Zungo

Earliest recording of Ogunde, featuring a Brazilian opera singer accompanied by piano, arranged by a Brazilian classical composer. Bidu Sayao, the singer, shows off her classical-training, which doesn't really match this dark, African song of the Brazilian slaves and their descendants. However, it is of great import for showing how it influenced John Coltrane's 2 recordings of Ogunde.

Ogun, or Ogou, is also widely venerated in Haiti, as well as Nigeria, Benin, and Brazil. Here is a song for Ogou, the lwa/orisha of war and iron, that I believe bears a resemblance to the Brazilian rendition above.

Os Tincoas, a Brazilian group, also performed Ogunde. As a Brazilian pop group, their rendition is not exactly authentic Candomble music, but interesting nonetheless.

Here are some other Ogun songs which likely share the same origin as Yoruba chants to the orisha dating back several centuries. They are chants which feature drumming and nothing else.

http://grooveshark.com/#/s/Song+For+Ogun/2OmHPw?src=5 A Song for Ogou chant from the Library of Congress Recordings
http://grooveshark.com/#/s/Track+02+Ogun/1OCbaO?src=5 Iroko's performance of Ogun

John Coltrane's recording of Ogunde for his posthumous studio album, Expression, is short (only a little over 3 minutes) but retains the ominous atmosphere of the Brazilian recording from the opera singer and her classical arrangement. It almost sounds "Eastern" despite the obvious African origin.

John Coltrane played Ogunde again in an epic 28 minute version for his final live album. Have fun, despite the inferior recording material used at the show, which makes it difficult to make out the other percussion added to highlight the African feeling of Ogunde.

http://grooveshark.com/s/Ogunde/3sbDDS?src=5 grooveshark link to the song in its entirety