The Tabaqat and Sudanic Africa

MacMichael's abridged translation of the Tabaqat in A History of the Arabs in the Sudan and Some Account of the People who Preceded Them and of the Tribes Inhabiting Dárfūr, Volume 2 is outdated and probably riddled with errors. That said, it is, to our knowledge, the most complete English translation of a major source on the history of the Islamic holymen of the Funj Sultanate. Written in the early 1800s by Muhammad wad Dayf Allah, it contains rich biographies loaded with anecdotes, stories, miracles, and portraits of the lives of major figures in Sudanese Islam since the 16th century. Moreover, some of the biographies illustrate the Islamic ties to Kordofan, Darfur, Borno, Wadai, Hausaland, the Maghreb, Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, and more. Let us take a closer look at some of these ties to Sudanic Africa

First of all, it is interesting to note that one of the major founding figures associated with Sufism in Sudan was Tag El Din Bahari, a native of Baghdad (in the translation of MacMichael, his full name is given as Muhammad El Bahari Tag El Din El Baghdadi). He arrived in the Sudan after completing the pilgrimage and is frequently mentioned in the text for his students and acolytes. There is no evidence of contacts for this Sufi teacher and al-Baghdadi of Air, yet one cannot help but notice the presence of two Iraqi Sufis of major import in both the Air region and in the Funj Sultanate in the 16th century. Given the evidence of later contacts by the 1600s between the Eastern Sudan and Central Sudan, one should delve deeper into the history of Sufism and Eastern influences on its practices in Air, Hausaland, and Borno, possibly tracing signs of influence or exchange with the domain of the Funj rulers. 

Additional signs of contact with the Central Sudan can be seen in the case of Muhammad ibn Adlan el Shaf'ai El Hoshabi, said to have done missionary work in Borno and Hausaland (256). Alas, there is no precise date given to make sense of the chronology of his time in the Central Sudan. Yet we know from Krump's account of his travels in the Sudan, that caravans including Borno and Fezzan Sufis and travelers were going to the Funj Sultanate. Thus, by the early 18th century, it was at least not unheard of for Sufis to travel between the Fezzan and Borno and the Sinnar Sultanate in caravans. Indeed, one of the holymen included in the Tabaqat was allegedly from the Fezzan, Abdulla el Sherif (227). In fact, some of the holymen of Funj kingdom even studied under West Africans in eastern lands. For instance, Khogali ibn Abd el Rahman ibn Ibrahim studied in Medina under Sheikh Ahmad el Tabankatawi el Fellati (250). The latter, whose precise origins are unclear in MacMichael's translation, was probably from the Western or Central Sudan but established in Medina, where he was an influential scholar of Islamic studies. Amusingly, MacMichael translates the anecdote of Khogali ibn Abd el Rahman ibn Ibrahim stopping Bukr of Darfur from attacking Sennar by striking him with his rod (251).

Additional holymen from the Funj sultanate who traveled to western lands included Abu Surur El Fadli, who taught in Darfur and was murdered in Wadai by his concubines (229). Likewise, Abu Zayd ibn el Sheikh Abd el Kadir traveled to Darfur and Borku during the reign of Sultan Ya'akub, said to have ruled in Wadai from 1681-1701 and to have lost a war with Ahmad Bukr of Darfur (281). Last, but certainly not least, Hasan ibn Hasuna ibn El Haj Musa, who died in 1664, was a wealthy holyman who owned many slaves and livestock. He was said to have traded many horses to Tekali, Borku and Darfur (244). This last individual's trading ventures establishes the tie between commerce and religion as well as the significance of the horse trade with areas far to the west of the Nile. Undoubtedly, the expansion of Muslim-ruled states in Darfur and Wadai favored this economic, cultural, and religious exchange with both the Funj Sultanate and Borno. Alas, the absence of a Tabaqat for Borno, Kanem, Wadai and Darfur makes it harder to explore these connections and movements that entailed commerce, Sufism, and Islamic scholarship. 

Approaching Medieval Nubia Through Continuity

Ali Osman's Economy and trade of medieval Nubia is premised on the notion of continuity across Nubian history. With this probably fair assumption, his thesis proceeds to explore possible mechanisms and systems of economics and exchange in Nubia based on analogous practices in modern Nubia. This can be justified by the, again, probably fair, conclusion that relations with their environment, technology, and rural/village systems of land proprietorship and lineages have not changed drastically until the 20th century. While Osman is undoubtedly correct to point to the necessity of using contemporary Nubian ethnographic and linguistic evidence to make sense of Christian Nubia, his analogous model does veer a little too far by attempting to compare Nubia's river trade of the early 20th century to the organization of trade 1000 years ago. Again, the environment hasn't changed that much and there undoubtedly was much continuity at the village level (at least) from the Christian period through post-Christian kingdoms. But, one suspects that the impact of religion and the gradual shift to Islam may have introduced more changes in social, economic, spiritual, and political features than we think. Despite some similarities between the state of Kokka, for instance, and medieval Nubia, the practice of Islam and changes in the "superstructure" of society may have introduced or led to other changes on the micro-level. Despite our own hesitations about some of the study's conclusions, it was fascinating to read Osman's personal, autobiographic details. Indeed, oral traditions of his own lineage identify a Christian ancestor who lived several centuries ago! And the author's comments about official versus popular trade seem reasonable. 

Fra Mauro and Lake Chad

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Fra Mauro's depiction of the Lake Chad region correctly named some of the peoples and features of the area, like Bagirmi, Bulala (after they were the dominant power in Kanem), and the Mandara Mountains. He must've had 'native' informants from Kanem or Borno or access to decent Arabic sources by geographers.

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But why continue to use the name "Organa" instead of Kanem? Fra Mauro knew of the Marghi, Mandara, Bagirmi, Bolala (Bulala in Kanem and Lake Fitri), and perhaps he thought Lake Chad was a giant marsh due to its seasonal fluctuations. But why continue to use the name Organa when his Arabic and/or Africans sources have specified Kanem and Borno as place names by the mid-15th century. Was it due to the fact that the Bulana rulers had already seized power in Kanem by this time? It could have been due to the already established pattern in medieval European Cartography to refer to Kanem as Organa, something which was already apparent in the 14th century map of Angelino Dulcert.

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The Angelino Dulcert map also mentions the king of Organa fighting naked "blacks" by the sea, which I interpret to mean Lake Chad. There's a French translation and commentary of his map here that makes it even more likely to be Kanem. 

Bélisaire's African Languages

Whilst perusing Guy-Joseph Bonnet's Souvenirs historiques, we were delighted to find more details on the linguistic skills of Bélisaire, a "mulatto" who, for a brief time at least, led African rebels in the early days of the Haitian Revolution. According to Bonnet, Bélisaire could communicate with Aradas, Mandingues, Hausas, Congos, and Nagos, a feat which made him a respected figure among these bossales. It is unfortunate that we lack any surviving writings by Bélisaire in which he documented some of his understanding of these various African languages spoken in colonial Haiti. 

Zagada

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After reading Geggus's essay on "Kongomania" and seeing his reference to one of the few known African leaders in the North during the early days of the Haitian Revolution, we had to consult ANOM's digitized collection of Moreau de Saint-Méry's papers. Geggus briefly mentioned Zagada as the leader of a band of Aradas and Aoussas (Hausas), but based on his name, we wondered if he was possibly Hausa. Well, after consulting ANOM, we found the source cited by Geggus, a 1792 letter addressed to Moreau de Saint-Méry. According to the document, Zagada's band of rebels were armed with arrows, which is not too surprising. But the combination of Aradas and Aoussas is interesting, since another leader of a band of rebels, La Fortune, was said to lead a group of Nagos (Yorubas) in Limonade. Our guess is that Zagada was Hausa, although we would have to consult the names of various groups sometimes lumped into the "Zagada" category in order to confirm it. 

Bori in Tunisia and al-Timbuktawi

Ismael Montana's study and translation of Hatk al-Sitr is an interesting study of the manifestation of the Bori cult in Ottoman Tunisia. Although, sadly, too brief of a treatise, al-Timbuktawi's biased yet provocative denunciation of the religion as shirk requiring state intervention to eradicate it and reenslave recalcitrant "Sudan Tunis" in the Regency is both disturbing and illustrative of West African jihadist intellectuals of the late 18th and early 19th century. To Montana, al-Timbuktawi's views and his intervention in the state of affairs in Tunis, through which he passed whilst performing the pilgrimage, represents an instance of West African Islamic intellectual currents and interactions with both Wahabbism and North Africa. 

Surprisingly, however, Montana did not fully explore the deeply misogynistic element of al-Timbuktawi's work, which sees Bori's threat to the Islamic state and society of Tunisia as particularly dangerous due to the role of its female priests, "lesbianism" and the local Tunisian women enthralled by this cult of ritual healing and polytheism. This gendered dimension is mentioned in terms of the prominent role played by women as ritual leaders and priestesses in Bori, but its gendered impact on local Tunisian society seems to us as particularly important, since it reflects both the misogyny of al-Timbuktawi (and probably many of the pro-jihad intellectuals in West Africa) and another aspect of the great role of women in Bori. 

We hope to read Tremearne's later account of Bori to gain deeper insights into this gendered dimension of the religion as well as its practice in both Hausaland and North Africa. Since al-Timbuktawi was mainly writing for the purpose of convincing the authorities in Tunis to suppress Bori, he does not cover in great detail the religion or the ethnic origins of its practitioners. Certainly, the Hausa influence is predominant based on some of the names and titles used in the cult (referring back to political titles in Borno or Hausa kingdoms, for instance, or using Hausa words). But, one wonders about the Bambara, Songhay, and Nupe mentioned by al-Timbuktawi. Indeed, if Bori in North Africa is similar to Gnawa in Morocco, one also wonders if a degree of syncretism was also emerging within West Africa itself due to the slave trade between the areas of the Niger Bend and the Central Sudan. For instance, were there "Bambara" and Songhay groups present in the Hausa kingdoms who introduced aspects of the Bamana boli and Songhay holey? And what of Hausa captives, Nupe and even Yoruba groups who may have also interacted with the ritual and theological facets of "indigenous" African religions in Hausaland? While some of the similarities with Vodun and Yoruba practice may be superficial, the prominence of animal sacrifice in specific rituals, spirit possession, and the ways in which Bori could coexist with Islam like Vodou and Yoruba religion with Catholicism have always struck us as areas worthy of further exploration.

Bélisaire and African Languages

Although he is occasionally problematic as a source and must be interpreted cautious, Mollien's Haïti ou Saint-Domingue includes a fascinating account of the "mulatto" rebel leader, Bélisaire. In the first tome of his work, Mollien described him as a mason who spoke several African languages. Indeed, his facility with African languages elucidates his success becoming a leader of slave rebels in the West of the colony of Saint-Domingue. Supposedly, he led a band that grew to be as many as 150, and he may have spoken Hausa, if Mollien is to be believed. Other sources, more reliable on this figure, include Thomas Madiou and Beaubrun Ardouin. According to Madiou, Bélisaire Bonnaire led his band of rebels in an African style, too. From Ardouin, we learn that Bélisaire was still around after the Haitian Revolution, loyal to Petion's Republic. If Mollien is correct about Bélisaire speaking Hausa, one wonders about the degree to which African languages spoken by smaller minorities of the African-born population were learned by others. And to what extent Bélisaire is exceptional among Creoles and people of color in learning African languages is another area worthy of exploration.