Due to our interest in the often neglected contributions of Mozambique and East Africa to the making of the Haitian people, we thought it would be worthwhile to familiarize ourselves with the general history of Mozambique by Newitt. While much weaker on the precolonial era and the slave trade than colonial and postcolonial Mozambican history, the details of Portuguese trade, influence and colonial domination of Mozambique was useful for understanding some of the dynamics that led to Mozambique contributing to the Indian Ocean and trans-Atlantic slave trade networks. The rise of the prazo system and the emergence of Afro-Portuguese leaders (often of Asian origin) who, essentially, became warlords and local rulers adopting African titles and intermarrying with local elites, helps us to understand how slavery, Portuguese influence (which was often quite weak as the prazos acted independently of Portugal) and warfare created the conditions for the French slave traders to acquire African captives who later, in part, were brought against their will to Saint Domingue. We also learned a little more about the Makonde and Makua peoples, as well as the social and economic relations occurring in the regionally divided sections of Mozambique which intensified the slave trade by the 19th century. One thing we know for sure, Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique was particularly pernicious and did irreparable harm to its people.
11/20/24
11/19/24
Bambara in Saint Domingue Runaway Ads
Samba, runaway "Bambara" in 1767. Samba as first name may be more indicative of a Fula or perhaps other Senegalese origin. Actual "Bambara" origins may be more likely when paired with a description of runaway slaves bearing evidence of facial scarification.
Part of the problem with gathering precise information on "Bambara" captives in Saint-Domingue is that the French themselves didn't seem to know much about them. They appear to have learned that there was indeed a "Bambara" language but runaway ads like the one above express confusion. We suspect "Mandingue" was meant instead of Bambara, particularly since Mandingues and Bambaras spoke related tongues.
Yet another example of the ambiguity of "Bambara" and other nations in Saint-Domingue. If the Tacoua were Nupe, then it seems unlikely for a Nupe person to speak "Bambara." If "Bambara" here is interpreted broadly as a Mande-related language, then it is possible for a Nupe woman to have also spoken or learned a language related to "Bambara." But it raises questions about the accuracy of labels like "Tacoua" and "Bambara" in the colony.
Another example of the ambiguity or perhaps broad meaning of "Bambara" can be seen in the case of a runaway named Fevrier. His nation, Saufo, probably Soso (Susu), a group present in the colony in larger numbers than we think, is described as a "type of Bambara." This suggests any group of peoples speaking languages similar to Bamana and probably non-Muslim could become a "Bambara."
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11/18/24
Madagascar and Haiti
Thomas, a Madagascar captives listed in a notarial record from Jacmel, 1739. He may have arrived in Saint-Domingue on the ship, Saint-Michel, which imported 267 slaves into the colony in 1735.
One of the more interesting facets of the horrid annals of the French Slave Trade is the movement of over 20,000 captives from Southeast Africa to Saint-Domingue in the 18th century. Although only a fraction of the total imported slave population to colonial Haiti, this late 18th century trade (since most of the captives arrived from 1773-1792, though about 534 "Madagascar" captives were imported across the 1720s and 1730s on two voyages), the trade connected Haiti and the Atlantic with France's Indian Ocean trade and colonial interests in the Mascarenes. Unsurprisingly, most of the East African and Southeast African captives purchased by the French during the 18th century were destined for the Mascarenes, which even included a sizable enslaved population of Indians imported (which explains the tiny Asian Indian population in Saint-Domingue, too).
Maroon Ali, a Griffe of Madagascar, posted in 1785.
The trade with Saint-Domingue was quite connected with this, however, as French ships traveling to Indian purchased goods that were then used to acquire slaves on the coast of Africa and Madagascar. Some of these ships then purchased captives from different parts of the Indian Ocean coast, sometimes acquiring captives from both Mozambique and Madagascar, before continuing into the Atlantic. Other ships, according to Jean Mettas's Répertoire des expéditions négrières françaises au XVIIIe siècle, even stopped at the Cape of Good Hope (purchasing things like vine) or on the coasts of Angola to acquire slaves for sale in Saint-Domingue. The full story of the role of the Mascarenes as a base for the French slave traders active in both the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean is a story worthy of attention, as it fully connects the trade in bonded labor in both oceans/worlds while also presaging the later movement of indentured Indian labor and "liberated" Africans in postemancipation years.
Let us return to Madagascar, however. The fascinating thing is that, despite their relatively early appearance in the colony the Trans-Atlantic Database at slavevoyages.org only has 534 captives from Madagascar arrived in Saint-Domingue. Charlevoix, the Jesuit historian who wrote a history of the island in the 1730s, also mentioned small numbers of "Monomotapa" and Madagascar slaves in the colony, but neither group were highly esteemed in the colony. This may indicate that some of the 534 captives imported over the course of the 1720s-1730s included people who were later called "Mozambiques" or perhaps slaves purchased in Madagascar but from the mainland. A study of the Sakalava state and its role in the supply of slaves to Europeans in the period would be potentially fruitful for understanding the origins of Madagascar captives in the Americas. Regardless, the presence of Southeast Africans was clearly very minor in the first half of the 18th century. Perusing the notarial records for different parishes of the colony may reveal more of their numbers, as our example of Thomas, an enslaved person in the Jacmel area illustrates. Some free people of color in the colony were also reputed to be descendants of Madagascar slaves, such as the Roumat of Jacmel. Perhaps Jacmel received a disproportionate share of "Madagascar" slaves in the 1720s and 1730s? If they were not highly desired, some of the indigo and sugar planters in the Jacmel quarter may have been more desperate and willing to accept them?
However, with the rapid expansion of the slave trade with Southeast Africa in the last 2 decades of the 18th century, the Madagascar captives reappear. And this is in spite of the overwhelming majority of captives from this region being acquired from Mozambique. According to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade database, 15,280 "Mozambiques" were disembarked in Saint-Domingue with another 2644 purchased from the area of Kilwa. Clearly, for the Malagasy to reappear in Saint-Domingue during the final 2 decades of colonial rule, some must have been acquired from the Mascarenes, unspecified ports, or ships that purchased captives at multiple areas in Southeast Africa. Consulting the work of Mettas provides a few examples of slavers that did exactly this, purchasing some captives in Madasgascar and the Mascarenes but bringing cargos mainly consisting of "Mozambiques" to Saint-Domingue. One particular example, La Victoire, picked up around 80 captives at Bombetoc before continuing its voyage toward the Atlantic in 1785. We suspect this may have occurred more often than recognized or detectable from surviving sources, particularly given the large Madagascar component of the enslaved population in the Mascarenes during this era. Perhaps a decent chunk of the 1,449 slaves from unspecificied Southeast African ports were Malagasy.
A 1773 runaway ad for a Malgaffe, or Malgasse, slaves. 1773 is also the year of the earliest known direct slave imports from Mozambique to Saint-Domingue. A baker in Leogane also posted for sale a Madagascar domestic, Bourbon, in 1775.
As the above runaway ad illustrates, the reappearance of Madagascar slaves in Saint-Domingue coincided with the year of the first documented slave ship bringing captives from Mozambique to the colony. Since the return of Malagasy captives to Saint-Domingue happened at the same time as the larger scale trade in Malagasy captives to the Mascarenes, ethnic groups appearing there likely indicate the same origins of Madagascar slaves in Haiti. Madagascar natives enslaved in the Mascarenes were drawn from the following groups and areas: Antateimo, Betsileo, Hova, Sakalava, according to Baron d'Unienville. Allen, citing a 1817 slaves register on Mauritius, lists the following groups found there: Ambanivolo, Amboalambo (Merina), Andrantsay, Antaisaka, Antalaotra, Antanosy, Antatsimo, Betanimena, Maninga (sic), Marvace (sic) and Sakalava. Although these are the known ethnic groups for 19th century Malagasy slaves in the Mascarenes, one is probably on safe ground to suspect that it was similar in its ethnic distribution in the late 18th century. Interestingly, we do not see the Bara people listed, a group who, per the speculative reasoning of Jean Fouchard, may have provided the name or at least influenced Haiti's national dance.
The sale of a Madagascar slave sailor who could speak very good French, in 1786.
To what extent these Malagasy peoples contributed to the formation of Haitian culture is unclear. Their numbers were far smaller than those of "Mozambique" origin, and the "Mozambiques" do not appear to have bequeathed too much to Haitian culture. However, genetic studies of the Haitian population undoubtedly reflects Southeast African ancestry, as a survey of Haitian African matches by the Tracing African Roots project indicates. Nonetheless, an African person of Madagascar origin was the subject of a Haitian newspaper article in 1839. Named Lundi, this Madagascar native was a slave and master sucrier on the Santo habitation in the Croix-des-Bouquet area. Apparently, he saved the estate 3 times during the tumultuous years of the Haitian Revolution and post-1804 conflicts. The article, published in L'Union, praises Lundi while also lamenting the demise of Haiti's sugar production. Due to the class biases of the author and the interests of some of the journal's contributors in reviving large-scale plantation agriculture, one should probably interpret the story of Lundi very carefully. However, it is one of the few accounts mentioning people of Malagasy origin in 19th century Haiti.
11/15/24
The Hausa in Affiches Americaines
Although it mainly provides limited information, consulting Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines, available at the Digital Library of the Caribbean, is a wondrous resource. One can see advertisements for the sale of imported slaves, runaway slave notices, and, occasionally, individuals selling slaves. Sometimes the level of detail on the captive African population can be very meaningful or relevant for gaining more insight on their origins, experiences, and exploitation. Perusing it for references to the Hausa in Saint Domingue was actually quite illustrative of certain trends and theories about the Central Sudan's involvement in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade before the 19th century.
For example, one can find references to Hausa runaways that may bear African names. This above example, Boupa (Bouba?) is ambiguous, but could point to possible backgrounds for captives from northern areas who reached the Slave Coast.
Some of the advertisements for newly arrived ships carrying captives are similarly worthwhile. The example from above, from 1787, reveals that the cargo included Hausa as well as Arada captives. Intriguingly, Hausa captives had been imported since at least the 1760s, but it seems like the diverse "nations" from the Bight of Benin only began to be distinguished more regularly by the last 20-30 years of colonial rule. One wonders if the French slave traders, who probably had little ability to demand only specific "nations" when waiting to fill their cargos for the Atlantic voyage, were responding to growing demand and stereotypes of Saint Domingue slaveholders.
Occasionally, the "Nago" and other nations besides Aradas and Hausas appeared as part of the cargo for arriving slave ships, like the example from 1786 demonstrates. One suspects that the Hausa captives were perhaps mainly taken from ports like Porto Novo, Badagry, and Onis. Indeed, historians such as Adamu pointed out Lagos, Porto-Novo, Badagry and Whydah as the most important ports for exports of slaves from deep in the interior.
In addition, perusing the newspaper reveals some of the exceedingly rare female Hausa in the colony. Since it seems likely that female slaves exported from the Central Sudan were favored for trans-Saharan trade rather than the Atlantic one, the Hausa in the colony experienced one of the highest gender imbalances of the enslaved population. Yet some, like a woman, Suzanne, estimated to be around 50 years old, were brought to Saint-Domingue and ran away in 1790. It's possible her advanced age made her less valuable in the northern trade. Yet in the very same year, a young Hausa woman was a runaway, estimated at 24 years of age.
One can even find sales for individual Hausa in the colony. For instance, a young Hausa with experience at a coffee plantation, was posted for sale by a colon in Grands-Bois in 1790. This young Hausa's background on a coffee estate seems to have been a common experience, as Hausa, largely imported in the North, St. Marc, and the West would have largely labored on sugar and coffee plantations.
And for Haiti, the links to the Central Sudan did not end with independence. Besides being visited by Nicholas Said of Borno later in the 19th century, some of the Africans liberated from slave ships and brought to Haiti included Hausa. La Gazette Royale of Henri Christophe's state, for instance, alluded to some of the Hausa brought to Haiti from a Portuguese ship. Indeed, the publication even alludes to a troop of Hausa or Nupe who performed a dance in 1811. One Hausa child from the intercepted ship performed an impressive dance by himself.
11/14/24
Captives from the Central Sudan and the Bight of Benin
Patrick Manning's estimates for slave exports from the Bight of Benin by ethnic origins (Slavery, Colonialism and Economic Growth in Dahomey, 1640-1960).
In order to compare our own crude estimates for Hausa and "Central Sudan" populations imported into Saint Domingue during the 18th century, we found it useful to check the work of scholars for estimates and context on the total volume of slave exports for the 18th century. In addition, some scholars have written plausible historical analyses of the scale of the slave trade, the ethnicities exported from the Slave Coast during the century, and the conditions that led to captives from areas to the north being fed into the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.
The most useful scholar here is Patrick Manning, whose Slavery, Colonialism, and Economic Growth in. Dahomey, 1640-1960 includes a number of useful tables. While the estimates for the 18th century may not be accurate for the total Central Sudan share of captives exported, the numbers are actually plausible and would fit our own estimates. According to Manning, about 10,500 "Hausa" were exported from the Bight of Benin during the 18th century. The vast majority appear to have been exported in the second half of the 1700s, too. This would include multiple decades when the share of captives purchased by French slavers were significant, particularly in the period from 1760-1790. While Manning's data indicates the French, over the entire 18th century, purchased 259,300 captives from the Bight of Benin, David Geggus's work shows that a total of about 157,748 captives were brought to Saint Domingue on French ships. Specifically, for the period covering the years 1750-1800, a total of around 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin were brought to the Caribbean on French ships. According to Geggus, Saint Domingue absorbed over half of the total number of imported slaves from the Bight of Benin, 265,800 (note that Geggus's calculation differs from that of Manning). It stands to reason that the majority of the Central Sudan captives exported from the Bight of Benin by French ships in the 18th century ended up in Saint Domingue.
To be more precise would require calculating with more precision the share of the Bight of Benin captives brought to Saint Domingue versus other French colonies in the Antilles from 1750-1790. Furthermore, one must determine, somehow, the proportion of Hausa captives who were purchased by the French instead of English, Brazilian or other traders during this period. However, overall, Saint-Domingue seems to have absorbed about 59%. of the total French slave imports of the 18th century. This would suggest that perhaps up to 59% of the estimated 10,500 Hausa captives purchased by the French from the Bight of Benin, such as ports like Porto-Novo, ended up in Saint-Domingue. Checking the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database for slave ships from the Bight of Benin who brought captives to Saint Domingue between 1750 and 1800, however, gives a figure of 105,900. If true, which may be an understatement due to the French including parts of the Slave Coast in the "Gold Coast," this would represent the vast majority of the 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin imported in the Antilles during the period 1750-1800 by French ships. Thus, it is very likely that, however many Central Sudan captives were sold from the Bight of Benin in the 18th century, the dominant share of those carried by French slave ships were brought to Haiti (for the French Caribbean.
Using the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database at slavevoyages.org made it quick and easy to get estimates for the total numbers of slaves imported from the Bight of Benin in the period 1750-1794.
However, using the Trans-Atlantic Database to see the total number of slave exports from the Bight of Benin from 1750-1800, one can arrive at different numbers. According to the database, 444,855 captives were disembarked from the Bight of Benin during this period, carried by ships of all nations. If the Saint-Domingue share during this period was only 105,900, then it is somewhat plausible that the French share of the estimated Hausa captives was possibly at least 2,500, though likely somewhat higher. Of course, one would have to fact check this with some better estimates for the decades with the most Hausa captives. According to Manning's estimates, the most Hausa captives were imported in the years 1781-1800, of which Haiti's imports would have ceased in the early 1790s. Nonetheless, the French share during those two decades was substantial, purchasing a little under half of the slaves sold from the Bight of Benin in the 1780s. The French share in the 1790s, naturally, was smaller, but still purchasing a little under 10,000 captives. If broadly accurate, then the French slave traders likely acquired more than 2500 Hausa, perhaps significantly more.
This aforementioned number is plausible and not too far from our estimate. Ultimately, if Manning's figures for the Hausa captives sold during the 18th century is correct, then perhaps a minimum of around 2500 Hausa were landed in Haiti. Using these rough figures, we can calculate how many Hausa captives were imported at the principal ports of the colony during the years 1750-1794. If Le Cap received about 36,810 African captives from the Bight of Benin during this period, one might estimate that about 881 Hausa were imported, presuming the share of Hausa within the imported population was comparable to the share of the total slave imports from the Bight of Benin to Le Cap versus the entire colony. The other major ports received the following:
1. Les Cayes: 88
2. Leogane: 315
3. Petit Goave: 7
4. Port-au-Prince: 753
5. St. Marc: 412
6. Port de Paix: 15
7. Unspecified Saint Domingue ports: 49
Naturally, the above estimates are making a huge assumption and are probably very inaccurate for Port de Paix and Petit Goave. Nonetheless, it gives one an idea of the possible distribution of Hausa and Central Sudan captives in Saint Domingue's provinces. Obviously, the major areas to receive this influx of Central Sudan slaves were the north (Le Cap), the Artibonite region (St. Marc), and the West (Port-au-Prince, Leogane). Smaller numbers may have arrived in Les Cayes and some undoubtedly arrived via other ports. In addition, English smugglers and the contraband trade may have introduced more at ports which lack data for slave imports from the Bight of Benin. Nonetheless, it was clearly concentrated in the North, Artibonite and West provinces of the colony that one was most likely to encounter the Central Sudan population.
11/13/24
Gilles Bambara in 1787?
Although we require far more evidence to confirm this, our perusal of Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines, led to some interesting findings. For instance, the above runaway ad, from 1787, mentions a "Gilli" arrested in Petit-Goave. The runaway slave's name may have actually been Gille, but perhaps a misprint or error led to the paper writing it as "Gilli." Anyway, we need to confirm that the Gilles Bambara who later became an important leader during the Haitian Revolution was once the chattel of a Lami to know for sure. But if it is indeed the same person, it is interesting to see that he was already engaging in marronage years before the outbreak of the Haitian Revolution.
11/12/24
Jacmel Quartier's Population in 1739
Another feeble attempt at our part of deriving plausible estimates for the "nations" of the Jacmel Quarter in 1739. Using the 1739 Census for Saint-Domingue (available via ANOM), and its total for adult slaves of 3727. Using our own data based on the slave population in Bainet, Jacmel and Cayes de Jacmel for the years 1719-1739, we used the proportion of each "nation" to calculate possible numbers for these nations in 1739. Of course, this is pure speculation on our part. In addition, several nations with only 1 or 2 slaves from our data are likely distorted in our table above. This is especially relevant for nations with tiny numbers or obscure names that may have been reclassified as other "nations" by 1739. One must also keep in mind that the years after 1730 witnessed an increase in coffee plantations in parishes like Bainet, which undoubtedly impacted the enslaved population in that pivotal decade.
Nonetheless, the projected numbers for 1739 seem to fit general trends. Creoles were the single largest group, and their parents were probably disproportionately from the Bight of Benin and the Senegambian regions. Congos, plus other Central Africans, like Loango and Mondongue, were the next largest group. Yet the Mina, Arada, Nago, Ouida/Judah, and Ibo were a huge part of the adult slave population. One suspects the growth of coffee plantations, plus the more marginal position of these parishes in terms of development and access to slaves, made the planters less picky and willing to purchase whoever they could access via legal and smuggling methods.
It is also interesting to see the persistence of the "Upper Guinea" populations among the adult slave population. Bambara and Senegal Africans, in our projection, plus Mandingue and maybe the "Mamou" as well, slaves from the Senegambia area and further east were still very much part of th enslaved population. Indeed, one wonders to what extent these Upper Guineans may have been able to relate to adult Creoles with parents from the same region. The "Mamou" may have been from the Mamou or Mamu region of Futa Jallon, in today's Guinea. It is difficult to say with any firm certainty, but Futa Jallon's wars of expansion in the 1720s did generate an increase in captives, who may have been Jallonke and some Fulbe who ended up in Saint-Domingue. Mamou, according to Marty and others, was the name of a river and region not too far from Futa Jallon's capital, Timbo. Timbou, too, could be a reference to Futa Jallon.
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