Wadai from a Chadian Perspective

It is always disappointing when a local scholar of an understudied precolonial African state produces mediocrity. Although Ouaddai, fondation d'un empire by Mahamat Seid Abazène Seid has the benefit of drawing on local, oral sources as well as the written literature on Wadai, it does not suffice for an overview or deep analysis of a major state in precolonial Chad Unfortunately, his frankly too brief book focuses mainly on the founder of Wadai (Abdel Kerim) and jumps all over the place chronologically to make a few generalizations about the nature of the state, its ethnic dimensions, and the administrative positions. There are some occasionally bizarre irrelevant references to Africa as the berceau of monotheism and an interpretation of Chad as both Arab and Africa. The latter position seems fair enough, and no one can deny the centuries-long presence of Arabic-speaking populations in Chad or their inclusion in the states like Wadai, Bagirmi, and Kanem-Borno. 

He seems to mostly support the idea of Abdel Kerim being of Abbasid Arab origin, but also Maba or at least spoke the language. We are also supposed to believe he married the daughter of the last Tunjur king in the region. The mix of traditions also suggest that he may have studied in Borno and Bagirmi as well as spending time in the Hijaz. His state adopted his name, and Wadai became a regional hegemon (albeit most of this seems to be in the 19th century, not the 17th or 18th centuries?). Wadai's problems with royal succession and internal dissension eventually paved the road to French colonial conquest. Nonetheless, Seid's study points to rational administration through the surveillance and rotation of officials and the non-despotic nature of the state. He rightly points out the limitations of al-Tunisi and Nachtigal, especially as the former was biased and his description of the kingdom should rightfully be seen as mainly reflecting the specific era of Saboun's reign. We also suspect Wadai to have been more in the sphere of influence of Borno until the late 18th century or early 19th. After all, Wadai's first invasion of Bagirmi supposedly occurred at the request of the mai. One also suspects the constant struggles for control of Kanem during much of the 1800s attests to Borno's continued interests in Kanem and the eastern shores of Lake Chad. 

Unfortunately, we are forced to rely on al-Tunisi, Barth, Nachtigal, and other outsiders since our surviving corpus of written sources is rather limited. The oral sources have much potential, but Seid's study is too brief and problematic to provide a proper analysis of this major Chadian kingdom (or empire). Moreover, Seid's attempt to interpret the Tarikh al-Fattash and Tarikh al-Sudan to support a Songhai connection or influence on Wadai is difficult to take seriously. Frankly, we do not know to what extent Muslims from the Songhai state were using the "Sudan Road" to reach Mecca. Moreover, the resurgent Borno kingdom as a huge state blocking Songhai from expanding east of Hausaland would suggest weak or limited Songhai influences or impact on Wadai. We find it far more likely that Wadai (and the Darfur Sultanate) owe more to Kanem-Borno and the previous Tunjur state than to any Songhai or Western Sudan societies. One also wonders if any attempt to read the prophecy of a future caliph of Takrur from Tarikh al-Fattash as predicting Wadai's rise is completely misguided. 

The Union of the Churches

Because it was co-written by Merid Wolde Aregay and frequently cited in Cohen's study of the Jesuit mission, The Question of the Union of the Churches in Luso-Ethiopian Relations, 1500-1632 was the next read on Solomonic Ethiopia. Although a short study of Luso-Ethiopian Relations and the failed unification of the respective churches under Roman authority, Aregay and Girma Beshah has written a cogent introduction to the complex topic of Portuguese-Ethiopian interactions beginning with the legend of Prester John and early contacts between the Latin West and the Horn in the late medieval period. While the authors do not seek to blame the Jesuits for the mission's failure or see in it a colonial relationship, they do acknowledge that expecting to uproot centuries-old customs and beliefs quickly was perhaps misguided. 

Ultimately, Susenyos, our Catholic negus, like Za Dengel before him, also lacked the means to effectively impose Catholicism. The dreamed for or expected Portuguese troops never arrived and resistance from the local clergy, nobility, and peasantry became too consistent and dangerous for Susenyos's rule to survive without freedom of religion. The role of peasant resistance in this process cannot be overlooked, and this essay suggests there was an aspect of class conflict expressed in the numerous revolts and rebellions. Indeed, if Za Dengel, as Crummey suggested, had hoped to win peasant support by attacking gult and building a new military base of peasant conscripts (presumably less destructive to the peasants than the older imperial military units), Susenyos alienated the peasantry with his imposition of Catholicism and the insecurity caused by frequent rebellions, Oromo raids, and banditry. 

As stated by later scholars on the Jesuits in Ethiopia, the Society of Jesus relied on the patronage of local rulers and elites. Once circumstances changed and those groups could not or would not back them, the Jesuit mission declined and often a mass support to rally it. Ethiopian Catholicism may have had that if Susenyos's brother, Sela Christos, had been able to rally forces around him and the defeated patriarch against Fasiladas. However, due to the forced conversions and general resistance to Roman Catholicism from above and below, one doubts local Catholics would have been able to stage an effective military resistance. Aregay and Beshah cite Jesuit sources suggesting over 100,000 local Catholics by 1630, but how many of these were the result of forced or coerced conversions or, perhaps like some of the conversions to Islam under Ahmad Gran, merely acts of opportunism or self-preservation in the face of a new boss or bully? One wishes Susenyos had found a way to consolidate his government and centralize the state without imposing Catholicism, perhaps a method that could have carried out some of Za Dengel's reforms with freedom of religion for Orthodox, Catholic, Muslims, Falasha, and "pagans." Ironically, his son would go on to establish a reinvigorated Solomonic dynasty that resisted the resurgence of the provincial nobility until the mid-18th century.

Histoire des Arabes sur les rives du lac Tchad

Jean-Claude Zeltner's Histoire des Arabes sur les rives du lac Tchad is one of those important works that sorely needs an updated sequel. The history of Arabs in the Chad Basin is a significant topic pertinent to the ethnographic, demographic, religious, and cultural history of our region. However, the paucity of sources for earlier periods and some of Zeltner's outmoded concepts of "Hamites" hinders this study. One would hope a modern sequel to Zeltner's research would unveil more intimate details of the relations between the state and Arab nomads in the larger region. Instead of seeing Arabs as outside the state and, until the rise of al-Kanemi and Rabeh, marginal, perhaps a new perspective could shed light on more active involvement of some groups in Kanem, Wadai, Borno, the Kotoko principalities, and Bagirmi. Something of this can be gleamed from historians of the Darfur Sultanate or Bagirmi, for example. The Arab population in Bagirmi, for instance, appear to have been one of the 3 principal ethnic groups of the kingdom. Arab relations and intermarriage with the Fulani also seems important.

Unfortunately given our few sources on the earliest penetration of Arab migrations into the Lake Chad area, Zeltner has to really begin with the late Kanem phase of the Sayfawa dynasty. We know from our Arabic sources that the earliest Arab migrations (in this case referring to nomadic or semi-nomadic populations, not Arab traders or individual immigrants coming via Egypt and North Africa) were present in the Kanem region by the late 14th century. Zeltner links them to Arab migrations to Egypt and Sudan since the early days of the Islamic conquests in the 7th century. As indicated in his magisterial history of Kanem, some of these Chadian Arabs claim descent from tribes whose history appears in the records of pre-Islamic Arabia or the early days of Islamic expansion. If Robin Law is correct, these Arabs in 14th century Kanem may have aligned themselves with the Bulala against the Sayfawa, perhaps providing horses and siding with the Bulala in raids and pillaging. It is not too much of a stretch of the imagination to envision the marauding Arab tribes of the 14th century as decentralized and perhaps motivated by easy booty, but lacking deeper loyalties to the Bulala sultans.

Later, during Idris b. Ali's reconquest (or re-assertion of Bulala loyalty to the Borno sultans), Arab populations in Kanem were among those resettled to Borno. According to Zeltner, the Sayfawa dynasty did not rely on Shuwa Arabs in the way al-Kanemi or Rabeh did. Vassals of the Sayfawa, however, did accord some kind of land rights or impose tribute on Arab tribes, like their Borno overlords. Overall, in Zeltner's eyes, the Shuwa remained outside the state and subject to their own shaykhs. Although in Borno an official was appointed by the mai to oversee nomadic groups, they were largely left alone as long as they paid tribute. Perhaps to truly understand Arab populations during the Sayfawa period woudl also require historical context on the Tedas, Dazas, Koyam, Fulani, and Tuareg subject to the Sayfawa of Borno. 

With further migration of Arab tribes into Borno and other regions south of Lake Chad, they came to play a major role in supporting al-Kanemi defeat forces aligned with the jihad to the west. Some of them became key officials of the al-Kanemi dynasty, although the majority remained largely unassimilated. Another group, the Awlad Sulayman, came to play a major role in 19th century Kanem. In spite of their failure to serve the larger interests of a Bornoan reconquest of the lost territory, as effective rulers of Kanem they made the region a buffer between Wadai and Borno. Despite subsequently becoming even more integrated into Rabeh's state, Shuwa Arabs seem to have been most effectively integrated under al-Kanemi and his successors than the Sayfawa. Rabeh, on the other hand, represented something new and different in the region. Despite other scholars seeing continuity from the al-Kanemi dynasty to Rabeh's brief empire, Zeltner emphasizes how it represented a dramatic break with established tradition. Moreover, chiefs of the Arab tribes were now appointed by Rabeh's state directly. 

The rest of Zeltner's book provides a quick overview of the Arab population under French colonial rule. He essentially sees them as a population refusing the modern or new. Their refusal to embrace the modern or find effective ways to challenge it with their own internal resources ensured their marginalization under colonial rule and into the postcolonial period. Following this interpretation, Zeltner briefly summarizes the peculiarities of their vernacular Arabic, family structure, religious life, and the individual. We will have to find Chadian Arab authors or perhaps Chadian or Nigerian scholars who tackle the complex history of Arabs in this region, perhaps scholars who can shed more light on the particularities of Arab-state relations in the Central Sudan. Zeltner's work is indispensable, particularly his work on Kanem. Nonetheless, a more modern approach with comparative data on other transhumant pastoralists could shed new light on the subject. Furthermore, we find Zeltner to be too influenced by Urvoy and Lange on the allegedly "Berber" origins of the Sayfawa dynasty and his view of land tenure in Borno may require some modifications.

Jesuit Missionary Strategies in Ethiopia

Although we are still only beginning to grapple with the large body of literature on the Jesuits in Ethiopia, Cohen's Missionary Strategies of the Jesuits in Ethiopia (1555-1632) is a good overview on Jesuit strategies of evangelizing. Based on Portuguese, Jesuit, and Ethiopian sources, Cohen succeeds in demonstrating the key areas of religious, political, cultural, and theological contention and proselytization. Unlike other areas of Africa, Asia, or the Americas, the Jesuits perceived Ethiopia to be more "civilized" (like China and Japan) and an area of schismatic Christianity in need of reformation. For these reasons, the Jesuits employed sophisticated techniques of Christological debate, biblical exegesis, translation, theater, architectonics, and top-down evangelization based on the hopes of converting the emperor and nobility. The Catholic Counter-Reformation also influenced the Jesuit mission as a reformed Church sought to standardize rituals, centralize authority, and counter Protestant theological debate. 

Ethiopian Christianity's encounter with Roman Catholicism naturally led to conflict, evolution, and the discovery of shared commonalities. Jesuits, for instance, realized the Ethiopian Church drew from the same sources (the Bible, patristic literature). Both also shared a similar belief in the uses of icons and visual arts and the practice of Eucharist and baptism. Nonetheless, Ethiopian persistence in circumcision, anti-Chalcedonian perspectives, adherence to the Alexandrian See, lack of uniformity in some sacraments, observance of the Sabbath, and frequency of divorce revealed huge differences. The debate between the two Churches appears to have played a major role in fomenting Ethiopian religious literature that sought to clarify and define the tenets of the church. Some of this literature was clearly influenced by earlier Ge'ez translations of Church Fathers, and appears to have influenced subsequent internal theological debate within the Ethiopian Christian tradition. The Jesuit debate with local clergy and monks reminds us of their arguments with Buddhist priests in Japan. 

However, according to Cohen, the Jesuits did not properly prepare themselves for the centrifugal forces in Ethiopian Christianity which opposed them, particularly monastic clergy, members of the nobility, and the political crises and rebellions which forced Susenyos to restore freedom of worship. The near total conquest by Muslims in the 1500s had further fragmented the Church while ongoing Oromo expansion further weakened the authority of the Solomonic emperors. Perhaps seeing the absolutizing tendencies of the Jesuits as something that could strengthen their authority, Za Dengel and Susenyos favored the Jesuits. Unfortunately for the latter, Za Dengel's assassination and the inability of Susenyos to end revolts flight of hermits or monks, and stifle resistance to the prohibitions imposed on the Orthodox faith entailed an end of the mission when the political support from the top disappeared under the next emperor. Anyway, it looks like our next read into this topic will have to be either Caraman, the short work coauthored by Merid Wolde Aregay or the hagiography of Walatta Petros. 

Borno Music: Ganga Alitama Bornoye

Beautiful music from Borno is always a delight to find. The alita playing is very delightful and seems appropriate in a region like Borno, which enjoyed centuries-long ties to musical styles from the larger Islamic world. The drumming is a little repetitive but this is probably a fair indicator of what music was like in precolonial Borno. In that era, perhaps there were larger bands of instrumentalists and dancers and praise singers. 

Dar al-Kuti and the Outer Periphery

Cordell's history of the Dar al-Kuti Sultanate endeavors to explain the brief state's rise and fall in the context of greater integration of North Central Africa into the wider global, capitalist system of exchange. Beginning from c.1750 and ending with the French assassination of al-Sanussi, Cordell's study situates Dar al-Kuti's rise with an increase in the scale of trans-Saharan trade impacting the area where the Lake Chad, Nile, and Zaire basins intersect, specifically the Ubangi-Shari region. Although pre-1750 contacts certainly existed in some form, and evidence for a Barma or Bagirmi influence can be found in the early Muslim presence in what later became Dar al-Kuti, the Islamic presence and scale of slave raiding grew exponentially over the course of the 19th century. By the early 20th century, the slave trade was so central to the Sultanate that al-Sanussi had no other alternative in order to acquire the firearms, ammunitions and luxury imports to support his state and dependents. 

The expansion of slave raiding and trading for northern partners and the trans-Saharan routes led to unprecedented migrations, relocations, and, gradually, a larger Muslim presence as traders, settlers, and converts participated in this new, centralized state. According to Cordell, the origins of Dar al-Kuti began with a Runga (or someone of Bagirmi and Runga origins) appointed to oversee the region on behalf of the rulers of Dar Runga, itself a tributary to Wadai. Darfur's Sultanate had previously been a major player but lost control of southern trade routes leading to Central Africa while Wadai reaped the benefits. Over time, the region of Dar al-Kuti became more significant in the mid and late 19th century under Kobur and al-Sanussi, who promoted trade. The latter especially supported trans-Saharan trade through slave raiding. Once aligned with Sudanese warlord Rabeh, and massacring a French team in order to acquire firearms, al-Sanussi established an army replenished by slave recruits and imported guns. Cordell sees this as an example of secondary empire as al-Sanusi, like his former mentor, Rabih, used advanced military techniques and newer guns to build better equipped armies that preyed on various societies in North Central Africa for slaves, ivory, and new soldiers. 

However, given the origins of Dar al-Kuti in Dar Runga and Wadai, one can also see the state as inheriting a tradition that ultimately begins with Kanem, Bagirmi, and Borno in the Chad basin. In one sense, the state of Dar al-Kuti resembled those earlier, northern ones in its establishment of a centralized state which relied heavily on the slave trade and war. By preying on Banda, Kresh, Sara, and other groups who lacked centralized states, al-Sanussi was able to procure additional labor for local agriculture as well as exchange with Jellaba or other northern traders for cloth, guns, tea, sugar, beads, and other manufactured goods. In one sense, al-Sanussi accomplished on a smaller scale some of the same things Idris b. Ali of Borno did in the late 16th century. Like his more famous Borno counterpart, he incorporated firearms into his military and engaged in many population relocations or displacements while centralizing authority. Unlike Borno, Dar al-Kuti lacked a cavalry force and did not possess a large livestock, leather, salt or textile industry. Ecological and other factors contributed to this, as did Central Africa being more of a frontier in which Islam was largely restricted to the ruling group. Nevertheless, Dar al-Kuti was certainly also part of a pattern of Central Sudanic states that began long before in the north, one which gradually spread further south as more societies invested in trans-Saharan (and Sudanic) trade. Like its better known northern counterparts, Dar al-Kuti had its core, tributary and predatory zones but time and looming French conquest prevented the process from evolving into a larger state or empire.

So, Dar al-Kuti, despite its brief existence, represented a fascinating fusion of two separate developments that impacted the Central Sudan and Central Africa. One, the "secondary empire" effect, developed as soldiers with experience in the Egyptian conquest of Sudan brought military techniques and updated firearms to new regions. Their military superiority gave them an edge over various local populations, triggering migrations, displacement, and recruitment that reverberated across the vast region between Lake Chad and the Nile. Even centralized states did not always survive the challenge represented by Zubayr and Rabih. Indeed, Borno itself fell to Rabih in the 1890s. The second process was the gradual extension of the Central Sudanic state model further south into Central Africa as the frontier pushed south by the 18th and 19th centuries. The genius of al-Sanussi consisted of his decision to model his army and state on certain aspects of Rabih's destructive empire and build his own slave trading state. Even on the outer periphery of the trans-Saharan trade, itself a periphery of the Mediterranean and European-dominated commerce of his time, al-Sanussi created a large, centralized kingdom. Unfortunately for him, French colonialism and suppression of the slave trade meant his state was not long to last in the 20th century. 

Gult in Solomonic Ethiopia

Donald Crummey's Land and Society in the Christian Kingdom of Ethiopia: From the Thirteenth to the Twentieth Century has been on our reading list for quite some time. Crummey was one of those scholars interested in the larger "Sudanic" context for Christian Ethiopia, one that is often forgotten or neglected due to the religion and perceived isolation of the Ethiopian highland kingdom from other parts of Africa. For our purposes, Crummey's examination of gult is directly linked to the "fiefs" of Kanuri or Borno "feudalism" that appears in the works of Cohen, Palmer, Brenner, and other specialists. Additional parallels can be found with the Darfur Sultanate of the Keira dynasty and the land charters of the Funj. Where the Ethiopian case differs is in the much larger corpus of surviving written material and the role of the Church. 

Moreover, the case of Borno differs in that the mahrams collected and translated by Palmer do not appear to be represent the type of "fief" allocated to courtiers and the nobility from the central administration. In Borno's case, the recipients of "fiefs" received rights in tribute to the land in question, and were expected to reside in the capital while appointing representatives to maintain order and collect the tribute. A part of the collected tribute was also given to the Sayfawa administration (or that of the al-Kanemi dynasty which followed). The surviving mahrams of Borno, however, do not appear to represent cases like these but separate forms of land charters in which the recipient received tax-free land or territories. These were, presumably, usually distinct from the "fiefs" allocated by the mai to dependents and allies in the provinces.

Nonetheless, the Ethiopian institution of gult clearly resembled that of Kanem-Borno with regards to land grants in the rights of tribute from free peasant landholders. In Borno, the peasantry appeared to enjoy usufruct land rights and a certain mobility was in practice so they could migrate to other areas or fiefs if unhappy or overtaxed by the chima kura or his representatives. In Solomonic Ethiopia, free peasants benefited from rest to inherit land through an ambilineal descent system (at least among the Amhara). Both had to pay tribute, usually in kind, to an overlord (or the church in Ethiopia). While the antiquity of gult probably goes back to the Aksumite era of expansion and military colonies, some Borno mahrams purportedly date from the early centuries of Sayfawa conversion to Islam. Due to the obvious differences between Islam and Christianity, Borno mahrams granted to illustrious or pious mallams and settlements like Kalumbardo might represent the equivalent to Ethiopia's many monastic institutions which spread further across the region under the Solomonic dynasty. 

Additional parallels might be found in the role of elite marriages and class formation of a ruling class that enjoyed its higher status through the exploitation of tribute. Members of the Magumi ruling clan, for instance, sometimes received tax-free land grants and rights of exploitation, according to Muhammad Nur al-Kali. They also formed a distinct group that married among themselves and apparently resisted the alifa of Kanem due to his attempts to tax them. They were probably also distinguished by their sponsorship of Islamic scholars and holymen, such as the noble who paid Ali Eisami's father for his services. Unfortunately, their lives are not as well-documented as their Ethiopian counterparts, particularly during the Gondarine era. Crummey's study includes numerous details of the inheritance, sale, and gifting of gult lands and uses the surviving manuscripts, land charters, and edicts to illustrate how the Ethiopian ruling class did dominate a class-based society. Their lives of luxury and leisurely activity like chess, literacy, hunting elephants, consumption of mead, and the use of silks and expensive imported cloth certainly distinguished them from the average Ethiopian peasant or slaves. Their elite marriages connected them to the Solomonic dynasty and powerful provincial elites while patronage of the church demonstrated the close relations between church and state that was a cornerstone of Solomonic power for most of its 7 centuries of existence. 

Lamentably, we still know far too little about the peasantry exploited by gult. With some suggestive evidence that one Solomonic monarch, Za Dengal, actually tried to align himself with the free peasantry against the regional nobility, thereby threatening gult foundations of the empire, Crummey points to class conflict as a major factor in 16th and 17th century Ethiopia. Susenyos's conversion to Catholicism and religious conflict certainly contributed to this turmoil and instability until the early Gondarine period. Later moments of rural banditry, peasant revolts under Haile Selassie, or the formal end of gult under the Derg administration clearly attest to social conflict in the countryside. Modern Ethiopia's conquest of new territories in the late 19th century and land legislation favoring Amharic-speaking settlers over local inhabitants suggest an ethnic dimension that does not manifest itself in the earlier Gondar era. There is also too little information in the extant corpus on gult and the military in Solomonic history. What differences, if any, existed between military holders of gult and the ecclesiastical organizations who possessed gult lands? Did something akin to the influential mallams of Borno who appealed to the peasantry or the charismatic holymen of the Funj sultanate influence peasant resistance or negotiation of gult conditions? How did gender dynamics shape land ownership or rights in other parts of "Sudanic" Africa? Crummey definitely demonstrates how women could assert gult rights and, in some cases, effect policy on a "national" scale under Mentewab.

Batouala

Rene Maran, the first black writer to win the Prix Goncourt back in 1921, was born to parents from French Guiana. He spent years in French Equatorial Africa during the zenith of European imperialism. His father served in the French colonial administration, which he also did. However, Maran sought to ameliorate some of the worst abuses of the colonial regime in French Equatorial Africa.

Reading Batouala from a 21st century lens, the novel hardly seems anti-colonial or radical at all. Indeed, the novel's main characters, a community of Bantu-speaking peoples of what is now the Central African Republic, carry on their old traditions, rituals, and beliefs in spite of their colonial overlords, who are depicted as cruel alcoholics who use excessive force. The Africans, such as their chief Batouala, however, are arguably portrayed as happy 'savages' who resist the change that comes with modernity, preferring long days of idleness and not too interested in attaining literacy or the technological advances made by the Europeans. Batouala retains his power and influence as chief of their small community, but his authority and the authority of all African leaders prior to the arrival of the whites is under siege.

Surprisingly, Maran does succeed in establishing the worldview of the community he describes. The short novel is full of songs, folktales, rituals, and perspectives on the natural world from the African' point of view. Moreover, this portrayal is neither wholly negative or positive, so all the flawed aspects of Batouala and his community are shown as well as their strengths, including their rules for murder, polygamy, slavery, and their circumcision and fertility rites. Animals, such as Baoutala's pet dog, the panther, and others, also appear as strong characters due to their symbolic role in folklore and hunting, or for providing another lens through which one discovers the world of Batouala and the extreme suffering that results from their way of life.

Perhaps because he so vividly depicted the world of Africa from an African perspective, Maran was scorned and rebuked in France for decades after the publication of Batouala. The simple act of giving Africans humanity at a time when they were conceived of as untutored children and savages in need of Europe's saving grace was inevitably going to spark anger and opposition from some French. Hemingway, however, immediately understood the novel's power and agreed with the message, hence his accolades for Batouala.

West African Food in the Middle Ages

Lewicki's West African Food in the Middle Ages is one of those useful reference books for anyone interested in finding out more about the alimentary factors in the history of Sudanic West Africa before the changes wrought by the introduction of American crops after 1492. It covers the period from the 900s until the early 1500s, mainly drawing from medieval external Arabic sources and later post-Leo Africanus sources from Europe or West African chronicles. For anyone interested in the Western Sudan from Takrur and the Senegambia to Mali and Songhay, there will be some useful information. Even Hausaland, Saharan and Sahelian Tuareg, Mauritania, Kanem, and Borno are included. The societies south of the savanna are usually omitted, though references to kola and Yoruba cuisine will occasionally appear in the text.

Unfortunately, since the book is basically a list of the various types of food and some of the dishes prepared in West Africa's Sahel and savanna lands, there is not too much in the way of analysis. Moreover, since many of our sources are external Arabic geographies or accounts, there is a lot of room for error, doubt, and uncertainty. For instance, Lewicki theorizes from al-Umari's account of Mali that criminals or convicts may have been sacrificed in an annual yam ritual akin to that of the Asante and other groups south of the empire of Mali. He could very well be correct, but there are too many uncertainties and unknown factors in the interpretation of the Arabic sources or the chronology of certain customs or culinary habits. Some dishes and drinks, such as mead, the use of millet for beer and porridges, sorghum, and milk or butter, appear across the region and are probably of very deep antiquity in West Africa. Imported spices and things such as wheat, onions, lemons, peaches, and sugarcane attest to changes in consumption patterns tied to trade, migration, and cultural shifts. One can look at, for instance, al-Bakri's description of Awdaghust, with its North Africans (coming from societies where wheat was an important crop) and its black women slave cooks well-known for their confections as an example of the probable culinary culture that characterized other Sahelian trading towns or centers. 

Despite the structural problems of this book basically consisting of a series of lists and some of the necessarily speculative theories or conclusions, it really does provide greater clarity as to the basic diet of various West African peoples. The ancestors of the Imraguen of Mauritania, who feasted on sea turtles, or the Bambara consumption of dogs is explained adequately. Widespread eating of carrion is also elucidated, bringing more context to Ibn Battuta's negative perception of dietary habits in Mali. Moreover, the early introduction of Mediterranean and Asian crops or domesticates in West Africa raises all sorts of interesting questions. Lewicki was writing at a time when Arkell's theory of Christian Nubian influence in lands west of the Nile was great, but looking at Kanem, one finds early references to sugarcane and Mediterranean crops. Some of these were not common in Borno during the 19th century but one cannot avoid the obvious conclusion that Kanem-Borno was part of a complex pattern of agricultural and cultural change across West Africa. 

Half of a Yellow Sun

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun is a powerful narrative of the Biafran War that surpasses the factual details of the case, as all great fiction does. Part history, part love story, Adichie proves her skills as a writer in crafting a book over 500 pages long but so addicting one cannot put it down. Her style is simple, sweet, and effective. In many ways she is the 21st century Chinua Achebe, the famous Igbo writer of the 20th century, best known for Things Fall Apart. Her narrative, rooted in the 'facts' of the Biafran War, such as the corruption, ethnic conflict, colonial manipulation and starvation of the Biafran masses, tells me more about this war's impact on human lives than any history I could find. And believe me, I've read and seen the pictures of starving children, since the Biafran War of 1967-1970 was everywhere in the international press due to the blockades ordered by Gowon in Nigeria.

Unfortunately, I believe that many unfamiliar with Nigerian history and culture will be unfamiliar with some of the background to the conflict. Adichie wisely chose to begin the story in the early 1960s and avoided giving too much historical background, since the novel would have likely become boring and academic for those unfamiliar with the historical context. Likewise, Adichie's novel focuses on the Igbo perspective, and through the Englishman Richard Churchill, a white man's perspective on Nigeria. It would be nice to read about the Biafran conflict from the perspective of the Muslim North and the non-Igbo minorities within Biafra who worked with the Nigerian state to defeat Biafra, whose flag included half of a yellow sun, hence the title of the novel. The only northern, Muslim Hausa character to play a role in the novel is the wealthy prince, Mohammed, a former lover of Olanna, the Igbo daughter of a Chief who abused his position as a tax collector to amass wealth and purchased property in Lagos, where he and his wife live lavishly. Olanna's former beau still loves her, and helps her escape Kano when the Hausa begin to massacre Igbos after the Igbo led a coup against the Northern-controlled central Nigerian government. In response, the Igbos of southeastern Nigeria, under Colonel Ojukwu, secede from Nigeria, which had only been 'independent' of Britain since 1960. Although the Muslim North and South of Nigeria were never close prior to the unification of the two regions under British colonial rule in 1914, and even then the two regions remained distinct and separate as Southern elites received colonial education and prepared to take over civil administration in the central state, the Igbos had traveled to the North and Lagos to start businesses, purchase property, etc. Indeed, at one point in the novel, the Igbos are referred to as the Jews of Nigeria. 

After the Igbos declared independence, it was inevitable their little republic would face war with Nigeria because of Biafra's oil and the need to maintain colonial borders established by European powers. Indeed, Biafra was never recognized by the imperial powers, and Nigeria received aid and arms from Britain, the Soviet Union and some African countries to force Biafra into submission. It also helped that Biafra's military was corrupt and exploiting its own people in the name of Igbo nationalism and autonomy, commandeering cars, conscripting 'idle' men such as Ugwu, and lying to the people when they knew Nigerian forces were about to defeat their forces and take another Biafran town. The Biafran propaganda and misinformation to their people worked well, since so many people, including Olanna and her Igbo professor husband, Odenigbo, felt cheated when a ceasefire was declared. Ojukwu fled, lying to Biafra on the radio. Ugwu, who was conscripted later in the novel, initially desired, at least partially, to serve in the military to fight for Igbo independence. However, after serving, he experiences the military's corruption, dehumanization of its own soldiers, who are like sheep, and even participates in the rape of a Biafran woman working at a bar with his fellow soldiers. While serving as a soldier, Ugwu comes across Frederick Douglass's Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. The symbolism is so obvious, that the Biafran soldiers are akin to slaves, exploited and abused to carry out injustice while supposedly 'doing the right thing' by being patriotic. Ugwu decides to name his own story about the Biafran War after Douglass's Narrative.

Adichie's white character, Richard, is fully developed as one of the main characters (Ugwu, Olanna, and Richard are the main characters whose point of view is explained by the omniscient third person narrator). Richard Churchhill, though on the side of Biafra and in love with Kainene, Olanna's twin sister, remains a white man and part of the former colonial elite regardless of his ability to speak Igbo and serve Biafra with journalistic accounts of heroism, suffering and resilience of the Igbo peoples. His fellow white residents of Nigeria display astounding racism and pro-imperialist beliefs, including Susan, Richard's lover before Kainene. Susan sees Nigerians as violent, savages who are ungrateful despite all the 'civilization' the British brought to Nigeria. Two American journalists Richard shows around Biafra during the War are likewise racist, paternalistic fools who see Nigerians (and all Africans) as savage, starving peoples with the mind of children. Indeed, the Americans care more about dead whites than any of the thousands of dead and dying blacks. This unspoken rule of Western journalism taints all Western accounts of war and deaths in Africa, since any and all whites remaining in those African regions where people are dying are either rescued instantaneously or memorialized in Western newspapers and television news forever. The dying, malnourished Biafran children, suffering from kwashiokor and other deficiencies, become objects for Western journalists to achieve name recognition and become famous. The Red Cross and other relief agencies and churches, despite coming with the right intentions, also reinforce white supremacy and abuse their power. Father Marcel, a priest at the relief center in Orlu, run by Kainene, raped starving young girls until  Kainene discovers the truth and chases him out. 

Richard likes to see himself as Biafran, as African, not European. But his whiteness and the inherent privileges that confers upon him makes it impossible to escape his whiteness in Nigeria/Biafra. He can speak Igbo, study the Igbo-Ukwu civilization (and still express shock that these people had any civilization!), marry an Igbo woman, and endeavor to write about the story of Biafra, but it will never be his story. Ugwu ultimately must tell the tale, since Richard's whiteness makes him forever privileged. He came to Nigeria to find a home, and to write the one brilliant novel that will make him famous, but finds neither. Even when he 'helps' the Biafran cause by writing articles that will get international press, the only reason his stories get so much attention in the West is because he's a white man. Colonel Madu, who asks him to write in the first place, never saw him as anything but a white man who will never understand Igbos of Africans. Although life does not end well for him with the disappearance and presumed death of Kainene, Richard's whiteness will ensure him a life of privilege and comfort in Nigeria. As previously mentioned, his fascination with the Igbo-Ukwu art that dates back to the "time of the Vikings" is rooted in a disbelief, or shock that black Africans could produce magnificent pieces of art, practice long distance trade. Thus, despite his attempts to avoid paternalistic racism, Richard nevertheless succumbs to it. 

Adichie also criticizes those Nigerians/Biafrans, who in the name of nationalism, black power, and progress abuse their power to copy whites and mimic British styles in dress, 'culture' and taste. Olanna and Kainene's parents, for example, have to buy everything European, essentially buying into the material excess of European cultures. Other Nigerian/Biafran elites act similarly, endeavoring to be like the former and current British colonizers, who persist in their racist beliefs and treatment of blacks. The Western ways of Nigerian elites is also sharply contrasted with the lower-class population, who are domestics, peasants, and villagers whose traditions, ways of life, and even dietary patterns are vastly different. The new black elite, despite professing to support and come from the masses, turn their backs to the religious beliefs of Igbo peasants, for example, as Odenigbo does with Igbo beliefs he calls superstitions. The new elites are no more than black skins with white masks, blacks masquerading as whites because they ape European colonial domination, divide and rule tactics, and condescension if not outright hatred for the lower classes.

Adichie's novel here is a masterpiece. She explores issues of gender, love, colonialism, race, and national identity in Nigeria in deep, meaningful ways with a simple prose that is easy for anyone unfamiliar with Nigeria or West Africa to follow. Igbo phrases and words are used throughout the novel, reminding the reader that most of the dialogue is in fact in Igbo between different characters in southeastern Nigeria. Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham and multiple iconic events of the 1960s to put the Biafran war in a much larger context of decolonization, apartheid in South Africa and white-rule in Rhodesia, the civil rights movement in the United States, and a world in the process of taking the flood in the tide in the affairs of men. Nothing happens in isolation, thus, the Biafran War is part of human history, not solely Nigerian history. The universality of Adichie's novel is why it's so important to read literature from around the world, since all human 'nations' interact with others. Furthermore, one would hope this novel increases foreign knowledge and interest in Nigeria, one of African's most important economies, and the most populous nation in Africa. The effects of the Biafran war linger, and its causes are still replayed in the ethnic/regional conflict for control over the central government. People in the Niger Delta are still oppressed by a central, national government that colludes with foreign oil companies instead of providing for infrastructure and funding for government programs to battle poverty. Moreover, the conflict between the Muslim North and mostly Christian South continues to divide the regions. Nigeria currently has an agreement where the North and South switch off leaders of the central government, so the new leader is Christian, but the previous was a Muslim. 

The Horse in West African History

Robin Law's The Horse in West African History is one of the indispensable studies anyone with an interest in Borno history must read. Although encompassing the entirety of West Africa, Borno frequently appears as one of the centers of the West African equestrian tradition. Not only was the imported, superior horse pivotal in the military expansion of Kanem and later Borno, but Borno became a center of horse breeding that likely was pivotal for the expansion of the Islamic-influenced technology to other regions, like Hausaland. The horse, as Law convincingly demonstrates, permitted a significant enlargement of the scale of political organization. The mounted warriors of states like Kanem-Borno were able to cover more ground quickly, pursue fleeing captives or defeated opponents, and, to at least a limited extent, build the power and prestige of rulers who provided horses or expensive equipment (quilted cloth armor, imported chainmail, saddles, stirrups). While horses must have been known in Kanem before the reign of Dunama Dibalemi in the 1200s, it was the introduction of stirrups and new technology that made the cavalry units of states like Mali and Kanem-Borno so powerful. Law's study elucidates this process with some provocative conclusions on the relationship of technology, tradition, and the state.

Although horses have been in West Africa for several centuries and a pre-Islamic tradition of horsemanship developed in areas of the northern savanna and the Jos Plateau, the widespread adoption of horses for military purposes in even the forested regions of West Africa illustrate the significance of the animal and new technology in the political economy of various states. States created by or at least associated with mounted warriors appeared among the Mossi and other parts of West Africa. Oyo, the subject of Law's dissertation, represents another example. In this case, a large Yorubaland state emerged whose expansion owed much to cavalry forces used with great success. Horses were so important and prestigious in West Africa that they became symbols of status for rituals, ceremonies, and even, as among the Igbo, objects of sacrifice. Due to their expense, especially in the forest regions where a reduced life expectancy meant replacements were always required, the horse became rightly associated with wealth, status, and power. The costs associated with feeding and maintenance could also be astronomical, again conveying the association of horses with political power and wealth. 

In our beloved Borno, where the horse was bred by groups like the Shuwa, the horse was less expensive but a superior one with the finest equipment was still largely the preserve of the wealthy (and their free clients or slaves). After all, if Leo Africanus's confused account of Borno is reliable, fine horses acquired via the trans-Saharan trade were intimately linked to the slave trade, which in turn was linked to the state and its military apparatus in the procurement of captives for export. In fact, Law speculates that access to Dongola breed horses via Arabs migrating into the Lake Chad region may have been an additional factor in the Bulala driving the Sayfawa dynasty out of Kanem in the 1380s. So, clearly horses have played a huge role in the rise and fall of the Sayawa. In order to acquire the best quality of horses and equipment like chainmail, a brutal cycle of horse-slave trading developed. The horse becomes a key component of the political economy of war or the "ownership of the means of destruction" in which kings and powerful nobles armed warriors with the necessary mounts to produce the captives who then brought in more horses or luxury imports that could be redistributed to dependents or re-exported. This may have explanatory value for the "Sudanic" state in other parts of the Central Sudan and the savanna lands, even if it is not a perfect example of Aristotle's oligarchy nor a "feudal" system per se. One finds parallels for sure with Bagirmi, Wadai, and Darfur. 

What is most interesting about this is the pioneer role of Kanem-Borno in the rise and fall of the horse's military importance. Kanem was likely one of the first of the early kingdoms to adopt stirrups and acquire access to North African or Dongola horses. And while Dunama Dibalemi's expansion of Kanem is also mentioned in the context of the vast number of horses he held, earlier rulers of Kanem may have possibly initiated the process of increasingly vital cavalry units for military purposes or lightning-quick raids on decentralized or political fragmented societies. Since Kanem was associated with the trans-Saharan slave trade as early as the 9th century, one would think horses were in use for at least slave raids if not in other military ventures. Unfortunately, until archaeological evidence or new textual sources emerge, our theory of Kanem as a pioneer is impossible to prove. Nonetheless, Kanem was certainly one of the early West African states identified by Law to adopt the mounted warrior as a central component of its army, which occurred by the 13th century. States in the Kanem-Borno sphere of influence in turn adopted or adapted cavalry in ways that reflect Kanuri influence, at least in the case of Bagirmi and perhaps Hausaland.

Borno under the Sayfawa were also pioneers in the early use of firearms. Everyone knows of Idris Alooma's use of muskets and even Turkish specialists brought in to assist with their implementation. Unfortunately, subsequent mais of Borno appear to have lost interest or the resources to maintain an important musketry corps in the army, although the occasional gift of muskets from Tripoli arrived during the reign of Idris Alooma's grandson. Soon, according to Law, the western part of West Africa and the coastal zones were the first to successfully make a permanent transition to firearms in the 1700s and 1800s. But Borno preceded these zones as early as the late 1500s, only to continue its reliance on horse warriors even into the second half of the 1800s. Why did Borno not maintain an active or at least notable musketry corps? The guns were still cheaper than fully equipped horses, and could have been utilized with enslaved soldiers to further centralize political power. Perhaps, as O'Fahey suggested in the case of Darfur, the greater mobility of cavalry was the primary factor. It is interesting, however, to note that the debate on political centralization and its relationship with a dominant cavalry or musketry is more complicated, but Borno, for a moment, was, during at least part of its "Golden Age" able to draw on both. The effective combination of the two could have cemented political centralization under the Sayfawa, although a corps of enslaved musketeers may have been too much of a threat to the dominant position of the cavalry and regional elites who supplied horses. 

1000 Years of Splendor

Although Philip Koslow's Kanem-Borno: 1,000 Years of Splendor is part of a series of books directed to young readers, we found it useful during our initial "serious" interest in the history of Kanem-Borno. As part of a series for children and with a title that uses the word splendor, one can already guess that the book general narrative will be one of uncovering a "glorious" African past that is unexpected or surprising to the average Westerner. That is undoubtedly what the book delivers, but we were pleasantly surprised to see the level of research Koslow invested in this work. Drawing on Lange, the UNESCO General History of Africa series, Palmer, Nachtigal, Barth, and the publications of Lebeuf and others on the Sao, Koslow does not dumb down the subject matter.

Unfortunately, the text problematically repeats some of the unfounded or weaker claims of Lange. For instance, the assertion on page 21 that the Sefuwa dynasty was of Berber stock but "de-Berberised" through intermarriage with local leading lineages is not clear from the available sources. Kanuri and other scholars also offer a different interpretation of the mune incident during the reign of Dunama. Furthermore, at least one of the images is paired with an incorrect caption. An engraving from the 1820s depicting a raid on Mandara is described as a village in Borno on page 33. Likewise on page 34, a caption for a photograph of the minaret of the mosque in Agadez falsely claims the use of clay for building began in the 16th century in Borno. That is almost certainly false as the use of fired brick and probably clay predates the 1500s. One could also point out the error in the caption for the image on page 48, incorrectly describing it as a depiction of a sheikh instead of a mai who, by the 1820s, was living on, in part, a subsidy from Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi. 

But a few quibbles aside on inaccurate or misleading captions and repetition of unproven assertions by a major figure in "Bornuology" or Kanem-Borno Studies, this is a good overview of a complex African civilization. There is a summary of the chronicles of Idris Alooma (Idris b. Ali), basic review of some key political points revealed from the Diwan and a short chapter on Borno's turbulent period in the 19th century (shock of the jihad, then Rabeh and European colonialism). There are some interesting photographs of Sao artifacts and an attempt to integrate this mysterious people(s) with the history of Kanem-Borno. In such a brief book, there is only so much that could be done to link the Sao and Kanem-Borno, and there remains so much to learn about the various other populations living near Lake Chad. This book at least highlights some of the neighboring societies and cultures which were either conquered or absorbed by Kanem and Borno through Sao arts and archaeology. If only the author added a little more detail on the period between Idris Alooma and the rise of al-Kanemi then this would be one of the better introductory texts. Certainly better than the one Nigerian publication for children we have encountered before that was a brief biography of al-Kanemi. 

Tayeb Salih's Season of Migration to the North

Sudanese author Tayeb Salih's Season of Migration to the North, translated from Arabic to English by Denys Johnson-Davies, with some help from the author, is considered one of the greatest novels in the Arabic language for the 20th century. As someone trying to expand my fervor for world literature beyond Africa, Caribbean and African-American literature, Salih's novel seems like a great start, especially since it's also African literature in addition to Arab. Indeed, the novel is laden with references to folklore, poetry, and Islamic faith of the Arabic-speaking northern Sudan and the wider Arab world. Nevertheless, the novel also remains fundamentally African based on the dark skin of the Sudanese themselves and the plethora of stereotypes and experiences under colonialism that the novel's characters experience. Indeed, it blurs the distinction between "Arab" and "African" because of the intersecting identities possessed by characters such as Mustafa Sa'eed, the Sudanese intellectual who studies abroad in England, becomes a darling of the left because of his black skin, and uses his time there to "liberate Africa with his penis" by exacting vengeance for Kitchener's conquest of the Sudan, often related to sexual conquest because of the inherent gendered power dynamic and violent nature of European colonialism in Africa. Indeed, the novel's strong sexual overtones and openness, as well as criticism of female circumcision and patriarchy, made it controversial in Sudan.

The novel, though short and quite poetic in language and tone, especially regarding the beautiful metaphors and similes connecting the characters to nature and the Nile, uses an episodic structure that is initially confusing. The unnamed narrator, returning from England after studying poetry, meets a newcomer in his village along the Nile, Mustafa Sa'eed. The son of an Ababda man and a woman from the south, Mustafa Sa'eed lived his life independently and with an intellectual fervor quite remarkable, winning scholarships to study in Cairo and in England. His presence strikes a curiosity in the narrator, who, after hearing the man recite an English poem, insists on learning his life story. This leads to Mustafa telling an incomplete narrative of his life while leaving clues and pressure after death to ensure that the narrator uncovers the truth of his life for Mustafa's sons and posterity, since Mustafa's ego demands immortality. After Mustafa's death, the narrator receives his letter, a key to a secret room in the house, and guardianship of his sons and wife, a young woman, Hosna, who never uncovered Mustafa's secrets and was not interested in marriage afterwards. The rest of the novel consists of a sort of reversal of Heart of Darkness with the narrator traveling back to Khartoum from his village further north along on the Nile, encountering Bedouin, other drivers and soldiers, and eventually, an entire rural community where everyone breaks into communal feasting, dancing, and merriment. He also uncovers more of Mustafa's history while engaging with the people of the Sudan and discovering that “we shall pull down and we shall build, and we shall humble the sun itself to our will; and somehow we shall defeat poverty” (114).

Salih, a Sudanese person who studied in England himself, could likely be the narrator. The narrator, after criticizing the extreme, patriarchal and ignorant views of his fellow villages regarding an arranged marriage between Mustafa's widow and Wad Rayyes, an elderly man with a penchant for marrying different young women for sexual purposes, realizes he is in love with Hosna, this young woman, but fails to make a decisive stand and marry her to prevent her from being forced into a marriage with a lustful old man with horrendous views on gender. Indeed, during a scene of surprising but semi-hilarious discussion, the narrator's grandfather, Wad Rayyes, Bakri, and an elderly woman, all seniors, engage in a raunchy talk about sex where Wad Rayyes proudly lists off his sexual accomplishments, including the time he raped a slave (and yes, this novel is set in the late 1950s and early 1960s, but Wad Rayyes is over 70 by this point). His views are best summarized in the following quotation, “I swear to you, Hajj Ahmed,” said Wad Rayyes, “that if you’d had a taste of the women of Abyssinia and Nigeria you’d throw away your string of prayer-beads and give up praying--the thing between their thighs is like an upturned dish, all there for good or bad. We here lop it off and leave it like a piece of land that’s been stripped bare." Wad Rayyes correctly attacks the practice of genital mutilation, but still sees women as essentially property for reproduction and pleasure, even misquoting the Koran to justify it by mistaking "women" for "wealth" in "wealth and children." 

Despite the misogynistic views held by the men and reinforced or accepted by many women in the narrator's small village, the older woman participating in the discussion openly and unashamedly reveals her love life and which of her past husbands satisfied her the most, indicating the ways in which the environment, though inherently sexist, still allowed room for female autonomy and sexuality, just so much as it was done under the sanction of marriage. This, when added to the spirit and determination of the villagers as well as other poor, rural Sudanese exploited or neglected by the central government in Khartoum, contributes to the narrator feeling that "by the standards of the European industrial world we are poor peasants, but when I embrace my grandfather I experience a sense of richness as though I am a note in the heartbeats of the very universe” (73). Their ability to persevere, or at least hope as much in the liberation of nightfall from the sun's indefatigable heat, displays an ability to make a decision and stand up for themselves, something the narrator finally does near the novel's conclusion:

“Then my mind cleared and my relationship to the river was determined. Though floating on the water, I was not part of it. I thought that if I died at that moment, I would have died as I was born--without any volition of mine. All my life I had no chosen, had not decided. Now I am making a decision. I choose life. I shall live because there are few people I want to stay with for the longest possible time and because I have duties to discharge. It is not my concern whether or not life has meaning" (168).

Season depicts all the strengths and flaws of human nature and Sudanese society while correctly criticizing European colonialism and racism. Furthermore, instead of the racism solidified by Europeans in Conrad's Heart of Darkness, this novel shows the reader the other side, where the narrator and Mustafa's travels along the Nile and to England reject racism and assumptions of European supremacy and uncover the natural compulsion toward life and humanity among the people of the Sudan. The novel is also interesting to read because of the masterful use of metaphors and poetic phrasing and makes constant references to poets, such as Abu Nuwas, and Arab folklore, such as the afreet or ifrit spirits. The novel is also quite comedic, despite the horrendous murder and suffering of the  characters. Mustafa, "the black Englishman," concocted lies of all sorts to play up to stereotypes of Africa and Arabs to bed as many white women as possible, going to such lengths as organizing his apartment in a harem-like bedroom and deliberately exaggerating and lying about African cultures. His misdirected desire to avenge Africa for European hegemony, manifested in the form of sleeping with various white women and having a disastrous impact on their lives, also causes Mustafa's own downfall after his marriage to Jean Morris. Simple sexual conquests from an invader from the South will not liberate Africa, but only further the conquest and control of female bodies, reinforcing patriarchy and colonialism.

Nevertheless, it's also interesting to see a story set on the Nile's other vast nations beyond Egypt, since the Sudan and Ethiopia have just as much of a claim and dependence on its affluence for sustaining life. Salih's accurate, poetic language conjures images of the desert, the Nile's bountiful waters, it's excesses as it inundates the land, and the mud and mud-brick homes of the villagers. He also depicts the conflicts between north and south, west and central in the novel by the marginalization and enslavement of darker-skinned, non-Arabic speakers from what is now South Sudan. Unfortunately, these dynamics are not fully explored, but Salih remains a constant critic of postcolonial Sudan's government corruption. Moreover, the novel's ambiguous ending for the narrator, in my mind, symbolizes the ambiguities of life and the problem of attaining balance between the north and south banks of the Nile, the West and the East. This duality, always ambiguous in Salih's novel, avoids making a pronounced denunciation of colonialism without likewise criticized local traditions, thereby echoing the crisis of the dichotomy in the lives of the narrator and Mustafa, two educated individuals caught between Sudan and England. 

The best part is the structure of the novel fits a frame story, like Arabian Nights. The intertextuality obviously extends to Heart of Darkness as well because of the symbolic importance of the river, Africans going to Europe and during the narrator's own traveling in the Sudan, he encounters the spontaneous celebration with rural peoples, depicted as savage in Europe's projection of barbarity on Africa, but seen as life-affirming by the African narrator. Moreover, Mustafa, while in Europe, finds the worst of himself, the darkness of his heart which Kurtz finds in the Congo. Salih wrote an excellent reverse Heart of Darkness.

Ancient Ghana and Mali

Although somewhat outdated, Nehemia Levtzion's Ancient Ghana and Mali remains the best introductory overview of 2 of the early major kingdoms of the Western Sudan. Gomez's African Dominion reflects more recent scholarship and advances in archaeology for the region, but suffers from a more hermetic nature, inaccessible style, and questionable attempts at integrating race and gender into the topic. Much of Gomez's text also degenerated into lengthy analysis on Songhay of interest only to specialists while neglecting some of arguments of other scholars. Levtzion's book, on the other hand, represents a fine, albeit dated, synthesis of oral traditions and textual analysis on the development of kingdoms, the spread of Islam, and trans-Saharan trade. Unfortunately, we just do not have enough sources on early Ghana or the early Malinke chiefdoms. In addition, perhaps inclusion of early Songhay history and the Kawkaw state would have been a good addition to encapsulate the entirety of the 3 "empires" of the Western Sudan from c.500 to c.1500.

While the scholarly consensus of today rejects the Almoravid "conquest" of Ghana, Levtzion's study demonstrates how the Western Sudan became increasingly incorporated into global medieval exchange and cultural development. The gold of the Western Sudan was pivotal for Mediterranean and European monetary systems and political transformations from the Italian trading centers to Fatimid expansion in North Africa. Trans-Saharan trade also reached the forest belt and coastal regions of West Africa as the gold fields of today's Ghana fed into the trading system of Mali. Local transformations with the spread of Muslim Dyula traders and Malinke warriors to the south and east, plus Islamic conversion of local rulers in more regions of Africa led to new developments, tastes, spiritual expression and trade between Western and Central Sudan. After all, the Wangarawa were in Hausaland by the 14th century and the Diwan of Kanem-Borno mentions Mali clerics coming to Kanem by the 13th century. 

These early contacts between the Western and Central Sudan unfortunately do not appear in much of the external Arabic sources. An early trade route connecting Egypt and Ghana went through Kawkaw (Gao), and Tadmekka traded with Ghana and Kawkaw. Through Air and the early Hausa states, people from the Middle Niger and Kanem likely interacted as copper, salt, gold, textiles, and slaves were exchanged. Sadly, learning of what kinds of relations existed between Ghana or Mali and Kanem is difficult to uncover. Nonetheless, we would hazard, based on Levtzion's mention of intersecting trans-Saharan routes and the evidence of some cultural ties in other sources, that Kanem and the Central Sudan must have interacted through trade, religion and migration. After all, by the late 11th century, the ruling elites of Takrur, Ghana, Kawkaw (Gao), and Kanem were Muslims This convergence of Islamization in the most important kingdoms of the Sudanic belt in the Western and Central Sudan must have favored or fostered ties, diplomatic relations, and movements of Islamic clerics, as mentioned in the Diwan and Kano Chronicle. The two major "commodities" exported by the Western and Central Sudan, respectively, were gold and slaves. The lack of competition over the principal exports to North Africa and Egypt plus the development of textile industries in each region likely fueled exchange between the two zones.

Balancing Written and Oral History of the Songhay

Hassimi O. Maiga's Balancing Written History with Oral Tradition: The Legacy of the Songhoy People is one of those studies by a member of the Songhay people with so much promise. As a scholarly work authored by someone with local insights, one expects a lot from the author and his ambitious title. Indeed, one occasionally finds references to this book among online Afrocentrists who promote it.  Unfortunately, Maiga's study fails to deliver on many levels. We have learned the hard way to always be wary with the online Afrocentrists. Check their sources and one can easily discover severe limitations of their paradigm. 

What emerges from reading the text is a rather confusing attempt at face-value interpretation of Songhay or Songhoy traditions. There is no nuanced, sophisticated interpreting of oral traditions here. Moreover, Maiga relies heavily on dated sources such as Felix Dubois and J. Beraud-Villers. At times, Maiga appears to actually believe the Songhoy derive from Yemen (Dia brothers, who were somehow also Lemta Berbers?), Egypt and Nubia. Without any evidence, Maiga also asserts a deep antiquity of Katoutka and Koukya, which apparently existed at the same time as the pharoahs of Egypt. We know Gomez's African Dominion cites research demonstrating human habitation of the area of Gao since 2000 BCE, but we do not have sufficient evidence of early urbanism around that time. As more proof of the text's flaws, there's even a bizarre passage claiming potatoes were cultivated in the kingdom of Ghana! 

Furthermore, Maiga is the only writer we have encountered who claimed the Songhoy invented a writing system or script. He linked the "Kumbaw" ideogram writing system to the Kumbaw and/or Sonanche of Gao, allegedly the traditional specialists of writing. However, our previous attempts at verifying or corroborating Maiga's claim failed. There very well could have been some kind or ritualistic or ideograph system used by Songhoy specialists, but Maiga's haphazard presentation and flawed attempt at balancing written and oral sources does not inspire confidence or hope. One would also think better scholars would have discovered this Kumbaw writing system by now. Even if they were Western ethnographers and historians more interested in the political history of the Songhay kingdoms or Islamic influences, wouldn't a Jean Rouch or Hunwick have written about a Songhay ritual writing? 

One is better off consulting Hunwick, Rouch, Boubou Hama or Paulo de Moraes Farias for a much deeper analysis based on synthesizing written sources and oral history. To his credit, the author's presentation of the various dynasties from the Koungorogossi, supposedly the first, to the Dia is interesting. Does he present any evidence that the first Songhoy dynasty existed 3 centuries before the Dia brothers arrived in c.670? No, unfortunately. But the family manuscript Maiga mentions in this context sounds interesting and should be copied and analyzed by others interested in Songhay history. There are bits and pieces of his study which warrant further inquiry. A better scholar might be able to propose a more historically accurate reading of some of the traditions and family manuscripts utilized by Maiga. 

Nubian Renaissance of the Funj

Although Spaulding's coauthored Kingdoms of Sudan includes much of the analysis found in his earlier dissertation, we felt a need to read the original for more context. Ostensibly a history of the Funj Sultanate's northern Abdallab state or region from 1600-1821, in practice the dissertation is organized in two parts: political history of the Abdallab state or provincial kingdom of the Funj Sultanate and an analysis of Islam and commerce as forces undermining the Sultanate. Spaulding uses oral traditions, the Funj Chronicle, the Tabaqat and various external sources in his endeavor to reconstruct the outline of the Abdallab as well as the Funj. Funj origins and their Sultanate as a "Sudanic" state sharing many commonalities with a string of kingdoms stretching from Senegambia to Sinnar (Sennar) is a persistent theme. The Funj state as a non-tribal, non-Arab, polyethnic Nubian state with continuity from the medieval Christian kingdoms is likewise a consistent theme.

The idea of the Funj as a southern Nubian people pushed from their homeland along the White Nile by the Shilluk seems plausible enough. Linguistic evidence and Shilluk traditions do suggest it is plausible. That the Funj state retained the horned crown of medieval Nubian kingship as well as the practices of matrilineal succession and seizing vassal princes as hostages is also suggestive of continuity with Christian Nubia. The ecology and mixture of subsistence economies were additional factors of continuity from medieval to Funj Nubia. The region's mix of sedentary farmers, camel and cattle pastoralists, hill peoples probably maintained or inherited much of the same lifestyle of their medieval forebears. Indeed, according to Spaulding, the early Funj kingdom from c.1504 was barely or only superficially Islamic. In fact, the commercial factors favoring Islamic conversion were probably paramount for Amara Dunqas choosing Islam. The Beja traders and their network linked to the Red Sea plus Islamic influences from northern Nubia and Egypt made Islam attractive for serving long-distance trade. 

Nonetheless, the Funj were carriers of a more "traditional" or "African" political system based on administered commerce under royal rule. As "divine" kings associated with life, death, and sustenance through a number or rituals, accession rites, and pre-Islamic belief, the sultan was legitimate to the peasantry by looking after their interests and, ideally, defending them from merchants who abused the sheil system of advancing grains or other goods to peasants before harvest time to trap them in debt. Intriguingly, Spaulding proposes that popular Sudanese religion was neither exceptionally Christian (medieval era) nor one of orthodox Islam. Popular belief under the Funj revolved around baraka (more as a life-force), saints (fuqaha believed to possess baraka) and veneration of these saints for the transference of baraka. Noticing parallels with a number of "traditional" African religious systems from Rwanda to Haiti, Spaulding suggests this worldview was gradually undermined by Funj rulers adopting orthodox Islam to appease Muslim merchants. 

This appeasement of merchants and embrace of orthodoxy, in turn, led to a decline in the legitimacy of the kingship and nobility to the peasantry, who saw traditional rites removed from kingship. Kings also sided with the orthodox Islamic merchants, even when the latter exploited their indebted peasants or stockpiled grain during times of famine. The decline of Sinnar and Abdallab rule, especially pronounced after 1762 and the subsequent wars of the Hamaj Regency against other parties, further eroded the government through increasing control of caravans by merchants. While the state declined and fragmented with provincial rulers battling for control or domination of routes and resources, the peasantry aligned with charismatic fuqaha whose virtues and Islamic piety were respected by all. These Islamic holy men defended the exploited peasantry and challenged kings. In response, rulers bestowed land grants upon them and gifts for receiving their prayers and virtues rather than spells or threats.

On the question of the Islamic holy men and the peasantry, Spaulding's analysis is perhaps most interesting. The obvious parallel for us is Borno and mallam-peasant relations. We know, like their counterparts in the Sinnar Sultanate, Borno's Islamic holy men received land grants with tax-free rights. Some of them also criticized the government and spoke on behalf of the peasantry and downtrodden. Moreover, they too included "insider" ulama and clerics who worked with or on behalf of the Sayfawa dynasty. What we would like to know more about is the local Bornoan merchant class during the same era, from c.1500-1820. Were they also ensnaring the peasantry in debt while pressuring the local government to practice more orthodox Islam? Since so many of the Sayfawa mais had performed the hajj and were a Muslim dynasty since the 11th century, the role of Borno or Kanuri merchants in promoting (or not) Islam must have been different than conditions in Sinnar. So, was the basis of the mallam-peasant alliance in Borno due to fief-holders overtaxing cultivators? It would be fascinating to discover more on Kanuri popular religion, especially how it transformed over time to become, in part, a challenge to established authority. Sadly, the only semi-detailed account we know from before the demise of the Sayfawa dynasty occurred in the 1820s among the Manga, but explicitly against Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi. Nevertheless, the "feki" associated with that rebellion bore many of the same characteristics as "outsider" fuqaha of the Funj Sultanate.

To conclude, Spauding's work is an indispensable source on the Funj. Beginning with the fragmentation of medieval Nubia and Funj origins until the Turco-Egyptian invasion, this dissertation attempts a promising synthesis of political and social history. It is possible later scholarship has challenged his characterization of medieval Nubian states as "Sudanic." Perhaps he was wrong in his characterization of pre-Christian, pre-Islamic Nubian religion. However, he was correct about continuity as a major element in understanding the flow of Nubia's history. And the Islamization and Arabization of the region was far more complex than what modern Sudanese traditions or external Arabic sources suggest. The Funj emerge as builders of the last great Nubian state, one that promoted the forces that ultimate transformed the Nilotic Sudan whilst simultaneously bearing the flame of an ancient civilization. One cannot help but wonder how things would have developed without the Egyptian invasion in 1821. 

Oriental Sources Concerning Nubia

After reading a short book on Alwa and revisiting Welsby and Ruffini, we decided to take another look at Vantini's Oriental Sources Concerning Nubia. We read Vantini back in 2020 during a past obsession with the question of Kanem relations to the Eastern Sudan. While one cannot deny the great use of having a compilation of various "Oriental" sources on Nubia from Late Antiquity to the early 16th century as a reference work, far too many of the extracts are incredibly repetitive. Some selections nearly repeat verbatim earlier chronicles or geographical texts, often adding little or no new information. These repetitions can be useful in terms of illustrating the sources for later writers, but makes for rather uninteresting reading. However, it was occasionally interesting to see how mistakes of copyists or authors introduced more confusion, such as transferring to the Nubians a description of the "Zaghawa" of Kanem. Or confusion mixing the Nubians with the Habasha or Beja when detailing relations between the Patriarchs in Alexandria and the southern Christian populations of the Sudan and Ethiopia. Some of these mistakes raise questions about the reliability of the included texts for parts of the "Sudan" and contain clearly legendary materials or outdated ideas derived from Ptolemy on the course of the Nile and the interior of Africa. 

In spite of the cultural, religious and perhaps racial bias of several of the sources, they are of paramount importance for understanding the societies of medieval Nubia. Although modern scholars are correct to stress the significance of relying on internal sources to reconstruct the history of the region, we have relied so heavily on external Arabic sources for West Africa during this same time. If historians have, over time, been able to match the external Arabic texts on West Africa with local archaeological, textual and oral sources, then one should be able to do the same for Nubia. After all, Nubia was even closer to the central Islamic lands and known to the ancient world for several millennia. If used judiciously, these sources tell us something, albeit not enough, of the kingdoms of Makuria and Alwa over a period of 1000 years. Sadly, Alwa was, despite its reputation as the wealthier kingdom, not as well known. But these sources have been used by scholars such as Zarroug for proposing some theories on the kingdom's likely role in east-west trade routes. 

Moreover, when interpreted together, the external Arabic sources point to connections between the different regions of the Sudanic belt of the African continent. We are unsure if some of the copyists or authors made a mistake here, but one source in Vantini actually refers to the ruler of Dahlak levying a duty on the ships of al-Kanam. Our first response is to think Kanem was connected to the Red Sea through ships commissioned by their rulers. There are also references by al-Idrisi to conflict between the Nubians and the Daju between Kanem and Nubia. Other sources mention war between the "Zaghawa" and Nubians. Additional sources point to the pilgrimage route that went from Upper Egypt through the Eastern Desert to Aydhab. Beja and Nubians may have interacted with travelers and traders from the Western and Central Sudan through those arenas, not to mention in Egypt itself. In addition, conflict between the Oasis Dwellers west of the Nile and the Nubians are casually referenced, leading us to wonder about Nubian interests in trade to the northwest and west. Despite their limitations, these sources possess a number of suggestive implications for cultural and economic connections across the "Sudan."Hopefully archaeologists in Chad and Sudan will uncover evidence. 

Of One Blood and Meroe

We finally read Of One Blood because of our interest in Sun Ra. Past instances of African American science fiction or speculative fiction seems relevant to any research into Sun Ra's inventive and, perhaps, wacky notions. Pauline Hopkins also appears to have beat Ishmael Reed in establishing a fictive link between "voodoo" and ancient Nile Valley civilizations, although Of One Blood is a weaker novel that perhaps attempts to juggle too many competing "out there" or supernatural phenomena (mesmerism, occultism, second sight, magic mirror in Telassar, spiritualism). It also confronts issues of racism, the unity of the human species, incest, and the horrors of slavery's impact on the black family, including a surprising revelation near the end of the novel about Aubrey Livingston's relationship with Reuel and Dianthe. 

But the most interesting aspect of this early Afrofuturist" novel is its use of Meroe, and a hidden city of its descendants, as a symbol of an ascendant Ethiopia who will restore the prestige of the black race in modern times. Drawing heavily on the discourse of Ethiopianism, which had influenced black nationalism in the US throughout the 19th century, "Ethiopia" (really, Meroe or "Nubia) returns to its greatness as one of its lost descendants, an Afro-American passing as white, returns to the throne. Telassar, the hidden city of Meroe's descendants, has maintained the ancient civilization in secret. With the return of a descendant of Ergamenes, they are poised to return to greatness. Since Ethiopianism drew from Christianity as practiced by African-Americans, Hopkins employs the Bible and classical sources to offer an Afrocentric view of the ancient world. Basically, all civilization and the arts derived from Ethiopians or their kin in Egypt, Canaan, and Babylon. 

For these aforementioned discursive uses of Ethiopianism in a speculative fiction guise, Hopkins has written perhaps the most interesting of early "Afrofuturist" literature. In terms of its prose and structure, there is room for improvement, but Reuel's use of mesmerism and occultism in the Boston chapters is directly relevant to the advanced hidden science of Telassar and the Afro-American's deep past. There is enough material here to appeal to academics, hoteps, black feminists (particularly through the character of Mira and Aunt Hannah), and those merely curious about unexpected speculative fiction. 

By the novel's call to a return to Africa, it also fits into the larger history of vindicationist black history, stressing the great past of the African as a way of countering white supremacy and instilling a pride in African Americans. However, it also demonstrates the limitations of Ethiopianist discourse as its centered on Christian, Western notions of civilization. It is also unclear what Telassar, with its Afro-American king to inaugurate a new dynasty, will accomplish for an Africa under European conquest. It possesses some advanced technology, but the reader is left in the dark about the future relations between Telassar and imperial Europe. Nonetheless, it is a far more entertaining and interesting world than that of Black Panther.

A History of Libya

John Wright's revised and updated A History of Libya is a worthy and problematic introduction to Libyan history. Any attempt to encompass over 2000 years of history in a short book is doomed, so it mostly covers the 20th century and the Gadafi (Gaddafi) regime. Wright, though revising and updating this general history to include the fall of Gaddafi during the Arab Spring, retained a number of perhaps outdated or incorrect assertions. For example, Wright must have written the initial form of this book in an era when proponents of large-scale trans-Saharan trade in Antiquity were more influential. Wright also misidentifies Dunama of the Sayfawa dynasty as a Borno king even though Kanem was still the core province. Sometimes Wright's characterization of Libya's dependence on oil seems a little unfair, particularly for repeatedly referring to its oil wealth as unearned even though Libya was just exploiting a valuable resource. Of course, historians or scholars today in 2022 would also have more sources to piece together the tumultuous final days of Gaddafi and the continual unrest in Libya today. Perhaps with the benefit of hindsight, we know the consequences of NATO intervention in the Libyan civil war eventually contributed to the multifaceted crises in that country and the plight of migrants in the Mediterranean. 

Despite our quibbles with Wright's general history, it perfectly demonstrates a number of interesting points pertinent to our interests in Kanem-Borno and trans-Saharan contacts between Tripoli and the Chad Basin. Wright begins with the prehistoric Sahara, Phoenician settlements, Greeks in Cyrenaica, the Garamantes, and the expanding Roman Empire. While this is not directly relevant to Kanem-Borno, the early appearance of the Garamantes and Tripolitania's position between the Sahara and the Mediterranean illustrates the significance of Libya: a bridge between the Mediterranean and the vast African interior. Obviously the scale and value of trans-Saharan trade and contacts between the Mediterranean coast of Libya and sub-Saharan Africa increased after the Arab conquests. And Tripolitania under Roman rule appears to have been far more self-sufficient agriculturally, exporting to Rome a surplus. So, Tripoli after the Arab conquest, especially after the Banu Hilal migrations, became less successful in terms of its agrarian economy and increasingly reliant on its corsair activity in the Mediterranean as well as trans-Saharan slave trading. Even if this activity was parasitic, as suggested by Wright, it supports an assertion by Dewiere that Tripoli relied more on the trans-Saharan trade than Borno. Consequently, the trans-Saharan factor in Libyan history is a huge one that developed over time since the Garamantes of the Fezzan, a merging of Mediterranean and African networks that benefitted Libya.

However, most of Wright's book is actually on 20th century Libya. The decades-long Italian conquest, not truly accomplished until Fascist Italy completed the process in the 1930s, represents an interesting convergence of fascism and colonialism. Drawing on the past of the Roman Empire in Tripolitania, Mussolini's Italy actually invested far more in Libya than they took out it. Their vision of the "Fourth Shore" as a settler colony for peasant farmers of Italy was disrupted by World War II. Libya in the postwar years became a Sanussi kingdom which, through oil, became less dependent on aid or leasing military bases to Britain and the US. With the arrival of Gaddafi, an extremely long dictatorship would usher in various failed political, social and economic reforms with the use of oil revenue. Sanctions, tensions with the West, and failed pan-Arabism eventually led Gaddafi to a rapprochement with the Western powers before his ignominious fall. Throughout its rocky years as an independent state, Libya remained a nation in spite of the strong regional cleavages and other differences within its population. The Fezzan, Cyrenaica, and Tripolitania might as well have been separate nations. 

Intriguingly, Gaddafi's attempts to turn himself into a pan-Africanist hero and expand Libyan influence in sub-Saharan Africa represented a modern version of Libya's historic role as the crossroads of Africa and Europe. While undoubtedly opportunistic and a failure in the despot's war with Chad, it is remarkable that Gaddafi's African "turn" developed in a context where Libya was far less connected to sub-Saharan Africa than it once was. Over the course of the several millennia of known Libyan history, the link to Saharan and sub-Saharan Africa has always been a factor whose magnitude has varied across time. One region of modern Libya, the Fezzan, may been seen as "Sudanic" during some phases in its history. In that regard, the history of this North African nation is indicative of how closely entwined the worlds of Africa and Europe have been since the Roman Empire, even if its legacy has not always been for the best.