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.