The Hausa in Affiches Americaines

Although it mainly provides limited information, consulting Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines, available at the Digital Library of the Caribbean, is a wondrous resource. One can see advertisements for the sale of imported slaves, runaway slave notices, and, occasionally, individuals selling slaves. Sometimes the level of detail on the captive African population can be very meaningful or relevant for gaining more insight on their origins, experiences, and exploitation. Perusing it for references to the Hausa in Saint Domingue was actually quite illustrative of certain trends and theories about the Central Sudan's involvement in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade before the 19th century.

For example, one can find references to Hausa runaways that may bear African names. This above example, Boupa (Bouba?) is ambiguous, but could point to possible backgrounds for captives from northern areas who reached the Slave Coast. 

Some of the advertisements for newly arrived ships carrying captives are similarly worthwhile. The example from above, from 1787, reveals that the cargo included Hausa as well as Arada captives. Intriguingly, Hausa captives had been imported since at least the 1760s, but it seems like the diverse "nations" from the Bight of Benin only began to be distinguished more regularly by the last 20-30 years of colonial rule. One wonders if the French slave traders, who probably had little ability to demand only specific "nations" when waiting to fill their cargos for the Atlantic voyage, were responding to growing demand and stereotypes of Saint Domingue slaveholders.

Occasionally, the "Nago" and other nations besides Aradas and Hausas appeared as part of the cargo for arriving slave ships, like the example from 1786 demonstrates. One suspects that the Hausa captives were perhaps mainly taken from ports like Porto Novo, Badagry, and Onis. Indeed, historians such as Adamu pointed out Lagos, Porto-Novo, Badagry and Whydah as the most important ports for exports of slaves from deep in the interior.

In addition, perusing the newspaper reveals some of the exceedingly rare female Hausa in the colony. Since it seems likely that female slaves exported from the Central Sudan were favored for trans-Saharan trade rather than the Atlantic one, the Hausa in the colony experienced one of the highest gender imbalances of the enslaved population. Yet some, like a woman, Suzanne, estimated to be around 50 years old, were brought to Saint-Domingue and ran away in 1790. It's possible her advanced age made her less valuable in the northern trade. Yet in the very same year, a young Hausa woman was a runaway, estimated at 24 years of age.

One can even find sales for individual Hausa in the colony. For instance, a young Hausa with experience at a coffee plantation, was posted for sale by a colon in Grands-Bois in 1790. This young Hausa's background on a coffee estate seems to have been a common experience, as Hausa, largely imported in the North, St. Marc, and the West would have largely labored on sugar and coffee plantations.

And for Haiti, the links to the Central Sudan did not end with independence. Besides being visited by Nicholas Said of Borno later in the 19th century, some of the Africans liberated from slave ships and brought to Haiti included Hausa. La Gazette Royale of Henri Christophe's state, for instance, alluded to some of the Hausa brought to Haiti from a Portuguese ship. Indeed, the publication even alludes to a troop of Hausa or Nupe who performed a dance in 1811. One Hausa child from the intercepted ship performed an impressive dance by himself. 

Captives from the Central Sudan and the Bight of Benin

Patrick Manning's estimates for slave exports from the Bight of Benin by ethnic origins (Slavery, Colonialism and Economic Growth in Dahomey, 1640-1960).

In order to compare our own crude estimates for Hausa and "Central Sudan" populations imported into Saint Domingue during the 18th century, we found it useful to check the work of scholars for estimates and context on the total volume of slave exports for the 18th century. In addition, some scholars have written plausible historical analyses of the scale of the slave trade, the ethnicities exported from the Slave Coast during the century, and the conditions that led to captives from areas to the north being fed into the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. 

The most useful scholar here is Patrick Manning, whose Slavery, Colonialism, and Economic Growth in. Dahomey, 1640-1960 includes a number of useful tables. While the estimates for the 18th century may not be accurate for the total Central Sudan share of captives exported, the numbers are actually plausible and would fit our own estimates. According to Manning, about 10,500 "Hausa" were exported from the Bight of Benin during the 18th century. The vast majority appear to have been exported in the second half of the 1700s, too. This would include multiple decades when the share of captives purchased by French slavers were significant, particularly in the period from 1760-1790. While Manning's data indicates the French, over the entire 18th century, purchased 259,300 captives from the Bight of Benin, David Geggus's work shows that a total of about 157,748 captives were brought to Saint Domingue on French ships. Specifically, for the period covering the years 1750-1800, a total of around 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin were brought to the Caribbean on French ships. According to Geggus, Saint Domingue absorbed over half of the total number of imported slaves from the Bight of Benin, 265,800 (note that Geggus's calculation differs from that of Manning). It stands to reason that the majority of the Central Sudan captives exported from the Bight of Benin by French ships in the 18th century ended up in Saint Domingue. 

To be more precise would require calculating with more precision the share of the Bight of Benin captives brought to Saint Domingue versus other French colonies in the Antilles from 1750-1790. Furthermore, one must determine, somehow, the proportion of Hausa captives who were purchased by the French instead of English, Brazilian or other traders during this period. However, overall, Saint-Domingue seems to have absorbed about 59%. of the total French slave imports of the 18th century. This would suggest that perhaps up to 59% of the estimated 10,500 Hausa captives purchased by the French from the Bight of Benin, such as ports like Porto-Novo, ended up in Saint-Domingue. Checking the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database for slave ships from the Bight of Benin who brought captives to Saint Domingue between 1750 and 1800, however, gives a figure of 105,900. If true, which may be an understatement due to the French including parts of the Slave Coast in the "Gold Coast," this would represent the vast majority of the 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin imported in the Antilles during the period 1750-1800 by French ships. Thus, it is very likely that, however many Central Sudan captives were sold from the Bight of Benin in the 18th century, the dominant share of those carried by French slave ships were brought to Haiti (for the French Caribbean.

Using the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database at slavevoyages.org made it quick and easy to get estimates for the total numbers of slaves imported from the Bight of Benin in the period 1750-1794.

However, using the Trans-Atlantic Database to see the total number of slave exports from the Bight of Benin from 1750-1800, one can arrive at different numbers. According to the database, 444,855 captives were disembarked from the Bight of Benin during this period, carried by ships of all nations. If the Saint-Domingue share during this period was only 105,900, then it is somewhat plausible that the French share of the estimated Hausa captives was possibly at least 2,500, though likely somewhat higher. Of course, one would have to fact check this with some better estimates for the decades with the most Hausa captives. According to Manning's estimates, the most Hausa captives were imported in the years 1781-1800, of which Haiti's imports would have ceased in the early 1790s. Nonetheless, the French share during those two decades was substantial, purchasing a little under half of the slaves sold from the Bight of Benin in the 1780s. The French share in the 1790s, naturally, was smaller, but still purchasing a little under 10,000 captives. If broadly accurate, then the French slave traders likely acquired more than 2500 Hausa, perhaps significantly more.

This aforementioned number is plausible and not too far from our estimate. Ultimately, if Manning's figures for the Hausa captives sold during the 18th century is correct, then perhaps a minimum of around 2500 Hausa were landed in Haiti. Using these rough figures, we can calculate how many Hausa captives were imported at the principal ports of the colony during the years 1750-1794. If Le Cap received about 36,810 African captives from the Bight of Benin during this period, one might estimate that about 881 Hausa were imported, presuming the share of Hausa within the imported population was comparable to the share of the total slave imports from the Bight of Benin to Le Cap versus the entire colony. The other major ports received the following:

1. Les Cayes: 88

2. Leogane: 315

3. Petit Goave: 7

4. Port-au-Prince: 753

5. St. Marc: 412

6. Port de Paix: 15

7. Unspecified Saint Domingue ports: 49

Naturally, the above estimates are making a huge assumption and are probably very inaccurate for Port de Paix and Petit Goave. Nonetheless, it gives one an idea of the possible distribution of Hausa and Central Sudan captives in Saint Domingue's provinces. Obviously, the major areas to receive this influx of Central Sudan slaves were the north (Le Cap), the Artibonite region (St. Marc), and the West (Port-au-Prince, Leogane). Smaller numbers may have arrived in Les Cayes and some undoubtedly arrived via other ports. In addition, English smugglers and the contraband trade may have introduced more at ports which lack data for slave imports from the Bight of Benin. Nonetheless, it was clearly concentrated in the North, Artibonite and West provinces of the colony that one was most likely to encounter the Central Sudan population. 

Gilles Bambara in 1787?

Although we require far more evidence to confirm this, our perusal of Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines, led to some interesting findings. For instance, the above runaway ad, from 1787, mentions a "Gilli" arrested in Petit-Goave. The runaway slave's name may have actually been Gille, but perhaps a misprint or error led to the paper writing it as "Gilli." Anyway, we need to confirm that the Gilles Bambara who later became an important leader during the Haitian Revolution was once the chattel of a Lami to know for sure. But if it is indeed the same person, it is interesting to see that he was already engaging in marronage years before the outbreak of the Haitian Revolution.

Jacmel Quartier's Population in 1739

Another feeble attempt at our part of deriving plausible estimates for the "nations" of the Jacmel Quarter in 1739. Using the 1739 Census for Saint-Domingue (available via ANOM), and its total for adult slaves of 3727. Using our own data based on the slave population in Bainet, Jacmel and Cayes de Jacmel for the years 1719-1739, we used the proportion of each "nation" to calculate possible numbers for these nations in 1739. Of course, this is pure speculation on our part. In addition, several nations with only 1 or 2 slaves from our data are likely distorted in our table above. This is especially relevant for nations with tiny numbers or obscure names that may have been reclassified as other "nations" by 1739. One must also keep in mind that the years after 1730 witnessed an increase in coffee plantations in parishes like Bainet, which undoubtedly impacted the enslaved population in that pivotal decade. 

Nonetheless, the projected numbers for 1739 seem to fit general trends. Creoles were the single largest group, and their parents were probably disproportionately from the Bight of Benin and the Senegambian regions. Congos, plus other Central Africans, like Loango and Mondongue, were the next largest group. Yet the Mina, Arada, Nago, Ouida/Judah, and Ibo were a huge part of the adult slave population. One suspects the growth of coffee plantations, plus the more marginal position of these parishes in terms of development and access to slaves, made the planters less picky and willing to purchase whoever they could access via legal and smuggling methods. 

It is also interesting to see the persistence of the "Upper Guinea" populations among the adult slave population. Bambara and Senegal Africans, in our projection, plus Mandingue and maybe the "Mamou" as well, slaves from the Senegambia area and further east were still very much part of th enslaved population. Indeed, one wonders to what extent these Upper Guineans may have been able to relate to adult Creoles with parents from the same region. The "Mamou" may have been from the Mamou or Mamu region of Futa Jallon, in today's Guinea. It is difficult to say with any firm certainty, but Futa Jallon's wars of expansion in the 1720s did generate an increase in captives, who may have been Jallonke and some Fulbe who ended up in Saint-Domingue. Mamou, according to Marty and others, was the name of a river and region not too far from Futa Jallon's capital, Timbo. Timbou, too, could be a reference to Futa Jallon.

Estimating the Nations of Jacmel's Slave Population in c.1782

Another crude method of calculating somewhat plausible numbers for the "nations" of the Jacmel Quartier's enslaved population is to use the numbers from the 1782 Census. While probably an undercount or plagued by inaccuracies, it does provide a total number of the slave population, which means one can use the numbers from Roseline Siguret's study of the quartier's indigo and coffee estates from 1757-1791 to crudely approximate the possible distribution of "nations" in the popular of the region. While very imperfect, doing so gives the numbers above for the "nations" in Siguret's table. 

First, the Creole preponderance is undeniable, although it may have been even higher if slave imports at the port of Jacmel were low, as was the case in 1786. Slaveholders would have had to rely on smuggling or the intra-colony slave trade to provide new captives, probably a mix of both. The next striking feature is how, assuming our crude estimate is somewhat close to the reality, the huge Congo and Central African presence was. The "Congos" and Mondongues plus smaller numbers of other groups who appear to be from Central Africa (Maiemba, for instance) were about 24% of the total slave population. That said, one is shocked by our estimate for the still reasonably high numbers of Senegalais, Mandingues, Bambaras, and other Upper Guinea "nations" in the region. Furthermore, the Ibos, in our estimate, were over 9% of the total slave population. 

Overall, the trends from our estimate reveal a plurality of Creoles with a substantial "Congo" presence and Ibo presence. The persistence of African nations from the Bight of Benin as well as Upper Guinea (perhaps around 8%) illustrates a great diversity of slave imports continued well into the late 18th century. The huge Creole population, too, very likely descended, perhaps to a greater degree, from Africans purchased from the Slave Coast and Upper Guinea, too. Of course, these estimates are likely to be very inaccurate for the smaller nations, such as several whose numbers in Siguret's survey were only 1 or 2. In addition, some of the slave population's "national" identity may have switched over time, as some became another "nation" or later captives from that same background were "reconceived" as belonging to a new or different "nation" instead. Thus, the above table is meant only as a very "rough" idea of what the ethnicities of slaves in Jacmel, Bainet and Cayes de Jacmel may have been like in c.1782.

Borno and Saint Domingue

We wanted to continue our method by applying it specifically to the "infinitely rare" Borno captives in Saint Domingue. The only detailed source on the Bornoan presence among Saint Domingue's African population comes from the French naturalist Descourtilz, who described those of the Rossignol Desdunes plantation in the Artibonite region. We are only told "plusiers" of this nation were present in the area. Checking the runaway slave ads posted in Saint-Domingue's newspaper only revealed 2 Borno captives, one of whom actually ran away in a group with 3 Hausa males. However, with very rough estimates based on the share of reported Borno maroons, we can perhaps get a clearer picture of their total numbers in the colony.

First, as only 2 out of 12,857 individuals reported in the press as runaways, we know Bornoans only represented about 0.015% of the maroons. If that proportion was similar to their share in the total population, we can estimate a total Bornoan population of about 78 to 124. Since their presence is only attested rather late in the colonial period, we prefer to base the estimate on the slave population in 1789-1791. Using an estimate of about 500,000 for the slave population in 1790 (although Geggus has suggested perhaps as many as 510,000) would mean that perhaps 78 were of the Borno nation. Of this estimate, it is probable that several died during the "seasoning" period of their adjustment to colonial slavery in the Caribbean. However, a total estimate of about 78 (possibly far less due to the paucity of documented Borno maroons) is at least somewhat plausible. After all, if a total of 153,057 slaves in the colony were imported on French ships from the Bight of Benin, 78 would represent less than 1% of that total. It is at least historically plausible that, in the second half of the 18th century, that 0.05% or so of the African captives from the Bight of Benin may have ultimately come from Borno. 

The figure of 78, again, is only a very rough estimate. But it might be consistent with perhaps a handful of large continents of Bornoans being sold to Europeans on the coast. Alternatively, the number could also be the result of small numbers of Borno captives being sold to traders at Porto Novo or Ouidah or Badagry over a long period of time. Once one takes into account the high mortality rate among African slaves, this general estimate of 78 could be significantly reduced to possibly as low as 39 or even fewer Bornoans, split among slaveholders in the Artibonite region and other parts of the colony.

West Africans in Saint Domingue (Haiti)

 

One amazing feature of perusing the posted runaway notices in Saint-Domingue's press is the occasionally very detailed "nations" assigned to Africans in the colony, particularly "new" Africans. While some of the "nations" used for Africans in the colony were very broad or ambiguous, a few appear with very specific names linked to a region or ethnic group that is still identifiable. Take the above case, for example, of a newly arrived "Mandingue" or "Souraca" from the year 1776. While "Mandingue" could be very broad or ambiguous in Saint-Domingue, possibly being used to encompass Mandinka as well as other Mande groups, "Souraca" is rather specific. To a speaker of Bamana or Mandinka languages in Mali, suraka referred to "Arabs" or people from the north. Thus, it is possible that this anonymous "Mandingue" hailed from an area of Mali or Mauritania in the Sahel. Was he native to that region or was he formerly enslaved by Arabs or Tuaregs?

Another possible example of quite specific African "national" classification is the case of a runaway named Hector, from the year 1772. Of the Mende nation, it is quite certain that he was from the Mende peoples of Sierra Leone. 

Even very specific Mande-affiliated peoples like the Dioula, or Juula, were also in the colony of Saint-Domingue. In the above case from 1768, a female runaway named Marie was specified as Dioula. This is rather amazing to see the distinguishing of various "Mandingue" and Mande-associated peoples in the colony. Was she from the area of today's northern Ivory Coast or Ghana?

Also in Saint-Domingue were small numbers of people from the "Edo" group, associated with areas such as the Kingdom of Benin in today's Nigeria. The above example, of a woman who ran away in 1784, attests to the presence of Edo peoples in colonial Haiti. 

Even the Gurma peoples could be found in Saint-Domingue. In the above case, from 1786, a "Gourmand" African ran away. In this case, "Gourmand" is probably a reference to the Gurma people, who are mostly to be found in present-day Burkina Faso.

Also present were the Bobo peoples, likewise found in Burkina Faso. The case of Richard, from the 1770s, serves as proof of their presence among the captive West Africans in the colony. 

The Oyo Yoruba may be found under their specific name. The 1777 incident involving 2 runaway women of the "Ayo" nation may very likely refer to Oyo. We suspect, however, that more Oyo peoples than one realizes were in Saint-Domingue, but probably generically referred to as Yoruba. 

Last but certainly not least, the Susu peoples of Guinea and Sierra Leone were similarly caught in the hellscape that was Saint Domingue. Usually referred to as Soso or Sosso in the Caribbean, they were more numerous than several of the other "nations" mentioned here. 

Nupe, Bariba, and Hausa Runaways (Saint Domingue)

Another activity we have engaged in is an attempt at tracking runaway slaves and maroons identified in the colonial newspaper, Affiches américaines, already collected in the excellent Le marronage dans le monde atlantique project. We focused on the Nupe, Hausa and Bariba populations as groups who, living to the north of the Oyo state, were probably the bulk of the captives from the "Central Sudan" who were sold into slavery in Saint-Domingue. Unfortunately, we could not include the Fulani or Poulard in our calculations, since it is impossible to determine how many of the Fulani in Saint-Domingue reached the Caribbean from the Bight of Benin. However, it is likely that at least some of the Fulani or "Poulards" in Saint Domingue arrived from the north of Oyo, too. 

In addition, we also included the "Malais" or "Malez" and "Bernon" captives who appear in the runaway notices. The latter group, hailing from Borno, to the northeast of Oyo, were "infinitely rare" in the colony of Saint Domingue. Nonetheless, a few did reach the hell of colonial Haiti, likely via the Bight of Benin. The former group, however, present more difficulties. According to early 18th century sources such as the journal of the Chevalier des Marchais, "Malais" traders had already been traveling to Ouidah by 1704. His sometimes vague understanding of their origins suggests they were Muslim traders from a distant land northeast of Allada, possibly Hausaland or Borno. Since they allegedly followed certain Islamic dietary restrictions, used the Arabic language, wore robes of blue or white, and favored long beards, we are guessing the "Malais" traders hailed from Hausaland or a nearby region. The captives they sold on the Slave Coast, however, were probably from neighboring groups and other nearby regions, which means the "Malais" captives in Saint Domingue were likely some northern group. Alternatively, the "Malais" could also have been Muslim Yoruba, but that seems less likely for the 18th century. 

Overall, we found about 134 unambiguous cases of slaves from areas north of Oyo who engaged in marronage in Saint-Domingue during the years 1766-1790. While the total population of Bariba, Hausa, Nupe, Borno, and "Malais" captives imported in the colony is unknown, we believe Geggus's data on slave ethnicities in the period 1727-1797 may be illustrative of general patterns. In his survey, which is not meant to be a complete total for the various nations, he calculated 532 Nupe, Bariba and Hausa in Saint-Domingue. This number, 532, is out of a total sample of 13,334 slaves, suggesting Nupe, Hausa and Bariba represented nearly 4% of the enslaved population. Naturally, we need further data, particularly in light of evidence for the early appearance of Bariba and Nupe captives in Saint Domingue in the 1710s and 1730s, and, perhaps, Hausa before the 1760s. But, if we use 4% as a very rough estimate for the number of captives from the lands north of Oyo, perhaps 4% of total slave population on the eve of the Haitian Revolution were from the "Central Sudan" and nearby regions north of Oyo. This would give astronomically high figures, but suggest around 20,000 captives were possibly from that aforementioned region, over half Hausa. 

Another possible approach, though still highly flawed, is to use rough estimates for total population of a "nation" by using the general rate of marronage. If, as Eddins indicates, 12,857 individual slave runaways appeared in the colonial newspaper, one could divide that by a rough estimate for the total slave population in 1789 or 1790. Alternatively, one could take that rough rate of marronage and apply it to the total period of colonial rule, dividing it by the estimated 800,000 captives brought to Saint-Domingue. Of course, one would have to take into consideration slave mortality rates and total imports for the period from 1766-1790, which we lack sufficient sources and data to do. Some slaves may have also appeared more frequently as maroons based on their occupation and other factors, too, which can skew results. Consequently, the estimates are likely too high or too low in some cases. Nonetheless, it is probably a more accurate estimate than our attempt to use the numbers from Geggus's survey covering the years 1727-1797. Using the marronage escape rate, calculated by dividing 12,857 by a rough estimate of a total of 500,000 slaves in 1790/91, then about 2.57% of all slaves could be runaways. If, say, the Hausa runaways, which we enumerated to be 83 (possibly 84) individuals from 1766-1790, is our base, then we can estimate a total Hausa population based on the rough estimate that 2.57% of Hausas imported were maroons. Of course, it could have been higher or lower depending on specific conditions that shape the chances of marronage, but if we assume that 83 Hausas were 2.57% of the total Hausa population imported into the colony, based on the rough figure of 500,000 slaves in 1790, then about 3230 Hausas were imported into the colony. If one uses the figure of 800,000 as a rough estimate for total slave imports in Saint Domingue, and assume the Hausa proportion of the maroons (12,857) was comparable or adequate for the entire colonial era, then we would use the maroon rate of 1.607% (calculated by dividing 12857 by 800,000). The Hausa proportion would then increase to 5165, of which it is very likely high mortality rates significantly reduced. Applying this to our total sample of "Central Sudan" captives, 134, would bring us to an estimate ranging from 5211 to 8338. Again, high mortality rates would have reduced the number of survivors. 

Overall, assuming these captives arrived on French slave ships, they would represent about 3.4% to 5.4% of African captives purchased from the Bight of Benin in Saint-Domingue (based on Geggus's figures in "The French Slave Trade: An Overview." Those figures are actually plausible. Moreover, these lower figures seem more likely based on the data. If, we were to assume 4% of the captives of Saint Domingue were Nupe, Hausa, and Bariba, based on Geggus's survey of slave nations and gender ratios from 1727-1797, then their totals could have ranged from perhaps as many as 19,949 to 31,918. That would significantly boost their proportion in the "Bight of Benin" captives in Saint-Domingue, from about 13% to nearly 21%, a figure that seems far too high.

Of course, high mortality rates and the lack of adequate early data makes all of this very speculative. Our method requires one to assume the proportion of, say, Hausa slaves, in the maroon population was proportional to the total slave population's share of Hausa. Yet slaveholders held certain stereotypes about which "nations" were best for specific occupations, and additional factors such as location, type of plantation and urban versus rural must have shaped actual rates of marronage (at least, those reported in the press). So, the aforementioned estimates are only useful as very broad ranges that might provide a general idea. But it is interesting to note, nonetheless, that the "Hausa" significantly outnumbered other groups in Geggus's survey data from the areas north of Oyo. The Taqua or Tapa (Nupe) came second at 161, while there were only 84 Bariba. The Hausa appear more frequently as runaways, too, representing nearly 62% of the reported maroons from this region. It is possible that their higher rate of marronage was both due to a more distorted sex ratio as well as their higher numbers. If this is the case, then the Hausa may not have significantly outnumbered the Nupe and Bariba as our data seems to suggest.

Ahyssa, the Moor

One of those interesting cases which produced documentation on the specific origins of an enslaved  African in Saint Domingue is the case of Ahyssa. A "Moor" from the northern side of the Senegal River, she was kidnapped and enslaved in the Caribbean. We first read of her in passing, in a work by Haitian historian Jean Fouchard. Her case is interesting for what it says about colonial perceptions of Arabs and non-black Africans, as well as the somewhat detailed account of her background in Africa. 

According to a brief extract of the legal proceedings of case, published in a Journal des Causes celebres, Ahyssa came from the Ouled arcalapha tribe of "Moors" living about 80 lieus from the mouth of the Senegal. Her people were herders involved in the gum trade. The records of her case even provide the name of her parents, as well as general details about how the Arabs in her region recognized the authority of the Moroccan sultan. The racialized interpretation of their relations with black Africans south of the Senegal is also repeatedly emphasized, being presented as one driven by primordial animosity. We even learn the specific conditions of her enslavement, which were instigated by a black man, Aly Samba, who guided New England traders into the community of Ahyssa. Apparently, European and Western traders sometimes purchased black slaves from the communities on the other side of the river while buying gum and other goods from the Moors to the north. While initially presenting themselves as traders, the New England bandits raided and pillaged, kidnapping people and stealing. That is how Ahyssa ended up on a ship that carried her to Grenada, in the Antilles. What happened to the other Arabs kidnapped and sold into slavery in Grenada is never addressed.

Ahyssa's owner in the Antilles, a Cassarouy, was partly responsible for her kidnapping in West Africa. He later brought her with him to Martinique and Le Cap, in Saint-Domingue. After becoming ill, he promised her freedom in his 1774 testament. Furthermore, we are led to believe he supposedly never treated like a slave or subjected her to cruel actions. Based on this special treatment, one suspects Cassarouy treated Ahyssa, renamed Colombe, as a concubine or lover. Nonetheless, she found out to her horror that after her master's death, she was to be sold as a slave of the estate of the deceased Cassarouy. With the aid of a curator, she fought this and claimed her freedom as a "Moor" kidnapped from her homeland. Thanks to this, we have records of her case which are replete with details of her capture and her African background. In her case, her specifically non-black origins were a central part of the reason she was not considered legally enslaveable, and therefore deserved to have her emancipation recognized. 

Perhaps this case illustrates how, by 1776, racial lines in Saint Domingue had consolidated around more overtly racist ideology that specifically targeted "blackness" as fit for enslavement. Those of Indian (Amerindian) or Arab origin, however, could resist this. In Ahyssa's case, since she was possibly seen as a "mulatto" in Saint-Domingue's racial classificatory scheme, her Moor, or Arab background, were central to buttressing her claim to freedom. This may also explain why the case stresses racial animosity and conflict between Moors, or Arabs, and black Africans of the Senegambian region. The argument in favor of her independence also went into great depth to describe how, despite the occasional resemblance of races like hers with the "mulattoes" of Saint Domingue, a glance at Ahyssa was enough to illustrate that she was not actually one. She was, regardless of how dusky or tawny her skin color may have been, an Arab and the background of hostility between her people and black Africans may have been utilized in her case to stress this by Moreau de Saint-Mery. Furthermore, the fact that the English took her captive rather than the French was another point in favor of her liberation, since the French were supposedly more interested in maintaining peaceful relations with the Moors near the Senegal River.

Interestingly, it seems like claiming freedom on the grounds of being Arab did not work so well in the case of "Nar" captives in Louisiana. Labeled by a Wolof term for them, the Arab slaves of Louisiana do not seem to have able to escape their condition based on that argument. And they were sometimes explicitly linked with other "Negroes" among the captive slaves in Louisiana, despite occasionally being referred to as red or lighter-skinned. Midlo Hall's database on slaves in Louisiana is an excellent resource to learn more about the "Nar" or "Nards" in Louisiana. 

Runaway Slaves By Nation in the Jacmel Quartier, 1766-1790

Although hardly the best method for arriving at an adequate overview of the "nations" of slaves in a region, perusing Le marronnage dans le monde atlantique's digitized runaway notices from Saint Domingue is always useful. In this case, we used the search bar to find every record mentioning Jacmel, Cayes de Jacmel, or Bainet, keeping count for the number of times a maroon each "nation" appeared. We did not include more than once maroons whose owners posted ads multiple times. Nor did we, whenever ambiguous or unclear, count slaves whose owners were not in Jacmel or were not explicitly said to have left Jacmel (or its associated regions, like Bainet). 

This method, of course, is far from perfect. And it it probable that the high number of Congos is at least partly related to the elevating numbers of West Central Africans imported in the final decades of colonial rule. Similarly, the high number of Creoles may, in part, be a result of them knowing the land better and having more connections, thereby increasing their share of maroons. Further, since many acts of marronage were of a small-scale or short duration, rather than grand marronage, this sample only reflects a portion of the totality of slave resistance. 

Despite these and additional problems, these runaway notices sometimes capture or include slaves from minority "nations" who are not always easy to detect. For example, Macoua, Mozambique, or "Black Indian" slaves, few in number in this area, were still present in this corner of the colony. Their numbers, while small, nonetheless help us contextualize slave demographics and the slave trade in various parts of the colony. The presence of Southeast Africans or "Indians" (in this case, possibly Asian Indians), as well as the numbers of Creoles from other European colonies in the Caribbean, demonstrate the Jacmel area's connections to slave trading networks that may have involved smuggling. The preponderance of nations that are difficult to identify and tiny numbers for several likewise illustrates the tremendous diversity of "nations" represented in Saint Domingue. 

Laurent, a Hausa Runaway in 1767

Whilst perusing the corpus of runaway slave notices posted on the excellent Le marronnage dans le monde atlantique site, we came across another early appearance of Hausa maroons before the 1770s. In this case, it was a Laurent, of the "Hauza" nation, who fled from his owner in Port-au-Prince. So, even if one accepts the theory of Debien that the Gambary "nation" in Saint Domingue did not refer to the Hausa, one still has evidence for imports of "Hausa" people as early as 1767. As our aforementioned reference to Nupe captives, referred to by a Yoruba appellation for them, in Saint-Domingue also dates to around this time, we suspect the influx of Hausa, Nupe and northern captives, from areas beyond Oyo, began to increase by the 1760s. This period in Oyo was the emra of Gaha's usurpation, and one of expansion. Gaha and Abiodun, who retook effective power as alafin of the kingdom, appear to have favored the sale of northern captives to the coast. According to Robin Law's masterful analysis of Oyo, extensive trade links to the Nupe and Hausaland were in place, including Yoruba traders from Oyo with a quarter in Kano during the 18th century. In exchange for horses, natron, cloths, and slaves, Oyo reexported goods acquired from the coast. Again, according to Law, by the 18th century, many Hausa slaves were imported, some of whom were resold at Porto Novo. 

The Prince of Katsina

One of the most interesting narratives, presented by its publisher as a "true story" of a West African Muslim prince enslaved in Jamaica, is The Prince of Kashna: A West Indian Story. While there is ambiguity about the factual basis for the story, Camille Lefebvre has suggested viewing it through the lens of a topos of West African Muslims and royalty enslaved in the Americas. In that regard, it is also interesting to note how some stories of real cases of West African Muslims literate in Arabic probably influenced the author, Jane McManus Storm Cazneau. We suspect she was influenced by stories of West African royalty enslaved in the West Indies and the US, and perhaps by fictional accounts such as Aphra Behn's famous Oroonoko: or, the Royal Slave.

However, we endeavored to determine to what extent, if any, the narrative could be based on a true story of a Muslim slave from Katsina who arrived in Jamaica in 1806. According to the early chapters of the text, Sidi Mahmadee, the titular prince, was born to Abdalah, the ruler of Katsina, and a woman taken as a captive from an unspecified northern location. Sidi Mahmadee, who lost his father and mother at a young age and left Katsina while still a youth, believed she may have been of Arab extraction. While possible, the straight-haired Mahmadee was too young when he left and may have misidentified his mother, who was possibly Fulani or from a Tuareg background. His father, the Katsina king, was later described as a descendant of the Prophet, Muhammad, and ruled a Katsina that included "pagans" as well as Muslims in his court. The only ruler of Katsina during the late 1790s and early 1800s who may correspond with this figure was Gozo, a Katsina sarki killed in c.1801 (assassinated, according to Yusuf Bala Usman). From the narrative, we learn that Sidi Mahmud was rather young when his parents were killed (in a raid on Katsina). He was taken in by an Islamic holyman and teacher, Hadji Ali, who raised the boy after his parents died. Meanwhile, the next king of Katsina, an uncle of Mahmadee named Taleb Ben Abu, reigned in Katsina but maintained his court in a separate place. If Gozo was succeeded by Bawa Dan Gima, a name which bears no resemblance to that given in this narrative, this is further evidence for the fabrication of the account. Indeed, Usman has argued that Bawa Dan Gima came from a distinct sub-lineage of the ruling house of Katsina, and was therefore unlikely to be a sibling of Gozo.

While it is possible that Mahmadee provided Arabic names or other regnal names for these figures, it seems unlikely that he was indeed from Katsina. He did correctly identify the presence of "fetishists" and Muslims in the pre-jihad Katsina court and noted the presence of Muslim scholars in the city, including the man who later adopted him, the lack of concordance with the established kings of Katsina during this period is telling. Intriguingly, however, Sidi Mahmadee's account includes a story of a white man with a red beard who visited Katsina and gave medicine to his adoptive father. This white man is said to have spoken the language of Mahmadee's mother when he came to Katsina, and was feared as a 'sorcerer' by locals. In fact, by using the white man's medicine, Mahmadee's adoptive father became suspect in the eyes of the community, prompting him to move back to his homeland somewhere to the west (we suspect he was a Fulani from a western territory). This tale of a strange white man's appearance in Katsina brings to mind the traveler Friederich Hornemann, who may have reached Katsina sometime in the early 1800s. However, since we know so little about Hornemann's time in Katsina, and it is possible the author of The Prince of Kashna had read his journal or descriptions of him, we cannot use this story to corroborate the existence of Mahmadee. 

Besides the aforementioned vague descriptions of Katsina, the rest of the narrative is rather light on Mahmadee's African background. To be sure, if someone was kidnapped and sold into slavery while still an adolescent, they may not have the most profound or descriptive memories of their homeland when writing about it decades later. Nonetheless, we learn from his narrative that his adoptive father taught him to read the Koran, which appears to have been the limit of his Islamic education. When they left Katsina, which was done clandestinely since Mahmadee's uncle wanted him to stay, they appear to have traveled west. Somewhere in or around the fictitious Kong mountains, Mahmadee was kidnapped and sold into slavery. After being exchanged multiple times, he reached the coast, where he and other Hausa captives were sold to Europeans. This is another vague point in the narrative, since Mahmadee mentioned that there were many Mandingo captives on the slave ship. This would suggest that he had been sold on the coast of the Senegambian region, yet he mentioned several other Hausa captives alongside himself. Other inconsistencies abound in the text, but it is highly likely that Mahmadee's account of his voyage on the slave ship, where he was the recipient of special treatment and even helped the slave traders defeat French pirates, is a work of fiction. 

Once in Jamaica, Mahmadee, after an unfortunate experience running away (only to be captured and returned by Maroons), experienced a remarkable series of fortunate luck. His master, Mr. Davis, and his family, are presented as rather benevolent and supportive of his interest in education. The novelist, or author of the narrative, wants to present Mahmadee as a grateful slave who, deprived of his original noble status, learns to appreciate superior Western education. Nonetheless, the fact that he was a Muslim and a prince in Katsina serves as an elevating factor, one that brings him closer to Western civilization despite ongoing Orientalist and racist narratives. The fact that the character often expresses dissatisfaction with African phenotypes and wishes to be white seems to reflect a white author's biases, although it is certainly possible that an African slave in 19th century Jamaica thought similarly. His willingness to obediently serve his white masters leads to him playing a key role in preventing a slave conspiracy from erupting into outright rebellion in Westmoreland. By the novel's conclusion, Mahmadee is an educated man studying medicine, French, and European literature, successful and civilized to the point of asking to wed a mixed-race ward of a "quadroon" from Saint Domingue. There are hints that he did eventually travel back to Africa, although certainly not as a Christian missionary eager to spread civilization and end slave trading in Katsina. 

After reading the text in toto, we are convinced that it is almost certainly a work of fiction. While the author may have been inspired by tales of West African Muslims in Jamaica, such as Abu Bakr al-Siddiq, who was of partial Hausa heritage (linked to Katsina through his mother's family), it appears that Jane Cazneau wrote a fictional account that, while still racist, stressed the ability of some Africans to become assimilated to Western civilization and uplifted. Nonetheless, the elevation of the black African must be achieved through white tutelage, and slavery in early 19th century Jamaica is depicted as largely benign. None of the white slaveholders in the novel appear to abuse their slaves, and the ones most cruel to Mahmadee are enslaved overseers, Maroon slave-catchers or, in one case, a mixed-race engineer. Anyone looking for a work of fiction that honestly portrays the realities of chattel slavery in 19th century Jamaica will be disappointed. Yet, despite the occasionally racist narrative and dishonest depiction of slavery, this tale of an exotic West African Muslim does emphasize the perfectibility of the African, mediated via European tutelage. Interestingly, Mahmadee refuses to relinquish his Islamic identity, which may symbolize the author's recognition of Islam as a "legitimate" religion that elevated part of Black Africa before the inevitable European colonialism. To ascertain whether the character of Mahmadee was entirely invented, we would like to check 19th century Jamaican records, but our preliminary search has not led to an identification of any character from the narrative with a real person. 

Kaarta

Enjoy an interesting lecture by Jody Benjamin on the history of Kaarta, an important Bamana state. We are more familiar with the history and oral traditions of nearby Segu, so this was a delight to listen to. 

An Overview of African "Nations" in the Jacmel Quarter, 1740s

We continued our readings of the notarized records from Jacmel for the 1740s, featuring the same notary from the 1730s, Delorme-de-Boissy. Alas, some years are not represented well and we found fewer detailed records or inventories involving at least 10 adult slaves to draw our data from. Several documents were much harder to read, too, either for being too faded or the ambiguous or uncertain writing of African "nations" of enslaved persons. Nonetheless, we found enough records to draw a sample of about 178 adult slaves, and thought it worthwhile to focus on the total number for the various "nations" in the area during this period. 

One can see immediately a major Ibo component persisted in the 1740s. From our sample, they were the largest single "nation" in the region. While some habitations and slaveholders held majorities of Mine or other "nations" as property, this Ibo preponderance seems to match other patterns for the South of Saint Domingue. Next, the Congo, were a mainstay among the "nations" of slaves. We assume part of their high numbers was related to the expansion of coffee, a sector in which planters are said to have favored "Congo" slaves. What surprised us, although it probably should not have, was the large Mine, or Mina, numbers. 

Overall, the majority of captives came from the Slave Coast, Bight of Biafra and West Central Africa. Or, in other words, the Lower Guinea and Central African numerical dominance was clear. The "Upper Guinea" captives, represented by the Bambara, Poulard, Senegalois, were rather diminished compared to the Igbo, Arada, and Congo, who together comprised more than half of our sample drawn from different slaveholders in the Jacmel quarter. This majority increases even more when other Central African and Lower Guinea groups are added to the totals. In addition, some of our large number of "Unknown" or illegible nations probably fell into the Lower Guinea cluster, pointing more towards the Slave Coast, Bight of Biafra and West Central Africa as the major supplier of captives. Again, several of the Creoles may have had parents from other regions, and the population of enslaved children born in the colony (which would have boosted the Creole total) may have had parents from Upper Guinea.