Arada and the Bight of Benin

The runaway Hippolyte appears to have been of Fon or Savalou extraction. As the region of "Savarou" was conquered by the Fon of Dahomey, perhaps Hippolyte's family came to the region during or after said conquest. 

Here we have a maroon of the Fond, or Fond, nation. His name, Ouata, is presumably a personal name used in Dahomey at this time (18th century). 

Another Fon, named Chofy, could be an instance of another Fon personal name from Dahomey.

A Barbare, or Bariba, named Huffo (Husso) could be an example of a Bariba personal name.

An Arada runaway named Boffou, or Bossou, a name that survives in Benin and in Haitian tradition. 

The case of the maroon Cesar, a Fon, is intriguing for its references to "Arada marks" on his face. If so, this is another example of how ambiguous or problematic the French colonial/slavery archive can be for determining origins. What does it mean for a Fon to have "Arada" marks?

Marguerite's case is mainly interesting for the reference to the Arada marks. She also was said to have spoken many languages, including French.

Another Arada Marguerite was said to have been raised in France.

The Arada, Agua, may have an African name.

Some "Arada" captives also spoke Portuguese. The unnamed maroon in the case above, spoke a little Portuguese. 

One "Arada" named Marie-Anne, was known as Guiaclain among the blacks. Was this her African name in Benin or Togo?

One runaway "Arada" was even named Dahomet, or Dahomey. Was he actually from the kingdom of Dahomey?

Sometimes the "Arada" could be mistaken for another "nation." Like the Taquoua, a group we believed to have been the Nupe. 

We also wonder about Couchy, an "Arada" fugitive. Couchy could be from the Ga language, where a king named Ayi Kushi is remembered.

The above case of Dahomet is interesting since he appears to have been of the Soso, or Susu, nation. If accurate, then the name Dahomet might have been applied to African captives in Saint Domingue who had no connection to Dahomey or the Bight of Benin. 

A Dahomet, or Dahomey, runaway was named Dossou. Dossou, a name remembered in Haitian tradition, is used for a child born after twins. 

Another runaway of the Dahomey nation was named Marionne. 

Gold Coast Nations and the "Mina" in Saint Domingue

  

We have been searching through runaway ads posted in Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines. A number of runaways were of the "Arada" or "Mina" nations, often vague terms referring to the Bight of Benin and Gold Coast as places where the captives were purchased and shipped across the Atlantic. We decided to share some of the ads for interesting cases of people from this broad region, particularly those with names, origins, or skills that shed light on the Gold Coast/Slave Coast in the 18th century. Like the above example, a Mina named Carabi. 

Another interesting case is a maroon named Codiot, perhaps the name Kwadwo used by Akan peoples. 

Another Akan name that appears among Africans of the "Mina" nation is Cofy, likely the Akan Koffi. 

Akan names like Coichy, probably Kwasi, can similarly be found among "Mina" Africans in colonial Haiti.

Apia, possibly the Akan name Appiah, was another Akan-derived name found among "Mina" blacks. 

An "Aguia" black named Couaminan might be a Kwamina, another Akan-derived name. 

Another Koffi, or Coffi, was a maroon of the Cramanti-Adia background. Cramanti was the Coromantee of the British West Indies, and Adia may be a reference to the Aja, or Adja, peoples.

An "Arada" named Kwaku from 1785. If "Arada" captives could have Akan-derived names, one wonders if this one was of Ewe origin.  

Sometimes, the "Mina" were listed as Amine. Here we have another Coffi, who apparently spoke the language of Curacao, Papiamento.

Another "Mine" was specified as a "Quimbou-Mine" in the colony. There is a street in Accra called Kinbu, perhaps "Quimbou" being a reference to an area of what is now Accra?

A Bandia African who was only in Saint Domingue for three months, was said to speak the "Mine" language. 

As if things weren't complicated enough, the Mallais, Malez, or Male nation were present in the colony. Since the word appears to be derived from the word for Muslims used in Allada and other parts of today's Benin, they were presumably Muslims or captives supplied by Muslim traders from the North. Since the French slave traders sometimes used the word Gold Coast for parts of the Slave Coast, it is probable that the latter coast was intended here. 

Yet another ambiguous case is Bayard, of the Otam nation. Since the "Gold Coast" in this context could have included parts of the Slave Coast, Otam might have nothing to do with Ghana.

Last, the case of Marie. Possibly Ibo or Cramanti, she was said to speak the two languages. If she was actually "Ibo" in origin, then one wonders if she learned the "Cramanti" language in West Africa or in Saint Domingue.

A History of West Central Africa to 1850

John K. Thornton's A History of West Central Africa to 1850 is a difficult but occasionally intriguing read. As an update of sorts to Vansina's dated Kingdoms of the Savanna, a work we have mostly read several years ago, much of Thornton's regional history was novel or at least a good refresher. Nonetheless, the same problems persist: absence of written sources, problematic traditions collected in the colonial era in a highly politicized context, and a focus on elites or noble lineages. The absence of written sources for much of Central Africa in the precolonial era and the lack of adequate archaeological research across the region means that much of our knowledge of various polities is stuck in a speculative stage. Hints and glimpses begin with the Portuguese arrival in West Central Africa in the 15th century, but detailed accounts only emerge much later. Even for Kongo, a kingdom whose local elites embraced to at least some extent Portuguese literacy, the surviving sources are usually from and by Europeans. But due to the Portuguese contact and trade with Kongo, Ndongo and Matamba, further inland polities became gradually known. This vast interior, including the area of the Lunda empire which became a major power by the 18th century, included a very important belt of textile production, widely traded and used as currencies in Angola. Much of the problematic oral traditions are contradictory, however, especially when one can compare documented traditions recorded at different moments in the past with later traditions. For instance, this becomes clear with the expansion of Lunda, as others, including some of Imbangala origin, began to claim connections with Lunda in their founding traditions. Lastly, the oral traditions are, unsurprisingly, mostly centered on royal genealogies and barely shed light on free peasants or slaves, groups who must have comprised the majority of the population. This is useful for historians, particularly when kings remembered in tradition can be identified in Portuguese or European sources, and can help establish a chronology. Thornton's study of the region often does this to aid in constructing a timeline for various polities in the region from c.1500 to 1850.

Despite our aforementioned problems with the study of the region, Thornton's study raises a number of questions on the nature of slavery, the slave trade, and cultural exchange within West Central Africa. The slave trade, which essentially financed Portuguese Angola's existence, was often fed by captives raided and captured by the Portuguese, Luso-Africans, and African soba allies. Yet demographics suggested by censuses suggest the colony may have been similar to other polities in the region: men were sold abroad, but women retained. The large-scale forced relocation of people to concentrate wealth by elites was another commonality that allowed kings (and Luso-Africans and Portuguese Angola) to expand their power and revenue bases. The gender imbalance in the population and the central role played by slaves as sources of production (in plantations and estates) and export commodities demonstrates how the slave trade in West Central Africa both adapted and changed the region's various polities. The other ongoing issue in many polities, of centralization versus federation-styled governments played out along this dynamic, as control of people and dependents, including slaves and forcibly relocated farmers, could lead to some rulers succeeding in centralizing their administrations. In other kingdoms, however, political fragmentation followed centralization, as the cases of Kongo, Soyo and even Loango illustrate. This could have tragic consequences when many of the victims of the various civil wars in fragmented states were shipped to the Americas. Indeed, the so-called Jaga and Imbangala bands who ravaged parts of the region appear to have perfectly exploited the sociopolitical conditions of West Central Africa as militarized societies practicing infanticide, ritual cannibalism, and widespread depredations. While some, like Kasanje, eventually formed a permanent state, the militarized bands capable of spreading terror, seizing captives, and selling them to the Portuguese, with whom they occasionally formed alliances with against other African societies, suggest insecurity was rampant. When one also considers the prevalence of burdensome taxation collected by officials in centralized states, the lot of the commoners in much of the area must have been perilous. Even in areas where descendants of relocated populations had at least some guarantee of not being sold abroad, illegal enslavement and sale of people occurred in Portuguese Angola, too.

The most interesting aspect of the book is the question of trade and influences between the Atlantic and Indian Ocean coasts. Lunda, whose rise is based partly on trans-African contacts between the coast due to Portuguese interests in both Mozambique and Angola, occupies a major role in this theme. Trade in textiles, copper, European and Indian commodities and slaves must have factors of consideration for Lunda and other African polities in the center of Central Africa. The inability of Portuguese attempts to reach Ethiopia via Kongo in the past due to a misunderstanding by the Portuguese on the extent of Central Africa did not deter their interests in trade with Lunda from both coasts. How exactly, and to what extent, polities like Lunda, its Kazembe, and other polities in the region interacted with the Indian Ocean coast is another question which deserves further exploration. In fact, particularly for the East African connections of West Central Africa before the rise of Lunda. 

Mondongue Runaways in Saint Domingue

Whilst reading John Thornton's history of West Central Africa, we have been revisiting the runaway advertisements in colonial Haiti for any and every allusion to Congos, Mondongues and other likely Central African captives. We have always believed the Mondongue to be a particular people or "nation" and not a category entirely concocted by slave traders and slaveholders in Saint-Domigue (and elsewhere in the Caribbean and Latin America). Since Oldendorp met "Mondongues" who told them they lived far away from the coast, spoke related languages, and were of 3 different groups, we hoped to find evidence of that in Saint Domingue's "Mondongue" Africans. Sadly, the runaway ads usually not too detailed about the African origins of captives in the colony. Sometimes, they weren't even sure who was a "Congo" or "Mondongue" among runaways.

Some of the runaway ads for Mondongues in the colony do refer to them by their native names. Thus, one, named Moyala, may be an instance of a Mondongue name. Comparing this name with personal names in Central Africa might reveal clues about the ethnic origins of the Mondongues.

Another Mondongue was named Petiton in his country. This name doesn't sound particularly Central African at all, although Goulau might be.

Gouala, or Favori, another Mondongue runaway, bears an African-sounding name. 

More ambiguity on the differences between Mondongues and Congos can be seen in the case of Azor. If he only spoke Congo, does this mean the Mondongue were speakers of Kikongo or a closely related language? 

Another Mondongue with an African name, Ougoulou dit Charlemagne, was "owned" by someone in Bainet. The name sounds African, but to what extent it could be matched with a particular area or language of Central Africa remains unknown. 

Nago (Yoruba) Legacy in Haiti

Milo Rigaud's La tradition voudoo et le voudoo haitien includes this beautiful veve for Ogou Batala.

The Yoruba legacy in Haiti survives in some rather influential ways. For instance, Haitian Rara music appears to be at least partly influenced by the Yoruba. According to J.B. Romain's Africanismes haïtiens, the word rara is likely derived from Yoruba. Although it is culturally a fusion of different elements, the use of a name derived from the Yoruba language attests to the presence of Yoruba speakers among the enslaved. In addition, the "Nago" are remembered and some of their orishas are honored in Haitian Vodou tradition. In fact, some Haitians still used the name Nago as a family name well into the 19th century. This important legacy suggests the Nago were remembered in Haitian tradition for far more than facial scarification on their cheeks or a penchant for stealing, as Malenfant described them in the 18th century. 

Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou includes many examples of songs alluding to the Nago spirits. 

In Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou (Rite Arada), numerous allusions to the Nago and Nago-derived lwa can be found. The Nago orishas are often subsumed in the category of Ogou (Ogun to the Yoruba), in various manifestations or forms. Thus, some, like Ogou Chango, are clearly a reference to Shango. Others, like Ogou Olicha, appears to be an allusion to a lwa whose name includes the word orisha. Considering the military leadership and skill needed for Haitian independence to materialize, one can imagine Ogou was a major lwa for many in Haiti.

Hector Hyppolite's Ogoun Chango.

Additional Ogous whose names refer to the Nago are Ogou Feraille, Batala (Obatala), Ogou Badagri, Olisha, and Ossange. Badagri, whose very name refers to the slave trade port of Badagry, is hardly a surprise as a Nago divinity. Batala is undoubtedly derived from Obatala of Yoruba tradition, while Ossange, a healer, is Osanyin. Unsurprisingly, the Nago appear to be associated with war, military prowess, and iron in Haitian tradition. Such a reputation can be seen in the role of Nago war leaders during the Haitian Revolution, such as Halaou and Gracia Lafortune. Yet Marcelin also reported that the Nago lwa Ogou Badagri was the father of the Haitian "mulatto." We are not sure if this association with "mulattoes" may be an allusion to mixed-race generals and military leaders during the Haitian Revolution. 

Thoughts on the Nago (Yoruba) in Saint Domingue

We have been revisiting the few sources on the Nago, or "Yoruba" captives in Saint Domingue. Runaway ads or notices in the colonial newspaper have severe limitations as sources, but they nonetheless provide some details about Africans of Yoruba extraction in the colony. For instance, Adidon, mentioned in the runaway ad above, appears to have a Yoruba name. Adidon could be the Yoruba term for sweatmeats and confectionery. 

Another interesting example from the corpus of runaway slave ads in Saint-Domingue is the case of the Bambara above who spoke Nago. Considering the distance between Yorubaland and the "Bambara" lands of Upper Guinea, one assumes this unnamed "Bambara" captive learned the "Nago" tongue in Saint Domingue. 

Also intriguing is the case of a Nago runaway in 1783 named Sola, also called Ambroise. Sola is likely the Yoruba name Ṣọlá. Although it has long been known that the Nago were from Yoruba-speaking backgrounds, it is still fascinating to see examples of names from that language among Africans in Saint Domingue.

We similarly found the case of a Nago runaway from 1777, Aboky, intriguing. The name Aboky could actually be related to the Hausa word, aboki, meaning friend. If so, one wonders if Aboky actually was Hausa or from the lands north of the Yoruba-speaking peoples. It also appears that most Hausa captives trafficked to Saint Domingue in the 18th century arrived via Slave Coast ports and likely passed through Oyo and other Yoruba-speaking communities before reaching the coast. Perhaps not unrelated, modern Nigerians in the south sometimes use the word aboki in a derogatory fashion when referring to northerners.

Yet another ambiguous case of a "Nago" is the Nago-Taqua, Hector. Taqua appears to have been one of the terms used for Nupe peoples in Saint-Domingue. Was Hector of mixed ethnicity, both Nupe and Yoruba? Or was he a Nupe person who had spent time in Yorubaland before being sold on the coast to Europeans?

Yet another runaway ad alluding to a Nago with what sounds like an African name is the case of Labidan. No obvious Yoruba name comes to mind with Labidan. In fact, there was a kingdom called Labidan on the Gold Coast, an area French slave traders sometimes extended to the Slave Coast.

Our final case of one of the interesting African maroons who was said to speak Nago despite hailing from another "nation" is Medor. Supposedly Ibo, he appears to have been owned by a Rossignol of the Gonaives area. Did he learn Nago in Saint Domingue?

Last, but certainly not least, visiting ANOM's digitized parish registries for Saint-Domingue reminded us of Julien Raimond. His African grandmother, who died in 1761, was of the Nago nation. It is somewhat unclear if her name was actually Marie or Catherine (or perhaps Marie Catherine?), but she married Raimond's grandfather, Francois Begasse, in 1706. To what extent, if any, she shaped the upbringing of her grandchildren is unknown, but her status and the growing wealth of her family in Bainet and Aquin may have made her one of the wealthiest African-born women in this part of Saint Domingue.

Daouada of the Fazzan

Daouada peoples of the Fazzan included in J. Despois's Géographie humaine. III in  Mémoires de la Mission scientifique du Fezzân.

One of the intriguing groups of the Fezzan region of Libya, said to be endogamous, are the Daouada. Described briefly in J. Despois's "human geography" of the region for the Mission scientifique du Fezzan project in the 1940s, they were said to live along the small lakes near the sandy dunes north of the Wadi al-Ajal. The group was also said to have worked the natron deposits. One of the specific areas said to have included Daouada residents, Brak ez Zaouiya, is in the Chati section of the Fazzan. Other settlements that included some Daouada were Tmessan, Edris, El Bouanis, Mandara, Gabr Oun,  and Trouna. Despois was careful to distinguish them from the descendants of slaves, suggesting this group was of distinct origin in the Fazzan and probably not of any "recent" slave origin. If so, one cannot help but wonder if they are the descendants of the "town" of Dawud mentioned by al-Idrisi in the 12th century. To al-Idrisi, who mistakenly wrote of Dawud as a "town" or city rather than an ethnic group spread out over a larger region, Dawud was south of Zawila. Clearly, al-Idrisi made some mistakes or misinterpreted his sources when writing about the Fezzan. Nonetheless, he contextualizes the people of Dawud with the pre-Islamic past of the region. According to him, the Dawud were the remnants of the pre-Islamic Fazzan population who did not flee when the Islamic conquests began. Is this possibly the origin of the contempt for the Daouada, their pagan ancestry? 

If the connection between the "Dawud" of al-Idrisi and the Daouada endogamous group of the colonial-era Fazzan is legitimate, then the Daouada may represent the autochthonous peoples who resisted the Islamic invasions and stayed in the land. Perhaps their ancestors were the Qazan, Fazzan, and Qaramatiyyun of early Islamic sources. Indeed, if the Daouada were actively involved in natron production and trade in medieval times, they may be the Qaramatiyyun mentioned by al-Muqaddasi who transacted with salt. Was their specialization in natron production part of the origin for the contempt in which they were held by later groups of the Fazzan? The problem with this narrative, however, is al-Idrisi's summary of the history of the region suggests Waddan was the political center rather than Garama. The earlier, 9th century description of the region by al-Ya'qubi, on the other hand, pointed to conflict between Waddan and the old Garamantian heartland. His sources indicated frequent conflict between the Mazata Berbers in Waddan against the people of the Fazzan, probably referring to the area around the Wadi al-Ajal. Perhaps this was another area in which al-Idrisi erred. 

Borno and the Fazzan

A plan of Murzuk in Jean Despois's Géographie humaine.

Whilst perusing various sources for our speculative thoughts on the Fazzan under Kanem's suzerainty or influence, we came across numerous references to Kanuri influences from the 16th-19th centuries. We shall outline them below, beginning with Kanuri place-names, political titles used by the Awlad Muhammad, and possible political legacies in the region. Again, this is somewhat speculative due to the paucity of detailed sources for much of this era, but we nonetheless believe the oral traditions and textual sources support it. Additional research is necessary, particularly revisiting written sources from the period of the Awlad Muhammad dynasty's period of power. Doing so may illuminate further aspects of the Awlad Muhammad as a "Sudanic" state in the middle of the Sahara. For similar reasons, a close examination of the history of Katsina and the Fazzan's ties to Hausaland should also be conducted, particularly due to Katsina's popularity as an area of refuge for the Awlad Muhammad sultans during moments of conflict with Tripoli. 

Let's begin with Kanuri toponyms in the Fazzan, Henri Duveyrier, traveling through the region in the 19th century, found Kanuri place-names in use in the southern Fazzan. As examples he gives the following: Ngouroutou, Karakoura, Kerekerimi, Kangaroua and various wells with Kanuri names in Traghen (279). Remember that Traghen is considered in Fazzan tradition to have been the capital of Fazzan during the period of Kanem's rule. In addition, Duveyrier mentions Barnawy cotton cultivated in the Fazzan, yet another aspect of cultural influence from the south. The famous tomb of the Idris b. Ali, who died in the Fazzan in 1696, is also well-remembered by residents of Traghen and venerated (Lange 156). Other parts of the southern Fazzan, unsurprisingly, have close ties to the Kanuri and Tubu. For instance, Lyon found Kanuri to be more widely spoken than Arabic in Gatrun (Lyon 224). Tegerry was similar (238). In addition, Murzuk, the capital of the Awlad Muhammad dynasty, had a dendal like Kanuri cities. Duveyrier was also told that the mode of the country was "black" under the Awlad Muhammad. Thus, the sultan had a black guard, Kanuri was spoken, and the city was very much shaped by the south (Duveyrier 280). According to Lethielleux, Murzuk even had a quarter along a street named after Kanem: Zenquet el-Kanmi (Lethielleux 19). 

Besides places with Kanuri-derived names, the Fazzan's Awlad Muhammad dynasty was at least partly influenced by the Sayfawa state in its administrative structure. According to Hornemann, this ruling dynasty used Kanuri-derived political titles like kaigama. Although the actual wielders of power in the state by the late 18th century were mamelukes of European descent and various black slaves, Hornemann's travels in the region reveal the dynasty's upper echelons included officials with names of Kanuri or Kanem-Borno origin (Hornemann 67). Something similar can be found in Agades, the Hausa states, Kotoko states, Bagirmi, and even as far as Darfur, where titles of Kanuri origin were found. Nonetheless, the Awlad Muhammad dynasty of the Fazzan may have adopted and adapted these titles through direct contact with Kanem-Borno, perhaps beginning with the local Banu Nasur dynasty installed by Kanem in the 13th century. In addition, the title of yerima was similarly used by the Awlad Muhammad dynasty according to documents translated by el-Hesnawi. Possible evidence of the creation of titled officials based on the cardinal directions may have also existed in the Fazzan. The main evidence for it, however, is the position of "Sultan of the East" at Traghen, a post held by the brother of the sultan. George Francis Lyon described this post as "Sultan el Shirghi" (Lyon 207). This may be an echo of an old titled official in Kanem-Borno under the Sayfawa, the mustrema.

One of the water sources of Traghen (also from Despois).

Besides influencing the administrative structure of the Awlad Muhammad rulers, the Kanuri influence may have even shaped the rise of the dynasty to power. According to problematic traditions collected by Despois in the 1940s, Murzuk rose to prominence from a gasr of the Banu Nasr, who were said to have been in conflict with the Banu Khorman (Despois 108). This suggests that the early rise to power of the Awlad Muhammad may have involved an alliance with pro-Nasur forces against the Khorman and Jahma, the latter an unknown group or faction vying for control of the region. An early alliance with a faction of Kanuri origin could elucidate the laying out of Murzuk with a dendal, adoption/adaptation of titles of Kanuri origin, and the close relationship the Awlad Muhammad had with Borno. In fact, such a notion was supported by oral traditions from Chati collected by Lethieullux, who was told the Awlad Muhammad received support from Borno (18). Local Fazzan forces of southern origins likely played a pivotal role in this process, too. Indeed, families with descent from the era of Kanem's suzerainty may have still been around at Traghen and other sites. The black Oualad Kassoun of Traghen, for example, were considered the most ancient lineage group there when Despois conducted his research (250). Lethiellux, on the other hand, reported a qabila Nessour family in the area of Wadi 'atba (18). Was this a branch of the Banu Nasur dynasty?

Of course, the Awlad Muhammad's own origins in the west as holy figures and sharifs placed them in a good position to be mediators for the restoration of peace in the Fazzan. Indeed, Despois found that many towns or settlements in the region included marabout lineages claiming origins in the west, often the area of Morocco or modern Mauritania. For instance, the Oulad Tameur (or Awlad Tamir) of Traghen, were said to be the descendants of a marabout who settled in the region by the 1400s, according to el-Hesnawi. The coming of prominent lineages of Islamic clerics and descendants of the Prophet attests to the region's importance for both the pilgrimage traffic to Mecca as well as its commercial importance. A close alliance with the Sayfawa to the south made perfect sense for securing the commercial and pilgrim routes. The fact that they were able to maintain stability and security for trade routes passing through this vital trans-Saharan artery, often against nomadic groups (Tubu, Arab, Tuareg) and intervention from Tripoli is a testament to their effectiveness as rulers.

Although later sources allude to Katsina and occasionally Agadez as frequent places of refuge for the Awlad Muhammad dynasty during its conflicts with the Pashalik of Tripoli, the relationship with Borno was undoubtedly maintained. Indeed, Lemaire, the French consul at Tripoli, was told by the Fazzan's sultan that Borno's mai was his cousin (Gray 384). A report by another Frenchman, with commentary by Lange, Petis de la Croix, believed that the Awlad Muhammad sultan paid tribute to both the mai of Borno and Tripoli (Lange 678). Moreover, in the late 16th century, Idris b. Ali of Borno attacked Brak (Burak) and requested the Ottomans cede a Fazzan fortress to him (Martin 24). In other words, the Sayfawa dynasty continued to intervene in the Fazzan and close economic ties necessitated Bornoan communication with the Awlad Muhammad rulers to the north. While those relations were occasionally strained and no marriage alliance or tributary relationship between the Fazzan and Borno has been found for the 1500s and 1600s, the evidence for an ongoing Kanuri influence is undeniable. Particularly strong in Murzuk, Traghen, Gatrun, and Tejeri, Borno continued to influence the Fazzan. A cultural influence may also be found in the use of ostrich eggs to ornament mosques and graves. In the Fazzan, Lyon noted its use for such reasons in cities like Waddan (Lyon 76). In Murzuk, Lyon similarly noticed the use of ostrich eggs to decorate mosques (99). In Borno, ostrich eggs were placed on the top of homes, although the use of it in the Fazzan may have deviated from Borno influences. 

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