Vodou's Transatlantic History

Although it took a while, we have finally finished A Transatlantic History of Haitian Vodou: Rasin Figuier, Rasin Bwa Kayiman, and the Rada and Gede Rites by Benjamin Hebblethwaite. An ambitious work, Hebblethwaite explores the African background of the Rada and Gede rites in Haitian Vodou. Using what he terms Vodou hermeneutics, Hebblethwaite draws from ethnomusicology, linguistics, history, and other fields to explore Vodun in Benin as a source (and foil) for Vodou in Saint Domingue (and Haiti). Although previous generations of Haitian ethnologists or foreign academics have explored the African background of Vodou, observable to some extent already in Duverneau Trouillot's ethnographic sketch, Hebblethwaite seeks to explore more seriously African history and religious cultures. This means that the book is structurally divided into two halves, focusing on Vodun in Benin and Vodou songs in Haiti read through the author's "Vodou hermeneutics.'

The first two chapters focus on the historical context of Vodun in Benin, particularly Allada, Hueda and Dahomey. This historical context is key for understanding what the author sees as royalist Vodun tied to the slave trading states of Dahomey, Allada and Vodou versus the communal or local Vodun cults or traditions of victims of the slave raids. Unsurprisingly, in Haiti, where many victims of these slave raids were eventually trafficked through the French slave traders on the Slave Coast, the more familial or communal aspects of Vodun were more relevant for the development of Vodou. That said, elements of Haitian Vodou retain, perhaps, memories of Agaja of Dahomey. But this intervention here is key for understanding why some African "traditional" religions in Saint Domingue were associated with rebellion, as dissident Vodun priests or groups were sometimes targeted by Dahomey for enslavement and export. Indeed, Hebblethwaite compares the royalist Vodun slave trading states like Dahomey to the royalist Catholic French slave traders and enslavers, with our ancestors as the victims of both. Of course, one could also explore why, if what became Vodou in Haiti was not marked by royalist sentiments, why is it that many of the hieratic titles used in Vodouist groups, rara bands or other manifestations of Haitian popular culture featured kings, queens, generals, and the like?

Overall, these two chapters on the politics and practice of Vodun in the Slave Coast are the richest chapters of the text. While one has some quibbles over the author's interpretation of Dahomey's origins and its relations with Allada, Hueda and other polities, he demonstrates how Vodun was inextricably tied to power and community (Law and other historians specializing in this region seem more skeptical or ambivalent on the traditions of Dahomey tying their royal dynasty to Allada, as well as other traditions of origin). This included slave raids, conquests, the incorporation of foreign Vodun into the expansionist Dahomey state, and the proliferation of Vodun cults through migration and refuge. In Saint Domingue, the victims of these processes who were sold to the French inherited these practices. As for why the Rada and Gede rites became so prominent in Sèvis Ginen, the structure of Vodun and its ability to incorporate new or "foreign" ideas and concepts provided a foundation for Vodou. This surely cannot be merely a result of the timing of the arrival of huge numbers of "Arada" captives in Saint Domingue (though it probably played a role). After all, if the timing of arrival was such a significant factor, why is it that the Senegambian and Upper Guinean African "nations" have less influence in the formation of Vodou? 

This is also relevant to the Central African influence, which the author admits has a huge legacy in Haitian Vodou. And while their numbers may have increased exponentially later in the 1700s, the impact of Kongo Catholicism and other religious traditions from West Central Africa must be considered as foundational to the development of Haitian religion. Indeed, even Allada, whose own history of relations with Portugal and Catholicism are worth exploring, may provide signs of Catholic influence in the formation of Vodou in the African past. We can only hope Hebblethwaite or other writers explore these dimensions of Haitian Vodou's transatlantic past.

The last two sections of the book shift to analysis of songs. The Rasin Figuier recordings are fascinating examples of not only retentions of Vodun spirits, Fon or Aja words, but reworkings of Aja-Fon concept and theology. The fourth chapter's analysis of songs from the Gede Rite, however, are less successful. Despite offering a persuasive case for a Gedevi or Gedevi-Yoruba origin for the rite, the historical Gedevi are less visible in the book's historical chapters. Although undoubtedly due to their conquest, absorption and sale to Europeans, the lack of clarity regarding these peoples hinders a deeper historical context for them. The Gede spirits are numerous in Haiti, and while they too reflect African origins, they appear very much Creolized with Miragoane being the source of some (according to Vodou myth). Despite their prominence and their irreverent allusions to sexuality, death, or taboo-busting possessions, the Gedevi connection appears elusive. It also didn't help that many of the Gede songs analyzed here, while lamenting or criticizing social inequality, remind one of the role of "signifying" and tricksters in African American culture. In short, it's less revolutionary or egalitarian than some would like to think...

In spite of the issues with the final two chapters, it is wise to see Hebblethwaite's Vodou Hermeneutics as an analytical tool for a work in progress. With so many rites and traditions of Haitian Vodou to explore, as well as the larger histories of West and Central Africa to help contextualize it, one can only hope the Nago, Kongo, and other rites receive their due for a more comprehensive study of Vodou. One should also extend the field of analysis to more sections of Haiti to see which areas have preserved or maintained some traditions rather than others, and what the impact of urbanization and migration was on those regions. As always, the analysis must include linguistics, African and Haitian history, religious studies, and other fields for an interdisciplinary approach.

Favorite Pictures from Montilus's Le vodou fon dans le Royaume d'Allada (Bas-Dahomey): ses images et ses symboles

 

Although the quality of the images and the binding of the book made it difficult to use or interpret all the photos in Le vodou fon dans le Royaume d'Allada (Bas-Dahomey): ses images et ses symboles, we had some favorites from the bunch. A very short book comprised of photographs by Montilus and short captions describing them, all centered on Fon Vodou in Allada, there are some striking images. Some depict animal sacrifice, temples, various types of priests or priestesses, hunsi and sacred drums, or people tied to the Allada court. Unsurprisingly, the priests affiliated with royal cults seem to have the finest and most elaborate styles of dress.

The "traditional king" of Allada even appears in one photo. Presumably this is a Adjahuto, descendants of a figure appointed by the king of Dahomey after the Dahomian conquest of Allada in the 1720s.

One photo that was partly cut off by the binding showed a vast crowed gathered for a prayer by a temple associated with the kings of Allada. 

Some of the photos of Vodou temples were grainy, but this one is quite clear. It appears to lack any figurative paintings but the different patterns on the exterior wall presumably have some meaning not explained by Montilus.

The dokpe of Allada are sort of our like cumbite but in the Fon context also involved in burials or funeral services.

A bokono is also included. In the Fon context, they are specialists in Fa or Ifa divination. We still consider it intriguing that this sense of the word has been lost in Haiti and boko became a term for sorcerers.

Unfortunately, Montilus did not provide much detail on the Allada king's traditional court and their role in the ancestral cults. 

Timeline of Allada Kingdom

The following are some general dates for the history of Allada, ending with its conquest by Dahomey in the 1720s. The dates are all drawn from Robin Law's The Kingdom of Allada and The Slave Coast of West Africa, 1550-1750: The Impact of the Atlantic Slave Trade on an African Society. Researching the history of Allada is quite difficult, although we have scarcely scratched the surface. Jacques Lombard and Robin Law are good to start with, but from consulting their sources and references to oral traditions, much of Allada's early history is difficult to reconstruct.

c. 1485: map of Pedro Reinel shows Allada

1540/1 (or 1551/52): Allada ambassador to Portugal, Dom Adȃo. Allada king interested in trade and Christianity

1539: Portuguese report on Benin mentions kingdom of Allada's ambassadors mistreated by the oba

1553: Portuguese attempt to trade at Popo

mid-1560s: appearance of "Arara" captives among African slaves in Peru

1570: Allada marked on Portuguese maps

1591: James Welsh destroyed a Portuguese ship anchored at Allada

1602: Account of Pieter de Marees published

1607: Portuguese source estimated value of trade at Allada as 800,000 reis

c.1610: Kokpon king of Allada (Lombard's reckoning)

1620: Report mentions Allada, as well as Benin, Ijebu, and Calabar as "friends" of Portugal. One or two ships were sent annually from Sao Tome to trade at Allada for slaves, yams, palm oil, ivory and cotton cloth.

1622: Dutch ship came to Allada, but didn't stay to trade.

1627: Alonso de Sandoval's work mentioning Allada traditions published

1639: Dutch West India Company establish a factory in Allada

1646/47: Dutch bring an Allada native to the Gold Coast to train as an interpreter. The man dies.

1647: Dutch WIC in negotiations with Allada king over his debts to the company

1653/54: English ship purchased 170 slaves at Allada

1657: Bans, or Vans, arrived in Cartagena as ambassador of the king of Allada, 

1658: Publication in Madrid of a catechism in the language of Allada

1659: One source claims Allada was subject to or a vassal of Benin

1659/60: WIC establish a lodge in Allada once again

1660/61: Capuchin mission to Allada

1663: English company, Company of the Royal Adventurers of England Trading into Africa, established a factory in Allada

1664: An English letter addressed to the king of Allada, but never arrives

1668: Publication of Dapper's account

1670: Allada sends Mateo Lopes to France as its ambassador

1671: French factory transferred from Offra to Whydah; Allada and Benin reportedly at war

1672: Publication of Joseph de Naxara work alluding to Allada

1679: Trade in Allada disrupted by war (possibly Offra rebellion)

1680: Contact between Allada and Gold Coast disrupted by "Lampi Black" bandits, led by Aban

1682: Report mentions imports of cloth in Ape from Benin (or Lagos area)

1688: One account claims Allada's rule extended further west, once encompassing Great and Little Popo and Whydah

1690s: Dutch account on Benin kingdom refers to use of Allada women to brew maize beer there

1692: Destruction of Offrah by Allada (through the use of foreign mercenaries)

1694: "King Tom" of Allada was exiled and living in Whydah, banished for alleged crimes

1698: Oyo war with Allada after subjects of the latter appealed to Oyo (due to misgovernment by viceroys of Allada)

1703: Dutch WIC moved factory to Whydah

1704: Publication of Bosman's work

1705: Allada trade embargo on Whydah 

1709: Allada blocked trade to Whydah

1714: Allada king tried to redirect slave trade through Jakin instead of Whydah

1715: Apa's ruler said to be too far to be compelled to obey Allada

1716: Report suggests Dahomey was former vassal of Allada

1717: Death of Allada king reported

1718: King of Allada forced an English captain to buy 20 slaves of his

1722: Hussar in alliance with Agaja of Dahomey; king of Allada, claiming the English were indebted to him, made Bulfinch Lambe a prisoner

1724: Dahomey's conquest of Allada; King Sozo said to have raised 50,000 troops to face Dahomey

1726: Hussah of Allada said in one source to have solicited the Oyo invasion of Dahomey in his bid to regain Allada

1730: Agaja of Dahomey settled in Allada, but at new site near Togudo

1743: Tegbesu moved Dahomey capital back to Abomey from Allada

Ouidah in Saint Domingue

One of the Slave Coast "nations" we missed earlier was the Foeda, or Fida. The name, according to Oldendorp, alluded to Ouidah, a major slave trade port in today's Benin.

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.

Sakara Music

Sakara music recorded in Benin in the 1950s. The singing is quite engaging while the insistent rhythm of the drums and the droning stringed-instrument or violin make this quite the alluring song. According to Wikipedia, this genre of music among the Yoruba has Islamic influences, and the goje instrument used in it has some resemblance to similar instruments among West African cultures of the Sahel.

An African Khipu System?

Reading about the khipu system of recording information in the Andean world reminded us of what was a similar way of using cords and knots to record numerical information in parts of precolonial West Africa. Unfortunately, finding details on the system used in what is now Benin, but previously the kingdom of Allada and parts of the Slave Coast in the 17th century, is difficult. The tradition appears to have largely disappeared, although the ambiguous references to it in precolonial European sources might also have picked up on the Yoruba aroko system of symbolic communication. However, the Yoruba system, which has survived in parts of rural Yorubaland, does not use, at least from the little we could uncover, or rely, on knots and cords to send messages. Instead, the system of knotted cords used in Allada was more akin to the khipu used in the Andes, particularly for accounts, keeping track of dates or time, and meetings. 

There are primarily 3 sources which mention the "khipu" of the kingdom of Allada. Two date from the 17th century (Barbot and the Sieur d'Elbée), while the 18th century journal of the Chevalier des Marchais appears to be largely derived from these 17th century sources). Indeed, the published journal of the Chevalier des Marchais even asserts that the fidalgos of Allada, who sometimes spoke Portuguese, also learned how to read and write in that tongue. While some may have been literate in Portuguese or European languages, the more detailed account from 1670 by Elbée suggests that the vast majority of people in Allada were illiterate, but cords with knots were used for recording (numerical?) information. That alphabetic literacy in precolonial Allada was likely minimal can be affirmed by other sources, too. For instance, the accounts of Allada from the Capuchin missionaries sent there in the mid-1600s mention the Allada king's opposition to the foundation of a Catholic-run school there. Indeed, the Allada king seemed to have little or no interest in spreading literacy to the ordinary people. If Elbée is to be relied upon, it seems very unclear or uncertain that most of the fidalgos of Allada were literate in Portuguese, either. 

So, what can one say about the "khipu" of Allada? Very little, sadly, without any ethnographic evidence on its use in more recent times or artifacts to examine. Since, as previously mentioned, the account from the Chevalier des Marchais is too brief, one must focus on Elbée and Barbot. The former specifies that the knots on cords had different meanings, such as the date for meetings and the price for merchandise. In fact, it is explicitly compared to the way knots on cords were used by various Amerindian peoples of the Americas. Barbot, on the other hand, places more emphasis on Allada "khipu" as comparable to pocket-books used by Europeans. Like Elbée, the Allada "khipu" are compared to those used by Amerindian people and he claimed they were used to observe time, places, numbers, and meetings. From the little one can gleam from these sources, the "khipu" of Allada were mainly numerical, with nothing akin to the narrative khipu used by the Incas or khipu for historiographical purposes. This is intriguing, since Allada and later Dahomey were powerful kingdoms which one might expect would need to develop further genres of "khipu" semiosis for recording detailed information.

For an example of how non-Andean South American groups used knots to record information, one can find references to groups from Venezuela and the Lesser Antilles. The Jesuit, Gumila, for instance, wrote about the use of cords with knots to send messages by indigenous groups living in the Orinoco Basin. Other Spanish and Dutch sources attest to the use of cords with knots to send messages between indigenous villages or communities for meetings. According to Rochefort, the Kalinago ("Island Caribs") used knots on cords to record the number of days leading up to a scheduled meeting. Outside of the Andes, none of these fleeting references to the use of knotted cords suggests more semiotic heterogeneity. Was the "khipu" of Allada similar to these? And why weren't "khipu" developed in Allada and the Slave Coast to record information for additional genres or types? 

One wonders if part of the reason may have been due to the use of Ifa divination (which required memorization of 256 binary signs), sculptures, and textiles for other types of information. Likewise, one wonders if the widespread influence of the Yoruba language and other Yoruba influences may have led to the adoption of a semiotic system akin to aroko by subjects of Allada and Dahomey. Evidence for this must be sought, but it certainly seems plausible. Alternatively, the example of the nearby Gold Coast provides similar use of symbolic communication through objects such as cowries, grass, beads, clay, and other materials to communicate messages, per Reindorf. Perhaps the "khipu" of Allada remained only in use for numerical data and record-keeping, with other means of conveying and recording information through oral tradition, art, or objects used in other domains.

Benin and the Europeans, 1485-1897

Ryder's Benin and the Europeans, 1485-1897 has been presented as one of the better texts to read for an understanding of the Kingdom of Benin based on written sources. Sadly, despite the long history of contact and trade with Europe (Portugal, England, Netherlands, France, Capuchin missions), Benin was never a major exporter of slaves and commerce with Europe appears to have been more peripheral to the kingdom's economy. Instead, unspecified links with the interior, including distant Nupe and Hausa centers to the north, were likely far more important. To make things even more complicated, Benin lost control of the lower river to the Warri kingdom's Itsekiri, relying on Ughoton as their major port of trade. However, large European ships could not sail that far, further complicating trade. Benin, consequently, had to rely on the Itsekiri and Ijo peoples to some extent for trade with Europeans. And due to the royal monopoly on ivory and attempts by the oba to control trade tightly, conflicts with the Dutch and other Europeans were frequent. 

Nonetheless, Ryder's study analyzes the surviving corpus of European sources to narrate the history of Benin's relations with the European powers active on the West African coast. Unfortunately, he was not successful at connecting the events and features in the European sources too strongly with the narratives and traditions of Benin based on oral sources and art history. Some critics of Ryder's study suggest he was too tentative here and, like them, we feel at times that we have very little idea what was going on in Benin internally. Some of the conflicts over trade, trade stoppages, and attempts by the oba to lower prices or attain access to firearms certainly can be linked to some degree with events in Benin known from tradition. The civil wars, for instance, or the period of 17th century weak rulers, can be glimpsed or inferred from the reports, journals and letters of Europeans stationed on the coast. Still, one feels like this book must be read in conjunction with Bradbury, Egharevba, and Connah's archaeological research to make sense of what was happening.

Intriguingly, Ryder's book alludes to some possible deeper ties Benin enjoyed with the Nupe, Idah, and perhaps Hausa networks of trade and circulation of goods. During the mid-17th century, when cloth exports of Benin became a major item of trade for resale on the West African coast, Ryder suggests that much of this product had to be acquired by Benin traders from interior parts of West Africa. Some may have been supplied from as far away as Nupeland, pointing to a trade link that connected Nupe production centers with the coast and European trade. Later, in c.1787, Ryder briefly discusses Landolphe's encounter with Muslims in Benin, said to have come from Oyo. While his description of them suggests a more northerly origin in the Hausa states or the Sahel, this brief description of them points to long-distance trade between Benin and northern Nigeria (and beyond). One wonders to what extent Benin's cloth, salt, ivory, and slave trading linked to as far away as Oyo and the northern of the Niger River. Indeed, Benin's interior trade must have been of enough importance for the kingdom's interests due to their often limited exchange with Europe. Of course, the European sources scarcely tough upon this theme, and perhaps one can understand the reluctance of Ryder to infer too much from these aforementioned sources.

Last, but certainly not least, the extensive documentation on Benin does point to the troubling issue of assumptions of immutable traditions. On a number of instances, Ryder cites sources which point to different traditions, greetings, and changing customs like human sacrifice. Allegedly not reported in the early Portuguese sources, human sacrifice rituals grew and decreased depending on circumstances. Due to the lower power of some obas in terms of political centralization and military authority, Ryder believes they endeavored to increase their status through the belief in their supernatural powers. Perhaps this was why some obas organized rituals featuring more sacrifices than others? Regardless, the documentation is enough to point out how tradition can change rather quickly, making it more problematic to assume too much continuity for any society based on traditional beliefs and practices. 

Dahomey and Its Neighbors

Akinjogbin's Dahomey and Its Neighbors, 1708-1818 is one of the classic studies of the kingdom of Dahomey during a pivotal century in its development. Although Akinjogbin's Ebi theory of Yoruba and Aja polities appears to be untenable, or at least lacking sufficient evidence to be demonstrated fully, the rise of Dahomey as a major power in the Slave Coast region is certainly a topic worthy of analysis. Akinjogbin, who misleadingly presents early Dahomey and Agaja as opponents of the slave trade, or at least its destructive impact on Aja polities like Allada and Whydah in the 17th century, posits that Dahomey achieved an administrative revolution by replacing the Ebi theory for a more centralized, absolute monarchy in which the monarchy endeavored to control the slave trade. Indeed, Dahomey no longer resembled the Yoruba and Aja states of old and was better able to survive the 19th century than Oyo because of it.

However, in terms of economics, Dahomey became wedded to the slave trade and compromised the state's health. Factors in Europe, for instance, or the shifting interests of Oyo in terms of providing the supply of captives for export at Whydah, posed a number of problems for 18th century Dahomey kings. Oyo, under Abiodun, emphasizing Porto Novo as its primary port on the Atlantic, for example, contributed to the economic woes and depression of Dahomey. Dahomey was also not always effective at promoting Whydah as the major port on the Slave Coast. Competition from Badagry, Porto Novo and other ports, combined with the inability of Dahomey to defend Whydah from the old Whydah forces threatened the security of the port and its ability to attract Europeans. Dahomey was also, at least during the reign of Agaja's son, not effective at slave raiding. In short, Dahomey had to rely on Oyo to supply captives for export through Whydah and it had to rely on the vicissitudes of European and Atlantic World commerce and slaving. Some rulers, however, were progressive and thought of other ideas and practices, or even reviving agriculture to promote Dahomey's economy and end the long-lasting depression that began in the 1760s. By then, it was too late as the dependence on the slave trade remained the only option for Dahomey to retain access to Europe.

Despite the economic failings of 18th century Dahomey, Akinjogbin presents Aganja, Tegbesu, Kpengla, and Agonglo as visionary, progressive, rational and skilled leaders and administrators. Indeed, the survival of the Dahomey state during this century is impressive when one considers the weakness of the state militarily or its internal conflicts. In that sense, Oyo's overlordship may have paradoxically created the conditions for Dahomey to consolidate its administrative and economic basis after Agaja's rapid conquests of Allada and Whydah. Oyo and the Europeans on the coast could cause problems, but having Oyo provide some degree of security for its vassals and supplying slaves for export at Whydah, Dahomey's port, created favorable conditions for Dahomey to reestablish itself on a firm footing after 1740. To what extent Dahomey truly achieved a "revolution" can only be answered with deeper knowedge of Allada, Whydah, and Oyo as states.

A Short History of Benin

Jacob Egharevba's A Short History of Benin is one of those classic texts on a well-known West African historical state. Egharevba's short account is mainly based on oral sources. Due to his family background and access to the royal court and keepers of the historical tradition, Egharevba's short history manages to cover over 700 years of history in 100 pages (fourth edition). While some may take issue with his attempt to read Oranmiyan as a historical king of Benin or perhaps even the historicity of the Ogiso kings who preceded the descendants of Oranmiyan, Egharevba's account supplies a number of important details on Benin from the 15th century until 1897. In fact, a number of details, anecdotes, and episodes of political conflict during the reigns of various obas points to the ongoing struggle between the obas and the Uzama, Iyase, and other sources of authority. 

Indeed, at different moments, Benin supposedly tried a republican form of government. Unpopular, greedy obas were also sometimes overthrown or challenged by its subjects. This long-running dynamic between royal authority and the kingmakers and chiefs could sometimes be won in the favor of the obas. However, even some of the most notable obas, like Ewuare, allegedly caused great misfortune during his mourning of the death of his two sons. Princes sometimes fought for the throne, showing another of instability in the political system (in spite of an oba enacting primogeniture as the rule of succession). Furthermore, the longer reigns of some obas also created problems if they were succeeded by old sons. These heirs to the throne may have been less effective at resisting the council of kingmakers and other chiefs. Perhaps the situation was analogous to the period of older alafins in Oyo appointed by the Oyo Mesi, an issue mentioned by Robin Law's analysis of that Yoruba kingdom.

Benin was also fascinating for its relations with Europe. Although Ryder should probably be read for a full account of that, Egharevba's account suggests local Christianity persisted in some form until the late 17th century. Indeed, he claims one oba and a number of princes were actually literate in Portuguese. Other obas took an interest in European technology, like telescopes. The full story of Benin's relations with the West are interesting, but it would have been interesting if Egharevba had been able to find more information about the local use of Portuguese for literacy and the manner in which the Ohensa administered the local Catholic churches. Additionally, though it would have been difficult when first published, it would have enriched the study if analysis of the famous Benin bronzes was attempted. According to Egharevba, the art of brass casting entered Benin from Ife and the pieces were part of the local method of recording history. A careful analysis of those artistic masterpieces, European textual sources, and Benin oral traditions, including those outside the royal court, would have led to a richer history of one of the major kingdoms of precolonial Nigeria. 

The Slave Coast

Robin Law's The Slave Coast of West Africa 1550–1750: The Impact of the Atlantic Slave Trade on an African Society offers a fascinating analysis of the Slave Coast during the era of a growing slave trade with Europe. Differing from scholars like Polanyi or Akinjogbin, Law focuses on the impact of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade as a stimulus to commercialization of the economy. The growth of European trade in the region appears to have fueled monetization and market forces through currencies (cowries), imported goods that reached local markets (not just elites or kings for redistribution), sources of iron and thread for smiths and weavers, foodstuffs trade (to provision slave ships), exports of textiles and akori beads for the Gold Coast, and the rise of mercenaries and soldiers for hire. While features of this commercial economy likely existed in the pre-Atlantic trade era, particularly the trade in salt from the coast or trade in textiles, beads, provisions, ivory, and slaves, the trade with Europeans fueled this process. 

In a sense, one could argue that the Atlantic trade did not hinder economic development of the Slave Coast. However, the unknown demographic impact and the necessity of violence to procure captives undoubtedly led to instability and conflict over access to European trade. This process, according to Law, favored the eventual emergence of a hinterland kingdom, Dahomey, as the dominant power due to its military ethos and ability to procure captives for the coastal ports. Dahomey, like Allada and Whydah, learned to combine a mixed position as middleman and supplier of captives yet ultimately failed to create a new kind of state or "revolution" in Slave Coast precolonial polities. Dahomey, despite some decline in the number of captives exported after the conquest of Whydah and Allada, eventually stabilized its exports and was certainly heavily influenced by the European trade. 

Indeed, besides being more autocratic and, eventually, integrating conquered peoples, Dahomey appears to have become rather similar to Allada and Whydah, the two earlier dominant states in the region. Allada, whose decline was already visible by the late 17th century, was once the paramount power in the region (despite also once being under the overlordship of Benin and Oyo). Like the future Dahomey, at least the Dahomey of Tegbesu, Allada and Whydah were ruled by kings who practiced some degree of ritual seclusion, patronized specific cults that were public festivals, engaged in trade with Europe, and competed with each other and subordinate coastal ports and regions for a share in the market of slaves. Women, unlike men, were favored for local slavery while occasional trade wars between Allada and Whydah destabilized both. The western Slave Coast was also impacted by Gold Coast refugees, mercenaries, and bandits who became an additional source of instability and conflict over control of the Slave Coast's lucrative trade. In fact, Dahomey inherited this as post-conquest Whydah rulers fled west for refuge and a branch of the Allada ruling family emerged in Porto Novo. The eastern portion of the Slave Coast increased in importance for the trade with Europe via towns like Badagry while Dahomey's rulers struggled to consolidate their hold over Allada and Whydah. Over time, the Dahomey kingdom seems to have created a provincial administration and endeavored to combine royal control and private share in the slave trade with a supplier and middleman role. 

Ultimately, despite acting as a stimulus to commercialization and economic exchange, the the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade's legacy in the Slave Coast appears to have created disastrous demographic impacts and a reliance on violence in one form or another to continue. Dahomey's catastrophic depopulation of Whydah, for instance, plus the raiding of various inland communities, must have, at best, neutralized the economic stimulation from trade with Europe. Nonetheless, history of Allada, Whydah and Dahomey during these pivotal centuries illustrates how the trans-Atlantic economic networks were deeply linked to interior African polities, such as Oyo. Through these links to Oyo and the Malais or Muslim traders active on the Slave Coast by the early 1700s, one can connect trans-Saharan, trans-Atlantic, and intra-West African trade networks that illustrate global connectivity. Through the trade of captives native to the Slave Coast, one can also detect their legacy in the Americas through religion, culture, and even, for a time, Allada textiles exported to Barbados. 

Kingdom of Allada

Although not part of the Sahel or "Sudanic" belt and not directly linked to Borno (though indirect links through Oyo and Hausaland were probably developed by the late 17th or early 18th century, the kingdom of Allada is an interesting polity to consider in the history of West African states. Robin Law's short history of the kingdom of Allada was a little disappointing. We were hoping for a study of the scope of his other monographs with rich analysis of the kingdom of Allada. Unfortunately, our existing sources are thinner than we realized, often mainly relevant to Allada's active involvement in slave trading and only hints at other aspects of the state's administrative, economic, political, social, or cultural dimensions. Furthermore, as Law convincingly demonstrates, the surviving oral traditions are often problematic and present a number of problems since they have lost the institutional framework of the old kingdom's court and the traditions of Allada and Dahomey have changed over time to express new or different genealogies, historical events, or composite characters. 

It is clear that Allada was probably the dominant kingdom of the Slave Coast (or at least a good chunk of it) but its own origins remain unclear (although it was in existence by the 16th century if not long before) and the exact nature of Allada's authority over its "fidalgos" and vassal provinces or territories is unknown. However, as Law suggests, there does seem to have been more than a little continuity in the court and structure of the state from Allada to Dahomey. That continuity plus the pieces of the puzzle Law endeavors to place in correct order with the aid of European contemporary sources and later traditions, provides the reader with some idea of the chronology of kings, the institutions of the kingdom, and the impact of slave trading on the kingdom's relations economy and foreign relations. Due to our unfamiliarity with the historiography of the Slave Coast, we were surprised how often Law disagreed or felt a need to add nuance to arguments by Akinjogbin, whose study of Dahomey seems to be quite seminal. We feel Law was probably correct about the qualifications he attached to Akinjogbin's interpretations of the impact of the slave trade as a factor in Allada's decline.

Unfortunately, this brief history is a bit too schematic and we wonder if more recent scholarship has uncovered new sources or attempted to integrate more fully studies on the 'Arada" or "Arara" in the Americas. There is a recently published study coauthored by Law on early Allada-Portugal relations, suggestive of important links between Christianity (or interest in it) as a way to strengthen Allada's economic ties to European traders. Perhaps the possible or alleged Christian presence in Allada could also be of interest, with at least one king being educated by the Portuguese in Sao Tome and Allada's ambassador to the court of Louis XIV being fluent in Portuguese and, at least nominally Christian. Who knows, maybe Latin Americanists and Caribbeanists examining so-called "Arada" or "Arara" captives in the Americas could potentially shed light on social, ethnic, religious, or political dynamics impacting Allada and its neighbors in the 1600s and 1700s. Law uses some of this material, particularly the work of Alonso de Sandoval but we are convinced more material might be available.