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. 

A Novel by a North African

Apuleius's The Golden Ass is a hilarious tale of a man transformed into a donkey. Written in the 100s, perhaps during the reign of Marcus Aurelius, the North African author combines comedy and moral education in a tale of magic. Lucius, the protagonist, and central character in novel loaded with inset stories, suffers from an unnatural interest in magic and sex, ultimately leading to his accidental transformation into an ass by Photis, his lover (and slave of Milo and Pamphile, the witch). P.G. Walsh's translation ably renders into the English language much of Apuleius's wicked humor and satire of social relations, the Roman Senate, "catamite" priests, and unfaithful servants. Walsh's translation does not "modernize" the text to make it too informal or contemporary, so it still almost reads like something a Latin-speaker wrote over 1800 years ago. 

Like other ancient "novels" of the Roman Empire, the narrative structure brings to mind Arabian Nights through its several stories of infidelity, disloyal slaves, sorcery, supernatural events, bandits, greedy estate-owners, and, in the tale of Cupid and Psyche, a fable with Platonist or philosophical implications. Cupid and Psyche's tale occupies a significant chunk of the text, suggesting its central importance to the religious and philosophical themes pertinent to the soul and love, humanity and the divine. Psyche's desire for connection, her curiosity, and her eventual reunion with Cupid (and the other gods) suggest a possible route for human connection to the higher powers. Like Lucius, Psyche's curiosity and need for companionship drive her toward peril, but humble service to the gods (even a human-like Venus, overwhelmed with envy for the unsurpassed beauty of Psyche) with acceptance of one's mistakes lead to her salvation. 

Like Heliodorus's Ethiopian Romance, the novel shifts its settings and deals with a variety of trials that Lucius must survive or escape, although there is no Charicleia or female figure he truly loves (Photis was only useful for her sexual services). The intervention of the gods and belief in divine providence abounds in both texts, although the two lovers in Heliodorus's romance are directly linked to two main deities of the Greek pantheon and lack any of the moral flaws of Lucius. Since Lucius is a flawed person with moral shortcomings, his character is more believable and compelling than the star-crossed lovers in the Greek romances. Of course, since Heliodorus and Apuleius were both familiar with the literary heritage of the Greek language, The Golden Ass shares much of the same mythological and literary allusions with the ancient Greek "novels."

 The final book, which tells of Lucius's initiation into the mysteries of Isis and Osiris, presents a shift in tone in the novel as it drops it satirical tone and seems to openly embrace worship of Isis and proper religious behavior. In its embrace of the mysteries and its description of various rituals, this must surely be the world's first occult novel. Like a fable, it calls upon the reader to pursue knowledge in the proper way and practice moderation in sex and curiosity. Lucius, educated though he was, had to endure harrowing experiences as a donkey before he could learn this essential lesson, and find a way out of he morally corrupt world he experienced first-hand as a beast of burden. Much of the details of Lucius's initiation is left unrevealed to the reader, but the novel purports to offer right living and service to the mystery cults as the path to knowledge and success. Instead of the avaricious estate-owners, unchaste wives, effeminate pseudo-priests, violent bandits, abusive centurions, or miserly wealthy who hoard their riches to no purpose, the cult of Isis offers a path away from these ethical dilemmas. 

As an influential text in the history of the Western canon, I could not help but wonder if this novel may have influenced Antoine Innocent's Mimola. The Haitian novel directly links the Vodou loas to the dieux lares of the ancient Mediterranean. Like Lucius, Mimola is afflicted by supernatural means, although in her case it has more to do with the family's rejection of the ancestral spirits. Like Lucius, Mimola and her mother must persevere over the course of a number of trials, culminating in their pilgrimage to Saut d'Eau. Again, like Lucius, Mimola is initiated as a priestess in Vodou and is freed from her affliction. Perhaps any and all similarities between the two novels end here, yet they share a critique of Christianity (the baker's adulterous wife is likely a Christian, while in the Haitian context nationalists of Innocent's era were critical of the Catholic Church's influence). Like Apuleius, Innocent sees the syncretism of "pagan" beliefs and their positive social impact as the basis for community, the city-state. I would like to further explore any possible links between Apuleius and Haitian authors in the future, particularly as it relates to the occult, initiation, and connaissance. Milo Rigaud's Jésus ou Legba? may be the best place to look, especially since Rigaud linked Vodou to ancient Egypt and Nubian religions, of which Isis was a major figure. 

King Solomon's Mines

Although Haggard was far from a great novelist, his King Solomon's Mines was published at the perfect time. The recent Western re-discovery of the ancient zimbabwe stone structures in southern Africa with concurrent racialized imperialist fantasies during an era of burgeoning British imperial expansion in southern Africa created a climate favorable for a popular romance eager to read stories of adventure in an unknown African interior. Adding an imperialist layer with the background of Solomon's legendary mines and legends of an ancient "white" race that erected fabulous ruins in the dark heart of Africa must have appealed to some British readers, who could see in themselves the rightful successors to the light-skinned invaders who once conquered the native population. There's even a thin layer of historical references to the Portuguese past presence in the region (the old Dom) and the return of a "white" race represented by the Anglo-Saxon. 

Haggard, however, awkwardly combines his racist fantasy with an admiration of the Zulu people, the model for the Kukuanas who ruled the area of King Solomon's Mines. Due to his own penchant for racialist theories of gallant Viking or Dane warriors and the type of masculinist culture of honor and military valor they supposedly represented, Haggard, or his narrator, Quartermain, seem to view the Zulu as a great native "race" of noble savages. However, as a savage "black" population, they are destined to fall under benevolent British rule. And if you think Haggard would actually go as far as including a consummated relationship between a black woman, Foulata (whose name might be a reference to the Fulani people of West Africa), and a white man, Good, you will be disappointed. Instead, black and white are never to cross. The races are presumably immutable and black and white too different, despite the expressed admiration of Haggard's three white protagonists for the Kukuanas. 

In his own way, Haggard seems to want the Kukuanas to be left alone, but surely the Anglo-Saxon "race" will extend their control over the noble Kukuana peoples. Quartermain, Henry and Good convince Umbopa to end some of the barbaric superstitions and violent traditions of the Kukuanas, and despite the Kukuana king's promise to resist any white encroachment, we all know what transpired in Rhodesia and the rest of the African continent. Quartermain and friends represent an earlier stage in the colonial relationship, one that sought to restrict execution without trial and eradicate the witch-hunting rituals. But like their Zulu model, the Kukuana will surely fall under direct British rule. 

Despite it's flaws in structure and prose, the novel must have been one of the influences on Pauline Hopkins. Hopkins, drawing from the Ethiopianist Christian tradition and focused on ancient Meroe, obviously held a differing view on race. In her novel, Reuel, the light-skinned African-American, returns and becomes king of an ancient, lost state modeled on Meroe and Biblical allusions. Unlike Umbopa, Haggard's noble savage, Hopkins endeavored to craft fully-fleshed out character, not just stereotypes. Moreover, the Ethiopianist and racial vindicationist tradition Hopkins drew from made Telassar an advanced civilization, not like the Kukuanas who merely inherited the chainmail and infrastructure left behind by an ancient white race. For Hopkins, Meroe and the idea of a Nubian origin of civilization was meant to inspire African Americans. So, Hopkins borrowed from the lost world type of literature Haggard excelled in to write a novel that would uplift black Americans and encourage them to see something positive in their African origin. The two authors perhaps share an uncomfortable emphasis on racial identity as a driving force to which all must ultimately embrace or suffer the consequences, although Reuel is of mixed-race ancestry. 

Heliodorus's Ethiopian Romance

Helidorus of Emesa's An Ethiopian Romance is an enthralling read from the ancient world. Telling the story of the "white" Ethiopian Charicleia and her love, Theagenes, a Greek, it features a series of ordeals and tribulations that finally culminates in their matrimonial union in Meroe, capital of the "Ethiopians" (in this case, really the Kushites or Nubians). Divine intervention and fate see to it that Theagenes and Charicleia's foreseen union comes to fruition. But along the way they survive pirates in the Mediterranean, bandits in the Nile Delta, and machinations of foes and others in Delphi, Memphis, and, most dramatically, in Meroe where Charicleia's royal parents reunite with their lost progeny. Much of the novel actually consists of various characters explaining their backgrounds in long dialogues. For instance, Calasiris, the Egyptian high priest of Memphis, tells Cnemnon of his past travels and travails in a long conversation inside the home of Nausicles, a Greek merchant of Naukratis.

The most intriguing aspect of this novel to this blog, however, is its possible influence on Pauline Hopkins and the hidden city of Telassar in Of One Blood. In Hopkins's novel, the descendants of Meroe have established a utopian hidden city, but one in which monotheism appears to be the dominant faith. Nonetheless, her utopian ancient black civilization must owe something to the fabulous and utopian "Ethiopia" of Helidorus. Indeed, there are even similarities between the main characters: Reuel and Charicleia both possess birthmarks that prove their royal heritage and rightful place on the throne. 

Moreover, like Reuel, Charicleia is also "fair-skinned" and "passing" as "white" to those around her. Yet each are bound by ancestry and destiny to return to Ethiopia, although divine providence in the imagination of Hopkins is decidedly Christian. Both Charicleia and Reuell are also endowed with special abilities or powers. The former possesses a gem that protects her from fire while Reuel's mastery of mesmerism and the occult allow him to "raise the dead" (something also accomplished by an Egyptian mother who uses sorcery to force her deceased son to speak). Perhaps even the "hoodoo" and Vodou elements in the Hopkins novel have their equivalent in the "science" of Calasiris and other Egyptian characters, as well as the constant presence of the deities in dreams, visitations, and temple offerings. 

In addition to the parallels between Reuel and Charicleia, the dichotomy of a wondrous, noble Ethiopia ruled by a benevolent king versus the tyranny of the Persian empire suggests another similarity between the novels: "Ethiopia" as a utopian alternative to the oppressive central power of the day. In Hopkins time, African Americans faced an oppressive empire in the form of US Jim Crow while Africa was carved into European colonies. "Ethiopia" as utopia is biblical prophecy in the Ethiopianism of Hopkins, but it also reaches back into pre-Christian Greek notions of Ethiopia as "blameless" or ideal. It's exotic, remote, attributed with the origins of the Nile and Egypt (Calasiris himself studied in Ethiopia), and led by a wise and judicious monarch.

The gymnosophists consulted by Hydaspes may have been inspired by India, but they bring to mind the council consulted by Reuel in Of One Blood, and through their wisdom human sacrifice in Meroe is terminated. In short, the rulers of Meroe are wise, generous, and the ideal leaders. Their Ethiopia is filled with emeralds, gold, African fauna, exotic spices, and access to the luxuries of India and Arabia. Even the Greeks must recognize this African civilization's grandeur as exoticism meets utopia in Helidorus's eyes. Hopkins was surely influenced by this perception of ancient Ethiopia and, reinterpreting it through the lens of African American Ethiopianist rhetoric, modernized it as a redemptive tale for Black America. Tellasar, with the return of its king, will become Ethiopia stretching her hands unto God.