Francisque dit Omore

We are always on the hunt for more information on Borno and its Diaspora across the world, especially before the 19th century. Whilst perusing digitized French National Archive records of the 18th century slave and free people of color population living in metropolitan France, we encountered Francisque dit Omore. He was, by 1777, a free man, married to a white laundress, and working as a domestic in Paris for the marquis de la Solard. Unfortunately, piecing together more of his life and origins in Borno is difficult. However, it is exceedingly likely that he was a victim of the trans-Saharan slave trade. However, unlike many black Africans trafficked to Tripoli, he did not end up shipped to the Levant or Turkey. Instead, he was sold or transported to Malta, where a Frenchman, Pons-François de Rosset de Fleury, purchased him. This European man brought him to France by 1757, where he continued to work for Fleury until his death in 1774. By 1777, it is clear that Francisque was a free man, married to a European woman, and could sign his name. Intriguingly, he chose to sign it as Omor instead of Francisque or Francois. If Omor was an attempt at writing his name in Borno, perhaps Umar, then he still preferred to identify by his original name despite 20 years of living in Europe as a baptized man.

Sadly, trying to uncover more of Francisque dit Omore's Bornoan origins will be very difficult. His age is difficult to establish with certainty. If he truly was 39 years old in 1777, then perhaps he was born in 1738. Alternatively, if he was registered in 1762 as "Francois" of "Borno" as a "lackey" and slave of Fleury, he may have been born in or around 1734. It is probable that he was indeed from Birni Gazargamo, Borno's vast capital city with an even vaster district that encompassed many settlements. Regardless of when in the 1730s he was born, Francisque dit Omore was lived through troubled times in Borno. According to Nur Alkali, a drought that lasted several years coveredthe period of 1738-1753. With drought came famine, including one remembered during the reign of Dunama Gana (r. 1744-1747). Moreover, the drought led to population shifts of nomadic populations like the Jetko, Tubu, Koyam, and Fulani. Undoubtedly, a period of continued drought, famine, and pressure on both nomadic and sedentary agriculturalists probably triggered conflicts, including some that led to slave raids and kidnappings. When one considers the signs of weakness in the face of Tuareg and other raiders or the eventual loss of Borno control of the salt trade at Bilma by 1759, it is perhaps understandable how Francisque dit Omore of Birni Gazargamo may have been captured or sold into slavery during such an unstable time.

The Goddess Isis

Although it has been a few years since we have read Apuleius, we found Religion for Breakfast's videon on the spread of the cult of Isis in the Roman Empire to be fascinating. And though not mentioned here, the cult of Isis was also important in Kush. To what extent was the cult of Isis and the glimpses of it available in Apuleius's novel representative for Isis worship in Kush or Meroe?

Nubia, Ethiopia, and Latin Europe

Nubia, Ethiopia, and the Crusading World, 1095-1402 by Adam Simmons is one of the more interesting new books on medieval Nubia. Focusing on Latin Christian engagement and knowledge of medieval Nubia (Ethiopia of Antiquity) during the Crusades, Simmons argues rather persuasively that it was first Dotawo (Nubia) instead of Ethiopia that occupied Latin Europe's interest. Indeed, it is probable that medieval Nubia was the first African Prester John and Nubian interactions with Latin Europe, imagined or real, appear to have been the basis of Muslim Egypt's fears of a Christian military alliance. 

Moreover, Simmons draws on a vast corpus of texts, including those of Latin Europe, the Islamic world, and Eastern Christianity, to support his contention of growing Latin European knowledge and interest in Nubia. It was only later, after the Solomonic dynasty appropriated the name Ethiopia and news of Amda Seyon's exploits reached Europe, that the Abyssinian Solomonic state began to attract significant European interest. In fact, according to Simmons, Solomonic Ethiopia even appropriated the Candaces of ancient Nubia into the story of their Biblical origins. Apocalyptic traditions from Eastern Christianity predicting the meeting of a Nubian (Ethiopian) king and a Roman king also fueled interest in Nubia that was later transferred to Solomonic Ethiopia. 

The main problem with the text is the paucity of Nubian and Ethiopian sources to tell their side of the story. Without a comparable rich corpus of texts in Old Nubian (or, perhaps, Syriac, Coptic and Greek) and Ge'ez, this study remains quite speculative on how Nubians, and later Solomonic Ethiopia, shaped the discourse on Christian Africa in Europe or the course of the Crusades. Suggestive encounters like Nubian pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela or interactions between the Europeans and Nubians in the Holy Land hint at possible deeper connections, but we are lacking so much information from the African side. Moreover, if we accept the quite plausible analysis of the author on a Nubian diplomatic mission to the papal court in the early 1300s, perhaps in the context of conflict for the throne of Dotawo among pro-Mamluk and anti-Mamluk contenders, we still have the interesting question of how Nubian envoys reached the Latin West. Were people in Medieval Nubia also traveling to the Mediterranean via ancient Saharan routes to the Northwest? Could Nubians have, via their interactions with western Sudanic states and the Maghreb, have endeavored to establish links to the Latin West? 

Furthermore, what was the response of powerful states like Kanem to these developments? Kanem in the late 1200s and for much of the 1300s faced a number of internal problems and succession crises, but could Kanem's alleged expansion to the far east, as far as the Nile, have occurred during the turbulent era of Mamluk-Dotawo relations in the late 1200s and early 1300s? Or was Ahmad b. Furtu exaggerating the past might and influence of the Sayfawa dynasty when he claimed their power was felt as far away as Nubia? One must recall al-Idrisi's mention of Nubian and Kanem spheres of influence in at least part of the vast region between the two kingdoms. Were there any tensions between them that may have also shaped the growing Latin European knowledge of Nubia and interest in alliances? 

Was there any impact of the Eastern Christian apocalyptic prophecies and Islamic hadiths on Ethiopia's threat to Islam that would have shaped the Sayfawa dynasty's presentation of itself as a defender of Islam? Were people from Kanem who had traveled to Egypt or Hafsid Tunis cognizant of burgeoning Frankish interest in Nubia and Abyssinia? The improvement of European cartography in the 1300s and 1400s suggests that European cartographers had informants from Kanem or who had at least traveled there. One must also remember the lodge for pilgrims and students in Cairo, funded by the kings of Kanem and established in the 1200s. Perhaps Kanem travelers and students were able to learn of Nubian-Latin Christian relations and Egyptian fears of the a Nubian-Franksh alliance. Despite our inability to answer any of these questions, Kanem's relations with Nubia is a fascinating one that would possibly connect events in the Chad basin with Dotawo for a more Sudanic-centered perspective on Nubian history. It could also lead to new questions about the Kanem-Tunis connections during the Crusading era and possible interactions with Latin Europe that overlapped with Nubian-Latin Christian relations.

A History of Libya

John Wright's revised and updated A History of Libya is a worthy and problematic introduction to Libyan history. Any attempt to encompass over 2000 years of history in a short book is doomed, so it mostly covers the 20th century and the Gadafi (Gaddafi) regime. Wright, though revising and updating this general history to include the fall of Gaddafi during the Arab Spring, retained a number of perhaps outdated or incorrect assertions. For example, Wright must have written the initial form of this book in an era when proponents of large-scale trans-Saharan trade in Antiquity were more influential. Wright also misidentifies Dunama of the Sayfawa dynasty as a Borno king even though Kanem was still the core province. Sometimes Wright's characterization of Libya's dependence on oil seems a little unfair, particularly for repeatedly referring to its oil wealth as unearned even though Libya was just exploiting a valuable resource. Of course, historians or scholars today in 2022 would also have more sources to piece together the tumultuous final days of Gaddafi and the continual unrest in Libya today. Perhaps with the benefit of hindsight, we know the consequences of NATO intervention in the Libyan civil war eventually contributed to the multifaceted crises in that country and the plight of migrants in the Mediterranean. 

Despite our quibbles with Wright's general history, it perfectly demonstrates a number of interesting points pertinent to our interests in Kanem-Borno and trans-Saharan contacts between Tripoli and the Chad Basin. Wright begins with the prehistoric Sahara, Phoenician settlements, Greeks in Cyrenaica, the Garamantes, and the expanding Roman Empire. While this is not directly relevant to Kanem-Borno, the early appearance of the Garamantes and Tripolitania's position between the Sahara and the Mediterranean illustrates the significance of Libya: a bridge between the Mediterranean and the vast African interior. Obviously the scale and value of trans-Saharan trade and contacts between the Mediterranean coast of Libya and sub-Saharan Africa increased after the Arab conquests. And Tripolitania under Roman rule appears to have been far more self-sufficient agriculturally, exporting to Rome a surplus. So, Tripoli after the Arab conquest, especially after the Banu Hilal migrations, became less successful in terms of its agrarian economy and increasingly reliant on its corsair activity in the Mediterranean as well as trans-Saharan slave trading. Even if this activity was parasitic, as suggested by Wright, it supports an assertion by Dewiere that Tripoli relied more on the trans-Saharan trade than Borno. Consequently, the trans-Saharan factor in Libyan history is a huge one that developed over time since the Garamantes of the Fezzan, a merging of Mediterranean and African networks that benefitted Libya.

However, most of Wright's book is actually on 20th century Libya. The decades-long Italian conquest, not truly accomplished until Fascist Italy completed the process in the 1930s, represents an interesting convergence of fascism and colonialism. Drawing on the past of the Roman Empire in Tripolitania, Mussolini's Italy actually invested far more in Libya than they took out it. Their vision of the "Fourth Shore" as a settler colony for peasant farmers of Italy was disrupted by World War II. Libya in the postwar years became a Sanussi kingdom which, through oil, became less dependent on aid or leasing military bases to Britain and the US. With the arrival of Gaddafi, an extremely long dictatorship would usher in various failed political, social and economic reforms with the use of oil revenue. Sanctions, tensions with the West, and failed pan-Arabism eventually led Gaddafi to a rapprochement with the Western powers before his ignominious fall. Throughout its rocky years as an independent state, Libya remained a nation in spite of the strong regional cleavages and other differences within its population. The Fezzan, Cyrenaica, and Tripolitania might as well have been separate nations. 

Intriguingly, Gaddafi's attempts to turn himself into a pan-Africanist hero and expand Libyan influence in sub-Saharan Africa represented a modern version of Libya's historic role as the crossroads of Africa and Europe. While undoubtedly opportunistic and a failure in the despot's war with Chad, it is remarkable that Gaddafi's African "turn" developed in a context where Libya was far less connected to sub-Saharan Africa than it once was. Over the course of the several millennia of known Libyan history, the link to Saharan and sub-Saharan Africa has always been a factor whose magnitude has varied across time. One region of modern Libya, the Fezzan, may been seen as "Sudanic" during some phases in its history. In that regard, the history of this North African nation is indicative of how closely entwined the worlds of Africa and Europe have been since the Roman Empire, even if its legacy has not always been for the best.

"Blackness" in Early Christianity

We perused Gay L. Byron's Symbolic Blackness and Ethnic Difference in Early Christian Literature. The book was too short to properly address some of the deeper questions of race and 'blackness' in early Christian discourse. However, Byron's strength lies in challenging some of the previous assertions about notable cases of 'blacks' in patristic writings, exegesis, Biblical passions and commentary, and monastic writings based on the desert fathers of  Egypt. Any discussion of early Christianity and "blackness" raises a number of interesting questions about the history of the religion, its relation to the Roman Empire, Antiquity, and, hopefully, the actual "black" Christians in northeast Africa (Nubia, Aksum) or beyond. The implications of this will reverberate in more recent centuries of evangelization and conversion in Africa 

First, one must ascertain whether one agrees with the collective 'black' group of Egypt and Ethiopia for analyzing the discourse on race, color, and ethnic difference in ethno-political rhetoric of early Christianity. Some, for instance, might take issue with Byron's inclusion of Egyptians as 'black.' One can see see why one would, particularly given a later chapter's focus on how monastic communities in Roman Egypt distanced themselves from "Ethiopians" (Ethiopians in this context refers to dark-skinned people from Africa, not necessarily modern Ethiopia). However, if one remembers that blackness can be broad and reads the Greco-Roman and Christian sources, one could find numerous examples of pre-Christian Greco-Roman literature and Christian writings that refer to Egyptians as "blacks" or associate them (alongside Ethiopians) with ethno-political rhetoric that clearly lumps them as a collective 'black group.' In that sense, I concur with Byron including Egypt as part of this trend in Greco-Roman literature around the Mediterranean, because we have examples from Herodotus, Aristotle, a plethora of Greco-Roman writers, Greek Alexandrians, and Christian references that clearly distinguish Egyptians from a presumably 'white' or intermediary color non-Egyptian peoples of the circum-Mediterranean used to refer to themselves (if Suetonius can compare Egyptians and Ethiopians to demons and emblems of darkness, clearly both groups were perceived as 'black' to some degree).

Upon establishing the veracity of Byron's categorizations, one can assess the remainder of her claims. She is certainly well-read in the necessary secondary sources on Greco-Roman and Christian views of blackness in Late Antiquity (she's clearly read Thompson, Brakke, Snowden, and a myriad of other classicists and specialists). Undoubtedly, negative views of blackness in the Greco-Roman world proliferated throughout the Mediterranean and shaped how Christian and Jewish communities perceived dark-skinned people, too. Indeed, as Thompson and others have established, Greco-Roman views of "blacks" (be they Egyptian, Ethiopian, or black, melas) as representatives of the extreme ends of the earth, blackness equated with immorality, lust, and evil, or ugliness and the use of color symbolism to associate blackness with moral inferiority, criminality, unpleasant odors, and other stereotypes influenced patristic literature and Christian thought. Indeed, as Byron intriguingly demonstrates, native Egyptians in Roman Egypt were marginalized, excluded from Roman citizenship, and elite Jews, Romans, and Greeks living in Alexandria all adopted a condescending and superior attitude to Egyptians. Furthermore, Egyptians were equated with geographical extremity, mythic idealization, described as dark-skinned or black, and equated with evil, heresy, and sin by Jewish and early Christian communities. These numerous parallels with pejorative and negative views of Ethiopians by Greco-Roman figures from Juvenal to the Church Fathers with views of Egyptians certainly helps make the case for viewing them as a whole rather than separate groups in relation to lighter-skinned Greeks, Romans, and Near Eastern populations.

Let's look at Byron's take on some examples of Christian adoption and adaptation of broader Roman views of blackness and how that shaped Christianity. For instance, the use of blackness, Ethiopians, and Egyptians as polemical devices in the work of Tertullian, who used the notion of Egypt and Ethiopia as sinful lands to discourage Christians from attending spectacles (or other events popular among pagans in the Roman Empire). Writers such as Jerome refer to Ethiopians as 'blackened' by their sins while Origen looks at the black bride in Song of Songs as a metaphor for the Gentile Church, which, becomes beautiful and white through conversion and baptism. So ethno-political rhetoric of Christian authors could reflect poorly on blacks as sinful, heretics such as the Arianist or Nestorian 'heresies,' and lustful as in the stories of Egyptian monastic communities and their fear of Ethiopian demons symbolizing lust and temptation. Or "blacks" could be used (Egyptians, Ethiopians, and blackness) to express the inclusive, universal extent of Christian salvation (such as in the works of Augustine, Origen, or even the stories of Moses the Black in Upper Egyptian monastic communities). This is not too surprising, and something observable in non-Christian Greco-Roman literature (Pliny and a few others write positively of blacks, despite the difference in what Thompson refers to as black deviance from the somatic norm of the Roman world).

Where it differs, however, is in how Christianity was, by its very nature, inevitably tied to the idea of universal salvation through the proselytizing efforts of early Christians such as Paul. Blacks could assimilate in the Roman world (such as, perhaps, the writer, Terence, of Carthage), just as in Christianity ('blacks' in Egyptian monasteries or Egyptian Christians themselves were proof of black inclusion, as were the tales of the Ethiopian eunuch from Acts 8:26). Christianity's radical equalizing message about the disappearance of status, ethnic difference, and slave or free in the eyes of God, however, was a far more egalitarian message than anything found among the pagan elite of the Roman Empire. If differences such as Gentile or Jew, Scythian or barbarian, slave or free, ultimately did not matter before Christ, Christianity offered a far more fulfilling and welcoming space for ethnic difference than it is given credit for. Of course, rhetoric is different from reality, and clearly social divisions within Christian communities based on ethnic difference, class, and status shaped the evolution of the faith (and it's numerous heresies, divisive church councils, etc.), as one would expect. But the promise of universalism and Christian redemption meant even the blackest of Ethiopians could be washed 'white' or have a 'white soul' if they accept Christianity.

Thus, despite some ugly color symbolism and discomforting ethno-political rhetoric, it is known for certain that some Christian writers did not mean literal 'black' populations when using Ethiopians, Egyptians, and blackness as metaphors for sinfulness, lust, or demons. It nevertheless can be used to suggest blackness is demonic or aesthetically inferior, but as Origen's commentary on the black bride shows, Christianity was 'black' in its early years but purified and washed white by orthodox, non-heretical practices and inclusiveness. If even the blackest Ethiopians and whitest Scythians were eligible for redemption, then all corners of the oikumene and everything in between are welcomed to Christian fraternity. Now, what we wish Byron had demonstrated in these chapters is a dedication to unveiling the etymology of blackness as a sign of moral shortcomings and evil in the Christian context. Did this just arise from Zoroastrianism and previous religions, or perhaps something embedded in ancient religious thought (an association of blackness with evil, moral darkness, and ugliness?). Of course, we know that in ancient Egypt blackness was associated with fertility and divinity, but how did the predominantly "anti-black" view of darkness spread in the Roman world?

We also believe Byron's work was weakened by a lack of attention to the question of Egyptian perceptions of their southern neighbors during the Christian era. Or a better answer as to the composition of many of the monastic communities of Egypt (where these 'desert fathers' fostered the model for Christian monasticism that would later spread to the 'West') instead of saying some were lowly Copts at the bottom of Egyptian society whereas others were Hellenized elites. The cosmopolitan, unstable, and multiethnic Upper Egypt-Nubia border deserves a more detailed description and overview to properly place Egyptian views of 'blackness' in Late Antiquity in the proper context. Byron is probably right that the violent raids and burglaries committed by invading Blemmyes and other 'black' peoples ransacking Upper Egypt in the late Roman period shaped the later recordings of stories attributed to monks of facing temptation and danger from "Ethiopian demons." What was the 'racial climate' of Roman Egypt during this period of Blemmyes' and Nubian military threat? Clearly the situation on the ground was more complex as some Nubians continued to worship the old gods like Isis at the temple at Philae, while others would adopt Christianity or even join the monks! How can one accurately describe Egyptians using ethno-political rhetoric in Christian writings against other dark-skinned people? Was this an instance of "defensive othering" on the part of Egyptians? Of course, the question of malodorous black women tempting Egyptian monks speaks more to their attraction to black women (though women were rare and all generalized as the embodiment of physical pleasure and lust by monks), but the question of gender dynamics and self-denigration of blacks to be fully incorporated (Moses the Black was taunted, insulted, and mocked for the color of his skin to test virtues of a monk, such as apathy and patience), suggests pejorative connotations of "blackness" in society. Stories of Anthony and Moses the Black were not recorded until decades or centuries after the historical figures lived, but it provides some insight onto how ethno-political discourse used the political and social realities of the day to frame "blackness" in Christian Egypt. 

Overall, Byron's text is thought-provoking and a worthwhile read, but too brief. It avoids answering some larger questions. Byron had no interest in psychoanalysis of some of these patristic writers or other classical sources, but more inclusion of psychoanalysis and theories of race or ethnic difference would have added more nuance to the discussion. A fuller discussion of 'race' in the Nile Valley, specifically mention of Nubian Christianity, and Aksumite conversion to the faith would have some important implications for the theory of ethnopolitical rhetorical discourse and "blackness" in a Late Antique and "medieval" context. That is the next frontier, a fuller and more integrative look at African Christianity in Nubia, and Ethiopia, which could shed light on how those territories embraced, adapted, adopted, or rejected the symbolic "blackness" of early Christianity. Another question, how pervasive were elite Roman and Greek views of 'blackness' in Egypt then? Was there a trickle down effect of certain color symbolism and stereotypes ideologically throughout the expanding Christian world?

Black Folk Here and There

St. Clair Drake's 2 volume essay in history and anthropology, Black Folk Here and There, inspired by a similarly titled book by W.E.B. DuBois, is an exploration of the presence of "Negro" or "Black" people throughout recorded history, ending with the rise of anti-black prejudice. He explores the role and presence of "Black" people in ancient Egypt, the Greco-Roman world, early Christianity, and the Islamic world, searching for evidence of anti-black bias or racist views in each of these periods in world history. The founder of Stanford's African-American Studies department, and well-known for his sociological work in Black Metropolis, an analysis of Chicago's African-American population in the 1940s, Drake is well-suited to vindicate the legacy of "Black" Africans prior to the Atlantic slave trade, spending most of the first volume providing evidence of "Negro" Egyptian dynasts and contributions to the development of Egyptian civilization through documentary, artistic, and other evidence. 

Thus, Drake's first volume, concluding with the rise of Roman-dominated Egypt, rightfully challenges the approach of most Egyptologists and historians who render all "Negroes" into slaves and laborers for "whites" in the ancient Nile Valley and Mediterranean. However, unlike extreme Afrocentrists, Drake avoids making irrational claims and attempts to "blacken" everybody in ancient Egypt or the Near East. A weakness of his study also lies in the evidence from statuary and art, since color symbolism and ancient Egyptian tendency to represent the human form unrealistically makes it difficult to say or claim this or that figure, pharaoh, or god is "black" or "white." But in some cases it is uncontroversial (I am sure many readers would take qualm with his claims for "Black" Amarna pharaohs, best represented by Akhenaten) or very likely that some of the Early Dynastic, Old Kingdom, Middle Kingdom, New Kingdom rulers were "black" or had the somatic norm of "black Africans." Moreover, Drake uncovers no evidence of racial bias against "Nubians" or Kushites during periods of Egyptian imperialism in the Upper Nile, not even when, under Hellenic and Roman domination, when southerners, Egyptians, and Greco-Romans alike worshipped Isis at Philae, for instance.

The second volume of Drake's major publication covers ancient Jewish perceptions of Blackness, in the Old Testament and Talmud, as well as Early Christian, Islamic, and, ending with Iberia and the New World in the 15th and 16th centuries, signs of anti-black racism. He does not uncover signs of Jewish prejudice until the Talmud, which he attributes to Jews who, during the Babylonian Captivity, encountered enslaved East Africans and then added theories of the "curse of Ham" and black inferiority into their commentaries on the Torah. It is an interesting theory, but Drake does not provide evidence for trade linking Mesopotamia in this period with the East African coast, although it would help explain the sudden anti-black views of some Jewish religious leaders when, in the past, Moses was described as marrying a black woman and the kingdom of Judah was allied with the Egyptian-Kushite empire under Taharqa against the Assyrian empire. He also discusses the color symbolism of early Christianity, in which blackness of skin was equated with sin and Christian conversion as a way of "washing the Ethiopian white," something he associates with Manichean dualism of black/white color symbolism from ancient Persia, where darkness was seen as evil and white/lightness as good. Although his conclusions, somewhat similar to Snowden's work on the image of the 'black' in the Greco-Roman and early Christian Mediterranean are interesting, they're far from the highlight of the of book, which is strongest in its treatment of Nile Valley societies and race. He also challenges some of the then-dominant theories of racism and the origins of it, stating that color prejudice and anti-black views were not endemic in the ancient Nile Valley or during Antiquity.

His work also stands as a powerful rebuttal of Malvern Wan Wyk Smith's interesting but highly flawed monograph, The First Ethiopians: The Image of Africa and Africans in the Early Mediterranean World, claiming Ancient Egypt as the source for Western anti-black prejudice with very little evidence and a resurrection of outdated African racial types, such as Khoisanoid, to distinguish early Nile Valley populations from "Negroids." Furthermore, he relies on imagery of conquered Kushites and other nehesy, or southerners, in ancient Egyptian iconography as evidence for an aversion or disdain for "Negroid" Black features without any documentary evidence disparaging their facial features or showing signs of race or color prejudice. Moreover, his sources that actually do indicate denigration of dark-skinned people, come thousands of years later, under Hellenic, Roman and Christian periods. But I digress, Drake's tome, though published in the 1980s, does a much better job at describing 'race relations' in this age before race, avoiding the extreme Afrocentrism of other authors.

Tripoli Between the Two Seas

Jean-Claude Zelter's  Tripoli, carrefour de l'Europe et des pays du Tchad, 1500-1795 is one of those studies of Tripoli that we believed was necessary to understand the North African side of Kanem-Borno's trans-Saharan trade. Due to Zeltner's specialization in the Chadian past and research in Kanem and among the Awlad Sulayman Arabs, we hoped his history of Tripoli would integrate the histories of Tripolitania and the Central Sudan. Unfortunately, a deeper integration of the two remains to be written but this is an interesting start. Indeed, Zeltner fits the history of Tripoli in both a Mediterranean and trans-Saharan context. Indeed, without Europe, the Chad Basin and the bridges of the Mediterranean and Sahara, Tripoli was economically marginal. This indicates how a major North African port relied so heavily on the African interior and Europe and the economic integration of Africa and Europe (and the Levant). 

Outside of corsair activity targeting European ships and enslaving the victims, the trade in slaves and other "goods" acquired the trans-Saharan trade was the main source of revenue for the rulers (beys and pashas) of Tripoli from c.1500-1795. Moreover, as Zeltner takes great pains to indicate, most of the goods traded further south to Borno or sub-Saharan Africa via Tripoli came from Europe, especially Italy and even France. Thus, the trans-Saharan trade of the Central Sudan was directly linked to Mediterranean and European economies. Zeltner seems to have believed that had the Holy Roman Empire under Charles V or another European power had permanently established control of Tripoli and the Barbary coast, European trade with the African interior through the Sahara could have developed fully without the constant attacks of pirates or, in the case of Tripoli, frequent revolutions and unseating of pashas. But that's neither here nor there. Perhaps it is best to see Zeltner's overview of Tripoli's history in an attempt to show how the North African port served a vital role in connecting various regional or really global economies. Future studies could probably, assuming more data is accumulated or discovered, link developments in Tripoli and Fezzan with specific economic and political affairs in the Central Sudan or Borno. 

Unfortunately, there are some problems with Zeltner's approach and the structure of the book. The first 100 pages delve into the larger conflicts between the Ottoman Empire and the Holy Roman Empire in the Mediterranean. It is definitely important for understanding how Tripoli fell under the control of Turgut, but it may be excessive to spend so many pages on the period leading up to 1551. Perhaps it would have been good to cover Wadai in the 17th and 18th centuries, too, for an additional kingdom trading with Tripoli and the Libyan coast. Fuller coverage of what was going on in the Central Sudan during the period, in addition to the reign of Idris b. Ali of Borno, could have been juxtaposed with Tripoli's various conflicts with the English, French and other Europeans in the Mediterranean. That could have better emphasized how events or political, social, and religious changes in the Central Sudan had an impact on Tripoli and the Mediterranean, not just Tripoli's political or social changes influencing the Fezzan and "Sudan" to the south. It was also confusing to see Zeltner equate Kwararafa with the Mandara kingdom, despite evidence linking it to the Jukun peoples.

Nevertheless, Zeltner's book is a good introduction to Tripoli that helps us better understand the Tripoli chronicle previously read for this site. Some of the particularities of Barbary piracy, Ottoman interests in the Mediterranean and even the role of the French in shipping African captives in Tripoli to the Levant were especially interesting. The frequent coups and revolutions and the way in which Tripoli, for a time, benefitted from French and English rivalry in the Mediterranean was likewise intriguing and perhaps brings to mind the ways in which banditry in the Sahara and Sahel had its counterpart on sea with the corsairs and rivalry between Sudanic states or kingdoms. Banditry and business go hand in hand, despite the former occasionally hurting the latter. 

Thoughts on Kingdoms of Faith

Since we have been trying to read more histories of North Africa, the Mediterranean and Islam, we recently read Kingdoms of Faith: A New History of Islamic Spain by Brian Catlos. While one would think such a topic is not one of our immediate interests, Islamic Spain did have a connection to Kanem in the medieval era. Indeed, one of the earliest known West African poets of the Arabic language, Abu Ishaq Ibrahim al-Kanemi, lived in Almohad Spain after establishing himself as a grammarian and respected poet in the Maghrib. Moreover, al-Andalus was definitely linked to our Sahelian area of interest through trans-Saharan trade networks. So, Islamic Spain enjoyed global connections through Europe, the Mediterranean, the Near East, and Africa, although the ties to sub-Saharan Africa are often ignored or little known. 

A general overview of al-Andalus, like Kingdoms of Faith, does not delve into the trans-Saharan side of Islamic Spain, but it is a great overview of a complex history. Often reduced to obfuscating stereotypes or romanticized narratives of conflict or tolerance, al-Andalus was a profoundly dynamic and shifting region where alliances and conflicts occurred between people of the same or different religious traditions. While Catlos at times seems too eager to emphasize this, one cannot deny that religious identity alone never defined or solely motivated the actions of historical actors, especially in an arena where Muslims, Christians, Jews and almost certainly "pagans" from other lands like the pre-Christian Norse crossed paths and learned how to, out of convenience, come together for their own interests. Catlos is most persuasive on that point, the pragmatism of various Muslim or Christians rulers in their attempts to rule or establish stable states across the peninsula. 

So, in order to demonstrate how pragmatism and convenience motivated the political history of the Iberian peninsula from 711 to the early 17th century, Catlos outlines the development in chronological order of the peninsula from the first Muslim conquest to the emirate (and later caliphate) of Cordoba, and then the Taifa kingdoms, Almoravid and Almohad presence, and gradual expansion of the Christian kingdoms of Aragon and Castile. The reader gains some appreciation for the intellectual, cultural, technological, and economic sophistication of al-Andalus, especially under the Caliphate and the Taifa kingdoms, whose patronage for the arts and sciences definitely contributed to European philosophy and scientific knowledge. One also begins to understand how religion, ethnicity, clan, and slavery shaped this history as those of Arab lineage often occupied the best positions in government while discriminating against those of Berber origin or descendants of native converts who formed the majority of the population. This helps elucidate some of the internal dissension, civil wars, assassinations, and foreign invasions that pitted Muslim against Muslim or Christian against Christian in the broader sphere of Mediterranean history. 

Overall, Kingdoms of Faith is a good introduction to the history of al-Andalus. One might have to consider ignoring the jarring references to Andalusi elite male culture as "gangsta" or attempts to bring contemporary American politics or social commentary into the text, but those are fortunately few. All the Afrocentric extremists who love the racially-loaded term "Moor" should consider reading this, as it will establish very quickly how absurd it is to assume the "Moors" were "Black." It would also be a good read for those interested in the Sahel and how Islamic Spain was an important part of the bridge that connected the Sahelian zone with the Mediterranean and Europe in the Middle Ages. Perhaps future scholarship can shed additional light on this, particularly the West African presence in the Iberian peninsula as slaves, soldiers, students, and, in at least one case, authors whose impact might be important for shaping conceptions of difference and "race" in the early modern period. 

A History of North Africa

Charles-Andre Julien's History of North Africa: From the Arab Conquest to 1830 is one of those good introductory overviews for the history of the Maghrib. Unfortunately leaving out Libya, which is our primary area of interest for North Africa, Julien covers the rest of the region from the Arab conquests to the 19th century. Beginning with the Byzantine period and the lengthy Arab conquests and spread of Islam, the book then shifts to the major Islamic dynasties and states which dominated parts of North Africa, like the Aghlabids, Imams of Tahert, Fatimids, Hafsids, Alawi dynasty, Almohads, Almoravids, and Regencies of Algiers and Tunis. 

We can't lie, sometimes one gets lost in the various names and dynasties over 1000 years. But Julien mostly retains the reader's interest and occasionally delves into other topics, like the spread of Islam, Sufism, the Barbary corsairs, the political economy of Tunis and Algiers, and how the Sharifian dynasties held Morocco together. Since the text was originally published several decades ago, we're sure that archaeologists and historians have shed more light on the Arab conquest and perhaps today's scholars would avoid phrases like "Berber inertia" to characterize what Julien describes as societies trapped in a civilization that hadn't changed much since the 7th or 8th centuries. 

Moreover, it would be interesting to read a history of North Africa that attempts to integrate a Saharan and Mediterranean perspective on the region. Julien, of course, mentioned the Moroccan invasion of Songhay and Hafsid relations with Kanem, but he seems to have bought into the idea that the Islamic civilization of the Sahel was an implanted Maghribi one while also minimizing the importance of the trans-Saharan trade. We have a lot more books to complete on North Africa before we can explore this, but we know Braudel will be on our reading list to help us understand the Mediterranean and, perhaps, how the Saharan "sea" was connected to it.

Tripoli Chronicle

Because Anne-Charles Froment de Champlagarde's loose translation of a Libyan chronicle was in French rather than the German summary of Krause, we were able to read the full text more easily and gleam certain details on the history of Tripoli and Tripoli-Fezzan relations. However, Alain Blondy's introduction is actually more useful for an introduction or overview of the history of Tripolitania and the Fezzan from the period of c.1500-1800. Blondy's lengthy introduction, for instance, helped situate the conflicts over Tripoli in the 1500s between European Christians and, eventually, the Ottomans while providing a Tripoli-based perspective on the Fezzan and trans-Saharan trade. Much of the actual chronicle tracks the often difficult state of relations between Tripoli and Murzuq while the later sections cover the rise of the Qaramanli and the brutal conditions under which Yusuf seized power after slaying his brother.

Unfortunately, we still don't learn much about the local "negro sovereigns" of the Fezzan except for their various revolts and refusals to pay tribute to Tripoli. But some interesting details emerge in Blondy's introduction and the original text on the Fezzan's relations with Katsina and Borno. For instance, the idea of the Awlad Muhammad dynasty as vassals or quasi-vassals of the Sayfawa dynasty as demonstrated by mai Umar b. Idris executing al-Tahir. Or the importance of "black" merchants in Murzuq, the capital of the Awlad Muhammad rulers. Given that Kanuri was once widely spoken in the region, it might be safe to assume most of these "black" merchants were from Borno, although Hausa traders from Katsina were likely present. Thus, the Fezzan was intimately linked to the larger economy of the Borno and Hausaland, and may have derived much of its textiles, leather goods, and grain from the "Central Sudan" neighbors to the south. 

Indeed, according to Claude Lemaire, about 500-600 slaves passed through the Fezzan from Borno annually, suggestive of the scale of the slave trade in the late 17th century between Tripoli and Borno. That number, though seemingly small, doesn't take into account high mortality rates or the role of Tripoli as a distribution center for African captives to other locations in the Mediterranean. As argued by other historians, Tripoli seems to have relied more heavily on this African slave trade through their tributary Fezzani neighbor than Borno, which raises questions on the role of the slave trade in Borno's economy. Yet influence or control of the Fezzan obviously mattered to the Sayfawa dynasty, since it allowed them to secure the trade routes to the Mediterranean and perhaps protect their own merchants active in the central Sahara or beyond. We would like to learn more about Idris Alooma's interests in the Fezzan during the 1570s and 1580s, as well as the mystery of an anonymous Spanish source from the 16th century mentioning direct military conflict between Borno and the Ottoman Empire in the Fezzan region.