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. 

Montilus's Dieux en diaspora

Guérin Montilus's Dieux en diaspora. Les Loa Haïtiens et les Vaudou du Royaume d'Allada (Bénin) is a short but richly detailed study comparing the Rada Rite in Haitian Vodou with Vodun in Allada. Based on fieldwork in both Haiti and Allada, Montilus is able to trace the origin of various lwa in Haiti and offer a model for why the mythology around many deviated so greatly from source materials in Allada. However, an African sedimentation of the mythology around many lwa persists, as do some of the concepts and larger framework in which these entities operate. But the destructive impact of the slave trade and enslavement in Saint Domingue, as well as contact with Christianity and various other African peoples undoubtedly led to many transformations and shifts in the conception of the Rada Rite. Montilus hints at this when examining the Simbi spirits, for instance, or theorizing how Congo or Petro rites incorporate more Central African ideas of magic. Montilus's main weakness is perhaps not examining the ways in which Vodun in Benin is a living tradition, hence another cause for its differences from Haitian practice. After all, if Haitians were able to develop a radically new mythology in some cases involving Erzilie, Ogou, Agwe, or other lwa, why wouldn't people in Benin have also adapted the spirits to meet their changing world? One can imagine Dahomey's conquest of Allada in 1724, their conquest of Ouidah, the French colonial conquest, and Christianity also had some impact here (perhaps even before colonialism through contacts with the Portuguese?). The diversity of legends and stories about Legba, Chango, and other vodun in Benin is perhaps a remnant of this great diversity in practice and mythology in today's Benin that has deep historical roots. Anyway, we hope to now read a recently published history of Vodou (again, focusing on the connections to the Slave Coast) that investigates more deeply the political factors shaping religion and spirituality in this part of West Africa. 

Bornoan River Ceremony

A photograph of the Komadugu near Gazargamo (Borno Sahara and Sudan).

Whilst perusing Frauke Jäger's "Maiduguri–Twentieth Century Capital with Ancient Roots" in From Bulamari to Yerwa to Metropolitan Maiduguri, we found some intriguing references to ancient customs maintained in Borno's current capital. One of these practices is of deep antiquity in Borno, beginning under the Sayfawa dynasty. According to Jäger this water ritual took place when the river reached the dry riverbed during the rainy season. Afterwards, the Shehu threw a silver ring inside the river. The courtiers believe this is a blessing for a good harvest for the year. The crowd in attendance also took water from the river home. Under the Sayfawa maiwa, this custom was once celebrated with the slaughtering of an ox, prayers for a good harvest and commerce and even an oracle at the Komadugu Yobe (Jäger 28). Apparently, vassal kingdoms of Borno engaged in the same rite, too (29). In terms of her analysis of this ceremony, Jäger drew from field notes, Lukas, Seidensticker and Palmer. In the case of Palmer, she merely refers, indirectly no doubt, to Muhammad Bello's Infaq al-maysur. Unfortunately, Palmer did not cite his source for the quotation, merely referring to it as a "Bornu Fellata manuscript" (Palmer 105). But based on the brief extract used by Palmer, the text was likely that of Bello or someone whose work was perhaps based on his.

Moving on Lukas, whose study of the grammar and vocabulary of the Kanuri language was published in 1937, one finds another reference to the same ceremony. In this case it is for the river (Ngadda?) flowing near Yerwa (Maiduguri) in a translated passage (based on oral tradition?). Lukas reported that, in former times, the Shehu came to the river with attendants when the nearby river filled up during the rainy season. Riding on a horse, the Shehu threw a silver ring into the river and people brought other items to throw into it as offerings or sacrifices (Lukas 177). However, some people practiced more superstitious customs when this ceremony took place. Women hoping to have children prayed at the river and rolled naked in the river. In addition, at the source of the river, "fetish" practices were done by others (178). Clearly, the river was linked to fertility (of land and people) and some of the customs done in Borno were not Islamic. Yet the ceremony led by the Shehu was seen as distinct, and presumably did not include "fetish" practices.

A translation of Muhammad Bello's work referring to improper customs in Borno (translated by Salahudeen Yusuf).

Besides Jäger and Lukas, Muhammad Bello's 19th century description of the ceremony is the most interesting. Used in a context of justifying the jihad's attacks on Borno under the Sayfawa, Bello needed to portray the ceremony as idolatrous or pagan. Thus, the customs of Borno, despite Islam being widespread, made the people unbelievers. The Sayfawa rulers, despite their status as Islamic kings, failed to condemn idolatrous or "pagan" practices and therefore were legitimate targets. While Bello also included the custom of sacrificing animals and sprinkling blood at the gates of cities as among their acts of disbelief, his reference to the practice of offering sacrifices to snakes brings to mind Machina (Bello 72). Since some of what he described may have been more specific to vassals of Borno rather than the Sayfawa rulers themselves, his brief sentence on the river ceremony is probably the easiest to relate to the ruling dynasty. Sadly, his description is too short, but comparing how they do to the river what the Copts did to the Nile in the "days of ignorance" is telling. Clearly, superstitious practices were taking place at rivers and the Sayfawa were guilty of participating them as customs inherited from their forefathers. If the river ceremony was an ancient one of the Sayfawa, it may even have roots in Kanem when the king was seen as the source of sustenance (possibly through a similar ritual involving rivers or streams associated with the wet season and fertility). 

The annual river rite was probably performed at Gambaru, too. According to Ritchie, whose report on Borno was published in 1820 based on informants who had been there, a virgin was sacrificed to the river flowing near Gambaru. Relying on an informant named Hadji Hamet, allegedly a Borno native, the story suggests that a virgin was sacrificed every year when the river inundated near Gambaru. That Hamet's account was at least somewhat believable is the mention of castles erected at Gambaru. Although attributed to Christians, this is probably an allusion to the fired-brick ruins at the site. Moreover, Burckhardt, in his Travels in Nubia, was informed by a Borno native that the mai ordered a virgin thrown into the river (Burckhardt 444). It is somewhat muddled whether or not the ceremony took place both near Gazargamo and at Gambaru, but it is clearly tied to the rainy season ceremony of prayer and rituals at the river. The throwing of a virgin (slave?) into it also seems to be another clear allusion to the river's association with fertility. 

Unfortunately, the throwing of a virgin into the river brings to mind human sacrifice. Moreover, that Borno natives were the sources of this information does incline one to believe there is some truth to it. But were these women actually drowned in the river? Or was it more akin to the women who, praying for children, waded in the river? Certainly, the slaughter of an animal and prayers for a good harvest are remembered in Borno tradition, but it is difficult to imagine the Sayfawa rulers sanctioning human sacrifice. The ceremony was likely of deep antiquity but associated with the Islamic prayers and practices of the ruling elite. That, of course, still made them infidels to Muhammad Bello. For even one act of disbelief can outweigh one's other actions. But the throwing of a virgin into the flooded river sounds like the later tradition of women praying for children entering it or others using foam from the river to wash themselves.

Intriguingly, Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi agreed that the visits of the Sayfawa kings to special places to give alms or conduct ceremonies was condemnable. He also wrote, "But its performer should not be imputed with unbelief, since no one claims that it has any impact (on them) nor do they intend to shirk (polytheism) (with such acts), rather their claim, because of ignorance is that giving alms at these places is better than in other places" (Bello 300). While not directly commenting on the annual river ceremony, al-Kanemi's letter suggests it was associated with the other places where the mai gave alms and performed sacrifices. It was not acceptable from an Islamic point of view, but not due to disbelief. Instead, it was through ignorance and innovation in the faith. If al-Kanemi saw human sacrifice as part of these rites, which is not mentioned by either Bello or himself, it was possibly due to the ideological conflict between Bello and himself. Or, as we believe to be more likely, human sacrifice was not part of the rites. Despite his condemnation of it, the annual river custom was later practiced by the al-Kanemi dynasty anyway. Popular traditions and rituals can become Islamic. The antiquity of this custom may also stretch back in time to pre-Islamic Kanem. It was certainly a custom associated with the rulers that could incorporate Islamic prayer and rituals while still honoring ancestral tradition. 

The First Kalumbardo and Umar b. Idris

One of the mysteries of ulama-state relations is the tragedy of the first Kalumbardo settlement in Borno. The traditions and written sources on this shadowy event are unclear and, sometimes, contradictory. Nonetheless, it is clear that the Sayfawa ruler of Borno, Umar b. Idris (r. 1619-1639) ordered the execution of a prominent shaykh affiliated with the Kalumbardo settlement. In addition, another cleric associated with the settlement was forced into exile or pressured to flee to Bagirmi. Many unanswered questions persist about the nature of this conflict, the background of the central personages, and the connection between this first Kalumbardo community and the second one led by a Koyam shaykh. This post will explore the dimensions of the first Kalumbardo community's conflict with mai Umar b. Idris and possible relevant factors for its dissolution. 

First, the major source. Muhammad Bello, whose Infaq al-maysur was written in the early 1800s, praised the shaykhs associated with the first Kalumbardo settlement as scholars promoting Sufism. However, his language is rather uncertain about many of the details, implying that he relied on tradition for most of his narrative. In addition, he may have inserted a falsified speech by one of the victims of Umar b. Idris, Shaykh Waldede. In this speech, Waldede hints at the fall of Borno when a renewer of the faith appears, perhaps represented by Uthman dan Fodio (Bello 71). As a result of this problematic speech inserted into the narrative and the fact that Bello was writing a work that sought to justify the jihad and the Sokoto Caliphate, it is possible some elements of the narrative are embellished or exaggerated to heighten the unjust, corrupt, and immoral nature of Sayfawa rule. These issues aside, other sources and traditions recall Shaykh Waldede's conflict with the ruler of Borno. Moreover, the Sufi leader executed by the state, Shaykh al-Wali b. al-Jarmi, appears in other traditions. Bello identifies the latter as a Tuareg (71). In addition, Waldede was said to have studied in Agadez and Timbuktu (71). If true, then the identification of al-Jarmi as a Tuareg could also be valid. Bello's retelling of events could support the narrative of Waldede studying in the west and then returning to Borno with a Tuareg Sufi, collaborating in the leadership of a zawiya which threatened the state. This threat to the state presumably led to divisions among the ulama  in the Sayfawa court.

But, some elements of Bello's account are problematic. According to him, Waldede died a little after 1000 A.H. (71). If this is true, then Waldede died before the reign of Umar b. Idris. As previously mentioned, Bello was also writing a larger work that sought to justify the Sokoto Caliphate. In other words, the oppressive, unethical, or non-Islamic traits of previous governments in the region were emphasized, even in the case of Borno where Islam was deeply rooted. Additional problems with this narrative can be seen in oral traditions which identify the Borno king who exiled Waldede as Ibrahim (Lavers 223). Hammidu Bobboyi, relying on oral traditions, identifies al-Jarmi as a Borno native of Arab origin. In fact, there was a Shaykh Jirmi (spelling of Bobboyi), son of Goni Salih. This Shaykh also had two sons, Hassan and Musa Dangul (Bobboyi 17). On the other hand, H.T. Norris, whose Sufi Mystics of the Niger Desert sees the influence of the Mahmudiyya of Air in Kalumbardo, argued in favor of a Tuareg origin for al-Jarmi. According to him, al-Jarmiyu's name indicated Tuareg origin. Furthermore, in Borno folklore, Waldede was said to have escaped the horsemen of Umar b. Idris on a flying blanket (36). This contradicts Bello, whose narrative suggests that Umar b. Idris let Waldede go after executing al-Jarmi. Last but certainly not least, Bello attributes Umar b. Idris's brutal crackdown to secular reasons. Oral traditions in Borno, suggest theological differences related to tawhid (100). Muhammad Nur Alkali cites divisiveness caused by the Sufism of al-Jarmi and Waldede (Nur Alkali 256). 

So, how can one reconcile these traditions? The fact that apparently disparate traditions from Borno, the Sokoto Caliphate, Bagirmi, and Wadai seem to refer to the conflict between a ruler of Borno and the leadership of the first Kalumbardo attest to its historicity. Sources from Wadai, for instance, recall that the founder of the sultanate, Abd al-Karim, studied at Bidderi (Barth 528-529). His teacher, identified by Barth as Muhammad and as Mahammat el-Djirmi in a text published by Tubiana are probably the same al-Jirmi of the first Kalumbardo (Tubiana 58). Borno tradition recalls both Waldede and al-Jirmi, with one variant recorded by Palmer identifying the mai who sent a kaigama against "Umar dan Didi" as Dunama Dibalemi (Lavers 223). The connection to Bidderi for the founder of the Wadai Sultanate is still plausible, as the Waldede family were likely linked to its Fulani residents. Consequently, it is feasible that al-Jarmi (or a member of the family) taught at Bidderi before returning to Borno. Such a link connects the first Kalumbardo to both Bidderi in Bagirmi and with the origins of the first sultan of Wadai to the east.

To better comprehend the possible roots of the conflict, one must retrace their steps and ponder the recent past and larger context of Kalumbardo. Beginning with Bagirmi, Nachtigal's history of the reign of Abdallah (c.1568-1608) suggests growing royal patronage of Islam. Indeed, 4 mu'allim of Fulani origin, who are named Dede, Shille, Aji Amede, and Majangala, are said to have helped design the ground plan for his palace. They were also sent to different villages around the kingdom to teach and spread Islam. Nachtigal also tells us this ruler appointed a qadi, an imam, established mosques, invited foreign clerics, and therefore thoroughly promoted Islam (Nachtigal 403). If the chronology for Abdallah's reign is accurate, this suggests that Bidderi in the late 16th century and early 17th century likely benefited from state patronage. Indeed, the Fulani were established in the area north of Ba Batshikam by the 1400s, when they paid tribute to the Bulala rulers of Kanem (398). When the state of Bagirmi was founded in the early 1500s, the Fulani were remembered as allies of the newcomers who established the state (400). This suggests that Bidderi and similar settlements of Fulani Muslims may have welcomed students from other communities whilst also participating in broader regional centers of learning in Borno or beyond. Therefore, traditions of Wadai's founder studying in Bidderi before seizing power in the early 17th century are plausible. Moreover, if al-Jarmi was present in Bidderi or Bagirmi, it could be due to Waldede already having links there since the late 16th century. 

If, however, one accepts the Agadez and Timbuktu travels of Waldede as plausible, then one must also look closely at the Air region's history. In this region, the Mahmudiyya Sufis were established in the 1500s. Their disciples also included a prominent Fulani, Ahmad b. faqih Awgar al-Fullani (Norris 42). It is difficult to imagine that a Fulani scholar with ties to other Islamic Fulani communities did not encounter followers of Sidi Mahmud al-Baghdadi. Other events in Agadez or Air during this period include a revolt led by Hadahada during the reign of Muhammad al-Tafrij. This revolt, which Hadahada led as a jihad against the sultanate, lacks a precise date. Nonetheless, this sultan's reign overlapped with that of Umar b. Idris (Hamani 230). In this environment, with a Sufist leader killed by a sultan in the 1500s and then a revolt against the Sultan challenging his legitimacy on Islamic grounds, one might imagine the intellectual climate Waldede (and al-Jarmi?) experienced or at least were influenced by.

From Borno's perspective, the early decades of the 17th century required active leadership and policy to maintain the sultanate's status as a regional power. Yet the Tuareg of Air remained a persistent thorn. Nur Alkali attributes to Ibrahim b. Idris several campaigns against them (Nur Alkali 255). Oral traditions point to the reign of Umar b. Idris for the establishment of a Mandara prince in Muniyo. This prince, Kazelma Saemi, was sent explicitly to aid the Gamagama in their fight against the Tuareg (Landeroin 404). Umar b. Idris even sponsored the creation of the galadima at Nguru to defend Borno's western frontier, appointing his son by a slave woman to the post. The first galadima already had to put down a Fulani revolt (Palmer Gazetteer 104). These measures taken by Umar b. Idris imply concern for the border was central to state interest, especially to the west. This suggests that the strategy of Idris Alooma to rely on the Koyam and other local populations to make constant raids against the Tuareg, as well as to secure the loyalty of some of them to Borno instead of Agadez, did not succeed. When one also considers the chances that Umar b. Idris was also an elderly man when he took the throne, and perhaps his brother Ibrahim b. Idris was assassinated, concern for state security and political stability must have been paramount (Palmer BSS 98). According to Nur Alkali, he was also known for not accepting any opposition (Nur Alkali 256). This may also explain why Umar b. Idris chose to have al-Tahir of the Awlad Muhammad dynasty drowned when the latter fled to Borno from the Fazzan in 1622/3 (El-Hesnawi 114). Umar, who may have viewed the nephews of al-Tahir as the legitimate rulers of the Fazzan, wanted to punish al-Tahir for usurping the throne from them. Otherwise, Umar b. Idris also viewed the matter as another entanglement that threatened the status quo among powers in the Central Sudan/Sahara. 

Given what we know of Umar b. Idris's background, the first Kalumbardo community triggered his concern for protecting the state. Norris, whose study of the Mahmudiyya in Air was heavily based on the Qudwa, believes that the "Way" promoted by Waldede and al-Jarmi was influenced by Sidi Mahmud al-Baghdadi. Thus, Umar b. Idris acted in the way he did due to the proximity of the Kalumbardo leadership with Air (137). Norris's hypothesis is an attractive one, but lacks enough evidence of the actual practices of the Waldede and al-Jarmi to validate it. Their practices may have been similar to the Sufi practices of al-Baghdadi's followers, but without sources to describe what they actually did, it remains a hypothesis. However, the fact that the sultan of Agadez during Umar b. Idris's reign also had to put down Hadahada's revolt may have been another factor in the Sayfawa ruler's decisions. If Hadahada's revolt occurred before the Kalumbardo leaders were called to the court, perhaps Umar b. Idris acted harshly due to a fear that Waldede and al-Jarmi would lead a revolt like Hadahada? Ultimately, a clear link between the two region's Sufi centers at this time is ambiguous, but the traveler al-Yamani, who visited both the second Kalumbardo community and Air, visited Ahmad al-Targui al-Lamtouni in Air (Nashr al-Mathani 308). 

If the Sufism promoted by Waldede and al-Jarmi was the trigger for Umar b. Idris's exiling the former and killing the latter, one must closely examine how the state and Islamic scholars and holy men interacted at this time. Since Sufism in Borno predated the first Kalumbardo settlement, and many rulers, including Umar b. Idris, had performed the pilgrimage to Mecca or spent time in Egypt, we find it difficult to believe the "oriental mysticism" exemplified by the Mahmudiyya would have been very novel or shocking. Besides, the Krump witnessing Muslims from Borno and the Fazzan engaging in what sounds like Sufist practices with music, dance and ritual prayer suggest Islamic mysticism likely had deeper roots in the region, possibly before the first Kalumbardo community. 

Another perspective on the issue focuses on theology. In Bobboyi's view, the debate over theology rather than Sufism itself caused the conflict (Bobboyi 100). As a result, the garbled traditions recall al-Jirmi was killed on the grounds of a fatwa he issued. The tradition asserts the shaykh gave a fatwa accusing another of being an unbeliever. Then, on the same grounds, the Sayfawa court declared al-Jirmi an unbeliever and executed him (101). Further, it may have involved Quranic folios in his shoes to declare him a kafir (112). This may be why, in Muhammad Bello's version of the execution, the Shahada was miraculously written in his blood (Norris 133). This could be, through the use of a miracle, Muhammad Bello's allusion to the accusation of unbelief. Even if it wasn't the Sufist practices of the community that led to the fatal confrontation with Umar b. Idris, the latter's actions were not met with universal support. Nur Alkali, citing Sheriff Ibrahim, writes of some of al-Jarmiyu's disciples leaving Birni Gazargamo because of Umar b. Idris's actions (259). Thus, the mai did something that was, to some at least, controversial and immoral. It was certainly remembered as such in Bagirmi and Wadai. 

After revisiting the sources on the Waldede-Jirmi affair, many questions remain unresolved. Why is it that the second Kalumbardo community, led by a charismatic shaykh who was accused by a qadi tied to the court of Ali b. Umar, allowed to continue his zawiya? Abu Bakr, the qadi, pressured Ali b. Umar into opposing the shaykh on the grounds he was a threat to the throne. Yet, unlike his father, who executed al-Jirmi, Ali b. Umar recognized his saintliness and supported the settlement. Like his father, he too had performed the pilgrimage and was certainly aware of various Sufi brotherhoods in the Muslim East. Was his acceptance of the mission predicated on coopting it through state support, brick workers for a mosque, and a close relationship with the state to neutralize any threat it might pose? Borno during his reign still had the challenge of Tuareg raids, and the second Kalumbardo community's leader was even killed by Tuareg raiders. If the Kalumbardo community's practices were so similar to those of Sufis in Air, why was the mai not worried about them? Or, was the mai eager to support the Kalumbardo shaykh for the spiritual and Islamic legitimacy it endowed his regime with? Ali b. Umar was known for his support of Islamic learning, his piety, and the projection of Borno as an Islamic state. Affirming it through a vibrant Sufi community on Borno's frontier may have served to support this image of the state. 

In summation, our knowledge of the first Kalumbardo settlement and the reign of Umar b. Idris raises more questions than answers. This mai seems to have been especially concerned with protecting his power and Borno's borders. While the leaders of this community were likely linked to the spread of Islam in Bagirmi and Wadai, the ruler of Borno saw that it was paramount to maintain his power and protect the state from any rebellion, assassination, or division. When some of the ulama of his court were drawn to the first Kalumbardo's Sufist practices, Umar b. Idris responded in a way that immediately minimized the threat. That the community was reborn under Koyam leadership during the reign of his son also raises questions. Possibly by the reign of Ali b. Umar, we see here a more concerted effort to accumulate baraka and Islamic legitimacy through state sponsorship and cooptation of renowned shaykhs.

Bibliography

Alkali, Mohammad Nur. 2013. Kanem-Borno under the Sayfawa: A Study of the Origin, Growth, and Collapse of a Dynasty (891-1846) . Nigeria: University of Maiduguri.

Barth, Heinrich. Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa: Being a Journal of an Expedition Undertaken Under the Auspices of H.B.M.'s Government in the Years 1849-1855. New York: D. Appleton, 1857.

Bello, Muhammad and Salahudeen Yusuf (editor). A History of Islam, Scholarship and Revivalism in Western Sudan, Being an Annotated Translation with Introduction of Infaqul-Maisur Fi Tarikh Bilad al-Tukur of Sultan Muhammad Bello Bin Fodio  / Salahudeen Yusuf. Zaria, Nigeria: Tamaza.

Bobboyi, Hamidu. The ’Ulama of Borno : A Study of the Relations between Scholars and State under the Sayfawa, 1470-1808. Dissertation, 1992.

Brenner, Louis. The Shehus of Kukawa: A History of the Al-Kanemi Dynasty of Bornu. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973.

Dewière, Rémi. Du Lac Tchad à La Mecque: Le Sultanat Du Borno Et Son Monde (XVIe - XVIIe Siècle). Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2017.

Hamani, Djibo. Au Carrefour Du Soudan Et De La Berbérie: Le Sultanat Touareg De L'Ayar. Niamey: Institut de recherches en sciences humaines, 1989.

Hassan, Yūsuf Fadl, and Paul Doornbos (editors). 1979. The Central Bilād Al-Sūdān : Tradition and Adaptation : Essays on the Geography and Economic and Political History of the Sudanic Belt : Proceedings of the Third International Conference of the Institute of African and Asian Studies, University of Khartoum, Held from 8 to 13 November 1977. Khartoum: The Institute.

Al-Hesnawi, H. W. Fazzan under the rule of the Awlad Muhammad. A Study in political, economic, social and intellectual history. Dissertation, 1990.

Lange, Dierk. Le Dīwān Des Sultans Du (Kānem-)Bornū: Chronologie Et Histoire D'un Royaume Africain (de La Fin Du Xe Siècle Jusqu'à 1808). Wiesbaden: F. Steiner, 1977.

__________.  A Sudanic Chronicle: The Borno Expeditions of Idrīs Alauma (1564-1576) According to the Account of Aḥmad B. Furṭū : Arabic Text, English Translation, Commentary and Geographical Gazetteer. Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1987.

Nachtigal, Gustav, Allan G. B. Fisher, and Humphrey J (trans.). Fisher. Sahara and Sudan, Vol. II. Berkeley and ; Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1971.

Norris, H. T. 1990. Ṣūfī Mystics of the Niger Desert : Sīdī Maḥmūd and the Hermits of Aïr. Oxford England: Clarendon Press.

Palmer, H.R. Gazetteer of Bornu Province.  Lagos: Govt. Printer, 1929.

___________. The Bornu Sahara and Sudan. London: J. Murray, 1936.

___________. Sudanese Memoirs: Being Mainly Translations of a Number of Arabic Manuscripts Relating to the Central and Western Sudan. 1st ed., new impression. London: Cass, 1967.

Al-Qâdirî, Mouhammad, Michaux-Bellaire, Édouard (trad.), Nachr al-Mathânî, II, De l’an 1051 (1641J.-C.) à l’an 1100 (1688 J.-C.). Paris: Ernest Leroux (Archives marocaines, vol. XXIV), 1917.

Tilho, Jean (editor). Documents Scientifiques De La Mission Tilho. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1910.

Tubiana Marie-José. "Un document inédit sur les sultans du Waddāy." Cahiers d'études africaines, vol. 1, n°2, 1960. pp. 49-112. DOI : https://doi.org/10.3406/cea.1960.3667

Usman, Yusufu Bala, and Nur Alkali (editors). 1983. Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno. Zaria: Northern Nigerian Pub. Co.

Zakari, Maïkorema. Contribution à L'histoire Des Populations De Sud-Est Nigérien: Le Cas Du Mangari (XVIe-XIXe S.). Niamey: Institut de recherches en sciences humaines, 1985.

Des jésuites au royaume du prêtre Jean

Des jésuites au royaume du prêtre Jean (Ethiopie): stratégies, rencontres et tentatives d'implantation, 1495-1633 by Hervé Pennec is another study of the Jesuits and the mission in Ethiopia. Since the scholarly literature and written sources on the topic is vast, Pennec proposes new interpretations and questions about the subject. While revisiting the sources and challenging readers to reconsider the strategies and tactics employed by both the Jesuits and ruler Susenyos, one can see that the topic of the Jesuits in Ethiopia and this transformation of Prester John of myth into the "real" Ethiopia which the Latin West engaged in the Early Modern Period still raises many questions.

The first third of the book begins with Portugal's early relations with the Christian kingdom of Ethiopia, and how Ignatius of Loyola (and others) mistakenly assumed the Abyssinian ruler was ready to submit to Christ. Relying on outdated information from Alvares, plus the issue of Bermudes and his claim to be Roman Catholic patriarch, confusion abounded. Despite being well-informed on some aspects of Ethiopia, the founder of the Jesuit order wrongly believed that Ethiopia was ready for submission to the papacy. Of course, Galadewos had no interest in doing such a thing, and the early wave of Jesuits in Ethiopia found themselves largely on the periphery. Still, despite their small numbers in the second half of the 16th century, Ethiopian religious literature engaged in a Christological written (and oral) debate with the Jesuit missionaries, particularly once Susenyos converted to Catholicism in 1622. Despite their complete lack of success in converting Ethiopian rulers, the early Jesuits did proselytize and preach to Luso-Ethiopians, maintaining Roman Catholicism among descendants of Portuguese in Abyssinia. Moreover, Goa, as the capital of Portuguese India and center of the Jesuit missions in the Orient, was also an early example of a periphery being arguably more important or essential for the survival of the Jesuit mission in Ethiopia than Rome, Portugal and Spain. Goa, much closer to the Jesuit missions and capable of receiving and sending information more quickly, shaped the decisions on personnel who were ultimately sent to Ethiopia. This was no simple matter, since Ottoman control of the Red Sea made the matter more difficult.

Pennec likewise focuses on how the Jesuits, once able to establish a foothold again in 1603, particularly with the arrival of Pero Paes. Whilst it would take several more years before an Ethiopian ruler converted to Catholicism, one can begin to see here the Jesuits establishing stone churches and residences (with Ethiopian workers and at least one Indian). By erecting churches in stone, some beautifully designed, the Jesuits were implanting themselves in the kingdom on a more permanent basis. By doing so, they were also increasingly drawn into what Pennec sees as royally-sponsored churches. Gifts of land (gult), money, supplies, and the involvement of Susenyos in the ceremony culminating the completion of churches was partly a way for Susenyos to assert his power. This meat that Susenyos, and his brother who converted to Catholicism before him, were incorporating the Jesuits into a familiar patter of royal sponsorship and assertions of power, particularly in Gojjam and around Lake Tana. While the Jesuits undoubtedly benefitted from receiving lands, supplies, funds, and elite backers, they were also part of a strategy of Ethiopian rulers to express their power, which even included enlisting the Jesuits (or the masons among them) to construct stone palaces and monumental architecture for him. This complex process was followed by the Jesuit experience in Ethiopia after the conversion of Susenyos. Part of this complex relationship was also due to Susenyos's desire for Spanish troops to be sent to Ethiopia to help him as a prerequisite for converting, while the Jesuits told him he would have to submit to the papacy before any European troops would come to his aid.

With the 1620s, Pero Paes died but Susenyos's conversion gave the Jesuits their legitimacy and renewed the mission by the arrival of more missionaries. Although a failure within ten years, as Susenyos abdicated and his son, Fasiladas, later exiled the Jesuits, one can see this experience as the zenith of the mission. More missionaries on the ground, conversions of more Ethiopians (although the numbers given by the Jesuits are problematic, it seems that Gojjam had more converts), and Susenyos sidelining his Catholic brother as a supporter of the Catholics. Nonetheless, the mission's short-lived success came to an end with Susenyos's abdication. Pennec's study is less focused on this period, highlighting how Paes and d'Almeida's histories of Ethiopia must be analyzed carefully for the ways in which the authors engaged with Ethiopian written sources, especially the royal chronicle on the reign of Susenyos. Paes especially, despite his nearly 20 years spent in Ethiopia and his familiarity with ge'ez and Amharic, must be interpreted for the ways they cite, paraphrase, and refute Ethiopian sources. For instance, the question of the metropolitan accused of fathering children, drinking, and abusing his ecclesiastical authority in Paes's redaction of the chronicle of Susenyos, and being involved in a revolt in 1617 against the king, may not necessarily be an insertion by Paes. It is possible that later versions of the chronicle after Susenyos's reign censored that segment of the chronicle, but Paes, who was of course biased against the metropolitan sent from Egypt, may have been closer to the truth.

Bori in Tunisia and al-Timbuktawi

Ismael Montana's study and translation of Hatk al-Sitr is an interesting study of the manifestation of the Bori cult in Ottoman Tunisia. Although, sadly, too brief of a treatise, al-Timbuktawi's biased yet provocative denunciation of the religion as shirk requiring state intervention to eradicate it and reenslave recalcitrant "Sudan Tunis" in the Regency is both disturbing and illustrative of West African jihadist intellectuals of the late 18th and early 19th century. To Montana, al-Timbuktawi's views and his intervention in the state of affairs in Tunis, through which he passed whilst performing the pilgrimage, represents an instance of West African Islamic intellectual currents and interactions with both Wahabbism and North Africa. 

Surprisingly, however, Montana did not fully explore the deeply misogynistic element of al-Timbuktawi's work, which sees Bori's threat to the Islamic state and society of Tunisia as particularly dangerous due to the role of its female priests, "lesbianism" and the local Tunisian women enthralled by this cult of ritual healing and polytheism. This gendered dimension is mentioned in terms of the prominent role played by women as ritual leaders and priestesses in Bori, but its gendered impact on local Tunisian society seems to us as particularly important, since it reflects both the misogyny of al-Timbuktawi (and probably many of the pro-jihad intellectuals in West Africa) and another aspect of the great role of women in Bori. 

We hope to read Tremearne's later account of Bori to gain deeper insights into this gendered dimension of the religion as well as its practice in both Hausaland and North Africa. Since al-Timbuktawi was mainly writing for the purpose of convincing the authorities in Tunis to suppress Bori, he does not cover in great detail the religion or the ethnic origins of its practitioners. Certainly, the Hausa influence is predominant based on some of the names and titles used in the cult (referring back to political titles in Borno or Hausa kingdoms, for instance, or using Hausa words). But, one wonders about the Bambara, Songhay, and Nupe mentioned by al-Timbuktawi. Indeed, if Bori in North Africa is similar to Gnawa in Morocco, one also wonders if a degree of syncretism was also emerging within West Africa itself due to the slave trade between the areas of the Niger Bend and the Central Sudan. For instance, were there "Bambara" and Songhay groups present in the Hausa kingdoms who introduced aspects of the Bamana boli and Songhay holey? And what of Hausa captives, Nupe and even Yoruba groups who may have also interacted with the ritual and theological facets of "indigenous" African religions in Hausaland? While some of the similarities with Vodun and Yoruba practice may be superficial, the prominence of animal sacrifice in specific rituals, spirit possession, and the ways in which Bori could coexist with Islam like Vodou and Yoruba religion with Catholicism have always struck us as areas worthy of further exploration.

Jewry of Medieval Cairo

The Jewish community was very integrated culturally, politically and economically into the larger society of Egypt. The Jewish residents of the cosmopolitan city fared better under Islamic rule than anywhere in Christian Europe. Indeed, their integration into Egyptian society indicates the degree of heterogeneity and diversity in Egyptian society. The simple fact that Jews enjoyed rights and privileges in addition to tolerance in Muslim Egypt, as demonstrated by the Geniza papers, also counters the myth of Muslim intolerance and oppression of dhimmis, or non-Muslims. In fact, Jews generally lived under much worse conditions in Christian Europe during the medieval period since there were few legal protections, combined with a theologically driven anti-Semitism that led to ghettoization, collective violence as retribution, and general hostility. Jews in Islamic lands, such as Egypt, however, enjoyed special protections under Islamic law that allowed freedom to worship, maintain their own community institutions, greater economic opportunities, and no ghettoization. Nevertheless, Jews were still a minority group in a Muslim-dominated social hierarchy, and were never completely free from repression or discriminatory practices, a product of the Pact of ‘Umar.

 Culturally, Jewish Egyptians were far more integrated into Egyptian society than their counterparts in Europe. Jewish and Muslim dietary laws, for instance, converged in multiple instances, especially regarding consumption of pork. Jewish halakha and sharia law also have parallels, offering evidence of additional similar cultural and religious practices that eased socializing between Muslims and Jews.[1] In addition, interreligious marriage between Muslim men and Jewish women faced no opposition.[2] No evidence of Sunnii Muslims believing in contamination from contact or socializing with Jews appears, either, which has further support by the mixed character of residential areas. In fact, Jews and Muslims could own property together, and the Jewish community of Cairo was not separated from the rest of the city, but spread across in different clusters. [3] The Geniza also show that the Jewish population lived in neighborhoods where at least half of the houses had Gentile neighbors.[4] Thus, Jews and Muslims lived side by side, could intermarry, owned property and businesses in partnerships, practiced similar dietary laws, and interacted with each other socially in the marketplace, in administrative positions, and in hospitals.

Furthermore, Jews adopted cultural and social practices of the broader Muslim society, such as the Arabic language and script, and the position of the qadi within Islamic society became a model for judges in the Jewish community.[5] Due to the influence of Islam, Jewish judges were increasingly expected to perform similar roles of administering and managing funds connected with social services to the community, such as taking care of orphans, widows, the poor and sick, foreigners and captives.[6] In addition, despite occasional attempts to enforce a distinctive dress code for Jews and other non-Muslims, it was rarely enforced and Jews and Muslims were indistinguishable by their attire during the Fatimid and early Ayyubid dynasties.[7] Unfortunately, there were periods where the imposition of dress restrictions on dhimmis, meant to perpetuate a distinction between Muslims and non-Muslims, was enforced, such as during the reign of the mad Fatimid caliph, al-Hakim, considered insane and cruel by all Muslim historians. This particular Fatimid caliph, ruling from 996–1021, required Christians and Jews to wear distinctive belts and badges.[8] This one extreme case of persecution against Jews and Christians also included requiring Jews to wear an image of the golden calf worshipped by the Israelites in Exodus and Christians an image of the cross in public baths.[9] Still, most Muslims considered these persecutions aberrations, and in the aftermath of these persecutions, dhimmis forced into conversion were allowed to convert to their previous faiths.[10]

Despite being quite integrated into overall Egyptian society, Jews were often pressured into expressing their religious faith behind closed doors. Funeral processions, for example were often difficult since public displays of the Jewish faith contradicted a regulation in the Pact of ‘Umar, which aimed to limit displays of faiths besides Islam.[11] They also had to be sure that new synagogues would not surpass surrounding mosques in height lest they arouse the fanaticism of some of the Muslims, another burden on their freedom of religious and cultural expression because the synagogue was the center of the Jewish community.[12] The Jewish community also did not practice the seclusion of women, so that aspect of cultural identity among Cairo’s Jewry was absent within their own community, although they were also patriarchal and male-dominated. Still, like Muslim women, Jewish women had to worship in a separate compartment in the house of worship.[13]  

            On the political level, Cairo’s Jewish community was relatively integrated into the state apparatus. Like other non-Muslim communities, the Muslim rulers allowed a certain amount of autonomy, often working through religious leaders within the Jewish communities to collect taxes and administer the law. This practice was instituted in Egypt through the position of the Gaon, or head of the yeshiva, which had judicial and administrative authority over the Jewish community.[14] The Muslim state also reserved the right to confirm his office, ruling through the Gaon and the Nagid, a Hebrew title for the ‘head of the Jews.’[15] The Nagid was expected to address complaints by Jews about government oppression, expected to act against rapacious officials either by intervention through the central government or by talking things over with local authorities on the occasion of a visit, essentially representing the power of the Muslim state through the religious institutions of Jewish life, the synagogue and yeshiva.[16] The elders and notables of the Jewish community also participated in the political system by issuing and receiving letters on behalf of the state, promulgating statutes, and signed contracts, sometimes alone or in conjunction with the muqaddam, an appointed executive.[17] The muqaddam also played an essential role in the political system, appointed with the consent of the community by the Jewish central leaders and accredited by local representatives of the government.[18] The aforementioned judges, whose role in the Jewish community by the middle of the 12^th century began to resemble that of the Muslim qadi, also participated in this system as intermediaries between the Muslim state and Jewish subjects.[19]

            The Jewish community of Cairo was also given positions in the state beyond that of representing their religious group. For example, the sofer, or Jewish scribes and copyists, served the Fatimids as court scribes.[20] Jewish physicians also served in the Fatimid court, such as Moses b. Elazar, who became an influential person in the court of caliph al-Mu’izz in the 10^th century.[21] Other physicians with political power include Samuel b. Hananya, who became a leader in the Jewish community in the middle 12^th century.[22]  Indeed, the Shiite Fatimids were well-known for condoning dhimmi participation in state service, partly due to the simple fact that the dynasty was Shiite in a sea of Sunni Islam and therefore eager to find loyal administrators.[23] With that consideration, the rise of Jewish merchant Ibn Killis, an Muslim convert, in the financial administration of the Fatimids in the late 10^th century, or the Tustari family, no longer surprises.[24] The Jewish vizier, Abu S’ad, who reached the pinnacle of his power during the regency of the mother of caliph al-Mustansir, provides another example of Muslims serving in the highest positions within the Fatimid caliphate.[25] The presence of Jews at the highest positions in the Muslim world indubitably illustrates the degree of integration Jews reached under Islam.

Unfortunately, Jews and other dhimmis were excluded from state service in the 9^th century by the decree of Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil, but the decree was only sporadically enforced during Abbasid rule.[26] The simple fact that Jews and Christians were found in all urban centers of the Islamic world made them inevitably tied to the political system in some way, even if only a few Jews rose to top administrative positions. Still, the Pact of ‘Umar, the aforementioned bilateral contract between Muslims and dhimmis in which dhimmis agree to discriminatory regulations, such as the jizya, or poll tax, in exchange for tolerance and protection, obviously did not exclude Jews from participating in political circles.[27] The legal system also treated Jewish subjects with far more juridical objectivity, not imposing collective punishment on Jews for alleged crimes of individuals, unlike the Latin West where pogroms and collective punishment were common.[28] However, the jizya tax was a heavy burden on non-Muslim populations, especially since if they did not receive a receipt, they could be charged again.[29]

            On the economic front, Jews were also well integrated into Egyptian society. As mentioned previously, Jews and Muslims owned property together and were business partners, something impossible in the contemporary West.[30] Jews were also present in the economy at several different levels and types of employment, not solely moneylenders. Jews were broadly distributed across all sectors of economy, with some owning land and raising crops in arable Egypt while others were also involved in dyeing, metalware, cheese, sugar manufacture, and various other sectors of the economy.[31] Jews were present at ports, served as police and engaged in tax-farming.[32] The control of mints was also Jewish-dominated in most Muslim states.[33] Thus, Jews were wholly integrated in broad array of economic activities in the Islamic world, and often traveled abroad to engage in international trade with Muslim partners in addition to engaging in intra-Jewish trade and economic exchanges across the Dar al-Islam.

  Uniquely, Jewish moneylending was largely within the Jewish community in the Islamic world, unlike Jewish moneylenders loaning to strapped rChristians in medieval Europe.[34] The Christian theological claim against usury and the pursuit of material wealth contradicted Islam’s pro-trade stance, which encouraged the pursuit of material wealth, trade, and business, thereby sparing Jews of ridicule and violence for engaging in usury or business.[35] Medieval Islam did not portray the Jew or Christian as collaborating with Satan to undermine society, which Jews were perceived to do in Christian Europe for practicing usury.[36] As a result, shared judgment of Muslim and Jewish legal experts regarding the necessity for flexible response to the law of the merchants developed alongside congruence in economic practice generally.[37] Nevertheless, Jewish merchants often signed contracts before Muslim and Jewish authorities concurrently.[38] In addition to engaging in business transactions on an international level, Jewish merchants of Cairo were active in all the bazaars, marketplaces, and squares, not exclusively the Lane of Jews, which only housed a fraction of Cairo’s Jewish residents.[39]

The degree of Jewish assimilation into Muslim Egypt during the medieval period contradicts standard depictions of Islam and Arabs as intolerant. Participating in every economic sector, working as viziers, administrators, and community representatives for the Jewish minority and the Muslim state, or adopting elements of Islamic culture demonstrate the high degree of cultural miscegenation in the pluralistic societies of the Islamic world. This degree of cultural heterogeneity hardly surprises when on takes into account Egypt’s large Coptic population in the medieval period, as well as the general cosmopolitan character of Cairo and the Nile Delta throughout history, since it is the meeting ground for Asia, Africa, and Europe. The high degree of Jewish assimilation and tolerance in Fatimid Egypt, for example, stands true for the Coptic communities and other Christian sects in the region. Naturally, this relative tolerance and acceptance of dhimmis in the Muslim world was far from a Golden Age of interfaith solidarity, since they were required to pay taxes and did at times face persecution or special impositions regarding dress and displays of religion. The centuries proceeding Fatimid and early Ayyubid rule in Egypt also show that the inclusion of non-Muslims in positions of authority and other special privileges could be revoked by intolerant rulers. Regardless of what dynasty ruled in Cairo, however, the Jewish population enjoyed far more protection and inclusion within broader society than their counterparts in Christian Europe enjoyed until the arrival of industrial nation-states.

---

[1] Cohen 27

[2] Ibid 64.

[3] Ibid 126

[4] Gotein 290.

[5] Ibid 216

[6] Ibid.

[7] Cohen 64.

[8] Ibid 165.

[9] Ibid 74.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid 60.

[12] Gotein 144.

[13] Ibid 215.

[14] Ibid 5.

[15] Ibid 23.

[16] Ibid 37.

[17] Ibid 60.

[18] Ibid 68.

[19] Ibid 216.

[20] Ibid 229.

[21] Ibid 243.

[22] Ibid 244.

[23] Cohen 67.

[24] Ibid 92.

[25] Ibid.

[26] Ibid 66.

[27] Ibid 54.

[28] Ibid 74.

[29] Ibid 67.

[30] Ibid 126.

[31] Ibid 99.

[32] Gotein 362, 379.

[33] Cohen 375.

[34] Ibid 98.

[35] Ibid 89.

[36] Ibid 173.

[37] Ibid 94.

[38] Gotein 400.

[39] Ibid 291.