Another interesting case is a maroon named Codiot, perhaps the name Kwadwo used by Akan peoples.
Another Akan name that appears among Africans of the "Mina" nation is Cofy, likely the Akan Koffi.
Akan names like Coichy, probably Kwasi, can similarly be found among "Mina" Africans in colonial Haiti.
Apia, possibly the Akan name Appiah, was another Akan-derived name found among "Mina" blacks.
An "Aguia" black named Couaminan might be a Kwamina, another Akan-derived name.
Another Koffi, or Coffi, was a maroon of the Cramanti-Adia background. Cramanti was the Coromantee of the British West Indies, and Adia may be a reference to the Aja, or Adja, peoples.
An "Arada" named Kwaku from 1785. If "Arada" captives could have Akan-derived names, one wonders if this one was of Ewe origin.
Sometimes, the "Mina" were listed as Amine. Here we have another Coffi, who apparently spoke the language of Curacao, Papiamento.
Another "Mine" was specified as a "Quimbou-Mine" in the colony. There is a street in Accra called Kinbu, perhaps "Quimbou" being a reference to an area of what is now Accra?
A Bandia African who was only in Saint Domingue for three months, was said to speak the "Mine" language.
As if things weren't complicated enough, the Mallais, Malez, or Male nation were present in the colony. Since the word appears to be derived from the word for Muslims used in Allada and other parts of today's Benin, they were presumably Muslims or captives supplied by Muslim traders from the North. Since the French slave traders sometimes used the word Gold Coast for parts of the Slave Coast, it is probable that the latter coast was intended here.
Yet another ambiguous case is Bayard, of the Otam nation. Since the "Gold Coast" in this context could have included parts of the Slave Coast, Otam might have nothing to do with Ghana.
Last, the case of Marie. Possibly Ibo or Cramanti, she was said to speak the two languages. If she was actually "Ibo" in origin, then one wonders if she learned the "Cramanti" language in West Africa or in Saint Domingue.
One very rough method of estimating the possible Yoruba imports in Saint-Domingue is to combine estimates and data from Manning, Geggus, and other sources. Manning, whose study of the slave trade in Dahomey was a major source used by us for another group, has provided us some rough estimates for the ethnic origin of Slave Coast exports in the period from 1641-1870. Using his estimates for the period 1641-1800, we calculated that about 10.35% of the total exports were of Yoruba captives. If one applies this estimate of 10.35% to David Geggus's data on Bight of Benin imports in Saint-Domingue, one reaches the figure of around 16327 "Nago" captives. Intriguingly, Geggus's own dataset of 13,334 slaves from 1721-1797 included 1580 Nago captives. That makes them about 11.85% of the slave population in that particular dataset. But applying that percentage to the total estimated slave imports would wield an unreasonably high number, about 71,077.
When checking the Slave Voyages site on the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, one finds different numbers. For the period from 1709-1792, the data gives us a total of 185,248 captives brought to Saint Domingue from the Bight of Benin. If one uses Manning's data for a general estimate of 10.35%, then perhaps 19173 Yoruba were brought to the colony of Saint Domingue in the 18th century. This is higher than our earlier estimate of 16327 but still plausible. It also seems likely that in the later decades of the 18th century, the Nago presence among the African-born population was proportionally greater or more conspicuous. Nonetheless, it is likely that the numbers of Nago captives brought to the colony were perhaps anywhere from 16327 to 19173. Using the latter high, one might suggest the "Nago" were nearly 3.2% of the total imported into the island on French ships. The number was likely higher since smuggled captives were not considered and the data isn't as reliable as it should be.
Patrick Manning's estimates for slave exports from the Bight of Benin by ethnic origins (Slavery, Colonialism and Economic Growth in Dahomey, 1640-1960).
In order to compare our own crude estimates for Hausa and "Central Sudan" populations imported into Saint Domingue during the 18th century, we found it useful to check the work of scholars for estimates and context on the total volume of slave exports for the 18th century. In addition, some scholars have written plausible historical analyses of the scale of the slave trade, the ethnicities exported from the Slave Coast during the century, and the conditions that led to captives from areas to the north being fed into the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.
The most useful scholar here is Patrick Manning, whose Slavery, Colonialism, and Economic Growth in. Dahomey, 1640-1960 includes a number of useful tables. While the estimates for the 18th century may not be accurate for the total Central Sudan share of captives exported, the numbers are actually plausible and would fit our own estimates. According to Manning, about 10,500 "Hausa" were exported from the Bight of Benin during the 18th century. The vast majority appear to have been exported in the second half of the 1700s, too. This would include multiple decades when the share of captives purchased by French slavers were significant, particularly in the period from 1760-1790. While Manning's data indicates the French, over the entire 18th century, purchased 259,300 captives from the Bight of Benin, David Geggus's work shows that a total of about 157,748 captives were brought to Saint Domingue on French ships. Specifically, for the period covering the years 1750-1800, a total of around 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin were brought to the Caribbean on French ships. According to Geggus, Saint Domingue absorbed over half of the total number of imported slaves from the Bight of Benin, 265,800 (note that Geggus's calculation differs from that of Manning). It stands to reason that the majority of the Central Sudan captives exported from the Bight of Benin by French ships in the 18th century ended up in Saint Domingue.
To be more precise would require calculating with more precision the share of the Bight of Benin captives brought to Saint Domingue versus other French colonies in the Antilles from 1750-1790. Furthermore, one must determine, somehow, the proportion of Hausa captives who were purchased by the French instead of English, Brazilian or other traders during this period. However, overall, Saint-Domingue seems to have absorbed about 59%. of the total French slave imports of the 18th century. This would suggest that perhaps up to 59% of the estimated 10,500 Hausa captives purchased by the French from the Bight of Benin, such as ports like Porto-Novo, ended up in Saint-Domingue. Checking the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database for slave ships from the Bight of Benin who brought captives to Saint Domingue between 1750 and 1800, however, gives a figure of 105,900. If true, which may be an understatement due to the French including parts of the Slave Coast in the "Gold Coast," this would represent the vast majority of the 123,540 Africans from the Bight of Benin imported in the Antilles during the period 1750-1800 by French ships. Thus, it is very likely that, however many Central Sudan captives were sold from the Bight of Benin in the 18th century, the dominant share of those carried by French slave ships were brought to Haiti (for the French Caribbean.
Using the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database at slavevoyages.org made it quick and easy to get estimates for the total numbers of slaves imported from the Bight of Benin in the period 1750-1794.
However, using the Trans-Atlantic Database to see the total number of slave exports from the Bight of Benin from 1750-1800, one can arrive at different numbers. According to the database, 444,855 captives were disembarked from the Bight of Benin during this period, carried by ships of all nations. If the Saint-Domingue share during this period was only 105,900, then it is somewhat plausible that the French share of the estimated Hausa captives was possibly at least 2,500, though likely somewhat higher. Of course, one would have to fact check this with some better estimates for the decades with the most Hausa captives. According to Manning's estimates, the most Hausa captives were imported in the years 1781-1800, of which Haiti's imports would have ceased in the early 1790s. Nonetheless, the French share during those two decades was substantial, purchasing a little under half of the slaves sold from the Bight of Benin in the 1780s. The French share in the 1790s, naturally, was smaller, but still purchasing a little under 10,000 captives. If broadly accurate, then the French slave traders likely acquired more than 2500 Hausa, perhaps significantly more.
This aforementioned number is plausible and not too far from our estimate. Ultimately, if Manning's figures for the Hausa captives sold during the 18th century is correct, then perhaps a minimum of around 2500 Hausa were landed in Haiti. Using these rough figures, we can calculate how many Hausa captives were imported at the principal ports of the colony during the years 1750-1794. If Le Cap received about 36,810 African captives from the Bight of Benin during this period, one might estimate that about 881 Hausa were imported, presuming the share of Hausa within the imported population was comparable to the share of the total slave imports from the Bight of Benin to Le Cap versus the entire colony. The other major ports received the following:
1. Les Cayes: 88
2. Leogane: 315
3. Petit Goave: 7
4. Port-au-Prince: 753
5. St. Marc: 412
6. Port de Paix: 15
7. Unspecified Saint Domingue ports: 49
Naturally, the above estimates are making a huge assumption and are probably very inaccurate for Port de Paix and Petit Goave. Nonetheless, it gives one an idea of the possible distribution of Hausa and Central Sudan captives in Saint Domingue's provinces. Obviously, the major areas to receive this influx of Central Sudan slaves were the north (Le Cap), the Artibonite region (St. Marc), and the West (Port-au-Prince, Leogane). Smaller numbers may have arrived in Les Cayes and some undoubtedly arrived via other ports. In addition, English smugglers and the contraband trade may have introduced more at ports which lack data for slave imports from the Bight of Benin. Nonetheless, it was clearly concentrated in the North, Artibonite and West provinces of the colony that one was most likely to encounter the Central Sudan population.
We continued our readings of the notarized records from Jacmel for the 1740s, featuring the same notary from the 1730s, Delorme-de-Boissy. Alas, some years are not represented well and we found fewer detailed records or inventories involving at least 10 adult slaves to draw our data from. Several documents were much harder to read, too, either for being too faded or the ambiguous or uncertain writing of African "nations" of enslaved persons. Nonetheless, we found enough records to draw a sample of about 178 adult slaves, and thought it worthwhile to focus on the total number for the various "nations" in the area during this period.
One can see immediately a major Ibo component persisted in the 1740s. From our sample, they were the largest single "nation" in the region. While some habitations and slaveholders held majorities of Mine or other "nations" as property, this Ibo preponderance seems to match other patterns for the South of Saint Domingue. Next, the Congo, were a mainstay among the "nations" of slaves. We assume part of their high numbers was related to the expansion of coffee, a sector in which planters are said to have favored "Congo" slaves. What surprised us, although it probably should not have, was the large Mine, or Mina, numbers.
Overall, the majority of captives came from the Slave Coast, Bight of Biafra and West Central Africa. Or, in other words, the Lower Guinea and Central African numerical dominance was clear. The "Upper Guinea" captives, represented by the Bambara, Poulard, Senegalois, were rather diminished compared to the Igbo, Arada, and Congo, who together comprised more than half of our sample drawn from different slaveholders in the Jacmel quarter. This majority increases even more when other Central African and Lower Guinea groups are added to the totals. In addition, some of our large number of "Unknown" or illegible nations probably fell into the Lower Guinea cluster, pointing more towards the Slave Coast, Bight of Biafra and West Central Africa as the major supplier of captives. Again, several of the Creoles may have had parents from other regions, and the population of enslaved children born in the colony (which would have boosted the Creole total) may have had parents from Upper Guinea.
Despite some of the strong assertions by scholars of a prominent role played by enslaved Muslims in Saint Domingue, most sources do appear not support that narrative. Two scholars in particular, Diouf and Gomez, promote unsubstantiated or speculative claims of prominent leaders among the slave rebels being Muslim. A Haitian blogger, Salnave, has dedicated several articles to disproving the thesis, albeit adding some of his own speculations in certain cases. So, what do the sources actually reveal about the presence of Muslims among the enslaved in Saint Domingue? And of what import does it come to bear on the history of slavery and Haiti? And how has the narrative of Islamic influences in the Haitian Revolution contributed to or hindered our understanding of it?
Moreover, he also reveals himself to be a questionable witness because he claims the "Congo" included some with Islamic practices. The presence of Islam in West Central Africa during the 18th century was likely minimal, far less influential there than West Africa. Unless some of the captives came from areas of what are now eastern Congo, the Central African Republic, or Chad, their exposure to Islam was probably non-existent. Furthermore, many of the aforementioned "nations" who may have been Muslim or exposed to Islam, were largely practicing "traditional" religions until the 19th and 20th centuries (the Bambara come to mind). It is certainly possible that some of the previously mentioned West African "nations" included Muslims, as well as the Hausa, Yoruba, and Nupe, and additional captives from southeastern Africa. Indeed, there is also a remote chance of Muslim captives arriving in the colony from the Swahili Coast, Madagascar or India, though very unlikely. However, without more sources, assuming a significant Muslim presence among the enslaved population of Saint Domingue is speculative.
Another source used by Diouf and Gomez, Colonel Malenfant, attests to the presence of some literate Muslims in the colony. During the Haitian Revolution, slave rebels sometimes wore amulets with Arabic writing, a practice that was also common among non-Muslim groups in West Africa. Malenfant also describes an encounter with a literate African, named Tamerlan, who claimed to have come from a kingdom where writing and the production of books was common. Gomez deduced that Tamerlan was likely from a Muslim kingdom in West Africa, and the example of writing he produced for Malenfant, a long prayer of twenty lines written in a script Malenfant could not recognize, may have been ajami. Nonetheless, based on Malenfant's account of Tamerlan's literacy (one in a script associated with "long-haired mulattoes," perhaps the Tuareg or another population in the Sahel), Tamerlan assured him it was not Arabic. But, if it was ajami writing, however, one would think Tamerlan could have explained that to Malenfant?
But, other details of Tamerlan's life before captivity do suggest a possible Muslim background. In addition to his role as a priest, instructor to a prince and maker of books or manuscripts, or so he claimed, he revealed to Malenfant that his hometown possessed 300,000 inhabitants. This is probably a reference to the total population the surrounding area of the capital city, not the royal capital itself. Intriguingly, the former capital city of the Bornu kingdom was, according to Dixon Denham, 200,000, before its fall during the early 19th century. It is likely that the majority of the structures in the city were constructed with wood or straw, like other cities of West Africa. Is there a chance Tamerlan was from the Kingdom of Bornu? He also said that he had not seen whites in his city, but the aforementioned long-haired mulattoes, probably a reference to the Tuareg or Berbers. He probably would have met other "whites" from Arab populations connected to Bornu via trans-Saharan networks, so uncertainty lingers. When he was captured, it took more than 3 months for him to reach the coast, where whites loaded the captives onto slave ships. This suggests he was from deep in the interior of what was most likely West Africa. The city of his king was built in wood, mostly of single-story homes. If true, then Tamerlan came from a very large city ruled by a powerful king. It is possible Tamerlan exaggerated some of these details to give an image of greater grandeur to his African past, but he clearly longed to return. According to Malenfant, he was one of the "few" Africans who wised to return to the continent, which suggests he probably enjoyed a position of great status. In consideration of all of the above, it is possible Tamerlan was indeed a Muslim from West Africa, but Malenfant's account is shrouded in hazy memory and doubt to prove it. Either way, Malenfant's memory of Tamerlan was linked to accounts of Muslim slaves in Saint Domingue.
Our next, and perhaps best source on Muslims in Saint Domingue, may corroborate a Muslim origin of Tamerlan. Etienne Michel Descourtilz, while at the Rossignol-Desdunes habitation in the Artibonite, collected details and accounts of the various African "nations" he encountered in Saint Domingue. For most, there is no mention of Islam. "Nations" which may have contained Islamic practitioners were not mentioned as Muslim. For instance, the Mozambiques are classified as Catholic and "Vaudoux" adherents, suggesting that most of the captives from southeastern Africa were not Muslim. There could have been a few who were, either from Mozambique, Tanzania, or Madagascar, but without sources it remains speculation. If anything, Descourtilz's experiences with Africans in Artibonite and Saint Domingue attests to the limited presence of Muslims among the enslaved, as the vast majority are mentioned with any reference to Islam.
Yet, Descourtilz does provide the best direct evidence of practicing Muslims in Saint Domingue. His two groups are the Phylani (Fulani), the Islamized among the Poulard of West Africa, and the "Beurno." His account of the former compares them to the Jews, although he describes their god as being Allah. The Phylani lived a nomadic lifestyle in Africa, stressed filial piety, and referred to their priest as "alpha." The Phylani group's religious holidays, abstention from pork, and prayers clearly demonstrate Islamic practices. Their priest or alpha was also literate, like Tamerlan. Besides the Phylani Muslim community in the colony, who were probably a very tiny one, Descourtilz wrote about the "Beurno" and their kingdom in Africa with some detail. According to Descourtilz, some slaves from "Beurno" toiled on the Rossignold-Desdunes plantation, thereby giving him multiple chances to speak with and observe the customs of "Beurno" Africans.
"Beurno" is undoubtedly a reference to Bornu, a long-established kingdom in West Africa with roots in ancient Kanem. Their kings had converted to Islam several centuries before, and many of its subjects appear to have converted to Islam long before the Fulani jihads of the 1800s. Evidence of the Islamic influence upon the "Bornu" Africans can be found in what Descourtilz described as their strict submission of women to men, and gender separation of married women and men. According to Descourtilz, the religion of the Bornu resembled that of the Phylani, and they shared in their abstention from pork (they only consumed meat blessed by their alpha, or priest). Literacy was also present among the Bornu, who can read, write, transmit the code of their divine law. Descourtilz even described their custom of writing on wooden planks, a custom still seen in parts of Muslim West Africa. The religious texts produced in Bornu were highly valued, and many were willing to pay dearly or sell their livestock to purchase said texts. In short, the "Beurno" described by Descourtilz were, in at least some cases, devout Muslims whose social practices were influenced by Islam. The description of the king of "Beurno" and the prevalence of the slave trade also confirms the Bornu identification, although the specific "Beurno" captives met by Descourtilz were the defeated in a battle with rivals of Bornu.
So, via Descourtilz, we have direct accounts of at least two Islamized groups in Saint Domingue. It is unclear what their total numbers were, but a group of the "Beurno" were working at the Rossignol-Desdunes plantation. For the Phylani Muslims, their numbers were likely small, too. Descourtilz does not offer much in terms of understanding the influence of these two groups on other slaves, and their small numbers and distinct religion may have encouraged them to look inward and try to preserve some of their customs and practices. If they were like African Muslims in other parts of the Caribbean, they may have been able to survive as a small community for a few generations. But, if evidence from Trinidad and elsewhere is relevant to Saint Domingue and Haiti, one would think most of the Muslims in Saint Domingue vanished after a few generations or merged into the general population, possibly converting to Catholicism or joining Vodou adherents. I have yet to come across any sources attesting to Muslim communities after independence, and claims of Muslim Mandingue in Balan are likely exaggerated.
To conclude, one must admit the idea of an Islamic contribution to the making of Haiti clearly resonates with some of the African Diaspora. To me, it seems to be a reflection of inaccurate histories of Islam in Africa, black nationalist romances of Islam as "our religion" and, in some cases, an outdated civilizationist and vindicationist discourse used by some Haitian intellectuals to elevate the status of some of our forebears. Clearly, Price-Mars and Jean Fouchard thought very highly of the famous kingdoms and empires of the medieval Western Sudan. Some, like Fouchard, attribute literacy and refinement to these people through their contact with Arabs and Islam. Thus, they can foment a counter-narrative that suggests our African ancestors were not all illiterate peoples removed from the most important aspects of civilization. Of course, one would hope proponents of the Islamic theory distance themselves from that paradigm, but there is still a remnant of it in the way some scholars describe the esteem enslaved Muslims received from their masters. Undoubtedly it lives on through the legacy of Edward Blyden and 20th century Black Muslim movements. Regardless, we are stuck at the impasse described in Reed's Mumbo Jumbo, with Islam, Vodun, and "Atenism" as competing forces.
Ultimately, the benefit of this revisionist scholarship, for what it's worth, is that it does shed light and add nuance to our understanding of the various peoples in Saint Domingue. It helps piece together who the forced migrants were, what their values may have been, and the kinds of societies from which they sprang. Indeed, Descourtilz's essay on the African "nations" of Saint Domingue was intimately linked to a history of Africa. Malenfant recognized the great use captives like Tamerlan could have for the European exploration of the African continent. Consequently, studying the origins of the African populations of Saint Domingue is also a study of the history of Africa. But until new evidence emerges, the tale of Islam in Saint Domingue will be one of a small minority who have contributed to the mosaic of Africa that is Haiti. The blog of Salnave has already demonstrated how limited the Islamic presence was and its role in the Haitian Revolution, but there will always be room for new interpretations and conclusions about the birth of Haiti.
Bibliography
Charlevoix, Pierre-François-Xavier de, and Jean Baptiste Le Pers. Histoire de l'isle espagnole ou de S. Domingue: ecrite particulierement sur des memoires manuscrits du p. Jean-Baptiste le Pers, Jesuite, missionnaire à Saint Domingue, & sur les pieces originales, qui se conservent au Dépôt de la marine. Amsterdam: F. L'Honoré, 1733.
Denham, Dixon, Hugh Clapperton, and Walter Oudney. Travels and Discoveries in Northern and Central Africa: In 1822, 1823, and 1824. London: J. Murray, 1831.
Descourtilz, Michel Étienne. Voyages d'un naturaliste, et ses observations faites sur les trois regnes de la Nature, dans plusieurs ports de mer francais, en Espagne, au continent d'Amerique septentrionale, a Saint-Yago de Cuba, et a Saint Domingue, ou l'Auteur devenu le prisonnier de 40,000 Noirs revoltes, et par suite mis en liberte par une colonne de l'armee frangais, donne des details circonstancies sur l'expedition du general Leclerc, 3 vols. Paris: Dufart, 1809.
Diouf, Sylviane A. Servants of Allah: African Muslims Enslaved in the Americas. New York: New York University Press, 1998.
Geggus, David. "The French Slave Trade: An Overview." The William and Mary Quarterly 58, no. 1 (2001): 119-38. Accessed October 3, 2020. doi:10.2307/2674421.
Gomez, Michael A. Black Crescent: The Experience and Legacy of African Muslims in the Americas. Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005.
Khan, Aisha. "Islam, Vodou, and the Making of the Afro-Atlantic." NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 86, no. 1/2 (2012): 29-54. Accessed October 5, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41850693.
Malenfant, Col. Des colonies, et particulièrement de celle de Saint-Dominique: mémoire historique et politique, ou l'on trouvera, 1o un exposé impartial des causes et un précis historique des guerres civiles qui ont rendu cette dernière colonie indépendante, 2o des considérations sur l'importance de la rattacher à la métropole et sur les moyens de le renter avec succès, d'y ramener une paix durable, d'en rétablir et accroître la prospérité. Paris: Audibert, (C.-F. Patris), 1814.
Let us examine the case of a literate African named Tamerlan in Saint Domingue (Haiti) for evidence of another link between Haiti and Kanem-Borno. We have attempted an analysis of Tamerlan in a previous post. For those who don't remember, Tamerlan is mentioned in a book by Colonel Malenfant. In one anecdote, after mentioning Arabic amulets in Saint Domingue, he describes meeting Tamerlan, in 1791, a man who could read and write in his own language, as well as that of a type of "mulattoes" with long hair. Tamerlan wrote a prayer and the name of his language on a piece of paper for Malenfant, who later lost it.
At first he thought Tamerlan wrote something in Arabic, but he said no. So, there's some mystery about Tamerlan's writing. If we look at other clues in his story, however, it seems likely he wrote in ajami for his own language, possibly Kanembu or Kanuri. The writing of the long-haired mulattoes may have been the Tuareg Tifinagh, something he could have picked up from being an educated man of Borno who interacted with Tuaregs. Perhaps a mere coincidence, but Niebuhr's description of Borno uses the Kanuri word for Tuareg, and describes them as long-haired, suggesting Kanuri descriptions of Tuareg in the 18th century also linked them to long-hair. Additional clues suggest Tamerlan was from the interior of western Africa (it took more than 3 months for him to reach the coast after being taken captive). He also described himself as the teacher of a prince and as someone who produced books or texts. This would suggest a respected scholar or royal tutor, which would have been a common practice in Borno, as various mais aligned themselves with scholars and supported students. In West Africa, such a person would almost certainly be of a Muslim background and probably from a region with a long tradition of scholarship. Borno would fit the bill quite well.
He also describes the royal town as being a vast city, estimating it to have as many inhabitants as Port-au-Prince, the Cul-de-Sac plain, Arcahaie, and Leogane. Malenfant takes this to mean the city of Tamerlan had around 300,000 people, but a more reasonable estimate would be far less, as those areas of Saint Domingue probably didn't have a total population of 300,000 people in 1791. The towns would have been usually small, with a very large enslaved population in the Cul-de-Sac plain near Port-au-Prince (tens of thousands). But something on the scale of 100,000-200,000 would be more realistic, which could easily have been the case if Gazargamu had around 10,000 houses in the late 18th century. Either way, Tamerlan describes himself coming from the African interior, being literate in 2 writing systems (one possibly Tifinagh), and coming from a vast capital city ruled by a powerful king who would pay a fortune to have him back. We know in other incidences that Borno's rulers paid ransoms for the return of relatives or valuable persons, exemplified by Ali ibn. Umar and his nephew or as Nicholas Said reveals in his autobiography.
I don't know about you, but we could see Tamerlan being from Borno. While people from Borno were not very common in Saint Domingue, "Bernon" or "Beurnon" Africans were in Saint Domingue. Indeed, Descourtilz wrote about Borno based on discussions with "Beurnon" people in the colony, who told him how highly valued religious texts were in their homeland. In addition, Hausa captives were also there, so perhaps Tamerlan could have been from Katsina or Kano, or a tributary state of Borno. Yet the vast metropolis of his king sounds like Borno's capital. Of course, Malenfant remembers Tamerlan describing a well aligned city built of wood, where most of the houses were a single story. Gazargamu would have included brick and clay structures, but very likely a lot of wooden structures or "huts" as part of household compounds or the housing of the less fortunate. Perhaps Tamerlan was exaggerating how well-aligned the streets of the city were, as North African sources suggest Gazargamu had an irregular layout without proper "streets." Indeed, with the exception of the dendal and the street leading to the principal mosque, we find it hard to believe the city of Gazargamu was well aligned.
With these caveats, we still think there's a good chance Tamerlan was indeed a native of Borno. Perhaps someone with a thorough education, who could understand Tuareg Tifinagh, and was respected and supported by the ruler of his state. While he could have been from other parts of West Africa, the fact that he claimed to be from a vast city in the African interior and comes from a society where scholarship, ajami writing, and books were highly valued, suggests a Borno origin. The enormous city he described may have been the Gazargamu said to have had 200,000 inhabitants. If so, Tamerlan's story of his origin can be additional evidence for the substantial urban civilization of Borno under the Sefuwa dynasty. In order to confirm this story, we would need to find a source that mentions a royal prince of Borno being killed in the attack that led to Tamerlan's enslavement, perhaps the very same cruel prince mentioned by Descourtilz? Alternatively, Tamerlan could have hailed from East Africa, perhaps Ethiopia or Sudan, but we consider that less likely due to the much higher numbers of West and Central Africans in Saint Domingue.
Although we here at the blog have been interested in the history of Kanem-Borno and exploring the existence of links between Haiti and that ancient African civilization, it would be foolish to omit the Borno diaspora elsewhere in the Americas. In the case of Brazil, we can thank Francis Comte de Castelnau for his recording of interviews with various West Africans in mid-19th century Bahia. While many were Hausa and other West Africans, a number of his informants on the interior of Africa were from Borno. Their names were Karo, Damoutourou, Aba-Hama, Suleman, Ali, Mammarou, and Ibrahim. A sketch of one, presumably Mammarou of Mounao (in Borno), appears in the image above, as Figure 1. While the Borno informants had arrived in Brazil at different times and in at least one case was in Brazil for over 30 years, their testimonies provides some context on Borno's turbulent 19th century. The wars with the Fulani, slave raids, tensions with Bagirmi, and their own brutal path to Bahia show the ways in which Borno was integrated into the larger world.
In the case of Damoutourou, who had been in Brazil over 30 years, and could speak Hausa, Kanuri, "Begharmi" and "Wadei," it's possible he did not know of the fall of the Sayfawa dynasty. Karo, from Angoumati, another "Bernou" in Bahia, provides information of a fantastic sort on the so-called Niam-Niam cannibals. Mammarou, of Mounao, on the other hand, was a soldier who had traveled around Borno and its environs. Last, but certainly not least, Ibrahim of Borno claimed to have traveled to the east on the Mecca Route. He also claimed to have seen people who were cannibals in the lands south of Darfur....which probably goes to show how some Bornoans exaggerated and promoted tales of cannibals or humans with tails to gullible outsiders. Son of a Borno father and Hausa mother, Ibrahim's life is an additional example of the various ways in which the peoples of Borno were tied to their neighbors and beyond, from West Africa to the Red Sea.
The other Africans interviewed by de Castelnau were not from Borno, but provide a number of details about it. Aboubakar of Bagirmi, for example, saw his homeland as a tributary of Borno. Born in Massenya, the capital, he knew of the eastern routes through Waday, Darfur, and "Zambulma." As one of the central lands on east-west "Sudanic" route that went from the Atlantic coast to the Red Sea, people from Baghirmi were well-situated to know of and encounter various African peoples, especially people from Borno who passed through en route to Sudan, Egypt, and Mecca. Oddly, Aboubakar did not recognize words like Kordofan, Abyssinia, or Nubia, perhaps reflecting unfamiliarity with terms not used in Baghirmi for eastern lands.
So, Brazil is definitely on the list of places with connections to Borno. While we have a lot of work to do before one can attempt an analysis of the experiences of "Borno" Africans in Bahia or other parts of the Latin American nation, they were clearly not alone among Muslims living in the region. Perhaps more were in Bahia and the Northeast than any in Rio de Janeiro, and they presumably participated in the cultural and religious community of African Muslims. We suspect that they may have joined hands with Hausa and Muslim Yoruba in the 1835 uprising, and perhaps in acts of marronage. If events in Saint Domingue were analogous, there may have been group activities tied to marronage and slave resistance that united the "Borno" Africans with their Hausa, Fulani, and Bagirmi "foes" and friends in Brazil.
.jfif)
