The Diwan

Although his study of the document contains many speculations built on flimsy foundations, Dierk Lange's critical translation and interpretation of the Dīwān des sultans du (Kānem- )Bornū: chronologie et histoire d'un royaume africain (de la fin du Xe siècle jusqu'à 1808) is required reading for all interested in the history of Kanem-Borno. Using both copies of the Diwan given to Heinrich Barth, Lange translated the text and used a variety of internal and external sources to corroborate the historical accuracy of it. Indeed, specific external sources with approximate or nearly precise dates can support the chronology of Kanem-Borno by looking at the relatively accurate length of reigns of various mais. Undoubtedly, Lange's chronology is probably the most accurate we possess for the history of Kanem-Borno. 

By beginning with the end of the Sayfawa dynasty in 1846, and working backwards in time, one can arrive at a generally accurate timeline for the heads of state back to the medieval era. While less precise for the time of Hummay or the previous so-called Duguwa dynasty, the rough chronology gives us an idea of who was in power in early Kanem during moments of trans-Saharan interaction with polities in Tunisia, the Fezzan, Egypt, and beyond. Lange also suggests some probable theories on the nature of the original lost "Chronicle of Borno" that was likely the basis for the Diwan and how it pushes back the origins of Kanem to the 6th or 7th century. Thus, the fictive reign lengths of hundreds of years attributed to a few early Kanem kings (Duku, Katur) really represent multiple generations of rulers (11 or 12) before Ayuma (r.987-1007), perhaps pushing the origins of Kanem back to the 500s (Lange 141).

Unfortunately, Lange confidently asserts some questionable theories about the origins of Kanem and the question of dynastic continuity throughout the history of the civilization. Despite the Diwan, Ahmad b. Furtu, Ibn Sa'id (drawing on Ibn Fatima), and Kanuri oral traditions, Lange insists on seeing the Sayfawa as newcomers not lineally descended from the Duguwa rulers of early Kanem. To Lange, the Sayfawa, beginning with Hummay, were actually Berber in origin. Drawing on al-Yaqubi, al-Idrisi, Muhammad Bello, the romance of Sayf (with its allegedly anti-black or at least racialized character) Leo Africanus, the Diwan alluding to red-skinned early mais, and some linguistic assumptions, Lange comfortably claims, "Hummay était en toute vraisemblance un Tarki (sing. du nom arab Tawarik) issu d'un milieu islamisé et même, en partie, arabisé" (111). According to Lange, Hummay's very name could be connected to the Tuareg name Hammai, while his mother and grandfather could have names of Arabic origin modified by Berber speakers (98). 

While one could could not deny the possibility of ancient Saharan contacts between Berbers and the ancestors the Kanembu and Kanuri, the Diwan clearly states Hummay's mother was a Kay (Koyam) and his father was the previous king of Kanem, Abd al-Djalil. Consequently, we here at the blog differ in our interpretation of a passage in the Halle manuscript of the Diwan (97). To us, the passage is emphasizing a distinction between the descendants of Hummay and Duku because of the former's deeper attachment to Islam. While earlier mais appear to have been Muslims (Abd al-Djalil, Hawa), perhaps it was only with Hummay and his descendants that Islam was more deeply established as an official religion of Kanem (or its ruling elite). For example, we know al-Bakri, writing in the mid-11th century, saw Kanem as a land of "pagan" Sudan. However, if the Diwan is reliable for 11th century kings, Hawa (r. 1067-1071) was already a Muslim. Hawa, if male, was the son of Arku, whose mother was a Tomaghera from Kawar, a region with a deep history of Islamic traders (including Berber merchants). Is it not likely that the ascension of Hummay may have represented a strengthening of a Muslim faction among the ruling dynasty, perhaps one more deeply attached to Islam than Hawa and Abd al-Djalil? Furthermore, the possibly Arabic names of Hummay's mother and maternal grandfather (Takrama and Ghumar) could simply reflect the transmission of Islam through Berbers (and Arabs). Based on the sources we currently have, there's simply no evidence for Hummay being Tuareg or some other sort of Berber. However, Lange could be correct that Hummay came from a background already Islamized, as indicated by the Diwan mentioning 2 previous Muslim rulers of Kanem.

As for the alleged descent from Sayf, and the allegedly anti-black character of the romance of Sayf making it unlikely for "black Africans" to claim descent from him, we are not convinced (102). Obviously, a plethora of fictitious Yemeni or Arab genealogies exist across Muslim Africa. Moreover, the rulers of Kanem were known to have adopted the Sayfian nisba by the 13th century, centuries before the romance was written down in Egypt. We simply do not know if the ruling elite of Kanem were aware of the "racial" implications the legendary Sayf was associated with, and other factors could be relevant to the clearly fictitious political myth of origins. If, on the other hand, Lange's interpretation of Hummay as a Berber whose successors claimed descent from Sayf because of the "racial" character of the legendary Sayf defeating non-Muslim "black Africans" were true, one would have to wonder why they also claimed descent from the earlier, pagan dynasty. After all, Ibn Sa'id reported that the "pagan" ancestors of Dunama Dibalemi (r.1210-1248) were based in Manan, the ancient capital of Kanem mentioned by al-Muhallabi in the late 10th century (96). This would suggest Dunama Dibalemi was a descendant of the same kings who ruled from Manan and, later on, shifted the capital to Njimi. 

The main complication to the narrative of dynastic continuity from early Kanem to 1846 is al-Umari, who wrote of the Sayfawa seizing power after al-Hadi al-Uthmani established Islam in Kanem (99). In fact, this Hadi al-Uthmani who supposedly first established Islam, is not mentioned in the Diwan and supposedly claimed descent from the 3rd Rashidun caliph. Borno traditions and mahrams remember another person who introduced Islam (Muhammad b. Mani), and a close reading of al-Umari in Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History never refers to Hadi al-Uthmani explicitly as a king. Instead, al-Umari wrote, "The first man to establish Islam there was Hadi al-Uthmani who claimed descent from Uthman b. 'Affan. It passed after him to the Yazanis, the descendants of Dhu Yazan" (Corpus 261). One wonders if the man al-Umari names as the first to establish Islam was an Islamic scholar affiliated with Hawa or Abd al-Djalil. The reference to the Yazanis or descendants of Sayf could be a reference to the Sayfawa introducing and cementing Islam throughout their domains as the primary patrons of the religion. After all, one of the sources of legitimacy of the dynasty was their support for Islam, Muslim scholars, and the faith. Hence, an alternative reading of al-Umari suggests the Sayfawa (or, really, the Duguwa but more explicitly Islamized) became the dominant patrons of the religion. 

Another sign of likely dynastic continuity from the Duguwa to the Sayfawa can be found in pre-Islamic forms of political legitimacy that continued throughout the history of Kanem-Borno. If the Sayfawa who took power in the late 11th century were Berbers from a family Islamized for quite some time, how does one explain their preservation of older, non-Muslim customs and traditions? Intermarriage with previous ruling elite? We find it more likely that they were indeed the same dynasty and they never completely dropped non-Muslim traditions of kingship. Thus, the belief in the power of the ruler to influence health and agriculture, the veneration and isolation of the mai, and widespread acceptance of the myth that the king doesn't require food, for instance, continued long after the medieval era. For example, Kanuri informants of Descourtilz in Saint-Domingue reported that the king of Borno never leaves his palace and any subject who dares to stare at him is punished by death (Descourtilz 146). Ibn Battuta in the 14th century, like al-Umari, described Borno's ruler as never appearing before the people and never addressing them unless from behind a curtain (although al-Umari mentioned 2 festivals in which the king did appear). 

In addition, W.G. Browne, who traveled to Darfur in the 1790s, mentioned a rainy season ritual in which the king of Borno, like the sultan of Darfur, was expected to dig holes into the ground with his hands, suggesting kingship in pre-Islamic Kanem was believed to have an effect on the harvest (probably explaining why al-Muhallabi thought the subjects of Kanem's "pagan" kings believed their mai provided food and health). This suggests a degree of continuity in kingship rituals, practices, and style from the time of al-Muhallabi (late 900s) to the late 18th century. In short, the mai was, usually, distant from his subjects, associated with extreme power, and believed to have some influence on agriculture (supernatural power associated with kingship in deep antiquity?) and these characteristics remained relevant long after mai Hummay ascended to the throne. If Hummay really was of external origin and/or Berber, he and his descendants must have quickly assimilated into the local ruling class and what became the Magumi (royal clan, magumi meaning free-born, according to Koelle). 

While more could be said on the questionable conclusions and guesswork of Lange with regards to Leo Africanus and Muhammad Bello on the origins of the Sayfawa dynasty, or even the speculative association of the Duguwa dynasty with blacksmiths, our hope is not to focus solely on the negative. The Diwan received a much better translation here than in Palmer's Bornu Sahara and Sudan. Fortunately, Lange is more careful and measured in his conclusions as well as providing a more accurate chronology than that of Urvoy or Palmer. For a superior translation with a plethora of useful comments and references, this French study of the Diwan is important for helping us to establish the basic timeline of an African civilization and how it developed over time. Though we are skeptical of the idea of two separate dynasties, this is essential reading for the history of Kanem-Borno.

The Kano Chronicle, Hausaland and Borno

Although it was almost certainly written in the 19th century and probably relies on legends and oral traditions for the early rulers of the kingdom, the Kano Chronicle is another fascinating source and example of historical literature in "Sudanic" Africa. Lamentably, we have to rely on Palmer's 1908 translation for our purposes, and his chronology may be incorrect. Anyway, we here at the blog believe Hunwick was probably right about the date of authorship and the ideological motivations of the author, but it is interesting to consider the document in relationship to the Agadez Chronicles, the chronicles and kingslists of Borno (such as the Diwan), other Kano kingslists, the Timbuktu Chronicles, and historical writings across the "Sudanic" belt of the continent. Indeed, the playful additional or praise songs for past rulers and historical figures, the tension between the semi-legendary "pagan" past and the Muslim or Islamic authors, or the changes in state formation with the increase of slave officials, Islam's spread, and the stability of the state across nearly 800 years. 

One can see how the Kano Chronicle was likely based on kingslists. With narrative elaboration and details that probably drew from oral literature and possibly some documents, like the Funj Chronicle, the Hausa author(s) innovatively combined the two types of literary sources for an engaging overview of each sarki or king of Kano. To what extent were the kings of Kano from ca. 1000 to 1807 really from a single dynasty is unclear, as the earlier rulers, such as Bagauda, may have been based on legends. And the ancient "pagan" religion that clearly served as a basis of authority for the early rulers appeared to influence the Bagauda dynasty for centuries, even after Yaji I established Islam. Innovative rulers such as Muhammad Rumfa and Kisoki, despite their links to the larger Islamic world, probably had to wade carefully with Islamic reforms to Kano's state structure and relationship with the masses, yet starting around the time of these post-Yaji I kings, the Kano Chronicle seems to owe less to legends. It is also interesting to see how the author inserts dialogue which he could not have been privy to for kings who ruled centuries before the 19th century, but adding life to the historical figures in question.

However, since our main interest in Kano and Hausaland is related to Kanem-Borno, we read the source in that light. Thus, one cannot escape noticing the use of Kanem-Borno administrative titles in Kano, such as galadima. A Borno prince who sought refuge in Kano in the early 15th century, perhaps Uthman b. Daud, appears in the chronicle as Dagachi. This Sayfawa royal may have introduced aspects of Borno statecraft and titles into Kano, although anachronisms in the text cause the author to use titles like galadima before the 15th century Kano sarkis. To what extent Kano may have been under the rule or within the sphere of influence of Kanem-Borno before the Sayfawa relocated to Borno is not clear, but the Sayfawa state appears to have influenced Kano in many ways. According to the chronicle, Kano paid tribute to Borno during Abdulahi Burja's reign (c. 1438-1452), while also opening roads from Borno to Gwanja for trade. During his reign, Borno also attempted an attack on Asben but a lack of water drove them back. Nonetheless, the chronicle suggests other lands west of Borno fell under some kind of tributary relationship with the Sayfawa. But probably a loose one, as Borno's campaign on Kano during the reign of Abdulahi in the period between 1499-1509 suggests a recurring need for the Sayfawa to reassert their control. Later attempts would not go so well for Borno, as Sarki Koski (given an extremely long reign by Palmer) was able to resist an attack of Borno on the city.

Kanuri or Beriberi also appear in large numbers in the middle of the 15th century, as well as Arabs, an increase in the salt trade, and Gwanja merchants in Katsina. Clearly, events by the time of the middle of the 15th century increased the movement of people and goods from Asben, Gobir, Gwanja, Katsina, Borno, and beyond in Kano. Indeed, the presence of people from Bagirmi and Logone ("Lagoni") in Kano under Abubakr Kado (c.1565-1573) must have been through Borno. In addition to Muslim Wangara and Fulanis from the west bringing books and contributing Islamic holymen and scholars to the city, Borno provided 3 brothers: Shehu Karaski, Magumi (the royal clan of the Sayfawa) and Kabi. The chronicle claims Magumi became alkali during the reign of Kisoki, and with a name like Magumi, one wonders if he was a relative of the Borno mai. Perhaps through the influence of royals with Islamic learning and political connections, Borno was able to expand or maintain its influence in the court of Kano (and other vassal or tributary states) without direct rule or intervention. As for the Kano campaign of Idris Alooma (Idris b. Ali), the chronology of Palmer would preclude it from being the Borno attack on Kano during Kisoki's reign. 

Last, but certainly not least for understanding Borno's presence in the chronicle, the Kwararafa threat. 17th century external sources allude to the Kwararafa engaging in wars with Borno during the reign of Ali b. Umar. Kano, too, fought with the Kwararafa state or confederation a number of times in the 16th and 17th centuries. Indeed, one of their attacks during the reign of Dadi (c. 1670-1703) resulted into the Kwararafa taking the capital. If other Hausa sources are reliable for the era, Borno played a role in defeating the Kwararafa threat to Katsina during this era, and may have, as the most powerful state, played the role of protector for tributary and even non-tributary Muslim states in the region threatened by "pagans" like Kwararafa  (although they became "Christian" in European sources). Unfortunately, the chronicle does not explicitly mention Borno's role in staving the Kwararafa threat, but one can imagine the Sayfawa dynasty likely played a role in weakening their threat to Hausa states. 

In conclusion, the Kano Chronicle presents not only a mine of information, questions, and mysteries on Kano and the history of Hausaland, but poses interesting questions on Kanem-Borno's in the "Central "Sudan." It corroborates, to a certain extent, Borno's hegemony or cultural impact on the Hausa states. The text itself, though almost certainly written in the 19th century, exhibits an occasionally moving fusion of oral and written sources for an actual history that elaborates on the various kingslists. Like the Funj Chronicle, one can almost see a certain shift toward narrative based on the kinglists with a plethora of influences from pre-Islamic Hausa culture. We will return to Kano in future posts on the history of the Hausa people. 

Tarikh al-Sudan

Due to our recent readings of Redhouse's dated English translations of two chronicles by the imam Ahmad Ibn Furtu or Borno, we at the blog have decided to tackle Hunwick's translation of the chronicle Tarikh al-Sudan by Abd al-Rahman al-Sa'di. Unfortunately, Hunwick did not translate the entirety of the chronicle written by our Timbuktu author, skipping 2 chapters on Moroccan politics and later chapters on events after 1613, with the pasha administration and post-Songhay Middle Niger politics. That era, after 1613, when effective Songhay resistance was largely over and fewer large-scale empires operated in the "Western Sudan",  was for obvious reasons quite distinct from the "imperial" era of Songhay, Mali, or Ghana. 

As the general narrative of the Songhay Empire or the Western Sudan owes so much to al-Sadi and the Tarikh al-Fattash, reading this chronicle was basically an exercise in seeing how so many historians and documentarians have borrowed this or that idea, characterization, or plot point in their depiction of Songhay rulers like Askia Muhammad or Sunni Ali. We have read select chapters of the two surviving Timbuktu chronicles in the past, for our earlier projects on Ghana and pre-imperial Songhay history, so the early chapters were nothing new. As recent scholarship has shown, an overreliance on the Timbuktu tarikhs is problematic, as the authors had various political, ideological, and religious motives at play, and were relying on oral traditions for much of the earlier history of their region. For instance, today's scholars have called into question the idea of Ali Kulun and the Sunni dynasty of Songhay rulers, pointing to the alarming parallels with Tuareg oral traditions and folklore. Mande, Berber, Songhay, and Islamic influences intersect and shaped how Timbuktu chroniclers like al-Sadi perceived the Middle Niger and the "land of the Blacks" in surprising ways, and not always in what modern secular readers considered to be historically accurate style or methodology. 

Thus, one must use these sources very carefully while also coming to see something of the interplay or oral and written traditions in West African literature. One can read these chronicles and see commonality with the oral epics of Sunjata, or the oral epics of the Bamana people of Segu. For al-Sadi and his audience, chronicling the great past of his region while endeavoring to avoid offending the Pasha administration relied on portraying the later Songhay Askia dynasts as corrupt and decadent, yet celebrating the security, Islamic scholarship, and cosmopolitan ties of Timbuktu and Jenne in the Songhay Golden Age (scholars who traveled to Mecca, Egypt, North Africa or corresponded with illustrious figures from Cairo). Moreover, while the author was of "Berber" descent, he also mentions a Fulani ancestor, and probably possessed other West African non-Berber forebears. Clearly, he was a man of Timbuktu and identified with the region and its peoples, and Islamic devotion filtered the lens through which he viewed West Africa. In that respect, he resembled Ahmad Ibn Furtu, the chief imam of the mosque in Borno's capital during the reign of Idris Alooma. Like Ibn Furtu, his historical chronicle sought to stress the proper and just Islamic devotion of his class and preferred rulers. For al-Sadi, this seems to have been Askia Muhammad I and Askia Dawud, and one of course must question the portrayal of these rulers in the chronicles. 

It is also clear that the text pointed to the corruption and in-fighting among various siblings and cousins of the Askia royal family over the course of the 16th century as a cause for the empire's decline and relatively quick fall to the invading forces of Morocco. How the Songhay went from being able to raid Moroccan territory in the Dar'a Valley under Askia Dawud to being quickly routed by a relatively small Moroccan force armed with muskets in 1591 is difficult to conceive. Unless the Songhay state was already weakened by problems with succession that weakened its ability to maintain central authority and military capacity, muskets should not have been enough to topple Songhay. Unfortunately, al-Sadi has little to say about the slaves, artisans, and laborers, and little to say about the influence of women among the Songhay. The so-called subaltern groups were probably not seen by al-Sadi as significant historical actors, but glimpses of their role in the economy, political conflict, and marriage alliances of the Songhay rulers clearly emerge. Artisans, such as tailors and shoemakers, hardly appear in chronicle, despite the several workshops in Timbuktu run by tailors who were sometimes scholars themselves. We learn they had a quarter in Gao, created by Askia Dawud, which may also be a veiled reference to artisans as a casted group. 

Tarikh al-Fattash

Although so many questions remain pertaining to the authorship and interpolations in the Tarikh al-Fattash, one can see why it has become a priceless resource for understanding the history of the Songhay and the Niger Bend region. Attributed to Mahmud Kati and his grandson, with additional notes and references to a lost chronicle and family records, the text contains clear forgeries from the 19th century, predicting a future caliph of Masina. Nobili and other scholars have made a persuasive argument that what we know call the Tarikh al-Fattash was in fact an original 17th century chronicle by Ibn al-Mukhtar, and the 19th century forgery which drew upon the older text to promote a certain Ahmad of Masina. Apparently, other copies of the Tarikh al-Fattash have been located in the surviving libraries or collections of West African Arabic manuscripts, so future scholars may one day establish a clearer picture on the making of this particular chronicle. Unlike the other surviving Timbuktu chronicle, with a more clearly established author, part of the appeal and challenge of the Tarikh al-Fattash is endeavoring to make sense of its authorship and how it reflects a tradition of chronicles or "historical" writing in West Africa for centuries.

Unfortunately, however, we had to rely on the 1913 French translation of the text by Houdas and Delafosse. Despite its errors and dated footnotes to elucidate ambiguous passages or unclear translations, one felt it to be a more useful (and accessible) translation than the English version. Until a scholarly, annotated English translation of the chronicle is published, we shall have to rely on Houdas and Delafosse's translation. And, lest one be mistaken, the 1913 French translation is mostly serviceable. The incongruous mixing of authors makes for sometimes confusing reading, but the Tarikh al-Fattash provides a number of different oral traditions, slightly modified kingslists for the Zuwa and Sunni dynasties, and new data and references for everyone interested in the rise, decline and fall of the Songhay Askia dynasty. 

As the product of a Muslim intellectual (possibly a real Mahmud Kati, or Ibn al-Mokhtar), it invariably promotes a certain narrative of Songhay political power, religious practice, and Islamic civilizational models the Askiya state, under Askia Muhammad I, epitomized. While also reporting new oral traditions of the early history of West Africa and the Songhay, what the Tarikh al-Fattash emphasizes in servile lineages, slavery (the 24 tribes owned by the kings of Mali, who were then seized by the Songhay and provided tribute), and caste actually reveals something of the larger world beyond the Niger Bend in which Songhay was inextricably linked. For instance, the origins of one caste lineage is somehow imagined to have begun with a former slave owned by Christians in the Atlantic, possibly an allusion to the trans-Atlantic slave trade. One finds intriguing claims of an ancient Jewish population in the area of Tendirma before its formal establishment by the Askiyas. This may have served the purpose of acknowledging the Jewish presence in West Africa or calling attention to the deeper antiquity of this part of West Africa. A similar tactic was possibly used in the Tarikh al-Sudan when al-Sa'di suggested ancient Kukiya was a source of sorcerers for the Pharaohs of Egypt. Undoubtedly, oral traditions and legends permeated both of the Timbuktu chronicles in question, such as the origins of the Zuwa dynasty of kings or the chronology used to describe the early history of Ghana (Wagadu) or even the rise of the Sunni dynasty in the character of Ali Kulun. A great episode, of course not factual, can be found in the tale of Mansa Musa's hajj, when his farba produces an artificial river in the middle of the desert for the mansa's wife.

For our purposes, if the Tarikh al-Fattash is reliable, then it is priceless for shedding more light on social structure and practices of power among the Askiya rulers. It may reflect a greater dependence on slaves in the post-Songhay imperial period, but it reveals how the Askiya was expected to be generous, redistribute wealth, and, in at least some cases, employ enslaved labor for agriculture. Thus, an Askiya is said to have given the original Mahmud Kati several gifts for his sons to marry, including land with slave laborers to make it productive. Another story of Askia Dawud's generosity mentions him freeing the entire family of an old enslaved woman, even though the woman had only asked that the Askia ensure her children and grandchildren not be separated when sold to new owners. This seems to reflect the fact that slave trading in Songhay lands did indeed separate families. But even better for this old woman and her family, Askia Dawud freed her entire family and had an official document signed in front of witnesses to attest to her family's freedom. Freeing slaves was a virtuous act, but making gifts out of them for various Islamic scholars, nobles, and subordinates was supposedly another aspect of Askia Dawud's virtue. It is in this context we learn that the population of Gao consisted of 7,626 houses, not counting straw huts, to display how no one living in the city had not benefited from the largesse of the Askia dynasty.

As for royal plantations (producing rice, it would seem), caste, artisans, and the poor, the Tarikh al-Fattash also reveals more than the Tarikh al-Sudan. The poor in Timbuktu and Gao supposedly received food directly from the Askia Dawud. In the first city, Dawud allegedly founded a plantation worked by 30 slaves to feed the poor. He also sent 4000 sunnu of grain to the qadi of Timbuktu to distribute for them. Intriguingly, to be a royal slave also conferred a degree of power, and could, in some cases (Missakoulah, the supervisor said to be from Baguirmi who oversaw a royal plantation and repeatedly gave away grain from it to the less fortunate) get away with independent actions and behavior (especially if their behavior in virtuous acts improved the status of their master). It is also in the Tarikh al-Fattash that references to the tailors of Timbuktu and artisans can be found. 

For instance, the Moroccan invading army included Arab shoemakers and artisans who sold their services after the pacification of the region. Supposedly, prior that, Timbuktu already had 26 establishments for tailors, the so-called tindi, which were run by a master who had, on average, around 50 apprentices. Some of the tailors were also scholars, such as a certain Boussa mentioned in the the chronicle. There must have been some kind of guild-like association for certain trades in towns like Timbuktu and Gao. Other artisan groups were treated as a caste, and expected to provide a tribute to the Askias (the blacksmiths, for example). Unfortunately, these chronicles, focused as they are on the Askias and scholars, do not tell us more about artisans, laborers, and farmers, and less about the use of enslaved labor in the salt mines or estates owned by non-Askiya. In the near future, a new translation of the Tarikh al-Fattash and critical study of it and other manuscripts may shed light on these questions, and the basis of Songhay royal power to the peasantry.

Tripoli Chronicle

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

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

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

Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno

Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno is one of those must-read texts on the history of Borno worthy of a new edition and a subsequent collection of essays that reflect the new scholarship on the history of Kanem-Borno. For instance, newer insights from archaeological excavations in Kanem and Borno, as well as the use of more local textual sources from the precolonial era for the study of Kanembu and Kanuri Ajami texts and linguistic analysis should be incorporated. Newer scholarship on Islam, Sufism, Ulama-State relations, the Kanuri Diaspora or Borno's connections with the lands further west and east are all topics of interest that recent scholarship has covered to varying extents. Or the topic of, perhaps, Kanem-Borno's social history, gender relations, oral literature, slavery as a local institution, or land tenure are also deserving of deeper scrutiny. 

Nevertheless, this collection of essays from the 1980s, despite the uneven nature of the contributions, is a must-read for everyone interested in Kanem-Borno. Connah's survey of the data from archaeological work in Borno and the Chad Basin provide a useful prehistoric background to human settlement and the development of metallurgy, towns, and trade. Abdullahi Smith's essay, for instance, offers a plausible theory for why claiming descent from Sayf may have appealed to the ulama of Kanem by the 12th or 13th centuries. Smith draws on the larger history and discourse of early Islamic history and genealogy, which would have been known to Kanem's ulama through their study of Arabic texts and travels to Egypt, Mecca, and the Maghreb. Of course, the actual chances of the Sayfawa dynasty being descendants of Sayf are very slim, but the more interesting question of the intellectual history behind it is fascinating. 

Muhammad Nur Alkali's contributions, on the other hand, appear to be based on his dissertation, which gives the reader a greater sense of the administrative organization of the Sayfawa state during their Borno period. Again, much of our knowledge of the details of administration and political office in pre-19th century Borno is scanty, but Alkali's contributions elucidate why the Sayfawa state was able to prosper for centuries as the dominant power in the Central Sudan through agriculture, trade, fishing, learning, cattle, textiles, leatherworks, salt, and the administrative apparatus that directed or promoted the aforementioned aspects of Borno's hegemony or cultural influence. Since our sources are still somewhat limited on the intricacies of the political system of the Sayfawa state, one should approach Alkali's interpretations with caution.

Additional contributors appear to have recycled past work or dissertations, but shed light on fiscal policy under the Shehus of the 19th century, Borno's relationship with Fombina before the colonial period, constitutional changes introduced by al-Kanemi, the decline of the office of galadima in the 1800s, Borno's relations with other powers (Morocco, Ottoman Empire, Mamluk Egypt) and Borno-Hausaland relations. Yusufu Bala Usman's essay on Borno relations with Hausaland before 1804 is worth reading for pointing to the lack of sources used by past historians (like Yves Urvoy) to depict Hausaland as a conquered region of Borno. Instead, Usman's chapter demonstrates that Borno's political and cultural influence in Hausaland was likely mediated through other means besides military conquest, and that the continuous plain running through the Hausa states and Borno favored trade, migration, contact, and relations which were not, based on our current sources, of a military nature. 

Thus, one cannot deny the central importance of Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno for all students of Kanem-Borno. It suffers from several typos and more than a few chapters are speculative or rely on limited evidence, yet it reflects the importance of mostly local, Nigerian scholars for advancing scholarship. Unlike some of the external and colonial-era historians of Borno, the Kanuri, Nigerian, and African contributors to this volume evince a care for incorporating oral traditions and written sources in a balanced manner that avoids the diffusionism of Urvoy or Palmer while reflecting far greater immersion into the cultural and language milieus of Borno and its neighbors. This is not to say only Kanuri or Nigerian scholars should be allowed to study Borno, but their familiarity with the scene and desire to challenge or balance colonial-era narratives is refreshing. 

Borno and Saint Domingue (Haiti)

While perusing the excellent Corpus of runaway slave ads for Saint Domingue, we came across what appears to be one of the few other sources to mention "Borno" Africans in Saint Domingue. Instead of spelling the name of their homeland in the same manner as Descourtilz (Beurnon), it was rendered as Bernon. The 1789 advertisement in Affiches américaines also mentions that one of the "Bernon" fled his owners in the company of 3 Hausa named Aly, Dominique and Aza. Scipion, the man of "Bernon" nation, was likely very familiar with Hausa people due to Borno's long history in northern Nigeria. Perhaps they also shared an Islamic background that may have helped them transcend "ethnic" differences and find some commonality with other enslaved African Muslims in Saint Domingue. The text likewise mentions another maroon, Christophe of the "Bernon" nation. He was stamped Pommier and belonged to a different owner. 

One cannot help but wonder if these "Bernon" captives were part of the same group of prisoners of war who were sold into slavery and ended up in the Rossignol-Desdunes plantation. "Bernon" Africans seem to have been somewhat uncommon in Saint Domingue, although it is possible the ambiguous "national" labels assigned to Africans in Saint Domingue misidentified them. It is possible that enslaved West African Muslims united through religion, and may have adopted or assumed a name like "Mandingue" or "Hausa" which obscured the distinct origins of some members. Such a phenomenon occurred in Trinidad's Free Mandingo mutual aid society, whose members were not solely Mandingo. Alternatively, there were probably some Africans who spoke multiple languages and were lumped into one or another "nation" which did not accurately reflect their homeland.

As an empire mostly drawn into the trans-Saharan orbit, and primarily exporting other peoples as slaves rather than their own (with a few exceptions, according to Descourtilz), it is interesting to consider the connections of Haiti with the "Sudan" and Borno. While most "Muslims" in Saint Domingue were probably drawn from various Mande groups, "Senegal" and probably Hausa and some "Malais," the links to the Central Sudan may have also been important. One wonders if Haitian writers of the 19th century, reading French works that mention, sometimes in detail, various kingdoms in the heart of the continent, also thought of their own population, which still included people born in said regions. For example, Baron de Vastey's knowledge of Mungo Park and his detailed description of Segou was utilized as proof that Africa wasn't as "uncivilized" as Europeans usually depicted it. Surely, Baron de Vastey knew of "Bambara" and "Mandingue" in the kingdom of Christophe who could also enlighten him about their homelands. Perhaps Haitian writes were also familiar with Descourtilz's description of Borno, and that of other European accounts, which depicted a sophisticated Islamic kingdom with security, literacy, and order. Who knows, maybe the Borno Africans living in Haiti also offered an example of "civilized" Africans from ancient kingdoms that the kingdom of Christophe could reference for proof of racial equality and justification of monarchy?