Chronicles of Agadez

We here at the blog have developed a greater interest in the Sultanate of Agadez. In order to better understand Kanem-Borno as a civilization, closer study of its neighbors and larger regional context could be particularly useful. Indeed, sometimes one finds references or historical data from chronicles, oral traditions, and other primary sources pertinent to Kanem-Borno when looking at its neighbors, rivals, and trading partners. The Sultanate of Agadez, and particularly the chronicles shared with colonial officials and scholars like Yves Urvoy, provides an interesting example and striking example, as it touches upon 2 episodes in the history of Kanem-Borno: the shift of the royal capital and 17th century wars. While it is unlikely any Tuareg had a role in Ali Ghaji establishing Birni Gazargamo as the capital of the Borno in the late 1400s, the fact that the Agadez Chronicles and other traditions suggest a link between the Sayfawa and Air Tuaregs calls for closer scrutiny of Agadez-Borno relations.

As an example of the literary genre of the "chronicle" in a "Sudanic" context, incorporating a multiplicity of manuscripts and genres, one can immediately see how the Chronicles of Agadez, despite their brevity, can be situated within the larger context of the Tarikh al-Fattash, Tarikh al-Sudan, Ahmad b. Furtu's works, the Diwan of Kanem-Borno, Kano Chronicle, and various other kinglists or chronicles. Although short, perhaps due to manuscripts being destroyed in the 19th century during political upheaval, the Agadez Chronicles include some fascinating and innovative reworkings of the Sudanic chronicle as a genre. For example, what Urvoy calls Manuscript J, survived as a memoir of Abou-Bakar, son of Attaher-Tachi, and provides the closest thing to an autobiography that we have heard of from the 17th century. Sure, one can find autobiographical snippets and elements in the longer chronicles of Timbuktu and Ahmad b. Furtu or even the Borno mahrams translated by Palmer, but there's something else going on with Manuscript J. 

While the objectivity and problematic origin of the texts has been pointed out by scholars like Rossi, we find the Agadez Chronicles to be full of events that, in the main, probably did occur. For instance, the pilgrimages to Mecca by the son of an Agadez sultan in the late 1600s was mentioned by a French captive in Tripoli, who also mentioned the economic importance of Agadez's senna exports reaching France and Italy through Tripoli. Other data corroborates the general outline of the Chronicles, such as war with Borno, the conquest of Ader, and, probably the number of assassinations and dethronements of various sultans. European sources from the late 18th and 19th centuries likewise support aspects of the Agadez Chronicles. Thus, while one can see that Rossi is probably correct about the manuscripts being edited by 1907 to legitimize certain political actors in the history of the Sultanate, they also contain some great information on the nature of the Agadez state, its dependence on feuding Tuareg clans, the persistence of matrilineal descent among the Tuareg, "privileged" tribes and the relationship between nomads and the state, the business of war and long-distance trade, and, in one cases, one man's experience of life in the kingdom during the second half of the 17th century.

For us, the list of kings and how this sultan was dethroned or assassinated and that sultan survived civil war is useful to compare with the details on the deaths of various kings and political conflicts in the Diwan. Clearly, these kinglists were not just lists, but records of some of the major events that took place during a reign, probably based on oral and written sources, and suggestive of how the authors or compilers conceived of an ideal ruler. For us, the comparison to the Diwan and the history of Kanem-Borno would focus on moments where kings faced civil wars, the Bulala threat, famines, patronage of scholars, the frequency of pilgrimages, and various campaigns and civil wars between the Dawudid and Idrisid branches of the Sayfawa dynasty. One cannot help but notice the frequency of matrilineal succession among the rulers of Agadez, a phenomenon not present in the Diwan, despite the alleged importance of queen mothers and their clan affiliations. What does that suggest about the role of women, tribal or clan affiliation, and the stability of the government?

Moreover, one almost can see the early centuries of the Sayfawa dynasty as being perhaps closer to the Agadez Sultanate, an era in which the mai had to contend against Tubu and other nomadic elements which resisted centralization. Of course, we do not lend much credence to the assertions of authors like Heinrich Barth about a Berber or Tuareg origin of the Sayfawa and the royal Magumi clan. However, the Agadez state might shed light on what the early Kanem state was like as a ruling dynasty of Saharan nomadic origins combined pastoralist and sedentary agriculturalists. Lamentably, the Agadez Chronicles do not indicate the origins of the maternal ancestry of the dynasty, but power often passed from a male to his sister's son, and the "privileged" Tuareg tribes elected a king from the same family (such as Sataffane, a clan which may have come from the west). Thus, it is probably implied that all descend from the same family through their maternal ancestry from a specific clan. A similar pattern may be found with the frequency of queen mothers of the Sayfawa dynasty of Tubu, Tomaghera and "Keyi" origins, perhaps a reflection of marriage alliances between the Magumi clan and its nomadic allies. The Sayfawa mais also used the mahram to award certain nomadic allies with freedom of military obligations and taxations, a process the Agadez sultans may have approximated by not taxing affiliating Tuareg and deriving revenues from other sources.

What, if any relationship existed between the rulers of Agadez and the earlier 14th century Berber sultans of Air mentioned by al-Umari is unknown, just as possible influences from Kawkaw (Gao), Tadmakka, Gobir, and other polities in the region between Gao and Kanem-Borno probably impacted the development of Agadez to varying degrees. Nonetheless, the existence of two nearby dynasties of nomadic Saharan origins becoming an established kingdom in the Sahel, despite one being Berber, possibly followed similar trajectories. Kanem-Borno, on the other hand, seems to have developed into a more centralized and expansive state while Agadez, perhaps at its height under Mohammad-el-Mobarak and Mohammed Agabba, never completely dominated the various Tuareg clans and had to play them against each other or face dethronement and civil wars. Even after seizing control of the salt trade of Kawar from Borno in the 1700s, Agadez remained mired in civil wars and intra-Tuareg conflicts. 

Moving on from the similarities and differences between Agadez and Kanem-Borno, we cannot omit a deeper mention of Manuscript J, the remarkable document that, if future investigations can verify, is a memoir of Abou-Bakar ben Attaher Tachi, a politically-connected Agadez man born in 1657. The document translated by Urvoy ends chronologically in 1699, but encompasses a number of events in the author's personal life and the noteworthy happenings to the state. Coming from an educated background and probably Tuareg lineage (an assumption on the preeminence of his paternal grandmother), Abou-Bakar was born only a few years after Mohammad-el-Mobarak became sultan. Although his mother died during his infancy, he also makes a point of referencing his grandmother Tachi's death as well as the demise of his father's sister in 1673. This year also marked an invasion or campaign against the state of Kebbi. The next year, Mohammad-el-Mobarak's son, Aknafai, went on his second pilgrimage to Mecca, almost certainly via the Fezzan and Tripoli. 

According to Manuscript J, the powerful sultan then went to war with Borno in 1679, sending troops led by Mohammed ben el-hadj Ibrahim and Kel-Oui Tuaregs. This war, although the dates are slightly off, is probably the conflict mentioned by our French captive in Tripoli, who mentioned an attempt by Agadez to take the capital of Borno after internal revolts during Ali b. Umar's hajj. Defeated by Ali b. Umar, one wonders if a Borno source dated to c. 1658 by Palmer may actually be an allusion to Ali b. Umar's successes against Agadez. Perhaps the mention in the Borno source of the settlement of Borno scholars in Agadez afterwards, to spread Islam, may be a reference to a sort of tributary arrangement imposed on Agadez, even though Agadez was already an Islamic state. Further, our Frenchman in Tripoli wrote of Agadez "blacks" referring to Ali b. Umar with disdain as a "Cat King," mocking his reputed piety and saintliness. So, we are not sure what to make of the document translated by Palmer, but external sources definitely suggest an Agadez invasion of Borno and the seizure of Ali b. Umar's nephew, Medicon, who was sold into slavery in North Africa. A tense state of relations between "blacks" of Agadez and Borno in Tripoli continued after the conflict. 

One must also note the contrast between Borno and Agadez during this time with regards to pilgrimage. Ali b. Umar could afford to travel on extended trips through the Sahara and Egypt to Mecca, taking some of his children with him. Mohammad-el-Mobarak, on the other hand, never seems to have left Agadez while one of his sons and perhaps other "Tuareg princes" could take the lengthy journey to the Arabian peninsula. We wonder if this is a reflection of the entrenched political instability of the Agadez polity, as Mohammad-el-Mobarak had to engage in campaigns against not only "Zanfara" and Ader, but act as mediator between Tuareg clans like the Kel-Oui and Itissines in 1683. Thus, even in an expansionist phase under Mohammed-el-Mobarak and his son, Mohammed Agabba, it would seem that the Agadez state was always more unstable and perhaps less centralized than Borno or the earlier Songhay state which once ruled Air. 

Besides mentioning various military campaigns and political events that took place during his lifetime, Abou-Bakar's manuscript is full of rich personal details and reflects some of the social history. For instance, we know his work (perhaps a trader?) required him to travel frequently to Ader, where he sent supplies to Saleh, the brother Mohammad Agabba during a war with Gobir in 1689, the same year our author married Nana Aicha, the daughter of a haji from the Fezzan. One also finds reference to the death of a Timbuktu fiqh in Agadez, Umar-el-Tounbouktaouy, in 1687, attesting to long-established links between Timbuktu and Agadez that may indicate the city's political and religious standing in the Sahel. Through Manuscript J, one also finds additional references to epidemics, including a devastating one in 1687 in which several people perished, perhaps Mohammad-el-Mobarak himself. The fact that the sultan's death was hidden from the public is itself interesting, perhaps hinting at a struggle with the "king-making" privileged tribes and Mohammed Agabba. The Kel-Oui and Itissine wars in 1696 and the accompanying famine, which led to families selling their books to eat also suggests the degree to which feuding Tuareg clans and food insecurity imperiled the state. Indeed, the flood caused by heavy rainfall in 1699 probably didn't do any favors, causing the destruction of houses in the Imourdane quarter and destroying merchandise. 

In short, Manuscript J is fascinating for a snippet of the life of a politically important man of Agadez during a key half-century in the history of the state. The personal was indeed political, and reflected Agadez's trade, cultural, and religious ties to other parts of the region and beyond. As a work akin to a memoir, it provides some fascinating tidbits of information that appear to support the larger narrative arc of the Agadez Chronicles. One only wishes a lengthier version of the manuscript existed, which could tell us more about Abou-Bakar and the world of Agadez in the early modern era. Like the mahrams of Borno and the autobiographical elements of Ahmad b. Furtu's chronicles, they sometimes include biographical data on people outside of the ruling dynasties. But who was the audience for Abou-Bakar b. Attaher Yachi? Presumably members of the royal court and perhaps ulama with political or familial (or both) ties with the elite?

A Sudanic Chronicle

Lange's A Sudanic Chronicle: The Borno Expeditions of Idrīs Alauma (1564–1576) is an indispensable work. A scholarly, modern translation of one of the chronicles of imam Ahmad b. Furtu, it is one of the earliest extant West African chronicles, written in 1576. It is also one of the most detailed primary sources from Borno on the Sayfawa dynasty and the reign of Idris b. Ali. Indeed, when paired with the 1578 chronicle on the Kanem campaigns of Idris b. Ali against the Bulala on the opposite shore of Lake Chad, Ahmad b. Furtu is probably our most important written source on Kanem-Borno from the precolonial era. Unfortunately, the chronicler only covers the first twelve years of his ruler's reign, but he provides an intimate look at some of the social, political, demographic, military, diplomatic, religious and economic dynamics in 16th century Borno. Moreover, Lange's scholarly translation is more accurate and usable than the 19th century Redhouse translations or the Palmer ones with their egregious errors. For that reason alone, plus the detailed footnotes by an academic who specializes in the region, Lange's translation is required reading. 

What stands out more clearly in this translation than that of Redhouse is the literary allusions, Quranic references, and the role of military tactics. For instance, the expertise in which Idris, the brother of Vizier Kursu organizes the musketeers, shieldsmen, and cavalry to effectively defeat Ngizim towns was far more explicit here. The greater precision and contextual knowledge of the translator vividly brings to life some of the combat, military strategies, and long-term goals of Idris Alooma to wear down, defeat, displace, destroy, and starve rebels, external enemies, and nomadic foes (like the Tuareg of Air). Snippets of the population movements and displacements, such as the construction of ribats to end "pagan" incursions, are additional evidence of large-scale movements across Borno which reveal the long-term strategy of the Sayfawa to consolidate their power. Furthermore, Ahmad b. Furtu's individuality and background as the chief imam of Birni Gazargamo are more readily discernible here, perhaps due to useful footnotes of Lange.

Unfortunately, Lange never followed this with a similar scholarly translation of the second chronicle of Ahmad b. Furtu. It's a shame since the two chronicles, both panegyric in tone and clearly meant to flatter the sultan, nonetheless constitute hugely significant sources on events in Kanem and Borno during the late 16th century. The Kanem campaigns described by Ahmad b. Furtu are essential for highlighting the larger regional ambitions, influence, and extent of Sayfawa power across the Central Sudan. It also would have been interesting to read a similar gazetteer of towns and settlements in Kanem as well as Lange's commentary to shed light on the Quranic, literary, or linguistic peculiarities of the text. 

The Kanem Campaigns of Idris Alooma

The other chronicle by Ahmad Ibn Furtu covers the Kanem campaigns launched by Sultan Idris Alooma against the Bulala leaders of the region. The conflict was, according to this chronicle that covers 7 expeditions launched against Kanem, sparked by the Bulala refusal to cede 3 districts to Borno and a disrespectful letter sent from them to Idris Alooma. What proceeds from here is a hard to follow account in Redhouse's dated translation of various expeditions launched by Idris against the Bulala, who usually choose to flee and avoid pitched battles. So, Idris and his forces subdue the Tubu, ensure the loyalty of other Tubu and Arabs, raid and pillage, and forcibly relocate various peoples of Kanem into Borno. Finally, a claimant to the throne of Kanem who is aligned with Idris manages to secure the throne with the aid of Idris, who only keeps a few provines of Kanem for Borno while returning most of the area to the new ruler, Muhammad. 

Through occasional asides, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alludes to the genealogy of the Borno rulers and their ancient history in Kanem, as well as the various conflicts both internal and with the Bulala that precipitated their shift to Borno. Intriguingly, Ahmad Ibn Furtu seems to draw from both oral traditions for the early history of Borno (as well as a chronicle one a recent forebear of Idris) as well as written sources, hinting at the possibility of a number of lost chronicles of the Saifawa dynasty. Perhaps the Girgam really was just an abbreviated form of a much longer chornicle(s) that covers their lineage from their alleged Himyarite origins to the 19th century. Indeed, when covering the early history of the Saifawa kings from their ancient Kanem period, there is clearly something akin to legend and lost grandeur in Ahmad Ibn Furtu's claim that Kanem once extended as far east as Dongola and the Nile. Of course, his patron, Idris, has surpassed his ancestors as a military genius guided by devout Islamic principles, according to Ibn Furtu.

Unfortunately, we found this chronicle to be less informative and more tedious of a read than Ibn Furtu's coverage of the Borno wars. Too many encounters with the Bulala here end with the flight of the Bulala king to the deserts, and it is not entirely clear what happened in certain passages. Some of this must be due to the translation and the bewildering number of towns and place names which are not explained by the translator. Nonetheless, there is a wealth of information on military organization, tactics, and Borno's possibly "quasi-feudal" relationship with its tributary subjects and allied nomadic groups (Tubu and Arabs, for instance). A number of titled dignitaries also appear, suggesting something of the political and military administrative apparatus of Borno in the late 16th century. Allusions to merchants and the purchase of horses point to relations with North Africa and the wider world, which presumably received some of the captives from the various expeditions to Kanem. On slavery, supposedly one of the other reasons Borno was superior to the Bulala of Kanem was due to their respecting Islamic laws prohibiting the enslavement of Muslims. The Bulala, on the other hand, kept Muslim and non-Muslim captives as slaves, violating Islamic law. Perhaps Borno's Saifawa dynasty remembered events from the late 14th century when even members of the royal family became slaves sold to Egypt or Syria. Or, again, it was just another example of Ibn Furtu exaggerating the Islamic credentials of Borno and its dynasty against the pagan or insufficiently Muslim polities surrounding them. 

But once we have perused the more recent translation of Lange and reviewed more of the literature on Ibn Furtu, we shall return to his work and the nature of historical writing in "Sudanic" Africa. It has always struck us as rather odd that so many are familiar with the Timbuktu Chronicles and the importance of those primary sources for the study of Songhay or even the earlier Ghana and Mali "empires" yet few seem to acknowledge or reference Ibn Furtu's 2 chronicles which predate the Timbuktu tarikhs. Why is that? Perhaps the more limited nature of Ibn Furtu's writing, which focus on military campaigns? Or simply Timbuktu being better known as an exotic and mysterious location than Borno?

The Borno Campaigns of Idris Alooma

Perhaps out of boredom, we here at the blog have recently finished reading the first of two chronicles by the chief imam of Borno, Ahmad Ibn Furtu, translated by Redhouse in the 1860s. Covering various campaigns during the first 12 years of the reign of Sultan Idris Alooma in the second half of the 16th century, it is the earliest surviving historical writing in West Africa. As to be expected of a work by a learned Muslim, Ahmad Ibn Furtu endeavored to portray Idris as a model sovereign and Muslim, whose piety, completion of the Hajj, and willingness to listen to the advice of the learned made him an even better ruler than his grandfather. Unfortunately, the chronicle on the grandfather of Idris has not survived for posterity, but one can assume it was one of the primary models for Ahmad Ibn Furtu's historical writing, and thereby probably written in a panegyric tone that praised the military prowess, justness and religious devotion of Borno's ruler, stressing the Islamic models of the Prophet. Unfortunately for modern readers, much of the details of Idris's various campaigns against the "Sao" and Tuareg, the Ghizm and other peoples were lost, as the author seems to have mostly relied on oral accounts and perhaps only witnessed a few of the expeditions personally.

Thus, the reader only finds outlines of various expeditions with occasional anecdotes on the piety and Islamic virtue of Borno's ruler. For instance, Ahmad Ibn Furtu will insert examples of the Islamic devotion of Idris in the middle of or right after describing a campaign, such as the building of mosques in clay (instead of reeds) as one of the innovations of his ruler. Or, alternatively, Idris's intervention in public morality by prohibiting fornication and urging his subjects to submit to judgments of holy law instead of their chieftains. Fortunately, something of the military tactics and battle formation can be gleamed through Ahmad Ibn Furtu's history, however. We know the Borno ruler used brutal tactics against his enemies, destroying their crops and their trees or groves to reduce places of refuge for them. He also established stations or outposts which were fortified and used as bases to continually attack the crops and fortified settlements of his opponents. If Ahmad Ibn Furtu is to be trusted, Idris was one of the first Borno rulers to use more camels for carrying military provisions during campaigns in arid areas. In addition, Sultan Idris apparently was the first to think of enlarging the ships used by Borno's forces on Lake Chad and the rivers in their domain, developing larger ships to carry more people and supplies instead of the older ones constructed from hollowed out trees.

Oddly, Borno never seems to have adopted the use of the cannon, which presumably would have made their siege warfare tactics more effective against some of their "pagan" foes. Ahmad Ibn Furtu also mentioned the famous musketry of Borno's military, trained by Turkish advisors. Indeed, one of the few casualties in a Borno campaign on Denkir was a Turk, Ali Ghar, attesting to the presence of Turks in the military. On the ground, they appear to have played a significant role in the military formation of Borno, shooting from the rear while men bearing shields protected them from the front against arrows and darts. The cavalry appear to have remained in the rear unless the enemy directly engaged them, or they were used to cover the enemy forces from behind, preventing them from fleeing back to their strongholds. Despite their use of firearms, they seem to have relied heavily on archers and horsemen bearing armor. Moreover, much of the military spoils was meant for redistribution to chiefs and subordinates of the Sultan, and one can assume many of the children and women captives were destined for the trans-Saharan slave trade. Even Muslims appear to have been taken as captives, such being the case in the campaign against the Tuareg Berbers, who were loyal to Air ("Ehir" in Redhouse's dated translation) until subdued by Idris. To cap it all, according to Ahmad Ibn Furtu, Borno's military often exterminated the adult male population of their enemies and resettled some of the survivors in various parts of the empire, uprooting them from their homes and putting them to use in other areas. 

But as one of our few surviving written sources from the early modern era in Borno, the document is also a treasure for its descriptions of Borno's relations with its "pagan" neighbors, ethnographic descriptions, and the extent to which Borno was integrated into the wider world. For example, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alluded to Sultan Idris's pilgrimage to Mecca multiple times in the text, even including references to the pilgrimages of Idris's forebears. This, besides establishing the Islamic devotion of Borno's rulers, also points to the extent to which these elites viewed Borno as a part of the Muslim world, and its ruler as a Protector of Muslims. One would think the pilgrimages to Mecca also helped establish Borno as a Muslim power to the Ottoman Empire and other Islamic states, possibly faciliating the introduction of Turks and other foreign mercenaries. In fact, a mysterious man, perhaps named Francisco, randomly appeared in the history, perhaps another example of foreign mercenaries or advisors who made it to Borno in the second half of the 1500s. 

Borno's relations with Sahelian and West African rivals was also an interesting dynamic. Much of the reasoning for some of the various expeditions was meant to ensure security on the roads of Borno, to protect merchants. Moreover, Borno's ruler was able to shift the loyalty of various Air-aligned Tuareg to his camp, ensuring some degree of influence in the Sahel and Sahara against a rival power. Even with "polytheist" neighbors, Idris was able to overlook religious differences and act on their behalf while increasing his own prestige and influence. This can be best be seen in the case of a "Mendera" prince overthrown by his uncle, who is later restored to the throne by Idris. Borno was effective at intervening in the affairs of neighboring states, including non-Muslims, and expanding its sphere of influence when not directly administering others. Unfortunately, our chronicler was, perhaps not surprisingly, not interested in the religious practices of the Sao "polytheists," but the mention of groves of the Sao Ghafata leads one to think those woods may have possessed a religious or sacred meaning. This could add another dimension to Borno's insistent deforestation of their lands, something the Muslim historian would have applauded as a champion of Islam.

One supposes the larger question of this all is to what extent is Ahmad Ibn Furtu's chronicle a historically reliable work and what does it suggest about the nature of history, religion, and political power in 16th century Borno? As the author admitted himself, the lack of details on some of the expeditions and the fact that much, if not most, of Idris's reign is omitted, we have inherited only a limited portrait of the Idris. However, the author was clearly cognizant of precedents for his work in earlier historical works, and saw his ruler in the light of both Islamic ideals and the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. As panegyric, this work places Idris at the pinnacle of great mais in the dynasty, and probably took a few liberties to express that opinion by attributing innovations or conquests that may have not been due to Idris. It causes one to wonder if other mais or prominent people in Borno similarly commissioned likewise works on their deeds, ancestry, and accomplishments, and the extent to which writing of local history was practiced at earlier dates in the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. Regardless of the hard to believe instances in the work, clearly political power in Borno was tied to realpolitik concerns and a balancing act of supporting Islam (through pious acts, charitable works, construction of mosques, reinforcing Islamic law, respecting Muslim intellectuals) while dominating or reducing to tributary status non-Muslim neighbors. Prominent persons attracted subordinates and dependents, and were in turn called upon to support the mai in various campaigns while the majority of the population presumably toiled as farmers, shepherds, servants, and artisans in villages and towns. One can assume that the construction of the Kanuri as an ethnic group developed over the centuries of Sayfawa control in Borno. Lamentably for those interested in this history, these developments were marginal to the author of the chronicle, who sought to praise and justify the reign of the mai.

Revisiting the Diwan

We have finally read Augustin Holl's important study of the Diwan of Kanem-Borno. Based on the French translation by Lange, Holl offers a very different type of analysis of the document. Instead of interpreting the Diwan as an abbreviated chronicle constituting a political archive that one can gleam for historical data and a clear chronology, Holl prefers to view it as an oral epic of sorts. As a work originally in Arabic but probably based on Kanuri oral literature, values, and performance, it should probably be read in light of other kingslists and oral traditions. Moreover, we here at this blog can agree wholeheartedly with Holl when he points out the the often specious reasoning or problematic assumptions made by several scholars of Kanem-Borno. Their mistakes and misinterpretations have spawned a discourse which further obscures the history of a fascinating African civilization. As Holl writes, "The Diwan deserves better than this selective use, geared to support what each scholar thinks to be the genuine pathway to statehood."

Beginning with an English translation of Lange's French rendering of the Diwan, one supposes the major value of Holl's book can be found in this initial section. For those unable to read French or the original Arabic texts, The Diwan Revisited is indispensable. The rest of the text explores the Diwan from the perspective of oral epic. Thus, Holl breaks down the analysis into rhythm, repetition, sequences and patterns of patronyms, toponyms, kinship or affinity, sense of time, and performance. Later chapters endeavor to use insights from paleoclimatology, symbolism of numbers, external Arabic sources from the medieval era, anthropology, linguistics, and archaeology to make sense of the Diwan. There are definite traces of oral history in the Diwan, even assuming it was initially written or commenced at the end of the 16th century. Moreover, as a work of oral literature or borrowing heavily from it, Holl is probably correct to see the text as work reorganized and updated according to social, ideological, and political circumstances. Indeed, the very circumstances in which Heinrich Barth was provided with two copies of it, and the violent end to the man who had the two copies produced, suggest how important kingslists and genealogies were for political legitimacy. Other kingslists, including a lost one Heinrich Barth recorded a few names from, illustrates how genealogies and Kanuri oral epics were diverse and could differ in significant ways when it came to the history of Kanem-Borno.

One can also appreciate the detailed sequential chronology of the Sayfawa dynasty in Holl's analysis. A Golden Age, Classic Period, First Intermediate Period, and New Kingdom Era actually makes some sense in terms of how the Diwan depicts the history of the Sayfawa. Other scholars have also suggested the Sayfawa state in Borno was more centralized than what had been the arrangement in Kanem, so Holl's analysis is closely following some of the previous narratives. While we are not entirely convinced of 9 descent groups (Banu Duku, Banu Hummay, Banu Salmama, Banu Kaday, Banu Idris, Banu Dawud, and sub-groups of Idrisawa, Umarawa, and Dunamawa), there clearly were cases of rival lineages in the ruling dynasty which led to competing factions and civil wars that nearly destroyed the kingdom with the eventual rise of the Bulala. Perhaps it would be simple-minded to think a single family really could have ruled in Kanem-Borno for around 1000 years, but the ancient roots of the Sayfawa seem to be clear, as indicated by Lange's analysis. Further, other lines of evidence not considered in Holl do suggest some deeper antiquity of the Sayfawa dynasty in pre-Islamic Kanem, which we explored in our post on Lange. 

Unfortunately, The Diwan Revisited suffers from excessive typos and spelling errors that occasionally obfuscate sentences or passages. The study doesn't engage with all the external medieval Arabic sources or some of the other kingslists and chronicles from the Central Sudan region. For instance, what insights might Hausa and Tuareg traditions, genealogies, and chronicles have revealed for Kanem-Borno? Recent scholarship on the Agadez Chronicles and other traditions might have strengthened Holl's theory of the Diwan as fundamentally an oral epic, or at least one heavily modified before shown to Barth. Of course, the existence of at least two works attributed to Muhammad Yanbu in the Late Sayfawa Period suggest that local scholars were writing down historical works. Perhaps Shitima Makaremma was not lying to Heinrich Barth at all, and there is good reason to view the Diwan as the primary chronicle or kingslist associated with the Sayfawa themselves?

Zeltner's Kanem

Jean-Claude Zeltner's Pages d'histoire du Kanem : pays tchadien is required reading for anyone interested in the history of Kanem-Borno. Focusing on the region of Kanem and only touching upon the Sayfawa in relation to Kanem after their relocation to Borno, Zeltner brings to the table experience with Arabic-speaking groups in the Lake Chad Region. So, the second half of the text basically consists of an overview of Kanem after the campaigns of Idris Alooma, with more detailed chapters on the migration of various Arabs like the Awlad Sulayman into the region. Perhaps the most detailed chapters are Zeltner's attempt at using the chronicles of Ahmad b. Furtu to give a breakdown of what exactly was happening in Kanem during the period from the late 1500s until the French conquest. As for his sources, Zelter relies on the usual ones: external Arabic geographies and chronicles from the medieval period, Ahmad B. Furtu, oral traditions, and the reports of European travelers and colonial officers, particularly Heinrich Barth and Gustav Nachtigal. 

In terms of his 20th century contemporaries, Zeltner perhaps wisely draws heavily from Dierk Lange. Indeed, much of his study of the so-called Duguwa dynasty and early Sayfawa period is based on Lange's study of the Diwan. Like Lange, he creatively draws upon some of the same Arabic sources, but seems to borrow Lange's interpretation of the Sayfawa dynasty as a new one of Berber origins. Unfortunately, the evidence for such an assertion, based on our known written sources, is very slim. Zeltner seems to think the fact that Muslim Berbers were present in nearby Kawar by the 9th century, that the Halle manuscript of the Diwan separates Humme and his descendants from the earlier children of Duku, Selma Abd al-Jalil being distinguished as the first "black" king, and the matrilineal aspects of the Diwan establish a Berber origin of the Sayfawa dynasty. Such a perspective is unfounded based on our limited sources for early Kanem. Particularly when all the external Arabic sources allude to "Black" Kanem and do not mention "Berbers" in the ruling class class of Kanem. 

Indeed, Ibn Sa'id, the main source on Kanem under Dunama Dibbalemi from the 13th century, clearly wrote about his "pagan" ancestors and their previous capital at Manan. All the evidence actually suggests, to our perspective, continuity from the "black" Duguwa to the Sayfawa. Nevertheless, the Diwan does appear to be a mostly reliable document on the chronology of Sayfawa rulers that can be corroborated by other sources. Particularly so if one ignores the legendary or semi-legendary earlier rulers of Kanem given fantastical reign lengths to connect the dynasty to Sayf. Therefore, one can understand why Zeltner was persuaded by Lange's analysis of it, and both tried to use it to elucidate the shift from the "Zaghawa" of the "Duguwa" dynasty to the allegedly "Berber" Sayfawa dynasty beginning with Humme in the late 11th century. 

However, one must tread cautiously with some of Zeltner's (and Lange's) speculations on Kanem. For instance, Zelter sees in Dunama Dibbalemi the first king to truly break with pre-Islamic customs. Thus, the opening of the mune that is remembered in later sources as disastrous, was part of his Islamic piety and devotion. However, later Borno sources stress the Islamic aspects of the mune relic, particularly Ahmad b. Furtu in the 16th century and a late Sayfawa prince, Muhammad Yanbu. According to Yanbu, the opening of the mune was actually un-Islamic, while Ahmad b. Furtu equated the mune with the Ark of the Covenant. If true, then the Lange/Zeltner interpretation of Dunama Dibbalemi, as remembered in Borno traditions, cannot be accurate or adequate for understanding this first "historic" king of the dynasty. 

The reality may have been far more complex in terms of the Islamization of Kanem and how the Sayfawa dynasty's relationship with Islam and Muslim legitimacy shifted over time. Moreover, our limited sources for early Kanem make it difficult to reconstruct social structures and relations. So, what exactly did the society of Sayfawa Kanem look like is nearly impossible to discern with certainty. We know of a large military, alliances with nomadic groups, vassal or tributary states, raids on "pagans" to the south of Lake Chad, the agricultural basis of society, the significance of the slave trade, dynastic feuds, Kanem's intervention in the Fezzan, royal pilgrimages, the migration of Arabic-speaking Judham into the region by the late 14th century, and the rise of the Bulala in Kanem. But the history of the Sayfawa dynasty, as limited as many of our sources are, provide little details on the rest of society. Based on the sources, Zelter wisely avoids unfounded speculation on the social history or other aspects of the region in the Middle Ages.

In summation, one can see why Zelter is required on the Kanem-Borno syllabus. His work continues the history of Kanem after the campaigns of Idris Alooma while also building on the scholarship of Lange to furnish additional data on the migration of Arabs into the region. Zeltner also includes the Middle Eastern and North African past of these Arab groups to contextualize the Lake Chad Region into a larger Islamic history that reaches back to the days of the Prophet. Lamentably, textual sources on Kanem for much of the 17th and 18th centuries are unknown or lost, so archaeologists and future scholars may one day uncover new materials to fill in the gaps of our knowledge. For example, how exactly did the Bulala eventually lose power in Kanem? When did Borno begin appointing the Dala Afuno in Maw, the capital of Kanem? In 1642 or perhaps later? How was Kanem part of Borno's relations with lands further east, such as Wadai, Darfur, the Funj, and Egypt? One would think Kanem continued to play a major role for travelers, pilgrims, and traders leaving Borno from the northern side of Lake Chad? One hopes future scholars can discover more about Kanem in later periods.

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.