Tamerlan and Borno?

Bivar and Shinnie's Plan of Borno's Capital

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. 

Ulama and the State in Borno

In our quest here at the blog to read all the relevant Nigerian scholarship on Borno, we finally read Bobboyi's dissertation, The 'Ulama of Borno: A study of the relations between scholars and state under the Sayfawa, 1470-1808. Due to their local proximity, access to oral and written sources, and a deeper familiarity with Kanuri history and culture, we have been trying to find more of the often inaccessible studies on Kanem-Borno by African scholars. Sadly, these excellent secondary sources are not easy to find. Lamentably, some of the precious primary sources at Nigerian archives or museums are not cited enough by outsiders, so we have to rely on Kanuri and other Nigerian scholars who have read the documents and have access to excellent sources on oral history to add context and fill in the gaps in our knowledge. 

For instance, Bobboyi's dissertation, and other studies by Nigerian scholars, cite late Sayfawa-era primary sources excluded in other studies, particularly two texts by Maina Muhammad Yanbu. These sources, although late in the history of the dynasty, should be more widely known, cited, and translated to add to the list of known internal textual sources on Kanem. But besides the use of important oral and written sources, Bobboyi's study establishes a clearer idea of who and what the ulama of Kanem-Borno were during the Borno period of the dynasty, with hints of continuity from their earlier Kanem phase. We get an inkling of the reputable scholars and their disciplines, the educational curriculum, how they were fully integrated into the state apparatus of Kanem-Borno as an Islamic administration, the role of the mahrams in shaping ulama-state relations, and Borno Sufism. This last chapter was probably the weakest, but given the limitations of the sources, a step forward in contextualizing the earlier history of Sufism in Kanem-Borno. Once we have read more of the Nigerian scholarship, we shall return to these topics in light of other perspectives on the administration of Kanem-Borno and Islamic influences. 

Borno and Salt in the Central Sudan

Paul Lovejoy's Salt of the Desert Sun: A History of Salt Production and Trade in the Central Sudan is required reading for anyone interested in the production and trade of one of the major commodities used in the "Central Sudan" region of West Africa. Although mostly based on 19th century and colonial-era sources on salt production, markets, social relations, and political economy, Lovejoy's important study elucidates the importance of salts in the regional economy. If one can stomach the somewhat duller early chapters, the second half of the book contains rich details and references for specifics on social relations, labor, proprietorship, political factors, and changes in the development of salt production. While technologically quite "primitive" and limited by climactic variables and transportation, the role of salt in the region's economy was significant. It even contributed to Hausa and Central Sudan trade with the Volta Basin, especially for kola nuts. Indeed, the full scale of it can only be glimpsed because of our limited sources which largely date from the 19th and 20th centuries.

So, how did the Central Sudan's salt trade impact the development of Borno and Borno's hegemony in the region? For much of the precolonial era, particularly before the c.1759, Borno was the closest to creating a quasi-monopoly of salts in the region. Due to Borno's control of the Kawar desert salines as well as Sahelian and Lake Chad sources (salt and natron), it became the dominant player in the salt trade for centuries, probably as early as the 16th century. Salt was used for livestock, medicinal purposes, culinary tastes and industrial uses (tanning), so it was directly linked to agriculture, textiles, leatherwork, and long-distance trade. By controlling most of the sources of salts in the region before the Tuareg affiliated with Agadez seized control of the trade of Bilma by 1759, Borno was in a tremendous position to dominate the larger economy of the area. Borno's salt works in Mangari, or Gourbei, for instance, were relatively close to the capital city and its populous district. This district, according to Lovejoy, was also an agricultural center with a local textile industry. Lake Chad also served as a center for livestock-raising, which profited Borno's economy as it still dominated Kanem on the eastern shores of Lake Chad. 

Although the control of Kawar was central to Borno's interests in trans-Saharan trade, Lovejoy's text convincingly illustrates how the desert salines of Bilma and Fachi contributed to the bustling trade in salt across the Central Sudan. Additional sources of salt in the Sahelian region of Borno also contributed to the strong regional economy, which surely contributed to Borno's preeminence as the predominant power in the region. As Barkindo argued in the UNESCO series, Borno in the 1500s-1700s possessed a strong regional economy and salt surely played a role. Despite the limited sources, Lovejoy speculates that control of salines in the semi-arid Sahel zone of Borno was likely distributed through fiefs, whose holders were mostly based in Birni Gazargamo. Fief-holders and others who jostled for lucrative grants of fiefs may have relied on slave labor in Gourbei and other regions, suggesting that slaves procured via raids and trade with Bagirmi could have found local uses in Borno's local industries. Consequently, one can see how trans-Saharan and regional trade supported each other through various linkages. 

Unfortunately, this strong regional economy began to decay by the 18th century. The main victor of this process was the Sokoto Caliphate and the Hausa traders (though many were actually of Kanuri and Tuareg origins). The Tuareg of Agadez were able to seize control of the distribution of salt from Bilma and Fachi while continuing to supply salt from Teguidda to Hausaland. Increasingly, after 1759, the trade routes reoriented through the Tuareg networks in the desert to Hausa cities like Kano. Hausa traders, who were active in the kola trade, textile manufacturing and exports, and, through Kanuri-descended "Beriberi" traders, had access to salts from Borno and Foli in Kanem, were able to become the dominant market for salts while supplanting Borno's role. As convincingly laid out by Lovejoy, Borno gradually became an economic satellite of the Sokoto Caliphate, despite still occupying some importance from its Sahelian and Lake Chad salines. One would think the rise of Hausa traders moving kola nuts into the Central Sudan, plus the increase in textile production in areas such as Kano further eroded what remained of Borno's textiles and trade network. 

Thus, the Tuareg, by defeating the Koyam and nomadic allies of the Sayfawa rulers in the 18th century, replaced the Kanuri in the movement of desert salts to the savanna lands further south. Hausa traders and networks gradually replaced Borno merchants while incorporating some into their networks. Borno gradually became dependent on the Sokoto Caliphate after losing western territories, the Kawar, and, eventually, Kanem. Despite only being one of the major commodities exchanged in the Central Sudan, the loss of dominance of the salt trade was undeniably linked to Borno's gradual decline in the 18th and 19th centuries. Exactly how and why Borno's nomadic allies were defeated by the Tuareg and the Sayfawa rulers did not make more consistently forceful attempts to reassert their authority in Kawar is not clear. Regardless, their lack of forceful action in the late 18th century probably contributed to the weakness of the Sayfawa rulers in the face of Fulani jihadist attacks in the early 19th century. The Great Drought of 1738-1753, the defeat of Borno by Mandara in 1781, and possibly another drought in the 1790s or early 1800s must have also played a role in the long decline of the Sayfawa rulers.

The Tuareg and Islam in the Sahel

Due to this blog's current obsession with Kanem-Borno, we have been reading studies of other parts of the Sahel and "Sudanic" Africa. Looking at Kanem-Borno in its larger regional context can shed light on our area of interest, and lead to other sources and ideas. Nonetheless, we were disappointed by Norris's The Tuaregs. While it definitely could have used better editing, the main problem is the paucity of sources for earlier eras, such as Tadamakkat, and the author's reliance on significantly later oral traditions or excerpts from Tuareg intellectuals and writers of the 19th and 20th centuries. 

Norris has done a favor for the rest of us by translating excerpts from several of these lesser known works by local authors, but the overall narrative on Islam among the Tuareg of the Sahel is disjointed and perhaps weakened by so much speculation. To his credit, he translated some of the same material from Agadez used by Yves Urvoy, so Anglophone readers do not have to rely solely on Urvoy's French translation of the Agadez Chronicles. One also gains deeper insights on the relationship between Tuareg Ineslemen and their counterparts among other groups, such as the Arabic-speaking Moors, the Kunta, and, perhaps, Hausa and Fulani Muslim reformers like Muhammad Bello. 

Unfortunately, one cannot help but think a book of this nature could benefit from a rewrite that incorporates data from archaeological excavations at sites like Tadamakkat and the epigraphic sources studied by Moraes de Farias. Some of these more recently uncovered or analyzed types of data could shed light on the nature of Tuareg and Sahelian Berber Muslim communities in the late first millennium, as well as their relationship with kingdoms and cities to the south (Gao, for instance). The younger scholarship seems to adopt a more critical stance with regard to chronicles like those of Agadez, too. 

Gronniosaw and Borno?

We here at the blog finally read the brief autobiography of James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw. Said to be from Borno, we thought it mandatory to examine his autobiography as another potential source on the history of Kanem-Borno. Unfortunately, upon closer examination, the fascinating character which emerges in this autobiography could not have been from Borno. Too many inconsistencies and errors suggest that James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw was probably from another part of West Africa, perhaps a region closer to the Gold Coast than his narrative suggests.

While Borno certainly did have trading links to the Gold Coast in the 18th century, which may have involved ivory, it is remarkable that Gronniosaw's autobiography creates a portrait of a Borno which couldn't have been in the 18th century. Claiming to be the grandson of the king of Borno, one would expect Gronniosaw to have been a Muslim, or at least familiar with Islam. Unless his mother married a non-Muslim, he would have definitely been raised in the faith and possibly received at least a basic Koranic education. Instead, Gronniosaw fails to mention Islam, but mentions the worship of the Moon, Sun, and stars. Further, Gronniosaw was astonished when he first saw a man (the Dutchman who purchased him on the Slave Coast) read a book. If he was indeed from Borno's capital, and of royal blood, one would expect him to have familiarity with literacy and books. 

Furthermore, when describing their congregations of worship, he only mentions worshipping under trees in the city. Supposedly their day of Sabbath was on Saturday, not the expected Friday of Muslims. How could he not have been familiar with the mosques of Birni Gazargamo or the rituals of Islamic worship? Was his Islamic background erased by the Christian writer who recorded his narrative? Or, as we think more likely, was he from another part of West Africa? That might elucidate the autobiography's allusion to palm wine consumption in Gronniosaw's homeland. It would also explain the use of bark to produce cloth. After all, in our experience with the sources on textiles in Borno, most was produced with cotton.

Despite these flaws and questions of its accuracy for the origin of Gronniosaw, one should still read it. As an autobiography, filtered through the Christian propaganda and symbolism of his interlocutor, it provides some insights into the experiences of West Africans in the "Atlantic World" in the 18th century. Gronniosaw visited Martinique, Barbados, and Havana and lived in New York, Holland, London, and other parts of Britain. He experienced the life of a privateer in the Caribbean, as well as a difficult life of poverty in Britain. Indeed, his white wife, Betty, a weaver, experienced hardship due to labor unrest in her field. Thus, one can see elements of 3 forces that defined the increasingly closer "Atlantic World" of Africa, Europe and the Americas through the lens of race, class, and colonialism in the life of Gronniosaw.

Autobiography of Nicholas Said

Said, via Wikipedia

Nicholas Said's relatively short autobiography is one of the most interesting textual sources produced by a native of Borno. The author of this slave narrative was kidnapped by Tuaregs and sold into slavery in North Africa. From Tripoli, Said accompanied a Turkish master who ran a tobacco shop, on the pilgrimage to Mecca. Along the way, Said traveled to Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, today's Saudi Arabia, Somalia, and Muscat. One almost wishes he told us more about the Ethiopian traders he met in Khartoum, or about the African pilgrims en route to Mecca in Sudan and Ethiopia. Alas, that was not his focus, but it would have been interesting if he met others from Borno in Sudan and Ethiopia. After his master's shop is burned down (with half of Tripoli's Turkish bazaar), our protagonist is sent to Izmir, where he is sold to a politically connected Turk who then takes him to Constantinople. After brushing shoulders with the cosmopolitan elites of Constantinople, he is acquired by a Russian diplomat and aristocrat who takes him to the Russian Empire. 

Via travels with a Russian employer, he traverses Europe, experiencing all the aesthetic, technological, and cultural advances of mid-19th century West. Eventually, when in London and planning a return to Borno, a Dutch client offers him employment for an extended trip to North America and the Caribbean. Visiting US cities, the Bahamas, Haiti, and Jamaica, Said and his employer return to the US and Canada, where Said is abandoned after loaning his boss funds. Stranded in Canada, he is encouraged to go to Buffalo, New York, where there are more "colored" people. Thus began Said's experiences in the US on a permanent basis. Perhaps due to the delicate post-Civil War conditions in the US South, Said does not disclose his service in the Union Army. One is also struck by the number of elite or royal people Said claims to have met or served, including receiving a gift from the Czar Nicholas I. One almost senses in this a Kanuri cultural practice of dependents seeking wealthy or powerful men as patrons, and perhaps Said's namedropping was a reflection of that. Or perhaps it served as a counter to US racism, as a "black" man, though in a servile position, was valued and respected by cosmopolitan European elites and experienced little to no racial prejudice. One can sense some tensions, perhaps tied to his race, with European domestics in Russia, and we can be sure there was a lot more that happened to Said in Europe or Turkey than he's willing to admit. Alternatively, Said may have looked to the famous "Negro" of Peter the Great as a model for refashioning his life in the Russian Empire.

So, what does Nicholas Said's biography tell us about Borno and the experience of Borno's peoples in the modern world? First, Said himself represents Borno as a political project encompassing a variety of ethnic groups, including the Kanuri, Shuwa, Kanembu, and, in the case of Said, "Mandra" (Mandara) and Molgoy. Molgoy were a people whose ruling chief accepted a tributary relationship with Borno under Mai Barnoma. Said's mother, Dalla, was the daughter of a Mandra chief. Yet despite these non-Kanuri origins, Said seems to identify wholeheartedly with Borno and refers to the Borno or Kanuri language as his vernacular. Perhaps this a reflection of his father's military service under Shehu al-Kanemi, which meant Said grew up in Kukawa, the capital, and socialized with a son of Shehu Omar. Either way, this is an interesting example of how multiethnic the empire of Borno was, and to what extent people from "pagan" tributary or vassal states in the region could ascend the ranks of the military and social status. 

After all, Mohammad Ali ben Said was the son of Barca Gana, a famous general who defended Borno against the Fulani, Bagirmi, Wadai, and other enemies or raiders. Indeed, it was presumably through his father's prominence and connections with al-Kanemi and his successor that Said was sent for schooling to Malam Katory, a reputed scholar described as being well-versed in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish. Presumably having such a respectable teacher in Arabic was expected for people of elite origins in Borno. Moreover, it was open to people who were not of Kanuri, Kanembu, or Shuwa origins, though Said clearly thought the Kanuri were the ruling class or caste and not above oppressing Shuwa, Kanembu, or other groups.

After establishing how internally diverse and dynamic Borno society was in the 19th century, it's important to consider Said as a native of Borno in the volatile 19th century world, experiencing steamships, railroads, European architecture and science. There is a long-running, underlying current of racial uplift in Said's autobiography, perhaps acquired from his experience in the US with African-Americans and whites. In his own manner, he attacks the argument of African inferiority, while implicitly casting Africans as primitive and the "race" as one in need of elevation through education and uplift. This is the basis for sensing some ambivalence in Said's experience of 'modernity' and tradition, one in which he can praise aspects of Borno and the Ottoman Turks while cursing African Islam as retrograde. Indeed, in Said's retelling of Borno's past and the history of African achievements in technology and handicrafts, he seems to think the palace ruins at Gambaru and Ngazargamu were the achievements of pre-Islamic Borno. Consequently, one can sense an ambivalence in Said's autobiography in terms of religion and race in a changing world. Thus, he can praise the example of the Haitian Revolution as an achievement for our race while wishing Haiti remained colony.

Experiencing the trans-Saharan slave trade first-hand, and 2 distinct but connected routes that carried him from Tripoli to Mecca and back), it is fascinating to see how someone who was reared Muslim and received an Islamic education for at least 2 years struggled with Islam. After baptism in Riga, at the pressure of his Russian aristocratic employer, Said appears to have gradually adopted more severe and dismissive attitudes to Islam. The religion of his homeland, indeed, is blamed for bringing destruction, fanaticism, and slave raiding. Since his audience for the autobiography consisted of Christian Americans in the 19h century, perhaps one can see Said embellishing or exaggerating his religious sentiments or identity. Yet he could have been sincere in those beliefs, and struggled to make sense of the "contest" between Christianity and Islam, the former better for Africa (and the "race"). In this light, it is interesting to compare Said with Edward Blyden. Unlike Blyden, who was not a product of an Islamic West African society, Said presented himself as a Christian who rejects Islam's influence in the continent. Blyden, on the other hand, saw Islam as preparing Africa for eventual Christianization, and in the meantime, promoting education and moderation for moral uplift. Like Said, Blyden did not truck with "fetishism" but both claimed to be for the race. Both also saw in the "mulatto" an implacable obstacle to countries like Haiti. How is it that two men with extensive traveling and education, both in favor of improving the "race," develop ambivalent attitudes toward Africa in the modern world while stressing the benefits of opposing religions? And what does this suggest for the role of Borno in the larger theme of Islam and modern Africa?

A History of Islam in West Africa

Trimingham's A History of Islam in West Africa is quite dated. For instance, it relies on problematic older assumptions typical of the scholarship of its era. For example, the Almoravids are assumed without question to have sacked or defeated ancient Ghana. In addition, the author relies on problematic assumptions of "Hamitic" races and "Negro" (while also considering all Berbers "white") while also describing colonialism as largely beneficial. Indeed, based on the rise of theocratic Islamic states in the 19th century and the endless wars and slave-raiding created by these theocratic states and the military adventurers like al-Hajj Umar, Trimingham appears to see in European colonialism as saving West Africa from endless wars.

Nontheless, Trimingham's work provides an excellent synthesis of the historical knowledge of its era. One sees exactly what the dominant trends were based on oral history and internal and external textual sources to reconstruct the origins of trans-Saharan trade, the spread of Islam, and the various polities and kingdoms of the "Sudanese" style that developed in the western and central Sudan, from Senegal to Chad. Despise the author's misgivings about the reliability of the oral sources for earlier moments in the development of states like Takrur, Ghana, and Songhay/Kawkaw, they add a wide array of new details to the cultural and historical development of the various peoples of the region. 

Surprisingly, we learn less about Islam in this region than the history of kingdoms, traders, and trading centers like Jenne or Timbuktu, but Trimingham rightly sees Islam in pre-19th century West Africa as mainly limited to towns, traders, and kings who professed it but did not impose it on their subjects (although this is contradicted by states like Takrur, whose first king, War Jabi, did compel his subjects to Islam). Overall, Trimingham's study is more about political and social history with appropriate emphasis on Islam for certain key moments, developments, or changes in religious practice, such as the rise of Sufism, jihadist 19th century movements, and colonialism aiding Islam's expansion amongst "pagan" peoples. Sometimes one thinks Trimingham sees in West African "traditional" religion something anti-universalist (unlike Islam) and closed off to the wider world, so perhaps more recent scholarship has approached the delicate question of Islam and "traditional" religion more convincingly.