Song for Ogun

A lovely tribute to Ogun, our orisha, from the legendary John Coltrane. Coltrane appears to have based his arrangement of the song on a version harmonized by a Brazilian composer and sung by Bidu Sayão. One can also find a Cuban group performing the song in 1957 with what appears to be different lyrics in Lucumi (Yoruba). Ogun arrives, chief of Ire. I vaguely recall once finding a recording of the same song (or a variation of it) from Dahomey (modern Benin) but was unable to locate it. Fortunately, Yoruba speakers have sought to enlighten us with the actual meaning of the song in its Cuban incarnations. 

King Solomon's Mines

Although Haggard was far from a great novelist, his King Solomon's Mines was published at the perfect time. The recent Western re-discovery of the ancient zimbabwe stone structures in southern Africa with concurrent racialized imperialist fantasies during an era of burgeoning British imperial expansion in southern Africa created a climate favorable for a popular romance eager to read stories of adventure in an unknown African interior. Adding an imperialist layer with the background of Solomon's legendary mines and legends of an ancient "white" race that erected fabulous ruins in the dark heart of Africa must have appealed to some British readers, who could see in themselves the rightful successors to the light-skinned invaders who once conquered the native population. There's even a thin layer of historical references to the Portuguese past presence in the region (the old Dom) and the return of a "white" race represented by the Anglo-Saxon. 

Haggard, however, awkwardly combines his racist fantasy with an admiration of the Zulu people, the model for the Kukuanas who ruled the area of King Solomon's Mines. Due to his own penchant for racialist theories of gallant Viking or Dane warriors and the type of masculinist culture of honor and military valor they supposedly represented, Haggard, or his narrator, Quartermain, seem to view the Zulu as a great native "race" of noble savages. However, as a savage "black" population, they are destined to fall under benevolent British rule. And if you think Haggard would actually go as far as including a consummated relationship between a black woman, Foulata (whose name might be a reference to the Fulani people of West Africa), and a white man, Good, you will be disappointed. Instead, black and white are never to cross. The races are presumably immutable and black and white too different, despite the expressed admiration of Haggard's three white protagonists for the Kukuanas. 

In his own way, Haggard seems to want the Kukuanas to be left alone, but surely the Anglo-Saxon "race" will extend their control over the noble Kukuana peoples. Quartermain, Henry and Good convince Umbopa to end some of the barbaric superstitions and violent traditions of the Kukuanas, and despite the Kukuana king's promise to resist any white encroachment, we all know what transpired in Rhodesia and the rest of the African continent. Quartermain and friends represent an earlier stage in the colonial relationship, one that sought to restrict execution without trial and eradicate the witch-hunting rituals. But like their Zulu model, the Kukuana will surely fall under direct British rule. 

Despite it's flaws in structure and prose, the novel must have been one of the influences on Pauline Hopkins. Hopkins, drawing from the Ethiopianist Christian tradition and focused on ancient Meroe, obviously held a differing view on race. In her novel, Reuel, the light-skinned African-American, returns and becomes king of an ancient, lost state modeled on Meroe and Biblical allusions. Unlike Umbopa, Haggard's noble savage, Hopkins endeavored to craft fully-fleshed out character, not just stereotypes. Moreover, the Ethiopianist and racial vindicationist tradition Hopkins drew from made Telassar an advanced civilization, not like the Kukuanas who merely inherited the chainmail and infrastructure left behind by an ancient white race. For Hopkins, Meroe and the idea of a Nubian origin of civilization was meant to inspire African Americans. So, Hopkins borrowed from the lost world type of literature Haggard excelled in to write a novel that would uplift black Americans and encourage them to see something positive in their African origin. The two authors perhaps share an uncomfortable emphasis on racial identity as a driving force to which all must ultimately embrace or suffer the consequences, although Reuel is of mixed-race ancestry. 

The Kingdom of Kongo

Anne Hilton's The Kingdom of Kongo offers a broad overview of the Kingdom of Kongo's rise and fall based on local adoption and adaptation of Christianity, Atlantic trade, and slavery in West Central Africa. Relying on, for the most part, written sources and some 20th century ethnographies, Hilton suggests the origins of Kongo lay in a redistributive economic system in which goods produced by distinct ecological zones of the Kongo state were exchanged. The mani kongo, or king, emerged sometime by the early 15th century as the dominant figure in this system, controlling the redistribution of local cloth, salt, nzimbu shells, and copper from beyond the borders of Kongo. The early state, however, was built on 3 distinct religious dimensions and different kinship structures, including matrilineal kanda and what later emerged as patrilineal groups based on descent from the daughters of Afonso I. 

However, the early Kongo state was relatively decentralized and the kings were eager to find new sources of legitimation. The mbumba, nkadi pmemba, and kitome dimensions were all important, but the Catholic cult and its association with the mani Kongo and aristocratic Mwissikongo aristocrats provided a religious or spiritual source of legitimacy that connected the kings with the cult of the ancestors and the sky spirits. While it is perhaps debateable to what extent this cosmovision really influenced the way Afonso I adopted Catholicism, Kongo was accepted as a Christian state by Europeans and adopted literacy, some Portuguese names, and even tried to buy or purchase European-styled ships. The kings of Kongo and the Mwissikongo supported the new religion, used literacy to enhance administration, accepted new crops from the Americas, and took advantage of the copper, slave, and nzimbu trades to expand Kongo's power in West Central Africa. Indeed, Kongo's cloth production was central to the currency and trade of the Portuguese colony of Luanda and Portuguese slave trading in the interior. 

Unfortunately for Kongo, however, Catholicism and the centralization achieved by Afonso, Diogo I and Kongo kings until the early decades of the 17th century was challenged by new developments. Sonyo, a province of Kongo, became increasingly independent and weakened Mbanza Kongo's economic importance through new trade routes with the Vili and others. Instead of the old Makoko-Mbanza and Luanda trade routes for slaves, ports like Mpinda and alternative slave routes developed that bypassed Kongo or did not rely on Kongo's cloth. In addition, Portuguese expansion of the Luanda colony and the seizure of the nzimbu-producing Kongo territory, as well as attacks on vassal states or chiefdoms of Kongo, further weakened Kongo. The Kongo kings were also not successful with establishing complete control of the Catholic Church, an institution which was central to the further legitimation of the rulers. The Portuguese refused, despite Afonso I's son serving as a bishop, allowing for an independent see of Mbanza Kongo and the clergy, prefects, and priests in Kongo were often dictated by or led by men based in Luanda. Even the Capuchins, who came to Kongo and were initially seized upon by Garcia II to strengthen his rule, eventually became more aligned with Luanda while criticizing the state of Christianity in the Kongolese provinces. Even the Dutch occupation of Luanda was a failure in the sense that Kongo did not eradicate the Portuguese presence and, in fact, was blamed for anti-Portuguese massacres. The enmity between Kongo and Luanda governors, who could also block envoys and letters from Kongo to the Pope or to Spain and Portugal, eventually led to the fateful battle of Mbwila.

The later centuries of Kongo cover its existence as a splintered or fragmented state, with autonomous provinces like Sonyo and warlods and competing lineage groups competing for the throne. Kongo Catholicism survived, even leading to a site of pilgrimage devoted to the Virgin Mary and the close relationship between Mwissikongo and the Christian cult. Kongo indigenous religion likewise continued, even experiencing a revival during the reign of Garcia II and that of his son due to Capuchin aggression Nonetheless, the Kongo of the 18th and 19th centuries was very different from the state system consolidated by Afonso I and his successors. While the Portuguese and the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade did not destroy Kongo, one can undoubtedly see how Atlantic trade was a double-edged sword that paved the way for Kongo centralization and decentralization. The main reason why Kongo, however, was not able to maintain its dominant position was related to its increasingly peripheral role in the main trade routes used for the slave trade and the decline of the mani Kongo's role in redistributing regional or international goods to his clients. The failure to establish a church under royal control further undermined the Kongo kings since one of the major ideological sources of their legitimacy was controlled by external actors not always acting in the interests of Kongo or its state. 

Lovejoy on Asante

Here is a short video on Asante by Paul Lovejoy, a historian who has studied the trade in kola nuts that connected Ghana with the Central Sudan. 

Ethiopia, Mughal India and the VOC

E.J. van Donzel's Foreign Relations of Ethiopia 1642-1700: Documents Relating to the Journeys of Khodja Murad contains translations of various primary source documents on an interesting figure in Ethiopia's diplomatic history. Said to have been an illiterate Armenian merchant from Aleppo, Khoja Murad served as an envoy for the Solomonic rulers of Ethiopia on a number of missions to Mughal India and the VOC in Batavia (Indonesia). Although, at least with regards to the VOC, trade of any significant scale between the powerful Dutch company and Ethiopia did not materialize, the documents, letters, and reports pertaining to Murad attest to the global presence of Solomonic Ethiopia in the Early Modern World. 

Indeed, despite relying, for the most part, on Ottoman-ruled Massawa for access to Red Sea and Indian Ocean trade, Fasiladas, Yohannes, and Iyasu I maintained or at least endeavored to send friendly missions to the powerful empires of Asia and the Mediterranean. Thus, the Ottomans, Persians, Mughals, and the VOC in Southeast Asia all received envoys from the Ethiopians at various moments in the 17th century. While the letters exchanged between the VOC and Ethiopia were vague and some of the Dutch sources questioned the authenticity of Murad or the likelihood of any profitable trade with the African kingdom, the letters illustrate a keen desire on the part of the Gondar kings to expand and sustain trading partnerships. In fact, despite the expulsion of the Jesuits and Roman Catholics, the rulers were not opposed to Protestant Europeans and were willing to promote trade with Muslim powers and neighbors. As revealed by the account of al-Haymi's mission from Yemen to Fasilides, the negus was hoping to promote Red Sea trade through the port of Baylul. Unfortunately, it did not succeed. This failure to develop trade on a large scale at that port meant that Massawa remained the main port of entry for Ethiopian access to Asian goods. While Zeila was later promoted to the Dutch as another possible port, the danger of Oromo groups on the way to the Ethiopian highlands and the necessity of requiring the permission of the imam of Mokha posed additional problems. Thus, the Solomonic dynasty had to rely on Massawa. Fortunately for the Ethiopians, the Ottoman pasha of Massawa was dependent on Ethiopian goodwill for food and water. In addition, Fasilides, his son, and his grandson also relied on the Ottoman officials in Massawa to help police the movement of Catholic Europeans into the kingdom. Nonetheless, the lack of direct access to the Red Sea at a viable port created complications for large-scale VOC trade in the region.

Despite this "failure" of Khoja Murad's voyages to Batavia, the sources translated in van Donzel's account allude to numerous aspects of Ethiopia's relations with the broader Red Sea and Indian Ocean worlds. With Mughal India, for instance, the sorry state of Murad's party when they finally met with Aurangzeb may have been saved by the depredations of Shivadji. Subsequent to their audience with Aurangzeb, Murad's Abyssinian mission received the equivalent of 20,000 francs of rupees from the Mughal ruler, which was later spent on Indian goods to bring back to Ethiopia at a profit. This episode reveals how Murad combined diplomacy and business while also illustrating how the Mughal ruler basically saw the gift to the Abyssinians as another way of promoting his economy. Since the Ethiopians used the funds to purchase Indian goods, it was another way for the Mughal ruler to boost his economy. As for the question of the Mughal ruler asking for Fasilides to rebuild a mosque in or near Gondar, perhaps this was just another element of the flexibility Abyssinian rulers (and their envoys) adopted in order to maintain profitable relations with Muslim powers. 

Other documents translated from Dutch, Arabic, and, in one case, Armenian, similarly shed light on Ethiopia during the second half of the 17th century. For instance, the Gongo region's population were said to be descendants of Hindustani Rajputs. The attempted coup against Iyasu, which involved his mother, was also reported. The Funj Sultanate, ruled from Sennar, was still reported to be a vassal province of the Christian Solomonic state. Furthermore, the identity of the Armenian bishop who traveled to Ethiopia during the reign of Yohannes is reported. Probably Hovannes Tutundju, who had traveled to Istanbul, Italy and Egypt, his account of Ethiopia, despite its brevity, provides another perspective on Gondar. One also wonders if the Ethiopians had developed a coffee industry in the 18th century, would they have been able to attract greater Dutch (and English) interest in trade? And if Iyasu had succeeded in somehow establishing relations with France or another Catholic European power, in spite of the opposition of the Ethiopian clergy, would the course of 18th century Ethiopian history have been quite different?

Chronicles from Gonja

Chronicles from Gonja collects and translates several Arabic manuscripts of a historical nature from kingdom of Gonja. Founded sometime in the mid-16th century by a warrior from the Mali Empire, Gonja was later made a tributary of the Asante Empire. However, the longstanding ties of trade in gold, kola nuts, textiles, and other goods had connected northern Ghana with the Western Sudan region since the Middle Ages. Even before the foundation of Gonja as a conquest state, Wangara merchants had already been active in the region. After its establishment, the warrior "estate" then established a close alliance with the Wangara and Islamic scholars. Later, Asante expansion northward in the 18th century began to encroach upon Gonja, eventually reducing it to a vassal state. Nonetheless, Gonja's literate Muslims were active in Kumase, writing charms, serving as advisors, and recording chronicles, letters, and prayers. 

The texts translated by Levtzion and commented upon by Ivor Wilks and Bruce Haight mainly date from the 18th and 19th centuries. The more substantial ones, such as the Tarikh Ghinja and the Kitab Ghanja, essentially present the history of Gonja's rulers from its origins in the 16th century to the second half of the 18th century. One even adopts the typical form of annals of the style of Islamic historiography. Nonetheless, many of the texts translated here reflect low standards of literacy or fluency in the Arabic tongue. Perhaps the scarcity of paper or the lower state of scholars who produced copies of older manuscripts is to blame here. Despite these aforementioned problems, and issues of copyists incorrectly replacing Bighu with Segu or confusing the names of Gonja sultans, the texts do provide a wealth of information on the region of northern Ghana and surrounding areas. 

The Wangara and/or Malinke elements were a bridge who linked the Akan peoples to the south with the Western Sudan, trans-Saharan trade, and, undoubtedly, with the Hausa trade in kola nuts. Indeed, sources such as the Wangara Chronicle indicate how influential Muslim Malinke traders were in Hausaland, just as their presence in Gonja was inextricably linked to Gonja's ruling estate, the Ngbanya. So, in a sense, the Wangara were a bridge connecting areas like Gonja and Dagomba with the Western and Central Sudan. Indeed, a rare reference to a man of Borno in Kafaba in the Tarikh Ghunja, if reliable, indicates a Borno presence in this region early in Gonja's existence. In addition, an allusion to the death of a Gonja pilgrim in a village of Katsina, while returning from Mecca, testifies to another dimension of Gonja's ties to the Central Sudan. Instead of, say, taking a pilgrimage route that went to the Middle Niger Valley and then crossed the Sahara, this pilgrim, at least on his return trip, traveled through Hausaland. Thus, in our eyes, the northern region of Ghana offer an intriguing case of a region with close ties to both the Western and Central Sudan, contributing to the formation of trading diasporas linked by gold, kola nuts, and Islam. 

The Goddess Isis

Although it has been a few years since we have read Apuleius, we found Religion for Breakfast's videon on the spread of the cult of Isis in the Roman Empire to be fascinating. And though not mentioned here, the cult of Isis was also important in Kush. To what extent was the cult of Isis and the glimpses of it available in Apuleius's novel representative for Isis worship in Kush or Meroe?