A Congo (Kongo?) Prince in 1782

 

One of the more interesting notices of a runaway "Congo" slave in colonial Haiti is the 1782 case of a "Prince de Congo." Unnamed in the notice, the said maroon spoke of himself as a "Prince of Congo" and was apparently able to wound the son of his "owner" before his escape. Indeed, he was even said to have killed the mother of his sixth child before running away, perhaps a sign of how desperate and eager this Prince was to escape the plantation in Marmelade. From what we can tell, this is the only runaway notice for a "Congo" captive alluding to noble background. Was he from the Kingdom of Congo, as appears likely, and perhaps from one of the competing factions or lineage groups which periodically engaged in battles over the throne of Kongo in the 18th century?

Jean-Baptiste Belley

Somehow we forgot about Jean-Baptiste Belley, perhaps one of the most famous "Senegal" Africans in colonial Haiti. Born a slave, Belley gained his freedom and was one of the prominent free blacks in Okap during the late 18th century. Belley even represented Saint Domingue in France, where the famous portrait above was completed.

"Senegal" Nation and the Senegambia

 

The "Senegal" nation was consistently present among African slaves in Saint Domingue. Throughout the entire colonial era, the slave trade continued to bring captives of Bambara, Mandingue, Poulard, Wolof and "Senegal" backgrounds. Sadly, it is often unclear what people(s) were considered to be part of the "Senegal" nation. Some, with Muslim-sounding names like Aoua, mentioned above, could have come from a number of Senegalese ethic groups. 

Some Senegalese had their African names like Aoua. 

Some people referenced themselves as Poulard (Fulani) but were lumped into the generic "Senegal" nation. Was Auguste, for example, of Toucouleur extraction?

The "Senegalese" named Mallac might bear his African name. We assume Mallac may be Malik. 

Sometimes, the Poulard or Peuls were named as Foulany, or Fulani. It is under this name that Descourtilz wrote about Muslim Fulani captives in Saint Domingue.

Sometims, captives purchased from the coast of Senegal were explicitly labelled as Wolof, or Yolof. This Wolof presence can be attested by words of Wolof origin in Haitian Creole. But we assume Soninke, Serer, Toucouleur, Poulard, Bambara, and Mandingues were all part of the ensemble of "nations" captured and sold to the French slave traders on the coast. 

Ouidah in Saint Domingue

One of the Slave Coast "nations" we missed earlier was the Foeda, or Fida. The name, according to Oldendorp, alluded to Ouidah, a major slave trade port in today's Benin.

Arada and the Bight of Benin

The runaway Hippolyte appears to have been of Fon or Savalou extraction. As the region of "Savarou" was conquered by the Fon of Dahomey, perhaps Hippolyte's family came to the region during or after said conquest. 

Here we have a maroon of the Fond, or Fond, nation. His name, Ouata, is presumably a personal name used in Dahomey at this time (18th century). 

Another Fon, named Chofy, could be an instance of another Fon personal name from Dahomey.

A Barbare, or Bariba, named Huffo (Husso) could be an example of a Bariba personal name.

An Arada runaway named Boffou, or Bossou, a name that survives in Benin and in Haitian tradition. 

The case of the maroon Cesar, a Fon, is intriguing for its references to "Arada marks" on his face. If so, this is another example of how ambiguous or problematic the French colonial/slavery archive can be for determining origins. What does it mean for a Fon to have "Arada" marks?

Marguerite's case is mainly interesting for the reference to the Arada marks. She also was said to have spoken many languages, including French.

Another Arada Marguerite was said to have been raised in France.

The Arada, Agua, may have an African name.

Some "Arada" captives also spoke Portuguese. The unnamed maroon in the case above, spoke a little Portuguese. 

One "Arada" named Marie-Anne, was known as Guiaclain among the blacks. Was this her African name in Benin or Togo?

One runaway "Arada" was even named Dahomet, or Dahomey. Was he actually from the kingdom of Dahomey?

Sometimes the "Arada" could be mistaken for another "nation." Like the Taquoua, a group we believed to have been the Nupe. 

We also wonder about Couchy, an "Arada" fugitive. Couchy could be from the Ga language, where a king named Ayi Kushi is remembered.

The above case of Dahomet is interesting since he appears to have been of the Soso, or Susu, nation. If accurate, then the name Dahomet might have been applied to African captives in Saint Domingue who had no connection to Dahomey or the Bight of Benin. 

A Dahomet, or Dahomey, runaway was named Dossou. Dossou, a name remembered in Haitian tradition, is used for a child born after twins. 

Another runaway of the Dahomey nation was named Marionne. 

Gold Coast Nations and the "Mina" in Saint Domingue

  

We have been searching through runaway ads posted in Saint Domingue's newspaper, Affiches américaines. A number of runaways were of the "Arada" or "Mina" nations, often vague terms referring to the Bight of Benin and Gold Coast as places where the captives were purchased and shipped across the Atlantic. We decided to share some of the ads for interesting cases of people from this broad region, particularly those with names, origins, or skills that shed light on the Gold Coast/Slave Coast in the 18th century. Like the above example, a Mina named Carabi. 

Another interesting case is a maroon named Codiot, perhaps the name Kwadwo used by Akan peoples. 

Another Akan name that appears among Africans of the "Mina" nation is Cofy, likely the Akan Koffi. 

Akan names like Coichy, probably Kwasi, can similarly be found among "Mina" Africans in colonial Haiti.

Apia, possibly the Akan name Appiah, was another Akan-derived name found among "Mina" blacks. 

An "Aguia" black named Couaminan might be a Kwamina, another Akan-derived name. 

Another Koffi, or Coffi, was a maroon of the Cramanti-Adia background. Cramanti was the Coromantee of the British West Indies, and Adia may be a reference to the Aja, or Adja, peoples.

An "Arada" named Kwaku from 1785. If "Arada" captives could have Akan-derived names, one wonders if this one was of Ewe origin.  

Sometimes, the "Mina" were listed as Amine. Here we have another Coffi, who apparently spoke the language of Curacao, Papiamento.

Another "Mine" was specified as a "Quimbou-Mine" in the colony. There is a street in Accra called Kinbu, perhaps "Quimbou" being a reference to an area of what is now Accra?

A Bandia African who was only in Saint Domingue for three months, was said to speak the "Mine" language. 

As if things weren't complicated enough, the Mallais, Malez, or Male nation were present in the colony. Since the word appears to be derived from the word for Muslims used in Allada and other parts of today's Benin, they were presumably Muslims or captives supplied by Muslim traders from the North. Since the French slave traders sometimes used the word Gold Coast for parts of the Slave Coast, it is probable that the latter coast was intended here. 

Yet another ambiguous case is Bayard, of the Otam nation. Since the "Gold Coast" in this context could have included parts of the Slave Coast, Otam might have nothing to do with Ghana.

Last, the case of Marie. Possibly Ibo or Cramanti, she was said to speak the two languages. If she was actually "Ibo" in origin, then one wonders if she learned the "Cramanti" language in West Africa or in Saint Domingue.

A History of West Central Africa to 1850

John K. Thornton's A History of West Central Africa to 1850 is a difficult but occasionally intriguing read. As an update of sorts to Vansina's dated Kingdoms of the Savanna, a work we have mostly read several years ago, much of Thornton's regional history was novel or at least a good refresher. Nonetheless, the same problems persist: absence of written sources, problematic traditions collected in the colonial era in a highly politicized context, and a focus on elites or noble lineages. The absence of written sources for much of Central Africa in the precolonial era and the lack of adequate archaeological research across the region means that much of our knowledge of various polities is stuck in a speculative stage. Hints and glimpses begin with the Portuguese arrival in West Central Africa in the 15th century, but detailed accounts only emerge much later. Even for Kongo, a kingdom whose local elites embraced to at least some extent Portuguese literacy, the surviving sources are usually from and by Europeans. But due to the Portuguese contact and trade with Kongo, Ndongo and Matamba, further inland polities became gradually known. This vast interior, including the area of the Lunda empire which became a major power by the 18th century, included a very important belt of textile production, widely traded and used as currencies in Angola. Much of the problematic oral traditions are contradictory, however, especially when one can compare documented traditions recorded at different moments in the past with later traditions. For instance, this becomes clear with the expansion of Lunda, as others, including some of Imbangala origin, began to claim connections with Lunda in their founding traditions. Lastly, the oral traditions are, unsurprisingly, mostly centered on royal genealogies and barely shed light on free peasants or slaves, groups who must have comprised the majority of the population. This is useful for historians, particularly when kings remembered in tradition can be identified in Portuguese or European sources, and can help establish a chronology. Thornton's study of the region often does this to aid in constructing a timeline for various polities in the region from c.1500 to 1850.

Despite our aforementioned problems with the study of the region, Thornton's study raises a number of questions on the nature of slavery, the slave trade, and cultural exchange within West Central Africa. The slave trade, which essentially financed Portuguese Angola's existence, was often fed by captives raided and captured by the Portuguese, Luso-Africans, and African soba allies. Yet demographics suggested by censuses suggest the colony may have been similar to other polities in the region: men were sold abroad, but women retained. The large-scale forced relocation of people to concentrate wealth by elites was another commonality that allowed kings (and Luso-Africans and Portuguese Angola) to expand their power and revenue bases. The gender imbalance in the population and the central role played by slaves as sources of production (in plantations and estates) and export commodities demonstrates how the slave trade in West Central Africa both adapted and changed the region's various polities. The other ongoing issue in many polities, of centralization versus federation-styled governments played out along this dynamic, as control of people and dependents, including slaves and forcibly relocated farmers, could lead to some rulers succeeding in centralizing their administrations. In other kingdoms, however, political fragmentation followed centralization, as the cases of Kongo, Soyo and even Loango illustrate. This could have tragic consequences when many of the victims of the various civil wars in fragmented states were shipped to the Americas. Indeed, the so-called Jaga and Imbangala bands who ravaged parts of the region appear to have perfectly exploited the sociopolitical conditions of West Central Africa as militarized societies practicing infanticide, ritual cannibalism, and widespread depredations. While some, like Kasanje, eventually formed a permanent state, the militarized bands capable of spreading terror, seizing captives, and selling them to the Portuguese, with whom they occasionally formed alliances with against other African societies, suggest insecurity was rampant. When one also considers the prevalence of burdensome taxation collected by officials in centralized states, the lot of the commoners in much of the area must have been perilous. Even in areas where descendants of relocated populations had at least some guarantee of not being sold abroad, illegal enslavement and sale of people occurred in Portuguese Angola, too.

The most interesting aspect of the book is the question of trade and influences between the Atlantic and Indian Ocean coasts. Lunda, whose rise is based partly on trans-African contacts between the coast due to Portuguese interests in both Mozambique and Angola, occupies a major role in this theme. Trade in textiles, copper, European and Indian commodities and slaves must have factors of consideration for Lunda and other African polities in the center of Central Africa. The inability of Portuguese attempts to reach Ethiopia via Kongo in the past due to a misunderstanding by the Portuguese on the extent of Central Africa did not deter their interests in trade with Lunda from both coasts. How exactly, and to what extent, polities like Lunda, its Kazembe, and other polities in the region interacted with the Indian Ocean coast is another question which deserves further exploration. In fact, particularly for the East African connections of West Central Africa before the rise of Lunda.