Due to our recent readings of Redhouse's dated English translations of two chronicles by the imam Ahmad Ibn Furtu or Borno, we at the blog have decided to tackle Hunwick's translation of the chronicle Tarikh al-Sudan by Abd al-Rahman al-Sa'di. Unfortunately, Hunwick did not translate the entirety of the chronicle written by our Timbuktu author, skipping 2 chapters on Moroccan politics and later chapters on events after 1613, with the pasha administration and post-Songhay Middle Niger politics. That era, after 1613, when effective Songhay resistance was largely over and fewer large-scale empires operated in the "Western Sudan", was for obvious reasons quite distinct from the "imperial" era of Songhay, Mali, or Ghana.
As the general narrative of the Songhay Empire or the Western Sudan owes so much to al-Sadi and the Tarikh al-Fattash, reading this chronicle was basically an exercise in seeing how so many historians and documentarians have borrowed this or that idea, characterization, or plot point in their depiction of Songhay rulers like Askia Muhammad or Sunni Ali. We have read select chapters of the two surviving Timbuktu chronicles in the past, for our earlier projects on Ghana and pre-imperial Songhay history, so the early chapters were nothing new. As recent scholarship has shown, an overreliance on the Timbuktu tarikhs is problematic, as the authors had various political, ideological, and religious motives at play, and were relying on oral traditions for much of the earlier history of their region. For instance, today's scholars have called into question the idea of Ali Kulun and the Sunni dynasty of Songhay rulers, pointing to the alarming parallels with Tuareg oral traditions and folklore. Mande, Berber, Songhay, and Islamic influences intersect and shaped how Timbuktu chroniclers like al-Sadi perceived the Middle Niger and the "land of the Blacks" in surprising ways, and not always in what modern secular readers considered to be historically accurate style or methodology.
Thus, one must use these sources very carefully while also coming to see something of the interplay or oral and written traditions in West African literature. One can read these chronicles and see commonality with the oral epics of Sunjata, or the oral epics of the Bamana people of Segu. For al-Sadi and his audience, chronicling the great past of his region while endeavoring to avoid offending the Pasha administration relied on portraying the later Songhay Askia dynasts as corrupt and decadent, yet celebrating the security, Islamic scholarship, and cosmopolitan ties of Timbuktu and Jenne in the Songhay Golden Age (scholars who traveled to Mecca, Egypt, North Africa or corresponded with illustrious figures from Cairo). Moreover, while the author was of "Berber" descent, he also mentions a Fulani ancestor, and probably possessed other West African non-Berber forebears. Clearly, he was a man of Timbuktu and identified with the region and its peoples, and Islamic devotion filtered the lens through which he viewed West Africa. In that respect, he resembled Ahmad Ibn Furtu, the chief imam of the mosque in Borno's capital during the reign of Idris Alooma. Like Ibn Furtu, his historical chronicle sought to stress the proper and just Islamic devotion of his class and preferred rulers. For al-Sadi, this seems to have been Askia Muhammad I and Askia Dawud, and one of course must question the portrayal of these rulers in the chronicles.
It is also clear that the text pointed to the corruption and in-fighting among various siblings and cousins of the Askia royal family over the course of the 16th century as a cause for the empire's decline and relatively quick fall to the invading forces of Morocco. How the Songhay went from being able to raid Moroccan territory in the Dar'a Valley under Askia Dawud to being quickly routed by a relatively small Moroccan force armed with muskets in 1591 is difficult to conceive. Unless the Songhay state was already weakened by problems with succession that weakened its ability to maintain central authority and military capacity, muskets should not have been enough to topple Songhay. Unfortunately, al-Sadi has little to say about the slaves, artisans, and laborers, and little to say about the influence of women among the Songhay. The so-called subaltern groups were probably not seen by al-Sadi as significant historical actors, but glimpses of their role in the economy, political conflict, and marriage alliances of the Songhay rulers clearly emerge. Artisans, such as tailors and shoemakers, hardly appear in chronicle, despite the several workshops in Timbuktu run by tailors who were sometimes scholars themselves. We learn they had a quarter in Gao, created by Askia Dawud, which may also be a veiled reference to artisans as a casted group.
Although so many questions remain pertaining to the authorship and interpolations in theTarikh al-Fattash, one can see why it has become a priceless resource for understanding the history of the Songhay and the Niger Bend region. Attributed to Mahmud Kati and his grandson, with additional notes and references to a lost chronicle and family records, the text contains clear forgeries from the 19th century, predicting a future caliph of Masina. Nobili and other scholars have made a persuasive argument that what we know call theTarikh al-Fattash was in fact an original 17th century chronicle by Ibn al-Mukhtar, and the 19th century forgery which drew upon the older text to promote a certain Ahmad of Masina. Apparently, other copies of the Tarikh al-Fattash have been located in the surviving libraries or collections of West African Arabic manuscripts, so future scholars may one day establish a clearer picture on the making of this particular chronicle. Unlike the other surviving Timbuktu chronicle, with a more clearly established author, part of the appeal and challenge of theTarikh al-Fattash is endeavoring to make sense of its authorship and how it reflects a tradition of chronicles or "historical" writing in West Africa for centuries.
Unfortunately, however, we had to rely on the 1913 French translation of the text by Houdas and Delafosse. Despite its errors and dated footnotes to elucidate ambiguous passages or unclear translations, one felt it to be a more useful (and accessible) translation than the English version. Until a scholarly, annotated English translation of the chronicle is published, we shall have to rely on Houdas and Delafosse's translation. And, lest one be mistaken, the 1913 French translation is mostly serviceable. The incongruous mixing of authors makes for sometimes confusing reading, but the Tarikh al-Fattash provides a number of different oral traditions, slightly modified kingslists for the Zuwa and Sunni dynasties, and new data and references for everyone interested in the rise, decline and fall of the Songhay Askia dynasty.
As the product of a Muslim intellectual (possibly a real Mahmud Kati, or Ibn al-Mokhtar), it invariably promotes a certain narrative of Songhay political power, religious practice, and Islamic civilizational models the Askiya state, under Askia Muhammad I, epitomized. While also reporting new oral traditions of the early history of West Africa and the Songhay, what the Tarikh al-Fattash emphasizes in servile lineages, slavery (the 24 tribes owned by the kings of Mali, who were then seized by the Songhay and provided tribute), and caste actually reveals something of the larger world beyond the Niger Bend in which Songhay was inextricably linked. For instance, the origins of one caste lineage is somehow imagined to have begun with a former slave owned by Christians in the Atlantic, possibly an allusion to the trans-Atlantic slave trade. One finds intriguing claims of an ancient Jewish population in the area of Tendirma before its formal establishment by the Askiyas. This may have served the purpose of acknowledging the Jewish presence in West Africa or calling attention to the deeper antiquity of this part of West Africa. A similar tactic was possibly used in the Tarikh al-Sudan when al-Sa'di suggested ancient Kukiya was a source of sorcerers for the Pharaohs of Egypt. Undoubtedly, oral traditions and legends permeated both of the Timbuktu chronicles in question, such as the origins of the Zuwa dynasty of kings or the chronology used to describe the early history of Ghana (Wagadu) or even the rise of the Sunni dynasty in the character of Ali Kulun. A great episode, of course not factual, can be found in the tale of Mansa Musa's hajj, when his farba produces an artificial river in the middle of the desert for the mansa's wife.
For our purposes, if the Tarikh al-Fattash is reliable, then it is priceless for shedding more light on social structure and practices of power among the Askiya rulers. It may reflect a greater dependence on slaves in the post-Songhay imperial period, but it reveals how the Askiya was expected to be generous, redistribute wealth, and, in at least some cases, employ enslaved labor for agriculture. Thus, an Askiya is said to have given the original Mahmud Kati several gifts for his sons to marry, including land with slave laborers to make it productive. Another story of Askia Dawud's generosity mentions him freeing the entire family of an old enslaved woman, even though the woman had only asked that the Askia ensure her children and grandchildren not be separated when sold to new owners. This seems to reflect the fact that slave trading in Songhay lands did indeed separate families. But even better for this old woman and her family, Askia Dawud freed her entire family and had an official document signed in front of witnesses to attest to her family's freedom. Freeing slaves was a virtuous act, but making gifts out of them for various Islamic scholars, nobles, and subordinates was supposedly another aspect of Askia Dawud's virtue. It is in this context we learn that the population of Gao consisted of 7,626 houses, not counting straw huts, to display how no one living in the city had not benefited from the largesse of the Askia dynasty.
As for royal plantations (producing rice, it would seem), caste, artisans, and the poor, the Tarikh al-Fattash also reveals more than the Tarikh al-Sudan. The poor in Timbuktu and Gao supposedly received food directly from the Askia Dawud. In the first city, Dawud allegedly founded a plantation worked by 30 slaves to feed the poor. He also sent 4000 sunnu of grain to the qadi of Timbuktu to distribute for them. Intriguingly, to be a royal slave also conferred a degree of power, and could, in some cases (Missakoulah, the supervisor said to be from Baguirmi who oversaw a royal plantation and repeatedly gave away grain from it to the less fortunate) get away with independent actions and behavior (especially if their behavior in virtuous acts improved the status of their master). It is also in the Tarikh al-Fattash that references to the tailors of Timbuktu and artisans can be found.
For instance, the Moroccan invading army included Arab shoemakers and artisans who sold their services after the pacification of the region. Supposedly, prior that, Timbuktu already had 26 establishments for tailors, the so-called tindi, which were run by a master who had, on average, around 50 apprentices. Some of the tailors were also scholars, such as a certain Boussa mentioned in the the chronicle. There must have been some kind of guild-like association for certain trades in towns like Timbuktu and Gao. Other artisan groups were treated as a caste, and expected to provide a tribute to the Askias (the blacksmiths, for example). Unfortunately, these chronicles, focused as they are on the Askias and scholars, do not tell us more about artisans, laborers, and farmers, and less about the use of enslaved labor in the salt mines or estates owned by non-Askiya. In the near future, a new translation of the Tarikh al-Fattash and critical study of it and other manuscripts may shed light on these questions, and the basis of Songhay royal power to the peasantry.
Because Anne-Charles Froment de Champlagarde's loose translation of a Libyan chronicle was in French rather than the German summary of Krause, we were able to read the full text more easily and gleam certain details on the history of Tripoli and Tripoli-Fezzan relations. However, Alain Blondy's introduction is actually more useful for an introduction or overview of the history of Tripolitania and the Fezzan from the period of c.1500-1800. Blondy's lengthy introduction, for instance, helped situate the conflicts over Tripoli in the 1500s between European Christians and, eventually, the Ottomans while providing a Tripoli-based perspective on the Fezzan and trans-Saharan trade. Much of the actual chronicle tracks the often difficult state of relations between Tripoli and Murzuq while the later sections cover the rise of the Qaramanli and the brutal conditions under which Yusuf seized power after slaying his brother.
Unfortunately, we still don't learn much about the local "negro sovereigns" of the Fezzan except for their various revolts and refusals to pay tribute to Tripoli. But some interesting details emerge in Blondy's introduction and the original text on the Fezzan's relations with Katsina and Borno. For instance, the idea of the Awlad Muhammad dynasty as vassals or quasi-vassals of the Sayfawa dynasty as demonstrated by mai Umar b. Idris executing al-Tahir. Or the importance of "black" merchants in Murzuq, the capital of the Awlad Muhammad rulers. Given that Kanuri was once widely spoken in the region, it might be safe to assume most of these "black" merchants were from Borno, although Hausa traders from Katsina were likely present. Thus, the Fezzan was intimately linked to the larger economy of the Borno and Hausaland, and may have derived much of its textiles, leather goods, and grain from the "Central Sudan" neighbors to the south.
Indeed, according to Claude Lemaire, about 500-600 slaves passed through the Fezzan from Borno annually, suggestive of the scale of the slave trade in the late 17th century between Tripoli and Borno. That number, though seemingly small, doesn't take into account high mortality rates or the role of Tripoli as a distribution center for African captives to other locations in the Mediterranean. As argued by other historians, Tripoli seems to have relied more heavily on this African slave trade through their tributary Fezzani neighbor than Borno, which raises questions on the role of the slave trade in Borno's economy. Yet influence or control of the Fezzan obviously mattered to the Sayfawa dynasty, since it allowed them to secure the trade routes to the Mediterranean and perhaps protect their own merchants active in the central Sahara or beyond. We would like to learn more about Idris Alooma's interests in the Fezzan during the 1570s and 1580s, as well as the mystery of an anonymous Spanish source from the 16th century mentioning direct military conflict between Borno and the Ottoman Empire in the Fezzan region.
Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno is one of those must-read texts on the history of Borno worthy of a new edition and a subsequent collection of essays that reflect the new scholarship on the history of Kanem-Borno. For instance, newer insights from archaeological excavations in Kanem and Borno, as well as the use of more local textual sources from the precolonial era for the study of Kanembu and Kanuri Ajami texts and linguistic analysis should be incorporated. Newer scholarship on Islam, Sufism, Ulama-State relations, the Kanuri Diaspora or Borno's connections with the lands further west and east are all topics of interest that recent scholarship has covered to varying extents. Or the topic of, perhaps, Kanem-Borno's social history, gender relations, oral literature, slavery as a local institution, or land tenure are also deserving of deeper scrutiny.
Nevertheless, this collection of essays from the 1980s, despite the uneven nature of the contributions, is a must-read for everyone interested in Kanem-Borno. Connah's survey of the data from archaeological work in Borno and the Chad Basin provide a useful prehistoric background to human settlement and the development of metallurgy, towns, and trade. Abdullahi Smith's essay, for instance, offers a plausible theory for why claiming descent from Sayf may have appealed to the ulama of Kanem by the 12th or 13th centuries. Smith draws on the larger history and discourse of early Islamic history and genealogy, which would have been known to Kanem's ulama through their study of Arabic texts and travels to Egypt, Mecca, and the Maghreb. Of course, the actual chances of the Sayfawa dynasty being descendants of Sayf are very slim, but the more interesting question of the intellectual history behind it is fascinating.
Muhammad Nur Alkali's contributions, on the other hand, appear to be based on his dissertation, which gives the reader a greater sense of the administrative organization of the Sayfawa state during their Borno period. Again, much of our knowledge of the details of administration and political office in pre-19th century Borno is scanty, but Alkali's contributions elucidate why the Sayfawa state was able to prosper for centuries as the dominant power in the Central Sudan through agriculture, trade, fishing, learning, cattle, textiles, leatherworks, salt, and the administrative apparatus that directed or promoted the aforementioned aspects of Borno's hegemony or cultural influence. Since our sources are still somewhat limited on the intricacies of the political system of the Sayfawa state, one should approach Alkali's interpretations with caution.
Additional contributors appear to have recycled past work or dissertations, but shed light on fiscal policy under the Shehus of the 19th century, Borno's relationship with Fombina before the colonial period, constitutional changes introduced by al-Kanemi, the decline of the office of galadima in the 1800s, Borno's relations with other powers (Morocco, Ottoman Empire, Mamluk Egypt) and Borno-Hausaland relations. Yusufu Bala Usman's essay on Borno relations with Hausaland before 1804 is worth reading for pointing to the lack of sources used by past historians (like Yves Urvoy) to depict Hausaland as a conquered region of Borno. Instead, Usman's chapter demonstrates that Borno's political and cultural influence in Hausaland was likely mediated through other means besides military conquest, and that the continuous plain running through the Hausa states and Borno favored trade, migration, contact, and relations which were not, based on our current sources, of a military nature.
Thus, one cannot deny the central importance of Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno for all students of Kanem-Borno. It suffers from several typos and more than a few chapters are speculative or rely on limited evidence, yet it reflects the importance of mostly local, Nigerian scholars for advancing scholarship. Unlike some of the external and colonial-era historians of Borno, the Kanuri, Nigerian, and African contributors to this volume evince a care for incorporating oral traditions and written sources in a balanced manner that avoids the diffusionism of Urvoy or Palmer while reflecting far greater immersion into the cultural and language milieus of Borno and its neighbors. This is not to say only Kanuri or Nigerian scholars should be allowed to study Borno, but their familiarity with the scene and desire to challenge or balance colonial-era narratives is refreshing.
One cannot help but wonder if these "Bernon" captives were part of the same group of prisoners of war who were sold into slavery and ended up in the Rossignol-Desdunes plantation. "Bernon" Africans seem to have been somewhat uncommon in Saint Domingue, although it is possible the ambiguous "national" labels assigned to Africans in Saint Domingue misidentified them. It is possible that enslaved West African Muslims united through religion, and may have adopted or assumed a name like "Mandingue" or "Hausa" which obscured the distinct origins of some members. Such a phenomenon occurred in Trinidad's Free Mandingo mutual aid society, whose members were not solely Mandingo. Alternatively, there were probably some Africans who spoke multiple languages and were lumped into one or another "nation" which did not accurately reflect their homeland.
As an empire mostly drawn into the trans-Saharan orbit, and primarily exporting other peoples as slaves rather than their own (with a few exceptions, according to Descourtilz), it is interesting to consider the connections of Haiti with the "Sudan" and Borno. While most "Muslims" in Saint Domingue were probably drawn from various Mande groups, "Senegal" and probably Hausa and some "Malais," the links to the Central Sudan may have also been important. One wonders if Haitian writers of the 19th century, reading French works that mention, sometimes in detail, various kingdoms in the heart of the continent, also thought of their own population, which still included people born in said regions. For example, Baron de Vastey's knowledge of Mungo Park and his detailed description of Segou was utilized as proof that Africa wasn't as "uncivilized" as Europeans usually depicted it. Surely, Baron de Vastey knew of "Bambara" and "Mandingue" in the kingdom of Christophe who could also enlighten him about their homelands. Perhaps Haitian writes were also familiar with Descourtilz's description of Borno, and that of other European accounts, which depicted a sophisticated Islamic kingdom with security, literacy, and order. Who knows, maybe the Borno Africans living in Haiti also offered an example of "civilized" Africans from ancient kingdoms that the kingdom of Christophe could reference for proof of racial equality and justification of monarchy?
Sometimes Youtube can be useful. Like in this case, where this young lady's basic overview of the ancient kingdom (empire) of Ghana indicates someone who actually did their research. I have spent much of the last 48 hours going over secondary sources on this kingdom, the Soninke people, and English or French translations of Arabic sources on the history of the region. Even with advances in West African archaeology in Mali, Mauritania and nearby regions, I am amazed by how little we still know about Ghana (or, Wagadu), at least for eras prior to the rise of Islam. Can one really trace the origins of the state to agropastoralist stone masonry villages in Dhar Tichitt and related Mauritanian sites? There does seem to be evidence that some Mande groups once lived further north before the progress of the desert. Further, the evidence of Ghana itself, although more archaeological work remains to be done in the Awkar and nearby regions, do suggest a plausible origin sometime from the 4th to 6th centuries. Either way, by the time of the 8th century, Ghana was probably already the main source of gold for Sijilmasa, and the institutions associated with such a trade would not have appeared overnight.
But when going through the Arabic sources, one does arrive at some interesting theories of Ghana's origins. When used carefully with oral sources, they provide a picture of sorts of Soninke origins. The Timbuktu chronicles like Tarikh al-Fattash and its other Timbuktu counterpart suggest Ghana's existence predated Islam by at least a few centuries, and they attribute the origins of the kayamaga dynasty to "white" origin. This may reflect the fact that a 12th century king of Ghana, according to al-Idrissi, claimed descent from the family of the Prophet Muhammad. Or, it could indicate some degree of ancient intermarriage between Berbers and proto-Soninke peoples in the ancient past. Intriguingly, in the 11th century, al-Bakri mentioned at least two groups of "whites" living under the suzerainty of Ghana who were described as following their religion ("idolatry"). In one case, the "El Honeihim" whites were sent to the "land of the blacks" sometime after the Arab conquests in the Maghreb, but its possible the other group, identified as El Faman, may have been established in the region before. In addition to "whites" described as residing in the "Sudan," the Soninke kingdom of Ghana appears to have dominated the predominantly Berber and Arab trading entrepot of Awdaghust for some time in the 10th and 11th centuries, revealing the interest of Ghana in controlling the Saharan and Sahelian networks in trade to Sijilmasa and other parts of the Maghreb. If al-Bakri is to be trusted, the Berber and Arab residents of Awdaghust did not get along, so the representative of Ghana may have served as an intermediary between Berber, Arab and "Sudanese" residents in that bustling commercial town.
Clearly, there were "whites" (presumably Berbers) who were assimilated into local West African cultures, albeit one is described as endogamous in their marriage customs. This shows that any "whites" who were involved with the origins of Ghana were likely people who adopted aspects of local culture rather than initiating centralized kingdoms of states. They may have been descendants of the cultural syncretism that some archaeologists argue appeared in Mauritania after 500 BC, when the Libyco-Berber presence is attested in the Dhar Tichitt, Walata, and associated areas. The old-fashioned Hamitic Hypothesis has been disproved countless times, but there likely was some degree of cultural exchange and influences between sedentary agriculturalists and pastoralists in Mauritania and Mali before Ghana's emergence.
Moreover, al-Bakri's account of Ghana's monarch and religion does not indicate any sort of "white" origin. Certainly, there is even far less evidence for Delafosse's "Jewish" theory of the origins of Ghana. If Jews from Cyrenaica had settled in the Awkar or other heartlands of the Ghana empire ca. 150-200 AD, establishing the kingdom by the year 300, one would imagine they would have left behind evidence in terms of synagogues, inscriptions, religion, or ritual objects in the Sahel or southern Sahara. Jewish populations were definitely present in the region several centuries later, after the increase in the scale of trans-Saharan trade. Another fanciful theory might attempt to link the origins of Ghana to Egypt or Nubia, but one would think evidence of such contacts should appear in the archaeological record. However, al-Bakri's description of royal funerary customs and the discovery of elite burials in the forms of tumuli in Mali and Senegal do suggest kings were buried with their possessions and some of their human servants, a custom that appeared on the Nile Valley thousands of years previously. This in itself proves nothing, however, and one finds no indication of Egyptian or Nubian deities in the territories associated with Ghana.
Last, but certainly not least, one has the problematic origin theories of Frobenius, who saw a connection to the lost civilization of Atlantis in ancient "Black Africa." Through stories like "Gassire's Lute" and Frobenius's influential writings, he appears to have invented the idea of an epic cycle of stories of the Soninke, and wishes to connect them to his wider theories. While the Legend of Wagadu does indeed exist among Soninke populations dispersed across a large swathe of West Africa, and some of the oral traditions clearly reflect Islamization in their desire to trace the origin of Dinga to the Middle East, there is no evidence for an epic tradition akin to Frobenius's description. Undoubtedly, there is no evidence for ancient Atlantis or much of any contact between the Soninke and the Mediterranean world before the 8th century.
As for the Arab ancestry of the 12th century Muslim king of Ghana identified by al-Idrissi, that is clearly a significant change from the "pagan" kings described in the 1000s. According to al-Bakri, kings like Basi and Tunkamenin were friendly with Muslims and included them in the royal administration. But besides the mention of one of Basi's son possibly being a Muslim, there is no evidence of significant penetration of Islam among the royalty of Ghana in the 11th century. Silla, a town identified by al-Bakri as resisting Ghana and having a Muslim king, may point to another example of a Soninke ruler converting to Islam. A century later, however, the kings of Ghana were affiliated with Islam and, per al-Idrissi, claimed descent from the Prophet's family. However, claims of sharifian descent are not unheard of among converted peoples. It only reveals the extent to which the king of Ghana and his Muslim contemporaries saw him as part of Islam.
However, the interplay of oral and written traditions of the Soninke and local chronicles do support some of the Arabic sources from al-Bakri onwards. For instance, one of the named kings of the 11th century, Tunkamenin, suggests a Soninke origin for the ruling dynasty. The title tunka among the Soninke signifies royalty, perhaps indicating al-Bakri combined the Soninke title with the name of the king. Soninke oral traditions also speak of a serpent associated with the fortune of the kingdom. Al-Bakri describes such a custom among an affiliated group in the Ghana kingdom (perhaps a Soninke sub-group). Furthermore, many of the towns along the Senegal, Faleme, and Niger rivers identified in the medieval Arabic sources appear in Soninke oral traditions of their dispersal from Wagadu. The patronymic clan names, serpent Bida, and other oral sources attest to the veracity of some of the North African, Iberian, and Middle Eastern geographies and reports.
Moreover, the Timbuktu chronicles suggest the fall of the kayamaga (one of the titles of the rulers of Ghana after conflict with a group affiliated with a lower caste, servile origin, or ignoble roots. This may indicate the fall of the kayamaga after conflict with one of the "slaves of the state" lineages or caste groups. Perhaps the fall of the so-called Cisse dynasty represents the end of a non-Muslim line of kings, assuming the oral traditions are reliable on this point. But the line of kayamaga identified in the Tarikh al-Fattash suggest an end of their dynasty around the 7th or 8th century, identifying their last prince as Kanissa'ai. If true, were the kayamaga identified in the chronicle an early dynasty that was replaced by the Cisse? If the kayamaga line ended by the 7th or 8th century, they were certainly non-Muslim and perhaps the usurpers may have been of a servile lineage or caste group who decimated the old aristocracy.
Although very limited and relying on oral sources to describe events centuries before their 17th century context, the Timbuktu chronicles do give us the capital of Ghana (Kumbi) and point to some type of conflict that may have reflected the impact of new ideas or intensified social relations (slavery, Islam, Mande caste systems, an expansion of Soninke trading diasporas?). Tamari's essay on the origins of the Mande caste system argues that it emerged among the Malinke peoples prior to the Soninke, appearing among the former by the 13th century. I would argue that it's probably older, and if the example of Ghana was a model of sorts to successor empires, there probably was some form of occupational castes among the Soninke during the period of Ghana. The caste system and Soninke social structure of the ethnographic present might demonstrate that Ghana's social structure consisted of free-born nobles, warriors, chiefs, traders, farmers, caste groups, and slaves. Perhaps the predecessor to the marabouts in pre-Islamic times were the priests of the "traditional" religion, associated with the "idols," ancestor veneration, secret societies, divination and rites. If the kayamaga line ended in the first century of Islam, there may have already been dynastic change before the appearance of Ghana on the world scene, caused in part by servile populations such as the Kusa (slaves of the state) or conflict over control of the expanding trans-Saharan trade.
What this tells us about Ghana before the 8th or 9th century, I am not sure. Yet, the pre-Islamic foundations of the state appear quite clear, even predating evidence for trans-Saharan trade. It is only in the 12th century when evidence for Muslim kings among the royal dynasty appear, although some of the royalty and chiefs may have converted in the 11th century. Of course, the cousin of Tunkamenin identified as a ruler of Alouken, said to be a Muslim, had to hide his religion from his subjects. If true, this suggests that the Soninke rulers had to, at least publicly, support the "traditional" religion. But in order to control the distribution of gold from the south, impose a system of taxation, and demand tribute from subject towns or polities under its hegemony, there must have been political, economic, and social organization of some magnitude. By the 11th century, literate Muslims were involved in the administration, but one can surmise there already was something akin to Mande occupational castes for ironworkers, leatherworkers, and other occupations on the village level. Presumably, masons, weavers, craftsmen and other groups existed in the towns to produce the stone buildings in the royal city, but they might not have been organized into caste groups, if Djenne and Timbuktu exemplify a regional trend.
There probably were slaves of the king who may have served as local administrators or agricultural workers, while the majority of the population would have been "free" farmers or cultivators. Soninke traders must have also been on the move in southeastern Mauritania, the lands along the Senegal River, and the Inland Niger Delta relatively early on to ensure the distribution of gold from alluvial deposits in the south. Since Ghana did not directly control gold production, it is difficult to say who the people panning for gold were. Seasonal workers? As for the military of Ghana, al-Bakri's mention of 200,000 soldiers is impossible to verify. It also conflicts with his statement the land of Ghana was poorly peopled, unless the bulk of the soldiers came from lands further south among tributary towns. However, it does indicate the likely power and military might of the state, even if it was probably not a standing army. Either way, this military apparatus would have depended on an adequate supply of food, horses, arrows, spears, and other weapons, suggesting some degree of centralization to ensure distribution and security along trade routes.
Since the royal town, perhaps Kumbi, was affiliated with the "traditional" religion of "idolatry," ancestor veneration, sacrificial offerings, massive groves, and the massive mound burials of the royalty, religion must have played a role in legitimating the king's authority. According to ak-Bakri, the ruling king before Tunkamenin was blind, but had to hide it from his subjects. This could reflect a belief in the king's body as sacred or infallible. The Islamic influence prior to the 12th century must have been mostly concentrated in the towns and cities, but it is possible that Islamic-derived divination practices may have already exerted some influence on local practices among the Soninke. Some of the trading diasporas of the Soninke (Wangara?) may have been early converts to Islam, too. Whether or not the religion had any appeal to commoners or rural areas is unknown, but may have coexisted rather peacefully with local religions. If the conversion of some of the ruling elite to Islam weakened the dynasty's authority, it may have paved the way for factional conflict by the time of the Almoravid dynasty, and eventual fall ca. 1203 to the Sosso. It certainly would have required an adaptation or modification of earlier notions of royal authority, but the later Mali kings of the 13th century and 14th century appear to have combined local sources of royal authority with their Muslim religion. Indeed, if the Arabic sources can be trusted, an early Muslim king of Mali went so far as to destroy the idols of his "pagan" subjects, but retained his royal position.
So, what do we really know about early Ghana? It is likely that there was some connection to the Tichitt Tradition in prehistoric Mauritania, but Iron Age sites further south in Mali could prove to be the real origin of the state. There is no evidence whatsoever for a "Hamitic Hypothesis." Nor can one attribute the rise of Ghana to the stimulus of the trans-Saharan trade, although it definitely shaped later developments. The chronology of the ruling dynasty (or dynasties) is also uncertain, but the Soninke are unquestionably tied to it. What "Soninke" meant over 1000 years ago is of course not the same as our modern conception of it, naturally. Identities and languages were presumably fluid, and general similarities in conceptions of the world or social organization among Mande peoples probably indicate a degree of cultural similarity between differing ethnic groups. Ghana's significance as an empire comprised of different states and peoples is a testament to the cultural mosaic of the Sahel, and developments in Ghana also paved the way for transformations that altered the rest of West Africa.
Sources
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Burkhalter, Sheryl L. "Listening for Silences in Almoravid History: Another Reading of "The Conquest That Never Was"." History in Africa 19 (1992): 103-31. Accessed November 5, 2020. doi:10.2307/3171996.
Clozel, F.-J. (François-Joseph), and Maurice Delafosse. Haut--Sénégal--Niger (Soudan Franc̜ais): Séries D'etudes Pub. Sous La Direction De M. Le Gouverneur Clozel .. Paris: E. Larose, 1912.
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SaÊ»dī, Ê»Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Ê»Abd Allāh, and John O. Hunwick. Timbuktu and the Songhay Empire: Al-SaÊ»di's Taʼrikh Al-Sudan Down to 1613 and Other Contemporary Documents. Leiden ; Boston: Brill, 1999.
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Timbuktī, Maḥmūd Kutī ibn Mutawakkil Kutī, Christopher Wise, and Hala Abu Taleb.Taʼrīkh Al Fattāsh =: The Timbuktu Chronicles, 1493-1599 : English Translation of the Original Works in Arabic By Al Hajj Mahmud Kati. Trenton, N.J.: Africa World Press, 2011.
Yves Urvoy's Histoire de l'Empire du Bornou remains a key text on the history of Kanem-Borno. Although published during the colonial era, and deeply indebted to the Hamitic Hypothesis, and based on, from what we could ascertain, several questionable and dated translations of Arabic sources from the medieval era, Urvoy's survey provides an early overview of Kanem-Borno civilization from its origins to the colonial conquests. Unfortunately, blinded by racialist ideologies and therefore offering just-so theories of "white" nomads from the north and east interacting with "black" peasant or sedentary populations to create the "Sudanic" state in early Kanem, Urvoy's racial biases became the foundation for his explanation of its genesis.
Thus, the Sao and local "black" populations of the era were politically fragmented, 'primitive' and the great Sudanic kingdoms and empires could only have come about through "Hamitic" or "white" nomadic groups with their racial pride and contacts with the more advanced Mediterranean or Middle Eastern worlds. Without any evidence, Urvoy can reach such conclusions based on colonial-era racial ideologies and justifications. Indeed, at times Urvoy's condescending tone is quite palpable to the reader. So, Urvoy's text is weak in its theoretical foundations, offering a "racialist" perspective on African history with little to no evidence. Like Palmer, he interprets oral traditions of eastern origins as literal history, although without the faulty linguistic and etymological gymnastics of Palmer.
That said, Urvoy provided one of the better overviews of Kanem-Borno's history from its little known origins to the colonial era. His study benefitted from the collections of oral sources and primary source materials unknown or inaccessible to European writers like Barth and Nachtigal in the previous century. Urvoy also had some familiarity with primary sources like the Agadez Chronicle and early archaeological excavations in the region, all tools that seem to have not been available to Barth or Nachtigal. Of course, one can also take issue with the faulty chronology and dates for the Sefuwa dynasty mais created by Urvoy, which are certainly less accurate than that of Lange.
Moreover, some of his conclusions about the weakness of different Sefuwa kings in the 17th and 18th century may not account for the shifting base of power and authority over 1000 years. For example, a strong or reputable mai may not necessarily require constant military campaigns. One is tempted to think Urvoy may have been applying stereotypes based on the history of the Roman Empire or Europe to describe some of the allegedly weak or incompetent kings. However, we here at the blog appreciated his breakdown of Kanem-Borno imperial administration and his attempt at analysis, based on our limited sources, of various eras in the millenium-long history of the Sefuwas, and the attempts by the Shehu dynasty to defend the Empire.
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