Trans-Saharan Africa in World History

We have recently revisited Austen's accessible read, Trans-Saharan Africa in World History, and highly recommend it. Sure, one could find dense, academic articles that see the Sahara as a model for studying African history or intra-African relations, but this is the best book-length work related to the subject that integrates the Maghreb and the Sudanic regions of West Africa into a single narrative. Austen highlights some of the Sahara's economic, religious, cultural, political, and ethnic diversity and contributions to African history and global history in a way that shows how, for several centuries, the Sahara was a global highway that connected various regions of Africa together, as well as becoming an important node in Afro-Eurasian commerce and exchange. Indeed, one learns much about how new trends in ideology and material culture went both ways in the northern half of the African continent, as well as placing it in a broader hemispheric and Islamic perspective so one can clearly see how trans-Saharan Africa was, in some ways, economically co-dependent, even if Austen argues that the Maghreb was less dependent on trade with the Sudan.

And the importance of Islam in regulating and fueling trade, even though trade between the Sahara and the Sudan predates Islam by at least several centuries, going back to the introduction of the camel, surely contributed to both 'shores' of the Sahara as various African societies (and Arabs) influenced each other and shaped the political destinies of states to the far north and the far south. One sees this in the Almoravids and Almohads, which were Berber dynasties with clear links to the world of Islam and trans-Saharan Africa, as well as in relations between Morocco and Songhay, the spread of Sufism and Islamic learning, and even the rise of manufactures and textiles from the Sudan into the Sahara and Maghrib, illustrating how interlinked these economies were. 

Sure, the Maghreb states were more thoroughly Islamized and tied to the 'Arab world' and Mediterranean, but Africans (especially Berbers in the north and the Sahara) profoundly shaped the development of new trends in trade, traversing the desert, the spread of new technology and ideas, the rise and fall of states, and the economic integration of the entire northern half of Africa into the global economy in the era before European hegemony. Indeed, this is something that merits further inquiry, how trans-Saharan commerce, movement and learning contributed to the medieval world, as well as shaping the growth of cities and intellectual thought in Africa.

Heart of the Ngoni

Although this blogger is no fan of Harold Courlander's work on Haiti, his recounting of the Segu epics (with Ousmane Sako) is rather entertaining. The Segu epics, which bring to mind an epic historical fiction novel by a renowned Caribbean writer, should be read together for a fuller appreciation and understanding of Bambara civilization from the 1600s-1900s. Indeed, the story of the origin of Segu goes back far further, to Wagadu and Soninke origins, tying the Bambara with other ethnic groups in the Western Sudan (Mandingue, Soninke, Fula, etc.). And, as non-Muslims whose kingdom led an uneasy coexistence with Muslim groups (in addition to incorporating Muslim mystics) the embellished narratives of past Segu kings or heroes give an idea of social values and ideals along the Niger River at a time when 3 forces were irrevocably transforming West Africa: Islam, the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, and colonialism. While the coming of the white man is only important in the last tale of a Soninke town, and most of the tales focus on important figures and kings at the zenith of Segu's power, before the Muslim jihadists defeated Segu, the aforementioned 3 tides are unforgettably in the background. Anyone who has read the historical epic of Conde will see it immediately in these stories, focused as they are on the great kings and warriors in a time of chivalry and honor. 

Heliodorus's Ethiopian Romance

Helidorus of Emesa's An Ethiopian Romance is an enthralling read from the ancient world. Telling the story of the "white" Ethiopian Charicleia and her love, Theagenes, a Greek, it features a series of ordeals and tribulations that finally culminates in their matrimonial union in Meroe, capital of the "Ethiopians" (in this case, really the Kushites or Nubians). Divine intervention and fate see to it that Theagenes and Charicleia's foreseen union comes to fruition. But along the way they survive pirates in the Mediterranean, bandits in the Nile Delta, and machinations of foes and others in Delphi, Memphis, and, most dramatically, in Meroe where Charicleia's royal parents reunite with their lost progeny. Much of the novel actually consists of various characters explaining their backgrounds in long dialogues. For instance, Calasiris, the Egyptian high priest of Memphis, tells Cnemnon of his past travels and travails in a long conversation inside the home of Nausicles, a Greek merchant of Naukratis.

The most intriguing aspect of this novel to this blog, however, is its possible influence on Pauline Hopkins and the hidden city of Telassar in Of One Blood. In Hopkins's novel, the descendants of Meroe have established a utopian hidden city, but one in which monotheism appears to be the dominant faith. Nonetheless, her utopian ancient black civilization must owe something to the fabulous and utopian "Ethiopia" of Helidorus. Indeed, there are even similarities between the main characters: Reuel and Charicleia both possess birthmarks that prove their royal heritage and rightful place on the throne. 

Moreover, like Reuel, Charicleia is also "fair-skinned" and "passing" as "white" to those around her. Yet each are bound by ancestry and destiny to return to Ethiopia, although divine providence in the imagination of Hopkins is decidedly Christian. Both Charicleia and Reuell are also endowed with special abilities or powers. The former possesses a gem that protects her from fire while Reuel's mastery of mesmerism and the occult allow him to "raise the dead" (something also accomplished by an Egyptian mother who uses sorcery to force her deceased son to speak). Perhaps even the "hoodoo" and Vodou elements in the Hopkins novel have their equivalent in the "science" of Calasiris and other Egyptian characters, as well as the constant presence of the deities in dreams, visitations, and temple offerings. 

In addition to the parallels between Reuel and Charicleia, the dichotomy of a wondrous, noble Ethiopia ruled by a benevolent king versus the tyranny of the Persian empire suggests another similarity between the novels: "Ethiopia" as a utopian alternative to the oppressive central power of the day. In Hopkins time, African Americans faced an oppressive empire in the form of US Jim Crow while Africa was carved into European colonies. "Ethiopia" as utopia is biblical prophecy in the Ethiopianism of Hopkins, but it also reaches back into pre-Christian Greek notions of Ethiopia as "blameless" or ideal. It's exotic, remote, attributed with the origins of the Nile and Egypt (Calasiris himself studied in Ethiopia), and led by a wise and judicious monarch.

The gymnosophists consulted by Hydaspes may have been inspired by India, but they bring to mind the council consulted by Reuel in Of One Blood, and through their wisdom human sacrifice in Meroe is terminated. In short, the rulers of Meroe are wise, generous, and the ideal leaders. Their Ethiopia is filled with emeralds, gold, African fauna, exotic spices, and access to the luxuries of India and Arabia. Even the Greeks must recognize this African civilization's grandeur as exoticism meets utopia in Helidorus's eyes. Hopkins was surely influenced by this perception of ancient Ethiopia and, reinterpreting it through the lens of African American Ethiopianist rhetoric, modernized it as a redemptive tale for Black America. Tellasar, with the return of its king, will become Ethiopia stretching her hands unto God. 

Tripoli Between the Two Seas

Jean-Claude Zelter's  Tripoli, carrefour de l'Europe et des pays du Tchad, 1500-1795 is one of those studies of Tripoli that we believed was necessary to understand the North African side of Kanem-Borno's trans-Saharan trade. Due to Zeltner's specialization in the Chadian past and research in Kanem and among the Awlad Sulayman Arabs, we hoped his history of Tripoli would integrate the histories of Tripolitania and the Central Sudan. Unfortunately, a deeper integration of the two remains to be written but this is an interesting start. Indeed, Zeltner fits the history of Tripoli in both a Mediterranean and trans-Saharan context. Indeed, without Europe, the Chad Basin and the bridges of the Mediterranean and Sahara, Tripoli was economically marginal. This indicates how a major North African port relied so heavily on the African interior and Europe and the economic integration of Africa and Europe (and the Levant). 

Outside of corsair activity targeting European ships and enslaving the victims, the trade in slaves and other "goods" acquired the trans-Saharan trade was the main source of revenue for the rulers (beys and pashas) of Tripoli from c.1500-1795. Moreover, as Zeltner takes great pains to indicate, most of the goods traded further south to Borno or sub-Saharan Africa via Tripoli came from Europe, especially Italy and even France. Thus, the trans-Saharan trade of the Central Sudan was directly linked to Mediterranean and European economies. Zeltner seems to have believed that had the Holy Roman Empire under Charles V or another European power had permanently established control of Tripoli and the Barbary coast, European trade with the African interior through the Sahara could have developed fully without the constant attacks of pirates or, in the case of Tripoli, frequent revolutions and unseating of pashas. But that's neither here nor there. Perhaps it is best to see Zeltner's overview of Tripoli's history in an attempt to show how the North African port served a vital role in connecting various regional or really global economies. Future studies could probably, assuming more data is accumulated or discovered, link developments in Tripoli and Fezzan with specific economic and political affairs in the Central Sudan or Borno. 

Unfortunately, there are some problems with Zeltner's approach and the structure of the book. The first 100 pages delve into the larger conflicts between the Ottoman Empire and the Holy Roman Empire in the Mediterranean. It is definitely important for understanding how Tripoli fell under the control of Turgut, but it may be excessive to spend so many pages on the period leading up to 1551. Perhaps it would have been good to cover Wadai in the 17th and 18th centuries, too, for an additional kingdom trading with Tripoli and the Libyan coast. Fuller coverage of what was going on in the Central Sudan during the period, in addition to the reign of Idris b. Ali of Borno, could have been juxtaposed with Tripoli's various conflicts with the English, French and other Europeans in the Mediterranean. That could have better emphasized how events or political, social, and religious changes in the Central Sudan had an impact on Tripoli and the Mediterranean, not just Tripoli's political or social changes influencing the Fezzan and "Sudan" to the south. It was also confusing to see Zeltner equate Kwararafa with the Mandara kingdom, despite evidence linking it to the Jukun peoples.

Nevertheless, Zeltner's book is a good introduction to Tripoli that helps us better understand the Tripoli chronicle previously read for this site. Some of the particularities of Barbary piracy, Ottoman interests in the Mediterranean and even the role of the French in shipping African captives in Tripoli to the Levant were especially interesting. The frequent coups and revolutions and the way in which Tripoli, for a time, benefitted from French and English rivalry in the Mediterranean was likewise intriguing and perhaps brings to mind the ways in which banditry in the Sahara and Sahel had its counterpart on sea with the corsairs and rivalry between Sudanic states or kingdoms. Banditry and business go hand in hand, despite the former occasionally hurting the latter. 

Medieval Ethiopian Diplomacy

After reading about the Jesuits in Ethiopia, it made sense to go back a little further in time to understand relations between Solomonic Ethiopia and Latin Europe in the Middle Ages. Medieval Ethiopian Kingship, Craft, and Diplomacy with Latin Europe by Verena Krebs is a good place to start since it focuses on a period from c.1402 to the 1520s, a period before the calamitous invasions of Ahmad Gran. Arguing against the grain of past scholarship which has emphasized Ethiopian interest in military alliances or "superior" European technology, Krebs focuses on the various diplomatic missions from Ethiopia as examples of Solomonic kingship and prestige. No clear interest from the Ethiopian side in a military alliance with Rome or Aragon or Portugal emerges until the 1500s, in an era of millenarian prophecies, Ottoman expansion, and Adal incursions. 

Nor were Ethiopians necessarily interested in European "technology" per se. According to Krebs, Solomonic rulers were instead primarily interested in acquiring relics, ecclesiastical items such as chalices or vestments, and master craftsmen associated with construction. While one could argue that these craftsmen represented an aspect of European "technology" through their assumed superiority as builders, masons, carpenters, or smiths, Solomonic interest in their skills was associated with the ambitious royal churches, chapels, and monasteries constructed throughout the highlands. Solomonic dynasts saw the construction of stone churches decorated with luxurious imports from abroad as a way to strengthen their authority, prestige, and continue the legacy of the Biblical Solomon, their purported ancestor. 

Krebs is quite persuasive and reanalyzes some of the same textual sources used by other historians to demonstrate how Solomonic diplomacy with the Latin "West" was based on their own terms. Instead of seeing Christian Ethiopian as a passive recipient of Western technology or diplomatic initiatives, it was, beginning with Dawit and ending with Lebna Dengel, a largely Ethiopian initiative to acquire relics, religious paraphernalia and skilled artisans to boost their power. One is tempted to see an example of possible Solomonic adoption of architectonics of Western or foreign origin as an additional source of power through ecclesiastical power, something visible in the Jesuit-era churches, yet Krebs points to several examples of local churches that followed earlier Ethiopian precedents or influences. So Solomonic relations with Rome, Venice, Aragon, or Portugal should not be seen as one of European technological superiority motivating Ethiopian diplomacy but properly contextualized in the nature of the highland state. In fact, it was usually European perceptions of Ethiopia or Prester John's might and ability to divert the Nile that interested the papacy or European courts in establishing relations. Unfortunately for them, relations were not consistently maintained and later Solomonic rulers sent fewer envoys to Europe in the later period covered in this study. 

One wonders where and how Christian Nubia fit into this period of Ethiopian and Latin European relations. Mamluk Egypt was unavoidable as an land passed through by Ethiopians and Europeans in the period, but what about Nubia? The kingdom of Dotawo was still relevant and perhaps future scholarship can shed light on an interest in the Crusades from Nubia that was absent in the Solomonic state. Some of the medieval sources demonstrate knowledge of Ethiopian geography, languages, and the regional political climate. Nubia, on the other hand, appears to have been little known or a terra incognita, in spite of European contacts with Nubian kingdoms in the Middle Ages. 

State and Society in Three Central Sudanic Kingdoms

Anders J. Bjørkelo's important comparative study of Kanem-Borno, Wadai, and Bagirmi is a worthwhile read on state development, trade, warfare, and administration of 3 of the major kingdoms of the Central Sudan. Although mostly based on 19th century sources and early colonial reports and collections, especially Barth and Nachtigal (and al-Tunisi for Wadai and a little on Bagirmi), Bjørkelo proposes some interesting insights into the nature of the state in these connected kingdoms. Like other scholars, especially O'Fahey, whose influence can be seen in Bjørkelo's analysis of the rituals of seclusion in the three aforementioned kingdoms, he traces their development as "divine kingships" with core, tributary and raiding/plundering zones that were influenced by the technological and ecological constraints of Central Sudan. Due to the diversity of the populations and the presence of agriculturalists and pastoral groups who were unified through coronation rituals, tribute, redistribution, trade, security provided by the state, and a similar level of development in agricultural and technological capacity (and, perhaps, low population densities in the case of Bagirmi if not all three states), one can develop a model of the "Central Sudanic" state in which Kanem-Borno was perhaps the most complex in its administrative apparatus. One could likely extend some of the conclusions to Darfur, the previous Tunjur state, and perhaps other states along the Sudanic belt.

The question of cultural and political diffusion from Kanem-Borno to Bagirmi and Wadai is not analyzed here (except for one 16th century Bagirmi king), but the antiquity of Kanem and its premier place as the dominant state in the larger region for most of the last 1000 years suggests Kanem or its subsequent Borno phase was a major influence on the development of administrative titles, practices, and Islamic conversion in Bagirmi and Wadai. Kanem was also, if Bjørkelo is correct, able to dominate the region so long by preventing the emergence of strong satellite states that would have encroached upon Sayfawa control of trade routes or access to the tribute (necessary to supplement the revenues from local taxes for the lavish lifestyle of notables and the royal court) and wealth via slave raids and plunder on peripheral peoples with less political centralization. Of course, the development of Wadai in the 17th century and the definite establishment of Bagirmi in the 16th (perhaps due to the Bulala rulers in Kanem losing control of Bagirmi) eventually modified the political landscape. 

In the 19th century, Borno lost Kanem and Baghirmi (which paid a nominal tribute to Borno) to Wadai and it was already losing part of its western and northern spheres of influence due to the loss of Bilma's salt caravan to the Tuareg and the followers of Uthman dan Fodio. Nonetheless, it was in Borno that the state appeared to have relied more heavily on royal slave officials, who were more reliable than officials of the royal family or notable lineages. Thus, according to Bjørkelo, Borno enjoyed more political stability than Wadai and it was in a better place than Bagirmi, which lacked a nokena or council. One might consider Kanem-Borno the inner core of the Central Sudan while Wadai and Bagirmi were also central but further removed from the center until the 19th century. Islam and the creative interplay of local traditions of kingship ("divine") and the new faith must have added to the reputation, perception of piety and power of the Sayfawa mais who, in several cases, performed the pilgrimage to Mecca and added that layer of religious or spiritual power to the already sacral elements of kingship. In short, the mai could be the 'king of kings' and recognized as such by several other dynasties of the Sudan because of Kanem-Borno's core position in the Central Sudan and the propagation of its own style of rulership and cosmopolitan Islamic connections that introduced Mediterranean and Near Eastern goods into the region. 

Unfortunately, one wishes Bjørkelo had found more of a balance between external sources and local, indigenous ones. Ahmad b. Furtu and Palmer's translations of mahrams, plus some of the European sources based on interviews with local populations add some depth. However, this is a study that relies heavily on Barth, Nachtigal, Muhammad al-Tunisi and the colonial-era reports or observations. A more extensive use of local sources and oral history may have strengthened the author's arguments or forced a qualification of some of the tentative conclusions reached in the study. For instance, we would have attempted to more extensively cite correspondence of local rulers to North Africa or Constantinople or endeavored to cite Ali Eisami narrative and extensive glossary of Kanuri terms, many of which have a political or economic nature. Similarly, local Arabic and ajami manuscripts, perhaps less available to the author in the 1970s, could be used more easily today to understand the role of the ulama in each of the respective kingdoms. Bobboyi was able to do this quite well in the case of ulama-state relations in Borno through textual sources and oral history. Dewière used even more sources (beyond Seetzen, Lyon, Barth, Nachtigal, Denham) to find more local Borno voices or perspectives to contextualize Borno in Saharan, Sudanic, and Islamic zones. Of course, if the sources are still limited for Bagirmi and Wadai, one would have to rely on Lauture, al-Tunisi, Barth, Nachtigal, and the colonial studies. 

The Jesuits, or Envoys of a Human God

Several months ago, we were invited to participate in a reading group formed to devour several books on Ethiopian history, with an emphasis on the Jesuits. It took us quite some time to get to it, but we have been periodically reading whatever we can find on Ethiopian history, particularly the medieval and early modern eras of the Solomonic kingdom. Since there are so many studies and translated sources on the Jesuits in Ethiopia, we decided Envoys of a Human God: The Jesuit Mission to Christian Ethiopia, 1557-1632 to be a good introduction to a complex topic with such an ample documentary trail. Andreu Martínez d'Alòs-Moner's study contextualizes the Mission in the larger East of Jesuit missionary activity during the 16th and 17th centuries, an approach we appreciate due to our readings of Jesuit relations in the Americas and China. 

This is not to ignore the specificity and distinct place of Ethiopia in the Jesuit and Western Christian imagination. After all, Ethiopia's ruler has been associated with the Prester John and even the founder of the Society of Jesus conceived of Ethiopia's "restoration" into the Roman Catholic fold as one of the special projects of the order. And, of course, the Solomonic state's already Christian population was not the same as non-Christian Japanese or Chinese or Muslims and Hindus in India. But Jesuit perceptions of Ethiopian Christianity as wayward or aberrant because of the observance of the Sabbath, the widespread practice of circumcision, belief in the uniquely divine nature of Christ, excessive fasting and the negative influence of the Coptic Church of Alexandria made Ethiopians in need of a restitution of their original Roman tutelage. Several chapters explore these theological, political, and social differences between Ethiopian Christianity and the Catholicism of the Counter-Reformation and Jesuits. Some of these aforementioned differences in practice and interpretation led to problems for the missionaries that they could never resolve, particularly over their more pronounced use of icons and certain rites in public, which were perceived by Ethiopians as profaning the sacred mysteries. 

Unlike the previous historical works we have read which have touched upon the Jesuit interlude in Ethiopian history, Envoys of a Human God challenges previous scholarship's unproven assumptions. For example, the idea that the Jesuit missionaries were attractive to Susenyos because the order supported political absolutism is completely absent from the voluminous sources left behind by the Jesuits. Instead, Susenyos probably saw in the Jesuits and the Portuguese a cosmopolitan group whose support for rationalization of the royal court would have appealed to a ruler in a politically decentralized kingdom or empire with recent upheaval for much of the 16h and early 17th centuries. Of course, the impressive architectural and technological knowledge of Europe and India also appealed to Susenyos and their foreign textiles, exotic wares, and trade connections could not have hurt. Likewise, one cannot blame Mendes or Paez for the successes and failures of the overall Mission since their personalities and perceived policy differences were not significant enough to have caused the failure of the mission. Both Paez and Mendes pursued a policy of "Latinization" of Ethiopian Christianity through a top-down strategy of winning over Susenyos and key nobles. Both believed Ethiopian Christianity needed to be aligned with Catholic dogma and practice and were largely opposed to compromise. 

This lack of compromise and a few other practices of the Jesuits, unsurprisingly, sparked unrest, conflict, debate, and, eventually, outright rebellions that led to the fall of Susenyos and the restoration of the local Church. The Jesuit reliance on royal and local elite donors contributed to the precarious nature of the Mission, too. Perceived as attacking local traditions and beliefs, they further antagonized the population as recipients of land grants and donations which worried traditionalists fearful of losing land and influence. When one thinks about it in the larger picture, it is not surprising that the Jesuits failed so quickly after several decades because, as Envoys of a Human God argues, their moment of greatest success was in a period of socio-political transition with a sympathetic ruler whose patronage was necessary to maintain and expand. Once those conditions changed and the ruler was unable to fund or publicly support the Jesuits, they were exiled, persecuted, forced underground, or killed. Outside of a legacy in architecture, painting, and, perhaps, new theological discourse within Ethiopian Orthodoxy, the Jesuit legacy disappeared with the expulsion of the last Ethio-Portuguese or their complete assimilation by the late 17th century. As for what else happened to the converts to Catholicism is not entirely clear, probably due to a paucity of sources. We know several local Catholics faced persecution and execution but it would be fascinating to find out more about crypto-Catholic communities during the reign of Fasiladas and Yohannes. We have encountered the figure of 100,000 for local converts to Catholicism in other studies, which seems small, but the eventual suppression and disappearance of this population and those of mixed-race Ethio-Portuguese descent as a recognized group might suggest something about the nature of the state and nation-building in Gondarine Ethiopia. 

Last but certainly not least, one cannot understand the Ethiopia Mission without mentioning India, particularly Goa and Diu. Without the strong Portuguese base in Goa and relationships with banyan and Muslim traders passing between Diu and the Red Sea, the Portuguese would have struggled to send missionaries to the Ethiopian highlands. Furthermore, Indian craftsmen, masons, and building techniques (Indo-Portuguese and Mughal) seem to have clearly influenced Jesuit constructions in Ethiopia, an example of what the author calls architectonics that shaped Gondarine architecture long after the suppression of Catholicism in the 1630s and beyond. Undoubtedly, the Church infrastructure organized in Goa, and Indian artisans and masons were central to the project until the decline of Portuguese India and the Mission's greater reliance on Susenyos and local, elite backers. Indian textiles, artisans, architectural styles, and the cosmopolitan world of the Indian Ocean were a necessary background for the Jesuits to pass through Red Sea ports and enter Ethiopia. Despite never establishing a foothold in Massawa or the coast of today's Eritrea, which would have facilitated the Jesuits tremendously, Portuguese India served as an essential base for communication, supplies, educated missionary personnel, and skilled workmen