Mandingues of Haiti

Gerson Alexis's Lecture en Anthropologie Haitienne, a book we randomly encountered at a library today, includes the ethnologue's Notes on the Haitian Mandingues, in French and a slightly different English translation. Supposedly part of an unpublished manuscript, all we have, sadly, are the notes. While Alexis acknowledged the tentative nature of some of his conclusions of his study of the Mandingue cult in Morne Rouge, in Plaine du Nord, some of his conceptualizing of the community he observed struck as bizarre. Indeed, when one reads of this syncretic religious community, perhaps about 1000 people in Balan and a few nearby areas, one reaches the conclusion that this cult perhaps represents what Haitian Vodou was actually like in the 19th century. Indeed, after reading Duverneau Trouillot's ethnographic observations, from the late 19th century, one can see that "Vodou" in those days often revolved around African "nations" with particular rites, taboos, and customs. But over time, some of these distinctions were lost as the Africans and their Creole descendants became Haitian. The intriguing thing about the Mandingues of Morne Rouge, however, is that their distinctive practices and claim to a Mandingue ancestry persisted so late into the 20th century. 

To explain what we mean, consider Alexis's observation of congo, yanvalou and djuba rhythms in the Mandingue ceremonies. He seems to conclude that the Mandingue, perhaps due to their ancient Islamic influences and medieval empires, were culturally "advanced" and influenced the other "nations" of Africans in Saint Domingue/Haiti. Due to their allegedly advanced state, these Mandingues influenced other Africans in Saint Domingue. In fact, Alexis goes so far as to suggest words like mambo and houngan actually come from the Mandingue! However, yanvalou actually comes from Benin and the other rhythms noted by Alexis likely derive from other regions of West and Central Africa. Vodou terms such as houngan and many other aspects of the religion clearly owe more to other parts of West Africa, too. It is far more likely that the Mandingue cult observed by Alexis in 1967 had already been heavily influenced by the same forces that shaped the development of Haitian culture and Vodou. This would explain why Alexis observed rhythms from other traditions in the Mandingue ceremonies or "ordonnances." Indeed, this has to be the case since the "Mandingues" observed by Alexis are scarcely different from the other peasants in the area. In addition, while most of their members were descendants of past members claiming Mandingue lineage, new members could join the community through initiation. This process, in addition to the shared general culture of the region, might explain the appearance of rhythms from other traditions. 

But let us revisit the distinct features of the Mandingues. According to Alexis, the members of the community possessed a strong group consciousness, reinforced through ritual communion and a pact with degue, a type of rice flour with cane syrup. The members of the community claim African authenticity and distinguish themselves from the Canari dances and Vodou. They even claim to be members of the Society of King Mahomet! Unfortunately, the way Mahomet's name is transcribed by Alexis is somewhat ambiguous (MA-RO-MET) but it is probably the Prophet Muhammad of Islamic tradition. Besides referring to Muhammad, the Mandingue believe in a Supreme Being, sometimes associated with the Sun. Their cult is oriented to the adoration of this Creator being and their ancestors. In their prayers, they address Allah, Moussa (Missa?), and Mahomet. Moreover, their rituals take place at two times: dawn or early morning and in the evening. These meetings take place after a member dies, to commemorate the dead. These ceremonies, per Alexis, are called fran-gan-dan-man. 

A Mandingue Muslim wrote the above in 1773 in Leogane.

The leader of the Mandingue community is called mori. According to Alexis's Liberian informant, mori means "patriarch" among in Bambara and Malinke. However, mori is used by the Bambara to refer to Islamic diviners, something closer to the function of the mori among the Haitian Mandingue. By the time Alexis wrote his study, the Mandingue had only 1 mori, Barthelemy Exhalus, son of Exhalus Medard, the previous mori. It is probable that the position of mori was passed down from father to son, though Alexis does not provide evidence to prove it. This would fit, however, Vodou of the past in which the position of houngan was often passed down within the family. As for the Haitian mori, his main function is to communicate with the great Spirit through dreams and serve as a depository of the cult secrets. He understands the messages of the dead, who possess members of the community during ceremonies. Through prayer, song, dance, and sacrifices, to this Great Spirit and ancestors, members can be possessed. Perhaps as a remnant of their Islamic past, offerings excluded pigs (according to the English version). These spirits of ancestors, or zanges (anges) were never called lwa. Much like Haitian Vodou as we commonly know it, the mori used Catholic prayers in ceremonies. Their music, including a dance called Ronde du Mort, featured rhythms familiar to Alexis through other parts of Haitian culture. Unlike other Haitians, the Mandingue mori sang an incantation to Allah. Relying heavily on Balenghien, Alexis interpted one song as a deformation of the Islamic Shahada: Bi si mian y mi alahum- a ki baou Assa dan ila-a ilala. Elsewhere, the mori said Missa, Man-n Ma De, which is interpreted as Missa (Moses, or Musa) and Mamadu (Muhammad). 

To his credit, Alexis consulted specialists of Malian and West African languages and cultures. He relied heavily on a priest, Balenghien, who directed a center for the study of African languages at Taldye, Mali for confirmation of his theories. For instance, the burial practices of the Mandingue of Haiti included placing the corpse in a L-shaped hole, covering the body to prevent contact with the ground. According to Alexis's informant in Mali, the Bambara have similar customs. For identifying the Shahada in the incantations of Barthelemy Exhalus, he also relied on this Mali-based informant. In what may even be a possible reference to past Mandingue kings, Alexis saw a reference to a great Mandingo who introduced Islam when members of the Mandingue society claimed descent from the family of "Popotte Moussa." We, on the other hand, are inclined to think this "Popotte Moussa" may have been a prominent local "Mandingue" in the 19th century. 

Overall, the evidence suggests the persistence and survival of a strong Mandingue identity well into the 20th century in this part of Haiti. That they were influenced by Islam can be seen in the title mori, allusions to Muhammad, and that their religious ceremonies only commemorate the Creator (Allah?) and the souls of ancestors. Since they participated in the everyday rural culture of Morne Rouge, their religious ceremonies unsurprisingly acquired many traits of other contributions to Haitian culture. But Alexis's great contribution is in identifying the survival of one religious community in Haiti that preserved such a distinct, Islamic-influenced tradition. One must assume a sufficient number of Mandingue and West African Muslim captives were in the area so that the community did not die. Unlike, say, the Fulani and Borno Muslims described by Descourtilz, these Mandingue persisted well into the 1900s. Their willingness to accept new members through initiation and the custom of shared veneration of ancestors must have attracted Haitians from other traditions.

Yohannes and Gondar

Although the Gondarine era of the Solomonic Dynasty has long been an area of interest, we are only recently digging into more of the European translations of primary sources from that era. In this case, Guidi's French translation of the chronicle of Yohannes, who reigned from 1667 to 1682, serves as a brief introduction to royal chronicles from this era in Ethiopian history. The son of Fasiladas, a number of important events and developments occurred during the reign of Yohannes. Yohannes, for example, finally expelled the "Franks" or remnants of the Luso-Ethiopian population. Perhaps to maintain the image of the Emperor as just, pious, and peace-loving, the chronicler attributes the expulsion to agitation among the mons of Ethiopia. Thus, decades after the end of the Jesuit mission, the legacy of religious strife and conflict with Roman Catholicism lingered in Ethiopia's monastic circles. As for the remnants of the "Franks" in Ethiopia, they were marched toward Sennar, in today's Sudan, and their firearms were supposedly kept by the Ethiopians. Only those who converted to Ethiopian Christianity were allowed to stay. Franks who came to Ethiopia to promote Roman Catholicism were even executed, as happened to "Franks" who endeavored to pass as Egyptians. Yohannes also decreed residential segregation, forcing Muslims, Falasha and Turks to live in separate quarters or areas instead of cohabiting the same quarters as Christians. To what extent this was actually implemented across the kingdom is unclear. 

The son of Fasiladas also attempted to unify the Church through councils that promoted a single view on the nature of Christ and the Trinity. These theological disputes and debates led to the development of "heretics" in Lasta who opposed Yohannes. In addition, the "pagan" Agaw rebelled against the Solomonic authority while occasional rebellions, Oromo attacks, "Paysan" revolts, conspiracies from members of the royal family and monk rebels threatened royal authority. Interestingly, the chronicler of Yohannes mentions the strategic practice of deforestation to clear paths and subdue Agaw rebels. In addition, Yohannes used his authority and court-affiliated Church leaders to promote unity in religious doctrine and attempt to reunify the state. Indeed, it was quite amazing how Yohannes managed to find enough time to spend the rainy season in Gondar after so much time in most years of his reign campaigning across the empire. In fact, one of the rebels, Fares, even invited the ruler of Adal to help dethrone Yohannes. Certain iniquitous persons in Gondar even promoted discord between Yohannes and his future successor, Iyasu I. 

Since the chronicle is written from an official standpoint, and must, to a certain extent, only record what the emperor or his successor would have allowed to be written, one must look at other types of sources to assist with the reconstruction of Solomonic Ethiopia under Yohannes. For example, looking to Egyptian, Funj, Ottoman, Portuguese, and other sources certainly elucidates aspects of this era hidden or peripheral to the interests of royal chronicles. Since the chronicles also very much depict the ruler as a legitimate heir to Solomon and ruling in accordance with Christian principles, Yohannes emerges as a just, generous, wise, capable, God-fearing man with few or no faults. One must wonder if he really was not the driving force behind the incarceration of his siblings when he acceded to the throne. Likewise, one must wonder about the conflicts between him and his son, or for that matter, between him and some of the peoples against whom he campaigned throughout his time on the throne. Nonetheless, his ability to maintain some degree of stability after the foundations established by Fasiladas is a testament to his capability to reign effectively. Unfortunately for him, it seems that Ethiopian Christianity, perhaps due to the recent controversies and conflict with the Jesuits, was set on course for more internal conflicts which contributed to the weakening of royal authority. As long as the Gondar-period rulers were competent, some degree of balance could be maintained between the various warring segments of the Church, state, and provinces. When that was lost, all centrifugal tendencies were intensified. 

Ancient and Medieval Ethiopian History to 1270

Ancient and Medieval Ethiopian History to 1270 by Sergew Hable Selassie has long been one of those studies of Ethiopian history on our reading list. Since we consider ourselves rather ignorant of Ethiopian history of the pre-Aksumite and Aksumite era, we considered this monograph by an Ethiopian scholar to be an important work to at least acquaint ourselves with some of the basic facts, controversies, and developments in Ethiopia before the Solomonic dynasty. To a certain extent, this book, though outdated by 2023, succeeds in those respects. An early chapter provides a detailed review of the historiography on Ethiopia's past, with useful commentary on the strengths and weaknesses of both Ethiopian and foreign historians. Much of our knowledge of Ethiopia's ancient past, at least when this book was published in the 1970s, was limited by the state of archaeological excavations. Nonetheless, the rather voluminous corpus of written sources, inscriptions, chronicles, hagiographies, travel narratives, and oral traditions has made it possible to construct a narrative of Ethiopia's past from ancient Egyptian trade with Punt to 1270.

Although Selassie stresses Aksumite civilization as an indigenous development and sees continuity through the history of Ethiopia, a number of issues arise in his use of the sources. First, his use of chronicles and hagiographies with several anachronisms, likely written centuries after the events they describe, suggest greater caution is necessary when attempting to make sense of their accuracy for events in the remote past. For instance, the author accepts the theory that Takla Haymanot and Iyasus Mo'a were both pivotal to the "Solomonic Restoration" in spite of the fact that the actual production of the literature on these two holy figures was written in contexts and dates that are filled with contradictions. In addition, the author accepts what more contemporary authors would describe as "political fictions" of Aksumite suzerainty of South Arabia, Nubia and other regions. While much of this may be due to the limited sources available for certain eras in Aksumite history, such as the later centuries of the Aksumite state and the paucity of internal textual sources for the Zagwe dynasty, this sometimes dangerous reliance on certain types of Ethiopian sources is occasionally problematic. It does not clarify, for instance, what transpired after Caleb's reign in Aksum. It also may not reflect accurately the real chronology of Aksumite kings or Zagwe rulers. In addition, the problematic legends about Gudit, some of which present her as a Jew, are clearly problematic, too, although the existence of a powerful queen who threatened Aksum is reported in the external Arabic sources. Too much uncertainty in the sources, anachronisms that refer to places such as Sennar centuries before their foundation, and the clearly legendary nature of some anecdotes or claims suggest a need for more cautious interpretation of these sources. 

To his credit, Selassie understands the limitations of some of the sources and reaches conclusions that are tentative. To the extent possible, he uses Coptic, Arabic, Greek, and other sources to corroborate some developments, especially the Aksumite influence in South Arabia under Caleb or the arrival of the Nine Saints in Ethiopia. Chronicles of the Alexandria patriarchs, Egyptian sources, Byzantine writers like Procopius, Persian histories and inscriptions from pre-Islamic South Arabia certainly do corroborate much of this information. Indeed, they support the author's contention that Abyssinia was not isolated and was actually a major player in the economic, religious and political affairs in the Red Sea region, Mediterranean, Middle East and northeast Africa. However, one wishes the author had not conflated all references to "Ethiopia" in the ancient sources as actual references to today's Ethiopia. Some of the references used by the author are obviously allusions to Nubia or Kush, such as the tale of the Ethiopian Eunuch or Taharqa of the Bible. Other bizarre occasions of the use of medieval Arabic sources include interpreting one Arabic source as referring, at least in part, to modern Ethiopia due to the geographer's use of "Abyssinia" (Habashat) to refer generally to "Black Africa" as known in the 9th century. Last, but certainly not least, the unnecessary full quotation of the forged letter from Prester John in the 12th century is excessive and serves no purpose. While "India" and "Ethiopia" were often conflated in the ancient and medieval eras, and stories of the Christian kingdom in the Ethiopian highlands would have reached parts of the Latin West during the 1100s, the letter from the Prester John situates the kingdom in the East. Sure, Ethiopia was later associated with the land of Prester John, but the letter cited extensively by Selassie reveals nothing about Ethiopia under the Zagwe kings.

Despite its limitations and the somewhat problematic use of the sources, Ancient and Medieval Ethiopian History to 1270 does fill in several gaps in the historical reconstruction of the Ethiopian past. The Aksumite civilization was undoubtedly a major civilization with an impact stretching across the Red Sea. In truth, Aksum was of major importance when it dominated the southern Red Sea, as it could play a dominant role in the trade of goods from India to the Mediterranean. Later Aksumite and Zagwe relations with Nubia and Egypt also suggest the importance of relations between Nubia and Ethiopia by this time. The overland trade and pilgrimage routes, the migration of Copts  to Ethiopia, the close relationship with the See of Alexandria, and Nubian-Ethiopian relations and contacts must have been of major importance for Ethiopia. Unfortunately, we only find glimpses of it in the sources. That a Nubian king helped convince the Patriarch to appoint a new metropolitan for Ethiopia and both regions experienced moments of peace and conflict with the Beja and the Muslim powers neighboring them are significant for inter-religious conflict, dialogue, trade, and the spread of new ideas. To what extent the civilizations influenced each other and their relations with other parts of Africa is question future scholars may one day elucidate. One would hope that the history of the later Aksumite state and the Zagwe dynasty could someday contribute to the study of medieval Nubia and vice versa. 

Royal Chronicles of Zara Yaqob and Baeda Maryam

After reading Derat's Le domaine des rois éthiopiens (1270-1527): Espace, pouvoir et monachisme, we were curious to read two of the major sources of her study. Indeed, the royal chronicles on the reigns of Zara Yaqob and his son, Baeda Maryam, are constant references for Derat. Derat uses them to help establish a timeline for the relationship between the Solomonic rulers and monastic networks in Amhara and Shoa. Unfortunately for us, since we cannot read Ge'ez, we must rely on Perruchon's dated 1893 French translation.  Perruchon did include a helpful introductory essay that helps contextualize the manuscript and ths second half of the 15th century in Ethiopian history. However, one cannot help but wonder why modern scholars have not revisited these royal chronicles and provided updated translation based on current research findings, new insights into translation and the study of Ge'ez and Amharic, or to translate the chronicles into new languages. 

Zara Yaqob's coronation

That said, these chronicles are, despite some repetition, profoundly useful documents for reconstructing, to a certain extent, what was actually happening in Ethiopia. For instance, Zara Yaqob, whose chronicler appears to have written during the reign of Lebna Dengel, appears to have been a man of a profoundly religious bent and perhaps more authoritarian than was the average. It is fascinating to read of this one man's attempt to centralize the royal administration of the empire entirely into his own hands, relying even on his daughters to fill administrative posts and avoid dealing with the traditional administrative elites. In addition, imposing the observance of the Saturday Sabbath, the cult of Mary, and building churches across the state certainly suggest Zara Yaqob was endeavoring to centralize the state and build a more unified society. Indeed, how else could one explain his willingness to stand up to the Stephanites, punish his own children for alleged paganism, and his own authorship of religious or spiritual texts?

His son, Baeda Maryam, was also an important ruler despite only reigning for 10 years. Baeda Maryam is interesting for reversing some of his own father's policies. Unlike his father, who appears to have been more interested in concentrating all power and authority into the monarchy, he actually restored the previous administrative system of the provinces. This presumably won him followers and supporters who were alienated or removed from office by Zara Yaqob. Furthermore, Baeda Maryam continued building churches, strengthened relations with Dabra Libanos, and campaigned against "pagans" and Adal. Thus, he seems to have continued or tried to continue some of his father's policies while reverting to the pre-Zara Yaqob order of earlier Solomonic dynasty. In that regard, it is interesting that Almeida's brief account of Zara Yaqob refers to Ethiopian traditions of the day recalling him as a tyrant. Zara Yaqob's "tyrannical" rule was defended based on his religious zeal and passion for justice, yet later Solomonic rulers appear to have followed in Baeda Maryam's footsteps. 

Revisiting the Funj Chronicle

Revisiting the Funj Chronicle as translated by P.M. Holt and incorporating later materials and recensions, one sees the main benefit of Holt's work as being of greater utility for post-Funj Sultanate history. Most of the detail in the actual chronicle an be found in the late 18th and 19th centuries, but Holt incorporated materials that extend into the Turco-Egyptian period. For our purposes, mainly interested in the history of the Funj Sultanate and earlier Nubian history, this is not the most helpful. However, after re-reading most of the text, one finds that it does correct some of the errors of MacMichael's translation while offering detailed footnotes and introductory material to contextualize the references. The later sections of the Chronicle are still a mess and hard to follow (too many conflicts within the Hamaj Regency or between the Hamaj Regents and the old Funj royal family, not to mention other wars, conspiracies and shaykhs) but this is definitely the best English translation.

It is interesting to think that the Funj Sultanate was essentially experiencing what would later happen to Borno by the 1760s. The loss of effective political authority of the Funj kings to the Hamaj Regents, from the family of Shaykh Muhammad Abu Likaylik, occurred by 1760-61. Borno experienced something similar in the 1800s with the rise of the al-Kanemi dynasty. An period of coexistence in Borno persisted until the 1840s, just as the Hamaj Regents kept the old royal dynasty around until the final collapse of the state in the 1820s Egyptian invasion. Although Muhammad al-Amin al-Kanemi's rise to effective power was explicitly related to his charisma, military leadership and status as a respected mallam, the Hamaj Regents did not seize power in the context of foreign invasions and threats that Borno endured from the "Fulani jihad." Nevertheless, according to our Funj Chronicle, the Funj rulers were abusive, corrupt, exploitative, and immoral. Similar accusations against the Sayfawa from pro-jihad writings may have been reappropriated by al-Kanemi's followers to justify their seizure of direct power. Interestingly, however, the Hamaj Regents never went as far as destroying the figurehead traditional kings yet Borno did so under al-Kanemi's son.

In addition to the Funj Sultanate experiencing the rise of delegated authority through the Hamaj Regency, the Egyptian invasion finds a parallel of sorts with Rabih's 1893 conquest of Borno. The rise of Rabih was, in part, an aftershock of Turco-Egyptian invasion of Sudan and the spread of new military technology and tactics in Sudanic Africa. These very same developments eventually led to the loss of independence of Borno near the end of the 19th century. Thus, events that ushered in the final dissolution of the Funj state also played a role in the fall of Borno. And people in Borno certainly were aware of the late Funj state, as figures like Heinrich Barth and other Europeans commented on the presence of Sinnar natives in the region. Surely they must have been aware of the political conflict with Sinnar and the danger of Turco-Egyptian invasion. Indeed, they had to worry about it from the direction of Tripoli. 

Last but certainly not least, the Funj Chronicle partly assists with the reconstruction of the Sinnar Sultanate's Sudanic context. Numerous references to Kordofan and occasional allusions to Taqali, Darfur, and Ethiopia establish that Sinnar was actively engaged in trade, diplomacy and military conflict with its neighbors. The 1744 battle with Iyasu II of Ethiopia, for instance, was won with the aid of Khamis of Darfur. Darfur shaykhs are claimed to have supported Badi Abu Shulukh against the Funj. While some of the prominent Islamic scholars and saints in the Funj state came from the Middle East, sources like the Tabaqat hint at the presence of Islamic scholars from the Sinnar state venturing to Wadai and Darfur. This Sudanic and African context for the Sultanate is most interesting, even though the necessary sources to reconstruct it are limited in the Funj Chronicle. 

The Domain of the Solomonic Kings

Zara Yacob

Derat's  Le domaine des rois éthiopiens (1270-1527): Espace, pouvoir et monachisme is a fascinating study of Solomonic Ethiopia. Derat makes an interesting case for the centrality of Amhara and Sawa as "domains" of the Solomonic rulers in the period 1270-1527. If her interpretation of the royal chronicles, hagiographical literature, monastic chronicles, and other sources (especially Arab Faqih, Francisco Alvares, and other exogenous writings) is correct, then the tradition of Takla Haymanot playing a key role in the rise of the Solomonic dynasty under Yekuno Amlak is an invented one that did not reflect what actually happened in 1270. Instead, she proposes that Dabra Asbo/Libanos (the monastery started by Takla Haymanot in the region of Sawa) invented the tradition of their founder having a central role in the rise of the Solomonic dynasty to increase their prestige. Instead, Dabra Hayq, a monastery started in the 1200s by Iyasus Mo'a, appears to have been more central in the early rise of Yekuno Amlak against the Zagwe dynasty. 

She also suggests that these monastic networks were vital for the expansion and extension of the Solomonic dynasty in the two provinces of Amhara and Sawa, mountainous provinces that are defensible and, in the case of the latter, agriculturally rich. So, the Solomonic rulers, especially Zara Ya'eqob and his successors in the 1400s, began to establish and build more monasteries and churches in the provinces (and nearby ones that were recently conquered from Muslims or pagans) and in the process, force prestigious (and formerly autonomous monasteries, like Dabra Asbo) to supply clerics and monks to the religious foundations. In order to grease the wheels, kings like Zara Ya'eqob gave more land as gult or rest to these monasteries, appointed abbots (or tried to do so), used royal monasteries and churches as centers for councils that affected religious policy, and even used others as tombs for kings and pilgrimage centers. She argues that Amhara, and especially Sawa (and later Gojjam) became solidly part of the Solomonic kingdom through these religious networks in which the kings increasingly dominated religious policy and sought to use the "monastic holy man" as a pillar of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Derat's book is somewhat repetitive and her evidence relies on deductions that hope to make sense of fragmentary or contradictory hagiographies and traditions.

But she makes a persuasive case that the image of the monastic holy man changed. Monasteries like Dabra Asbo/Libanos, which once prized the martyr and depicted the Solomonic rulers as corrupt or heretics for having multiple wives, abusing their power, or seeking to change Church doctrine, later shifted to a new image of holiness in which the monastic leadership collaborated with the king to protect Christian society. As one can imagine, this process was part of the strengthening of Solomonic power in Amhara, Sawa and other provinces as the monastic and church network ultimately built or expanded bases of power for the Solomonic rulers. Even in this era of ambulant courts, Solomonic rulers made frequent visits to the religious foundations they sponsored, and those containing tombs for past rulers became centers of pilgrimage and commemoration of the Solomonic rulers. I guess it would have helped to see how this process differed in northern Ethiopia, like in Tigre, where the origins of Ethiopian monasticism could be found. Perhaps a hint can be seen in the way that Yekuno Amlak erected a church in Lasta, the center of the Zagwe dynasty, possibly inserting himself into the tradition of religious pilgrimage and sacred geography espoused by the Zagwe dynasty. Nevertheless, the most interesting figure to emerge out of this history is Zara Ya'eqob, the fascinating emperor who heavily promoted the cult of Mary, reduced the independence of Dabra Asbo, imposed the observation of the Saturday Sabbath, and convened councils on Church doctrine which were destined to support his own views. The guy also wrote a number of homilies and religious treaties and even had two of his wives killed for plotting against him.

I would still like to learn more about the actual process of Christianization of Sawa and other provinces, which is hinted at here or there. We also have some enigmatic references to the Falasha and other non-Christians but it would have been important to see how the Solomonic dynasty asserted itself and its legitimacy in other parts of the empire. Derat suggests some continuity from the Aksumite and Zagwe dynasties in terms of building churches as royal tombs but perhaps opening up to consider Christian rulership in Nubia and the Byzantine Empire would have been fruitful. After all, Ethiopians were still making the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, had contacts with the Coptic Church of Egypt (whose Patriarch also had Nubia in its jurisdiction) and may have sought to establish an Ethiopian "caesaropapism" that may have had parallels in medieval Nubia. Comparisons with Sudanic Africa, as suggested by Donald Crummey, may have been of use, too. After all, one can see some parallels with Islamic kingdoms in the Sudanic belt, despite the obvious differences between Islam and Christianity. The parallels, for instance, with the Sayfawa of Kanem-Borno may offer clues to the allegedly sacred royalty theme. Or, for instance, the support for religious foundations and Islamic holymen found in the Borno mahrams could potentially offer a similar case in which the Sayfawa dynasts used their patronage of Islamic holymen to buttress their authority in disparate regions of their empire. 

Aksum and Nubia

George Hatke's Aksum and Nubia: Warfare, Commerce, and Political Fictions in Ancient Northeast Africa is a short but rather persuasive study of Aksum's relations with Kush (Nubia) during the early centuries of our era. Based primarily on Aksumite sources such as inscriptions, relevant archaeological material, and occasionally Greco-Roman, Coptic, Syriac, and other Near Eastern textual sources, Hatke argues persuasively that Aksum and Kush, despite their proximity, did not interact in significant ways. Instead of being seen as commercial rivals or states which exerted significant influences on each other, the two appear to have only engaged in small-scale trade. Aksum was mainly oriented to the Red Sea and Indian Ocean for its commercial contacts with the broader world. Kush, or the Meroitic state, on the other hand, focused on the Nile and contacts with Egypt for its long-distance trade. Since the two northeast African polities possessed different commercial axes and thus did not have any reason to be commercial rivals, Aksum and Meroe engaged in small-scale trade without much interaction beyond this. Instead of any major cultural or economic influences on each other, Aksum's interests in the modern-day Sudan were more focused on the Beja/Blemmyes of the Eastern Desert. 

Indeed, records of Aksumite intervention or spheres of influence among the Beja to the borders of Roman Egypt in the 3rd century testify to the importance of security in the Eastern Desert area and Aksumite interests in the Red Sea coasts of Africa and Arabia. Aksum appears to have also been more invested in South Arabia, the Ethiopian Highlands, and parts of the Ethiopian-Sudan borderlands for economic and political expansion, with Nubia only being invaded during the reign of Ousanas and Ezana in the 4th century. In fact, according to Hatke, relying on the inscriptions of Ezanas and linguistic clues about Ge'ez, Greek, and South Arabian languages, has dated Ezana's famous Nubia campaign to March 360. His father appears to have also attacked Nubia, leaving evidence at Meroe itself. The son, however, was only in Nubia to launch a punitive campaign against the Noba, who had caused trouble on Aksum's frontier with groups such as the Barya. Meroe itself is not even mentioned in the inscriptions of Ezana's campaign, although some Kushite towns and people were undoubtedly captured or killed in the Aksumite raid. This political situation in Nubia possibly reflects the political fragmentation of Kush by 360, with Nubian-speaking Noba and Kushites perhaps acting independently of whatever authority remained at Meroe. Instead of Ezana wielding the final blow to Kush as an independent state, whatever authority was still claimed by the Kushite rulers may have been limited by the political fragmentation of Nubia. Further evidence from the toponyms in the inscriptions that Ezana's campaign did not affect Meroe but likely targeted towns to its north also suggest the ancient capital's demise should not be attributed to Aksum. 

Despite Aksumite claims to Kush as one of its vassal territories, the available evidence suggests this was often political fiction. Indeed, according to Hatke, it is very likely that Ezana's campaign in Nubia led to no long-last political suzerainty of the Noba. Furthermore, Aksumite sources from the 6th century king, Kaleb, also claimed Kush as part of Aksum's dominion, even though the Kushite state had ended by the late 4th century. Indeed, even in earlier moments in the 4th century, when Aksumite raids and campaigns reached Nubia, it is possible that the "tribute" sent by Kush to Aksum was actually more along the lines of gift diplomacy. Even the 6th contacts between Aksum and Nubia, suggested by Longinus meeting Aksumites in Alodia and the proposal by Emperor Justin to provide Nubian and Blemmye mercenaries for Aksum's use in Himyar, do not suggest large-scale trade, cultural influence or contacts. Nubia and Ethiopia, despite their proximity and some common interest in their frontier, and both impacted by the Eastern Desert nomads and the Beja, appear to have diverged from the period of Aksum's rise to the end of the kingdom. While the question of Nubian-Ethiopian contacts in the Middle Ages offers more avenues for contact, archaeologists have a lot of work to do in the borderlands.