KWENU: Our Culture, Our Future

Fire from Timbuktu (2)

2. Chapter Two

Continued from <::::

Karamoh Kabba

karamohslylhorg@aol.com

Monday, April 30, 2007

1.               

My Fascination with Timbuktu

Many African children have all kinds of crazy imaginations of glorious dreams about the West, especially those that are growing up in abject poverty. Those were my dreams as well, before I left the shores of Sierra Leone. I was born in a large polygamous family: A Westerner would say my father has seven wives. For me, it means that I have seven mothers who have provided me with over forty siblings. For my mothers, life is a routine work of childcare, husband-care and homemaking in a very subservient manner without qualms.

My parents named two more children “Tamba Karamoh Kabba” who were second born male children to my other mothers in the family. They also happened to be born in the same year as me. An insight of the Kono culture will be helpful to explain this naming phenomenon in the Kono Tradition, an ethnic group from which my seven mothers hail.

My parents have been piling birth certificates in a metal box in my father’s room for protection. Neither of them could read or write English. My father who is fluent in Koranic recitation could not construct a sentence in Arabic language. With so many children amongst my parents, my date of birth, until I was able to do my own research in my father’s metal box, had been a sheer estimation. This is a manifestation of the great confusion and difficulty Arabic and English, or if I may say, foreign Manichaeism brought upon a society of peoples to keep track of simple time.  Figuring out my actual date of birth was further compounded by the Tradition of naming nomenclature of the Kono matrilineal culture severed from original tracking methods by foreign derailment.

In this culture, the first name of a child is automatic. It follows then that every first male born child of a mother is Sahr and the second is Tamba, Aiah, Komba, Manie, Safia, Kai etc. And the same goes for the female born children who would be named Sia, Kumba, Finda, Yei and so on. These set of names are masculine and feminine genders respectively in descending chronological orders; first, second, third, forth and so on.

This is so because the Kono family is structured around a matrilineal hegemony. A father may have as many Sahrnu[i], Tambanu or Sianu, Kumbanu he could possibly have based on the number of wives who may have given birth to a first and second born male or female children. For example, because each of my mothers has a first-born boy child there are seven Sahrnu in my family. As well, the father could unknowingly have Sahrnu or Tambanu, who could possibly, may not have been his biological children, if he has unfaithful wives. Unlike a father, the Kono people know that the mother could only have one Sahr, one Tamba or one Sia, one Kumba, etc. It does not matter if the mother remarries again. For the mother, the trend does not change—nothing in the Kono Tradition could make it permissible for a mother to give the same first name in that chronological arrangement to two children even if they are by separate fathers.

Interesting also in the Kono Tradition, children, apparently, have strong attachment to their maternal uncle than their paternal uncle. It is therefore not surprising that the father is often marginalized in this matrilineal family hegemonic culture. It is worth noting that matrilineal hegemony amongst the Kono people is limited to cultural and social such as child-care, ritual and spiritual rite and marriage. Thus, the patriarch prevails in politics.

Fuambai Ahmadu, an anthropologist who studied female circumcision among Kono and Mandinke people in Sierra Leone and The Gambia, observed the following amongst the Kono, “Furthermore, among the Kono there is no cultural obsession with feminine chastity, virginity, or women’s sexual fidelity, perhaps because the role of the biological father is considered marginal and peripheral to the central ‘matricentric unit’[ii].”[iii] This does not mean that male members are considered marginal and peripheral when the maternal uncle represents the child in the observance of social and cultural activities. The emphasis is on the matrilineal linage not the male versus female, which a Westerner might mistake for sexism.

Enrooted in the Kono cosmology is a concept that the maternal uncle has a sure natural/biological link to the child. And that uncle tempts to have much influence on the child, especially in the observation of these traditional rites, which in the Tradition; the belief is grounded in the purity of the blood linkage. Fuambai also offered us this observation, still among the Kono, “A young initiate’s bain den moe[iv], ‘bai-doo-moe[v]’, are significant also in transferring fertility, that is, the healthy delivery of newborn babies. It is only through the blessing of the maternal uncle’s ancestors that a newly ‘created’ female with reproductive powers can actually, successfully procreate.”[vi] That explains why children in the Kono Tradition are influenced by the Kono matrilineal traditional family hegemony.

The following personal anecdote may help to explain: I have a grand uncle of my maternal clan. He is my mother’s cousin, but happened to be the eldest uncle in the suneh-dambi[vii], matriarchal clan. He had returned to Sierra Leone from the United States, where he acquired a Masters of Arts (MA) degree in economics. He grew up fast in the civil service because of good stewardship.

Every long vacation from school, he would pick us up from our parents to work on a huge coffee and cacao plantation he had[viii]. As a maternal uncle, he was uncomfortable with the fact that any aspiration for leadership I may have in the future could be stalled by my non-membership of the poro secret society. My father, a Muslim, however detests for us to join poro. But my uncle had a different plan: One day, during one of these vacations, he took me in his car, drove down to the edge of town, pointed to a narrow path and asked me to walk until I could go no more. He was right; the path was a dead-end at the sacred poro secret society bush, where close to a hundred youngsters had been initiated into the poro society.

When I arrived, for few minutes, no one recognized that I was not an initiate, because no non-initiates would dare to come into the poro bush just for the sake of it. I could have actually returned home untouched if I wanted to do so. But I stayed so long until a boy who knew I was not an initiate saw me and set off the alarm.

I was rounded up and initiated into the poro society without any further questioning. That is the utmost encroachment on the poro society that could not be resolved by any monetary fine, but initiation into the poro secret society. This was without regard of my father’s wish.

The point is I met boys in the poro bush who thought I was an idiot regardless of the fact that I was a secondary school student by then. Many of these youngsters, now about to be men, had not been to school. Nonetheless, they were appalled at my complete ignorance of my surrounding: They knew the names of all the plants and animals around them; they knew what diseases the plants could cause or cure, and how they could be used in witchcraft; they knew why the animals could hurt them or how not to trigger a confrontation with an animal in an uncomfortable situation. They also knew the names of all the big trees; those that are hardwood, those that are only suitable for log fire and those that are only good for building canoes, huts and houses. It was when I came to understand that these boys knew everything in their natural setting that I was still grappling with in my biology/zoology class.

During the first few weeks in the poro bush, food was sent in by our families in plentiful. But, with time, we had less and less food coming into the poro bush. At some point, before the end of the two months, we were in the poro bush without food. This was intended to test our will power to survive in our natural setting. We were left to fend for ourselves. That experience was a revelation for me: I actually realized how indeed ignorant I was compared to these youngsters of the township. They taught me how to hunt and set trap for small animals. They taught me how to fence a farm or a garden to deter pests, leaving small outlets, where traps could be set, through which animals could be trapped as they try to come into the garden or farm. I learned so much survival skills, I was happy that my uncle had set me up for what I was not emotionally prepared. But the experience also taught me a lesson that there is much knowledge and observation going around in these natural settings that could be developed into a worthy of respect science and technology through literacy to befit the African culture and tradition. It also prepared me for worldly and manly challenges, stoicism and determination to face most difficult problems in life thereafter.

I was already a member of another secret society of the Mandingo people called birie. I was young when I became a birie initiate. While I was spending time with my aunt in Freetown, she had taken upon herself to circumcise me—another demonstration of the Kono matrilineal traditional family hegemonic culture. For birie is so sacred to my father; it was an utter disrespect for my aunt to have circumcised me without the ceremony that often accompany it. The major aspect of birie secret society is circumcision accompanied by ritual and tradition that are mostly Islamic in origin. Despite the fact that I was already circumcised, I still had to go through the rituals.

My father is a Mandingo who was born in Sierra Leone in a town called Peyima in the Kono district. My grandfather originally came from Senegal, in a town called Bundu, close to the Republic of Guinea boundary with Senegal. He was the first non-Kono inhabitant of Peyima. Peyima had been named for a nearby river with a huge school of a small, but delicious fish called pe, water, yi, by, ma. Thus, Peyima means by the stream of pe. My grandfather lived well over 110 years to many family members’ estimations.

My grandfather was a religious and well taught in Koranic recitation whose ancestors many generations back were also great Islamic scholars before him. From Bundu, in Senegal, he had set out on a journey to Sierra Leone.

Interestingly, history has it that like the Mandingo people, the Kono people are originally Mande-speaking from the Mandinke or Soninke languages of ancient Ghana. What we also know from historical accounts is that the Bambara people are not readily from a particular language of the Mande-speakers. They are those that resisted Islam from the outset the Berbers and North African Arabs encountered them. In essence, the word Bambara means “pagan”. Amongst the people who resisted Islam were several Mande-speakers, including Mandinke, Fulani, Hausa, Soninke and many more. Even though some stayed behind who would ravage the area of Jenne several times, many fled.

Islamic tradition and practices have greatly influenced the Traditional practices of many people of the Western Sudan over the centuries in both good and bad ways. For example, circumcision in these traditions has been reduced to mere excision unlike the original traditional practice of rite of passage into manhood or womanhood among the Mande-speaking people. Male dominance is also another Islamic influence on the Mande-speaking people whose traditional and family hegemony was more matrilineal than patriarchal before the Arabs. “At no period in the history of the patriarchal cultures of Europe has motherhood been accorded the same status and reverence it has in African cultures.”[ix] Fuambai, in her doctoral dissertation observed certain traditional characteristics amongst the Mandinke people of The Gambia that have striking similarities to the traditional practices of the Mande-speaking people of the ancient Ghana/Mali. “Female and male initiation are parallel rituals that derive their symbolic and ideological significance from ancient Bambara creation myths,”[x] she wrote.

There are several accounts to the history of the Kono people, but the most popular is; Kono are offspring of wearied Mandingo warriors who their fellow more competent Mandingo warriors left, about two hundred miles inland off the coast of present day Sierra Leone to wait, but did not return for them. It would seem they had been conquered and marginalized by stronger Mande-speaking group of warriors in ancient Ghana. This would be from where they would have head farther south with empty scabbards and naked swords in a pursuit of freedom and better living conditions way before the influence of Islam in the Western Sudan.

Not much has been written about the Kono people. Apparently, they are not part of the grand-Arab scholarly accounts of the people of the Western Sudan. That further explains they had migrated or fled the region before Arab infiltration or right around that time. Thus among the Kono people is the untouched and unhampered Timbuk-Traditionalism that is characterized by Matriarchal powers and secret societies. Blessed is Robert T. Parson whose authoritative religious study of the Kono people gives us some insight of them and their culture. A work Robert would dedicate to the Kono his words, “To the Kono people among whom God has left himself without a witness.” The following are the legends he wrote:

The Kono people probably entered their present home from a section of hilly country to the east of Sierra Leone in Guinea. This fact seemingly corroborated by the Kono legends. The people speak of their former home as “Kono-su-ko” (Under-the Kono-root) taken from Kono-su the name of a hill in Guinea about fifty miles northwest of Konoland. The people who now live about this hill speak a language said to be like the Kono language, but the people are called the Lelli people. The Lelli people are said to be almost surrounded today by the Kissi and Koranko groups. The Kono people probably entered Konoland three centuries ago with their cows, sheep and goat. Some time later, they were attacked by the Mendis and sought refuge among the Korankoes (sic) to the north for about ten years. The departure of the Mendis to their own territory in this interim permitted the Konos (sic) to up their own land.

The second legend which points to their origins is the one giving their relation to the Vai people, a group now living along the Sierra Leone-Liberia border near the coast. The legend is this: The Kono and Vai peoples were probably the same tribe when they came into this land from the northeast searching for salt which they had heard was plentiful along the coast. But when the Kono came to their present land, with its abundance of wild game and much good farming land, they decided to stay and occupy it. So they said to the Vai people, “We will wait (makono) for you.” The Vai went on to the coast where they found the salt they had longed for, leaving the Kono people still waiting for their return.

When the Kono people occupied their present land, they found small steatite or soapstone carvings, which they believe, were made by “Nyina-nu” (the spirit). Hence, they have come to look upon them as mysterious and containing some magical power. They can be seen in the court buildings where they are used as the objects upon which the people swear before testifying.[xi] 

We know about those who went south to become the Vai people of coastal Sierra Leone. But we know very little about those that went further North of Sierra Leone. But it would appear they were either pushed back Eastwards by the Koranko people, another voracious warrior-like Mande-speaking group. These were probably the Kono people of one of Robert’s legends, who became the southern neighbors of the Koranko people of the north of Sierra Leone. It appears that the Koranko people, who are also of the same Mandinke and Soninke origin as the Kono, must have left the Ancient Ghana about 300 years earlier, right around or the same time as the Kono before they settled. Robert’s 300 years estimation since the Kono settled in their present location, which is now about 355 years since he did his research, makes much sense because it corresponds with the Arab invasions of Timbuktu in the mid 14^th century. They must have started their exit 300 years earlier before they settled in the West African coastlines. They too [the Koranko], as if to say they had arrived at their destination at last, settled in their new home, in the northern province of Sierra Leone, and named it Kabala, a probable distortion of Kabara, the place of their origin in ancient Ghana, southwest of Timbuktu.

The word Kabala is mostly a probable evidence of distortion due to centuries of migration. Indeed, the Madinke language has metamorphosed into many other languages that vary only by accent and few words. Robert’s suggestion that the beginning of the Kono migration as three hundred years ago, when he wrote his book on the Kono people in 1964, seems to support the notion they came to the Konoland alongside the other Mande-speaking groups, who became Koranko people, who must have by now lay down their constant migration to rest about the same time. Simply because Kabala borders the Konoland, may mean that all these Mande-speaking groups had been locating and relocating constantly towards the coast of West Africa, from the ancient Ghana, for at least, 300 years. This surely explains why the accent and forms of the Madinke language had been changing constantly, thereby resulting into these several subgroups as Kono, Vai, Koranko, Lelli etc.

The Historical Dictionary of Sierra Leone states about the Kono people, “Kono tradition asserts that the Kono were once a powerful people in present-day Guinea or Mali or both.”[xii] This tempts to be consistent with the notion of hundreds of years of their constant migration, settlement and resettlement. The same work states about the Koranko people, “A branch of the Madinka tribe, the Koranko immigrated into Sierra Leone from Guinea, probably at the time of the Mane invasions, possibly in the last waves of the invasion.”[xiii]

We know very little of why they must have split along the way and where or when. Some historians were able to trace Kono and Koranko peoples at separate places in the Guinea. Just as the same Mande-speaking group became Kono and Vai in Guinea, it is highly suspicious that they had become Kono and Koranko some where along the way over these hundreds of years. With my patriarchal Mandingo and matriarchal Kono backgrounds, I certainly understand or speak all these dialects of the Manding language.

Although Robert’s work, unlike many Africanists historians, is sympathetic of his subjects, apparently, some facts were lost in translation or misunderstood. Now, the stone carvings, which Robert described in his work have pierced noses are likely indicative of earlier Soninke and Mandinke cultural presence in the area. When the European drew a European Jesus, all he had seen around him was a white man. Thus, the Soninke and Madinke cultures, which are big on ear, nose and lip piercing, could have certainly used nose piercing as an element of their works of art.

The Kono word “Nyina” means devil instead of spirit according to Robert. The Traditionalist Kono people could not have used a devil as a symbol of spirituality. But the misunderstanding is apparent in Robert’s work; He rightfully placed the carvings as a symbol of spirituality, but wrongly called them devils. The Traditionalist Kono people used these carvings, which were perceived mysteries to them as medium between them and Yatah (God). But the carvings were most likely Soninke or Madinke works of art that had been lost to mystery amidst constant migration and warring over hundreds of years. We also know that the entire region used to be the Ghana/Mali/Songhay.

The mystery in the existence of a Supreme Being is so compelling in the Traditionalist Kono culture that the Kono people refer any matter that is beyond their knowledge, that, which cannot be discerned by human beings to Yatah. But Robert confused Kono Traditionalism when he called Yatah ancestral spirits. The Kono people, up to this present day, whether they have become Christians or Muslims have hardly given up the value they attach to ancestral spirits as medium to Yatah. This fact is entirely different from the unintentional distortion of referring to Yatah as ancestral spirits.

Another argument is that Yatah is a singular noun. Plural nouns in the Kono language take the suffix “nu”. First, a plural word for Yatah, does not exist in the Kono language. If at all there were ancestral spirits called Yatah, they would have been called Yatahnu. But it turned out that there is no such word in the Kono language. This in itself is a clear indication that a one Supreme Being concept existed in the Kono Traditionalism before Western influence. Words for gods and goddesses are entirely different from the Supreme Being, Yatah. Second, the word for ancestral spirit is fweyeh and it plural is fweyehnu. I am afraid the Kono people would have used the word Yatanu if at all they meant to refer to ancestral spirits as God.

Another issue with Robert’s work is that the Kono people could not have been in search of salt. The history of the Kono people points to invasions of some sort at all times, the search for salt thus becomes questionable. Salt was an abundant element of trade in Gao, the capital city of the ancient Ghana. What the Kono people had probably said was cheh, meaning war. The same word is chereh in Mandinke. But it is obvious that the early Africanists heard kuyeh, which means salt. There is no way the Kono people could have left Gao in search of salt all the way to their present location. Even the most sympathetic Western Africanists writers and historians very often have tempted to misinterpret African peoples’ traditions and cultures unintentionally or intentionally.

Nonetheless, this then heightens my curiosity that the Kono and the Madinke peoples must have come from the same ancestral heritage from Ghana/Mali. It is probable that the Kono must have come out of ancient Ghana, before it was Mali and Songhay or about the period of its transition to Mali and Songhay.

Like most Mande-speaking groups, the Kono and Madinke dialects are distinct only by accent and few words. But it became obvious why the former practices Traditionalism and the later practices Islam. The Kono people had no or very little exposure to Islam before they left the ancient Ghana unlike the Mandingo people who had been exposed to Islam before they left the Mali/Songhay. This is evident in the obvious distinct religious beliefs between them: Traditionalism versus Islam, the Konos and Mandingos respectively.

According to oral tradition, it appears that either my Mandingo patriarchal ancestors many generations back were Islamic scholars who Arab scholars had sent southwards to propagate Islam or they had fled at an earlier period from persecution, southwards many years after the rebellious Kono people’s migration. “For years they had ridiculed the Songhai as ignorant and considered their king a Muslim in name only. Sonni Ali to his revenge. He sacked the city and killed thousands of Islamic leaders, chasing the rest into the desert.”[xiv] The tradition was not only supported by Al-sa'di's account, but by many other scholars who have done much research on the Ghana/Mali and Mali/Songhay in recent times:

The settlement of Timbuktu belongs accordingly to two main phases which probably overlapped with each other. The first brought settlers from the northeast and south who almost certainly included scholars, both Tuareg and Soninke, from Tadmekka and Dia respectively. North African settlers long-established in these areas probably also arrived at an earlier date. But the wealthiest and most influential settlers, especially Sanhaja Berbers and North Africans from Ghadamis, arrived in the second phase which witnessed the virtual transplantation of the entire mercantile community of Walata. These were ultimately joined by Wangara merchants and scholars from the heartlands of Mali to the south and southeast, while Songhay and Fulanis (sic) may have grown in number and influence throughout the medieval period.

The ethnic diversity of the settlers naturally exerted a divisive effect, as Horace Miner has suggested, particularly since each group tended to retain its contacts and alliances with its original home. Thus, after the decline of Mali, Tuareg scholars, invariably allied to the Magsharen, enjoyed an ascendant position in the city. Later, when the Songhay Sunni Ali rose against the Tuaregs, many scholars fled back to Walata.[xv]

“These were ultimately joined by Wangara merchants and scholars from the heartlands of Mali to the south…” My great ancestors must have come from Kabara to the south, from the Kabari clan, which now carries several distorted forms: Kaba, Kabba, Khaba and Kabbah to name a few. Kabara was a river province of the Songhay. My last name is indicative of my ancestral origin from the Mande-speaking people of Kabara if not descendants of the founding clan there.

As distinguished scholars at the University of Timbuktu, the Kabari clan's men worked in Traditionalism, Islam and science and won many scholarly acclamations. At least that is what my grandfather meant when he said the following words, “Amongst my great-great grandfathers were ulamas; big scholars alphas; scholars or teachers, karamohs; teachers, mu'adhdhin; imams, mujaddid; higher scholars, Mujtahid; philosophers  and Walis; saints.” They had blended ancient Timbuk-Traditionalism with Islam so well, the outcome was a unique product we shall now call the “Timbuk-Traditionalist-Islamic African civilization.” With further early exposure to Judaism and Christianity, this concept was bound to become universal; the “Timbuk-Traditionalist-Islamic-Judeo-Christian African civilization.”

They may have not named the ideal, but it seemed the Arabs for whatever it was revered the concept. Now we could make sense of the Sudanese proverb, “Salt comes from the north, gold from the south, and silver from the country of the white men, but the word of God and the treasures of wisdom are only to be found in Timbuctoo.”[xvi] No wonder if the Arabs had sent them out farther south to spread Islam. Recount of the Kabari clan rise to scholarship in Timbuktu is given by Ellias N. Saad as follows:

The last years of Malian regime are better documented than earlier times and they illustrate the extent that power was shared within the city. For one thing, it seems that a substantial Malinke community had in the meantime settled in Timbuktu which came to be distinguished in its commercial and scholarly pursuits from the Malian garrison itself. The governor who held the title of Timbuktu Koy (King of Timbuktu) was a Sanhaja Berber, originally from Shinjit named Muhammad Nad. He seemingly did not have full command of the garrison but managed nonetheless to dispose of an armed following of his own. Even the institution of the judgeship which might have helped centralize the administration was now fragmented. For the sources confront us with three individuals each of whom is given the title of qadi.

The first is Muhammad Muaddab al-kabari, a scholar of high stature, whose descent and age became somewhat confused in the memory of the later traditionalists. He is described as a contemporary of Abd al-Rahman al-Tamimi, who flourished from 1325 onwards, and at the same time he is vaguely assigned to the 9^th century A.H. Judging from his relations with a few scholars whose chronology or genealogy is known, he acted as qadi towards the very end of the Malian presence and lived for some time thereafter teaching some of the most prominent scholars of the succeeding generation. His judicial functions were probably centered on the Soninke element in the population of which he was apparently a member.[xvii]

That is conceptualization blended with knowledge of oral tradition backed by research and recounts. However, on the other hand, the persecution concept is further compelled by John Hunwick translation of Al-Sa'di's Ta'rik al-sudan in his book Timbuktu & the Songhay:

“Sunni Ali anticipated the Timbuktu scholars’ opposition to his rule, and moved against them swiftly when he conquered the city in 1468. Many fled to Walata, and many of those who remained behind lost their lives,” when he collaborated with the Moroccan invaders following the conquest of the Songhay. My ancestors many generations ago must have been students of Modibo Muhammad al-Kabari[xviii] or his direct descendants, who, according to Al-Sa'di's Ta'rik al-sudan, native town was Kabara in the west of Jenne.

In Madinke or Soninke tribes, Kabari means, a dweller of Kabara and Kabara means at the town of Kaba. “Kabara had produced many scholars who had taken up residence in Timbuktu,” Al-Sa'di's Ta'rik al-sudan wrote. From Walata, in a group of Kabari clan scholars, they must have traveled south around Songhay and sailed on the river Niger southwards, where they could have sailed the Senegal River, deep South and settled in Bundu over hundreds of years of migrations, settlements and resettlements similar to the earlier migration of the Kono people.

Many must have gone their separate ways along the way; the presence of the Kabari or Kaba clan offspring all around the Senegal region, Mali, Guinea and Sierra Leone is further evidence of the migrations and separations.

The presence of the Kaba clan in Egypt does not only support the Walata north bound flight, but also jolts my curiosity. Cheikh Anta Diop’s ethnological study, The African Origin of Civilization turned out much evidence among many West African clans the presence of the Kaba clan in Egypt and Senegal. We know about two major events that could have made it possible. One is the pushing of dark skin people south by present day light skin North Africans. Two is the flight of the Timbuktu scholars northwards Walata, from where they probably separated, those that came southwards and those that could have continued northwards to Egypt.

But my Grandfather lived enough longer to learn from previous generations how his forebears came to Senegal, which he passed on to me in the story of his journey, from Bundu to Sierra Leone, which took place in the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

My grandfather was very passionate about Islamic scholarship. Up to now, we have relatives in Bundu. Before my grandfather died in 1988, he had sent some of my brothers to Senegal to be schooled as Islamic scholars to uphold the tradition of Koranic scholarship of his forebears. They returned to Peyima for his burial, but we quickly saw that they could not live amongst us and subsequently went back to Bundu. Ours had been influenced so much by the Kono Tradition and culture and theirs by Islam that they look at everything we do as harram[xix].

My family cultural and traditional structure is a two ways street. My grandfather himself had become a big influence on the Kono community of Peyima; many Peyima residents became Islamic converts. He accomplished great things, including the discovery of diamonds in Peyima. He built a big compound in Peyima, a mosque that was designed similar to that of Jenne-Jeno’s, but far less sophisticated and smaller, a madrassa were many children of Kono Islamic converts were taught Koranic studies and several pilgrimages to Mecca in a harem of wives on every trip.

On his second trip to Mecca, he traveled with and was responsible for twelve pilgrims. My grandmothers were all Hajjas[xx]. He was a strong believer in Islam and he prayed fervently and fasted in the month of Ramadan in fulfillment of the five pillars of Islam, a tradition, which he passed on to my father. This is, in fact, evidence that supports the notion my ancestors, many generations ago, had probably left Kabara to propagate Islam and kept on going on generations after generations.

But he told intriguing stories about his journey. Most interesting is the oral tradition about his forebears he passed down to us. His longevity is somewhat evidence of the active life he had lived. He was so old that we [grandchildren and great grandchildren] took turns in his geriatric care. We relieved our siblings who did not go to school[xxi] of this responsibility when we went to Peyima on vacation. We bathe, dressed and fed him. Up to his death his memory was sharp even though he had lost to arthritis the ability to walk. He could recognize all of us and called us by our mother’s names.

Thus, when I went into his room and greeted him he would answer not by saying; ‘is that Karamoh?’ Instead, he would ask, “Yei Gandohun la Karmor de tae?” This means that “Is that Yei Gandohun’s Karamoh?” He knew of the many more grandchildren by the name of Karamoh. He would specify the Karamoh he had recognized not for the father, but for the mother. He called my mother too after her hometown, “Yei Gandohun”, which means Yei of Gandohun.

As if oral tradition was the reward he gave for taking care of him he passed down to us these intriguing stories of his life. Amazingly, he always knew where he had stopped the last time it was my turn to take care of him from where he would continue. If I did not like taking care of him, his stories were fascinating and he knew that I had much interest in his narratives.

He was a man of enormous stature in his days, with very prominent and imposing features. One day, while we were moving him from his bed to his commode, I slipped and nearly dropped him. But he was shaken so badly it scared the hell out of him. His bones were so obvious as though they will prick out of his frail skin. The look on his face only reminded me of Sir H. Rider Hagard’s “Gaggle Pass through the Door” description in King Solomon’s Mines. He refused to narrate his story that day and called me “nyamon ndae,” “Bastard”. But when he did, the next day, I was the only one left in the room and I enjoyed every word he said. He knew the Koran in and out to the point he could recite the verses by heart.

It seems they had been traveling with their herds from generation to generation. “Karmor, ima ndo yan,” Karamoh, come closer, he always stated before he proceeded to the following enchanting narrative, sometimes disturbing and revealing Koranic recitations that could screw up the mind of a gullible child, out of which my fascination with Timbuktu was borne. First with recitation of the following Koranic verse:

IN THE NAME OF GOD

THE COMPASSIONATE

THE MERCIFUL

Praise be to God, Lord of the Universe,

The Compassionate, the Merciful,

Sovereign of the Day of Judgement!

You alone we worship, and to you alone

We turn for help

Guide us to the straight path,

The path of those whom You have favoured,

Not of those who have gone astray.[xxii]

“Karmor, your great, great grandparents came from Mali/Songhay. They were well-read Islamic scholars. I saw my own great grandfather. I was sensible enough to remember what he told me about the family. He told me that his own great grandfather was chosen by the tibabukeh (white man[xxiii]), to spread Islam South amongst the kafir, pagans. ‘Even though I did not fight any of these battles myself, my grandfather fought many wars along side his own father about which he talked to me,’ he explained. ‘Theirs,’ he continued, ‘was actually fighting the actual head of Satan, the devil. Not only was it difficult to convert these people of the South to Islam,’ he would stress; ‘they waged wars on them no sooner they condemned their fetish methods of doing things.’ But Karmor in Surah al-Baqarah 2:191, Allah writes:

“Slay them wherever you find them. Drive them out of the places from which they drove you. Idolatry is more grievous than bloodshed. But do not fight them within the precincts of the Holy Mosque unless they attack you there; if they attack you put them on the sword. Thus shall the unbelievers be rewarded: but if they desist, God is forgiving and merciful.

“Fight against them until idolatry is no more and God’s religion reigns supreme. But if they desist, fight none except the evil-doers.

”A sacred month for sacred month: sacred things too are subject to retaliation. If anyone attacks you, attack him as he attacked you. Have fear of God and know that God is with the righteous.[xxiv]

“They traveled with their herd, they left imams in every place they gained acceptance. Spreading of the words of Allah is a holly work, which had been passed down to me generation after generation. My great, great grandfather arrived at Bundu with a herd of cattle. Many more had been lost along the way through struggles with ‘pagan’ kings and chiefs who had not been exposed yet to the words of Allah. But his herd would grow again in size quickly once he settled there.

“When my father died in Bundu, he had left over two hundred cows and three hundred sheep and goats, and over twenty slaves who tended the cattle. My grandfather had passed down this wealth to him and his two brothers. But my father was the only one whose herd was successful of the three brothers. One of my father’s brothers kept the whole herd, including the slaves for him and his children, living us, the rightful owners of the herd economically strangulated.

“I discussed this issue with my mother, but there was nary a thing she could do about it[xxv]. For this reason, I left Bundu to come to Sierra Leone in search of my other uncle who had gone southbound with his own herd following my grandfather’s death. His name was Karmorkoh Yusuf Dawsy Kabba; all of you are named after him. Your actual name is Yusuf, the word karmor only means teacher. My uncle Karmor Yusuf Dawsy was a great scholar and a man of great virtue, who taught me the Koran at my grandfather’s madrasser.

“I heard rumors from those who had traveled south that he had become a great Imam and Wali in the Kono country. Many would come to know him as a man of wonders who could tell fortune and pray for people for their wishes to come through. I rode hundreds and hundreds of miles with the only animal, I was able to get out of my father’s herd, a camel, which died between Guinea. I did the rest of the journey on foot, walking over another hundred miles to the Kono country.

“My uncle had to leave for the city one month following my finding him at Bagbema because prominent people had heard of the wonders he had been performing amongst the Kono people and wanted to take him to the city to do fortune telling for great men. I waited in Bagbema, in the Kono country for several months, he did not return nor did I hear of him. I decided to go to the city to find him once more. All I had to my name were my books, my writing stick, ink pot and writing board, a bundle of luggage with a change of clothes and my personal items and the old warrior sword my great grandfather had passed on to my grandfather, my father and to me.

“I came by way of the Baffin River. When I was crossing the Baffin River to Peyima, our boat was battered by the angry river, and the strong waves nearly overturned the boat. While the boater and the rest of the passengers were in a panic mood because of the rough waters, I took out my prayer bids and began to do recitations of Koranic verses. Once we made it across, the boater and the passengers who were illiterates with no knowledge of written words became curious and fascinated. They opined that whatever God I prayed to listens well.

“They took me to the chief’s palace to tell him of my wonders. Peyima was a hamlet with few grass huts here and there. Upon arriving at the chief’s palace, which was the largest hut, it had caught on fire. I instructed them to throw soil on the fire instead of water. Meanwhile, I asked God for help through Koranic recitation. And that was the turning point for me on my journey of life when the fire went out; the chief believed the story the boater and the passengers had told him about the wonders I performed at the river. Of course, the chief too was mesmerized and lost for words when the blazing fire was turned out by words of  God.

“He insisted that his community needs me and I should not go anywhere. He gave me many slaves to farm for me. He started by giving me a ban of rice and a new hut. The news spread fast that I was a Wali and people came to me from afar and wide for fortune telling and prayers.

“I quickly saw that my presence was going to attract many people who were fascinated by my fortune telling, knowledge and quest for learning because of the new madrasser I opened. I told the chief that ‘Peyima would soon become a bigger town than the chiefdom headquarters.’ By way of demonstrating how big Peyima would become, I threw stones far East, West, North and South and stated, ‘Peyima would grow beyond those boundaries.’ The fame of my fortune telling spread everywhere when houses began to mushroom in all four quadrants of Peyima and that was actually the mark to my success in Peyima. Indeed, Peyima grew bigger than any town in the Kamara Chiefdom of the Kono country.

Much of Traditionalism that had been lost to Islam amongst the Mandingo people could be seen observed by the Kono people. The naming nomenclature of the Kono culture and uncle influence on children is common amongst many African peoples, cultures and traditions. It makes sense when former first lady, Hillary Clinton, upon her firsthand observation of the social structures in Africa, envisaged the saying she would come to be popular for, “It takes a village to raise a child.” This is nothing less than a great thinker admiring African Traditionalism.

Continued:::>

Karamoh Kabba: Fire from Timbuktu (Into)

Karamoh Kabba: Fire from Timbuktu (1)

Karamoh Kabba: Fire from Timbuktu (2)

Karamoh Kabba: Fire from Timbuktu (3)