Conquest and Construction
Editorial Board
Peter Geschiere (University of Amsterdam) Odile Goerg (Université Paris-Diderot) Shamil Jeppie (University of Cape Town)
VOLUME 5
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/afh
Palace Architecture in Northern Cameroon
By
Mark Dike DeLancey
LEIDEN | BOSTON
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: DeLancey, Mark Dike, 1973- author. Title: Conquest and construction : palace architecture in northern Cameroon / by Mark Dike DeLancey. Other titles: African history (Brill Academic Publishers) ; v. 5. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2016. | Series: African history ; v. 5 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016018304 (print) | LCCN 2016019800 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004309104 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9789004316126 (E-book) Subjects: LCSH: Palaces--Cameroon--History. | Architecture--Cameroon--History. | Fula (African people)--Cameroon--History. | Fula (African people)--Kings and rulers--History. | Fulani Empire--History. | Ngaound?er?e (Cameroon)--Kings and rulers--Dwellings--History. Classification: LCC NA1599.C3 D45 2016 (print) | LCC NA1599.C3 (ebook) | DDC 728.82096711--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016018304
Want or need Open Access? Brill Open offers you the choice to make your research freely accessible online in exchange for a publication charge. Review your various options on brill.com/brill-open.
Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill.” See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2211-1441 isbn 978-90-04-30910-4 (paperback) isbn 978-90-04-31612-6 (e-book)
Copyright 2016 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change.
This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.
∵
Contents
Acknowledgements ix Transcription, Translation, and Transliteration xi List of Illustrations xii
Introduction 1
1 Architectural Form 17
2 Political Symbolism 65
3 Spatial Orientation 108
4 Ritual Movement 163
5 Secrecy 233
Conclusion 265
Bibliography 269 Index 290
Acknowledgements
The research and writing of this book benefitted from the support of numer- ous institutions and individuals, some of whom are unfortunately no longer with us. First, thanks are due to my copy-editor Dawn Nell for her help in get- ting the text into publishable condition, as well as to Franca de Kort and Peter Buschman at Brill Press, the reviewers, and the series editors Peter Geschiere, Odile Goerg, and Shamil Jeppie for their patience. Funding and support at various stages was received from DePaul University Research Council Summer Grants and Paid Leaves, las Summer Research Grants, as well as a Franklin Grant from the American Philosophical Society and Visiting Scholar Appoint- ments at Northwestern University’s Program of African Studies. Other grant sources have included the Aga Khan Program for Islamic Art and Architecture, Mellon Foundation, Damon Dilly Grant, Frederick Sheldon Traveling Fellow- ship, and a Whiting Fellowship in the Humanities. At DePaul University, I must thank all of my colleagues in the Department of History of Art and Architecture, and especially Paul Jaskot, Lisa Mahoney, and Susan Solway who read and commented on portions of the manuscript. At Harvard University, I thank Suzanne P. Blier, David Roxburgh, Gülru Necipoğlu, Jeff Spurr, and Andras Riedlmayer. In France, Switzerland, and Germany, I thank Anne Zourabichvili, Mme. Pierre, M. Garcia, Paul Jenkins, Bernard Gar- di, Eleonore Schmitt, I.D. Wolcke-Renk, Christina Seige, and Hermann Forkl. There are numerous people to thank in Cameroon, including Bernard and Eunice Nzo-Nguty, Carl Ebobissé, Joseph-Marie Essomba, Verkijika Fanso, Jean-Paul Notué, Martin and Dorothy Njeuma, Edward Ako, Edmond Biloa, Claude Digara, Thierno Mouctar Bah, Ndji Menoung, Martin Elouga, M. Bertin, Charles Mbouti, Ahmadou Toukour, Joseph Danjie, and many others. In Ngaoundéré, I would like to thank Lamido Ngaoundéré Moham- madou Hayatou Issa, Kaygama Mboum Baba Moussa, Moussa Ndjiki Hayatou, the Lamido’s Personal Secretary Aboubakar, Court Secretary Ahmadou, Court Secretary Abba Hassan, Sarkin Ara, Pana Amadou, Palace Guide Hamadou, Chef Bamoun El-Hadji N’ji N’joya Arouna, Hamadou Adama, Mme. Fadima- tou, Mme. Hadidjatou, Eldridge Mohammadou, Lisbet Holtedahl, Ketil Fred Hansen, Gilbert L. Taguem Fah, Evelyne Tegomoh Ngwaelung, Saïbou Issa, Iya Moussa, Mamoudou, Hamadou, and Faouziatou Dandi. Elsewhere in northern Cameroon, I thank Bellaka Ngew Saliou Saomboum, Sultan-Bellaka Mbang- Mboum Mbang-Birni El Hadj Hamadou Sadjo Aboubakar, Yaya Alim, Djaouro Idool Mohamman Haman and his brothers, Lamido Tignère Abbo Adamou,
Lamido Galim Wan Djallo Hamadina, Lamido Ngadjiwan Djibrilla Djibi Danki, Lamido Kontcha Aboubakar Ibrahim Déwa, Yérima Haman Adama, Yérima Mansourou Déwa, Lamido Tibati Mohammadou Barkindo, Yérima Abdoul Wahhabi, Charlie and Barbara Bunk, Lamido Banyo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya, Lamido Tchéboa Moussa Aboubakary, Matakarda Bobboy, Sarki Pawa Bou- bakari, Lamido Touroua Ali Moustafa, Lamido Garoua Alim Garga Hayatou, Modibo Ahmadou Bassoro, Lamido Demsa Mohamadou Moustafa Moussa, and Lamido Bibèmi Daouda Alidou.
All interviews have been transcribed by the author. All translations, except as noted in the text, are the author’s own. All proper names, whether personal, topographical, or otherwise, use the transliteration commonly used in northern Cameroon; that is, all proper names will use the Francophone transliteration. I have used the conventions established by unesco in Bamako in 1966 for the transliteration of Fulfulɗe terms, and more precisely follow the specific transliterations used in Galina Zoubko’s Dictionnaire peul-français.1 Letters which may be unfamiliar to the general reader include the implosives “ɓ” and “ɗ,” as well as “ŋ,” which sounds somewhat like “ng,” and “ƴ,” which takes on the value of a glottal stop. Also perhaps unfamiliar are nasalized consonants in which an “n” or an “m” precede another consonant, as in the term ndiyam (“water”). The consonant “c” takes on the value of “ch” in English. Doubled vowels or consonants indicate an elongation of the sound. A major difficulty in learning Fulfulɗe are the wide differences in dialects. Thus, even in the small geographical area with which this study is concerned, several differences arise in dialects. Most common are the simple substitutions of “p” for “f” and “s” for “c.” Also frequent are the inclusions of terms from various local languages. Thus, for example, Mboum terms are regularly introduced into the Fulfulɗe of Ngaoundéré, which may not be used in the Fulfulɗe of Garoua or Maroua. For Mboum, I have used Shun’ya Hino’s transliteration in The Classified Vocabulary of the Mbum Language in Mbang Mboum.2 One of the peculiarities of Mboum for the general reader may be that it is a tonal language, a not un- common feature of African languages. Mboum uses three tones: “´” high, “`”low, and “ˆ” falling. The use of different tones changes the meaning of term.
1 Galina Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, Senri Ethnological Reports 4 (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1996). 2 Shun’ya Hino, The Classified Vocabulary of the Mbum Language in Mbang Mboum with Ethno- graphical Descriptions, African Languages and Ethnography 10 (Tokyo: ilcaa, 1978).
All images are the work of the author unless otherwise noted.
1 Map of Cameroon indicating sites mentioned in the text 7 2 Banco construction. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 24 3 Ruined building made of tubali. Koulawa, Cameroon 24 4 Replastering a wall. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon 26 5 Molded unbaked bricks drying. Maroua, Cameroon 27 6 Roof framework. Idool, Cameroon 28 7 Internal supporting framework for the roof of the palace entrance. Ngangha, Cameroon 29 8 Thatching a roof by the cut ends of the grass. Idool, Cameroon 29 9 Jawleeru Njakmuukon thatched by the tufted ends of the grass. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 30 10 Jawleeru with netting over the thatch. Tchéboa, Cameroon 32 11 Degraded roof-cap revealing its underlying framework. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 32 12 Man wearing an mbuloore. Guassanguel, Cameroon 33 13 Palace entrance, nineteenth century. Rey, Cameroon 35 14 Roof distinctive of the Far North Region. Tchéboa, Cameroon 36 15 Detail, roof of the palace entrance. Rey, Cameroon 37 16 The author and Yaya Alim before a sekko fence. Mbang-Mboum, Cameroon 41 17 Compound entrance flanked by kírà dámpáánî. Saadek, Cameroon 42 18 Palace entrance with sekko fencing. Tibati, Cameroon 46 19 Contemporary palace entrance flanked by the garage on the left and the sec- retariat on the right, and surrounded by earthen walls, ca. 1921–1946. Tibati, Cameroon 47 20 Nomadic Fulɓe tents. Cameroon 51 21 Women beating smooth the floor of a compound. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon 59 22, 23 Decorations on the eastern portal and northwestern corner in the entrance jawleeru of the jawro’s saare. Idool, Cameroon 60 24 Woman displaying her terracotta water jar support. Mbang-Mboum, Cameroon 61 25 Decoration resembling Dowayo dolls in an old suudu inside the madawaki’s saare. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon 61 26 Gate within the palace. Rey, Cameroon 62 27 Compound entrance. Kano, Nigeria 63 28 Jawleeru Faada in the palace, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon 68
29 Ceiling of Jawleeru Njakmuukon in the palace of Ngaoundéré, ca. 1887–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 69 30 Elevation of the palace entrance façade, ca. 1930s. Bibèmi, Cameroon 72 31 Entrance to the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon 73 32 Entrance to the palace, nineteenth century. Rey, Cameroon 75 33 Palace of Arɗo Ndjobdi, ca. 1835. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 76 34 Grand Marché (central market) built by the French, 1938. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 77 35 Palace of Mohammadou Abbo, ca. 1887–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 78 36, 37 Palace entrance (left) and Jawleeru Faada (right), early 1920s by Mohamadou Maiguini. Banyo, Cameroon 82 38 Apex of the ceiling in Jawleeru Faada in the palace, ca. 1990s. Tchéboa, Cameroon 82 39, 40 Vaulting in the palace throne room, early 1920s by Mohamadou Maiguini. Banyo, Cameroon 83 41, 42 Exterior view (above) and central hall (below) of the palace, 1917–1922 by Ibrahim Njoya. Foumban, Cameroon 85 43 Palace entrance, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon 86 44 Left door jamb of ruined third jawleeru in the palace displaying disc relief near the base, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon 87 45 Left door jamb of a suudu in the ruins of the palace displaying two stacked disc reliefs, ca. 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon 88 46 Door frame of a ruined suudu displaying stacked disc reliefs. Tchéboa, Cameroon 88 47 Palace entrance, ca. first half of the twentieth century. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon 89 48, 49 Plan and interior of the palace entrance, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon 90 50 Comparison of the palace entrance plans of Tignère (left), ca. 1920s–1930s, and Galim (right), ca. 1978 94 51 Entrance to the palace, ca. 1950s–1960s. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon 95 52 Pillars in the palace entrance, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon 96 53, 54 Pillars and ceiling of the palace entrance, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon 98 55 The palace tribunal before a satellite dish with the salon in the background, ca. 1980s. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon 100 56 Entrance to the palace (right) and Islamic Health Center (left), 1994. Ngaoun- déré, Cameroon 102
57 Entrance to the historic palace, ca. 1990s. Gachiga, Cameroon 104 58 Entrance to the new palace, ca. 2000. Gachiga, Cameroon 106 59 Palace entrance, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon 110 60 Square between the palace (left) and central mosque (right). Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 118 61 Plan of the city at the turn of the twentieth century. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 118 62 Diagram of a nomadic Fulɓe homestead 121 63 Entrance to the jawro’s palace, ca. 1958. Idool, Cameroon 126 64 Palace plan, 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon 128 65 Palace entrance under construction, 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon 129 66 Palace plan, ca. 1950s–1960s. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon. (1) Entrance, (2) Council chamber 130 67 Palace plan, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon 131 68 Palace plan, post-1915. Galim, Cameroon 132 69 Plan of Zaria, Nigeria 133 70 Plan of Kano, Nigeria 134 71 Plan of Kufa, Iraq at its founding 139 72 French-built mosque, ca. 1914–1960. Tignère, Cameroon 141 73 Central mosque with the palace entrance in the background. Tchéboa, Cameroon 142 74 Palace entrance, early twentieth century with later additions. Tchéboa, Cameroon 142 75 Palace plan, ca. 1920–1949 and later. Kontcha, Cameroon 144 76 Ha throwing knife. Adamaoua Region, Cameroon 154 77 Plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré in 1977, ca. 1897–1901 and later 167 78 Plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré in 2000, ca. 1897–1901 and later 168 79 Diagram of potential movement within the palace, ca. 1897–1901 and later. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 169 80 Porch of Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 171 81 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 172 82 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 173 83 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 174 84 Interior of Jawleeru Yonnde, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 175 85 Black field in Jawleeru Njakmuukon indicating the place of the laamiiɗo during faada, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 176 86 Laamiiɗo’s office, late 1990s. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 177 87 Koaka Nyake, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 178 88 Yelwa, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 179
89 Laamiiɗo holding faada in the shelter next to Yelwa, post-1977. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 180 90 Exterior of Danki Fulɓe, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 181 91 Interior of Danki Fulɓe, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 181 92 Men playing the balafon and iron gong in front of leather shields in Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 182 93 Exterior, Wuy Pakfil, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 184 94 Interior, Jawleeru Suuɗal ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 184 95 Jawleeru Guuga, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 185 96 Plan of public areas of the palace, first decade of the twentieth century and later. Tibati, Cameroon 194 97 Laamiiɗo Bouba Djama’a and a servant in the palace. Rey, Cameroon 195 98 Plan of the palace, early 1920s and later. Banyo, Cameroon 200 99 Preparation for Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 206 100 The laamiiɗo exits the palace for Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 207 101 The laamiiɗo returns to the palace after Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 208 102 The laamiiɗo receives the nobles for faada. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 209 103 Boka poses dramatically in front of Jawleeru Njakmuukon. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 216 104 Kaygama Mboum Baba Moussa dressed for fantasia. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 219 105 Laamiiɗo Mohammadou Hayatou Issa on horseback. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 220 106 The laamiiɗo preceded by a man carrying a leather bag of siirku. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 220 107 Praising the laamiiɗo. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 221 108 The laamiiɗo performs fantasia. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 222 109 Noblemen performing fantasia in groups of four. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 223 110 Jawro Béka Hooseere and supporters approach the laamiiɗo. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 224 111 Jawro Béka Hooseere and the laamiiɗo meet in the middle. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 224 112 Compounds adjoining the outer wall of the palace. Tignère, Cameroon 244 113 View from the entrance to the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon 248 114 The laamiiɗo holding court under the eaves of Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 249 115 Alternating shadows and sunlight in the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon 250 116 Ruler’s throne and double gong in Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 254
117 Memorial for Laamiiɗo Yahya in the laamiiɗo’s private quarter, late 1990s. Banyo, Cameroon 255 118 Protective materials hung above the entrance to the throne room, early 1920s. Banyo, Cameroon 256 119 Alhaji Abbo’s mansion seen from Mount Ngaoundéré, late 1990s. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon 263
There are few art forms as intrinsically political as palace architecture. As both residence as well as the structure within which political decision-making occurs, the palace commonly constitutes the public identity of a ruler. Palaces in northern Cameroon also provide venues for judicial proceedings and con- tain prison cells, amongst other potential functions. In addition to the ruler himself, the palace is generally inhabited by his wives and concubines, their female servants, and a number of male guards. The vast majority of these resi- dents usually derive from local, indigenous populations, while the ruler is of the ruling Fulɓe ethnicity.1 It is through the lens of ethnicity that the archi- tecture of this region has largely been viewed. In contrast, by focusing on the late nineteenth-century palace of Ngaoundéré, capital of Adamaoua Region, and with subsidiary research conducted at fourteen other palaces constructed since the early nineteenth century in Adamaoua and North Regions, this study considers the palace architecture of northern Cameroon as central to the for- mation of political authority in ways that cross ethnic boundaries. The majority of the research area for this study may be divided into a series of political entities, commonly referred to as lamidats, with Fulɓe leaders at the helm. The specific communities ruled by these leaders, or laamiiɓe (pl., sing. laamiiɗo) are composed of a politically dominant Fulɓe population, but who are a numeric minority amongst a number of other local identities, in- cluding most notably the Mboum, Dìì, Gbaya, Vouté, Namchi, Fali, Péré, and Bata. The suzerainty of the Fulɓe was established in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries after they arrived in the region from what are now northeastern Nigeria and southern Tchad. In the early nineteenth century, these lamidats all joined a larger empire that had been formed by Shehu Us- man dan Fodio, the religious and political leader of a jihadist movement who established his capital in Sokoto, northwestern Nigeria.2 Since this time, each lamidat has defined a unique, local identity that combines aspects of Fulɓe culture with those of its other constituent cultures, whether Mboum, Dìì, or otherwise. This tension between a common Fulɓe and local cultures is ex- pressed through the architectural forms of the palaces, which consequently
1 “Fulɓe” is the plural endonym, while the singular form is “Pullo.” Although technically incor- rect, I will use “Fulɓe” throughout as both the singular and the plural for simplicity. 2 Usman dan Fodio is the Hausa rendering of his name, although he was Fulɓe. I have cho- sen to use this form for the sake of simplicity as it is the most commonly used in academic literature.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_002
3 Notable in this regard is Jean-Pierre Beguin, Michel Kalt, Jean-Lucien Leroy, Dominique Lou- is, Jacques Macray, Pierre Pelloux and Henry-Noël Peronne, L’habitat au Cameroun (Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1952). Eldridge Mohammadou suggests that the term “Kirdi” was introduced to Cameroon from Tchad by the French. “Approche historique au problème du peuplement des monts du Mandara,” Sudan-Sahel Studies (Tokyo) 1 (1984): 140. Seignobos and Tourneux argue that while the term may have its immediate origin in Kanuri, in which language the exact same term is used, its ultimate origin is Arabic. They identify the term as -qird), meaning “ape, monkey.” Christian Seigno) قرد derived in Kanuri from the Arabic term bos and Henry Tourneux, Le Nord-Cameroun à tavers ses mots: Dictionnaire de termes anciens et modernes, Province de l’Extrême-Nord, Collection dictionnaires et langues (Paris: IRD édi- tions and Karthala, 2002), 154–57. This derivation would certainly express the pejorative con- notations which “Kirdi” holds in northern Cameroon. 4 Chistian Seignobos, Nord Cameroun: montagnes et hautes terres, Collection architectures tra- ditionnelles. (Roquevaire: Editions Parenthèses, 1982). 5 Donald R. Wright, “‘What Do You Mean There were No Tribes in Africa?’ Thoughts on Bound- aries—and Related Matters—in Precolonial Africa.” History in Africa 26 (1999): 409–26.
6 Emily A. Schultz, “Perceptions of Ethnicity in Guider Town,” in Image and Reality in African Interethnic Relations: The Fulbe and Their Neighbors, Studies in Third World Societies 11 (Wil- liamsburg, VA: Department of Anthropology, College of William and Mary, 1981), 127–54. 7 Labelle Prussin, Hatumere: Islamic Design in West Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 198–231. 8 Angelo Maliki Bonfiglioli, Duɗal: Histoire de famille et histoire de troupeau chez un groupe de Woɗaaɓe du Niger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 87–112. 9 Annie M.D. Lebeuf, Les Principautés Kotoko: Essai sur le caractère sacré de l’autorité, Etudes et documents de l’institut d’ethnologie, Université de Paris (Paris: Editions du centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1969), 135–67; Dominique Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et
dissidence au Cameroun (Paris: Karthala, 2002); Steven David Nelson, From Cameroon to Paris: Mousgoum Architecture In and Out of Africa (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2007). 10 Sydney L. Kasfir, “One Tribe, One Style? Paradigms in the Historiography of African Art,” History in Africa 11 (1984): 165–67; Monni Adams, “African Visual Arts from an Art Histori- cal Perspective,” African Studies Review 32, no. 2 (1989): 76–78, 84–86.
Summary of Chapters
This text is organized into five chapters, each representing a distinct yet com- plementary view of palace architecture in northern Cameroon. Chapter 1 is devoted to identifying architectural elements and technology, and their asso- ciated terminologies. Not only is this nomenclature important for discussion of the architecture itself, but it also frequently provides clues to the origins of particular elements based upon the linguistic roots for the term itself. Because so few structures of more than a century in age still stand, and because so little archaeological work has been conducted in this region, language is used here to provide a window into the history of architectural form. Chapter 2 investigates the proliferation of a specific architectural type, the pillared hall called a sooro, in the palace architecture of northern Cameroon from the time that Fulɓe conquerors incorporated this region within the Sokoto Caliphate in the early nineteenth century until the present. It argues that the Fulɓe rulers who conquered the region were not of sufficiently high status to employ the political symbolism of the sooro, but that use of this building type spread quickly after German colonial borders separated northern Cameroon from the rest of the caliphate in 1901. Eventually, the form expanded beyond the boundaries of the Fulɓe and spread among non-Fulɓe rulers. Ironically, the sooro as a symbol of power spread in direct relation to the loss of real power by rulers in northern Cameroon. Chapter 3 considers the placement of the palace within the urban fabric, as well as its orientation, through examples taken from a variety of the constitu- ent cultures of northern Cameroon, and in particular Ngaoundéré. This chap- ter explicates the manner in which architectural planning references a variety of cultures simultaneously, either in their individual particularities or drawing them together into a single regional whole. In the first half of the chapter, I in- dicate how a model drawn from the early history of Islam was used to mediate between the planning and spatial concepts of the Fulɓe, Hausa, and Kanuri throughout the Sokoto Caliphate. In the second half of the chapter, I investi- gate possible meanings of the positioning of the palace of Ngaoundéré specifi- cally for the Mboum population of Ngaoundéré. Chapter 4 delves into ritual movement within, and in relation to, the pal- ace of Ngaoundéré. On the one hand, it draws upon the idea that architecture
Geography and Climate
If one is to understand the ways in which architectural forms are closely related to their environment, then it is imperative that one have a sound conception of that physical setting. Architecture appropriate to desert conditions will need extensive modification, if not complete replacement, to cope with the heavy rainfall of a tropical climate. Likewise, the types of materials available for construction are to some extent dictated by the immediate environment. The following geographical description expands outwards from the central palace of this study, that of Ngaoundéré (Fig. 1). Ngaoundéré sits atop a plateau at an elevation of approximately 1,100 m. The city is named for the mountain located nearby which has a curious form resembling a navel, hence its name Ngaou (Mountain) Ndéré (Navel), or “the mountain of the navel,” in Mboum. Similar granitic outcroppings dot the entire
11 Juulde Layhaaji is also commonly known as Id al-Adha, Id al-Kabir, or Tabaski.
Figure 1 Map of Cameroon indicating sites mentioned in the text region of northern Cameroon, frequently indicating the locations of towns.12 The vegetation is chiefly of a savannah or savannah woodland type, although deforestation has taken its toll. To the east, the hills rise into mountains up to 2,000 m high in the area of Ngangha. To the west of Ngaoundéré, the terrain remains a fairly consistent- ly hilly plateau until nearing the Nigerian border, demarcated by a chain of mountains including Tchabal Gotel, Hoosere Guénfa Labo, Tchabal Gangdaba, Tchabal Mbabo, and others. This chain of mountains is picked up again in the North Region by the mountain chain known as the Atlantika Mountains.
12 The particularly stark outcropping at Mindif in North Region, for example, may be ad- mired in the 1988 French film Chocolat directed by Claire Denis (dvd, 106min., Santa Monica, ca: mgm Home Entertainment, 2000).
The Faro River runs just to the east of this mountain range, extending north until it connects with the Bénoué River, which runs east toward Garoua and west into Nigeria. The climate of Adamaoua is very predictable.13 From mid-October until mid-March, it does not rain. From mid-March until mid-October, it rains for at least an hour every day. Unlike southern Cameroon which has four seasons, the small and large wet seasons alternating with the small and large dry seasons, northern Cameroon only has two seasons. November through February are the coldest months, with temperatures falling as low as 0° to 5° C during the night. The warmest months are March through April when the temperatures rise to 32° C or higher. For the remainder of the year, the temperatures remain warm, in the 26° to 32° C range. Even then, it is fairly temperate thanks to the high elevation. Farther north, the elevation drops considerably into the plains which ex- tend north to Lake Tchad, and the temperatures climb markedly. Approximate- ly 50 km north of Ngaoundéré on the paved route to Garoua, one encounters what is commonly referred to as “La Falaise.” This term, literally “The Cliff” in French, is used to designate the sudden drop in altitude, from approximately 1,100 m on the Adamaoua plateau to between 200 and 500 m on the plains below, at the bottom of which the air feels tangibly warmer and dryer. The amount of annual rainfall decreases significantly the farther north one goes as well. While the average is approximately 1,565 mm of rainfall per year over a period of 172 days in Ngaoundéré, it drops to about 999 mm over eighty-five days in Garoua and to 811 mm over seventy-eight days in Maroua. The dif- ference is visible. The Vina River runs past Ngaoundéré year round, but the Tchanaga River running through Maroua is dry most of the year. Similarly, 50 km south of Ngaoundéré, the elevation quickly drops and the temperature and humidity rise. The farther south one ventures, the warmer and more humid the climate becomes, making Banyo and Tibati significantly warmer and wetter than Ngaoundéré. The range of the Fulɓe expansion does not extend much beyond these areas as the environment in the south is ide- al for tsetse flies, the major carrier of trypanosomiasis or sleeping sickness, deadly to both horses (the basis of the Fulɓe military) and to cattle (the basis of their economy and livelihoods). This climate effectively halted Fulɓe expan- sion to the south, although they did raid these areas frequently to support their involvement in slave trading, a mainstay of the economy of Ngaoundéré and other frontier lamidats of the caliphate.
13 For in-depth information on the climate, the best source is Jean-Bernard Suchel, “Les Cli- mats du Cameroun,” 4 vols. (PhD diss., Université de Saint-Etienne, 1988).
Northern Cameroon: Historical and Cultural Background
As with geography, so too a broad overview of northern Cameroon’s history is vital for contextualizing palace architecture. This synopsis commences with the identification of the various important powers in the region and its sur- roundings. It thereafter follows the entry of the Fulɓe into the region in the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries, followed by the creation of states and the eventual imposition of colonial and post-colonial governments. In 1804, the Fulɓe Islamic tutor for the princes of the Hausa city-state of Gobir in what is now northern Nigeria, Shehu Usman dan Fodio, was forced to flee his home after coming into conflict with his former pupil, the ruler of Gobir, Sarki Yunfa. The Shehu advocated a closer adherence to Islam and de- cried what he saw as the ruler’s lack of observance of religious law in his rule. Shehu Usman dan Fodio declared a jihad for the renewal of the faith, and be- came the religious and political leader of this reformist movement. His move- ment quickly gathered a vocal following which proceeded to win a series of victories over the various Hausa states with whom they came into conflict. It was not long before the Shehu’s followers had conquered all of these polities. The Hausa states which Shehu Usman consolidated into the Sokoto Caliph- ate had never known broad-scale unity before. They constituted a series of city- states, related in language, culture, and history, but each largely independent of the other. Wealthy from trans-Saharan trade, they had for the most part all con- verted at least nominally to Islam several centuries prior, although the degree and devotion of conversion differed from state to state. It was this perceived lack of devotion on the part of the ruling elite, as well as the heavy-handed rule of some, that Shehu Usman dan Fodio used to generate support for his jihad. The Hausa states had come into conflict frequently in the course of their history, and held considerable suspicion of each other’s intentions. They had also clashed with the major states on their borders, including the Songhai Empire to the northwest, the Kanem-Bornu Empire to the northeast, and the Kwararafa Confederation to the southeast. The Kanem-Bornu Empire was established in the late eighth century. Its rulers converted to Islam in the late eleventh century, and were participants in the trans-Saharan trade. Originally founded in Kanem, to the north of Lake Tchad, the state moved to the west of the lake to the land known as Bornu in the fourteenth century under pres- sure from eastern groups. In recognition of its history, the state is often called Kanem-Bornu. Kanem-Bornu was to become the greatest rival in the region to the Sokoto Caliphate of Shehu Usman dan Fodio. The Kwararafa Confederation is a somewhat elusive entity which from time to time attacked and sacked a number of the Hausa city-states, most notably
Kano and Zaria, as well as Kanem-Bornu. Unlike the latter, however, Kwararafa left no written record and does not survive into the present day. It appears to have coalesced in the fifteenth century and to have lasted under various forms until the mid-eighteenth century. It has become identified as a group of differ- ent ethnic groups and minor states which federated, ostensibly with the Jukun ruling house as the leader of the entire entity.14 Possibly included amongst the federated groups were a variety of ethnicities in contemporary Cameroon, in- cluding the Mboum, Péré, Tchamba, and others covering much of what is now eastern Nigeria and northern Cameroon.15 The Fulɓe identity, as far back as can be traced, originated in the environs of contemporary Guinea, The Gambia, and Senegal in West Africa. Other names used to designate this group include Fulani, Filani, Fula, Fellata, Peul, Peulh, Poul, Pulaar, and Haal-Puulaaren. Past authors over the years have attempt- ed to find the origins of the Fulɓe in the Arabs of North Africa, the Phoeni- cians, Ethiopians, the Lost Tribe of Israel, and so on.16 All of these should be disregarded, for as far as is currently known they originated in West Africa. The more spurious attributions are based on European racism combined with Fulɓe claims to Arab lineage, in particular from the seventh-century Arab con- queror of North Africa Sidi Uqba bin Nafi, for reasons of defining an Islamic identity. As semi-nomadic or transhumant pastoralists, they slowly drifted east from their place of origin in search of new pastures for their cattle. It is thought that they may have entered the regions of the Hausa states and Kanem-Bornu as early as the thirteenth century, when a manuscript known as the Diwan of the Sultans of Bornu noted the arrival of the Fulɓe in that realm.17 Those Fulɓe
14 The Kwararafa Empire is also sometimes referred to as the Jukun Confederation, after the ruling ethnic group. 15 The Kwararafa Confederation is poorly understood and knowledge of its history is highly speculative. For more information on the Cameroonian constituency of the Kwararafa Confederation, see Eldridge Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, Les Royaumes Foulbe du pla- teau de l’Adamaoua au xix siècle: Tibati, Tignère, Banyo, Ngaoundéré, ilcaa African Lan- guages and Ethnography 8, Traditions Historiques des Foulbe de l’Adamaoua 4 (Tokyo: ilcaa, 1978), 5–16. 16 Thierno Diallo, “Origine et migration des peuls avant le xixe siècle,” Annales de la faculté des lettres et sciences humaines 2 (1972): 168–74. The development of specifically French perceptions of Fulɓe origins and identity has been traced historically by Anna Pondo- poulo, Les Français et les Peuls: L’histoire d’une relation privilégiée, Collection Sociétés musulmanes en Afrique (Paris: Les Indes savants, 2008). 17 Ahmed Ibn Fartua, History of the First Twelve Years of the Reign of Mai Idris, Alooma of Bornu (1571–1583), translated by Sir Richmond Palmer (London: Cass, 1970), 87. The man- uscript indicates the arrival of two Fulɓe in the reign of Sultan Biri ibn Dunama, who
Palmer estimated to have reigned in the thirteenth century. Palmer’s dates, however, are notoriously unreliable. What is certain is that the Fulɓe were present in Kanem-Bornu in the sixteenth century when ibn Fartua was writing his chronicle. He indicates several occasions on which Fulɓe populations were provided protection by Mai Idris. 18 Boundang-Touroua is actually a hybrid name that is frequently used in that area. The original name of the town and of the lamidat was Boundang. The term is said to mean, “look over there” in Bata, the language of its founders, because the village is situated at the bottom of a hill from which one can see in all directions over the flat plain; Moham- madou, Royaumes foulbe, 227. The Fulɓe village of Touroua was established as the new capital, directly adjacent to Boundang, in approximately 1848 by Arɗo Lawan Hamman following a succession struggle with his appointed regent, Modibo Gana. After the de- feat of Modibo Gana, Touroua was made a regional governorate of the domain, while the
capital was moved permanently to Ngaoundéré; Mohammadou, Royaumes foulbe, 284– 86. I use the hybrid name in recognition of the history of the lamidat. 19 As pointed out by O. Löfgren, the term Adamawa was in use as an alternative name for Fombina during Modibo Adama’s lifetime. “Adamawa,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, New ed., vol. 1 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1979), 180. “Adamawa” and “Adamaoua” are simply alternate British and French spellings of the same Fulfulɗe proper name. In this study, I will use “Adamaoua” to refer to the contemporary region of Cameroon, while “Adamawa” will be used to refer to the emirate of that name in the Sokoto Caliphate. On the rare occasion that I refer to the contemporary province of Nigeria by that time, I will specifically indi- cate that I am speaking about “Adamawa State, Nigeria.” 20 The term lamidat is actually a French term to designate the territory ruled by a laamiiɗo. Lamidat has become so common as to have now entered the colloquial language, and will
Returning to the establishment of lamidats in northern Cameroon, Arɗo Hamman Sambo, the leader of the Kiri’en, left Tchamba and ventured far to the south to found the lamidat of Tibati in approximately 1829, several years before any other Fulɓe leaders reached the Adamaoua plateau. The largest population of Tibati were the Mboum. He left a governor at Tchamba to rule in his name, while he resided at Tibati. Meanwhile, the founder of the lamidat of Boundang-Touroua eventually passed away and his son Arɗo Hamman Ndjob- di took over under the regency of his uncle Bâ Wabili. After Arɗo Ndjobdi came of age and took over the reins of power, his uncle Bâ Wabili departed to the south to found the lamidat of Bantadjé. Modibo Adama later placed Bantadjé under the control of Arɗo Hamman Ndjobdi. Arɗo Ndjobdi, hearing reports of excellent pasturage far to the south, sent a Bata servant to scout out the Adamaoua plateau, which was entirely under Mboum control at that time. Finding an excellent climate, plenty of pastur- age, and a source of natron for cattle, the servant relayed news of the excellent locale. Arɗo Ndjobdi then sent a group of Kanuri religious scholars to establish the site prior to his arrival. It was they who founded Ngaoundéré, initially un- der the suzerainty of the Mboum Bellaka Ngew, resident at Dembé, to which Arɗo Hamman Ndjobdi then moved his capital in approximately 1835, leaving governors in Boundang-Touroua and Bantadjé to rule in his name.21 At approximately the same time that Arɗo Hamman Sambo established Tibati and just before Arɗo Hamman Ndjobdi established Ngaoundéré, another Volarɓe leader received the permission of Modibo Adama to found
be used throughout this study for simplicity’s sake. One term used in Fulfulde for this concept is cappal, meaning “territory; domain,” which is derived from the verb sappugo meaning, to “become a convert; submit.” Derived from the same root is the verb sappana, meaning to “submit to, do homage to; become a convert to.” F.W. Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, Hippocrene Practical Dictionary (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1995), 167. سبحان This latter verb formation discloses the origin of the root in the Arabic term (“subḥāna”) meaning “to praise, glorify,” as used particularly in the phrase سبحان الل ّٰه “subḥāna llāh,” meaning “praise the Lord!” Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, ed. J. Milton Cowan (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1980), 393. Finally, the term maral (pl. mareeji, marleeji,or maruyeeji), meaning “possessions; riches; kingdom,” is derived from the verb marugo, meaning to “possess, have.” Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 134. This latter, as I thank Hamadou for explaining to me, is used more commonly to refer to the Sokoto Caliphate as a whole, however, rather than to its individual constituents. Other means of referring to a laamiiɗo’s territory include lesdi laamiiɗo, meaning literally “the land, territory of the laamiiɗo,” and laamu laamiiɗo. The term laamu, clearly derived from the same root as laamiiɗo, refers to a territory ruled. 21 Eldridge Mohammadou, “L’empreinte du Borno sur les foulbé de l’Adamawa et leur langue.” Ngaoundéré-Anthropos 1 (1996): 106.
22 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 106–19.
23 Francophone Cameroun gained its independence in 1960. The Anglophone regions gained their independence from Great Britain in 1960, along with Nigeria, and subse- quently voted in a 1961 plebiscite to reunite with francophone Cameroun.
The palace architecture of the Adamaoua plateau and the surrounding plains broadly speaking represents a single typology, defined by a set of roughly con- sistent forms. Stylistically, however, there is great diversity. The architecture of the Ngaoundéré palace is clearly distinguishable from that of Banyo, for ex- ample, and again from that of Rey, by stylistic elements which reference the locality, the region, and the constituent cultures of each political unit. One of the important questions about the architecture of northern Cameroon is the origin of this common, rather unified typology. I suggest in this chapter that ceremonial structures in particular are adopted largely from the Hausa tradi- tions of northern Nigeria.1 This is true whether one examines the palace of a leader of Fulɓe identity, or one of Mboum or Péré origins, for instance. The time at which this adoption occurred, however, is more difficult to de- termine. Historian Eldridge Mohammadou suggests that the majority of the different ethnic groups of northern Cameroon—the Péré, Tchamba, Vouté, Mboum, and others—were at one time members of the succession of Kwar- arafa Confederations which were potent enough to sack Kano, Katsina, and Zaria multiple times in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and even to attack Kanem-Bornu, although there they were repelled.2 Through geographic proximity and ongoing contact, even the periodic control of Hausa cities, one might also speculate that the successive Kwararafa Confederations adopted the symbols of power of Hausa society, much as the Fulɓe were later to adopt them. It is in this vein that Hermann Forkl has likewise suggested the pre- nineteenth-century adoption of architectural forms, although from the Kotoko
1 It should be noted that “Hausa” identity is of relatively recent formulation, much as “Yoruba” identity in southern Nigeria. There were, nevertheless, strong cultural similarities among the various city states of northern Nigeria which later formed this identity. 2 Eldridge Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, Les Royaumes Foulbe du plateau de l’Adamaoua au xix siècle: Tibati, Tignère, Banyo, Ngaoundéré, ilcaa African Languages and Ethnography 8, Traditions Historiques des Foulbe de l’Adamaoua 4 (Tokyo: ilcaa, 1978), 7–22; C.K. Meek, A Sudanese Kingdom: An Ethnological Study of the Jukun-Speaking Peoples of Nigeria (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1931), 26–27. Also see A. Chukwudi Unomah “The Gwandara Settlements of Lafia to 1900,” in Studies in the History of Plateau State, Nigeria, ed. Elizabeth Isichei (London: Macmillan, 1982), 124.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_003
3 Hermann Forkl, Der Einfluß Bornus, Mandaras, Bagirmis, der Kotoko-Staaten und der Jukun- Konföderation auf die Kulturentwicklung ihrer Nachbarn südlich des Tschadsees, Münchner Universitätsschriften, Münchner Ethnologische Abhandlungen 5. (Munich: Minerva Pub- likation, 1985). 4 Labelle Prussin, “Fulani-Hausa Architecture,” African Arts 10, no. 1 (October 1976): 8–19, 97–98; Hatumere, 198–231. 5 I have previously argued against this interpretation with particular reference to the “Hausa dome.” Mark Dike DeLancey, “The Origins of the Hausa Dome,” Ngaoundéré-Anthropos 5 (2000): 71–86.
6 Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 25, 2000. Massive caverns within an hour’s walk north of Mbang-Mboum are purported to have served at the very least as a refuge in times of war. 7 Christian Seignobos, Nord Cameroun: Montagnes et Hautes Terres, Collection Architecture traditionnelles (Roquevaire, France: Editions Parenthèses, 1982). 8 Fofou Mama, “Monographie historique des Nyem-Nyem de l’Adamaoua (Nord-Cameroun)” (dipes ii thesis, Université de Yaoundé i, 1994), 30. Remains of the former Nyem-Nyem set- tlement atop Mount Djim are still visible and can be visited. One can still see the large stone slab that served as a throne for the ruler, reminding one of Nii Otokunor Quarcoopome’s assertion of a potential link between “early leadership and stone thrones throughout the region.” Nii Otokunor Quarcoopome, “Agbaa: Dangme Art and the Politics of Secrecy,” in Secrecy: African Art That Conceals and Reveals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993), 119. Quarcoopome refers to examples in Ghana as well as in Nigeria.
The Built and the Natural Environments
Palace architecture in northern Cameroon, as in most royal contexts, is characterized first and foremost by its grandiosity and virtuosity. Its cre- ation is neither accidental, nor is it evolved somehow directly from nature. It is wholly intentional and created by society, as indeed is true of all architecture. In 1961, when the study of African architecture was still in its infancy, Labelle Prussin asserted the integration of human and natural environments in West African building practice:
The general impression which emerges from a broad survey of traditional societies in the area, particularly the stateless ones, is that man does not distinguish his own realm from that of nature. These two realms are thus apprehended by the same cognitive mode. [One]…suggestion of oneness between nature and the human act, between the habitation which man fashions out of the earth below him or the natural resources around him,
9 Eldridge Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint on Adamawa Fulbe and Fulfulde,” in Advances in Kanuri Scholarship, ed. Norbert Cyffer and Thomas Geider, Westafrikanische Studien 17 (Cologne: Rüdiger Köpe Verlag, 1997), 286.
emerges from Lebeuf’s study of the Fali montagnards in the northern Cameroons (1961).10
I suggest that the perceived commonality between human and natural environ- ments in West and Central Africa illustrated by Lebeuf’s text is more a result of its theoretical underpinnings in structuralist anthropology, which sought to under- stand human experience as a connected system of perceived dualities in reality. Bound into this perception is the ethnocentric image of the noble savage in com- munion with nature, as opposed to the civilized human being divorced from it. In contrast to the assertion of Prussin, and Lebeuf whom she cites as evi- dence, there is a clear distinction in Fulfulɗe between wuro and ladde. Wuro is the term for “city” in eastern Fulfulɗe. As will be discussed more fully in the second chapter, wuro is also the term for a “cattle herd” and for “homestead” in nomadic Fulɓe culture. Although the relationship between cattle herd and homestead may seem at first to be evidence of the lack of distinction between the natural world and the human environment, a closer look reveals a far dif- ferent situation. It must be emphasized that the relationship between cattle and humanity in Fulɓe culture is a strong one. Fulɓe culture revolves in critical ways around pastoralism. Indeed, the world itself is said in some myths to have been created from a drop of milk. As Ahmadou Hampaté Bâ and Germaine Dieterlen write, “for the Fulɓe, the world created by God, Guéno, came from ‘a drop of milk,’ tobbere, containing the ‘four elements,’ which then formed ‘the hermaphroditic cow,’ symbol of the universe.”11 Yet, cattle here are not seen to be part of the natural environment per se, as they are after all domesticated creatures, but rather to be part of a civilized world. In distinction, the Fulɓe employ the term ladde to denote the wilderness, meaning nature untouched by humanity.12 This is the antithesis of the wuro and the civilization represent- ed by human intervention. Such a clear delineation between human and natu- ral environment has been reported for many other African societies.13
10 Labelle Prussin, “Sudanese Architecture and the Manding,” African Arts 3, no. 4 (Summer 1970): 15. 11 Ahmadou Hampaté Bâ and Germaine Dieterlen, Koumen: Texte initiatique des Pasteurs Peul (Paris: Mouton and Co., Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, 1961), 29. 12 Ladde is defined by Corinne A. Pelletier and A. Neil Skinner as “uncultivated and usually unpopulated area, ‘the bush.’” Adamawa Fulfulde: An Introductory Course, African Studies Program (Madison, wi: Department of African Languages and Literature, University of Wisconsin–Madison, 1979), 104. 13 As but one example, Susan Vogel has asserted a similar distinction in Baule culture be- tween the wilderness and the protection of civilization found in the city. Baule: African Art/Western Eyes (New Haven, ct: Yale University Press, 1997), 46.
Prussin also suggests, in her 1970 article, that Islam introduced an opposi- tion between man and environment which had not previously existed. Fur- thermore, she assigns the role of intermediary between humanity and the natural environment to the marabout.14 This assertion is problematic on sev- eral accounts. First, as noted above, most West African cultures seem to have indeed distinguished very clearly between the human and the natural envi- ronments prior to any contact with Islam, although this is difficult to clearly establish considering the long-term presence of this religion. Second, Prus- sin’s assertion is problematic because Islam requires no intermediary between the individual and God, here taken as the representation of the natural en- vironment. Although marabouts represent those who are especially learned in the religion, nevertheless there is no need for them in order to worship. Finally, this view suggests a single relationship between humanity and nature in Islam, whereas there are in reality as many different views of this relationship as there are many different understandings of Islam. In sum, Fulɓe culture in particular, and I suspect most African cultures in general, perceive a distinct opposition between the built and natural environ- ment. The natural environment is a wild place full of danger, both physical and otherwise. Dangerous spirits and sorcerers are frequently said to lie in wait to ambush the unsuspecting, or to lead the herdsman astray.15 The city and those areas which are cultivated, on the other hand, represent the safety of civiliza- tion. Leaving the city and the built environment always involves taking a risk. Palace architecture is the pinnacle of human intervention. It is among the most refined and artificial creations of human society. Islam has introduced many new cultural practices to sub-Saharan African societies, but it was nev- er the cause of a sudden rupture between human and natural environments. Rather, it merely reformulated a pre-existing division.
Architectural Structures
Building Technology Architectural construction in the sedentary context of northern Cameroon is either of banco or of tubali, as defined by Labelle Prussin.16 These two terms
14 Prussin, “Sudanese Architecture and the Manding,” 64. 15 Ironically, as will be shown later, the home can be almost as dangerous a place for those who do not belong there. 16 Labelle Prussin, “Building Technologies in West Africa,” in Le sol, La parole et l’écrit: 2000 ans d’histoire africaine, mélanges en homage à Raymond Mauny, Vol. 1, Bibliothèque
Puddled-mud, wet-mud, banco or cob are terms which refer to a technique in which wet balls of mud, usually mixed and worked in an adjacent bor- row pit, are laid up spiral fashion until a desired height is reached. The principle involved is essentially no different than that used in the cre- ation of large pottery containers or granaries.17
Rather than being constructed in a spiral, however, one should understand the building process as one of laying successive courses of wet mud, not necessar- ily even formed into balls (Fig. 2). There is little structural reinforcement, and openings are kept to a minimum so as to preserve the structural integrity. This process requires little in the way of specialized skills or tools, and is by far the most common building technique used in northern Cameroon.18 Construction using tubali is considered a masonry technique by Prussin, and as such is perceived as a more complex building technology (Fig. 3):
Handmolded, sun-dried bricks set in a mud mortar and variously called tube, toub, tufa, tuferey, tubali or ferey, can be conceived of as an exten- sion of banco above. The key difference lies in the two discrete operations in time required in the erection process: shaping and laying. The shaped ball of mud is left to dry in the sun for a time and is then laid up masonry- fashion, rather than being laid up wet. The form of the handmolded brick may vary from spherical to cylindrical to flat and rectangular.19
The structural capabilities of the tubali differ little, quite frankly, from those of banco. Prussin later points out the long history of the use of this method:
The conical Hausa brick, the tubali, is also an ancient West African tradi- tion and still prevails in northern Nigeria and eastwards towards Lake
d’histoire d’outre-mer, nouvelle série, études 5–6 (Paris: Société d’histoire d’outre-mer, 1981), 229–35. 17 Prussin, “Building Technologies,” 229. While ceramic production and granary construc- tion share significant similarities, it should be noted that larger structures are not subject to the same molding and stretching of earthen material. 18 Although the use of tubali has been stressed in studies on Hausa architecture, I suspect that banco construction is also very common in that tradition. 19 Prussin, “Building Technologies,” 231.
Figure 2 Banco construction. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 3 Ruined building made of tubali. Koulawa, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Chad. Note should be taken of its use among the Touareg at Timchent in southern Algeria (where they are called toubes), at Tabelbala in the northwest Sahara and in the old Kanuri capitals around the Lake Chad region in Niger.20
For the Kanuri capitals, A.D.H. Bivar and P.L. Shinnie note the use of such bricks in particular at the former capital of Kanem-Bornu at Widi, called Ga- roumélé in contemporary times, located in modern-day Niger.21 Tubali were used in the construction of the outer city wall, while baked brick was used for the residence of the ruler inside these earthen walls. This capital was reput- edly founded in the fourteenth century. The capital was later moved to Birni N’gazargamu in Nigeria in approximately 1470 by Ali, son of Dunama.22 Bivar and Shinnie further note that tubali are not used at any of the later sites. Their findings suggest both that the tubali technology is indeed an ancient one, and further, that it is a technology that radiated outward from the Hausa states, where it is still used, rather than from the Kanuri.23 The tubali or banco are both created from the same basic material. Both are made of earth taken from a borrow pit. The earth is removed from the pit and mixed with other substances to make it suitable for construction. In the case of northern Cameroon, the earth is frequently mixed with cow manure and chopped straw. The former makes the earth more glutinous, while the latter keeps the earth from cracking as it dries. The ingredients are mixed with water and then trampled to knead the materials together. It is then left to ferment for a day. The process of mixing the earth with water, trampling, and leaving it to ferment is performed several times before the material is considered ready for use. By this time, it will have developed a rather unpleasant odor. The earthen mixture may then be taken directly in slabs or large balls of earth and laid in courses, or it will be shaped into tubali and left to dry. The foundation courses are often built of earth without the vegetal material to pro- tect against termites. Above about one third of a meter, the building material
20 Ibid. 21 A.D.H. Bivar and P.L. Shinnie, “Old Kanuri Capitals,” Journal of African History 3, no. 1 (1962), 4–6. 22 Ibid., 2. 23 Using etymological evidence, Prussin suggests the origins of this technique ultimately in the western Sudan. Prussin, “Building Technologies,” 243. The evidence she provides, however, is unresolved and seems problematic. Allan Leary, on the other hand, simply as- cribes an Arabic source for the term tubali, and one assumes ultimately for the technique. Allan Leary, The Development of Islamic Architecture in the Western Sudan (ma thesis, Uni- versity of Birmingham, 1966), 53, n. 104.
Figure 4 Replastering a wall. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 used includes the vegetal material for durability. If built up in the banco meth- od, only two or three courses may be laid each day, then left to dry before add- ing more courses the following day. With tubali, the building materials will be created and left to dry. An adequate number will be created in order to build the entire structure. Once the materials are assembled, the structure may be raised relatively quickly with the tubali being laid in courses and cemented together with a mortar made of the same materials as the tubali themselves. In both cases, the structure will usually be covered with a layer of plaster after it has been built (Fig. 4). This layer includes earth, manure, and a measure of ash which causes it to take on a dark gray color. The plaster is of a harder, more brittle consistency than the structural material and provides protection against rain. This material may be reapplied each dry season to maintain the integrity of the internal building material. In this manner, a building properly maintained may last almost indefinitely. In more recent times, molded bricks taking the basic dimensions of a ce- ment block, have become popular building materials, using the technique which Prussin identifies as adobe (Fig. 5).24 This construction method is par- ticularly popular for buildings erected in a hurry or by poorer individuals. It requires the least amount of material, as walls may be the width of a single
24 Prussin, “Building Technology,” 236.
Figure 5 Molded unbaked bricks drying. Maroua, Cameroon PHOTO 1999 brick, and once one has created all of the blocks it takes very little time to erect a structure. Those with the money to pay for structures built in more traditional techniques will frequently still do so for reasons of prestige. The thicker walls of more traditional techniques result in better energy use, as they protect against the heat of the sun during daylight hours, and release it slowly at night.25 The thicker walls are also less likely to melt and fall during the rainy season, giving the building greater longevity.
Thatched Roofs Roofs are constructed by first creating a frame from a series of wooden sup- ports tied together at the top. These supports are spread to create a circular or rectilinear base which is then tied to the tops of the building’s walls (Fig. 6). This is accomplished with vegetal rope which is passed around the ends of the beams and through small holes piercing the tops of the earthen walls for this purpose. The beams are reinforced with thinner, more flexible branches which are tied about the beams in multiple rings. A particularly tall roof, such as is frequently found in palaces, may require various means of interior
25 Alhadji Nana Hamadjoda and Bobo Hassana, interview with author, tape recording, Tignère, July 13, 2000. See also Jean-Louis Bourgeois and Carollee Pelos, Spectacular Vernacular: The Adobe Tradition (New York: Aperture Foundation, 1989), 56.
Figure 6 Roof framework. Idool, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 reinforcement of the frame (Fig. 7). Grass which has been cut for the purpose of thatching is then tied in bunches at one end to the wood frame of the roof with more vegetal rope. The rope is usually braided from long grasses or made from a strong tree bark, such as that of the baobab tree. As was pointed out to me in the small town of Idool, east of Ngaoundéré, there are two main techniques for attaching the grass to the roof structure in the Ngaoundéré region. Each has its merits and drawbacks. The first method is to attach the grass by its base, or in other words by the cut end (Fig. 8). This method has the advantage of being durable. Because the base of the grass stem is the thicker, stronger end, it is less likely that the grass will break off and cre- ate a hole in the roofing if it is attached by this end. This type of roof needs to be replaced less often, and is therefore more economical—the choice of the less wealthy household. The disadvantage is that that the tuft at the top of the grass fiber is left showing on the exterior. This “finish” is aesthetically less pleas- ing since it produces a fluffy exterior. The second method of roofing is to attach the grass fiber by its head, or the op- posite side from the cut end (Fig. 9). This method has the disadvantage of being less durable, as the head is thinner and tends to break easily, thus creating holes
Figure 7 Internal supporting framework for the roof of the palace entrance. Ngangha, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 8 Thatching a roof by the cut ends of the grass. Idool, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 9 Jawleeru Njakmuukon thatched by the tufted ends of the grass. Ngaoun- déré, Cameroon PHOTO 1999 in one’s roof through which the rain may enter. It therefore needs to be replaced much more frequently, costing the owner significantly more in upkeep over the long run. On the other hand, this method of roofing has the advantage of being extraordinarily aesthetically pleasing. As the head is the end that is bound to the roofing structure, the cut end of the grass is left to show on the exterior. The cleanly cut ends of long, thin stems laid next to each other produce a smooth, sleek surface. Thus, while much more fragile and expensive, this type of roof is aesthetically pleasing, making it the clear choice of the wealthy homeowner. It has been suggested by Seignobos that the second type of roofing also serves a utilitarian purpose. That is, that the smooth, sleek surface causes the heavy rains of the Ngaoundéré region to roll off the peaked roofs more quickly.26 This position reflects a historical tendency in African Studies to determine functional reasons for artistic choices, ignoring the importance of aesthetics. However, from conversations with numerous individuals in the region, I have come to the conclusion that the choice is based more on aesthetics and pres- tige, rather than on utilitarian aspects. Upon making the suggestion that the sleek roof protects better from the rain, most individuals who lived under and
26 Seignobos, Nord Cameroun, 177–78.
Roof-Cap Mimicking the whole of the roof in miniature, the roof-cap participates in a tradition widespread across northern Cameroon, and surrounding regions as well, of fitting the apex of the roof with an attractive finial, whether woven of grass or crowned with pottery. The conical roof-cap is specific to Adamaoua Region and does not appear on Fulɓe architecture anywhere else, nor does this specific form appear in the architecture of any people elsewhere, as far as I know.29 These caps are created from a basketry framework of woven sticks cov- ered in the same grass used for the roof (Fig. 11). When I asked individuals from
27 Hamadou uses the term sersi to denote this same grass; Hamadou, “L’architecture des palais des laamibe peul,” 65–66. Taylor discloses that this type of grass is a “marsh grass; the ashes are used in making soap: Panicum stagninum”; Taylor, Fulani–English Diction- ary, 176. 28 Hamadou, “L’architecture des palais des laamibe peul,” 65. 29 Roof finials of many different forms are common, however, in many regions of Africa.
Figure 10 Jawleeru with netting over the thatch. Tchéboa, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 11 Degraded roof-cap revealing its underlying framework. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 12 Man wearing an mbuloore. Guassanguel, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 outside the Ngaoundéré region why they did not build with roof-caps, I was invariably told that they did not have to cope with the rain of Ngaoundéré. The area of Ngaoundéré receives a heavier rainfall than most of the rest of northern Cameroon and therefore residences need extra protection. The cap, function- ally speaking, provides added protection for the apex of the roof, though I sus- pect its primary purpose truly is an aesthetic one. It has been suggested to me several times by members of the Cameroonian academic community that I should take a more symbolic approach to this ele- ment. To be more specific, it has been suggested to me by Fulɓe acquaintances, that I should consider the conical roof-cap as representative of Fulɓe identity, through its identification with the nomadic Fulɓe hat, or mbuloore (pl. mbu- looje) (Fig. 12). My sources in Idool indicated that one could indeed call the roof-cap an mbuloore.30
30 The hesitancy with which my Idool sources identified the cap as an mbuloore, however, implied that one called it such as off-handedly as I have referred to the same object as a “cap.” The roof-cap is called sõãpàk in Mboum, constructed from the words “head” (sõã) and “house” (pàk). Shun’ya Hino, The Classified Vocabulary of the Mbum Language in Mbang Mboum, with Ethnographical Descriptions, African Languages and Ethnography 10 (Tokyo: ilcaa, 1978), 80.
The identification of conical roof-cap with mbuloore draws upon pride in ani- mal husbandry, and a frequently nomadic past, that is one of the most regu- larly cited elements of Fulɓe identity by the Fulɓe themselves, as well as by researchers. The founding of Ngaoundéré, as with the rest of the polities of northern Cameroon, is traced locally to the influx of Fulɓe in the early nine- teenth century seeking out new pastures for their herds of cattle. A historic landmark near the center of the city is a large tree to which the city’s founder, Arɗo Ndjobdi, is said to have tied his calf rope. The history of pastoralism and transhumance is commonly contrasted with the culture of the indigenous Mboum population conquered by the Fulɓe and who were primarily seden- tary agriculturalists. In the 1980s, Catherine Ver Eecke researched the concept of pulaaku, a sort of Fulɓe code of conduct often glossed as “Fulɓe-ness,” in what was then Gon- gola State of Nigeria, now subdivided into Adamawa and Taraba states. She indicates that “the pastoral way of life of the Fulɓe which, according to Fulɓe cosmology, signals the beginnings of the Fulɓe people, has fostered directly or indirectly the values and virtues that go into pulaaku.”31 Moreover, Ver Eecke points out that “many Fulɓe in towns strive to own cattle not only for their monetary and prestige value but also to be linked to their pastoral heritage.”32 She proposes that the herding staff, or sauru, is a visible sign of Fulɓe identity in northern Nigeria, carried at all times whether currently engaged in herding or not. Likewise, the roof-cap, it was suggested to me, pointed to similar values of animal husbandry in visibly defining Fulɓe identity in Adamaoua Region of Cameroon, particularly in contrast to the prevailing agriculturally based cul- tures of other local ethnicities. There are, however, problems with this characterization. The first is, of course, that this feature appears at the pinnacle of every wealthy house,
31 Catherine Ver Eecke, “Pulaaku: Adamawa Fulbe Identity and Its Transformations” (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 1988), 63. 32 Ver Eecke, “Pulaaku,” 63. One must strictly separate the ideas of nomadism and pastoral- ism as the two do not necessarily go hand in hand as seen in the quote from Ver Eecke. Victor Azarya states the distinction between the two: Perhaps we have an illustration here of what has lately been strongly advocated by scholars of pastoralism, namely that the nomadic way of life, unlike pastoralism, is only a response to economic opportunities and is not necessarily related to a “cultural complex.” A nomad, given the opportunity to settle without relinquishing his livestock would readily do so and rarely see in that a cultural betrayal. A loss of livestock on the other hand, would be a greater blow to one’s culture and ethnic identity. Victor Azarya, “Sedentarization and Ethnic Identity Among the Fulbe,” Unity and Diver- sity of a People: The Search for Fulbe Identity, ed. Paul K. Eguchi and Victor Azarya, Senri Ethnological Studies 35. (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1993), 41.
Figure 13 Palace entrance, nineteenth century. Rey, Cameroon PHOTO Unknown, early twentieth century. Photothèque, La Documentation Française, Paris (A 129)
Figure 14 Roof distinctive of the Far North Region. Tchéboa, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Figure 15 Detail, roof of the palace entrance. Rey, Cameroon PHOTO 2000
Saare and Wuro In the nomadic Fulɓe context, the term wuro means “cattle herd.” It also is used to refer to the place where the herd stays, and by extension the family resi- dence. The herd is at the center of Fulɓe culture, especially their ideas of home and settlement. In the sedentary Fulɓe context in West Africa, the term wuro is retained to denote the individual residence, or homestead. The term saare (pl. ci’e) is used to refer to the concepts of “village,” “town,” or “city.” The situation is exactly the inverse for sedentary Fulɓe in Adamaoua. In the ar- eas with which this study is concerned, the term wuro (pl. gure) means “village,” “town,” or “city.”33 The term saare, in Adamaoua, refers to the individual home- stead as a whole. It signifies everything contained within the compound walls, and is frequently extended to mean “the family.” For instance, a common greet- ing in Adamawa is, “Noy saare ma?” meaning literally, “How is your homestead?” The implied connotation, however, is to ask after the family that lives therein. Eldridge Mohammadou claims that the term saare is borrowed from Kanuri. In his seminal study of the impact of Kanuri culture on the Adamawa Fulɓe, he suggests that saare is derived from the Kanuri term sárá as a result of the long sojourn of the Fulɓe in Kanem-Bornu directly prior to entering Adamawa, as well as to the later influx of Kanuri into Adamawa. According to Mohammad- ou, sárá means a “fence made of cornstalks surrounding a fáto (compound).”34 There are several problems with his argument. First, the term saare is used by Fulɓe everywhere, and not just in areas in contact with the Kanuri and Kanem- Bornu. As indicated above, the term is used in western Fulfulɗe dialects which have no direct interaction with the Kanuri language, although the meaning of the term is slightly different. Second, while the primary use of sárá in Kanuri may be for enclosing family compounds, the term differs fundamentally in fact in referring to the fence as a constructed item rather than its manner of use.35 It lacks the secondary association with the family unit contained therein. The synonymous term for the Adamawa Fulfulɗe term saare in Mboum is kírà. As Shun’ya Hino explains, “this term means essentially the premise[s] which is surrounded by the grass-[woven] fence, also called kìrà, including
33 “saare I nde (1) [ca’e, fj, ft, Gamb.; −eji, Gamb.] village; agglomeration; ville; saare-laamu [fj] capitale (2) [cahe, ca’e, ce’e, ci’e, M, ft] village des cultivateurs Fortes, in his description of the way in which the Tale of northern Ghana view their homesteads, notes that no linguistic distinction is made be- tween the name for an extended family unit and the name for the physi- cal compound complex which such a unit inhabits. Both are yir (1957: 44). Thus the architectural entity is synonymous in the Tale’s mind with the family unit. Bernus suggests that among the Malinké of Kobané, the lou describes not only the areal surface over which a family group has stew- ardship, but is at the same time the term used to designate that family structure (1956: 240–41). Among the Dida of Ivory Coast, Bernus again notes the use of the term titré to designate both the kinship group and the entrance to the compound complex (1957: 9). A final example (one having other ramifications as well) is the use of the same term éhen among the northern Tuareg for both the wedding ceremony and the skin tent shel- tering the nuclear family (Nicolaisen, 1963: 361).39 36 Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 69–70. 37 Ibid., 70; Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 28. 38 J.C. Moughtin, Hausa Architecture (London: Ethnographica, 1985), 57–68. 39 Prussin, “Sudanese Architecture and the Manding,” 15. Much as the compound is frequent- ly associated with the family unit, so too is the individual structure often identified with its occupant. For a fascinating look at architectural anthropomorphism in West Africa, please see Suzanne P. Blier, “Houses are Human: Architectural Self-Images of Africa’s Tam- berma,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 42, no. 4 (December 1983): 371–82. I understand this relationship as an indication of the association between the homestead and the family unit which it houses; between the human being and the built environment. The common use of the term éhen by the Tuareg of the Ahaggar in reference to both wedding ceremony and skin tent, is explained by Johannes Nicolaisen as a result of the fact that “the skin tent among the Northern Tuareg plays a great part in the wedding ceremony.”40 In the Tuareg case, the term “tent” has merely taken the place of the term “homestead” in the articles mentioned above. I suggest that the peculiar mutation of Fulfulɗe in the Adamawa Emirate, such that the term saare is used to refer to both the homestead and the family that lives within its confines, is derived from the Mboum use of the term kírà in a similar manner. The extensive intermarriage of Fulɓe and Mboum, and the very common bilingualism of many individuals of the regions, has led to the absorption of Mboum concepts of the home and family into Fulɓe cul- ture and language, and vice versa. Thus, in Adamawa, the Fulɓe family, and the structure which houses it, is no longer synonymous with the individual nuclear family and its herd, but rather has expanded to include the extended family in a unit more familiar to agriculturally based societies, such as the Mboum. Fences As noted above, the term dakkawol (pl. dakkaji) denotes, in Fulfulɗe, the grass fence which typically encloses a compound. This fence is usually composed of a series of long woven grass mats which, standing approximately two meters high, are attached to a series of fence poles planted several meters apart. The mats are properly called sekko (pl. chekke or sekkooji) (Fig. 16). This term is de- rived from sə́gdi, the Kanuri term for what are known as zana in Hausa.41 According to Zoubko, dakkawol is a term used only in eastern Fulfulɗe dialects. The closest linguistic relation is the Hausa term dangal, defined by Bargery as “1. A straight bar fence, e.g. round a well to prevent animals com- ing too near.”42 Considering the pastoral emphasis of Fulɓe culture, such a connection is not farfetched. The picture is complicated by the suggestion by Mohammadou that the term dakkawol is derived from the Kanuri terms dángá 40 Johannes Nicolaisen, Ecology and Culture of the Pastoral Tuareg (with Particular Reference to the Tuareg of Ahaggar and Ayr), Nationalmuseets Skrifter, Etnografisk Roekke 9 (Co- penhagen: National Museum of Copenhagen, 1963), 361. 41 Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint,” 280; Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 171. 42 G.P. Bargery, A Hausa–English Dictionary and English–Hausa Vocabulary (London: Oxford University Press, 1934), 216. Figure 16 The author and Yaya Alim before a sekko fence. Mbang-Mboum, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 or də́kka.43 I believe that dángá, meaning a “fence made of cornstalks,” is most likely itself derived from Hausa.44 The latter language has a variety of forms and meanings of the same root, while the Kanuri word seems to be a stand- alone, indicating its status as a borrowed term. Thus, even if Fulfulɗe did adapt the term dakkawol from the Kanuri dángá, it appears ultimately to be derived from the Hausa danga. Də́kka would be an even more distant stretch, despite its more compelling morphological similarity. The Kanuri term means “protec- tion from s.th. (usu. a house) from burglary by prayers and Koranic charms.”45 Functionally speaking, the connection between a fence that would protect a house and protection of the same by prayers and charms makes perfect sense. Once again, similar to the relationship between saare and sárá, the term dak- kawol refers to a particular construction while the term də́kka refers to a func- tion of mystical knowledge. In sum, due to their similar morphologies and even more similar meanings, the Hausa terms danga and dangal are the most likely candidates for the origin of dakkawol. 43 Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint,” 281. 44 Cyffer and Hutchison, Dictionary of the Kanuri Language, 31. 45 Ibid., 35. Figure 17 Compound entrance flanked by kírà dámpáánî. Saadek, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 The corresponding term for fence in Mboum is kírà, as noted above. The Mboum use two main methods of constructing grass fences, referred to by sep- arate terms. The first type, the kírà kánàké, is synonymous with the Fulfulɗe term sekko. The term kánàké is derived from the verb kán meaning “to weave.”46 This is by far the most common type of fence, and men may be seen construct- ing them all over the region, particularly during the dry season. The second type of fence is called the kírà dámpáánî (Fig. 17).47 This is a fence in which the grasses have not been woven, but are rather simply bunched together standing vertically. The grasses are held in place with binding along the top and bottom either with cord or with rigid lengths of wood which are tied together at the top and bottom. The term dámpáánî is derived directly from the Hausa term damfame, or damfani. Bargery defines this as “a tempo- rary fence or wall of grass, reeds, or corn-stalks secured in upright position.”48 This term has also entered Fulfulɗe in a variety of permutations, of which dam- paamiiwol (pl. dampaamiije), is the most common in Adamawa. Thus, both Fulfulɗe and Mboum have borrowed from Hausa in this instance. 46 Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 185. 47 Ibid. 48 Bargery, Hausa–English Dictionary, 206. In constructing grass fences of either type, it is essential to drive in wooden poles periodically against which the fence is tied. The wood for these poles is known as sóìsã in Mboum. This term is a combination of the terms for “snake” and “cane,” and refers to the rubbery quality of the branches.49 It is the same type known as “Never Die” in Pidgin. This type of plant may be cut into lengths, then driven into the ground periodically. After a time, the poles of this wood will take root, sprout branches, and create a living fence. While traveling through the countryside, one is often able to note the presence of now defunct compounds or even entire villages by the ever-present fence poles which con- tinue to grow in the pattern established at the founding of the site. The use of dakkaji allows one to quickly and relatively inexpensively define a space. In the long term, fences can prove expensive, however, because they must be completely replaced on an annual basis. Architectural form and materials served as important signifiers of social distinction in the Sokoto Caliphate, although these signifiers could vary by region and as a reflection of differing constituent cultures. In particular, an emphasis on the permanency of earthen construction in the historically sedentary Hausa culture that had previously ruled the heartland of the caliphate in northern Nigeria was con- fronted with the cultural preference for impermanent vegetal architecture in the historically semi-nomadic Fulɓe culture of the new rulers of the Sokoto Ca- liphate. In a fascinating reversal of Western valuations of materials, the Fulɓe in early nineteenth-century northern Cameroon used relatively impermanent thatched construction as a sign of wealth and identity. Islamic scholar Mod- ibbo Bassoro, first appointed a judge of the lamidat of Garoua in 1941, reported that: It was only in the era of Malloum Issa [r. 1866–1894] that they began to construct houses and the walls of the saare in earth in the city of Garoua. It was not that they were ignorant of how to construct them, because Ardo Tayrou [r. 1810–1835] had already used them when they first settled at Garoua-Yayréwa, and the Kanuri and Hausa constructed their houses in earth. But because the Fulɓe preferred their houses in straw and the enclosures of the saare in secco. For some that even constituted a sign of social importance, because the act of reconstructing the houses every year proved that they possessed a great number of servants to do it.50 49 The scientific name for this wood is Commiphora kerstingii. Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 70–71. 50 Modibbo Ahmadou Bassoro and Eldridge Mohammadou, Garoua: Tradition historique d’une cité Peule du Nord-Cameroun, Mémoires et travaux de la R.C.P. 395 (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1980), 105. Bassoro is recounting events that occurred 150 years ago, or earlier, but his narrative makes certain important points. First, it was largely the Kanuri and Hausa populations who historically built earthen structures. Both were sed- entary populations with extensive architectural traditions. Second, long after they had permanently settled, the Fulɓe population preferred to build in less durable materials. The palace of the ruler was the main exception to the rule. Palaces were usually built in earth, emulating the palaces of the Hausa rulers of northern Nigeria that the Fulɓe had conquered to establish the caliphate. Bassoro’s account is corroborated by the German traveler Heinrich Barth’s observations on his 1854 visit to Yola, the overwhelmingly Fulɓe capital of the entire emirate of Adamawa. Barth noted that the city was “a large open place, consisting, with a few exceptions, of conical huts surrounded by spacious courtyards, and even by corn-fields, the houses of the governor and those of his brothers alone being built of clay.”51 Thus, even in the capital of the entire emirate of Adamawa, the majority of the residences, at least in 1854, were built largely of vegetal materials rather than earth. The sole exceptions, in this Fulɓe city, were the palaces of the ruler and his potential successors. Similarly, in the 1960s Z.R. Dmochowski recorded the congregational mosque of Gurin, Nigeria, as a structure built of wood posts and joists cov- ered with corn stalks, the whole surrounded by a wall of lashed cornstalks.52 The particular significance of this mosque lies in the fact that Gurin, Modibo Adama’s natal home, became the de facto first capital of the emirate in 1809 after he was appointed by the caliph to lead the jihad in Adamawa. Echoing Bassoro’s description of the high-status associations of impermanent build- ing materials amongst the Fulɓe of northern Cameroon, Dmochowski explains the unique character of the Gurin mosque: The remarkable feature concerning the mosque, apart from its architec- tural value, was the method and organization of its maintenance. Obvi- ously this was determined by the fragility of materials used, but also by punctilious Muslim custom. The whole cornstalk construction was en- tirely rebuilt every year.53 51 A.H.M. Kirk-Greene, Barth’s Travels in Nigeria: Extracts from the Journal of Heinrich Barth’s Travels in Nigeria, 1850–1855, West African History Series (London: Oxford University Press, 1962), 191–92. 52 Z.R. Dmochowski, An Introduction to Nigerian Traditional Architecture, Vol. 1, Northern Nigeria (London: Ethographica, 1990), 2.40–45. 53 Dmochowski, An Introduction to Nigerian Traditional Architecture, 2.43. Thus at Gurin, as in northern Cameroon, honor attached to faithful mainte- nance, which was seen as evidence of the size and capability of the Muslim community. Permanent earthen construction had no such value. It seems, however, that the act of building in earth was considered a mark of the highest political rank. This is clear not only from the quote above regarding Yola, but also from a complaint lodged with the founder of Adamawa Emirate, Modibo Adama, by a nobleman named Bouba Kadalla against the former ruler of Garoua, Arɗo Tayrou. One of the accusations against Arɗo Tayrou by Bou- ba Kadalla was that “he had surrounded his saare with a wall of earth, when even Modibo Adama had not done so at Gurin.”54 Arɗo Tayrou recognized that he had insulted the honor of his superior, and the act of building an earthen wall was one of the reasons for which he was removed from office by Modibo Adama. While impermanent construction connoted prestige within Adamawa Emirate, and in particular as understood by the formerly semi-nomadic po- litical elite, the more permanent earthen architecture of the palace of Yola bespoke the emir’s position vis-à-vis the caliphate as a whole. Emirs through- out northern Nigeria took up residence in the earthen palaces of the defeated Hausa, inheriting their language of architectural symbolism. In the case of Kano, the first Fulɓe ruler, Sarki Sulaymanu, encountered opposition among the local Fulɓe leadership to his desire to take up residence in Gidan Rumfa, the historic Hausa palace. It seems that the manner of housing was not just a matter of prestige, but also one of morality. The Fulɓe leadership expressed that, “If we enter the Habe’s houses and we beget children, they will be like these Habes and do like them.”55 Nevertheless, Sarki Sulaymanu received ex- press permission from Shehu Usman himself, who advised Sulaymanu “to kill all who opposed him.”56 Holding power evidently required balancing moral fortitude against matters of legitimation. A turn of the twentieth century photograph from the lamidat of Tibati shows what, considering the quote above, may have been a much more com- mon image of the palaces of the laamiiɓe of Adamawa in the nineteenth and 54 Modibbo A. Bassoro and Eldridge Mohammadou, Garoua: Tradition historique d’une cité Peule du Nord-Cameroun, Mémoires et travaux de la R.C.P. 395 (Bordeaux: Edition du Cen- tral national de la Recherche scientifique, 1980), 40. Gourin was one of the capitals of Adamawa Emirate prior to the final establishment at Yola. 55 Herbert Richmond Palmer. “The Kano Chronicle,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological In- stitute of Great Britain and Ireland 38 (1908): 94. The term “Habe” is a pejorative reference to the Hausa. 56 Ibid. Figure 18 Palace entrance with sekko fencing. Tibati, Cameroon PHOTO Unknown, ca. 1901. © Linden Museum, Stuttgart (H. Kol. Mus. Berlin L. 21/391) early twentieth centuries (Fig. 18). The palace of Tibati was surrounded by dakkaji as late as the second quarter of the twentieth century. The Germans burned the palace to the ground when they entered the city for the first time on March 11, 1899, the laamiiɗo being absent while mounting a siege on the Ti- kar stronghold of Ngambé far to the southwest. The palace was quickly rebuilt by Laamiiɗo Hamman Lamou, and was then burned again when the Germans returned for the second time soon after. The image here must be of the palace after it was rebuilt for the second time. During interviews which I conducted in 2000 with the reigning laamiiɗo and several of his courtiers, I was told that the palace had since been moved from its previous location, behind the con- temporary mosque, and rebuilt with earthen walls sometime in the early twen- tieth century, during the reign of Laamiiɗo Mohamman Toukour (r. 1921–1946) (Fig. 19).57 57 The reason given for moving the palace of Tibati was that Mohamman Toukour founded the new palace where his father, Garba, had died. His father had been the brother of Laamiiɗo Hamman Lamou, but had never ruled, ostensibly because he died during the German attack. Thus, Mohamman Toukour moved the palace to commemorate his father, who might otherwise be forgotten by the public. Laamiiɗo Mohammadou Barkindo, et. al., interview by author, tape recording, Tibati, October 5, 2000. Figure 19 Contemporary palace entrance flanked by the garage on the left and the secretariat on the right, and surrounded by earthen walls, ca. 1921–1946. Tibati, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 Walls In the case of larger cities, and as is becoming more common now in general, the grass fence is being replaced in residential architecture by the earthen wall, called mahol (pl. mahi) in Fulfulɗe. Earthen walls are always used for encircling the laamiiɗo’s palace, and these are generally constructed a good 30 ft. high. Approximately 7 ft. is the more common height for the normal compound. The earthen wall is not only a contemporary sign of wealth, but also repre- sents a means of preventing fires. In this latter context, more and more villages, among these Mbang-Mboum and Idool, are regulating against the grass fence, and are requiring the construction of earthen walls to prevent the spread of fires. In the case of Idool, religion is also used to justify this regulation, and it is frequently mentioned that the earthen walls are required to preserve a sense of decency in keeping prying eyes out of the family’s everyday affairs.58 The term mahol is used only in Gombé and Adamawa, according to Zoubko.59 A related term used frequently in eastern dialects of Fulfulɗe is mahadi 58 One is reminded of René Gardi’s photograph of a young Muslim man peeking through the gaps in a sekko fence. René Gardi, Indigenous African Architecture (New York: Van Nos- trand Reinhold Company, 1973), 28. 59 Zoubko, Dictionnaire Peul-Français, 319. (pl. mahadiiji). Both words specify the “outer wall of a compound.”60 One may search for the origins of these terms in two places. The first would have both terms derive from the concept expressed in the Fulfulɗe verb mahugo, mean- ing “to build with mud.”61 Alternatively, both could also be derived from the Hausa term mahalli, meaning, “A home; residence; the house in the compound in which one lives; the place in the house in which one sits; the place where a thing belongs; marriage.”62 If the latter were indeed the case, it would be in- teresting that the Fulfulɗe term for the outer walls of a compound is borrowed from a less commonly used Hausa term for the home or residence, rather than from the more commonly used term gida, specifically meaning “compound.” One could speculate that it is the broader social implications that may have made this term more attractive to a Fulɓe audience, similar to the use of the term saare to refer to the social unit that it contains. One ends up with something a little akin to the chicken and the egg di- lemma. Is mahol derived from mahugo, leading to a surprising similarity to the Hausa term mahalli? Or is the practice of building in earth, and therefore the verbs and nouns used to denote this practice, derived from sedentary groups, including the Hausa? I believe the latter, and that both the verb mahugo and the noun mahol are derived from Hausa. This interpretation is supported by the fact that these terms are used only in northern Nigeria and northern Cam- eroon, other terms being used by western Fulɓe populations. Another synonym for mahol frequently used in eastern dialects is katanga- wol (pl. katangaaji). This term is derived directly from the Hausa term katanga, meaning “the wall of a house or compound.”63 Once again, as with the terms mahol and mahadi, it appears that Fulfulɗe has borrowed terminology from Hausa to define a concept not indigenous to the Fulɓe culture. In Fulfulɗe, a distinction is made between earthen walls based on whether they are part of the exterior compound walls, mahol, or part of an internal structure, bonngooro (pl. bonngooji). Other common variations of bonngooro included bongoowal, bongoowol, and bangaawol, all having the same plu- ral form of bongooji. This linguistic distinction, derived from the function and placement of a wall rather than its construction technique, is based on 60 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 131. 61 Ibid. 62 Bargery, Hausa–English Dictionary, 746. Mahalli must derive from the Arabic term maḥall with similar connotations. Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern ,(محال) also maḥāll ,(محال) Written Arabic: Arabic–English, ed. J. Milton Cowan (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1980), 199. 63 This term has other connotations related to ceramics, and is also related to the verb ka- tangace, meaning “surround with a wall.” Bargery, A Hausa–English Dictionary, 583. 64 Roxana Ma Newman, An English–Hausa Dictionary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 298. 65 Paul Kazuhisa Eguchi, An English–Fulfulde Dictionary, African Languages and Ethnogra- phy 21 (Tokyo: ilcaa, 1986), 325. 66 Cyffer and Hutchison, Dictionary of the Kanuri Language, 21. The more similar sounding bongoró means “cutlass, tool for cutting long grass,” (Ibid.) clearly having no relation to the Fulfulɗe term. 67 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 11. 68 Zoubko, Dictionnaire Peul-Français, 53. 69 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 10–11. 70 C. Edward Hopen, The Pastoral Fulbe Family in Gwandu (London: Published for the Inter- national African Institute by the Oxford University Press, 1958), 57. This is similar to the Mauritanian nomadic Arab case in which a “man cannot live in a tent in the absence of his wife.” Labelle Prussin, African Nomadic Architecture: Space, Place and Gender (Wash- ington, dc: Smithsonian Institution Press and National Museum of African Art, 1995), 80. One of these terms, ɓangtal, refers to a “prop, pillar; ceremony of taking a wife to her new home.”71 The relationship between a prop, or pillar, and marriage, on the one hand, suggests the association of the woman as the “pillar” of the family, being the one who gives birth and thereby continues the lineage. It is she who cares for the family, the home, and, as in so many cultures throughout Africa, is perceived as the bastion of tradition and the Fulɓe heritage. Alternatively, one might look to marriage rituals for ideas, similar to the connection between cen- tral tent poles and birth in the nomadic Mauritanian culture, in which women may give birth leaning back against and holding onto the tent poles.72 An even closer similarity can be observed in the case of the Kel Ahaggar Tuareg of Mali and Niger. Amongst this nomadic people, the marriage ceremony makes an explicit connection between the tent support and the woman as she holds the tent poles upright in preparation for raising the tent for the first time.73 The connection between these two cultures and the Fulɓe becomes some- what more tenuous, however, when one realizes that eastern nomadic Fulɓe tents are of the frame variety, lacking central support poles (Fig. 20). This is not true of all Fulɓe, however, as the dome-shaped dwellings, or wildi, of the Fulɓe of northern Senegal seem to be a combination of the domical form of a frame tent with the central poles of a tensile tent. In this case, according to Bourdier and Minh-ha, the central pole and the main cross beam represent intercourse: The central pillar on which the main beam rests can be read in its ascend- ing movement toward the ceiling and in its concave two-branched or forked-head shape as being the feminine counterpart to the beam, which remains in its convex single shape and downward curve the masculine conveyor of the celestial force.74 It is possible that the linguistic relationship between the concepts of marriage and house pillars in Adamawa Fulfulɗe is a remnant of their origins in the Senegambian-Guinean region of West Africa, and that a connection can also be made to Tuareg and Mauritanian traditions. I did, however, find a single example during my research in the small town of Béka Hooseere, just outside of Ngaoundéré, of a small structure used as a shop which employed a central pole. Of a more permanent nature than that used generally by transhumant 71 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 10–11. 72 Prussin, African Nomadic Architecture, 86–87. 73 Ibid., 92–93. 74 Bourdier and Minh-ha, Drawn from African Dwellings, 37–39. Bourdier and Minh-ha note the commonalities with Pierre Bourdieu’s interpretation of the Berber house, along with similar gendered interpretations in the cases of Dogon and Fali architecture. Ibid., 59, n. 23. Figure 20 Nomadic Fulɓe tents. Cameroon PHOTO Unknown, early twentieth century. Archives nationales d’outre-mer, Aix-en-Provence (Iconographie 31fi/27) Fulɓe, but less permanent than the norm in towns, this building suggests the possibility that building “tents” with central poles is not such an alien concept in Adamaoua as at first may seem. Although neither Taylor nor Zoubko provide an etymology for ɓangtilewol, we may assume that it is a diminutive form derived from the Hausa term bango due to similarity of sound, meaning, and geographical distribution. In this in- stance, it is the architectural concept, adopted from the Hausa language, which has been wedded to the related ideas about marriage, wealth, and nobility in- digenous to Fulɓe culture. As stated previously, the concept of the dividing wall would only be necessary with marriage and the construction of a perma- nent household. Without marriage, there would be no need to build a house at all; without a permanent settlement, and the close living quarters which it implies, there would be less concern for privacy, as the wilderness provides all of the privacy ordinarily required by the nomadic family.75 Once again, the 75 Odette du Puigaudeau notes a similar lack of concern for privacy in the wilderness in the arrangement of Brakna and Tekna nomadic camps in Mauritania. As she states, “all the tents are spaced far enough apart and open in the same direction to facilitate mutual discretion by their occupants.” That is, distance and the ability to place all of the tents Suudu The basic unit of construction in sedentary Fulɓe architecture is the suudu (pl. cuuɗi), or single roofed room. There is no appropriate term in English or French to translate this term. It has been called a “hut” in English and “case” in French for lack of a better term. The pejorative connotations of these terms make them unsuitable in my opinion, however, and the Fulfulɗe term suudu will therefore be used here. In the context of the contemporary European-style house, suudu refers to the individual room in the house, the whole of which is denoted by the term saare. The term used in Mboum, completely synonymous with suudu, is pàk. The suudu is generally a round structure, although, rectilinear versions have become more popular in recent decades. As Prussin points out, drawing upon an article by F. Seklar, the circular form is a more stable and efficient means of enclosing space.76 Furthermore, particularly with structures built of un- baked earth, the corners of rectilinear structures tend to wear away quickly in the elements, making the circular structure a more stable choice for the long term.77 Windows are generally absent, with only a single entrance piercing the walls. The limited number of openings provides for a more stable structure and simultaneously provides the benefit of a cooler interior by preventing the in- trusion of sunlight. The roof is thatched, although this is replaced frequently nowadays with corrugated metal sheets. There is generally no ceiling so that one may see directly up to the rafters and the roofing material from the inside. Labelle Prussin explains that the term suudu, “carries with it the notion of compartment and a sense of hiding.”78 Likewise, Mette Bovin indicates that the term suudu means “hidden place” or “hiding place.”79 It would appear that facing one direction so that entrances are not facing each other provide all the privacy necessary. Prussin, African Nomadic Architecture, 74. 76 Prussin, “Building Technologies,” 227–28; Eduard F. Seklar, “Structure, Construction, Tec- tonics,” in Structure in Art and in Science, ed. Gyorgy Kepes, Vision and Value Series (New York: George Braziller, 1965), 94. 77 Labelle Prussin, Architecture in Northern Ghana: A Study of Forms and Functions (Berke- ley: University of California Press, 1969), 30–31. 78 Prussin, Hatumere, 225. 79 Mette Bovin, Nomads Who Cultivate Beauty: Woɗaaɓe Dances and Visual Arts in Niger (Up- psala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet, 2001), 62, 63. 80 The use of geese as guard animals appears to be a new fad amongst the laamiiɓe of Cam- eroon. I was confronted by a flock at the palace of Banyo, and also witnessed a flock at Kontcha. While I was at Kontcha, the laamiiɗo of Tignère visited and acquired a pair of geese as a gift from the laamiiɗo of Kontcha. 81 Moughtin, Hausa Architecture, 58. 82 Thomas Leisten, “Between Orthodoxy and Exegesis: Some Aspects of Attitudes in the Shari‘a Toward Funerary Architecture,” Muqarnas 7 (1990): 13. Even in the case of the laamiiɓe, a section of the palace, generally in a rarely visited corner, is set aside as a royal burial ground rather than simply interring them in a former suudu. The only reason offered by my sources for the special consideration given the burials of the laamiiɓe relates to the understandable fear of desecration as a result of their stations in life. After repeated questioning, I found no indication of visitation to the graves of their predecessors by the laamiiɓe, except in the case of Banyo. Soon after his en- thronement, the current laamiiɗo of Banyo began an annual visitation to the graves of his predecessor to honor them and their memory. He is also the only laamiiɗo, as far as I know, to have built any type of memorial edifice. In this case, he built a simple concrete building to cover and protect the graves. At every other palace visited, the graveyard consisted simply of a row of un- marked earthen mounds, much like those of the general population in the municipal cemetery. Jawleeru This term denotes either the entrance structure to a compound, or any room with two or three entrances serving as a distribution point within the com- pound. That said, it is sometimes used synonymously to suudu. This word is only found in eastern dialects of Fulfulɗe.83 According to Eguchi, it is derived from the Hausa term azure, defined by Bargery as “1. (a) a thatched-roofed circular entrance-hut leading into a compound.”84 Rather than being adopted directly from Hausa, I suspect that the term was originally adopted from the Kanuri, jawúle or zawúle, which in turn had been adopted from Hausa.85 This is not the first time we have been left undecided as to the path by which a term was adopted into Fulfulɗe from Hausa, whether directly or more circuitously through the intermediary of Kanuri. The impact of Kanuri, as explained previ- ously, is due in part to the long residence of the ancestors of many Fulɓe in Kanem-Bornu prior to branching off south into contemporary Cameroon. This exchange between Fulfulɗe and Kanuri, begun during the residence of the Fulɓe in Kanem-Bornu, was continued and reinforced, particularly in dialects of Fulfulɗe in the Far North Region of Cameroon, by a later influx of Kanuri refugees resulting from Kanem-Bornu’s wars with Sokoto in the mid- to late nineteenth centuries. Mohammadou explains in gross terms the impact of Kanuri on the two major dialects of Fulfulɗe in Cameroon: 83 Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 227. 84 Eguchi, English–Fulfulde Dictionary, 97; Bargery, Hausa–English Dictionary, 1136. 85 Cyffer and Hutchison, Dictionary of the Kanuri Language, 70, 196. Out of the two sub-varieties spoken within the Adamawa Fulfulɗe dialect (Fuunaangeere [Eastern] in Marua region and Hiirnaangeere [Western] in Yola, Garua and Ngaundere areas), the first shows more Kanuri influ- ence on its phonological and lexical structures due to its present geo- graphical proximity with Borno and the kanuriphone area, as well as to the more lasting Kanuri cultural stamp on its speakers altogether.86 Due to the peculiar changes which have occurred since the Hausa term was originally borrowed, this is one of the few cases where it is fairly easy to ascer- tain that the Fulɓe adopted it from the Kanuri, who in turn adopted it from the Hausa. A close synonym of jawleeru also used in eastern dialects of Fulfulɗe is yonnde or yolnde (pl. jolɗe). This term refers specifically to an entrance struc- ture or vestibule. Its meaning diverges from jawleeru in that it is not used to re- fer to internal distribution points. Indeed, the two terms are often used togeth- er to denote the entrance to a palace, e.g. jawleeru yonnde. The etymological origins of this term are uncertain. A less common synonym in the Adamaoua Region is dammugaaru, closely related to the term dammugal (pl. dammuɗe), meaning a “door, entrance, or portal.”87 Like yonnde, dammugaaru refers solely to an entrance structure, or vestibule, but does not have a secondary connota- tion as an internal distribution point.88 The term for jawleeru commonly used in Mboum is pàkfîl. Hino points out that this term is derived from pàk, meaning “building or room,” and fîl, mean- ing “path” or “to pass.” This combination of terms is an accurate description of the function of this structure because it permits passage from one section of a compound to another. The Mboum term for yonnde or dammugal is njákpàk, meaning literally the “edge” of the pàk, thus highlighting the liminal quality of an entrance.89 Much as has been noted in the literature on Hausa architecture, the en- trance jawleeru is primarily a male-gendered room. It is here that the man of 86 Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint,” 274. 87 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 29. 88 The term used in western dialects comprises any of a variety of permutations of the term dammugal including damal (pl. dame), and dambugal (pl. dambuɗe). Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 82–83. A synonym for dammugal referencing “door, entrance, or portal” is naarude (naaruɗe), derived from the Fulfulɗe verb naatirugo or naarugo meaning to “go in by way of.” This verb is itself formed from the root verb naatugo mean- ing to “go in, enter.” Other forms of naarude include naarurgol (pl. naarurɗe), naatirde (pl. naatirɗe), naatirgal (pl. naatirɗe), and naatngo (pl. naatle). Ibid., 359. 89 Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 84. 90 “In Africa south of the Sahara the horse was never used for agricultural work, since there was no plow to pull, no wheeled vehicles to draw. It was the humbler donkey that served as pack-animal, the “noble” horse being used for transporting high-status humans. Though used to carry merchants engaged in long-distance trade, the return on horse-ownership came mainly from its role in domination. Unlike the bow and arrow, which was employed as a means of production as well as of destruction, the horse could be used only for war, for traveling, and for the prestige that it carried.” Jack Goody, Technology, Tradition, and the State in Africa (London: Published for the International African Institute by Oxford University Press, 1971), 66. 91 Moughtin, Hausa Architecture, 57–58. 92 Ibid., 48–50, 57–58. Elaboration of Architectural Surfaces Labelle Prussin suggests that the molded and painted decoration of the inte- riors of buildings in northern Nigerian represents the continuation of a Fulɓe nomadic tradition of the decoration of the interior of the tent by women. In the nomadic context, the suudu is the property of the wife, and its construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction are all her responsibilities. With perma- nent settlement, the adoption of Islam, and the construction of more perma- nent structures in earth, Prussin suggests that Fulɓe women lost ownership of the home and responsibility for its construction. At this time, women retained only the right to decorate their quarters, which they carried out in earthen pat- terns reflecting the designs and patterns of mats, tent hangings, and calabash dowries. According to her analysis, it is the gendering of space, with interiors being feminine domains and exteriors being male domains, which gives rise to a differing decorative style for these areas. Women decorate the interiors based on patterns historically related to the nomadic tradition. Men decorate the ex- teriors based on patterns related to Islam and urban traditions.93 Moughtin agrees with Prussin that there is strong evidence for finding the origins of the common practice in northern Nigeria of plastering plates and bowls into the intersections of arches in the traditions of plastering women’s calabash, and later enameled metalware, dowries into the walls of their new homes. However, he does not ascribe this specifically to Fulɓe women. He also considers Prussin’s suggestion that Fulɓe women are responsible for the molded and painted earthen decoration in the interior of rooms to be incon- clusive. He agrees, however, that it is not uncommon in West African societies for women to be responsible for the final decorative treatment of a home, and cites an article by N.W. Thomas in support.94 Indeed, Thomas’s article provides information that is quite interesting in light of the argument over gender-based forms of building decoration. In his note on the styles of building decoration among Edo-speaking peoples of southern Nigeria, he points out that one particular type is the result of wom- en’s work: In the extreme north-east of the Ifon district, on the boundary of North- ern Nigeria, but not, so far as I was able to observe, extending over the 93 Prussin, “Fulani-Hausa Architecture,” 220. 94 Moughtin, Hausa Architecture, 137–38. boundary, is found the singular type of decorative art shown in Fig. 4. The example is from the interior of the king’s house; it is the work of wom- en and is renewed or replaced by new designs annually. I found similar designs at Otna, some five miles away, and they occur sporadically near Afuge, a day’s march south-east, but in this case inter-marriage affords a probable explanation. Another example is faintly seen on the left of Fig. 2, above the scroll work.95 The figure of which he speaks is the only one depicting decoration that is entirely painted, as opposed to the other figures of molded earth decoration created by men. In Adamaoua, building is performed by men, including the creation of the molded decoration. Women may help by transporting building materials, earth and water, in calabashes. It is usually women who beat or pound the floors to make them hard and smooth (Fig. 21). They may also bring sand or fine pebbles from the river to spread in sitting areas, such as porches. The painting of molded decorations is also performed by women. They use different natural colorings, such as red clay, white clay, and black ash. As an example, Evelyne Tegomo records that the second jawleeru of the palace of Ngaoundéré, Jawleeru Njakmuukon, was painted in 1994 by the mother of Laamiiɗo Issa Maïgari.96 The role of women in decorating interiors is in fact common in many cultures in Cameroon. Steven Nelson, for example, discusses the role of Mousgoum women in the Far North Region historically in adorn- ing architectural interiors with molded and painted decorations. Likewise, in recent times Mousgoum women were responsible for painting the exterior of the palace of the laamiiɗo of Pouss and for an explosion of mural painting in the area.97 It is clear, however, that the painting of the Jawleeru Njakmuukon in the palace of Ngaoundéré followed the molded decorations already present on the pillars. In Idool, the women of the jawro’s palace are responsible for the extraordinary paintings, some derived from natural features such as beehives and others from such elements of material culture as clocks and swords, which 95 N.W. Thomas, “Decorative Art among the Edo-speaking Peoples of Nigeria: 1. Decoration of Buildings,” Man: A Monthly Record of Anthopological Science 10, no. 37 (1910): 65, plate E. 96 It is of interest that the laamiiɗo’s mother painted the pillars of Jawleeru Njakmuukon in 1994, which is exactly the same year that the entrance jawleeru burned. Perhaps this indicates a shift in emphasis of the visual representation of traditional authority from the destroyed entrance to this second jawleeru? 97 Steven Nelson, From Cameroon to Paris: Mousgoum Architecture In and Out of Africa (Chi- cago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 40–48, 159–87. Figure 21 Women beating smooth the floor of a compound. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon PHOTO Eldridge Mohammadou, ca. 1972 cover the interior and exterior of virtually every suudu (Figs. 22 and 23). Fulɓe practice seems to follow the gendered Edo distinction mentioned by Thomas of women’s painted decoration, as opposed to male molded decoration as a continuation of the building process. In contemporary palaces, however, paint- ing is more commonly executed by men using industrially produced paints. There remains the possibility, however, that the designs molded onto the walls are reflective of patterns developed from women’s arts. The Bellaka of Ngangha suggested that the designs of his palace, analogous to those of the palace of Ngaoundéré, were painted by women based upon designs taken from ceramic decoration (Fig. 24).98 Ceramics production is a women’s art form. The connection between ceramics production and architectural decoration is one which should be pursued in the interest of understanding both the pro- duction of these designs and their possible interpretation. Certainly there are instances in which elements of material culture associated with women may be molded on wall surfaces (Fig. 25). I believe that as with architecture more generally, however, there has been a strong Hausa impact on architectural dec- oration in northern Cameroon (Figs. 26 and 27). 98 Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, Ngangha, October 25, 2000. Figures 22, 23 Decorations on the eastern portal and northwestern corner in the entrance jawleeru of the jawro’s saare. Idool, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 Figure 24 Woman displaying her terracotta water jar support. Mbang-Mboum, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 Figure 25 Decoration resembling Dowayo dolls in an old suudu inside the madawaki’s saare. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon PHOTO 2000 Figure 26 Gate within the palace. Rey, Cameroon Photographer Marcel Griaule, 1932. Musée du Quai Branly, Paris (D.42.4693.41). © rmn-Grand Palais/Art Resource, ny Prussin’s assertion that the ceramic bowls plastered into the arches of Hausa architecture reflect the settling of the nomadic Fulɓe is problematic on several counts. First, the display of enameled metal bowls is an art form common to Hausa as well as Fulɓe women in northern Nigeria and Cameroon.99 Second, in Cameroon I observed the plastering of enameled bowls or ceramics in the intersections of arches only at the palace of Banyo, constructed by a Hausa ar- chitect trained in Nigeria. If this form of architectural decoration were a result of the settling of nomadic Fulɓe, it emerged only in Nigeria for some inexpli- cable reason. I suspect that the plastering of bowls and ceramics into the walls may indeed reflect an origin in women’s calabash collections, but this can in no way be attributed solely to the Fulɓe. In sum, with regard to architectural decoration, more effort needs to be ex- erted in the understanding of particularly women’s art forms, such as ceram- ics and calabash design, before any firm conclusions can be drawn. There is 99 See Alice Burmeister, “Demonstrating Iyawa: Hausa Hunters’ Arts and Women’s Wealth Display (Niger),” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 2000) for the artistic display of enameled cooking wares by Hausa women in Niger. Figure 27 Compound entrance. Kano, Nigeria PHOTO Dugald Campbell, ca. 1927. On the Trail of the Veiled Tuareg, facing 48 evidence for the involvement of women in the elaboration of architectural surfaces, but the extent of that involvement needs to be better examined. Conclusion Several major points have become clear through this examination of Fulɓe ar- chitecture in northern Cameroon. First, and most important, we now have a clearer understanding of some of the various constituent elements. Second, the unity of the typology of palace architecture suggested in the introduction can be identified as the result of extensive borrowing from one main source, that source being Hausa architecture. This has been shown as much through the types and styles of architecture, as by the nomenclature which suggests an overwhelming debt to the Hausa language. The heavy linguistic borrow- ing in the area of architecture reflects a similar conceptual and technological borrowing. The question of when exactly this borrowing occurred is, however, still uncertain. My personal belief is that the Hausa architectural style was ad- opted by the Fulɓe after the jihad of Usuman dan Fodio in the early nineteenth The previous chapter identified a range of forms employed in the Fulɓe pal- ace architecture of northern Cameroon, and attempted to determine their origins based in large part on linguistic evidence. One form, the sooro, will be explored in greater detail with the aim of understanding not just its form and origins, but also its political symbolism and the trajectory of its adop- tion across northern Cameroon. In the modern context amongst the Fulɓe, the sooro inevitably serves as an entrance chamber in palaces, as well as usually serving for the other major rooms that follow it, such as the throne room and council room. This observation needs qualification, however, for it is characteristic only of the contemporary palace. It appears, in fact, that the sooro was rarely used in northern Cameroon before German coloniza- tion in 1901. Construction of a sooro as the entrance to a palace in the nineteenth cen- tury was a prominent mark of power, and as such was the prerogative of only the caliph and the laamiiɓe, or emirs. This elite use of the sooro can be dated back to the inception of the Sokoto Caliphate and drew upon precedents in the sumptuary laws of preceding regional powers, most particularly the previ- ously independent Hausa states of northern Nigeria which formed the core of the caliphate. In nineteenth-century northern Cameroon, only the rulers of Ngaoundéré and Rey bucked this sumptuary law, constructing sooros to repre- sent their autonomy from the centralized power of the caliph. With colonization, first by Germany in 1901, and later by the French from 1916 to 1960, the sub-emirs, or arɗo’en, of northern Cameroon were cut off from the main body of the Sokoto Caliphate in British-colonized northern Nigeria. The tangible powers of the arɗo’en to adjudicate, tax, and command military forces, were replaced by a more symbolic articulation of power based on re- ligious leadership and cultural tradition. Yoshihito Shimada, drawing upon M.G. Smith and ultimately Max Weber, has identified the importance of dif- ferentiating between power and authority in the colonial era. He distinguishes between power, as the ability to decide the political policies of the state, while authority is merely the ability to carry out administrative actions ostensibly ordered by the political head. In the colonial period, rulers of pre-colonial states became more autocratic, due to their empowerment as a part of the administrative system by colonial authorities, but lacked the power to effect © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_004 Morphology and Origins of the Sooro The term soorowol (pl. soorooji) is not of Fulfulɗe origin, but rather is derived from Hausa. A shortened version, sooro, is frequently used synonymously. Zoubko provides three meanings of the term sooro: first, as a “story” or level, as in “the second story of a house”; second as “a multistoried house,” including “a house of earth with a flat roof”; and third, as “a tower in a fortified enclosure.”2 Zoubko identifies its etymological origins in Arabic, most likely from the Ara- sawwara), “to enclose, fence in, wall in, surround with a railing or) َسَوّرَ bic verb sūr), furthermore, is a noun derived from the previously mentioned) سورْ ”.wall verb and meaning “wall; enclosure, fence, railing.”3 The Arabic origin of this 1 Yoshihito Shimada, “Dynamique politique des Etats traditionnels sous l’Indirect Rule: du pouvoir à l’autorité—étude de cas du Lamidat de Rey-Bouba,” in Africa 3, ed. Shohei Wada and Paul K. Eguchi, Senri Ethnological Studies 15 (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1984), 292–93. 2 “(1) étage; …(2) maison à étages; masion [sic] en pisé et à terrasse (3) tour dans un enceinte fortifiée.” Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 442. While “pisé” technically refers specifical- ly to rammed earth, it is frequently employed more loosely throughout francophone West Africa to reference any earthen construction. As rammed earth construction is unknown in Cameroon, it is in this looser sense by which the term is most accurately translated here. For an in-depth examination of the breadth of terminology used to reference African architec- ture, please see Prussin, “Building Technologies,” 227–45. 3 Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 441. Allan Leary, on the other hand, traces the palace, castle, lofty—([صروح] pl. suruh) ,[صرځ] etymological origins to “the Arabic sarh structure, and it is likely that the soro concept was an Arab importation into Hausaland through Songhai. That Hausa words to do with arch and vault construction have no apparent links with Songhai or Arabic suggests that the structural system if not the form may have an independent origin.” Allan Leary, “A Decorated Palace in Kano,” aarp: Art and Archaeology Research Papers 12 (December 1977), 11. This is an appealing etymology as well, and many of the same arguments I have made would also apply were this the case. 4 Bargery, Hausa–English Dictionary, 952. 5 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 820. 6 Cyffer and Hutchison, Dictionary of the Kanuri Language, 122, 123. 7 Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint,” 280. Figure 28 Jawleeru Faada in the palace, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon Photo 2000 pillars. The structural support for this ceiling may be either of two varieties. An infrequently used system is that of a series of arches spanning the pillars and walls that supports either a coffered ceiling or a shallow dome. This type, in the region surveyed in this study, was seen only at the palaces of Tignère (Fig. 28), Banyo (Figs. 36 and 37, 39 and 40), Bibèmi, and at the old palace of Garoua- Layindé (Fig. 65). More common is a system of wooden beams placed between the pillars and the walls as the framework for a coffered ceiling. The coffered ceiling is created by filling the spaces between the beams with slightly smaller secondary beams. The spaces in between these smaller beams are filled in with slender sticks laid in intricate herringbone patterns (Fig. 29). Although any type of wood may be used to create the corbelled ceiling, a special type called dukuuje (s. dukuhi), is preferred for its length, straightness, and constant width throughout.8 A silvery hue when dried, the wood is often blackened over time by the smoke from fires lit for warmth during the rainy season. Woven grass mats are laid over the cof- fered wood structures. Finally, earth is laid on top to create the primary roof. 8 Annona senegalensis. Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 102. Figure 29 Ceiling of Jawleeru Njakmuukon in the palace of Ngaoundéré, ca. 1887–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 The ceiling effectively reduces the height of the interior, creating a smaller more easily heated interior space. This is particularly important on the Ad- amaoua plateau where it can become quite cool in the rainy season. Another explanation that is frequently cited for the use of a ceiling, and more specifi- cally the earthen roof directly covering it, is that it was introduced as a fire prevention technique.9 Even if the thatched roof burns, as frequently happens when a spark from a cooking fire lands in the grass material, the contents of the house may be preserved when the fire is halted by the earthen exterior covering of the ceiling. Perhaps the most important practical aspect of the ceiling is that the space between the ceiling and thatched roof can be used for storage, particularly of grain.10 This is a function held in common with the use of ceilings in the 9 Seignobos, Nord Cameroun, 171. 10 The combination of dwelling unit and granary is not uncommon in Africa and may also be seen in Joola architecture of Senegal for example. See Jean-Paul Bourdier and Trinh T. Minh-ha, Drawn from African Dwellings (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 232–89. The function of ceiling spaces as storage areas for farm produce in Yoruba archi- tecture, in addition to issues of warmth and prevention of rain leakage, is specifically Cameroon Grassfields to the southwest where it was evoked in 1980 by novelist Kenjo Jumbam: Our compound consisted of two houses facing each other with a small courtyard in between them. The walls were of bamboo and mud, and roofed with grass. Each house had a wide veranda all round it and the roof was tall, forming almost a second floor. But this was never lived in. It was used as a store for maize and groundnuts and millet. The door into the second floor was on the veranda and you climbed up to it using a portable bamboo ladder.11 A similar use of attic space can be seen in the Bamum kingdom in the West Re- gion. An example of historic Bamum domestic architecture preserved at Ndji- mom permits access through a square hole piercing one corner of the ceiling. Wolfgang Lauber likewise points to the use of the space between the ceiling and roof as storage spaces in residences of the Cameroon Grassfields: “Verti- cally, the houses are split up by an underceiling made again of bamboo and frequently festooned with hanging carbon accumulations reminiscent of sta- lactites. These ceilings are just above head height and designed to let through the smoke generated by the permanent fire to conserve the corn, beans and dried meat stored temporarily on them.”12 In fact, there is a strong resemblance between the roof construction as well as the profile of houses in the northwest of Cameroon and the Adamaoua plateau, despite differences in materials.13 addressed by G.J. Afolabi Ojo, “Traditional Yoruba Architecture,” African Arts 1, no. 3 (Spring 1968), 17. It should be noted that this assertion by Ojo directly contradicts the statement by Bourdier and Minh-ha that “Impluvia in Ivory Coast and in Nigeria did not, for example, make use of combined granary-bedroom structures, and hence were built only with an overall unifying thatched roof.” Bourdier and Minh-ha, Drawn from African Dwellings, 255. 11 Kenjo Jumbam, The White Man of God, African Writers Series 231 (London: Heinemann, 1980), 1. 12 Wolfgang Lauber, Palaces and Compounds in the Grasslands of Cameroon (Stuttgart: Karl Krämer Verlag, 1990), 16. 13 See also Mark Dike DeLancey, “Localizing Fulbe Architecture,” Islamic Africa 5, no. 1 (Spring 2014): 29–40. Indeed, many of the various populations now inhabiting the Grasslands, excluding the Bali-Tchamba, ultimately trace their origins to the Mboum. During an interview, the Bellaka Mbang-Mboum recited an expansive list of Mboum descendants as he under- stood them: “Les Tikar, les Kakas, les Bamilékés, les Boulous, les Bamouns, les Doualas, les Képérés, les Nanzis, les Moundangs, les Toupouris, les Lakas, les Poontés, les Vounas, etc.” A conical, pitched or hipped, thatched secondary roof is usually placed above the flat earthen roof of a sooro, although this may be omitted in the drier climate of the Far North Region and parts of the North Region. The beams to which the thatching is attached, depending upon the height of the structure, may need the additional support of an internal framework (Fig. 7). The use of a protective thatched roof is a direct response to climatic factors—the rela- tively heavy rainfall in the rainy season on the Adamaoua plateau of northern Cameroon. The specific form of the roof, however, can be used as a prominent marker of identity, whether regional, ethnic, or otherwise. In the region covered by this study, the entrance to the palace of Bibèmi in North Region was the only sooro encountered which did not originally have a thatched roof protecting it (Fig. 30). Built in the 1930s during the reign of Laamiiɗo Ndjidda, the flat, earthen roof of this sooro was later removed by the father of the current laamiiɗo and the structure was recovered with a pitched roof and corrugated metal sheets. The current laamiiɗo, Daouda Alidou, la- mented the effective destruction of the structure’s original beauty. When I ex- pressed surprise that a sooro had been constructed so far south without any protective roofing, he replied that it was not unusual at Bibèmi.14 This suggests that the effective boundary governing the use of thatched roofing in response to heavier rainfall begins just south of this point.15 Amongst the Fulɓe, the sooro is generally restricted in usage for the en- trance complex of the laamiiɗo’s palace, and occasionally other rooms such as El Hadj Sultan-Bellaka Hamadou Sadjo Aboubakar, interview by author, tape recording, Mbang-Mboum Mbang-Berni, May 23, 2000. The degree to which these populations are actually connected historically, however, is a debated topic in scholarly circles. For more on this subject, please see Eldridge Moham- madou, Traditions historiques des peuples du Cameroun central, 2 vols (Tokyo: Institute for the Study of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, 1990). David Zeitlyn’s summary of Mohammadou’s work also suggests other sources on this complex debate on the rela- tionship between the Mboum and the peoples of the Grasslands. David Zeitlyn, “Eldridge Mohammadou on Tikar Origins,” jaso: Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford 26 (1995): 99–104. As an additional note, there are very clear cultural connections to be made between northern Cameroon and the Grassfields in the cases of Bali-Nyonga and other settlements founded by the Tchamba and allied Péré in the nineteenth century. See for example, Rich- ard Fardon, Lela in Bali: History Through Ceremony in Cameroon, Cameroon Studies 7 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006). 14 Laamiiɗo Daouda Alidou, interview by author, tape recording, Bibèmi, August 24, 2000. 15 Susan Denyer long ago pointed out the relationship in Nigeria between rainfall and the use of flat earthen roofs as opposed to thatched roofs. Susan Denyer, African Traditional Architecture (New York: Africana Publishing, 1978), 161–62. Figure 30 Elevation of the palace entrance façade, ca. 1930s. Bibèmi, Cameroon the throne room. It is not commonly found among the population, however, and is considered a royal form. As noted in Chapter 1, extensive earthen con- struction of the palace was inherited from the Hausa kingdoms of northern Nigeria. Indeed, the sooro, as a result of this association, quickly became an architectural signifier of political power within the broader caliphate in the early nineteenth century. Construction of a sooro as the entrance to one’s pal- ace was a prominent mark of power, and as such was the prerogative of only the caliph and the emirs. The sooro is found frequently amongst the Dìì and Mboum of the Adama- oua plateau and the surrounding areas as well, although usually on a smaller scale than found in Fulɓe palaces. The use of this architectural form by these populations is much more broad-based, being restricted only by one’s ability to afford its construction. Seignobos attributes its use in these groups to an Mboum emulation of the Fulɓe of Ngaoundéré, by which means it found its way into the Dìì vocabulary. He indicates the Dìì south of Tcholliré admit to having copied the model of the Dìì of Mbé, located just north of Ngaoundéré below the plateau on the route to Garoua, at the time of independence in the 1960s. The Dìì of Mbé admit to having borrowed the sooro from the Dìì of the Adamaoua plateau, located to the east and northeast of Ngaoundéré, thor- oughly intermixed with the Mboum population.16 While interviewing the Bellaka of Ngangha, two men in their late 70s who were born in the previous capital, Ngaousoupiri, provided information regard- ing the palace at that site. Both replied that the sooro form did not exist there, 16 Ibid., 174. Figure 31 Entrance to the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon Photo 2000 only at the present location. Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum pointed out that the rectangular plan as well as the use of pillars and ceiling were all newly in- troduced at Ngangha (Fig. 31). No one knew the origin from which the form had been borrowed; only that it had not been used prior to the establishment of the new capital of Ngangha in approximately 1931.17 According to Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, the Mboum name for the sooro type of structure is pàk reynari: Sooro is a term…if it is Fulfulɗe or Hausa, who knows. But in Mboum one says pàk reynari. The glued house. The house that is glued. When you make the walls, the ceiling is another construction again. Reyna means “glued.” Pàk reynari, well the people also frequently use sooro in their everyday speech to designate this pàk reynari. But, in Mboum it is “the house that is glued.”18 17 Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 25, 2000. 18 Ibid. It should be noted that some confusion may be at play in this interview. It ap- pears that the term sóró has been adopted in Mboum to mean “ceiling,” accord- ing to Hino.19 The Fulfulɗe translation for this term is tantan. Thus, the most significant element that has come to characterize the soorowol is the ceiling in whatever type of construction it might appear. The term pak reynari clearly, according to the Bellaka’s account, refers to the method of construction. The Bellaka also stated that this form appears to have been adopted only after the move to Ngangha in the 1930s. One therefore cannot accept this form as an integral part of Mboum culture, at least in this particular group. Introduction of the Sooro as a Royal Type in Cameroon The first Fulɓe state in Cameroon was established at Rey, in what is now North Region. According to the account of the laamiiɗo of Rey’s secretary and advi- sor Alhajji Hamadjoda Abdoullaye, the ruler Bouba Ndjidda (r. 1798–1866) built the first sooro in Cameroon as the entrance to his palace when he established the city of Rey in 1799 (Fig. 32).20 We must take Alhajji Hamadjoda Abdoul- laye’s history at its word as there is unfortunately no manner of confirming it independently. The original building is no longer extant, although it is said that the entrance to the palace is a faithful reproduction of the original. Such a bold architectural statement would, however, be consistent with the proud and independent character for which Rey is renowned. Photographs in the collections of both the Musée de l’Homme and La Doc- umentation Française (Fig. 13) in Paris show the entrance has indeed been rebuilt multiple times even during the past century. They also show that the form has been generally maintained. Minor changes were made in details of the thatched roofing, including, most noticeably, the development of the net- ting and acroteria (Fig. 15), which are absent in the earliest photos. Related elements were apparent on structures inside the palace, in photographs taken in 1932 by Marcel Griaule (Fig. 97), but did not appear at that time on the en- trance sooro. They had been incorporated, however, at least by the time of in- dependence in 1961. Entrances, identical to that at the palace at Rey, were built at the ruler’s alternate palaces at Tcholliré and at Nassarawo, originally called Rey Manga. 19 Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 87. 20 Eldridge Mohammadou, ed., Ray ou Rey-Bouba: Tradition transmisé par Alhadji Hamadjo- da Abdoullaye, Traditions Historiques des Foulbé de l’Adamâwa, Les Yillaga de la Bénoué (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1979), 158, 278 n. 63. Figure 32 Entrance to the palace, nineteenth century. Rey, Cameroon Photo 1996 From the exterior, at least half of the structure’s height appears composed of the thatched roof, which is covered with a net woven of the same material as the thatching. The net serves an aesthetic purpose as well as that of maintain- ing the integrity of the thatching in the face of the fierce winds that some- times whip across the savannah. The roof as a whole casts dark and ominous shadows over the doorway of the palace. This peculiar style of the sooro, with a thatched roof featuring three basketry acroteria, has become synonymous with the palace architecture of Rey. The construction of a large and majestic sooro at the entrance to the palace at Rey preceded the establishment of the Sokoto Caliphate by five years and declared Bouba Ndjidda’s independent status in that land on the eastern pe- riphery of the Fulɓe world. Geographer Christian Seignobos notes that in Rey it was illegal for any commoner to construct a sooro as part of his residence, the form being strictly reserved for the ruler.21 Rey’s later relationship with the caliphate, and particularly with Modibo Adama, was tumultuous and resulted in wars in 1836 and 1837. As Martin Z. Njeuma puts it, “the crux of the matter lay equally in Rai’s love for untram- meled independence to manage its own affairs, and in its remote geographical 21 Seignobos, Nord Cameroun, 173. The New Palace of Ngaoundéré At Ngaoundéré, founded in approximately 1835, increasing wealth and the relative autonomy of this geographically remote sub-emirate led, in a man- ner similar to Rey, to the construction of a new palace with soorooji in the late nineteenth century. The palace was built in its current location during the reign of Arɗo Mohammadou Abbo (r. 1887–1901). The previous palace (Fig. 33) had been located a mere 300 m to the west of the contemporary one, and Figure 33 Palace of Arɗo Ndjobdi, ca. 1835. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Eugène Brussaux, Mission Moll, ca. 1905–1907. Archives nationales d’outre-mer, Aix-en-Provence (Iconographie 8fi347) 22 Martin Z. Njeuma, Fulani Hegemony in Yola (Old Adamawa): 1809–1902 (Yaoundé: the author, 1978), 80. Figure 34 Grand Marché (central market) built by the French, 1938. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 1996 23 J.-C. Froelich, “Ngaoundéré: La vie économique d’une cite peul,” Etudes Camerounaises 43/44 (March–June 1954), 29. 24 Mark Dike DeLancey, “Moving East, Facing West: Islam as an Intercultural Mediator in Urban Planning in the Sokoto Empire,” in African Urban Spaces in Historical Perspective, ed. Steven J. Salm and Toyin Falola, Rochester Studies in African History and the Diaspora 21 (Rochester, ny: University of Rochester Press, 2005), 3–21. Figure 35 Palace of Mohammadou Abbo, ca. 1887–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Eldridge Mohammadou, 1972 might be that comparison of the new larger-scale structure with its smaller predecessor illustrated the increasing power of the ruler and his place within the caliphate hierarchy. One could trace the rise of Ngaoundéré power as one passed the old palace on the way to the new one. This last interpretation is supported by contemporaneous political maneu- vers on the part of the ruler. Arɗo Muhammadou Abbo was the first of Ngaoun- déré’s rulers to refuse to make the customary trip to Yola to receive official con- firmation of his appointment from the laamiiɗo. He merely sent tribute. In doing so, Abbo declared that although he was still nominally under the rule of Yola, he was no mere servant of the laamiiɗo.25 The construction of his new palace, complete with grand entry sooro and high earthen walls, may be under- stood as a material statement of this relationship. There may be a further element of local political maneuvering to consid- er. Mohammadou Abbo’s succession to the throne was heavily contested by his cousin Yérima Bello, the son of the previous ruler Arɗo Hamman Gabdo 25 L. Mizon, Explorations en Afrique Centrale: 1890–1893, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie 3 (Paris: Société de Géographie, 1895), 69. Of course, as soon as Laamiiɗo Zubayr of Adamawa threatened to use his authority to replace Mohammadou Abbo with his brother, according to Mizon, Abbo found the means to make the journey to Yola to pay allegiance in person. Mizon may have confused Mohammadou Abbo’s cousin Yérima Bello as a brother. (r. 1877–1887), who spent most of his time as a young man leading Ngaoun- déré’s military forces on expeditions in western Central African Republic. Bello clearly expected to inherit the throne upon his father’s death in 1887. His cousin Mohammadou Abbo, however, was chosen as the successor. Distressed, Yérima Bello departed for the earlier capital of the lamidat at Boundang-Touroua, ap- proximately 150 km northwest of Ngaoundéré, where he declared the indepen- dence of Boundang-Touroua and set up his own court.26 Mohammadou Abbo’s construction efforts in Ngaoundéré may have been as much a response to this internal division of the sub-emirate, and the contestation of legitimacy and royal symbolism by Yérima Bello, as it was a challenge to Yola’s suzerainty.27 It is significant that the first sooroooji in northern Cameroon appear at pala ces of rulers who were asserting their autonomy. As noted, the sooro at Rey can be interpreted as a declaration of autonomy, particularly as it was constructed in the pre-caliphate period. Rey’s location at the absolute eastern-most lim- its of the Fulɓe diaspora contributed to its ability later to stand up to the au- thority of the laamiiɗo of Yola and his superior, the caliph of Sokoto. Similarly, Ngaoundéré lay at the southeastern corner of Fulɓe expansion. Thanks to its distance from the center of power and to its extraordinary wealth, derived pri- marily from raiding slaves from southern Cameroon and east from the Central African Republic, Ngaoundéré was similarly able to flex its independence and adopt the symbols of royalty with relative impunity. Unlike the soorooji at all other palaces in northern Cameroon, these two were introduced prior to colo- nial conquest. They reflect the patterns of power and privilege within a Sokoto Caliphate that was still vibrant, if plagued by internal conflict. The Sooro as a Twentieth-Century Architectural Type Other lamidats followed suit in building palace soorooji after the German con- quest in 1901 severed northern Cameroon from the rest of the Sokoto Caliph- ate. In this new political environment, the arɗo’en ironically acquired a de facto independence from the Sokoto Caliphate, despite having lost much of their real political and military power to the Germans. While the sooro had been restricted in use largely to the most important rulers within the nineteenth- century caliphate, the arɗo’en of northern Cameroon found that they could employ this symbol of power with impunity in the colonial period. It is 26 Mohammadou, Royaumes Foulbe, 301–02. 27 After Yérima Bello’s death, Boundang-Touroua returned to the fold and was placed under charge of a non-royal governor. Boundang-Touroua remained an integral part of Ngaoun- déré’s domains until forcibly separated by the Germans in 1912. Ibid., 316. 28 Henry John Drewel and John Mason, Beads, Body, and Soul: Art and Life in the Yorùbá Universe (Los Angeles, ca: ucla Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 1998), 218. 29 Ibid., 62. Also see Suzanne Blier, The Royal Arts of Africa: The Majesty of Form. Perspectives (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1998), 38–39. 30 Ibid., 101. 31 Ibid., 119–20. 32 Although the Germans never destroyed the palace, they apparently did not allow any new construction within its confines. It was only with the return to power under the French colonial regime of Laamiiɗo Yahya, who had been deposed by the Germans in 1911, that any construction occurred. Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya, interview by author, tape recording, Banyo, October 9, 2000. 33 Kaouzad, “Itinéraire peu commun d’un viellard extraordinaire,” gicpac Magazine: Or- gane d’expression du groupe d’initiative commune pour la promotion de l’art et de la culture du Mayo-Banyo 3 (July–Sept. 1997), 17. Figures 36,37 Palace entrance (left) and Jawleeru Faada (right), early 1920s by Mohama- dou Maiguini. Banyo, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 38 Apex of the ceiling in Jawleeru Faada in the palace, ca. 1990s. Tchéboa, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figures 39, 40 Vaulting in the palace throne room, early 1920s by Mohamadou Maiguini. Banyo, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 The throne room of the Banyo palace is a single open space, without the pillars typically required to support the ceiling of a sooro, displaying a sophisticated comprehension of vaulting (Figs. 39 and 40). Indeed, this room corresponds to what Allan Leary has described in the context of the palace of Kano, Nigeria as “an elaborate form of daurin guga construction, of a type referred to as kafar ashirin (twenty half-arches) or rijiyar (goma) sha shida (sixteen ‘wells’ or cof- fers, between arch crossings).”34 The ability to create such masterful composi- tions, in a Hausa context, is evidence of architectural genius, or gwaninta, and may be recognized by appending the honorific title gwani to the name of the master mason.35 The skill displayed by Mohamadou Maiguini at the palace of 34 Leary, “A Decorated Palace,” 14. 35 Haman Tukur Sa’ad, “Between Myth and Reality: The Aesthetics of Traditional Architec- ture in Hausaland” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1981), 254; Haman Tukur Sa’ad, “Role of Individual Creativity in Traditional African Art: The Gwani (genius) amongst Master Builders of Hausaland,” Nigeria Magazine 53, no. 4 (1985), 3–16. Banyo would certainly qualify him for such a title, and goes some way to ex- plaining his popularity as architect throughout the region. The experience at Banyo has been modified recently, however, by placing whitewashed plywood elements, covering the original and more elaborate ceiling, in the interstices of the arches. The expansion of the palace at Banyo occurred at almost exactly the same time as the radical reconstruction of the palace of Foumban, some 150 km southwest of Banyo in the Grassfields, under the renowned ruler Sultan Njoya (r. 1888–1933). On the one hand, this reconstruction was the result of the de- struction of the old palace of Foumban in an accidental fire in 1914. On the other hand, new architectural idioms were joined with those of the Grassfields by the architect Ibrahim Njoya to address an expanded audience. In particular, the exterior speaks the language of German colonial architecture, drawn from the model of the old governor’s residence in Douala, combined with a refer- ence to the semicircular pavilion in the audience courtyard of the previous palace of Foumban (Fig. 41). The interior uses a structural system of pillars and arches that looks more to the north, albeit on a monumental scale (Fig. 42). In fact, Ibrahim Njoya appears to have used the idiom of the sooro for the central throne room of the new palace. This connection with the north is made poignant by Sultan Njoya’s receipt, in the early years of his reign, of military support from Banyo in fending off a challenge to his throne. He continued to employ northern cavalry through- out his reign and converted to Islam, as did much of his court. Sultan Njoya even requested that the caliph of Sokoto send him a laamiiɗo’s flag and Islamic scholars in an attempt to ally himself visually and politically with northern lamidats. That alliance might have been based on the support he received from Banyo and motivated by his search for an advantage over other Grass- fields kings in the competition for colonial resources. Ibrahim Njoya’s building of a sooro is an instance of the expanded use of this symbolic form within the competition for colonial resources. Ironically, Sultan Njoya evidently used this form to indicate his participation in the caliphate at the same time that the Fulɓe of northern Cameroon were employing the sooro as a declaration of autonomy from it. The current entrance of the palace of Kontcha was also constructed in the early twentieth century during the reign of Laamiiɗo Soudi (r. 1920–1949). Kontcha had only become a lamidat after its separation from Banyo by the Ger- mans during the reign of Laamiiɗo Ahmadou (r. ca. 1905–1908). Its new status was indicated architecturally by moving the entrance of the former governor’s palace so that it faced the mosque to create an appropriate orientation for the procession of the laamiiɗo to the congregational prayers each Friday (Fig. 75). Figures 41, 42 Exterior view (above) and central hall (below) of the palace, 1917–1922 by Ibrahim Njoya. Foumban, Cameroon Photo 2013 Figure 43 Palace entrance, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon Photo Eldridge Mohammadou, ca. 1972 The new entrance was built in the form of a sooro, with pairs of arched open- ings flanking the rectangular portal of the porch and elaborately decorated in- ternal pillars (Fig. 43). Three other structures were also built within the palace; these served as a meeting chamber for the weekly council or faada, a room for the laamiiɗo to receive important visitors and to relax, and a transitional space connecting the public and private areas of the palace. The construction boom at the palace of Kontcha reflected its new status as a lamidat, and the palace of Banyo served as the model of Kontcha’s new royal architecture. Indeed, these new sooroooji were constructed by Maiguini, or Baba Hausa as he was called locally, the architect of the new palace of Banyo. In light of the fact that Maiguini is said to have trained as an architect in Kano, Nigeria, it is interesting to note that certain peculiarities of his style bear resemblance to a more highly developed Hausa architecture, rather than to most Fulɓe palaces in northern Cameroon. His use of a dome with inlaid ce- ramic dishes for the audience hall of Banyo, and the kafar ishirin ceiling for that palace’s throne room, are characteristics of this style. Certain decorative elements at Kontcha, such as large flat disc reliefs (Fig. 44), are unusual in the northern Cameroon repertoire; they are more typical of northern Nigerian architecture, and perhaps are a reference in less expensive earthen relief to the common practice of plastering ceramic plates into the wall surface, such Figure 44 Left door jamb of ruined third jawleeru in the palace displaying disc relief near the base, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon Photo 2000 as Maiguini’s treatment of the audience hall of Banyo palace. They also recall decorative motifs from classic architectural compositions in the great urban centers of the empire, such as the interior of the Friday Mosque of Zaria, Ni- geria.36 Other examples of this type of decoration were observed in Cameroon in the ruins of the palace at Garoua-Layindé and a ruined suudu in Tchéboa (Figs. 45 and 46). As at Kontcha, the entrance to the palace of Boundang-Touroua was built not long after that lamidat was separated from Ngaoundéré by the German co- lonial administration in 1914 (Fig. 47). The Germans installed Mohammadou as the first laamiiɗo, and he reigned for the next 68 years. It was during his reign that the current entrance to the palace was constructed, and one expects that this would have occurred fairly soon after separation. Like Ngaoundéré, the ceiling is supported by thick timbers laid across the interior pillars. In 2000, the roof, however, appeared fairly low, reducing the overall height of the exterior. In fact, the internal supports of the thatched roof had splayed out, causing it to sink down on top of the earthen ceiling of the building. With its original higher 36 See for example Dmochowski, An Introduction to Nigerian Traditional Architecture, 2.27, pl. 1.12–2.13. Figure 45 Left door jamb of a suudu in the ruins of the palace displaying two stacked disc reliefs, ca. 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 46 Door frame of a ruined suudu displaying stacked disc reliefs. Tchéboa, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 47 Palace entrance, ca. first half of the twentieth century. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon Photo 2000 pitched roof, this sooro would have rivaled the exterior height of Ngaoundéré, proclaiming its equivalent status after the German-enforced separation of the two lamidats. While perhaps rivaling Ngaoundéré’s palace in height, the entrance to Boundang-Touroua is nevertheless formally distinct, most notably in the shorter grass employed for thatching and lack of Ngaoundéré’s extended eaves and cap. The shape of the roof is a primary indicator of ethnicity and regional identity in northern Cameroon. The roofs of buildings built by the Bata, the largest non-Fulɓe population of Boundang-Touroua, differ significantly from those of the Mboum in Ngaoundéré. These indigenous traditions have shaped the rooflines of what are otherwise essentially Hausa buildings built by Fulɓe patrons. Boundang-Touroua is said to have served as the model for the sooro at the entrance to the palace of Tignère (Figs. 59, 48 and 49). Formally, however, the model may have been Kontcha where the treatment of the porch and the heaviness of the pillars are much more similar. An early photograph hanging on the walls of the current palace of Tignère depicts the ruler Mohamman Djalo (r. 1920–1954) in front of the palace before its enlargement. The entrance directly behind him was clearly circular in plan. Soon after the construction of a sooro at Boundang-Touroua, Mohamman Djalo expanded and enlarged Figures 48, 49 Plan and interior of the palace entrance, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon. Key to figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber (jawleeru faada), 3) Bureau, 4) Secretariat, 5) Store, 6) Guard’s quarters, 7) Private quarters Non-Fulɓe Examples of the Sooro The proliferation of the sooro as a royal symbol in the twentieth century was not restricted to the Fulɓe, as the example of the palace of Sultan Njoya in Foumban has already highlighted. The practice became extensive during the French colonial period when a number of independent lamidats were created for non-Fulɓe groups. Under the pretense of protecting non-Fulɓe populations from Fulɓe oppression, entirely new administrative units were created from the domains of Fulɓe rulers. Prominent examples of this practice are the lami- dats of Ngadjiwan, Mayo Baléo, and Almé that were created from the territories of Kontcha. These new lamidats were created specifically for the Péré ethnic group, ostensibly to liberate them from oppression under Fulɓe rule. Yoshihito Shimada points out that these colonial reorganizations usually responded to 37 Interview, Alhadji Nana Hamadjoda and Bobo Hassana, Tignère, July 13, 2000. The lamidat of Tignère had only been reinstated in 1895, after its destruction by Tibati in 1856. 38 Mamoudou, Le Lamido Mohaman Yero de Tignère: 1954–1982 (master’s thesis, Université de Ngaoundéré, 1998), 104–05. 39 Shimada, “Dynamique politique,” 314. 40 Kees Schilder, Quest for Self-Esteem: State, Islam, and Mundang Ethnicity in Northern Cam- eroon, Research Series 3 (Leiden: African Studies Centre, 1994), 236. 41 The term Nyem-Nyem is used here to refer to those people who occupied the area of Tignère prior to the arrival of the Fulɓe. The term “Nyem-Nyem” is applied to a variety of peoples in North Region. It is a derogatory term meaning “eat-eat” in Fulfulde, ostensibly referencing the anthropophagy supposedly practiced by these non-Fulɓe peoples. In the case of the environs of Tignère in Adamaoua Region, the people have adopted the term as an endonym. Eldridge Mohammadou explains that there was apparently no prior term to label the entire group, its members referencing solely their lineage names. Mohammadou suggests that a more ancient endonym may have been “Souga,” which is the exonym cur- rently used by the local Mboum population. He proposes that these peoples were in fact refugees from the Tchamba incursions into North Region that eventually were to establish several kingdoms, in particular Bali-Nyonga, in Northwest Region. Mohammadou, Royau- mes foulbe, 395–96, n. 33. Philip E. Leis likewise observes that the seeming absence of an autonym reflects Ny- em-Nyem origins as a group of various independent peoples who aggregated in the area prior to the early nineteenth-century arrival of the Fulɓe. Philip E. Leis, “Accommodation in a Plural Chiefdom (Cameroon),” Man N.S. 5, no. 4 (December 1970), 675–76. subdued, whether by Fulɓe, Germans, or French. They had managed to re- sist all attackers in their mountainous refuge. There is little record of how the buildings of the palace might have appeared, and all but a few bare ruins have now disappeared. From the few foundations that do remain, it can only be de- termined that small, circular plan banco buildings built directly on rock slabs seem to have been the norm. The French colonial regime that persuaded the Nyem-Nyem to come down from Mount Djim, seemed much more tolerant than the former German colo- nizer, whose military forces had attacked the Nyem-Nyem in 1902 and again in 1906–1907 in conjunction with Fulɓe forces from Tignère. Upon relocating un- der the leadership of the ruler Njomna to the current site, the people quickly set about constructing a new palace. Philip E. Leis has described how the Nyem-Nyem adopted many elements of Fulɓe culture, at least outwardly, in order to claim status in the colonial era. These borrowings included clothing, language, Islam, and a political structure headed by a laamiiɗo.42 As the German imposition of colonial boundaries pro- vided the Fulɓe of Cameroon the opportunity for symbolic appropriation, so too did the later French colonial segregation of non-Fulɓe ethnic enclaves pro- vide similar opportunities to the Nyem-Nyem, Péré, and others. Court ritual likewise reflected the new status of the laamiiɗo of Galim. Leis furthermore states that the palace and the events that transpired there did more than anything else to give the overall impression that the ruler was su- premely important—comparable to a Fulɓe laamiiɗo.43 The original entrance to the new palace was circular, most likely replicating the architectural style employed by the Nyem-Nyem on Mount Djim. After the original entrance burned in 1978, a new rectangular sooro was constructed to replace it.44 In plan and in the articulation of the pillars, this entrance clearly draws upon the model of the Fulɓe palace of Tignère, the capital of the sub-prefecture into which Galim was incorporated (Fig. 50). However, the sooro’s walls are thicker than necessary, and become radically thinner as they extend into the front and rear porches, suggesting the unfamiliarity of the type. Likewise, the perimeter walls of the palace are approximately the same thickness as those of the sooro and lack both the thickness and height of Tignère’s, thereby reducing the sense of solidity, grandiosity, and secrecy. In 2000, the entrance was in the process of being refitted with thin adobe walls between the pillars to create guard cham- bers in the style of Tignère. 42 Leis, “Accommodation,” 676–77, 679. 43 Ibid., 680. 44 Laamiiɗo Djallo Hamadina, interview by author, tape recording, Galim, July 9, 2000. Figure 50 Comparison of the palace entrance plans of Tignère (left), ca. 1920s–1930s, and Galim (right), ca. 1978 Similarly, the Péré palace of Ngadjiwan, separated from Kontcha in 1950, draws upon the architectural example of its former overlord.45 Richard Fardon notes that the Péré had little centralized authority prior to the Fulɓe conquest in the early nineteenth century. Such authority was no more evident after the separation of these entities in 1950. In fact, he points out that Ngadjiwan was the only one of the three Péré lamidats created in 1950 that seems to have devel- oped any authority, and as a result, reintegration of all three with Kontcha was proposed by the French in 1958, even though the proposal remained unexecut- ed.46 It is of note that not only was the introduction of centralized authority and corresponding palace architecture novel, but the French also enforced per- manent residence in a single location, as historically, the Péré had periodically moved the location of villages. Charles-Henry Pradelles de Latour states that “the great majority [of Péré] still live in scattered hamlets, the sites of which are changed approximately once a decade.”47 In contrast, Fardon believes an 45 The Péré are frequently also called by the exonym “Koutine,” though this is in fact a pejo- rative Fulɓe appellation derived from the term “Kutiiru” meaning ‘dog.’ Zoubko, Diction- naire peul-français, 277. 46 Richard Fardon, “Pere and Chamba: A Report on Comparative Researches in Adamawa, North Cameroon,” Ngaoundéré-Anthropos 4 (1999), 19, n. 5. 47 Charles-Henry Pradelles de Latour, “The Inititiation of the Dugi among the Péré,” jaso: Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford 26, no. 1 (1995), 81. Figure 51 Entrance to the palace, ca. 1950s–1960s. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon Photo 2000 Ngadjiwan permanent settlement has existed since the turn of the twentieth century at least, which may be part of the reason for its greater authority.48 The façade of the entrance sooro of Ngadjiwan is designed with a series of arched openings that mimic the entrance to the palace of Kontcha, albeit on a smaller scale (Fig. 51). The four interior pillars are unadorned with relief sculp- ture, unlike those of Kontcha that bear elaborate abstract designs (Fig. 52), and the building lacks a sense of monumentality. That the palace of Kontcha should provide a model for the palace of Ngadjiwan is not surprising, since the Péré were required to maintain the Kontcha palace until 1951. According to the current ruler, Djibrilla Djibi Danki, the palace of Ngadjiwan was originally constructed in sekko fencing, and individual structures were only gradually re- placed with earthen construction. Indeed, he stated that the first ruler of Ngad- jiwan and his brothers themselves built the residence of the laamiiɗo within the palace.49 It would be unthinkable for a Fulɓe laamiiɗo to be personally involved in construction work. At Almé, another Péré entity separated from Kontcha at the same time as Ngadjiwan, a sooro entrance was only recently 48 Fardon, “Pere and Chamba,” 19. 49 Laamiiɗo Djibrilla Djibi Danki, interview by author, tape recording, Ngadjiwan, July 20, 2000. Figure 52 Pillars in the palace entrance, ca. 1920–1949 by Mohammadou Maiguini. Kontcha, Cameroon Photo Eldridge Mohammadou, ca. 1972 added to the palace in 2000 under the direction of a local French Catholic mis- sionary, Père Cosmas.50 The sooro entrance of the Mboum palace at Ngangha (Fig. 31) draws its in- spiration from that at the palace of Ngaoundéré (Fig. 35). The current Mboum ruler has confirmed that this palace, constructed at the commencement of his father’s reign in 1931, was the first Mboum palace to use the sooro form. This was also a more permanent palace than previous incarnations. Upon coming to the throne, Mboum rulers, like those in many cultures of Central Africa such as the Kuba or Buganda, established new capital cities to which they moved the court and the entire population of the previous capital. Commencing with the reign of Bellaka Saomboum (r. 1931–1976), the father of the current ruler, the French abolished the practice of moving capitals and forced permanent settlement on the Mboum in order to facilitate taxation and administration.51 50 Personal communication, Père Cosmas, July 21, 2000. 51 This also recalls Charles-Henry Pradelles de Latour’s description of the periodic move- ment of Péré settlements. See note 47. The entrance to the palace of Ngangha has a coffered wood ceiling support- ed on beams placed across four pillars. While the original entrance of the pal- ace of Ngaoundéré no longer exists, it is possible to look to the audience hall for a good sense of Ngangha’s model. The arrangement of coffers at Ngangha (Figs. 53 and 54) is not nearly as orderly as at Ngaoundéré (Fig. 29), signify- ing a lack of familiarity with planning such an ensemble, nor are the lengths of wood used as uniform. Nevertheless, there is a close similarity in architec- tural form and style of bas-relief decorations on the pillars, not to mention the unusually smooth thatched roof with low-hanging eaves and iconic roof-cap. That the two should be clearly related is not surprising, considering that those who constructed the palace of Ngaoundéré were Mboum, just as those who maintained the Kontcha palace were of that locality’s Péré population. The kaygama Mboum, or representative of the Mboum at the court of Ngaoundéré, is charged with all construction and maintenance of the Ngaoundéré palace. Indeed, it may be speculated that the entrances at both Ngangha and Ngaoun- déré are amalgams with the architectural type of the sooro imported from northern Nigeria by the Fulɓe, and the thatched roof and molded bas-reliefs inspired by the local Mboum heritage. While it may be fairly simple to iden- tify the borrowing of architectural technology from northern Nigeria and style from the local Mboum population, the political strategizing that lies behind these architectural adoptions is more interesting. Ethnoarchaeologist Diane Lyons has provided a model and explanation for this behavior in a post-colonial context, based on work in the town of Déla in the Far North Region. She explains that the government of Cameroon’s first president, Ahmadou Ahidjo (1960–1982), began a modernization campaign in the 1960s that favored many aspects of the Muslim culture of the northern re- gions over non-Muslim cultures. The architecture of Muslim elites was gener- ally rectangular, while non-Muslims preferred circular plans. In the struggle for political, economic, and social legitimacy, historically non-Muslim groups have adopted rectangular housing as an outward sign both of modernity, echo- ing the rectangular government structures of both colonial and post-colonial eras built in the community, as well as seeking to blur the ethnic boundar- ies with their Muslim neighbors.52 The Mboum imitation of Ngaoundéré, and the decisions of other “liberated” groups to follow the Fulɓe model, are similar moves of recasting identity for political and economic gain. Although Lyons’s model is applicable to the post-colonial era, President Ahidjo’s modernization program was built upon the favoritism shown toward 52 Diane Lyons, “The Politics of House Shape: Round vs Rectilinear Domestic Structures in Déla Compounds, Northern Cameroon,” Antiquity 70, no. 268 (June 1996), 351–67. Figures 53, 54 Pillars and ceiling of the palace entrance, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon Photo 2000 Muslims in the northern regions during the preceding French and German colonial periods. As Shimada explains, the French and Germans favored the Muslim Fulɓe because their states could easily be co-opted into the colonial administration under indirect rule. The literacy of the Muslim scholarly class was an additional boon to colonial administration. Moreover, Shimada notes that “the Germans admired Islam and were fascinated by the Fulɓe cavalry; this was also true for the French.”53 Similarly, Schilder traces how the historic division between Fulɓe conquer- ors and non-Fulɓe subjects in the Far North Region was accepted first by the Germans and later by the French. The colonizers considered the Fulɓe to be more civilized and sophisticated than their non-Fulɓe subjects.54 As such, the Fulɓe became the model into which the colonizer molded the non-Fulɓe. Even when ethnic groups were separated and administered by direct French rule, the administrators imposed the model of the Fulɓe lamidat, incorporating its structure and terminology, to improve administrative efficiency.55 This emphasis on the Fulɓe model, and along with it, Islam and accoutre- ments of power, continued into the post-colonial era under the regime of Ahmadou Ahidjo. A northern Muslim Fulɓe, Ahidjo shared the fruits of gov- ernment patronage primarily with his Fulɓe compatriots in the north, and to a lesser extent with non-Fulɓe who converted to Islam and adopted Fulɓe manners.56 Schilder points out that Mundang rulers in the Far North Region emulated Islamic culture to gain favor with Ahidjo.57 He concludes that the malleability of public image “is an indication that the contemporary power position of the Mundang chiefs depends much more on their legitimation with regard to the regional state elites than on their popularity among the common Mundang people.”58 This malleability is not a feature purely of the Mundang, or even of non-Fulɓe more generally, but has become widely characteristic of rulers in northern Cameroon, regardless of ethnic or religious affiliation. They all seek to emphasize relations with the national government, modernizing in ways that are often perceived to ignore the cultural specificities implied histor- ically by the sooro. Thus for much of the last century, in both the colonial and 53 Shimada, “Dynamique politique,” 304. 54 Schilder, Quest for Self-Esteem, 126–54. 55 Ibid., 146–47. 56 Ibid., 158–71. 57 Ibid., 216–28. 58 Ibid., 175. The Contemporary Sooro In the contemporary era, the sooro is undergoing further shifts through the attempts of laamiiɓe to bridge the past and present. Three major trends may be detected in contemporary palaces. The first is the decision to update large portions of the interior, but to leave the exterior in its historic form. Examples of this approach may be seen at Tibati, Rey, Boundang-Touroua (Fig. 55), Tig- nère, and Bibèmi. The change from thatched roofing to corrugated metal is not here considered as sufficient for defining innovation both because it is so widespread and because it is widely perceived as a relatively minor change of convenience when compared to the addition of porches, garages, or wholesale replacement of buildings. It should be remarked, however, that the replace- ment of thatching with corrugated metal completely changes the aesthetics of the building, in many cases publicly revealing lower walls that had previously been covered by low-hanging thatched eaves. Figure 55 The palace tribunal before a satellite dish with the salon in the background, ca. 1980s. Boundang-Touroua, Cameroon Photo 2000 In the case of Tibati, the advanced age of the ruler may suggest a prefer- ence for historic forms. More likely is a focus on history and independence, as Tibati was one of the first, most powerful, and most militaristic of the Fulɓe lamidats formed in Adamaoua. Rey is another example of this tendency, and as with Tibati, suggests the historic power of this ruler. At Boundang-Touroua, the entrance sooro and walls still stand, but the youthful laamiiɗo declared his intention to modernize it once the building had deteriorated. Considering the collapse of the roof, one must assume that this endeavor will not be far off. In the second approach, public elements are maintained, but updated with new porches or garages. In the case of Tchéboa in North Region, a contempo- rary porch flanked by a carport on either side, has been added onto the historic sooro (Fig. 74). Like all other palaces except for Rey, the thatched roofing has been replaced with corrugated metal. The ruler confirmed that most of the interior of the palace had been updated, and workmen were busy while I was visiting in 2000. A similar intervention was effected at Banyo, where the ruler had hired an engineer from Bamenda to construct a porch on the front of the historic sooro as well as to construct numerous modern structures on the inte- rior of the palace. A third approach was to create a new interpretation of the sooro that spoke of the contemporary relevance of the ruler. Such is the case at Garoua for example, where the previous ruler built a series of structures that reflect the architectural heritage of the Fulɓe lamidats, but recreated in contemporary re- inforced concrete structures with gleaming tiled floors. Likewise, the entrance to the palace of Ngaoundéré was completely reconstructed in 1994, after the original entrance burned the year before (Fig. 56).59 That a building of the palace should burn was nothing new. Roofs frequently burn—it is one of the dangers of building with thatched roofs, against which the soorowol is meant in part to protect. The real shock was that somebody had burned it intentionally. Indeed, it is questionable whether the sooro that burned in 1993 was in fact the original one or not. A document in the Cameroon National Archives in Yaoundé casts doubt upon this. A letter from the Chef de Circonscription of Ngaoundéré Portalès to the Haut Commissaire at Yaoundé on February 29, 1925 relates that the palace of Ngaoundéré burned completely: 59 This event was seemingly plucked from the history of the Cameroon Grasslands, where palaces were frequently burned in the late 1950s and early 1960s as a form of protest against inequities in the distribution of land and wealth. Dominique Malaquais writes that “Entre 1957 et 1962, quelque cent mtsa [i.e. palaces]—98% des domains de chefs de la région—partirent en fumée.” Dominique Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun (Paris: Karthala, 2002), 315. Figure 56 Entrance to the palace (right) and Islamic Health Center (left), 1994. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 I have the honor to inform you that, February 18, 1925 while I was on a tour, the fortress which served since the settlement of the Foulbés at Ngaoundéré as the residence of the Lamidos was destroyed in a fire due to the imprudence of a servant. The manuscripts relating the history of the Borongo Foulbés, the books of the family of the Lamido, the rich carpets brought from the Ori- ent by the caravans of the Fezzan, all the moveable goods of the Chief YAYA DANDI have been destroyed.60 Unfortunately, I was unable to determine if the buildings, such as the entrance, had been destroyed in the fire as well. If so, how closely did the rebuilt palace resemble what had been destroyed? More to the point in this particular discus- sion, were the entrance sooro and Jawleeru Njakmuukon new constructions after the fire of 1925, or did they predate the fire? 60 Cameroon National Archives—apa 11901/B N’Gaoundéré, le 29 Février 1925, Le Chef de la Circonscription de N’Gaoundéré, à Monsieur le Commissaire de la République Française à Yaoundé, No. 31, Analyse: Incendie du tata du Lamido de NGaoundéré. In any case, the individual who burned the entrance sooro in 1993 was never apprehended. It is said by some that he was a madman.61 Others say that the act was one of retribution for the laamiiɗo’s support of the ruling political party. The latter account is, I suspect, more reflective of the perpetrator’s intentions. The entrance was burned during a time when the main opposition party in northern Cameroon, the nudp (National Union for Democracy and Progress), was gaining considerable strength, particularly in Ngaoundéré. Additionally, the sdf (Social Democratic Front) opposition party was making considerable political gains and encouraging city-wide strikes, known as villes mortes, across the country from its base in Bamenda, North West Region. The laamiiɗo, un- derstanding the source of his paycheck and of his appointment by the national administration, continued to support the ruling cpdm (Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement). The discrepancy between the political leanings of the laamiiɗo and the general population provides ample motive for the arson. So as not to remain vulnerable to a repeat of this arson in the future, Laamiiɗo Issa Maïgari made the decision to reconstruct the entrance in cement.62 The new entrance is a reflection both of contemporary administrative buildings of the national government, originally built by the French colonial regime, and a reference to the original structure that it replaced. On the one hand, the wide bank of steps leading up to the entrance conveys a new idiom of power for the palace. The previous entrance represented the power of the laamiiɗo through its peaked roof, higher than any other in the city, with low eaves preserving the secrecy of the interior beneath its shadows. The new structure suggests colo- nial examples of power symbolism. The building’s exterior stylistically reflects the French administrative buildings in its use of a columned porch with a large double door, the latter raised high above the street level, and large shuttered windows. As Ketil Fred Hansen notes, the colonnade, porch, stairs, and entab- lature were all borrowed from the mayor’s office and the post office, both built by the French colonial regime. Rather than being hidden from public view and swathed in secrecy, the laamiiɗo is framed by the entrance as he looks down upon his subjects.63 The interior is a plain shell with two slender columns 61 During one performance of fantasia that I witnessed in 2000, a young man approach- ing the laamiiɗo bearing a knife was arrested. The young man’s mother threw herself at the laamiiɗo’s feet beseeching him to pardon her son. Those around me proclaimed the young man to be crazy. In a society in which authority figures are highly respected, per- haps threatening their security is indeed a definition of insanity. 62 Ketil Fred Hansen, “Space and Power in Ngaoundéré,” in Le pouvoir de savoir de l’Arctique aux Tropiques/the Power of Knowledge from the Arctic to the Tropic, ed. Lisbet Holtedahl, Siri Gerrard, Martin Z. Njeuma, and Jean Boutrais (Paris: Karthala, 1999), 356. 63 Ibid. Figure 57 Entrance to the historic palace, ca. 1990s. Gachiga, Cameroon Photo 2000 Conclusion The shifts in meaning over time of the sooro compel one to take care in consid- ering the various forces at work in constructing architectural meaning. Rulers 64 I thank Professor Susan Solway for pointing out this possible source. The use of small pavilions flanking the central mass also appears similar to Mughal architecture, as with the Tomb of Humayum in Delhi, India for example. Figure 58 Entrance to the new palace, ca. 2000. Gachiga, Cameroon Photo 2000 in northern Cameroon, Fulɓe and otherwise, had to take into account their relations with the Sokoto Caliphate, other local rulers, the colonial, and later independent national regimes, in addition to their own populations. The deci- sion by each ruler in northern Cameroon to adopt the sooro, and the shifting nuances of its meaning over time, is largely a result of the complex balancing act performed between all of these forces in the continuous competition for authority and resources. The sooro is typically understood, both popularly in Cameroon as well as in scholarly literature, as an architectural type introduced by the Fulɓe when they conquered northern Cameroon in the early nineteenth century. It is particular- ly associated with the pre-colonial power of the Fulɓe rulers. In fact, this picture is much more muddled than one might initially think. The first sooro was built at the turn of the nineteenth century at Rey, at a time preceding the Sokoto Ca- liphate when it was an independent state. It was only in the decade just preced- ing colonization, however, that Ngaoundéré followed Rey’s example. It was not for lack of ability that so few sooros were built, but rather because the rulers of northern Cameroon did not have the right to do so within the Sokoto Caliphate. In fact, the majority of sooros at Fulɓe palaces were built during the colonial period. These now-ubiquitous palace entrances are not recollections of the pre-colonial past, but rather are symbolic reformulations of the authority of Fulɓe rulers in the colonial period. Such a revised understanding of the prolif- eration of this architectural type and its attendant meanings reinforces the im- portance of considering historical context in the study of African architecture. Palace architecture must be understood within a changing matrix of power relations, boundaries, and spheres of influence. The proliferation of the sooro amongst non-Fulɓe groups likewise points to the necessity of understanding the context-bound role of ethnicity in under- standing architectural meaning. The sooro was introduced in the palaces spe- cifically of Fulɓe rulers, although even then we must understand it in terms of much longer Hausa and Kanuri architectural traditions. Over the course of the twentieth century, however, this architectural type became associated more generally with ideas of authority in northern Cameroon and was therefore borrowed across the ethnic spectrum. By adopting the sooro, other ethnicities diluted some of the historical specificities of the type, i.e. its associations with the Sokoto Caliphate and Fulɓe ethnicity, thereby combatting the hegemony of the Fulɓe on a symbolic level. Finally, a study such as this pushes one to recognize the importance of con- sidering architecture within varying domains of circumstances, ranging from the local to the regional levels. On the local level, one must consider the spe- cific circumstances of each palace. At Rey, the sooro was adopted when the palace was at the center of an independent state. At Ngaoundéré, soorooji were built as autonomy was sought from the Sokoto Caliphate, and potentially also in response to attempts to split the lamidat. At Banyo, soorooji were built after colonial boundaries separated the state from the rest of the Sokoto Caliphate. Kontcha and Boundang-Touroua used the form only after being administra- tively separated from Banyo and Ngaoundéré. A variety of circumstances spe- cific to each led to the construction of soorooji at all these palaces. A regional perspective, however, enables one to understand how the more local circumstances played out under broader historical contexts common to all. These include the nineteenth-century sovereignty of the Sokoto Caliphate, the imposition of first German and later French colonial rule, and later national independence. Yet, understanding the fuller context of the popularity of the sooro also requires consideration of relationships with other ethnic groups in northern Cameroon. The example of the palace of Sultan Njoya is a particularly complex example of balancing local and regional interests, while the later ex- amples of Galim, Ngadjiwan, and Ngangha also suggest assimilation of Fulɓe cultural traits to appeal to a national government. Thus, it is only through a consideration of the broader region, that specific local and ethnic contexts truly come into focus. This chapter focuses on the implications of cultural conceptions of space, and associations with the cardinal directions, for the orientation of the palace and its position within the urban fabric. I address this in three parts, in each of which I suggest the melding of Fulɓe culture with other cultures in the re- gion. On the one hand, the Fulɓe-dominated Sokoto Caliphate carried on a dialog with the two major pre-existing Islamic powers in the region, the state of Kanem-Bornu and the pre-jihad Hausa city-states. On the other hand, each emirate of the caliphate engaged in a dialog with the local, and often non- Islamic, population. In the case of Ngaoundéré, this population was Mboum, and to a lesser extent Dìì. The first part of this chapter examines the siting of settlements in northern Cameroon, identifying the principle characteristics of the natural environment that proved conducive to establishing a settlement. The natural environment being basically constant across northern Nigeria and northern Cameroon, settlement locations are sited along similar needs, whether Hausa, Fulɓe, or Mboum. In the Mboum case, settlement on or near mountains may have a his- torical religious component, though poorly understood at present, which may be in common historically with Hausa beliefs. The second part of this chapter entails a comparison of Fulɓe associations with the cardinal directions in relation to those of the Hausa and Kanuri, the other two major Islamic cultures in the region. Islam, being the common denominator between the three and the justification for the jihad of Usman dan Fodio, was used by the Fulɓe to reorganize urban planning in the region along lines which were more comprehensible to their own culture. In fact, Fulɓe identity in many ways became subsumed under an Islamic identity in northern Cameroon following the jihad, allowing the conquerors a means of melding with other ethnicities to create a unified population. This point follows the line of reasoning established by Yoshihito Shimada who argues that Islam, and consequently the jihad that established the Sokoto Caliph- ate, were used to reorganize the world of ethnic and cultural allegiances in the region in a way more favorable to the Fulɓe in their general position as outsiders. His argument is of particular interest in that he suggests that “the Fulbe conquerors also have changed so as to be integrated to the Is- lamic super-ethnic society which they had fought to construct. In this sense, © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_005 Settlement Location A strong argument can be made that there is a general historical continuity across northern Nigeria and northern Cameroon in terms of choice of sites for settlement. This is true whether those settling might be Hausa, Fulɓe, Mboum, or others. The primary concern, especially for capital cities, seems to have been security. All of the capital cities were built either at the base of a hill or moun- tain, as in the case of Banyo, Boundang-Touroua and Tignère; on a hilltop, as at Ngaoundéré; or on a river bank, as at Tibati, Kontcha, Yola and Rey. Two or more of these qualities provide ideal protection, such as at Ngaoundéré where the palace is set on a hilltop, with a stream protecting one side of the city, and a nearby mountain for refuge. The importance of security as a factor in location is highlighted by the ex- ample of Tignère. The capital city was originally founded at Ndjagouré, to the east of the present-day location of the city of Tignère, in 1828 by Arɗo Adama Ndjikira.2 This site was chosen largely because of the quality of its pastures, while the river which enclosed one side of the city provided both protection and a plentiful supply of water. Unfortunately for Tignère, the prioritization of pasturage and water supply over defense proved unwise. Arɗo Hammadou 1 Yoshihito Shimada, “Jihad as a Dialectical Movement and Formation of Islamic Identity among the Fulbe,” in Unity and Diversity of a People: The Search for Fulbe Identity, ed. Paul K. Eguchi and Victor Azarya, Senri Ethnological Studies 35 (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnol- ogy, 1993), 89. 2 Mamoudou, “Le Lamido Mohaman Yero de Tignère: 1954–1982” (master’s thesis, Université de Ngaoundéré, 1998), 4 ; Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 105. Figure 59 Palace entrance, ca. 1920s–1930s. Tignère, Cameroon Photo 2000 Nyamboula of Tibati attacked and completely obliterated the city in 1855 in order to enlarge his territory and to gain Tignère’s rich pastures.3 The lamidat of Tignère ceased to exist until its refounding by Laamiiɗo Iya- wa Oussoumanou on the current site in 1895 (Fig. 59). This time, security was prioritized over other factors. Unfortunately for Iyawa Oussoumanou and the inhabitants of Tignère, the Germans were to arrive only a few years later, in 1901, and burn the city to the ground.4 Iyawa Oussoumanou obtained permis- sion from the Germans to rebuild the city for a third time on the same location in 1903. The current city is dominated by the steep hill, Ngaoundja, which it abuts to the east. This mountain served in the past as a point of refuge in times of war. It is one of a number of hills that protect the city on the north and west sides. The defensive utility of Ngaoundja is illustrated by its use as a refuge dur- ing World War i. A significant battle took place at Tignère between the German garrison and British forces. Upon the arrival of the British, the entire city’s population took refuge on the mountain. As the Europeans battled between themselves below, “all of that unfolded before the eyes of the inhabitants of Tignère perched on the mountain.”5 This natural defense was augmented by 3 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 112. 4 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 124. 5 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 126–27. A comparison of the distribution of inselbergs and settlement sites in southern Hausaland suggest a link. Zaria and Kano, for instance, both ancient cities, are close to inselbergs. Kano encloses two prominent rocky outcrops within its walls; some smaller settlements stand at the foot of other similar formations, while inselbergs not associated with settle- ments today show evidence of earlier occupation. One reason why such sites have proved important for the location of settlements, is the modify- ing effect they have on local groundwater conditions. These large granite masses are capable of storing considerable quantities of rainwater, re- leasing it either in the form of springs at their base or by lifting the level of the water table in the surrounding area.6 Equally important, if not more so to my mind, is the defensive quality and political symbolism of these hills. At Kano, the city grew around the smaller and more easily defended of the two hills encapsulated within the historic city walls. The early rulers of the city lived at the top of the hill with the homes of the population spread out below.7 Also located atop the hill was the principal religious shrine of the city, maintained until destroyed after the arrival of Islam in the fifteenth century. Research would probably reaffirm that the majority of the cities of northern Nigeria began atop inselbergs or at their bases. The Hausa cities and those of northern Cameroon grew from similar origins. One is also reminded of Mboum cities established throughout Adamaoua Region. The centrality of mountains in Mboum culture is clear to outsiders and the Mboum alike. While contemporary sites, such as that of Ngangha, may give 6 Moughtin, Hausa Architecture, 10. 7 Palmer, “The Kano Chronicle,” 63; S.J. Hogben and A.H.M. Kirk-Greene, The Emirates of Northern Nigeria: A Preliminary Survey of Their Historical Traditions (London: Oxford Univer- sity Press, 1966), 198. A long time ago…when Ngangha was on Mount Ngaouha there were caves that were inhabited. The people lived in the caves! They lived by hunting. They lived by fishing. They loved the mountains. That was re- ally where they lived. I do not know if they worshiped [the mountains] as well but when the Mboum everywhere passed by, they called on the mountains. …It is with time that…we had to plant lots of food crops. On 8 The actual Mboum name is Ngaouha, meaning “the mountain of the ha.” A ha is a throw- ing knife. The ha is a political and religious symbol for the Mboum. “Ngaouha” was de- formed to “Ngangha” by the French colonial regime, and has subsequently become the more commonly used name for both the mountain and the town. In the remainder of this study, “Ngaouha” will be used for the mountain, while “Ngangha” will be reserved for the town. 9 Bellaka Saliou Saomboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 23, 2000. 10 Ibid. Professor Eldridge Mohammadou explained in a personal communication that he had collected potsherds from atop this mountain, indicating the historical presence of habitation. Unfortunately, in 2000 they remained largely untouched at Ngaoundéré- Anthropos Institute in Ngaoundéré, awaiting an archaeologist to make use of them. Their current location since the closure of this institute is unknown to me. the mountain, there is not enough room. They had to descend to the plain so that they could have a little larger harvests. The elders also say that even they do not know why they love the mountain. They also found that the Mboum were on the mountain. Some say that it was because of war. I asked them, with whom were the Mboum at war? They said with nobody. Before the Fulɓe arrived on the plateau, the Mboum were on the mountains. When they [the Fulɓe] came, they found them [the Mboum] on the mountains…to the contrary, it was the Mboum who accompanied the Fulɓe to go conquer other people…for collecting slaves. Therefore, when one speaks of war, especially here with us, it is perhaps with the arrival of the Fulɓe.11 The sites of modern Mboum cities and villages, as indicated by the bellaka in this quote, reflect a variety of changes in daily life. Increased security and a de- sire to maximize agricultural profits dictated living nearer to one’s fields in the plains below the mountains. J.C. Moughtin points out that a similar expansion of settlements in northern Nigeria occurred during the relative peace and secu- rity of British colonial rule.12 Colonial taxation policies of settling populations in easily accessible locations along roads also contributed to settlements be- ing refounded in the plains, and indeed these locations became highly desired by the population itself as a means of transporting one’s produce to market.13 Hence, one often finds contemporary villages stretched out along either side of a major road in two narrow strips, but only rarely will one find settlements extending very far back from the road. The modern permanence of Mboum settlements reflects similar colonial policies. Ngangha has remained in the same location since its establishment in 1931, through the reigns of two bel- lakas. These settlements no longer move with the investiture of each new ruler. In sum, as with other cultures in the wider region, the capitals of both Fulɓe and Mboum states in northern Cameroon were founded in easily defended locations. In particular, mountains or high hills were sought for their defensive qualities, also sometimes providing high water tables as 11 Bellaka Saliou Saomboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 23, 2000. 12 Moughtin, Hausa Architecture, 26. 13 In the region of Kontcha, it was explained to me that all of the villages between Mayo Baléo and Kontcha had moved due to the construction of the modern road. The old route followed a more westerly approach. In constructing the modern road, the route was shift- ed east due to the easier terrain and fewer river crossings necessary. All of the villages moved from the former route to the new road in response. Mayo Baléo, Anonymous, per- sonal communication, July 20, 2000. Urban Plan Nomadic Fulɓe Settlement Pattern According to André Gondolo, who drew heavily upon Jean-Claude Froelich’s research, the political hierarchy of a lamidat in northern Cameroon was based upon the tokkal system, with the laamiiɗo at its apex.14 This system is pur- ported to be a direct inheritance from the nomadic heritage of the Fulɓe. It developed as a means of organizing mobile, semi-nomadic Fulɓe groups. As such, the tokkal system is based upon political allegiance, rather than descent or geography. A tokkal is essentially a group who follows a particular leader. In the nomadic context, a group chooses its own leader or arɗo. Although familial ties are a significant factor in one’s choice, allegiance is voluntary and may be changed. The collection of families following a particular leader constitutes this leader’s tokkal. The term tokkal is derived from the verb tokkugo, meaning “to follow.” Re- lated meanings of this verb are “to attach together,” “to join end to end,” “to subordinate oneself to someone,” “to obey someone,” and “to conform to.”15 The noun tokkere, meaning “herd” is derived from the same verb.16 A linguistic connection in Fulfulɗe between the cattle herd and the human group is clear, recalling once again that cattle are a central element of the civilized world in Fulɓe thought. The conceptual relationship between the laamiiɗo, with his hu- man followers, and the herder, with his cattle, is explicit. Similar to the nomadic context, the system of political allegiance in the sedentary context is not based on descent or geography. This means that a particular neighborhood does not necessarily represent a specific political or familial unit.17 A leader’s tokkal may be scattered all around the city, or indeed the region. Therefore, the settlement pattern represents more the choices of individual families than political or descent patterns. 14 André Gondolo, N’Gaoundéré: Evolution d’une ville Peul (PhD. diss., Université de Rouen, 1978), 87; Jean-Claude Froelich, “Commandement et l’organisation sociale chez les Foulbé de l’Adamaoua (Cameroun),” Etudes Camerounaises (Douala) 45/46 (1954), 3–91. 15 Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 477. 16 Ibid., 478. 17 Gondolo, N’Gaoundéré, 55. Certain exceptions to this rule exist, however. It is true that families will gen- erally expand within the same area and attempt to remain near one another. It is also true that the ruler’s residence tends to be surrounded by the residences of nobility, representing political allegiances and hierarchies of power, while also providing protection for the ruler’s residence. Finally, neighborhoods in the urban context tend to be ethnically based, although this observation ex- tends beyond the Fulɓe tokkal system, strictly speaking. In the sedentary context, a number of successive levels, or a hierarchy of leadership figures was established. A group of individual families owe al- legiance to a jawro (pl. jawro’en). As families choose their jawro, so too do jawro’en choose their representatives at court before the laamiiɗo. The jawro selects a noble at court to represent his interests, and the noble in this capacity becomes his simaajo (pl. simaajo’en), literally his “representative” or “interme- diary.” As such, a noble may be the simaajo for a number of jawro’en, represent- ing his tokkal. In Ngaoundéré, there are certain jawro’en who answer directly to the laamiiɗo, and who are nobles in their own right. These jawro’en include the Jawro Boumdjéré, Jawro Tongo, and Jawro Touroua.18 Gondolo points out that Froelich listed 28 jawro’en in Ngaoundéré, plus the Sarki Dzango who repre- sents foreigners, in his 1951 essay, of which ten were Fulɓe, six rimɓe, and thir- teen maccuɓe.19 In the past, the tokkal system included jawro’en throughout the lamidat, re- sponsible to the laamiiɗo through their simaajo at court in Ngaoundéré. The rural basis for this system was suppressed by the French colonial regime in 1949, in an attempt to clarify the political system and to reduce the power of the laamiiɓe.20 The rural jawro’en were made de facto rulers of their villages, rather than being responsible to their simaajo and eventually the laamiiɗo. For taxation purposes, however, certain simaajo’en at the court were still respon- sible for collecting from particular jawro’en. This system was henceforth based upon geography rather than political or familial allegiance. As Gondolo notes, this reorganization of the traditional political system destroyed the moral au- thority of the simaajo’en and usurped the laamiiɗo’s power, as the jawro’en were thereafter administratively responsible directly to the colonial regime. This top-down reorganization also displaced the simaajo’en’s responsibility towards 18 Gondolo, N’Gaoundéré, 55. 19 Ibid., 56; Froelich, Commandement, 77–80. The term rimɓe denotes free individuals, the implication in this case is that they are free non-Fulɓe, while the term maccuɓe denotes enslaved, servant, or conquered populations. 20 Froelich, Commandement, 27–29. Placement and Role of the Palace within the City As Susan Denyer notes concerning Kano, in north-central Nigeria, the palace of the ruler in this highly centralized society was “not only the personal resi- dence of the ruler but also the seat of government.”21 The palace in Kano, and others throughout northern Nigeria, served a dual function as residence of the ruler as well as seat of government from at least the fifteenth century until the nineteenth century. During this time, each palace represented a separate Hausa-dominated state. The palace continued to serve dual functions even after Kano ceased to be a capital in its own right and became integrated into the Sokoto Caliphate as one of the largest of a number of emirates. John Paden explains the concept of the sovereign and the basis of his power in Kano: With respect to the locus and scope of authority in Kano society, it was believed that the sovereign (in this case emir) had absolute power. The expression “the emir is the shadow of God”…reflected Kano belief con- cerning the basis of legitimation of the sovereign. His description as “the possessor of power to administer the death penalty”…summarized his po- sition as court of final appeal on legal matters of capital consequence.22 21 Susan Denyer, African Traditional Architecture (New York: Africana Publishing, 1978), 57. 22 John N. Paden, Religion and Political Culture in Kano (Berkeley, ca: University of California Press, 1973), 35. In other words, the emir received his right to rule from God, and therefore was the only one with the power to take life. This explanation highlights the cen- trality of the ruler in the religious and judicial, as well as the political, systems. After Kano was conquered and brought within the Sokoto Caliphate in 1807, the emir became to a greater or lesser degree subject to the Caliph of Sokoto, as was the case in all the other emirates of the Sultanate, including northern Cameroon. As with the political hierarchy, the role of the palace and its po- sition within the hierarchy of urban structures of Kano followed a common model across this broad area. It is in this context that the residence of the ruler in northern Nigeria usually occupies a central location within the city. As the center of power, the ruler’s res- idence is topographically at the center of the city and conceptually at the center of the territory ruled. In contrast, palaces in northern Cameroon, comparable to many examples established in northern Nigeria after the jihad, are physically located on the eastern side of the capital city. In speaking about the Sokoto Ca- liphate as a whole, therefore, it would be more accurate to state that the palace is always the “focus” of the city, rather than physically at its center. The city’s main square and main crossroads always lie at the entrance to the ruler’s palace. Nowadays, throughout northern Cameroon one inevitably finds that the congregational mosque lies topographically at the center of the city and di- rectly opposite the entrance to the ruler’s palace. This arrangement clarifies the close relationship between the two loci of authority. Historical evidence suggests, however, that this arrangement was not always the case. As will be seen, both mosques and/or palaces have been moved during the last century to produce such an arrangement. It is an occurrence that was encouraged by the French colonial authorities and perhaps clung to by the rulers themselves as they gradually lost real political power. Islam as Urban Mediator Upon arriving in Ngaoundéré in 2000, I was told that the palace of this Fulɓe ruler had been built when the city was founded in 1830. The palace is currently located on the eastern side of the historical city, facing west toward the qibla wall of the mosque (Fig. 60). I was surprised to discover later that it had origi- nally been founded to the west of the mosque, in a position more central to the urban plan, where the Grand Marché is now located (Fig. 61). The palace was moved to its current location only in the late nineteenth century. While local sources claimed that the palace was moved solely in order to construct a larger and more magnificent establishment, I suggest that Figure 60 Square between the palace (left) and central mosque (right). Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 61 Plan of the city at the turn of the twentieth century. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Eastern Nomadic Pastoral Fulɓe The term wuro (pl. gure) in Fulfulɗe connotes several ideas. The more general, original meaning concerns the cattle herd, and the place that it stays. The herd is at the center of Fulɓe culture, especially Fulɓe ideas of home and settlement. In the nomadic pastoral Fulɓe context in Adamawa, the homestead of an indi- vidual family accordingly is also called the wuro.23 As a number of authors have noted, the nomadic Fulɓe wuro is normally arranged according to the cardinal directions. While all have agreed upon the actual orientation and organization of the homestead, the underlying reasons have been more difficult to discern. F.W. de St. Croix noted in 1944 that the nomadic Fulɓe residence is always oriented toward the west, so as to face the area where the cattle are corralled.24 This observation is validated by the work of all later authors writing on nomadic Fulɓe in this region, including 23 Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 524. 24 F.W. de St. Croix, The Fulani of Northern Nigeria: Some General Notes (Farnborough: Gregg International Publishers, 1972), 26. This work was first published in 1944 by the Govern- ment Printer in Lagos, Nigeria. C. Edward Hopen, Derrick J. Stenning, Marguerite Dupire, and most recently Mette Bovin.25 Stenning states that: In the context of the homestead, west is synonymous with “front”, and east with “back”. In Fulfulɗe, north and south are used for the left and right sides of the homestead respectively, as seen by an observer facing the homestead and looking east.26 Hopen indicates that this arrangement might be altered in the occurrence of mitigating environmental factors, in which case the cattle would be given the best ground possible and the family would camp nearby.27 In other words, the preferred orientation and arrangement of the household is ultimately subordi- nate to the needs of the herd. Ideally, however, the homestead is divided into two basic areas: a western cattle enclosure and an eastern residential area, the two separated by a rope running down the middle to which calves are tied at night (Fig. 62). These two areas are gender specific. The eastern household area is a feminine domain, while the cattle corral is a masculine domain. The principal male activities are performed in the western cattle area. The east is mainly accessible only to females with the exception of the male head of the household and children too young to stay with the herd. These gender divisions are kept consistently, even in death when women are buried behind the household, to the east, and men to the west. Stenning suggests furthermore that these divisions are en- shrined in language. He states that “the root gor is unequivocally common to ‘man’ (gorko) and ‘west’ (gorgal, Sokoto dialect); while the root rew (‘follow’) is duplicated in rewɓe (‘women’, lit. ‘those who follow’).”28 25 Hopen, Pastoral Fulbe Family; Derrick J. Stenning, Savannah Nomads: A Study of the Woɗaaɓe Pastoral Fulani of Western Bornu Province, Northern Region, Nigeria (London: Published for the International African Institute by Oxford University Press, 1959); Mar- guerite Dupire, Peuls nomades: étude descriptive des Woɗaaɓe du Sahel Nigerien, Universi- té de Paris. Travaux et mémoires de l’Institut d’ethnologie, 64 (Paris: Institut d’ethnologie, 1962); Bovin, Nomads Who Cultivate Beauty. 26 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 104–05. 27 Hopen, Pastoral Fulbe Family, 57. 28 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 111. Also noted by Dupire, Peuls nomades, 157. Zoubko as- cribes usage of gorgal to mean “west” to a variety of dialects including Adamawa. Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 165. Adamawa, one of the eastern dialects, uses this term. A term more frequently used in western dialects, and in particular in Futa Jalon, Futa Toro, Macina, and Eastern Niger is hiirnaange. Ibid., 192. This term literally means “setting of the sun,” thus relating the cardinal direction to the associated daily astral occurrence. Figure 62 Diagram of a nomadic Fulɓe homestead After Prussin, Hatumere, 61, fig. 3.15a Within the residential, or eastern, half of the homestead, the individual resi- dences of wives, if there are more than one, are arranged along a north–south axis. The senior wife has her individual residence, or suudu, in the northern most position while those of her juniors are arranged to the south according to marriage order.29 Stenning, points out that “a senior wife is described as wailaajo (‘north-one’) and any junior wife as fombinaajo (‘south-one’).”30 In a similar manner, a woman’s collection of calabashes is arranged by size within the residence with the largest in the northern-most position and the smallest in the southern-most position.31 When more than one family from the same lineage camp together, both Stenning and Dupire indicate that homesteads are arranged according to the seniority of the males.32 The marking of male seniority is exactly the inverse 29 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 107; Dupire, Peuls nomades, 156. 30 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 107–08. Alternatively, Dupire states that the northern-most house is called suudu yeesaru, that is the front or first house. It should be noted that yeeso is used to refer to a person’s face as well as the front of something. 31 Dupire, Peuls nomades, 156–57; Bovin, Nomads Who Cultivate Beauty, 65. 32 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 39; Dupire, Peuls nomades, 157. Eastern and Western Fulɓe Compared In a 1965 article, Germaine Dieterlen examines the Koumen myth, taught to youths during initiation, for information regarding Fulɓe culture.38 This myth appears to be known only in Senegal, and therefore, Dieterlen’s conclusions can do no more than provide clues as to directions for further research among other Fulɓe groups. She explains that initiates are taught a series of conceptual relationships through the understanding of Koumen.39 These relationships tie 33 Hopen, however, disputes this universal characterization of organization by seniority in both male and female area. He notes that “some build their camps with the shelters in a line running north to south.” He also states, however, that “at least one clan (The Dallanko’en) hold... that the jonwuro [camp leader] should occupy the most southerly position.” Hopen Pastoral Fulbe Family, 59. 34 Ibid. 35 St. Croix, Fulani of Northern Nigeria, 58. The fear of aimless wandering is expressed well in Cyprian Ekwensi’s novel Burning Grass: A Story of the Fulani of Northern Nigeria (London: Heinemann, 1962). The main character, Mai Sunsaye, is a Fulɓe pastoralist afflicted with sokugo, or “the wandering illness.” 36 Hopen, Pastoral Fulbe Family, 57. 37 Dupire, Peuls nomades, 157. 38 Germaine Dieterlen, “L’initiation chez les pasteurs peul,” in African Systems of Thought edited by M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen (London, New York: Published for the International African Institute by the Oxford Universtiy Press, 1965), 314–27. 39 Ibid., 316. 40 Bourdier and Minh-Ha, Drawn from African Dwellings, 44–45. 41 Ibid., 44. 42 Ibid., 44. They are quick to point out, however, that environmental factors are not suf- ficient alone to explain the orientation of Waalwaalɓe residences: “But such an explana- tion cannot stand by itself since there are—albeit very rarely—instances in which the southern (and western) direction proves not to be the most important factor in orient- ing the house. If, for example, a dome-shaped dwelling opens to a direction other than the south, it will invariably be the north, in spite of the inconveniences caused by the harmattan. In this case, what the dwelling does conserve is precisely the east–west order- ing and gendering of interior space as described earlier, with the altar of milk (kaggu) consistently on the western side when one enters the north-oriented door. It seems, then, that over the physical factor prevails the cultural heritage, whose main principles are still maintained across generations and geographical borders, despite the adaptive variations that necessarily occurred with the widely changing contexts of Fulbe migration across Africa.” Ibid. The material presented in this text suggests that while there are cultural continuities, differences do arise between eastern and western Fulɓe cultures, based in part at least on environmental variations. 43 Prussin, African Nomadic Architecture, 74. 44 For an argument in favor of focusing greater attention on local circumstances over a pan-Fulɓe culture, please see Mark D. DeLancey, “Localizing Fulbe Architecture,” Islamic Africa 5, no. 1 (Spring 2014): 1–43. Settled Fulɓe As the once nomadic Fulɓe of Cameroon settled into sedentary communities in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the concept of the wuro expanded from the single encampment to the larger unit of the city. The con- notation of wuro as “city” is one peculiar to Adamawa dialects of Fulfulɗe; the individual homestead became known as the saare.45 In the nomadic wuro, the residences are located in the eastern section of the homestead and open to- ward the west, where the herd is located. In Ngaoundéré, and almost every oth- er Fulɓe capital which I visited in Adamaoua and North Regions in Cameroon, the palace of the ruler, or laamiiɗo, is located on the eastern side of the city, opening west toward the rest of the population. In other words, the laamiiɗo is positioned in a sedentary context as the male head of the “household”; he is as such the sole male who may enter the palace, representing the household from which the rest of the citizenry gain their conceptual origin. Laamiiɗo Mohaman Gabdo Yaya, ruler of Banyo, explained to me the signifi- cance of the cardinal directions in sedentary Fulɓe culture.46 He declared that Fulɓe palaces always face west since this is the “direction of power.” One can relate this association to a nomadic Fulɓe insistence on the west as a masculine domain, and thus powerful. He furthermore stated that the laamiiɗo is usually seated facing west, and doorways open west whenever possible. East, on the other hand, he described as the direction of knowledge and religion. This, I sug- gest, must be related to the importance of Islam in settled Fulɓe life and iden- tity in Cameroon. This meaning overlays the association in Senegal of east with golden light and knowledge. Laamiiɗo Mohaman Gabdo Yaya pointed out that if doorways do not open to the west, then they inevitably open toward the east. North and south are considered inauspicious directions, toward which a palace never faces. Laamiiɗo Mohaman Gabdo Yaya related north to misfor- tune and south to poverty. His explanation for the latter statement was that the toes of the dead, when buried according to Islamic custom in Cameroon, point north while the body faces east, the back faces west, and the head points south. One is reminded of the associations pointed out by Dieterlen and Bourgeois and Minh-Ha, in which south is related to black, water and the forest, while north is related to white, earth, and in an eastern Fulɓe context the desert. 45 It is somewhat ironic that saare is the term used in western Fulfulɗe to refer to the con- cepts of “village,” “town,” or “city,” while the term wuro is retained for the denotation of the individual residence, or homestead. In other words, the meanings of the terms are exactly the reverse of eastern Fulfulɗe, reinforcing the cautionary note from the last section. 46 Laamiiɗo Mohaman Gabdo Yaya, interview by author, tape recording, Banyo, October 7, 2000. Figure 63 Entrance to the jawro’s palace, ca. 1958. Idool, Cameroon Photo 2000 In the small village of Idool, I received yet another response to my queries concerning the orientation of the palace of the jawro, a subordinate of the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré (Fig. 63). The founder was a nomadic pastoralist prior to establishing the village in approximately 1958. In this case, the pal- ace faces west-southwest. I noted to myself that this was exactly the same orientation as the palace of the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré. I assumed that the jawro was merely following the example of his superior. The brother of the jawro, however, explained that it was in order to place the back of the resi- dence toward the prevailing wind.47 This is similar to Bourdier and Minh- Ha’s explanation for the southerly orientation of Senegalese Waalwaalɓe houses. The variety of responses above indicates that the nomadic pastoral Fulɓe associations with the cardinal directions are related to environmental factors. While the brother of the jawro of Idool recognized the importance played by environmental factors in the orientation of the palace of that village, the inhabitants of which have only recently abandoned a nomadic pasto- ral life, the nomadic Fulɓe associations have more often been recoded in an Islamic understanding of the urban situation. It is in this context that we may 47 Ibrahim Halil Biya, interview by author, tape recording, Idool, November 23, 2000. Fulɓe Palaces Of the ten Fulɓe palaces examined, eight faced more or less to the west, with the ruler’s suudu situated toward the north. The only two not follow- ing this orientation were the old palace at Layindé (Figs. 64 and 65) on the outskirts of Garoua, which faced south; and the palace at Tignère (Fig. 48) which faces approximately north with the residence of the laamiiɗo on the west side.48 The palace at Kontcha is an unusual case, in that its entrance currently faces south-southwest (Fig. 75), to create a dialog with the central mosque built, also by Mohamadou Maiguini, towards the southeast. The original entrance, however, was on the west-northwest side. The laamiiɗo of Kontcha’s suudu, through several incarnations, has always been on the east side of the palace. Non-Fulɓe palaces In examining the orientations of non-Fulɓe palaces in this area, the results are more variable. The one Péré palace recorded, at Ngadjiwan, followed the same orientation as the Fulɓe palaces (Fig. 66). The two Mboum palaces, at Mbang-Mboum and at Ngangha, faced different directions. The palace at Mbang-Mboum faced southwest, while the palace at Ngangha faced east, toward the mountain from which the town receives its name (Fig. 67). In both cases, the bellaka’s residence is located on the west side of the compound. The Nyem-Nyem palace at Galim faces approximately south, with the ruler’s residence on the west side (Fig. 68). The preceding data suggests that the orientation of non-Fulɓe palaces is more variable and that it is primarily a Fulɓe cultural trait to construct the palace toward the east facing west, as was suggested by the laamiiɗo of Banyo. 48 Griaule’s plan of the Garoua-Layindé palace appears largely accurate, but according to my observations of the ruins it should be reoriented with the entrance almost directly due south. Figure 64 Palace plan, 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon Griaule, “Plan du Palais du lamido de Garoua,” Journal des africanistes 48, fasc. 2 (1978): 101 Hausa Cities While the early nineteenth-century jihad of Usman dan Fodio, under which banners most of the Fulɓe cities of northern Cameroon were founded, was clearly a multi-ethnic struggle, there is little doubt that the majority of the leadership was Fulɓe.49 This situation required the tempering of Fulɓe cultural 49 On the issue of ethnicity and the formation of the Sokoto Caliphate, please see H.M. Maishanu, “Trends and Issues in the History of Bilad Al-Sudan: The Sokoto Caliphate in Colonial Historiography,” in Islam in Africa: Proceedings of the Islam in Africa Confer- ence, ed. Nura Alkali, Adamu Adamu, Awwal Yadudu, Rashid Moten and Haruna Salihi. (Ibadan: Spectrum Books, 1993), 59–80. For more recent scholarship on this subject, also see Lamont King, “State and Ethnicity in Precolonial Northern Nigeria,” Journal of Asian Figure 65 Palace entrance under construction, 1932. Garoua-Layindé, Cameroon Minotaure, numéro spécial: Mission Dakar-Djibouti, 1931–1933 2 (June 1933): 64. Courtesy Northwestern University Library norms with those of other major cultural constituencies, in order to gain ac- ceptance and stability for the new regime. The difficulty of bridging the two is shown by a conflict between the new ruler of Kano, Sulaymanu, and his fellow Fulɓe. The Fulɓe, fearing that Sulaymanu and his children would become as corrupt as the recently deposed Hausa ruler of Kano, forbade him from enter- ing the palace. Usman dan Fodio himself directed Sulaymanu to take up resi- dence in the palace and to remove any individual that opposed him.50 Clearly, Usman dan Fodio wanted to gain the legitimacy of the Hausa palace in the eyes of the Kano population. There is, at first glance, surprisingly little consistency in the orientations of palaces in historically Hausa cities, and their relationships to the central and African Studies 36, no. 4 (2001): 339–60; and “From Caliphate to Protectorate: Ethnic- ity and the Colonial Sabon Gari System in Northern Nigeria,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 4, no. 2 (2003). 50 Palmer, “Kano Chronicle,” 63; Hogben and Kirk-Greene, Emirates of Northern Nigeria, 198. Also see Nasiru Ibrahim Dantiye, “A Study of the Origins, Status and Defensive Role of Four Kano Frontier Strongholds (Ribats) in the Emirate Period (1809–1903)” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 1985), 109–10, n. 36. Figure 66 Palace plan, ca. 1950s–1960s. Ngadjiwan, Cameroon. Key to figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber, 3) Audience chamber, 4) Bureau, 5) Secretariat, 6) Laamiiɗo’s residence, 7) Wives’ residences, 8) Garden, 9) Rear entrance and public grain mill mosques. In Zaria, the palace is situated in the center of the city facing the central mosque directly to the west across a square (Fig. 69). The palace was constructed on this site long before the introduction of Islam. The mosque, however, has only existed since the jihad. Previously, the congregational mosque was located in Juma ward, to the west and outside the Madarkaci walls.51 Thus, at Zaria the palace historically was at the city center, while the central mosque was later placed in its direct vicinity. 51 This arrangement suggests the dual city model seen across West Africa in which Mus- lim populations occupied a separate urban area surrounding the Friday mosque. A.W. Urquhart, Planned Urban Landscapes of Northern Nigeria: A Case Study of Zaria (Zaria: Ahmadu Bello University Press, 1977), 14–15. The name of the ward “Juma” makes this clear, as it is derived from the Arabic term jum‘a meaning “Friday,” from the root jam`a, meaning “to gather.” Wehr, Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 134–35. Figure 67 Palace plan, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon. Key to figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber, 3) Private chamber, 4) Bellaka’s residence, 5) Bellaka’s new residence (under construction), 6) Residences of wives of current and previous bellakas, 7) Museum At Kano, the palace faces south with its back to the Friday mosque (Fig. 70). The palace itself is located somewhat to the south of the city center. It was moved to this location in the late fifteenth century from an undetermined location by the famous ruler Muhammad Rumfa. Local histories state that the ruler of the original inhabitants of Kano lived atop Dalla Hill, geographically in the center of the old city.52 Rumfa also constructed the central mosque on its current site, just north of the palace. Prior to this date, the central mosque was located at one of two possible locations, both in the forest which surrounded the loca- tion of the central market. The first possibility is Sharifai quarter, where the 52 See for instance Palmer, “The Kano Chronicle,” 63. Figure 68 Palace plan, post-1915. Galim, Cameroon. Key to figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber, 3) Audience chamber, 4) Laamiiɗo’s residence, 5) Private quarters reputed descendants of the fifteenth-century North African sheikh al-Maghili live. The second possibility is Yan Doya quarter, where the descendants of the fifteenth-century Muslim immigrants from Mali, the Wangarawa, live.53 It is equally likely that each would have had its own Friday mosque to serve distinct 53 Muhammad al-Hajj, “A Seventeenth Century Chronicle on the Origins and Missionary Ac- tivities of the Wangarawa,” Kano Studies, New Series 1, no. 4 (1968): 12 n. 41; Paden, Religion and Political Culture, 52. Figure 69 Plan of Zaria, Nigeria After Urquhart, Planned Urban Landscapes, 15, map 8 though nearby populations. In either case, it is clear that Rumfa, wishing to proclaim his adherence to Islam and his role as the leader of the Muslim com- munity in Kano, moved the congregational mosque into close proximity with his newly constructed palace. Although at first there does not seem to be much in common between these urban plans, one can say that originally the palace in both examples was at the center of the city. The central mosque was a later institution which only appeared with the conversion of the ruler, and was subsequently placed in the direct vicinity of the palace, often with an open space between the two. The palace does not necessarily open in the direction of the mosque, however, and the palace is primary with the mosque placed in relation to it. Anthropologist Guy Nicolas conducted research in Niger among the descen- dants of Hausa who had fled the jihad. The author describes the founding of a house in terms which sound almost identical to those described in the litera- ture on nomadic Fulɓe homesteads: For those who respect traditions, the opening of these habitations must be turned toward the west, such that one enters always facing to the east. Figure 70 Plan of Kano, Nigeria After Urquhart, Planned Urban Landscapes, 67, map 32 Moreover, the habitations of the wives of a single husband are disposed along a line oriented north-south. The first wife always has her habitation to the north, and the last to the south, each being north of the wife who entered the house of her husband after her, the order of entrances defin- ing a hierarchy which regulates the reciprocal behavior of the wives. This is why the first wife (matar fari), who has the rank of lady of the house, and carries the title of “mother of the house” (uwal gida), is often called “the woman of the north” (matar arewa), and the last “the woman of the south” (matar gusum).54 Nicolas’s observations indicate that there is significant overlapping between Fulɓe and Hausa cultures regarding the proper orientation of the homestead and arrangement of wives’ residences. 54 Guy Nicolas, “Essai sur les structures fondamentales de l’espace dans la cosmologie Hau- sa,” Journal de la Société des Africanistes (Paris) 36, no. 1 (1966): 78. In describing the founding of a city, on the other hand, Nicolas provides a conceptual framework for understanding the perceived centrality of the palace, a practice distinct from cities founded by Fulɓe after the jihad. He points out that, based on information gleaned from the refounding of Maradi and Tsibiri in Niger after the previous sites were flooded in 1945, the ideal Hau- sa city plan is square with the sides oriented toward the cardinal directions, doors in each wall, and the palace at the center.55 Nicolas explains that the cardinal directions may be understood in anthropomorphic terms, through the study of Hausa mythology, as the four children of a father who resides at the intersection of the polar axes.56 The ruler is, by analogy, the “father” of the population. This analogy is very similar to that expressed, albeit in different terms, in the urban plans of Fulɓe capitals in Adamaoua. It is expressed in the Hausa case through the centrality of the palace in the urban plan, whereas it is expressed through the eastern location of the palace in the Fulɓe case. Kanuri Architecture Unfortunately, there is very little scholarship concerning architecture and ur- banism of the Kanuri. Bivar and Shinnie’s sketch plan of Birni N’gazargamu, the capital of the Kanuri state of Kanem-Bornu from 1470 until 1812, clarifies the central position of the palace of the ruler.57 Not only is this ruin identi- fied as the palace by its central location and size, but also by its materials of construction. Unlike the majority of architecture in this region, which is con- structed from earth, this structure was built of baked brick. The orientation of the palace, however, is impossible to determine from this plan. One can only surmise that the Kanuri, like the Hausa, appear to emphasize the centrality of the ruler in the urban plan of the capital. Most references concern structures built following the destruction of the historic capital, Birni N’gazargamu, by the forces of Sokoto in 1812. Following this event, the ruler, or mai, of Kanem-Bornu lost most of his real power to an advisor, Sheikh al-Kanemi, and his descendants. The capitals of Sheikh al- Kanemi and his successors, at Kukawa and later Maiduguri, appear to reflect 55 Ibid., 73–75. 56 Ibid., 83–85. Although one must also wonder to what extent the planning ideals of these Hausa had been impacted by the jihad which they had fled as, after all, much about this plan is resonant with the ribats founded in the Caliphate and modeled after the early Islamic conquests of North Africa. 57 A.D.H. Bivar and P.L. Shinnie, “Old Kanuri Capitals,” Journal of African History 3, no. 1 (1962): 2. Fulɓe Model in Relation to Hausa and Kanuri Models The Hausa and Kanuri practice of placing the palace at the center of the city differs remarkably from the practice of the Fulɓe during and after the jihad. Data relating to Fulɓe practices are taken from the numerous ribats, or fortified towns, that were founded for the protection of the frontiers, as well as from the reorganization of some older cities. According to Murray Last, the houses of both Shehu Usman dan Fodio and Muhammadu Bello, the Shehu’s son and eventual successor, faced west in the manner of nomadic pastoral Fulɓe home- steads.59 Indeed, in looking at most Fulɓe ribats, and at most of those cities founded in Adamaoua by the Fulɓe, one finds that the palaces are generally on the eastern side of town facing directly west toward the qibla wall of the central mosque. In this arrangement, if anything is topographically central, it would be the mosque. The placement of the palace to the east of the mosque reflects several im- portant differences. First, I suggest that the palace has been replaced by the mosque as the central element of urban planning in order to clearly indicate the ideological basis for the jihad. That is, the centrality of God is stressed un- der the Sokoto Caliphate, rather than the centrality of the ruler. Second, I believe that the change in the location of the palace, from its cen- tral position to an eastern location, represents a fundamental difference in the understanding of space in Fulɓe as opposed to Hausa and Kanuri culture. La- belle Prussin states the following concerning perceptions of space: 58 Dixon Denham, Narrative of Travels and Discoveries in Northern and Central Africa in the Years 1822, 1823, and 1824, Vol. 1 (London: John Murray, 1828), 263. 59 Murray Last, The Sokoto Caliphate, Ibadan History Series (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1967), 184. To understand nomadic boundaries, we need to think of the built envi- ronment and its spaces in the context of movement: the movement of people, the movement of one’s world of material culture. Movement, however, is also an essential part of our cognitive experience. For the nomad, home cannot be understood except in terms of journey, just as space is defined by movement.60 For nomadic cultures, this movement is constant, rather than being a single event of relocation. For sedentary cultures, however, space is a much more centralized experience. The sedentary individual travels from one point to an- other, from one center to another. It is this emphasis on a center which charac- terizes Hausa and Kanuri conceptions of space. Despite transforming their cul- ture from a nomadic to a sedentary one, I believe the Fulɓe had not developed the same sense of the center that quite clearly dominates Hausa and Kanuri experiences of space. Furthermore, Mette Bovin has pointed out that Fulɓe architecture, and in- deed many different aspects of their culture more generally, are based on ideals of balance and symmetry.61 In the nomadic wuro, this translates into a division of the homestead into two equally important gender-specific areas. In terms of the city of Ngaoundéré, and almost every other Fulɓe capital which I visited in Adamaoua and North Regions in Cameroon, we may speak of the ruler to the east and the population to the west. The two are equal halves of a whole unit. This view of the city is an expansion upon the concept of the male head of the household who rules the nomadic pastoral Fulɓe family from the eastern half of the compound. As noted before, the laamiiɗo is positioned in a sedentary con- text as the male head of the household, while his conceptual offspring submit to his rule in the western half of the city. This replicates the paternalistic message intended by the Hausa placement of the palace at the center of the city. The Jihad and Early Islamic Models The relationship created between mosque and palace also reflects a model used to establish urban centers during the seventh-century expansion of the Islamic Caliphate from the Arabian peninsula. Muhammadu Bello, son and eventual successor to Usman dan Fodio, encouraged the construction of forti- fied urban centers, known as ribats, to protect the borders of the caliphate.62 Murray Last explains the source of this policy: 60 Prussin, African Nomadic Architecture, 40. 61 Bovin, Nomads Who Cultivate Beauty, 70. 62 Last, Sokoto Caliphate, 75. Bello derived the inspiration for these policies from the history and the textbooks of the Arab conquest. He was therefore sure of their success and the rightness of enforcing them. Undoubtedly the sanction given by the Arabic authorities which Bello so often quoted helped to win accep- tance for his policies and to generate enthusiasm for the dangerous life in the ribats.63 It has, therefore, been clear for quite some time that Bello was following early Islamic models in the establishment of ribats throughout the Sokoto Caliph- ate. What has not been clear is just how closely these models were followed. The close resonance in urban planning in the early Islamic Caliphate and the Sokoto Caliphate is illustrated by the city of Kufa, established in southeast Iraq in 638 (Fig. 71). The first construction on the site of Kufa was the mosque.64 From the mosque, an archer then shot an arrow in the direction of Mecca, and three others at 90-degree angles from the first. These arrows established the outer boundaries of the town, conceived in a square with the mosque at the center. The quarters of the town were divided and given over to the different Arab tribes as residential areas. Roads were established parallel to the mosque, al- though one supposes that the central axis roads radiated from it. The palace of the governor, containing the public treasury, was originally separate from the mosque. According to the medieval historian al-Tabari, ac- tive in the late ninth to early tenth centuries, it was attached to the qibla side of the mosque, that is the south side in the case of Kufa, in order to better protect the public treasury after it had been robbed. The idea was that someone would always be in the mosque either praying or meditating, and therefore able to witness any suspicious activity. Indeed, in a later improvement, the two struc- tures were rebuilt as one continuous monument. At Sokoto and Bauchi, both founded after the jihad of Usman dan Fodio in the early nineteenth century, the palace was built facing the qibla wall of the mosque, following the example of Kufa. The qibla from Nigeria and Cam- eroon is due east. The qibla wall of the central mosque of each of these cities 63 Ibid., 80. 64 This brief summary of the foundation of Kufa is based on the account of Nezar AlSayyad, Cities and Caliphs: On the Genesis of Arab Muslim Urbanism, Contributions to the Study of World History 26 (Westport, ct: Greenwood Press, 1991): 55–65. For a more extensive in- quiry into the foundation and history of the city of Kufa, please see Hichem Djaït, Al-Kūfa: naissance de la ville islamique, Islam d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 29 (Paris: G.-P. Maisonneuve et Larose, 1986). Figure 71 Plan of Kufa, Iraq at its founding After AlSayyad, Cities and Caliphs, 71, fig. 3.7 therefore faces east. The palace of the ruler was built to the east of the central mosque facing west toward its qibla wall. In order to follow the arrangement of mosque and palace at Kufa therefore, the eastward-oriented qibla wall in Cameroon and Nigeria faces the westward-oriented palace entrance. At Zaria, as noted earlier, the congregational mosque was moved to the city center so that its qibla wall was directly opposite the palace entrance. In other words, once again the eastward-oriented qibla wall and the westward-oriented palace entrance face each other. Shifting the mosque to the city center simultane- ously repositions the palace to a more easterly location. As was pointed out previously, an easterly position in Fulɓe culture implies the father-like status of the ruler. Thus, the emphasis on the central location of the ruler in Hausa 65 Denyer, African Traditional Architecture, 72. 66 See for instance William Marçais, “L’islamisme et la vie urbaine,” comptes rendus de l’académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres (Paris) (1928), 86–100; G. Marçais, “La con- ception des villes dans l’Islam,” Revue d’Alger (Algiers) 2, no. 10 (1945): 517–33. As Nezar AlSayyad describes their project, however, “they chose not to confront the issue of what constitutes the essence of Islamic urban existence and instead concentrated their at- tention on documenting the physical manifestations of that existence.” AlSayyad, Cities and Caliphs, 17. Shirine Hamadeh points out the North African policy of the French, also enacted in Ngaoundéré, of separating, and thus objectifying and freezing in time, the Islamic “traditional” city from the European “modern” city. Shirine Hamadeh, “Creating the Traditional City: A French Project,” in Forms of Dominance: On the Architecture and Ur- banism of the Colonial Enterprise, ed. Nezar AlSayyad (Aldershot: Avebury, 1992), 241–59. Figure 72 French-built mosque, ca. 1914–1960. Tignère, Cameroon Photo 2000 south of the mosque and palace. Upon inquiry, however, a second and much smaller mosque was indicated to me by my host, Sarki Pawa Boubakari. Bouba- kari stated that this was the original mosque. It is far to the west of the palace and originally communicated with it by means of a wide thoroughfare. The current mosque lies between these two, bisecting communication between the old mosque and the palace, as well as creating a small, previously unde- fined square. The current ruler of Tchéboa, Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary, stated that he had the new mosque built soon after his accession to the throne on May 23, 1988 because the old mosque was too far away. He also suggested that as the religious leader of his community, the mosque and the palace should form one unit.67 Quite clearly, it was easier to move the relatively small mosque closer to the palace, which covers approximately one-fifth of the town’s total area. Kontcha is a rare current example in northern Cameroon of a palace and central mosque that are still spatially separated in the urban plan. This city only gained independence from Banyo as a lamidat of its own under the 67 Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary, interview by author, tape recording, Tchéboa, August 5, 2000. Figure 73 Central mosque with the palace entrance in the background. Tchéboa, Cameroon Photo 1999 Figure 74 Palace entrance, early twentieth century with later additions. Tchéboa, Cameroon Photo 1999 Germans in approximately 1902, during the reign of Laamiiɗo Ahmadou, son of Jawro Bakari.68 The current palace lies at the northwestern edge of the city with its entrance opening on the south-southwest side (Fig. 75). The main av- enue of the town departs from the entrance of the palace, leading east some distance to the entrance of the congregational mosque, topographically at the center of the city. The avenue, lined with the residences of members of the royal family and nobility, provides a long, straight processional ground for the weekly parade of the ruler to Friday prayers in the central mosque, as well as providing a tangible diagram of the power structure of the society. It should be noted, however, that at Kontcha the relationship between pal- ace and mosque has undergone changes over time. The palace of Haman Gab- do Dandi, the founder of Kontcha, was located to the northeast of the current palace. That is, it was located to the north of the congregational mosque. After Dandi left Kontcha to found Banyo, he left his son Arɗo Aboubakari to govern the city in his absence.69 The current palace is on the site of the residence of Aboubakari, and has been passed down through his descendants to serve as the residence of the governor, and after 1902, the laamiiɗo.70 A great deal more work and research is required in Kontcha to say much more about the original arrangement of the city at its foundation. The cur- rent city has shrunk considerably due to its undesirable location in the cur- rent political geography. It is cut off from the rest of Cameroon by a river, and lacks a bridge. On the other side, it is cut off from the remainder of its territory by the Nigerian border. Thus, its territory and connections with the outside world have both been reduced considerably as a result of colonial-established boundaries and lack of infrastructure. The stumps of walls from former build- ings radiate for some distance to the east beyond the current city limits.71 It can be said with certainty, however, that the current palace of the laamiiɗo has al- ways defined the northwestern limit of Kontcha, since a deep valley lies below it that would have been unsuitable for residential use, although it is excellent farmland and the cliff between the two provides a natural defense. The entrance of the current palace has been reoriented over time, however, to create a better relationship between the palace and mosque. The entrance reputedly was originally located in the west-northwest corner. It was moved to 68 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 190. 69 Mohammadou, Fulɓe Hooseere, 172. 70 Yérima Hama Adama, interview by author, tape recording, Kontcha, July 24, 2000. 71 Unfortunately, time did not permit the investigation of these ruins, nor did it allow for further investigation through oral history of the original arrangement of the city. Figure 75 Palace plan, ca. 1920–1949 and later. Kontcha, Cameroon. Key to figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber, 3) Wall remaining from former audience chamber, 4) Current audience chamber, 5) Laamiiɗo’s residence, 6) Wives’ residences, 7) Storeroom the current location during the reign of Laamiiɗo Oussoumanou (d. 1920).72 The reason given for the closure of the original entrance and the opening of the current one is that an entrance facing the mosque was desired once this residence became the central palace. It appears that the decisive event was the severing of Kontcha from Banyo, creating a separate and independent lamidat. The house of Aboubakari had been the governor’s palace for almost a century before the change in the position of the entrance. In fact, the entrance was moved soon after the creation of the new lamidat, perhaps with the intention 72 Yérima Hama Adama, interview by author, tape recording, Kontcha, July 24, 2000. Ngaoundéré The city of Ngaoundéré was founded in approximately 1830 by a Bata servant and a group of Kanuri religious scholars in the name of Arɗo Ndjobdi, a Fulɓe leader under the authority of the Sokoto Caliphate.73 The original arrangement 73 Eldridge Mohammadou describes how these Kanuri religious scholars were sent by Arɗo Ndjobdi: “Nine of these malams were selected by Ardo Ndjobdi, the Fulɓe ruler of Bundang and founder of Ngaundere, to compose the first batch of pioneers who were to settle in Ngaundere. Their names have been recorded: Malum (K. málə̀m) Monguma, Malum Aliyu Jetawa, Malum Ibrahima, Malum Kadir, Malum Muktamu, Malum Mustafa, Malum Musa, Malum Firna, Malum Yusufa. Their particular assign- ment was to set up the first mosque in the new town, the first Koranic schools where they would be teaching, and to officiate the various ceremonies for the new community. These malams founded the Kanuri ward of scholars in Ngaundere known as Malumri, from where was created the second Kanuri ward of the city named Kormari and where resided the Mai-Borno or head of the Kanuri community of the town.” Mohammadou, “Kanuri Imprint,” 271. Gender and Orientation In this last section on spatial orientation, I return to the ruler of Banyo’s state- ment that the palace and the seated laamiiɗo always face west in the “direction of power.” In the first section of this chapter, I glossed this statement as being related to a nomadic Fulɓe insistence on west as a masculine domain, and thus powerful. It may seem curious at first that the palace should be located in the east facing west, if the west is the “direction of power.” The situation is clarified somewhat by considering the city as conceptually related on a larger scale to the nomadic Fulɓe wuro. In this sense, the laamiiɗo residing in the palace to the east corresponds to the nomadic Fulɓe concept of the father-figure seated in the eastern residential half of the compound, while the rest of the city’s population to the west corresponds to the male offspring residing in the west- ern half of the nomadic Fulɓe compound. As previously noted, however, the east is also associated in eastern nomadic pastoral Fulɓe culture with women. It is the domain of females and children too young to stay with the herd. Only the male head of the household may enter the eastern residential portion of the household. All other males sleep in the male domain to the west, without shelter. As Marguerite Dupire puts it so eloquently in writing about the Wooɗaaɓe Fulɓe of Niger, “the bachelor does not prepare a shelter…and stretches himself out on a mat, under the stars ‘with the herd,’ according to the hallowed expression.”74 Even the head of the house- hold, however, avoids passing time in the residential area. Spending too much time in the women’s domain means jeopardizing one’s masculinity. In the settled Fulɓe context, many of the same cultural associations with space remain true. The household is still largely the domain of women. Men spend the majority of their time either outside the house, or relaxing in the entrance passing time with friends in this most public area of the house. Most of the area of a residence is taken up with the quarters of the wife, the cooking area and a covered kitchen, open areas for the drying of food stuffs and food preparation, perhaps a small garden, a chicken coop, and a granary. A man who spends too much time at home is considered lazy or, much worse, as being effeminate.75 74 Dupire, Peuls nomades, 157. 75 This should not blind one to the very real transfer of ownership and construction of the home, as argued cogently by Prussin and noted earlier in this text, from female hands in the nomadic Fulɓe context to male hands in the sedentary context. See p. 57. Women and Sorcery As the domain of wisdom and secret knowledge, including fertility and the giving of life, the east may be more than simply an area that is off-limits to males. It may be even dangerous to males. Women are frequently considered to be among the principal practitioners of sorcery.76 Related secret knowledge includes that which is beneficial, such as fertility and the giving of life, and that which is baneful, such as sorcery. They are two sides of the same coin, both requiring control of forces beyond the mundane realm.77 An example of the gendered implications of sorcery was described to me by a young woman working in Ngaoundéré. This woman told me the story of her parents’ divorce. Her mother was accused of sorcery by her father’s second wife out of jealousy. Most people took the side of the second wife, because the woman’s mother, the first wife, was very successful at everything to which she put her mind. Finding the living situation unbearable, the first wife decided that she wanted a divorce. She took the matter to the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré, who was a maternal cousin. The laamiiɗo, also a friend of her husband, tried to reconcile the couple. Reconciliation was not possible, however, and they finally divorced. But the divorce occurred only after the first wife swore on the Qur’an that she was not a sorcerer and that if she were, she hoped that God would strike dead all of her children. This latter statement held particular im- port because sorcery is said to be passed through the mother. A few days after the divorce, the second wife became catatonic and then her brother died. The ex-husband lived alone for the rest of his life. 76 Women are generally considered the bearers and transmitters of sorcery in Adamaoua Region, although males can also be sorcerers. Accusations of sorcery are most frequently brought against one wife by another, in situations of jealousy. J.-C. Froelich notes sepa- rate terms in Mboum for male (solok) and female (mboga or mbama) sorcerers. Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum du Nord-Cameroun,” Journal de la Société des Africanistes (Paris) 29, fasc. 1 (1959): 113. These terms are not found in Shun’ya Hino’s The Classified Vocabulary of the Mbum Language in Mbang Mboum. 77 The concept may be similar to that of ase in Yoruba culture. Rowland Abiodun defines this concept as, “that divine essence in which physical materials, metaphysical concepts, and art blend to form the energy or life force activating and directing socio-political, re- ligious, and artistic processes and experiences.” “Understanding Yoruba Art and Aesthet- ics: The Concept of Ase,” African Arts 27, no. 3 (July 1994): 78. Earlier, in the same article, Abiodun points out that “without Ohun (‘voice,’ the ‘verbalization or performance of the word’), neither Epe (‘curse,’ the ‘malevolent use of ase’) nor Ase (‘life-force’) can act to fulfill its mission.” Ibid., 73. This latter quote suggests the essential lack of a moral sense inherent in the concept of ase, as I suggest seems to be true in the Adamaoua context. This story relates the case of a woman who was accused of sorcery out of the jealousy of a co-wife. Indeed conflict between co-wives is a common context for accusations of sorcery. The accusation was believed because the first wife was successful, and because she was female. Women are particularly associ- ated with sorcery because the capacity is believed to be passed through the female line, ostensibly through the connection between mother and child in the birth process. It is perhaps the same creative power which ultimately fuels both birth and the destructive proclivity for sorcery.78 The stories concerning the success of Idool, a small predominantly Fulɓe village about 60 km to the east of Ngaoundéré, provide another example of the perceived association between women and sorcery. Idool was founded in 1958 by a previously nomadic pastoralist who preached a messianic version of Islam. This town is renowned in the area as a small but prosperous village. As such, it is also the victim of a great many rumors concerning the source of this prosperity and good fortune. The rumors are exacerbated by the high level of education of the village’s women. Idool received a grant in 2000 from the World Bank to rebuild and expand their small elementary school. The grant was given to the village in large part because they are renowned for sending all of their girls to school; this in an area where the education of girls is rou- tinely overlooked. It is worthwhile spending some time considering some of the things that are said about this place. One acquaintance, a young man who taught Islam to children in Ngaoun- déré, stated that the former jawro of Idool had the power to tell a person’s past and future. He was able to do so because he had mastered a jinn, a supernatural creature with mystical powers. Furthermore, the former jawro had created a cult surrounding the worship of this jinn. A second acquaintance, the young woman who had told me about her parents’ divorce, told me similar stories about Idool. She stated on one occasion that the town is beautiful, but that 78 I know of no studies of sorcery in Adamaoua and can only relate those anecdotes that I collected during my own fieldwork. There are a number of works that deal with issues of sorcery in other parts of Cameroon, however, that can furnish some alternate possibilities for understanding the origins of this capacity. As but one example, Viviane Baeke records that in Wuli culture in Northwest Region, the capacity for sorcery is similarly introduced in the womb. In this case, however, an outside force, the malevolent spirit of sorcery, in- troduces “some physiological anomaly or other that will become the seat of a sinister power after birth.” The physiological anomaly, that is the physical capacity for sorcery, and whether or not this capacity was ever exercised, can only be determined through an autopsy after death. “Water Spirits and Witchcraft: Rituals, Myths and Objects (Mfumte- Wuli, Western Cameroon),” in Objects: Signs of Africa, ed. Luc de Heusch (Ghent: Snoeck- Ducaju and Son, 1995), 61. The Ruler Confined to the Palace Very few males are allowed access to the interior of a sedentary Fulɓe resi- dence. Normally, a portion of the family compound is walled off for separate use by male members of the family after they reach puberty. If space does not permit, then they may build a separate compound elsewhere in the settlement, or take a portion of another family member’s compound. Within the palace, accordingly, the number of males allowed access is dras- tically reduced. Normally, only the ruler and the kaygama maccube have the right to enter. This replicates the situation in the nomadic pastoral Fulɓe home- stead in which only the male head of the household retains the right to enter the residential area. Guards also have access to the palace, although it is said that they were all eunuchs in time past—i.e., they do not really count as males. Not only is the ruler the only viable male allowed access to the interior of the palace, but he is virtually sequestered therein. Rarely does he emerge from its confines, and it is said that appearances were even rarer in the pre-colonial period. The ruler typically leaves the palace only on Friday, for the communal 79 The correlation of sexuality and mystical powers with women can also be seen in many other cultures in West and Central Africa. For instance, Henry Drewal points out that “according to the Yoruba, the most powerful curse or invocation a woman can utter is done in kneeling position while nude, her clitoris exposed—just as depicted in many female onile and edan figures.” “Art and Ethos of the Ijebu” in Yoruba: Nine Centuries of African Art and Thought (New York: Center for African Art, 1989), 140. Similarly, Susan Vogel points out the relationship between female sexual organs and supernatural power in Baule culture: The Baule consider the most powerful amuin the amuin bla, the women’s deities, no- tably Adyanun. The women dance Adyanun as a last recourse in times of impending calamity—epidemics, war, drought, a president’s death—because it is more potent than all the other amuin…. Adyanun may be danced after the men’s bo nun amuin have failed, or if they are not considered strong enough. The women’s amuin is danced “naked” because its locus of power is every woman’s sexual organs, which, like the men’s bo nun amuin, can be fatal to members of the opposite sex. Should a man spy on a woman and see her sex, he will fall sick and die unless he pays for sacrifices as a fine. Should a woman curse a man on her amuin, he will die unless precautions are taken to appease her. Baule: African art, Western eyes (New Haven, ct: Yale University Press, 1997), 59. Gender Ambiguity and the Ruler Suzanne P. Blier has described a series of fictions designed to resolve the “inher- ent contradictions which exist between individual rulers and the institution of rulership, specifically the dilemma of the monarch as both human (someone who is born, ages, dies) and the symbol of an enduring state structure.”80 In do- ing so, she has applied to African royal institutions a concept traced for the medi- eval European context by Ernst H. Kantorowicz.81 One of these common fictions in African systems of rulership involves the transgendered status of the ruler.82 I have suggested that the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré partakes in the female domain to a much greater extent than other members of the population. He does so as the most masculine and virile of males, representing the father of the population. Yet his seclusion within the palace simultaneously imbues him with a certain femininity. This is clearly a common feature of rulership across sub-Saharan Africa, as suggested by Blier, and is related to the harnessing of the female powers of fertility and procreation by the father of the population, also elaborated above for the area around Ngaoundéré. This argument is only strengthened by the position of the residence of the laamiiɗo within the palace complex. As discussed in the first half of this chapter, the residence of the ruler is located on the northern side of the pal- ace of Ngaoundéré, as at most other palaces in Adamaoua Region. In the 80 Blier, Royal Arts, 25. 81 Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology (Princ- eton, nj: Princeton University Press, 1957). 82 Blier, Royal Arts, 35. 83 Jean-Paul Warnier, “The King as a Container in the Cameroon Grassfields,” Paideuma 39 (1993): 303–19. The ideas summarized in this article by Warnier were later expanded and explored in much greater detail in his book The Pot-King: The Body and Technologies of Power, African Social Studies 17 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 84 See p. 70–71 n. 13. Mboum Heritage The similarities between Mboum conceptions of rulership and those of their descendants in western Cameroon can be clarified through a close reading of the early anthropological work on the Mboum by Jean-Claude Froelich.85 I will summarize Froelich’s description of the major festival Mborianha, or the celebration of the ha, in the pre-Islamic faith of the Mboum. A ha is an iron throwing knife with multiple blades branching off from the handle (Fig. 76). Similar weaponry is widespread in northern Cameroon, Tchad, and into wide Figure 76 Ha throwing knife. Adamaoua Region, Cameroon Michael Oliver Collection. Photo: Jerry L. Thompson, Courtesy of the Museum for African Art, New York 85 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 91–117. 86 A large number of these objects were removed from Ngaouha in the 1990s to be placed in a small museum within the bellaka’s palace in Ngangha. These objects included, among other items, a large number of ha, double gongs, and a large wooden throne carved with a leopard. A description of this process, along with a broader survey of archaeology in Ad- amaoua with particular focus on the Mboum, may be found in Bienvenu Denis Nizésété, Apports de l’archéologie à l’histoire du Cameroun: Le sol pour mémoire (Paris: L’harmattan, 2013), 228–41. 87 Shun’ya Hino translates fe as “thing, matter.” Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 315. The discrep- ancy between these two translations is not clearly resolved. I suggest, however, that a “thing” holding the essence of the sexes and sacred powers of fertility, which is the source of the bellaka’s right to rule, may be interpreted loosely as being the “strength of the Mboum” or as an object of power. An analogous situation may be seen in the controversy surrounding the Afo-a-Kom, a beaded wood sculpture removed from the palace of Kom in northwest Cameroon to end up in an art dealer’s exhibition room in New York City. The return of this object in 1973 was hailed in the Western press as the repatriation of a sacred object to its rightful place. The term Afo-a-Kom literally means “a thing belonging to the Kom people”; not exactly an exalted name for such a supposedly sacred object. Eugenia Shanklin, “The Odyssey of the Afo-a-Kom,” African Arts (Los Angeles) 23, no. 4 (October 1990), 62. It later became evident that this was an attributed name. The object was one of a set of three called Ufwu-ntoh, “things of the palace,” and this particular one was known as Mbang, which means “a stick of wood.” Photographs taken before the theft of the sculpture, furthermore, showed it lying rather unceremoniously on its side on the floor of the palace. Despite its rather unassuming names, there is little doubt that this object is understood to hold power in Kom society, although the nature of that power and the manner in which one approaches it may diverge from the concepts of power and respect in the European tradition. Ibid., 65. 88 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 104. 89 This is an interesting gift to give, particularly in relation to this ceremony. The hoe is first of all useful in agricultural production, helping to sustain oneself and one’s offspring. It furthermore helps to make the earth fertile. Finally, it is an object of iron, as the ha and other objects held within the calabashes. Iron in a wide variety of African cultures is often perceived as a material possessing or involved with supernatural power through its seem- ingly miraculous transformation from ore mined in the earth into a metal that can protect, if fashioned into tools of war, or provide, if fashioned into tools of agriculture. In this sense, the hoe could furthermore be understood as a counterpart in some sense to the ha. Ga-wen is invisible but he hears men; he dispenses life, health, the fe- cundity of women and the fertility of the fields; he gives rain, he accords strength and wealth. He made the sun (sisey), and lives everywhere, but the prayers that one addresses to him must be pronounced in the presence of an object that symbolizes God and that serves as altar and transmitter. It is the white calabash, in which one pours millet beer (the rain which makes fruitful and that determines the sprouting of the mil- let); one deposits therein finally a branch of the digu shrub. The orant, clothed in white, takes the calabash, symbol of Wen, celestial deity, and places it in the pak, temple of the sacred objects that faces the saaré of the belaka.91 Like the calabash, the bellaka himself serves as a container, as does the palace on a larger scale. The same is true in the Cameroon Grassfields. Container motifs histori- cally featured prominently in objects associated with the ruler. The palace, as the kingdom itself, became a container through the construction of walls and moats. These barriers were constructed as much to keep the productive potential of the community within the palace, and the state on a larger scale, as to protect against some external threat. Warnier points out that in the kingdom of Mankon, boundaries were erected for both physical and spiritual containment: 90 According to D.P. de Pedrals, the deity’s name is M’ven. D.P. de Pedrals, ““Langues, Cou- tumes et Religions,” in Cameroun-Togo, ed. Eugène Guernier, Encyclopédie de l’Afrique Française, Encyclopédie Coloniale et Maritime (Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1951), 90. Shun’ya Hino uses the term H’vèn. Hino, Classified Vocabulary, 127. 91 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 102. The palace was responsible (and still is) for turning the chiefdom— called “the country,” ala’a—into a bounded unit. In the second half of the nineteenth century, this was done by practical means such as a moat sur- rounding the whole chiefdom. This moat…was meant to prevent the loss of kidnapped people to the outside. That is, it was not meant to prevent outsiders from coming in, but intruders from escaping. It was a means to contain people. Closure was also achieved by ritual means. Once a year, at the beginning of the agricultural cycle, when the women have start- ed farming, the palace seals off the country from external malevolent forces in the form of tornadoes, hailstorms (frequent in the early rainy season above 1000 m altitude), locusts and other pests. This apotropaic ritual is still performed in most Grassfields chiefdoms by putting medi- cines across the paths and at road junctions. Consequently, the fon [i.e. ruler] is responsible for bringing together unrelated descent groups into a bounded unit as in a vessel.92 While I have not found any indication that moats or walls were built around the Mboum states in the nineteenth century or earlier, it is clear that the fences surrounding the bellaka’s homestead were intended as much for the containment of vital essence, reflected in the introduction of the calabashes into the palace interior during Mborianha, as for protecting the privacy of the ruler. The essence of the Mborianha ceremony involves exchanging the calabash- es between the opposing chambers, as a symbolic joining of the vital essence of the opposing sexes. These are then unified in the person of the ruler, by bringing both into the palace. The ruler in turn pronounces prayers to Ga-wen on behalf of the community, spitting millet beer on members of the commu- nity as he does so. The spitting of the beer, much like the spitting of palm wine in western Cameroon, is meant to share the vital essence contained within the ruler with the rest of the population, fertilizing them and the land. It is a rather explicit reference to ejaculation.93 92 Warnier, “King as a Container,” 308. Walls and a moat were likewise built around Foum- ban, the capital of the Bamum kingdom in the nineteenth century, although in this case the act does seem to be defensive as it was spurred by attacks, either Fulɓe or more likely Tchamba, during the reign of King Mbouombouo in the late eighteenth or early nine- teenth centuries. 93 Hino points out that the Mboum term for “to bless” is sámà hvèn, created from the terms “to spit” (sámà) and “God” (hvèn). Hino, Classified Dictionary, 127. The sharing of vital essence through saliva is a feature of royal ceremony which is replicated in the Cameroon Grassfields among the purported descen- dants of the Mboum as Warnier once again relates: Another substance that came out of the fon himself was his saliva, or its substitute in the form of raphia wine. As a means of bestowing his bless- ing on someone, the fon spits on him. I myself was spat upon by a number of fons. During the annual festival, in the middle of the dry season, the fon of Mankon joins the people in dancing, holding his drinking horn. Once in a while, he takes a mouthful of wine and sprays it over the people dancing around, who bow under the shower.94 Other substances listed by Warnier as coming from the fon’s body included breath and semen. Breath and saliva were shared openly and freely. The ruler in western Cameroon shared semen by becoming the literal father of the popu- lation through his numerous progeny. This was made possible in part through the restriction of marriage and reproductive rights to large segments of the male population. In the Mboum case, I was assured that past rulers married many more than the four wives allowed by the Islamic religious faith of the current and recent bellakas of Ngangha. It is unclear if the Mboum ruler kept as tight a rein on reproduction and marriage rights historically as the Bamum and Bamiléké, but at least the symbolic insemination of the population during the Mborianha ceremony is evident. The fundamental disjunction between the male and female characteristics united in the ruler is one also seen in neighboring cultures in Adamaoua, such as the Dìì. Jean-Claude Muller explains that a Dìì ruler undergoes a second circumcision during the investiture rites which makes him a “full” man, un- like the rest of the male population who have only been circumcised once and who therefore retain some female characteristics. Femininity is represented through the Faa mask, a female double of the ruler: The chief wears this female double precisely because his status as the only true man permits him to unite the opposing genders. He surpasses not only the other men of his chiefdom (who remain a little female) but 94 Warnier, “King as a Container,” 308. The use of millet beer in northern Cameroon as op- posed to palm wine in southern Cameroon reflects the fact that millet grows in a dryer climate while raffia palm trees grow in a wetter climate. One could therefore understand the Grassfields practice of using palm wine as a ritual blessing as a continuity with the Mboum culture using an analogous and locally available spirit. also the women, who by definition are inferior to men. In transcending both genders, the chief encompasses them—somewhat in the manner of Louis Dumont—and ensures that they coexist. He is the ultimate supervisor of the circumcision, a ceremony bestowing gender identity. Through his mediation the atmosphere of “the war between the sexes” is finally dispelled… The female mask and the male and female insignia allow this duality to be grafted onto his physical person.95 In the same article, Muller found similar practices amongst neighbors of the Dìì, such as the Mundang, Tchamba, and Komo, of the unification of the sexes in the person of the ruler, albeit by slightly different means. Among the Mboum, an agricultural-based society, there is a clear associa- tion between the health of the ruler and the fecundity of the land and popu- lation. Froelich writes that in the case of calamities or the poor health of the ruler, the ruler was strangled so that a more vigorous individual might bring back health and prosperity: When scarcity was severe, when drought caused the millet to wither, when calamities befell the tribe, or when the belaka fell sick and became weak, the niariya counsel gathered and decided upon the ritual death of the king.96 The weakness of the ruler was clearly indicative of his lack of fertility and in- ability to accumulate vital essence. Without this ability, the land and the peo- ple suffer drought and barrenness. Conversely, drought and communal misfor- tune indicate the ruler’s inability to conserve vital essence. In either case, the fundamental potency of the ruler, the power that only he may fully compre- hend, is lacking. As the preceding discussion suggests, Mboum culture strongly associates the ruler with the fertility of land and population, as do many other agricultur- ally based societies throughout the area. The ruler contains the power of fer- tility through his incorporation of the feminine and masculine principles. As will be shown in the next chapter, such concepts are made even more concrete through ritual movement. The contexts of secrecy, container motifs, and the female positioning of the ruler of Ngaoundéré in Fulɓe arenas are interpreted through the lens of Mboum rulership. Similar to western Cameroon, it is the 95 Jean-Claude Muller, “Inside, Outside, and Inside Out: Masks, Rulers, and Gender among the Dìì and Their Neighbors,” African Arts (Los Angeles) 34, no. 1 (Spring 2001): 65. 96 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 108. Conclusion In the first half of this chapter, the meaning in Fulɓe culture of the location of the palace within the urban fabric of the city of Ngaoundéré was explained through the analogy of the nomadic pastoral Fulɓe residence. Although the overt associations with particular directions, influencing the choice of posi- tion and orientation of the palace, differed in settled as opposed to nomadic Fulɓe culture, the same underlying roots of these associations remained in- tact. Islamic tradition became a justification to other cultures, such as the Hausa and Kanuri, for the implementation of a Fulɓe interpretation of space in urban planning. In this same act, as suggested by Yoshihito Shimada, one could argue that the Fulɓe generalized their own culture into a regional cul- ture under the rubric of Islam, in some sense obliterating their identity in their own interests of empowerment.97 In the second half of this chapter, the relationship between a Fulɓe and Mboum interpretation of space was exam- ined with an eye toward the proper relationship between the ruler and his subjects. It became clear that the two are complementary, in part due to the intense commingling of the two cultures which creates a distinctive Ngaoun- déré culture. As a result, it has become difficult to distinguish between the two once-separate cultures. This mixture of cultures that is so characteristic of Ngaoundéré leaves it somewhere in the middle of a theoretical continuum formulated by sociolo- gist Victor Azarya. He postulates that: It seems that in those areas of the Sokoto Empire where the Fulbe took over existing state structures, such as in Hausaland, but also in Ilorin and Nupe, they tended to adopt the local language and culture. Where they built a new state structure out of a variety of loosely organized smaller 97 Shimada, “Jihad as Dialectical Movement.” It is possibly this generalization of identity that has made the process of “fulbeization” such a prominent feature of cultural politics in northern Cameroon. units, as in Adamawa, Gombe and Muri, their own culture and language spread to the local population.98 According to this model, the existence of a strong pre-jihad state structure caused the Fulɓe conquerors of the powerful pre-jihad Hausa states to lose their cultural identity. Those who conquered less politically organized peoples, such as in northern Cameroon, retained their cultural identity. Indeed in these areas, Fulɓe culture subsumed the other neighboring cultures. This chapter has suggested that in Ngaoundéré there was, and continues to be, an intense negotiation between cultures, rather than a cultural imperialism on the part of the Fulɓe. This idea will be explored more fully in the following two chapters. 98 Victor Azarya, “Sedentarization and Ethnic Identity among the Fulbe: A Comparative View,” Unity and Diversity of a People: The Search for a Fulbe Identity, ed. Paul K. Eguchi and Victor Azarya, Senri Ethnological Studies 35 (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1993), 54–55. This chapter examines architecture as being formed by, and helping to orga- nize, ritual movement. It begins with a survey of the standard palace plan in northern Cameroon, followed by a more specific consideration of the plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré. Control and restriction of movement within the pal- ace will then be examined. As I was constantly reminded in northern Camer- oon, it is not everyone who can enter the palace. The purpose of this section is again two-fold. First, comprehension of not only the space enclosed by the pal- ace, but also human movement and activity inside and outside its confines— in short, it is an examination of how space is used. Second, this chapter will elicit the relationship between daily movement and ritual movement within the palace, thus addressing the premise set forth by Maurice Bloch that royal ritual is built upon non-royal ritual.1 To understand the significance of royal ritual, one must understand the context from which it is drawn. Here, how- ever, I will restrict my attention largely to movement within the palace, leav- ing an analysis of vernacular architecture for the future. More so, I will largely restrict description of movement to my own personal experience at the palace of Ngaoundéré; this because I was able to gain very little information, except for that provided by a plan created for me by a servant of the laamiiɗo and that observable from pathways visible on aerial photographs, on movement of individuals within the private areas of the palace. In describing the Muganuro royal ceremony on Ijwi Island, on the border between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo, David Newbury ex- plains that a tension exists between the ceremony as a common element of societies throughout the region, and the particularities of the Ijwi case: More than any other single factor, it is the participation of Ijwi ritualists within the Muganuro ceremony which relates kingship to Ijwi society. But Muganuro clearly draws on a set of ritual forms and symbols and con- cepts common throughout the area. Therefore, while the participants in 1 Maurice Bloch, “The Ritual of the Royal Bath in Madagascar: The Dissolution of Death, Birth and Fertility into Authority,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societ- ies, ed. David Cannadine and Simon Price (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 271. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_006 Muganuro relate royalty to the specific Ijwi context, the structure of the rituals relates kingship historically to the wider regional context.2 The movement described in this chapter within the palace of Ngaoundéré will similarly be seen to evoke vital tensions. Wherever possible, this will be gen- eralized to Fulɓe palaces throughout the region, considering the great similar- ity in palace plans and culture. Like the palace architecture itself, movement within the palace in a ceremonial context or otherwise partakes of a common form with particularities in each case that refer to the specific local commu- nity. Efforts will be made to indicate how patterns of movement have changed over time with architectural modifications and the changing fortunes of local hegemony. I explore rituals of installation as a key to understanding the nature of rul- ership in Ngaoundéré specifically, and in Adamaoua in general. While I was unable to witness this event during my research, I will present a more stan- dardized account of the installation of monarchs. It is at this critical moment in society’s existence that many of the cultural conceptions of the nature of rulership are displayed and performed. An understanding of the palace re- quires an understanding of the institution to which it is intimately related. In this chapter, I also look at the ritual of the weekly faada, a council meet- ing that occurs after Friday prayers. Faada provides an opportunity both to renew the bonds between ruler and society and to provide a regular forum for communication between the two. As with any public drama, and as Vic- tor Turner points out, an opportunity is also provided for criticism, both of the ruler by the public and of the public by the ruler. As Turner also explains, performances such as these inevitably have multivalent purposes and inter- pretations.3 A particular instance of faada will be recounted and related to the more general ceremony, with the intention of further eliciting the conception of rulership and the duties of the ruler in northern Cameroon, as well as the relationship to the palace. In the final section of this chapter, I recount the ceremonies which I wit- nessed surrounding the celebration of the Muslim holiday Juulde Layhaaji, also frequently called Fête du Mouton in French, Tabaski in Wolof, or ‘Id al-Adha/‘Id al-Kabir in Arabic. This ceremony includes a ceremonial ride around the capi- tal by the ruler, followed by the repeated charging of him and his palace by 2 David Newbury, Kings and Clans: Ijwi Island and the Lake Kivu Rift, 1780–1840 (Madison, wi: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 200. 3 Victor Turner, The Anthropology of Performance, Performance Studies Series 4. (New York: paj Publications, 1988), 23–26. Palace Plans Standard Plan The terms laamorde, meaning “palace” or “capital,” and saare laamiiɗo, or “the laamiiɗo’s residence,” evoke a definite image in northern Cameroon. There is a generalized concept of the palace, to which all actual examples tend to conform. This is true in particular of Fulɓe palaces, which those of non-Fulɓe groups have begun to resemble more and more in recent decades. The pal- ace is commonly referred to nowadays by the French pastiche, lamidat. The palace generally lies at the end of a main thoroughfare, or sometimes a cross- roads of two major streets, on the eastern side of the city. Its main entrance opens toward the west, facing the qibla wall of the nearby mosque across a square. Huge earthen walls reaching 30 ft. in height surrounding the palace are frequently topped with either defensive devices, such as sharpened sticks or thorns, or with small roofing elements to protect against the heavy rains. A visitor finds oneself able to penetrate the palace from only one point: a massive gate located in the center of the western side of the palace compound. This gate is normally the formal type called a soorowol, or more generally known by the shortened term sooro. The pillared hall provides a ceremonious entrance to the palace compound. One or more men, passing the time chat- ting with friends, guard this entrance. The entrance guard is referred to by the Hausa title sarkin kofa, literally “chief of the portal,” or sometimes simply kofa, “portal.” After the first sooro, the visitor enters into a courtyard. On either the north or south side of this courtyard, a doorway leads into the guards’ residence. An exit on the opposite side leads to the prison, as well as the prison guard’s resi- dence. At the east end of the courtyard is a large structure with a portal. This structure is, generally speaking, also the meeting place of the council, or faada. It is almost always a sooro and will have a place for the laamiiɗo to sit at the far end, with room for his courtiers to assemble before him. A doorway leads from near the laamiiɗo’s seating place to the second courtyard. If particularly favored, the visitor may be allowed to proceed through the second courtyard to the third structure. This third structure is usually a large sooro, and functions as the ruler’s throne room and personal audience cham- ber. A nearby jawleeru functions as the gate, or entrance, to the private regions of the palace. This room represents the farthest limit that the visitor may gen- erally attain. Only women, palace guards, and particularly trusted advisors may progress beyond the jawleeru. The private areas of the palace are generally divided into a series of individ- ual compounds. Each wife has her own compound, with a maximum of four wives permissible under Islamic law, consisting of a sleeping structure and a separate kitchen structure. There will also sometimes be a structure serving as an entrance to her private compound if, as is the norm, each wife’s compound is physically separated from the others by walls. There may also be separate ar- eas for concubines. The ruler will have his own separate compound, generally within the northern private areas of the palace, containing a sleeping chamber and perhaps a meeting room for passing time with visiting royalty and leaders. There is commonly an area for the burial of deceased laamiiɓe, and at times space for gardens tended by the women of the palace. While the above may represent the general conception of the palace, actual palaces may diverge from this plan. It also does not allow for many of the mod- ern intrusions in contemporary palace architecture, such as the laamiiɗo’s of- fice, the secretariat, the “traditional” court, and the garage. The office in many cases, such as at Ngaoundéré, Boundang-Touroua, and Tignère, has replaced the throne room. The secretariat is usually placed nearby, and sometimes the two are connected. Usually the garage is to one side or the other of the main entrance. The Plan of Ngaoundéré Palace In considering the specific plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré, one may com- pare a plan based upon that created in 1977 by geographer André Gondolo (Fig. 77) with that created in 2000 for me by a servant of the laamiiɗo who will remain anonymous (Fig. 78). The latter plan has been confirmed in its general accuracy with contempo- rary aerial photographs of the palace. In the discussion that follows, individual sites will be enumerated according to their identification on the anonymous servant’s plan. While the basic plan of the palace has been maintained, signifi- cant changes are apparent. It may be safely assumed that the plan recorded by Gondolo in 1977 is similarly related to, but not identical with, the palace as it was built in the late nineteenth century. Figure 77 Plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré in 1977, ca. 1897–1901 and later. After André Gon- dolo, N’Gaoundéré, 266. Key to figure: 1) External porch, 2) First jawleeru, 3) Court of the guards, 4) Second jawleeru, 5) Salon (“Danki Foulbé”), 6) Jawleeru of the balafons, 7) Servant’s residence, 8) Jawleeru (also a stable), 9) Gouga (jawleeru for the laamiiɗo’s family’s quarters), 10) Laamiiɗo’s residence, 11–14) Wives’ residences, 15) Jawleeru of the servants’ quarters (also a stable), 16) Stable, 17–26) Servants’ residences, 27) Kitchen, 28) Building under construction, 29) Customary court, 30) Jawleeru of the servants’ quarters, 31–33) Servants’ residences, 34) Storehouse for foodstuffs Figure 78 Plan of the palace of Ngaoundéré in 2000, ca. 1897–1901 and later Key to figure: 1) Djac Mokon (trois sortie ou entrée), 2) Djaoulérou foulbé (le salon de foulbé), 3) Djaoulérou Djaa (le salon de piano—balafon), 4) Yelwa (magasin), 5) Djaoulérou Soudal (le salon de la couverture), 6) Djac Gouga (l’entrée de la maison royale), 7) Gouga (maison traditionnel, magique et royale), 8) Soudou Lamou (maison sacré du lamido), 9) Soudou Soulabé (maison de femme originaire de l’Adamaoua en générale prit par le lamido pour question de confiance ou beauté), 10) Djaoulérou Makira (le salon de la cheftaine de toutes les femmes du lamido), 11) Soudou Robé Lamdo (la maison des femmes du lamido), 12) Makira (la mère du lamido), 13) Fattoudé Robé Lamdo Yesso (le quartier des femmes du lamido d’avant), 14) Guidam Moutoua (le cimetière, tous les lamibés mort ici son là), 15) Bureau Lamdo (son bureau reçoit ses invités par audience), 16) Secrétariat Lamdo (secrétaire—les pliantes, convocation, les lettres…), 17) Djaoulérou Goun Djac Soy (les enfants de dehors), 18) Soudou Malaa (la chambre de régisseur), 19) Soudou Halloubé (la prison), 20) Kissin Malaa (la cuisine de régisseur), 21) Djaoulérou Poutchou Malaa (le box de cheval de son régisseur), 22) Dofta Lamdo (l’hôpital, s’il est malade ou sa famille ils vont à la maison pour soigner), 23) Daldal Siyassa (la place de la cérémonie), 24) Koaka Nyâké (l’esclave et son maître—tribunal), 25) Djant Adjoka (le champ d’arachide), 26) Koubla (l’endroit où on bâcle les femmes du lamido lors du travaille masculin dans son quartier—on ne voit pas les femmes du lamido quand ses ministres travaille chez lui esp. les murs tombent la toiture quitte et…), 27) Taptap (la douche), 28) Soudou Poutchou (le box, la maison de son meilleur cheval), 29) Adda Lamdo (la grande sœur du lamido), 30) Soudou Mota (sa voiture), 31) Sankira (le trou du lamidat), 32) Salon Lamdo (son salon pour causer avec ses enfants et ses femmes), 33) Soudouo Ko’do (pour loger ses meilleurs étrangers), 34) Adamou Pana (son esclave), 35) Mouy Pakfil (la femme du salon chargé de propriété du lamido), 36) Fira Bakka (bondi et colle—place du faada), 37) Lawoul Mota (la sortie de la voiture), 38) Il y a cinq quartiers au lamidat qui son (1-A) Fattoudé Malaa, (2-A) Fattoudé Lamdo, (3-A) Fattoudé Robé Lamdo, (4-A) Fattoudé Makira, (5-A) Fattoudé Guidam Moutoua Figure 79 Diagram of potential movement within the palace, ca. 1897–1901 and later. Ngaoun- déré, Cameroon Drawing by Anonymous, 2000 The same servant created, as a gift for me, a plan of movement through the palace (Fig. 79).4 While conceived as representing all potential physical dis- placement throughout the complex, I quickly realized that it represents most accurately the potential movement of the laamiiɗo, who is the sole individual who may enter wherever he pleases within the palace. On numerous occasions while in the midst of working in the palace, I would turn around only to find that the ruler had appeared behind me unannounced and had been observing me. He seemed to appear out of nowhere. The contemporary entrance, or Jawleeru Yonnde (#17), to the palace of Ngaoundéré is a recently constructed cement structure (Fig. 56). It was built after the destruction of the original entrance in 1993 by arson. To the left of the contemporary sooro is the Islamic Health Center (#22), built at the same time as the new entrance, and in the same style. This structure was originally built as 4 This servant of the laamiiɗo was very excited to help me in my project. He felt very ada- mant that the palace, and indeed the majority of all artistic and cultural achievements in Ngaoundéré lamidat were Mboum, rather than Fulɓe, suggesting the social fault lines meant to be concealed through royal ritual. His assistance was given with the goal of disclosing the achievements of the Mboum to the world. 5 Ketil Fred Hansen, The Historical Construction of a Political Culture in Ngaoundéré, Northern Cameroon (Doctoral thesis, University of Oslo, 2000), 164–67. Figure 80 Porch of Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 81 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 repainted since I first visited in 1996, when the pilasters adjoining the door were painted in a honeycomb pattern.6 Jawleeru Njakmuukon has a square plan with six heavily decorated earthen pillars in two rows of three running east to west (Figs. 81–83). The ceiling is an elaborate arrangement of corbelled wood beams with a hole in the south- west corner for maintenance purposes. The decorations on the pillars are said to represent a variety of concepts. The stars, crescent moons, palm trees and Qur’anic boards are representations of Islam. The sword is said to repre- sent military conquest, while horseshoe motifs reference the horses that the Fulɓe used in their conquest of the area. The unusual potted plant motifs are 6 It is possible that this provided the inspiration for the similar honeycomb pattern painted on the interior of the entrance to the jawro of Idool’s palace (Fig. 23). Apiculture is indeed widely practiced in Adamaoua Region by non-Fulɓe groups. The beeswax is exported south to the Grassfields where it is used in lost wax brass casting. Figure 82 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 presented as depictions of powerful herbs. A lizard motif is said to protect the palace, as lizards are always to be found on the walls of houses doing little more than watching passers-by. Raised bosses are described as representing breasts while longer motifs are explained as penises. The latter two motifs are said to depict the sexual identities of slaves buried alive in the pillars. Judging from an early twentieth-century photograph of the entrance, however, it may be that these columns were originally undecorated, although the upper por- tions of the walls appear to have borne unpainted geometric bas-relief deco- rations (Fig. 84).7 The greater emphasis on this room’s decoration may have resulted from a shift in attention following the 1993 arson of the original en- trance, which had nine decorated pillars and was by far the largest sooro in the 7 It is in fact not possible to determine from the photograph which building is depicted. It is also possible, indeed even probable, that this is a building destroyed in the fire of 1925 (see note 164). Figure 83 Pillars in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 lamidat.8 The eastern wall of the room is covered with a broad, black half-circle that indicates the position of the laamiiɗo during council meetings, or faada (Fig. 85). Each member of the council has an appointed place to sit within the room when faada is being held.9 The north door of Jawleeru Njakmuukon leads into Fatturde Mallah, or the prison quarter (#1-A). The southern door leads into the second courtyard. A window or niche was closed up long ago in the southern wall, just east of the door to the second courtyard. Barely visible behind the wall plaster and 8 Glimpses of this geometric decoration may be seen in the film by Jon Jerstad and Lisbet Holtedahl’s film The Sultan’s Burden (New York: Filmakers Library, 1994), videocassette. Im- ages are also available in Gondolo, N’Gaoundéré, 289, fig. k. 9 I witnessed an argument one day between Boka, the court “sorcerer,” and two nobles. Boka complained that his sitting space during faada, assigned to him by Laamiiɗo Issa Maïgari himself, was being infringed upon by the two nobles. Placement within the faada is clearly a serious issue. Figure 84 Interior of Jawleeru Yonnde, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Eugène Brussaux, ca. 1900–1905. National Museum of African Art, Washington, dc (eepa 1999-040337) black paint on the east wall is the previous existence of a fourth door that would have led directly into the third courtyard. This must have been closed long ago, as the present configuration is the same as that represented in André Gondolo’s 1977 plan. In fact, one individual familiar with the palace indicated to me that it had been walled up in the 1960s. One can speculate that in the original configuration, the north door would have led to the prison quarter as it currently does, the southern door would have led to the entrance guards’ compound, and the eastern door would have led directly into what is currently the third courtyard of the palace. Such an arrangement would bring the plan of Ngaoundéré palace more in line with the arrangement found at a number of other palaces, such as Banyo and Tibati. The original palace plan was rear- ranged and the current one resulted from the introduction of novel elements such as the secretariat, laamiiɗo’s office, and garages. Figure 85 Black field in Jawleeru Njakmuukon indicating the place of the laamiiɗo during faada, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 1999 From Jawleeru Njakmuukon, one can exit by the north door, willingly or unwillingly, through a small porch into Fatturde Mallah. A jawleeru to the west holds the sarki mallah’s, or prison warden’s, horse and a small area for him to meet with friends (#21), as well as providing access through a courtyard to the rear door of the Islamic Health Center. Continuing straight back to the north from this jawleeru, one emerges into the sarki mallah’s living quarters (#18) and the prison cells (#19). A portal in the wall just to the north of Jawleeru Njak- muukon enters directly into the laamiiɗo’s personal quarters, allowing him to access Jawleeru Njakmuukon, Fatturde Mallah, and the Islamic Health Center without being seen by the public. This series of portals was likely originally designed to facilitate the laamiiɗo’s movements to and from his original office, before it was transformed into the Islamic Health Center. Returning to Jawleeru Njakmuukon, one can also exit by the south door through a porch into the second courtyard of the palace. The wall of the porch has recently been painted with images of weapons and a double gong. The lat- ter is an iron instrument struck by a servant walking ahead of the laamiiɗo to announce the ruler when he leaves the palace, a practice common throughout Figure 86 Laamiiɗo’s office, late 1990s. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Cameroon and neighboring countries as well.10 The second courtyard is bounded on the west end by the laamiiɗo’s office (Fig. 86), the large gate for cars leading to the exterior, and a gate leading to the first courtyard (#15). At the east end are two staggered walls leading into the third courtyard. A small porch constructed onto the exterior of the building known as Jawleeru Nja, in the southeast corner of the second courtyard, is the historical location of the tradi- tional court. This location is called Koaka Nyake, meaning “the servant and his master” in Mboum (#24) (Fig. 87). This name references the story of a servant who challenged the authority of a prince. When the prince became laamiiɗo, he had the servant killed and buried in this location. On a more practical level, however, it may reference the relationship of the porch, as servant, to the larger building, the master. A black half-circle painted on the wall, similar to that in Jawleeru Njakmuukon, indicates where the laamiiɗo would sit as the supreme authority, under God, of the judicial system. The judge and secretary would sit to either side, while the parties would approach from the courtyard. 10 For more on double gongs, see Jan Vansina, “The Bells of Kings,” Journal of African History 10, no. 2 (1969): 187–97. Figure 87 Koaka Nyake, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 If one is awaiting an audience with the laamiiɗo, one normally waits under the southern eave of Jawleeru Njakmuukon. One is then led into his presence. One never knows until this point where exactly he is seated, however, for the laamiiɗo always reserves the right to hold court and audiences wherever he pleases. If the laamiiɗo is in his office, one approaches the very modern cement building across the long, hot second courtyard. Entering the air-conditioned and carpeted interior, one falls to one’s knees and prostrates before His Maj- esty, uttering a greeting and wish for his long life. Those considered of high rank may be greeted at the portal instead with a handshake and invited to sit on a comfortable couch to one side of His Majesty. Otherwise, one remains on the floor averting one’s gaze, for only the laamiiɗo retains the right to gaze. To look the laamiiɗo in the eyes would be to challenge his authority. If the laamiiɗo is in the third courtyard, one weaves through the pair of stag- gered walls that suddenly open onto a smaller, much more private area. Pass- ing through the staggered walls, the left of which is painted with a chart listing the laamiiɓe of Ngaoundéré and their regnal dates, one emerges into the third courtyard, surrounded by several buildings. On the west side of the courtyard is a small porch on the back of Jawleeru Njakmuukon, where the fourth door originally would have opened (#36). A black field is painted on the wall of this Figure 88 Yelwa, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 1999 porch, surmounted by a photograph of President Paul Biya, with an easy chair placed before it in which the laamiiɗo may receive visitors. His Majesty might be sitting under the eaves of this porch, the north eave of Jawleeru Nja, or the eaves of Yelwa. One would be led into the Danki Fulɓe only if one were another laamiiɗo or high-ranking government official. In any of the cases above, one is momentarily disoriented as one scans the various structures to determine His Majesty’s location. Not only is this disconcerting to the visitor, making quite apparent to him his lack of control over the situation, but it also allows the ruler a moment to examine his subject. The means of approaching is the same as in the office, only in this case one may be left out in the heat of direct sun- light as His Majesty occupies the shade under whichever eave he has chosen for the day. A rectangular-plan building, Yelwa, in the north wall of the third courtyard is a repository for foodstuffs, as well as leading directly into the laamiiɗo’s private quarters (#40) (Fig. 88). The term Yelwa is probably derived from the Hausa term yalwa, meaning “abundance, plenty.”11 When I first visited in 1996, the façade’s abstract molded geometric designs were painted in black and white. They have since been repainted in more vibrant red, yellow and blue on 11 Bargery, Hausa–English Dictionary, 1102. Figure 89 Laamiiɗo holding faada in the shelter next to Yelwa, post-1977. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 a white background. A small open shelter has also been constructed directly to the west of Yelwa since 1996 (Fig. 89). The back wall of this structure has been painted with representations of a palm tree with crossed sabers, chosen as the emblem of the current laamiiɗo, flanked by a slit drum and a mortar (but lack- ing the pestle). The shelter provides shade in a more open environment for the laamiiɗo to receive guests. A circular building on the east side of the third courtyard is called Danki Fulɓe (#2), meaning “shelter of the Fulɓe.” This building is a well-appointed room reserved for meeting guests of the highest status (Figs. 90 and 91). Others are not permitted entrance. It is, in other words, a private audience chamber and the historic throne room. The pedestrian name of this building seems to contradict its important role within the palace. Indeed, danki would be a term more appropriate, at least in terms of structure, for the small shelter located to the west of Yelwa. In terms of building type, Danki Fulɓe should properly be referred to as a suudu. Placing the term danki in its broader cultural context, however, may pro- vide greater insight. In a nomadic context, the danki is a platform created from sticks lashed together. Ideally placed against the east wall of the suudu, opposite the entrance, the danki serves as a support for a woman’s collection Figure 90 Exterior of Danki Fulɓe, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 91 Interior of Danki Fulɓe, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 92 Men playing the balafon and iron gong in front of leather shields in Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 12 Hopen, Pastoral Fulbe Family, 58 and 56, fig. 3; Dupire, Peuls nomades, 57. 13 Stenning, Savannah Nomads, 120. 14 Hopen, Pastoral Fulbe Family, 102. 15 Bargery’s first two definitions for this Hausa term are, “1. A Native Administration police- man; a member of a chief’s bodyguard. 2. A buttress outside a house or a pillar inside.” The base meanings of the verb from which dogari is derived, dogara, are concerned with mat- ters of support. Figure 93 Exterior, Wuy Pakfil, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 94 Interior, Jawleeru Suuɗal, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 95 Jawleeru Guuga, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 as the “jawleeru of hiding.”16 Jawleeru Suuɗal is a round sooro with four pillars. It currently serves as little more than a passage leading into the fifth court- yard. It may be that the name refers to its function as the last control point before entering the restricted residential quarters of the ruler and his extended household. On the one hand, it is hidden from the general public, who may not progress beyond Jawleeru Nja; and on the other hand, it hides the residential quarters from the outside world. The fifth courtyard functions as a space between the laamiiɗo’s private quar- ters and the quarters of the wives and female servants. To access the laamiiɗo’s quarter (#2-A), one must pass through Jawleeru Guuga (#7) on the north side of the courtyard. According to Gondolo, this jawleeru is the oldest in Ngaoun- déré, having been built in the nineteenth century (Fig. 95).17 It is perhaps an original element of the palace, consisting of a rectilinear sooro with a ceiling composed of arches springing from the walls and corners, and resting on a cen- tral pillar. This form is unique in the palace of Ngaoundéré. It recalls a similar 16 Zoubko, Dictionnaire peul-français, 451. Note the discussion in Chapter 1 regarding the term suudu. While the sense of hiding may be inherent in the term suudu, the use of Suuɗal must be understood as a more explicit emphasis of the idea of concealment. 17 Gondolo, N’Gaoundéré, 290. 18 Ibid., 289, Fig. L. Concealed Passage Outsiders enter the palace through two main conduits, although there are in actuality many more means of penetrating the walls. The first is through the main entrance, or Jawleeru Yonnde. The second public entrance is through the Islamic Health Center. All movement beyond this building is restricted, how- ever, except at the invitation of the sarki mallah onto whose quarters the rear door of the Health Center opens. Other entrances, all off limit to the public, in- clude the secretaries’ offices that open onto the laamiiɗo’s office. This entrance is only for use by the laamiiɗo and his secretaries. There is also a gate between the main entrance and the secretaries’ offices through which the laamiiɗo’s cars are frequently seen entering and exiting. This gate serves, furthermore, as the means by which the laamiiɗo and his servants enter and exit the palace on horseback for fantasia, as the contemporary main entrance has stairs that are more difficult for horses to mount.19 A second gate for automobiles, used for less public movement of vehicles, exists in the southwest corner of the palace. This exit opens within the palace onto the servants’ quarters and fields. The street façade is disguised by being sandwiched between a number of houses. The final portal, publically ignored and unbeknownst to the outside visi- tor, is at the rear of the palace and is called “Saŋkírà.” The literal translation from Mboum of this name is “hole of the compound.” A number of sources explained to me that this was a portal to be used only in times of danger for escape. The portal is simply a gate, completely lacking in architectural elabora- tion and recalling ethnographer Arnold van Gennep’s assertion that openings besides the main one remain unconsecrated as they, “do not have the same quality of a point of transition between the familial world and the external world.”20 When I asked if women and servants sometimes use it to sneak out, my sources claimed that this would be shameful and a dishonor since it was only to be used in cases of military defeat. Aerial photographs tell another story however, as do my personal observations at the palace of Bibèmi. Aerial photographs of the palace of Ngaoundéré from 1973 clearly show the existence 19 Fantasia is a French term referring to shows of horsemanship. In northern Cameroon, court ceremonies frequently feature the display of horsemanship skills by the nobility. 20 Arnold Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee (Chicago, il: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 24. Restricted Movement Restrictions upon the public’s movement are not reflected in the palace plan. These restrictions vary depending on a number of factors including an indi- vidual’s gender, ethnicity, and class identities. Further restrictions are appli- cable to nearly any individual entering the palace for security purposes. Each of these restrictions will be examined individually. Restrictions by Gender Fulɓe palaces have a significantly larger proportion of area set aside for women than for men. Normally, approximately two-thirds of the entire area is allotted for women, whether wives or servants, while the remaining one-third consists of the public area, the laamiiɗo’s quarters, and the quarters of the guards. In- cluded in the female domain are the fields which are tended by the women of the palace. As explained in the previous chapter, the sedentary Fulɓe residence is primarily a women’s domain, as it is also for nomadic Fulɓe. In non-Fulɓe palaces, in contrast, approximately one-third of the total area is allotted to women. This difference arises in part because in the Fulɓe con- text, women of the palace are usually not allowed to leave its confines. They therefore conduct their entire lives in the palace after entering it, including farming and social activities.21 They only leave in the rare event of divorce or the death of the laamiiɗo. In a non-Fulɓe situation, by contrast, women generally leave the palace each day to tend their fields, visit family, and other activities. Ironically, the majority of the female population of either Fulɓe or non-Fulɓe palaces are usually from non-Fulɓe agricultural populations. In the Fulɓe context, women of the palace usually must receive permission to enter the laamiiɗo’s quarters. They rarely enter the public areas of the palace, but have free reign in the remaining two-thirds of its area. As opposed to the women of the palace, women from outside the palace are free to come and go as they please. It is in this manner that the palace women receive items from the market, foodstuffs not grown within the palace, and 21 This restricted movement of the women of the palace is discussed in Jon Jerstad and Lisbet Holtedahl’s film The Sultan’s Burden. 22 Mallam Abba Aboubakar, interview with author, tape recording, Kontcha, July 7, 2000. 23 Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun, 251–54. Restrictions by Ethnicity It is an irony of court etiquette in northern Cameroon that male Fulɓe are gen- erally not allowed to enter a Fulɓe palace, except for the public areas. Other historically Muslim groups, such as the Hausa and Kanuri, are conflated with the Fulɓe in being restricted to the public areas. Only those of subordinated 24 Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary, interview by author, tape recording, Tchéboa, August 5, 2000. 25 One is reminded of the laamiiɗo of Banyo leaving Gashaka and Kontcha to be governed by his brothers, or the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré’s relatives historically ruling in Boundang- Touroua. Similarly, in polities of the Grasslands of Cameroon, rivals to the throne were frequently sent out from the capital to found new cities as a means of expanding the borders. The restriction of access to the palace based on ethnicity and familial rela- tion is also frequently translated into political appointments of nobles. The most powerful and trusted nobles of a lamidat are commonly selected from the conquered populations, as these individuals pose no threat to the estab- lished royal succession. As previously noted, the second most powerful figure in Ngaoundéré, the kaygama maccuɓe, is appointed from the Mboum popula- tion. Indeed, such an appointment is reflected in the term of the post itself, as maccuɓe (s. maccuɗo) may be translated alternately as slave, subordinate, or servant. While individuals from the conquered populations may have greater access to the palace, their lower status is at the same time marked by ritual. It is re- quired that any maccuɗo entering the palace remove his hat, while those of Fulɓe, Hausa, and Kanuri ethnicity may retain their hats. Status is also indi- cated during faada when the nobility of maccuɓe status sit on the left of the laamiiɗo and those of Fulɓe, Hausa, and Kanuri ethnicity sit on his right. The latter is the more honored position. Restriction by Social Class/Rank As was previously noted, the closer the relation to the laamiiɗo, the larger the potential for deceit. Male members of the royal family in particular may be restricted from the palace. As evidence in support of this latter statement, the yeriima, or prince, of Tibati who was appointed to assist me with measuring the palace of his father exclaimed at a certain point that he had not been in some of these areas since he was a child. At the age of puberty, he stated, a male child is removed from the palace and no longer permitted entrance to its inner areas. This poses a potential problem because the child may still wish to see his mother on occasion. The child’s mother would emerge in the area before the audience chamber, which is neither fully public nor in the private quarter (Fig. 96). In no case does the mother of the child enter a public area of the palace or pass beyond the bounds of the palace walls, nor does her child enter in the private area of the palace. However, this latter rule regarding access to the inner areas of the palace by male children is more or less stringent depending on the particular lami- dat and laamiiɗo. In contrast to the example of Tibati, one of the brothers of the laamiiɗo of Kontcha was my guide around the entire palace of that city, even entering the laamiiɗo’s bedroom with me, after requesting permission from the ruler and being escorted by the ruler’s first wife. Beyond this general access, the same brother had also designed and built several of the women’s residences in the palace. It should be recalled that Kontcha is a relatively mod- ern construct, having been separated from its parent lamidat of Banyo by the Figure 96 Plan of public areas of the palace, first decade of the twentieth century and later. Tibati, Cameroon. Key to Figure: 1) Entrance, 2) Council chamber, 3) Audience chamber, 4) Prison quar- ter, 5) Guard’s quarter, 6) Elementary school (temporarily housed in the secretariat), 7) Garage, 8) Secretariat (temporary location), 9) Stable, 10) Private quarters Germans as recently as 1905–1908. Court Ritual may not be as developed as a result of its colonial period creation. Thus, rules of access with regards to fam- ily members differ based on individual relationships as well as the formality of ritual; however, restricted access is the rule for all but the laamiiɗo. Disarming/Disrobing Regardless of one’s identity, one was traditionally disarmed at the entrance both as a matter of courtesy, for one should not enter another person’s home armed, and as a matter of protection. An example may be given from the lami- dat of Rey, which apparently took the ceremony of protection of the laamiiɗo to an extreme not followed elsewhere, as disclosed in the following passage from a 1930s traveler’s text: Finally we came out on a wide square before the main gateway of the palace. A double semicircle of immobile warriors mounted guard in front of it. They divided to let us pass, and closed again behind us. The follow- ing crowd remained outside; the shouting stopped. We passed through Figure 97 Laamiiɗo Bouba Djama’a and a serv- ant in the palace. Rey, Cameroon Photo Marcel Griaule, 1932. Musée du Quai Branly, Paris (C.36.1716.41). © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, ny. the gates; to right and left were high walls, narrow passages; everywhere stood sentinels holding lances, everywhere a mysterious silence. Another wall, and other gates; again a line of guards. Only three ancient Arabs now remained as our escort. We followed a long, dim passage, and stood before a third pair of heavy gates, made of some kind of dark wood. As we approached, they opened slightly, and an almost naked Arab crept out. Seeing us, he simply vanished. Still just as calm and dignified, Soumou and the others started to un- dress. A very narrow loin-cloth was all they left on. Their weapons were laid beside their clothes. The gates slowly opened again; we were con- scious of the scent of incense.26 Disrobing to this extent is not a practice at most other lamidats today, and indeed the practice at Rey is held out by members of other lamidats as an example of the total grip on power of the Baaba Rey (Fig. 97). Women are also 26 André Mikhelson, Kings and Knaves in the Cameroons (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938), 83. The Lamido convoked to his residence, by the Imam, the Adjia [liaison between the laamiiɗo and the colonial, and now national, administra- tion] the 21 August; the latter arrived accompanied by his men, armed with two Mausers, a plain hunting rifle and 92 revolvers, more arrogant than ever. These latter [i.e. the armed servants] did not enter into the Lamido’s residence. At the second hut of the fortress, the Doghari (guardians of the Sultan) searched the Adjia and found on him a combat Browning, 7.35 caliber loaded with 7 bullets. The Lamido therefore kept AL’HAMADOU in the palace until my return, the 23.28 This document suggests the very real dangers against which practices such as disarming at the entrance and restricting access to the general public were meant to guard. Although some of the more practical concerns have been explored with re- gard to movement within the palace, one should not forget conceptual and symbolic reasons for these restrictions. For instance, while the restriction by gender may be explored in terms of keeping out potential threats both to the 27 For the history of Rey, please refer to Eldridge Mohammadou, Ray ou Rey-Bouba: Tradi- tion transmise par Alhadji Hamadjoda Abdoullaye, Traditions historiques des Foulbé de l’Adamâwa (Paris: Editions du centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1979). 28 Cameroon National Archives, Yaoundé—apa11901/B, N’Gaoundéré, le 30 Août 1924. Le Chef de la Circonscription de N’Gaoundéré, à Monsieur le Commissaire de la Répub- lique Française à Yaoundé, No 213. Objet: Demande de Déportation politique de l’adjia Al’Hamdou motivée par son attitude menaçante envers le Lamido et la détention clan- destine d’armes de guerre, 2–3. Ritual Movement The following section examines three major examples of ritual movement: rit- uals of investiture; rituals associated with weekly faada meetings; and rituals associated with the Muslim holy day Juulde Layhaaji. The performance aspects of each will be disclosed followed by an analysis and interpretation. Rituals of Investiture The laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré, as with all other laamiiɓe in northern Cameroon, is chosen by the council of nobles of the state, or faada, from among the male descendants of the founder. As such, there may be many candidates for the position, all of whose faults and merits are carefully considered during the se- lection process. Each laamiiɗo designates a yeriima, or prince. This individual, usually a son but occasionally another male relative of the same patrilineage, is designated by this title as the ruler’s preferred successor. He becomes inti- mately associated with the functioning of the state, and gains an advantage over other eventual candidates for the throne through his experience and vis- ibility. After the candidates have been investigated and their characters care- fully considered, the council votes. The votes are tallied, and the candidate with the most ascends to the throne. The faada, however, is not required to choose the yeriima as successor. This occurred in Garoua in 2000 when a new laamiiɗo, Laamiiɗo Alim Garga Haya- tou, was chosen from a different line of the royal family from that of his prede- cessor. The previous yeriima, Yeriima Mohammadou, whom all had assumed would easily gain the throne, was very bitter about having been bypassed by the faada. The chosen candidate was much more educated, wealthier, and had excellent government connections as Secretary of State for Public Health. One assumes that the faada made a strategic decision in their selection that would further the fortunes of the lamidat, rather than merely passing the office along to the next-in-line. Most likely, the nearby laamiiɗo of Demsa at Gachiga served as an example in their decision-making process. A well-educated ruler, Laamiiɗo Mohamadou Moustafa Moussa of Demsa is also the director of the Garoua branch of beac, Bank des Etats de l’Afrique Centrale. His brother, the yeriima, was the director of sonel, the national electrical company, in the national capital, Yaoundé. Possessing great wealth and government connec- tions between the two, the small town of Gachiga has a paved road leading to it, a new bridge, a mosque large enough to hold the entire population, and extravagant modern residences out of all proportion with the village’s normal potential finances. Laamiiɓe such as those of Garoua and Demsa represent a new generation of leadership in northern Cameroon who have been selected for their connections in modern society, rather than solely their fidelity to the traditions of the community. Jean-Pierre Warnier addresses a similar tendency in the Cameroon Grasslands: Nowadays, succession to chiefly office goes to members of the Camer- oonian establishment: civil servants, lawyers, medical doctors, busi- nessmen. More and more often, they are absentee chiefs. According to a pattern of “straddling” described by Kitching…they tend to engage in business and they sometimes accumulate on a fairly large scale. They earn and retain as both chiefs and entrepreneurs. In the process, they re- invent the “traditional” chiefdom.29 Clearly, the benefits of a well-connected royal house are understood in both the Grasslands and northern Cameroon. Fulɓe rulers in northern Cameroon, after being named by the faada, go through a period of transition—a “liminal period” in the terms of Victor Turner.30 The ruler, during the period of training immediately following his election, corresponds to Victor Turner’s classification of the initiate as a “lim- inal persona,” that is, as one who is “at once no longer classified and not yet classified.”31 That is, the ruler is no longer an ordinary person, or even a person at all. He is not yet, however, the enduring symbol of the state that he will be- come. He is no longer the individual he once was, but is not yet a laamiiɗo. He is somewhere in between. 29 Warnier, “The King as a Container,” 303. The shifting criteria for selection of the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré specifically is investigated in Hansen, Historical Construction, 84–115. 30 Victor Turner, “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rites of Passage,” in Betwixt and Between: Patterns of Masculine and Feminine Initiation, ed. Louise Carus Mahdi, Ste- ven Foster, and Meredith Little (La Salle, il: Open Court Press, 1987), 5. Turner, of course, drew this concept from Arnold van Gennep’s work. 31 Ibid., 6. During this period, the ruler is sequestered either in a room in the more pub- lic areas of the palace, or in the house of a noble. In the case of Ngaoundéré, the ruler waits a period of 40 days in Jawleeru Guuga before he is allowed to en- ter the laamiiɗo’s quarters. Jawleeru Guuga is the chamber that opens into the laamiiɗo’s private compound and is said to be the most beautifully appointed room in the entire palace. Such a location is appropriate to the new initiate as he is still considered an outsider, not a possessor of the ways of the lamidat and not quite at the height of his powers. At the same time, he is no longer an ordinary human being, but has been elevated to a new status. Again, he is in a liminal state between ordinary citizen and ruler; between being relegated to the public areas of the palace and having complete access to public and pri- vate quarters, much as Jawleeru Guuga itself marks the boundary between that area most closely associated with the laamiiɗo and the rest of the palace. After 40 days of training, prayer, and purification, the new laamiiɗo is allowed to enter and take full charge of the palace and the state. At Banyo, the laamiiɗo explained to me that a new ruler must wait approxi- mately six months before entering the palace.32 During this time, he learns how to be a ruler and must prepare himself by reading particular verses of the Qur’an. The ruler-in-training resides in the compound of a high-ranking noble during this period. Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya stated that each step into the palace is fraught with danger if one is not spiritually pure. Even before actually sitting on the throne, he read particular verses from the Qur’an to make this bold step a safe one. Entering the house of the laamiiɗo (Fig. 98, building #10) is the most dangerous step, due to the magical protections bur- ied under the floor and hung on the walls. His predecessor and uncle, Boboa Adamou never entered the house in his eight-year reign because he never felt safe. Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya took the risk of entering because he felt that he had always been a very sober and devout individual. He admitted that his passage was made easier by the fact that he was the son of its builder, as opposed to Boboa Adamou who was a brother. Indeed, it is said that his ac- cession to the throne as the fifth and final son was foretold and approved of by his father. Knowledge of rulership is successively revealed to a new laamiiɗo during his education, as is knowledge of the palace and its secrets. Of course, while the initial intense period of training may end at some point, the sage advice of the nobility continues to flow throughout a ruler’s life tenure. He cannot escape it as the ruler must be escorted and assisted at all times. Without exception, all of 32 Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya, interview by author, tape recording, Banyo, October 7, 2000. Figure 98 Plan of the palace, early 1920s and later. Banyo, Cameroon Drawing by Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya, 2000 That is their way. When a chief dies, the capital automatically must change place. Now, I myself have asked the reason. I could not figure out exactly why the people move. With each village there are always move- ments. Therefore, one can suppose that Ngangha has moved at least 46 times, 46, even 48 or 50 times. Because…there are at least two or three chiefs who moved but found that the site was not good. They were obli- gated to change the site again.34 Thus, there was inevitably a period of time during which the bellaka had been elected, but had not constructed his new palace. Once the Mboum were forced to settle, this transitional period was translated into a short residence in a no- ble’s home while the new bellaka was taught the ways of rulership. At Mbang-Mboum, northeast of Ngaoundéré by about 40 km, the current bellaka was enthroned in 1998. Since that time, he has never entered his fa- ther’s quarters, a cement block structure to the north of the jawleeru in which he resides. Since his enthronement, Sultan-Bellaka El Hadj Hamadou Sadjo Aboubakar has lived in the third jawleeru of the palace. This building has three 33 The tradition of each king establishing his own capital reminds one immediately of the similar practice in the Kuba kingdom, in what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo, or of the Buganda kingdom in modern Uganda. 34 Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 23, 2000. The coronation ceremony lost its legal force as the constitutive act of king- ship during the course of the thirteenth century. Up to that time the king was not called king until crowned, and his reign was dated only from that moment, but in the year 1270, when St. Louis died while on a crusade in North Africa, his son Philip was with him and so obviously could not be crowned at Reims for months to come. The barons, therefore, hailed Phil- ip iii as king on the spot, and he immediately exercised the legal powers of king even though he was not crowned until over a year later. This practice of immediate assumption of effective legal power was followed by all kings thereafter. The exigencies of government had to prevail over ceremonial scruples. One could not countenance a “constitutional interregnum.”36 With greater security, more time can be taken with such things and the ceremony can be elaborated. Furthermore, as explained above, this is likely a 35 Ndibo Hamadou Kaigama and Kaigama Suu’di Kaigama, interview with author, tape re- cording, Mbang-Mboum, September 7, 2000. 36 Ralph Giesey, “Models of Rulership in French Royal Ceremony,” in Rites of Power: Symbol- ism, Ritual, and Politics since the Middle Ages, ed. Sean Wilentz (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 46. For the French example and its English corollary, see also Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies, 328–29. 37 Turner, “Betwixt and Between,” 7–8; Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966). 38 Ibid., 8–9. Bloch suggests that “royal symbolism is, I believe, constructed out of non- royal symbolism, both logically and probably also historically.”39 Similarly, David Newbury points out that in the Central African Ijwi case, “the historical data strongly suggest that this ritual of royalty [the Ijwi Muganuro ceremony] derives not from the royal family (as royal ideology would hold), but from rit- ual concepts common to the region at the level of the family, as well as at the level of royalty.”40 It is the ruler’s essential state of separation from the rest of society in an initiate-like role which fulfills this observation first and foremost. I disagree, however, with Bloch’s assessment that royal ritual is necessarily the construction of an “anti-life” in its purported aims to halt change and differ- ence not only during the tenure of the individual ruler, but also in relation to his predecessors and antecessors. He has a status with which the population as a whole may identify from a specific time in their life, yet find incomprehen- sible in the permanence of its occupation by the ruler. Coronation rituals are a moment of change, as well as a time marked by a certain lack of existence, which lasts a lifetime for the ruler, and indeed for all time for the institution. Rather than an “anti-life,” the ruler exists in a state resembling spirits, which may have consciousness yet never change. In completing the installation rites and fully entering his new role, the ruler becomes a new sort of “liminal persona.” The first was defined in terms of time. That is, the “liminal persona” existed for a defined period of transition between one state and another. At the end of the installation rites, however, the ruler emerges as a “liminal persona” of another type, defined by his nature. That is, he persists as a “liminal persona” between the community and God. Through these rituals, the ruler is both installed and sequestered within the palace. The palace therefore becomes the place wherein he resides, a represen- tation of the ruler to the common populace, and the location of his sequestra- tion in permanent liminality. The palace becomes the physical manifestation of this liminal state. The architecture itself defines certain liminal points be- tween exterior and interior, status as human member of society and ruler, fol- lower and leader, uninitiated and possessor of secret knowledge. As Blier states of African rulers and their palaces in general: The ruler, as the embodiment of mystical power, lives in a massive edi- fice incorporating features which complement those of a temple, emphasizing comparable aspects of presence, distinction, and distance. That one kneels before the king, as before the gods, serves to reinforce 39 Bloch, “Royal Bath,” 271. 40 Newbury, Kings and Clans, 201. the obvious, that rulers are at once more than and less than they may appear to be.41 In Ngaoundéré, this manifestation takes the form of massive 30-foot high walls which prevent even the idea of visual penetration. One is left in awe of their height, amplified by their thickness. The sole perceptible entrance is guarded. The original entrance enhanced the mystery of what was reserved behind the walls. It was the highest thatched roof in the city, with long low eaves casting shadows that blocked all visual access to the interior. To pass beyond that point into the unknown was in itself a formidable challenge. The mystery of what lies sequestered in those shadows and behind those walls is the mystery of the laamiiɗo’s existence. Congregational Prayers and Faada, September 29, 2000 I arrived at the square between the laamiiɗo’s palace and the central mosque at noon. It was Friday and I knew that a crowd would soon gather for Friday prayers at the central mosque. Few had gathered at this time, however, so I climbed the stairs to the porch of the Islamic Health Center, located just to the south of the main entrance and facing the qibla wall of the mosque. I seated myself on the bench there. As I waited, an old voice came across the mosque’s pa system. Crackling and humming with electrical current, the voice recited a passage from the Qur’an in Arabic and then began to explain it in Fulfulɗe to those who had arrived early. As the Qur’anic exegesis continued, individuals began arriving one by one as well as with friends or relatives. Nearly all were male. Because the mosque was already filled to capacity, the newcomers lined up in rows outside of the mosque in the street that ran along its north side, eventually spreading out to the square between the palace and the mosque. The first spots to go were those in the shade of either of the trees planted to the north of the mosque or against the qibla wall itself. The heat was considerable. As each person arrived he laid down a small carpet for worship, or perhaps a longer mat of plastic fibers for himself and a friend (Fig. 99). He then exchanged a few words with his neighbor, offered preliminary prayers, or remained silent and introspective. As 1:00 pm approached, the roar of arriving motorcycle taxis carrying worshipers was deafening. All of the surrounding roads and the square were filled to capacity while little boys filled the porch of the sec- retary’s office to the south of the palace entrance as well as the porch of the Islamic Health Center to the north of the main entrance. So as not to be in 41 Blier, Royal Arts, 194. Figure 99 Preparation for Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 the way of the young boys, I descended the stairs to stand next to the Islamic Health Center. Just before 1:00 pm, everything stopped. Silence prevailed and everybody waited. A man in red emerged from the palace entrance carrying a huge roll of mats and skins. He walked briskly to the door in the northern corner of the mosque’s qibla wall and entered. Soon after, the laamiiɗo himself exited the palace beneath a large blue and white canopy held by a servant. Other servants preceded and followed him (Fig. 100). They approached the door in the qibla wall at a stately pace. The laamiiɗo entered the mosque after which the parasol was folded and placed next to a few spears left leaning against the mosque wall by the servants. As the ruler entered the mosque, the court “sorcerer,” an Mboum man, performed a series of rituals before the palace designed to protect it during the laamiiɗo’s absence. People were still arriving. Minutes later, the Friday prayers began. The prayer rang out over the mosque’s pa sys- tem. Loud calls were followed by an old man’s voice quavering with devotion. The assembled worshipers responded to the prayer, performing the required motions. After only about ten minutes, it was all over. Carpets were rolled up and tucked under arms or thrown over shoulders. The crowd dispersed with individuals revving the engines of their motorcycles before zooming off in a cloud of burning oil and dust. Rusty Chinese bicycles were pulled off their Figure 100 The laamiiɗo exits the palace for Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 kick-stands, wheeled for a few paces, then mounted and ridden off as their owners waved to friends. A number of middle-aged and elderly men strutted around in robes, fastidiously arranging their long sleeves and shaking hands with friends. Everybody was waiting for the weekly faada, or council meeting that follows Friday prayers, to begin. At approximately 1:40 pm, the laamiiɗo emerged from the qibla door of the mosque. A cacophony of drums, oboes, and trumpets blared as the portly figure swathed in white robes appeared. It was the laamiiɗo. Immediately, the parasol opened to protect him from the sun (Fig. 101). Servants surround- ed him holding spears as several men with shiny trumpets of about three meters in length pushed out short bursts of notes directed at the laamiiɗo’s head. Their sounds mimicked the praise singing of the griot through the emulation of speech by the instrument. The head griot raised his hands and uttered a prayer after which he washed his face with his hands. All others present did so as well, performing an Islamic prayer, or supplication to God, known as du’a. The laamiiɗo then began offering du’a as well, beseeching God’s mercy upon the community. After each prayer, he washed his face with his raised hands, an act repeated by other members of the community who were present. Step by step, the laamiiɗo approached the palace, slowly climbed the stairs to the entrance, and disappeared inside. The crowd, which had respectfully Figure 101 The laamiiɗo returns to the palace after Friday prayers. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 parted before him as he made his way to the palace, surged behind him and his servants. I joined them as we pressed ourselves through the doorway of the entrance chamber. The laamiiɗo walked through the entrance into the first courtyard. He continued his stately pace across the courtyard and into Jawleeru Njakmuukon. Proceeding to the rear of the room, he stopped before the large black field that covered the east wall. A servant quickly laid down carpets and skins upon which the laamiiɗo seated himself with help from an- other servant. The trumpeters pushed their instruments through the entrance of Jawleeru Njakmuukon; the sounds of their instruments echoed and rever- berated through the sooro. A griot to the right of the entrance shouted praises for the laamiiɗo in a loud voice. It seemed like utter chaos outside in the court- yard, but all was perfectly organized inside the hall. A line of nobles formed in the courtyard who then paraded into Jawleeru Njakmuukon, stopping one by one before the laamiiɗo (Fig. 102). Each dropped to his knees to salute the laamiiɗo, raising their swords in the air and shaking them. They all then sat down to either side of their ruler, forming a “V” shape with the laamiiɗo at the apex. Occasionally the laamiiɗo would wash his face, presumably having uttered a prayer, though none could actually hear it. The deafening music continued. The rest of the assembly washed their face per- forming du’a. Figure 102 The laamiiɗo receives the nobles for faada. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 The laamiiɗo motioned to his servant, the sarkin ‘ara, who helps him dress before each event and who guards him during performances. The tall, mus- cular man knelt before the laamiiɗo receiving a message from him. Then the sarkin ‘ara stood and the music stopped. The silence was complete. The sarkin ‘ara’s voice rang out with the laamiiɗo’s message: all assembled were to reas- semble at 4:00 pm when the laamiiɗo would re-emerge to attend a celebration in the second courtyard of the palace. The music started again as the laamiiɗo stood. The assembly as a whole then rose to their feet and saluted their ruler with raised arms and oaths of allegiance. The laamiiɗo entered the palace fol- lowed by a servant who had gathered all of his carpets and skins. It was almost 2:00 pm and the crowd quickly dispersed to find food before the afternoon’s activities began. Analysis of Congregational Prayers and Faada, September 29, 2000 Each Friday, the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré emerges from the palace to lead the faithful in the communal Friday prayers. It is rare for a ruler to attend the mosque for other prayers during the week. Exceptions to this rule in- clude rulers of smaller domains and towns, as well as the laamiiɗo of Banyo who emphasizes his public prayer as a sign of his faith and accountability to the people. This last example is very unusual and perhaps reflects a different Then the two Shaikhs resolved to cut down the tamarind tree where the inhabitants of the city practiced their idolatry; and it was indeed a very 42 Nicolas Argenti, “African Aesthetics: Moving to See the Mask,” jaso: Journal of the Anthro- pological Society of Oxford 23, no. 3 (1992): 207. 43 Eldridge Mohammadou, “Islam et urbanization dans le Soudan central au XIXe siècle: La cite de Maroua (Nord-Cameroun),” in Proceedings of the International Conference on Urbanism in Islam, Vol. 4 (Tokyo: Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan, 1989), 126. big tree. They wanted to build in its site a mosque for the congregational prayer in accordance with the words of al-Busiri, “Follow the tracks of the vanquished enemy.” They, therefore, conveyed their intention to the Sultan, Muhammad (Muhammad) b. Yaqub nicknamed Runfa. This took place after the latter had made Islam renowned in his land. In fact, Runfa, the jurists Ahmad and Abdullahi, the commander of the cavalry and a few other men were perfect Muslims. It was because of this that when Runfa was told about the plan, he was very pleased indeed and he praised God and prayed to him.44 While the immediate context of replacing the central shrine with a mosque is the conquering of one religion by the other, the longer-term effect is the con- tinued reverence of a particular hallowed site. Thus, in the case of Banyo, going to the central mosque to pray is a continuation of visitation to the site of the previous shrine. Once again, Islamic and pre-Islamic practices overlap through the auspices of the laamiiɗo. The length of time that the laamiiɗo passes in the mosque surpasses that of all others. He must exceed the community because his role is to represent it before God. A key qualification of a ruler in the Sokoto Caliphate, as in nearly all theocracies, is devotion. This was one of the qualifications for the ruler’s selection above other candidates for the position of laamiiɗo, and the lack of devotion is grounds for removal from office by the community. Thus, at least the outward appearance of devotion through regular attendance and lengthy meditation at Friday prayers are essential to the position. The importance of the laamiiɗo’s role as a religious leader seems to be even greater in the contemporary era than in the past, because his secular role has largely been usurped, first by the colonial regimes and now by the independent government. It is from his position as leader of the Muslim community that his judicial role stems. He is a moral force, guiding his people through strength of character. He no longer controls a territory outside of the city, except through the willing supplication of the people. 44 Muhammad al-Hajj, “A Seventeenth Century Chronicle on the Origins and Missionary Activities of the Wangarawa,” Kano Studies 1, no. 4 (1968): 12. Such practices are not of course unique either to Africa or to Islam. A particularly fascinating example is provided by the Great Mosque of Cordoba in Spain, which was established on the site of a church, itself on the site of a pre-Christian shrine. After the reconquest, a church was sunk in the middle of the mosque, reclaiming the site for Christianity and visually representing the triumph over Islam. The celebrations attendant to the laamiiɗo’s exiting of the mosque and re- turning to his palace are analogous to the performance of fantasia. The people sing his praises and pledge their allegiance to him, as they continue to do on a more personal basis during the actual faada in the palace. But there are some critical differences. Fantasia is more of a secular, political performance while this one revolves even more closely around the issue of faith and proximity to God. As the laamiiɗo returns to the palace he retreats from the public sphere into seclusion. Ironically, it is almost as if he takes holiness, if one were to con- ceive of this state of the spirit as a tactile object, from the mosque back to the palace with him; as if he had been spiritually “recharged” in the public sphere. The idea of recharging the ruler, almost as if he were a battery, points to the perception of him as a container. He becomes objectified, as Beidleman sug- gests for rulers in general, “so that in some ways their offices or functions rule them, swallow them up. At times, such persons are much like relics—hidden from view, sequestered, so as to emphasize their powerful natures, and also pa- raded out at regular intervals for public appreciation and veneration.”45 Indeed parading out this fetishized being serves to reassure the public, for the health of the lamidat is directly related to the health and vigor of its ruler, as noted previ- ously for Mboum rulers. Like a general appearing before his forces in the heat of battle, the weekly presence of the ruler at prayers reassures the populace that he is able and willing to perform his duties to protect and lead the community. Through the practice of du’a, the laamiiɗo shares this recharged state with the community, beseeching God for help on behalf of his people. The commu- nity consequently joins him in these prayers. While one might suggest that this practice is purely Islamic in nature, it also has a more general resonance with the Mboum population. Islamic du’a recreates, in Islamic terms, the blessing of the community with millet beer by the bellaka during the Mborianha harvest festival. On the second day of this three-day festival, the bellaka used millet beer in the benedictions: The Belaka took therefore a calabash of millet beer, and prayed, “that this year the Dourou tribes recognize my authority and the Baya also”; after- wards, he sprinkled the sacred objects and the dignitaries present. “I pray for children,” and he sprinkled the women with a little beer. “I pray for harvests and game,” sprinkle the men. 45 T.O. Beidelman, “Secrecy and Society: The Paradox of Knowing and the Knowing of Paradox,” in Secrecy: African Art that Conceals and Reveals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993), 46. “That animals’ mouths do not bite” and he threw a little beer on his horse. This beer was made especially for the ceremony, in his own chamber and he surveyed its fabrication himself. He threw a little more beer on the buildings, after which he threw some toward the sky so that the rains would give good harvests. The assis- tants threw themselves face-down on the ground to greet and thank the Bellaka for his beneficence and for his benediction.46 The Mborianha ceremony became obsolete after the conversion of the ruler to Islam. At Ngangha, where this tradition was recorded, the ruler Saomboum (r. 1931–1976) was the first to have fully converted to Islam and forsaken the pre-Islamic Mboum religion. From Froelich’s report we can see the importance of millet beer as a medium of spiritual power, much as palm wine is used in western Cameroon by the Bamiléké, Bamum, and others. It is also clear that it is the bellaka who holds a spiritual position between God and the population, much as seems to be the case with the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré, and that his benedictions and prayers to God on behalf of his community are especially sought and appreciated. Indeed, it is a fundamental role of the bellaka, in the same way that the practice of du’a is central to the laamiiɗo. The use of liquid, whether water or beer, in the benediction illustrates the melding of different traditions in the Islamic context.47 The laamiiɗo usurped the function of the bellaka, making him obsolete as a general leader of the population, in both his religious and political functions, reducing him to the rank of a mere represen- tative. The strength of the conquering population and its religion, as well as colonial and independence politics, eventually caused the conversion of the Mboum ruler, simultaneously making all of the pre-Islamic rituals essentially obsolete. Through the religious ritual of du’a, however, the laamiiɗo continues to represent the joining of the Fulɓe and Mboum communities, and their lead- ership as one individual. Other similarities exist between Mboum and Islamic ritual practice. A pri- mary similarity in this region is the eastward direction of prayer. According to Froelich, prayer to the supreme deity in the Mboum religion was directed toward the east: “The bellaka, when he addresses his prayers to gâ wen, turns 46 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 106. 47 The relationship between the two was made more explicit by a friend from western Cameroon who comically, and yet seriously, proclaimed his beer to be “water for power.” 48 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 109. I was told that the bellaka of Ngangha’s palace al- ways opens toward the east, unlike the Fulɓe practice. As examples, both the palace of Ngangha and the former palace at Ngaousoupiri opened toward the east. In contrast, however, the palace of the bellaka of Mbang-Mboum opens toward the southwest, similar to those of the Fulɓe. It is unclear if the palace of Mbang-Mboum is simply a deviation from the rule, if the east-facing rule only applies to Ngangha, or if the operative focus at the latter is the mountain of Ngaouha, rather than the east per se. 49 I use the term here as a proper name, for that is how this individual is commonly known in Ngaoundéré, but it also refers to his occupation. The term boka itself is of Hausa or- igin. G.P. Bargery defines it as “a soothsayer; wizard; quack doctor.” Bargery, A Hausa– English Dictionary, 117. One assumes that the last definition displays an element of British prejudice. The term’s common characterization as “sorcerer” might be taken to indicate the predominant pejorative Muslim as well as Western view of those who are versed in spiritual practices of indigenous origin, whether Hausa or Mboum as in the present case. Scholars have largely found themselves at a loss for an appropriate term, which has no pejorative connotations, to describe such individuals. Jerstad and Holtedahl interpret the term as “Minister of Magic,” choosing to emphasize the official role of this individual in court ritual. The boka is recorded in this film while protecting the laamiiɗo as he exits the palace on horseback. The boka attempts to view the identities of sorcerers who might at- tack the ruler, while also protecting the laamiiɗo’s body from physical harm. Jerstad and Holtedahl, Sultan’s Burden. 50 On the subject of the real or imagined nature of the maternal lineage of the laamiiɓe of Ngaoundéré, please refer to Hansen, Historical Construction, 96. Figure 103 Boka poses dramatically in front of Jawleeru Njakmuukon. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo Virginia H. DeLancey, 2000 of the instruments as they enter the palace signifies the start of faada. Their silence then indicates either the end of the ceremony, or a period when the laamiiɗo communicates with the community. In the latter case, a short burst of music will then follow; this to announce the cessation of faada. These instruments perform much the same function as the clapping of hands during fantasia. They indicate the support of the public for the ruler, despite the fact that the orchestra is paid by the laamiiɗo himself. The people continue to show their support by following the laamiiɗo into his palace and pledging their allegiance to him. Just as the laamiiɗo transgressed the liminal point of the palace entrance to approach the populace, both physically and spiritually, so too does the populace as they approach the ruler in return. Just as the ruler brought the gift of his spiritual purity and his special connection with God to the population, the population also brings the gift of their con- tinued support and honor to the laamiiɗo. They come to greet the ruler in his palace, penetrating its outer boundaries and entering into its mysteries. They do so not of their own power, but rather at the invitation of the ruler. While the practice of faada is normally a time for vocalizing support for the laamiiɗo after he has performed his duties toward the population at Friday 51 Victor Turner, “Images and Reflections: Ritual, Drama, Carnival, Film, and Spectacle in Cultural Performance,” The Anthropology of Performance (New York: paj Publications, 1988), 22. Whatever its origin, it appears that the nobility were not taking faada on June 18, 2000, very seriously at all. For months, attendance at the faada every Friday, and especially Sunday, had been slowly declining. After the not-so-long procession of nobles had come forth to greet the laamiiɗo on that day, all sound ceased while he made an announcement. He proclaimed his profound dissat- isfaction with attendance at the faada—an affront to his dignity. If attendance did not improve, he would halt the practice of faada. The laamiiɗo clearly had noticed the slight to his authority, and had responded with his own criticism in return. Attendance quickly rose at subsequent performances of faada. The weekly journey taken by the laamiiɗo between the palace and the mosque represents an essential function of his position in society as a religious leader, even more so after the removal of the more secular role by the colonial and in- dependent governments. The laamiiɗo remains vital for the community in a ritual and moral sense. He represents the history of the state, its basis in Islamic tradition, and the unification of several cultures, most notably the Fulɓe and Mboum. The association between palace and mosque, and the ruler’s movement between the two underscores the conceptual underpinnings of Ngaoundéré as a semi-independent state within the Sokoto Caliphate, while the meeting of the faada afterwards represents what remains of its mode of functioning. Juulde Layhaaji, March 18, 2000 It was 7:15 am on March 18, 2000 and I was waiting for the laamiiɗo of Ngaoun- déré to emerge from his palace. The previous day was Juulde Layhaaji, the celebration of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael as proof of his faith, and the miracle of God’s replacement of the young boy with a sheep. There had been a bit of pageantry on the part of the ruler that day as he emerged from his palace to lead the prayers at the communal prayer grounds to the northwest of town, but the real parade was to occur today. I arrived early so as not to miss the beginning of the day’s proceedings. At 8:00 am a young man seated to the left of the palace entrance stood up, gathered his robes and lackadaisically strolled into the square between the palace and the mosque. He raised a short, flaring, leather-covered, oboe-like instrument called an algéta to his lips and began spitting out short bursts of notes. The musician continued to play for the next hour. As 9:00 am approached, horsemen wearing leather riding boots, tunics fes- tooned with protective charms, and carrying long iron spears slowly began to congregate before the palace (Fig. 104). They tipped their spears and nodded to friends and various important individuals before finding spots in the shade to await the laamiiɗo’s emergence. A rotund young man picked up a long, leather-covered trumpet and began pumping out quick successions of notes. Two little boys accompanied him with their own trumpets. Figure 104 Kaygama Mboum Baba Moussa dressed for fantasia. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Soon after 9:00 am, drums began to beat and the gates of the palace opened wide emitting a long procession of men on foot, dressed all in red and carrying various weapons and historically significant items, followed by Laamiiɗo Mo- hammadou Hayatou Issa himself on horseback (Fig. 105). The laamiiɗo wore a blue gown beneath a tan tunic, his head and part of his face in turn covered by a white turban. A wide leather belt that held a series of large protective charms was cinched around his waist. A man following to his right twirled a blue and white parasol over the laamiiɗo’s head to simultaneously protect him from the sun and mark his high rank. To the left walked the sarkin ‘ara, a tall robust man who fanned the laamiiɗo from time to time. Following the ruler was an even larger entourage of footmen in red than that which preceded him. One of them was an older man who carried a large leather bag perched upon his head (Fig. 106). Everybody agreed, when I asked, that he carried siirku— “superstition,” “heresy.”52 As the laamiiɗo emerged, the horsemen fell in before and behind him. The trumpeters suddenly multiplied, running ahead and stopping to trumpet at the ruler as he approached. I hurried alongside as they all marched off down the ,meaning “polytheism (ﺷﺮﻙ) The term siirku is most likely derived from the Arabic shirk 52 idolatry.” Closely related is the term siiri, meaning “magic, evil intent.” Taylor, Fulani–Eng- lish Dictionary, 175 and Wehr, Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 468. Figure 105 Laamiiɗo Mohammadou Hayatou Issa on horseback. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 106 The laamiiɗo preceded by a man carrying a leather bag of siirku. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photographer Mark D. DeLancey, 2000 Figure 107 Praising the laamiiɗo. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 108 The laamiiɗo performs fantasia. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 109 Noblemen performing fantasia in groups of four. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 After repeated charges, the jawro—or village chief—of Béka Hooseere, a town situated about ten minutes by motorcycle outside of Ngaoundéré, charged forward on horseback surrounded by several other horsemen from his village, then returned to the head of the road. The laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré charged once again, after which he remained on horseback before the palace, his servants covering him with the parasol and fanning him. The jawro of Béka Hooseere then paraded slowly toward the palace en- trance on horseback. The group of palace musicians moved to the flag-pole in the center of the square. The jawro’s supporters and citizens of Béka Hooseere danced forward alongside him, striking aggressive poses and feigning com- bat with phantom enemies (Fig. 110). Wave after wave of horsemen followed, shaking their spears in salute to the laamiiɗo and coating everyone in a thick layer of dust to the ecstatic response of the crowd. They advanced to just be- fore the palace where the entourage of the jawro danced around the musicians whose backs were against the flagpole. The jawro and his supporters then re- turned to the head of the road. The laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré likewise returned to the head of the road and then charged the palace one final time, after which he remained before it. The jawro of Béka Hooseere then paraded slowly forward once again, surrounded by his supporters. The laamiiɗo’s entourage moved ahead to meet them. The two groups merged and danced around the musicians (Fig. 111). Figure 110 Jawro Béka Hooseere and supporters approach the laamiiɗo. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 111 Jawro Béka Hooseere and the laamiiɗo meet in the middle. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 As the dancing ceased and the dust began to settle, the governor arose from his seat on the porch of the Islamic Health Center, descended its steps and greeted Laamiiɗo Mohammadou Hayatou Issa. They exchanged a few words as the crowd kept respectfully quiet. The governor then entered his black Mer- cedes and was driven away, after which the laamiiɗo and his entourage disap- peared through the palace gate. The procession was over by 11:15 am. The crowd began to mill about, while the assembled populace slowly dispersed. The following day, the kaygama maccuɓe, or representative of the con- quered peoples, performed a similar, albeit much less extravagant, version of the procession and fantasia, as did the crown prince, or yeriima, the day after that. These last two processions rounded out the four days of celebrations for the Juulde Layhaaji. Analysis of Juulde Layhaaji, March 18, 2000 Van Gennep in his discussion of territorial passages points to the importance of the door as “the boundary between the foreign and domestic worlds in the case of an ordinary dwelling, between the profane and sacred worlds in the case of a temple.”53 Thus, the door, as boundary marker becomes a focus of ritual aimed at marking that boundary as well as its transgression. This is a concept developed particularly by Prussin with regards not only to doors, but indeed all points of architectural vulnerability. Not only are entrances, windows, and other piercings of the wall considered liminal, but also dangerous as points of transition and access. Thus, as Prussin points out, they are the points at which protective decoration and rituals are concentrated in cultures throughout Af- rica. Architecture therefore physically establishes vital liminal points.54 Ritual, at the same time, frequently emphasizes the passing or breaking of these liminal points. Thus, the laamiiɗo leaves the palace on certain ceremo- nial occasions, reinforcing both his ability to overcome ritual markers and his connectedness to the population. In the example given above, the gates of the palace become the primary liminal point which is traversed by the laamiiɗo whenever he desires. As important as the physical delimitation of the liminal point by a gate or entrance structure is, the agency of the laamiiɗo to pass through it is even more paramount. The population to the contrary is not al- lowed to cross this liminal point. They must await the ruler’s decision to tran- scend it—a decision signaled by the trumpeting of his musicians. Indeed this 53 Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, 20. 54 Labelle Prussin, “Shelter for the Soul,” in Shelter: Models of Native Ingenuity, ed. J.M. Fitch (Katonah, ny: Katonah Gallery, 1982), 34–42; Hatumere, 64, 220–24; “Fulani-Hausa archi- tecture,” 16–19. Royal progresses (of which, where it exists, coronation is but the first) locate the society’s center and affirm its connection with transcendent things by stamping a territory with ritual signs of dominance. When kings journey around the countryside, making appearances, attending fêtes, conferring honors, exchanging gifts, or defying rivals, they mark it, like some wolf or tiger spreading his scent through his territory, as al- most physically part of them. This can be done, as we shall see, within the frameworks of expression and belief as various as sixteenth-century English Protestantism, fourteenth-century Javanese Hinduism, and nineteenth-century Moroccan Islam; but however it is done, it is done, and the royal occupation gets portrayed as being a good deal more than merely hedged with divinity.55 When the laamiiɗo’s procession passes, everything else stops. He crowds the streets with his followers; the air is filled with the sound of his orchestra. Move- ment and speech are pointless; the world comes to a standstill. Existence is dominated by the presence of the ruler who invades space physically, visually, aurally, and spiritually. He owns the space of the city and all within its confines just as he owns the palace and all within its walls. This relationship would have been even more poignant in the pre-colonial era when the entirety of the city was in fact surrounded by heavy earthen defensive walls, later destroyed and replaced with a ring road by the French colonial regime. The removal of the laamiiɗo from the confines of the palace would have been a rare occurrence in the immediate pre-colonial period. When Ngaoun- déré was founded in 1835, the Fulɓe population was composed primarily of 55 Clifford Geertz, “Centers, Kings, and Charisma: Reflections on the Symbolics of Power,” in Rites of Power (Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 1985), 13–38, 16. Paris of the kings of France during the Renaissance: “The entrée, like all other royal ceremonials, existed to honor the king, and he was the principal actor; but each performance of the event called for original theatrical creations that could be used to edify the king; he was therefore also the principal spectator.”56 The ruler may choose any processional route, and each procession is different. Wherever he decides to go, the city comes to a standstill. Thus, the population becomes as much a part of the ceremony as the ruler himself, participating in response, but also at the whim of the ruler. After returning to the palace, the population responds to the movement of the ruler from the palace to the community by an opposite reaction. The town’s population gathers about the palace as its representatives, the nobles, perform what is popularly called fantasia. This latter segment of the ceremony sees the nobles galloping toward the ruler, or by extension his palace entrance if he has entered it, stopping just before him with their horses rearing, shaking spears in the air and shouting praises, oaths of loyalty, and good wishes for the health and future of the laamiiɗo. Two nights later, during the procession of the yeri- ima, the laamiiɗo appeared at a window of the entrance to acknowledge the prince and the nobility. He then disappeared within the palace, after which the assembled horsemen repeatedly charged the entrance, yelling praises at the structure as if the ruler himself were present. Malaquais, drawing upon the work of Suzanne Blier, Margaret Drewal, and Jean Borgatti, discusses palace architecture in the Grassfields as a portrait of the ruler.57 Likewise, in charg- ing the palace entrance as willingly as they would the laamiiɗo himself, the common identity of the two is made particularly explicit in Ngaoundéré. This would have held true even more so in the pre-colonial era when the laamiiɗo rarely exited the palace to be seen in public. This segment of the ceremony essentially consists of a ritualized reference to battle and the fierceness of the armed forces of a lamidat. One of the principal military advantages wielded by the Fulɓe over their enemies was the horse, and its use in fantasia highlights the means by which they conquered the region. Fantasia also refers to the laamiiɗo as the commander-in-chief of the lamidat’s military and of the allegiance of the military to their commander. The people express their approval through their hands and voices. As the laamiiɗo has pro- claimed his responsibilities toward the population and his loyalty to its needs, so too does the population declare its responsibilities toward the ruler and his needs. 56 Giesey, “Models of Rulership,” 41–64, 53. 57 Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun, 40–42. This ceremony sheds light on the status of the ruler vis-à-vis the population in terms of Van Gennep’s concept of the tripartite nature of ritual. In some sense, the ruler is a priori in a state of separation from the population; existing in a liminal state. It is in ceremonies such as Juulde Layhaaji that the connec- tions between the population and the ruler are evinced. The ruler is separated at his installation, and remains in this liminal state sequestered within the palace. He continually undergoes transformation, representing a liminal posi- tion between God and the population. During ceremonies, he comes down to Earth; he emerges from the palace; he mixes with the population. Eventually, however, he returns to his liminal state in the palace. Thus, emerging from the palace represents not only a physical journey, but also a spiritual one during which the state of the laamiiɗo shifts from a higher plane in communion with God to a lower plane in communion with the populace, and back. Finally, the proper hierarchy of the world is made explicit through the per- formance of this ceremony. Its occurrence on the Muslim holy day of Juulde Layhaaji elucidates the primary force of this celebration. The emergence of God’s representative from his communion exemplifies his role as a mediator between the two. The central and flamboyant role of the nobility allows these elites to stand out from the masses while declaring their subservience to the laamiiɗo. The involvement of the crowd evinces their place at the base of soci- ety, willingly supporting all that is built upon its back. The importance of hier- archy is further exemplified by the performance of the prince two days later, as the head of those contending for the throne in the future and of the free Fulɓe. The performance of the kaygama Mboum on the intervening day points out the other major source of political identity and power, the Mboum. Turner states that with performance: One can work in the subjunctive mood as seriously as in the indicative— making worlds that never were on land or sea but that might be, could be, may be, and bringing in all the tropes, metaphor, metonymy, synecdoche, etc., to endow these alternative worlds with magical, festive, or sacred power, suspending disbelief and remodeling the terms of belief.58 One sees this “subjunctive” mood in operation at several levels through ritual movement in Ngaoundéré. On one level, fantasia represents a world which once was—a historical reality in which the Fulɓe and their Kanuri and Hausa compatriots rested control of a lamidat, and indeed an empire, by the might of the sword and with the swiftness of the horse. At Ngaoundéré, the Mboum 58 Turner, “Images and Reflections,” 26–27. 59 This conception of ritual performance in Africa is forcefully argued in the Yoruba case by Margaret Thompson Drewal in Yoruba Ritual: Performers, Play, Agency, African Systems of Thought (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992). Conclusion Much as Bloch and Newbury have suggested in their studies, the more general structure of royal ritual is made relevant to the populations of specific polities through incorporation of their particular cultures and history. The patterns and restrictions of movement inside the palace in general are designed to ex- emplify the overwhelming control which the laamiiɗo wields over the visitor, who is forced into a submissive role through the removal of one’s footwear, personal arms, and at Rey, disrobing. The existence of multiple doorways, some of which are more public than others, makes it difficult even to know if the ruler is within the palace or has left its confines. The palace is planned to allow the ruler to appear wherever he wishes with no indication of how he ar- rived there. One can never know when he is watching. It is during the rituals of investiture that we may begin to understand how movement, or its cessation, suggests the conflation of Fulɓe and Mboum ideas of rulership. The stabilization of communities in northern Cameroon and in- creased security seem to have led to changes in the investiture process. The pe- riod during which the laamiiɗo, as with the bellaka, must transition from mere mortal to semi-divine ruler occupies that period in the past when the bellaka established a new town and a new palace. The reuse of the same palace, in the case of the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré, emphasizes the institution of rulership over the individual ruler. It also seems to create new problems in movement within the palace, specifically with respect to how and when one can enter the quarters of one’s predecessor. In this context, the institution of rulership is more dangerous for the individual ruler in this era of increased security. The rituals associated with Friday prayer and faada are built upon the re- sponsibilities of every good Muslim and citizen. The laamiiɗo attends Friday prayer just as the rest of the population of Ngaoundéré. The weekly journey between palace and mosque takes on added meaning, however, due to the ruler’s position as head of the Muslim community in this theocracy. The rec- ognition of the ruler’s spiritual position begins with his investiture when he is removed from the realm of ordinary existence. Forever after, he becomes a This chapter, dealing with secrecy and palace architecture, draws directly on the preceding four chapters. The first chapter looked at palace architecture as a physical entity. The second chapter on the development of political symbol- ism. The third chapter studied the issue of placement within the wider urban fabric. These factors of positioning were contextualized within a discussion specifically of the lamidat of Ngaoundéré. The fourth chapter looked at ques- tions of ritual movement in relation to the palace of Ngaoundéré, addressing issues of ritual, movement, and the restriction or transgression of movement within political and religious contexts. In each of the last two chapters, the importance of knowledge, restricted either through cultural affinity or through constraints on movement, was implicated as a necessary corollary for a thor- ough appreciation and understanding of the palace. Architectural historian Arthur Drexler had the following to say about archi- tectural form: Which necessity, and which forms are appropriate to it, are questions each historical style answers differently, but in all times the architect is sustained by the idea that his preference for certain kinds of form is vali- dated by a force external to himself—the necessity imposed by society, or techniques, or nature, or God. Forms are manipulated in order to make explicit whichever of these external validations the architect affirms as the most satisfying explanation of the nature of existence. Architectural form is a fiction designed to reveal a truth.1 For Drexler, the ultimate truth in architecture, “must seem identical with what cannot be subtracted: essential structure.”2 Such a point of view is a typical modernist perspective on architecture, equating structure with truth and aes- thetic purity with honesty. If the terms used by Drexler seem distinctly those of an engineer, it is because the modernist architect perhaps was attempt- ing to regain control over a building art that had been largely usurped by the 1 Arthur Drexler, “Engineer’s Architecture: Truth and Its Consequences,” in The Architecture of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, ed. Arthur Drexler (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1977), 13–14. 2 Ibid., 14. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_007 engineer in the nineteenth century. Modernism in architecture is equated with the clarification of form and the explicit exposure of structure. In the palace architecture of northern Cameroon, form is opaque rather than transparent. It is designed more to conceal than to reveal itself or its con- tents. Truth is not found in the architectural form; it is localized in the secrecy created and maintained by the architecture. Nobody but the laamiiɗo and his closest advisors knows the nature of the secrets hidden within this architec- ture, although we may make educated guesses. To some degree, however, the secrets themselves may not matter, for the truth is comprised of the power that resides in the act of making secret. This chapter commences with an exegesis of Fufulde terms for “secrecy” to gain insight into the larger meaning of this concept in Adamawa. The manner in which architecture effects secrecy is then examined from the vantage of a progressive penetration to the core of the palace. The maintenance and public acknowledgement of secrecy constitutes in effect a method of exerting control over the population. It is this exertion of power over the visitor and the depriv- ing of his agency, rather than grandiosity or permanency of an edifice, which is the principal aesthetic in Fulɓe palace architecture. It is the very act of creat- ing secrets that can be seen to carry the most importance. Secrecy and Power There are two terms for “secret” in Adamawa Fulfulɗe, both of which have important further connotations. The first of these two terms is suunde (pl. chuunɗe). Taylor indicates that this term is derived from the verb suuɗugo, meaning to “hide, put away.”3 Ideas of hiding and secrecy are therefore closely related. Also derived from the same root is the term suudu, which was defined in Chapter 1 as referencing an individual unit or structure within a compound. It is interesting in this light that the smallest unit of residential life, the suudu, is linguistically related to the notion of “secrecy” and “hiding.” The implication is that the residence is where one hides away or secretes one’s personal life. This relationship is appropriate considering the concern with separating pub- lic from private domains in Fulɓe residential architecture. The other two locally employed terms for secret are asiri (pl. asiriiji) and ;sirr), meaning “secret) س ِر ّ sirri (pl. sirriiji), both derived from the Arabic term secret thought; heart, inmost; secrecy; mystery; sacrament (Chr.); underlying reason (of s.th.).” The connotations of the root from which the Arabic term 3 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 181. Everyone who has written perceptively about secrecy has remarked that it involved paradox, most often in the sense that for a secret to be realized, someone must not only conceal something but someone else must know or suspect this concealment (Bellman 1981). Consequently, while the import of a secret may remain hidden, the act of conceal- ment must be revealed if the secret is to have an audience and hence a social existence. Furthermore, the power and attraction of the secret lie in the possibility that it may be disclosed, either as a favor to the uninformed who seek to learn it or as a betrayal or lapse on the part of those hiding it. In either case, secrets imply that their own disclosure and knowledge are desired, because secrets give power to those who know them.7 Beidelman argues accordingly that there are two important aspects of the dis- closure of a secret. The first is that the act of possessing must be publicized in order for it to become a source of social distinction. The second is that one must be able to disclose it, and that its disclosure is desired. Beryl L. Bellman elaborates on the relationship between secrecy and disclo- sure in other ways: Secrecy is metacommunicative because when one hears the telling of a secret, there are a number of implicit instructions that accompany it and constitute its key. That includes not only how the talk is to be literally un- derstood, but also that the information is not to be repeated and that the source where the knowledge was obtained is to be protected.8 4 Wehr, Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 404. 5 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 176. 6 Ibid. 7 Beidelman, “Secrecy and Society,” 41. 8 Beryl L. Bellman, “The Paradox of Secrecy,” Human Studies 4, no. 1 (January–March 1981): 9. The metacommunicative nature of secrecy is such that it is information that is related, and yet is accompanied at the same time by instructions that it is not to be related. Bellman calls this the “paradox of secrecy” because it “in- volves a do-not-talk-it proscription that is contradicted by the fact that secrecy is constituted by the very procedures by which secrets get communicated.”9 The understanding of a secret features in the reconceptualizing of reality as a locus of powerful knowledge. At the same time, the realization by others that one knows a secret represents an acknowledgement that one has a fuller un- derstanding of reality. The power of secrecy was explicitly relayed to me by the secretary of the laamiiɗo of Kontcha. He suggested to me on my arrival that he knew I was coming because he had read my letter to the laamiiɗo. He pointed out that the word “secretary” contains within itself the term “secret.” I should therefore talk to him because as “secret/ary,” he knew the laamiiɗo’s secrets. He revealed to me at the same time that he needed medicine for one of his daughters who was lame from polio. The implication was that the secretary could communicate the laamiiɗo’s secrets in exchange for my secrets. In the same way that knowl- edge of how to cure the girl’s malady was not within my capacity, I doubted that important “secrets” would have been revealed to me in exchange. Part of the nature of secrets is that only the possessor knows what they truly are. The receiver has to trust that the information being communicated is both a “se- cret” and “true.”10 Terms linguistically related to siiri fill out our understanding of the concept of the secret in Fulfulɗe. The verb sirwugo, meaning to “be quiet, still, silent” gives rise to the related ideas of sirwinake (pl. chirwiniiɗum), meaning to “be terrible, dreadful, horrible, serious.”11 Also related are the terms siirugo, mean- ing to “bewitch, cast a spell or charm over,” from which is derived siiri, meaning “magic, evil intent.”12 Despite the joyous connotation of the originating term in Arabic, the Fulfulɗe word for “secret” has become associated with the ideas of the home and actions of hiding, but also to ideas of power, “magic,” and danger. The issue of its divulgence also comes into play, for the true power of a secret is only realized when its existence has been revealed. 9 Ibid., 21. 10 Indeed, this can become one of the central concerns of any researcher. To what extent are true secrets being revealed, and to what extent is the researcher being taken for a ride? 11 Taylor, Fulani–English Dictionary, 176. 12 Ibid., 175. Misinformation Even before one comes within view of the palace, its physical reality is often pressed into one’s consciousness by word of mouth. At the commencement of my field research in Cameroon in January 2000, while I was drinking beers one night with friends in the capital Yaoundé, I was told a strange and fantastic sto- ry by a young man who had lived in Ngaoundéré for a while. When I revealed to him that I was going there to study the palace, he told me that there were slaves buried alive in the walls. When the palace was being constructed, the slaves were said to have been positioned in such a way as to hold the ceiling beams in place. These slaves were purportedly encased in earth to form the palace’s pillars. The young man told me to take care, for the laamiiɗo is a powerful man with awesome abilities to control human life. I kept hearing this rumor. A Peace Corps volunteer based in Berem, a small Dìì village approximately 60 km east of Ngaoundéré on the road between Mbang-Mboum and Ngangha, said he had been told that humans also had been buried alive in the pillars of the palace of Ngangha. The emotional side of me recoiled in horror at the thought. The logical side of me responded that such was impossible as the building would not be very stable with decomposing bodies supporting the roof. The intellectually curious side of me wondered why the same rumors were circulating about both an Mboum and a Fulɓe palace.13 Several weeks later, I asked the official Ngaoundéré palace tour guide to give me an introductory tour. When we arrived at Jawleeru Njakmuukon, the sec- ond major structure of the entrance complex, my guide Hamadou explained to me that slaves had been buried alive inside the pillars. As evidence, he cited the decorations that vaguely resembled breasts and penises. These, he said, repre- sented the male and female slaves who had been ordered to hold the ceiling in place, and were then walled up alive inside the pillars (Fig. 82). He also pointed out to me a hole in the southwest corner of the ceiling, difficult to detect due to the darkness pervading the room. Hamadou stated that the laamiiɗo’s fam- ily would crawl through this hole to hide in the roof during times of war. A less dramatic explanation might be that this hole provided access to the roof for occasional repairs.14 13 The bellaka of Ngangha, Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, later repudiated this idea during an interview. He stated that he could not confirm the validity of this tale regarding the palace of Ngaoundéré either, although his own personal opinion was that the Fulɓe had created this story when they arrived to strike fear into the people. Bellaka Saliou Saoumboum, interview by author, tape recording, Ngangha, October 25, 2000. 14 See the broader discussion of the utilitarian aspects of ceilings in Chapter 2. Two weeks after my palace tour, a young woman from Northwest Region of Cameroon who lived in Ngaoundéré warned me that it was dangerous for me to try to work with the laamiiɗo. She explained to me that she had seen bones jutting from the walls of the palace when it was being repaired in 1994 after the fire that burned the entrance. At the time, I took the warning as more repre- sentative of the ethnic political maneuvering and suspicion which seems such a pervasive part of contemporary Cameroonian life. I did not believe that she actually had seen bones there. These stories of human supports in the palace even pursued me into an aca- demic environment. A graduate student in history at the University of Ngaoun- déré related stories that he had been told regarding this rumor. He also had been told that slaves had been buried alive within the palace pillars and that the roundels on the pillars represented the breasts of the young female slaves.15 He also related a horrifying story regarding the hole in the southwest corner of the ceiling of Jawleeru Njakmuukon. This was said to have been used in the old days for concealing the corpses of those who had been killed for transgressions against the laamiiɗo. To the families of the unfortunate individuals, it seemed as though the transgressor had simply disappeared.16 Again, the logical side of me thought that this would be a rather unsanitary means of body disposal, and that the decomposing corpse would create quite a horrendous stench within the palace. I asked my friend Hamadou, the official palace guide, if he had heard of this use of the ceiling hole of Jawleeru Njak- muukon. He had not heard it. He did, however, appear to appreciate the grue- some story and soon after began incorporating it into the official palace tour. It was at this point that I began to formulate a theory to explain the origin of this rumor, and the reason for its pervasiveness. Structurally speaking, it was totally impossible that live slaves could have been buried within the pillars. My emotional reaction to the idea of slaves being buried alive within its walls was, however, the intended effect of this story. There seemed to be no interest on the part of the palace in dispelling these rumors. The rumors and misinforma- tion function much like the extra, non-functional objects in a Senufo diviner’s kit, as described by Mary Nooter Roberts: Diviners often own kits they use in consultations with the spirits. A Sen- ufo woman’s kit usually contains natural and man-made objects—some of them oracles through which the oracle speaks—and several carved 15 Hamadou, “L’architecture des palais des laamibe peul,” 67. “Hamadou” is a very common name in northern Cameroon. The writer of the thesis cited here is a separate individual from the guide at the palace of Ngaoundéré. 16 Personal Communication, May 5, 2000. wooden sculptures, such as male/female couples and equestrians. Not all of these figures are efficacious—some are merely decoys. Only the di- viner knows the difference.17 In a proliferation of symbols, the true source of the power of divination, or the power to rule in the case of the palace, is concealed at the same time that a more mysterious experience of its encounter is created. The rumors further- more conveyed fear for the laamiiɗo’s power and what might happen if one were to disobey his commands.18 They emphasized his right to rule, reinforcing the dual nature of the laamiiɗo as both ritually pure and as almost a monster. Thus, it was yet another manifestation of the laamiiɗo’s power which could emerge either for the good or to the detriment of the community. This interpretation was confirmed to me in a roundabout manner by the kaygama Mboum during an interview just prior to my departure from Ngaoun- déré. This being the noble responsible for construction in the palace, I as- sumed that he, if anyone, would be able to answer my questions regarding the burial of slaves within the walls of the palace. He never quite answered me, af- firmatively or negatively, preferring to respond noncommittally. I asked if there were slaves buried within the palace walls. He responded that this indeed was the tradition. When I asked him if he had seen any bones when the entrance burned in 1994, he responded that he had not. He elaborated on his answer by stating that these were stories that they had been told by their fathers. No- body knew if they were true or not, because nobody alive had been there when construction had occurred. In essence, he told me that he had not seen any evidence to affirm the burial of slaves within the palace, but that this did not prove that there were none. It is worth noting that the purported burial of members of subservient pop- ulations in or beneath walls is not isolated to northern Cameroon. Examples can also be noted from Djenné and Timbuktu in Mali. In Djenne, it is said that a Bozo virgin maiden was buried alive in the city’s walls. Her virginity is said to protect the city from invasion. Likewise, a slave by the name of Buktu is said to have been buried alive in the walls of Timbuktu.19 Another example may be 17 Nooter, Secrecy, 100. 18 Similarly, Dominique Malaquais describes a rumor that circulated in Zaïre leading up to the famous “Rumble in the Jungle” boxing match in 1974. To maintain order, it was rumored that Mobutu had built jail cells under the stadium in which he held thousands of criminals, a hundred of whom were randomly selected for execution. The rumor was effective in conveying Mobutu’s power and in commanding order; there was no need to verify the rumor. Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun, 18–19. 19 For more on these examples see Sergio Domian, Architecture Soudanaise: Vitalité d’une tradition urbaine et monumentale: Mali, Côte-d’Ivoire, Burkina Faso, Ghana (Paris: In one Ningo oral tradition, by installing Dzangma as ruler Oklu Boso in effect assumed responsibility for carrying Dzangma’s throne. The prevail- ing belief that Oklu Boso’s decapitated head lies buried under Dzange-te [the stone throne] gives a literal interpretation to this legend, and pro- vides the throne’s secret. A second explanation claims that Oklu Boso’s corpse was buried vertically to carry the throne.20 This echoes another tradition regarding the palace of Ngaoundéré recorded by Hamadou: Pak fil njâ means “the slave and his master.” A slave had said to a prince that the day that he acceded to the throne (an impossible thing he said) that he would eliminate him [the prince]. Arriving at the throne, the new Laamido eliminates the slave and inhumes him in a corner of the porch of this vestibule. He places his throne on the tomb of the latter. This is a tradition that all the sovereigns of Ngaoundéré respect.21 I was told this tradition as well, although the location of the slave’s burial seemed to change with the telling. The most commonly indicated location for his interment was beneath the place where the traditional court took place, at Koaka Nyake. Clearly, Hamadou made a typographical error, as “koaka nyake” indeed means “the slave and his master” in Mboum, whereas “Pak fil njâ” in fact means the “jawleeru of the balafon.” Koaka Nyake is a small porch formed by the extension of the eaves of Jawleeru Nja into the second courtyard. There are several important implications of this tradition. As stated in Chapter 4, architecturally speaking, the name Koaka Nyake expresses the relationship between this relatively small eave and the much larger building to which it is adjoined. Obviously, however, the name has taken on a secondary and much more gruesome interpretation. That is, it is understood as a repetition of the theme of slaves buried in the pillars. It furthermore underscores the L’harmattan, 1989), 42, 68. Also see Pierre Maas and Geert Mommersteeg, Djenné: Chef- d’œuvre architectural (Amsterdam: Eindhoven, Institut Royal des Tropiques, 1992), 173–77. 20 Nii Otokunor Quarcoopome, “Agbaa: Dangme Art and the Politics of Secrecy,” 119. 21 Hamadou, “L’architecture des palais des Laamibe Peul,” 62, n. 3. 22 In this sense, one is reminded of the Vitruvian interpretation of caryatids as graphic re- minders of the enslavement of the women of Caryae by the Spartans in retribution for Caryatid support of the Persians against them. Hugh Plommer, “Vitruvius and the Origin of Caryatids,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 99 (1979): 97, 102. Of further interest is the proper identification of the “caryatids” of the Erechtheum as Korai, meant as female “dedications [in the temples of deities] offering more permanent and silent service to a god than could mortal flesh.” John Boardman, Greek Sculpture: The Archaic Period, a Handbook, World of Art (London: Thames and Hudson, 1991), 22. 23 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 114. 24 Thurstan Shaw, Igbo-Ukwu: An Account of Archaeological Discoveries in Eastern Nigeria, 2 vols. (London: Published for the Institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan by Fa- ber and Faber, 1970), 264–65, 269. Outside of this region, a most remarkable and ancient example of this practice is evident at Kerma in Sudan, where one ruler was buried in the seventeenth century bce with some 320 live beings who are thought to have walked into the tomb of their own free will. For a summary of George Reisner’s excavation of this site at Kerma, see Timothy Kendall, Kerma and the Kingdom of Kush, 2500–1500 bc: The Archaeological Discovery of an Ancient Nubian Empire (Washington, dc: National Museum of African Art, Smithsonian Institution, 1997), 66. On his hat mbue, the belaka carries four long copper hat pins called mba- ra lakâju (the man eaters), because formerly the belaka could order hu- man sacrifices in which the victim was either buried alive, or eaten at the occasion of a communal meal at which the members of the Niariya [advisory council or faada] took part.26 The ritual devouring of enemies or slaves, at least figuratively speaking, is a common element of many belief systems in Africa. It is frequently seen as a means of empowering oneself, or one’s community, through the absorption of another’s life force. It is possible that, in addition to the clear desire to create an aura of a fierce and unpredictable power, the traditions of the laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré reflect the history of Mboum rulership, particularly considering 25 Shaw, Igbo-Ukwu, 269, quoting P.M. Friedrich, “Description de l’enterrement d’un chef à Ibouzo (Niger),” Anthropos (Salzburg) 2 (1907): 104. P. Amaury Talbot, also noted by Shaw, agrees with Friedrich in his analysis of burial customs among the various cultures of southern Nigeria, stating that “human victims were offered up almost everywhere on the deaths of persons of distinction. Wives were sometimes sacrificed, but as a rule slaves were employed for the purpose, and were often bought so that the house members should not be touched.” Most notably, Talbot states that a male and a female slave were interred with important chiefs in Benin. P. Amaury Talbot, The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, Vol. 3 Ethnology (London: Oxford University Press, 1926), 472, 482. 26 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 99. It should also be noted that copper, contrary to valu- ations in the West, is frequently perceived as a very valuable material in west and central African cultures due to the rarity of its presence naturally in these regions. It is thus a common material for the creation of objects associated with royalty. The Palace Surrounded Having already been prepared to expect a mystery encounter by word of mouth, the visitor is struck by how little of even the exterior of the palace is actually visible. If one approaches the palace from any direction other than the intended one, i.e. the front façade, one is unlikely to see much more than the upper reaches of the massive exterior walls in the near distance. The pal- ace itself is surrounded by numerous households backed up directly against its confines (Fig. 112). This is as true of Ngaoundéré as of almost all of the palaces that I visited. A functional explanation for this practice was given to me by the laamiiɗo of Tchéboa, Moussa Aboubakary. He suggested that the laamiiɗo actually asks his trusted nobles and servants to build their compounds against the walls of the palace. He does this for two reasons. The first is that the compounds of these 27 Cesare Poppi, “Sigma! The Pilgrim’s Progress and the Logic of Secrecy,” in Secrecy: African Art That Conceals and Reveals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993), 203, n. 5. 28 Bellman, “Paradox of Secrecy,” 12. Figure 112 Compounds adjoining the outer wall of the palace. Tignère, Cameroon Photo 2000 loyal nobles and servants provide physical security in keeping outsiders from reaching the walls of the palace directly. Thus, if one wished to scale the pal- ace walls, a difficult feat in and of itself, the intruder would first have to make his way through somebody’s compound without being detected. The second reason given by Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary for this practice is to facilitate communication with the nobility. That is, if the laamiiɗo has need of a noble or desires to have something done, the individual can be quickly and easily called to the palace. Implicit in this ease of contact is the ability to keep track of the nobility as well.29 A further reason for the agglomeration of compounds surrounding the palace, one not expressed by Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary, is in order to protect the secrets and the secrecy of the palace by creating a distant view of an unreachable monument. It will be noticed, for example, that there are frequently rear exits from the palace which occasionally face a natural de- fense, such as a river in the case of the palace of Bibèmi. At other times, the door opens directly into a neighborhood, in which case it frequently leads into the compound of the house of a trusted guard or servant. The house of the servant helps to disguise the existence and placement of this protective 29 Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary, interview by author, tape recording, Tchéboa, August 5, 2000. Two of the more widely used Fon terms for “secret” are kpanu and kpaho (kpaxo), meaning respectively “thing [nu] of the enclosure [kpa: ‘fence,’ ‘hedge,’ ‘screen’]” and “speech [ho, xo] of the enclosure”—that is, something found or said in a circumscribed area (in private). In Benin, as elsewhere, 30 Malaquais, Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun, 74. fences are a frequent visual metaphor that announce things identified in some way with mystery, secrecy, or power.31 In the Fulɓe context, as with the Fon and many other cultures, walls imply secrecy. The height of the walls demonstrate visually the magnitude of the se- crets to be withheld. The visitor has no idea what lies inside the palace. At most, perhaps one might see the tops of trees that happen to be high enough to extend above the walls. The secrecy of the palace also is built upon the privacy of the household, just as royal ritual is based on vernacular ritual, as suggested in Chapter 4. Nooter Roberts refers to this in summarizing Beidelman: T.O. Beidelman argues that secrecy is central to all human affairs, and that the paradoxes and ambiguities of concealment and revelation in- fuse most every form of human behavior—from the ways we dress to the ways we speak, from formal modes of etiquette to the most routine daily encounters. Secrecy begins with the individual. The same strategies by which ordinary folk define themselves as social beings also dictate the forms of works of art, and the lives of people quite out of the ordinary— rulers, for example, who embody entire systems of cosmology, authority, and belief.32 In architectural terms, the walls of the compound serve to keep the life of the family from the outside world just as the walls of the palace keep secret the goings on within. The connection between secrecy, hiding, and architecture in the Fulɓe case is suggested linguistically by the relationship between the terms suunde (“secret”), suuɗugo (“to hide, to put away”), and suudu (“room, individual structure”). The secretary of the laamiiɗo of Kontcha explained the secrecy of the palace in terms of preserving the social mores of the ruler’s family, after I had pestered him with a variety of questions all aimed at the disclosure of why nobody was allowed to enter past the public parts of the palace. The secretary responded with a question of his own: if I had a wife, would I allow just any man into my compound? I knew this was not the whole of the story, although definitely part of it. I realized later that the secretary’s reply suggested something of the 31 Suzanne P. Blier, “Art and Secret Agency: Concealment and Revelation in Artistic Expres- sion,” in Secrecy: African Art that Conceals and Reveals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993), 185. 32 Nooter, Secrecy, 33. The Approach Approaching the massive walls of the palace from the proper direction, the visitor becomes aware of the extraordinary visual impact of the entrance. Seemingly impenetrable, the shadows created by the low-hanging eaves of the thatched roof of the historical entry into the palace of Ngaoundéré would have prevented visual as well as actual access to the interior. These low eaves are ostensibly created as a functional response to a climatic condition of heavy rainfall. That is, the long, low eaves protect the earthen walls of the palace from the rain. Just as importantly, however, the eaves also visually help to safeguard the power of the ruler. Rarely are purely functional purposes the only interpre- tation in palace architecture. Palace architecture in northern Cameroon is designed not to allow visual penetration. Using long eaves and deep shadows, the interior is obscured while giving those on the interior, the laamiiɗo and guards, a clear view out (Fig. 113). The visitor is automatically placed in a subject position by the inability to see what lies ahead. This is another privilege closely associated with the laamiiɗo. Not infrequently did I realize upon nearing the entrance of a palace that a 33 As noted in Chapter 1, these are not necessary in the nomadic context, as isolation pro- vides the desired privacy. 34 Similarly, what is inconsequential in American culture, such as the hair or nail clippings which remain after grooming, in northern Cameroon are sources of concern. Normally one destroys them, for they could be used for purposes of sorcery if another were to come into their possession. Figure 113 View from the entrance to the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon Photo 2000 guard or the ruler had been sitting under the eaves watching my approach without my knowledge. An example may be given from the palace of Kontcha, in Adamaoua Region near the border with Nigeria. This city lies across a major river for which there is no bridge. The truck upon which I had hitched a ride thus far stopped at the river and unloaded its goods there. I rode across the river in a canoe, along with goods to be smuggled across the border into Nigeria, and then walked into town. As I walked along, the path widened into a large boulevard that passed through the middle of the city, past the central mosque, and up to the entrance of the palace. I arrived at about noon, so the streets were largely deserted. I ambled down the boulevard to the entrance, hoping to be able to call some- body’s attention within. It was only as I came very close to the entrance that I realized the ruler had been sitting there on a chair in the deep, dark shadows the entire time I ap- proached. He had been observing me the whole time. I suddenly became very conscious of my actions and quickly tried to think if I had done anything in- appropriate while approaching. The effect would have been magnified with the original thatched roof, as opposed to the current corrugated metal one, which would have extended closer to the ground creating deeper shadows (Fig. 43). The roof would have performed better the function of cloaking both Figure 114 The laamiiɗo holding court under the eaves of Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoun- déré, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 115 Alternating shadows and sunlight in the palace, ca. 1931. Ngangha, Cameroon Photo 2000 pre-eighteenth-century Ottoman palace of Istanbul, the Topkapi Saray.35 The frequent use of second-story grilled ceremonial windows in the Topkapi Saray allowed the Sultan a view without being seen. In doing so, the Ottomans drew on a pre-Islamic Near Eastern and Byzantine tradition, which had been syn- thesized by the early Islamic empires. In particular, the use of ceremonial win- dows in domed gatehouses can be cited from Byzantine, Abbasid and Fatimid Egyptian palaces. Their use in these palaces is a practice distinct from North African as well as later Persian, Indian, and Turkish royal ritual in which vis- ibility of the ruler was highly desired. Necipoğlu attributes this difference to the basis of Ottoman power, and presumably that of other cited examples, in a more hierarchical political structure as opposed to the courts of North Africa, Persia, India, and later Ottoman states: 35 Gülru Necipoğlu, “Framing the Gaze in Ottoman, Safavid, and Mughal Palaces,” Ars Orientalis 23, Special Issue on Pre-Modern Islamic Palaces guest edited by Gülru Necipoğlu (1993): 303–42. The major difference between the Ottoman court and its Islamic contem- poraries in the east was its dependence on the master–slave relationship upon which its rigidly centralized organization was based. By contrast the Safavid and Mughal rulers [as well as North African rulers] had to rely on the fickle allegiance of powerful nobles and tribal chieftains whose constantly shifting loyalties had to be carefully balanced. They could not afford to remain invisible; the privilege of the gaze was not theirs alone. Their more accessible palaces emphasized the reciprocity of the gaze be- tween the ruler and the ruled, even though the nature of that reciprocal relationship assumed a distinctive coloring in each case.36 One could point to the immense involvement of members of the conquered population in governance and the affairs of the palace in Ngaoundéré as offer- ing evidence to support this theory. Not only is the relationship between ruler and ruled defined in visual terms, but also in the prescribed physical movement of the visitor. The low-hanging eaves not only visually conceal in shadows what lies beyond, but they also and equally importantly force one into a position of subservience and vulnerability because any visitor is obligated to bend forward in order to avoid the low eaves. In this way, one enters the palace already in a position of semi-prostration, an act one will complete before the laamiiɗo. Disorientation The theme of physical protection suggested by the high walls and low entrance to the palace is advanced again in the twisting path which one must take to proceed towards the center. At the palace of Ngaoundéré, and others in this region, the jawleeji and courtyards are not lined up enfilade, as is common in European palace architecture such as the palace of Versailles, but rather cause one to twist and turn multiple times on the journey toward the center. By the time one reaches the third courtyard of the palace, one is totally disoriented. One might relate a passage through the mazelike palace to a long journey. Oleg Grabar likens passage through the Islamic palace of Alhambra in Grana- da, Spain to a succession of architectural marvels: In fact, the whole palace is like the City of Brass of The Thousand and One Nights, where secret passageways and small doors lead the visitor, 36 Ibid., 306. accidentally and secretly, from one marvelous architectural setting to the next. But, although the result has nothing to do with military or defensive enterprises, the conception was, in origin, very much a military one.37 The idea of the approach as a journey with multiple stations is emphasized by James Dickie in his observation regarding passage through the Al Hambra: Thus the main courtyard of the palace, the Patio de Comares, alternative- ly known as the Patio de los Arrayanes (Court of the Myrtles)…was the nucleus of a series of courtyards accommodating specific functions with their corresponding bureaucracies. Taken in sequence, these courtyards made up a parade, marking stages in a progressive disclosure culminat- ing in the sultan’s presence.38 Although Grabar and Dickie find no defensive purpose in the arrangement of the approach at Al-Hambra, I believe that there is a very important defensive purpose to a similar arrangement of the approach at Ngaoundéré. As Blier sim- ilarly notes for Kongo and Kuba palaces in the Democratic Republic of Congo, the purpose is to confuse and disorient the undesired intruder who has not been shown the way by a guard.39 At the palace of Ngaoundéré, one encounters a similar sense of a series of stations leading to the ruler’s presence. Light features prominently in this, for one experiences an alternation of intense sunlight and extreme darkness, as defined by one’s passage through open courtyards followed by structures with few windows. Indeed this course of movement in some ways suggests a lengthy journey of multiple days and nights, a passage of time that is similarly marked by alternations of light and dark. The disorientation created by the constant blindness inflicted by the extreme changes in lighting further suggests a pas- sage into the unknown—a separation of the mundane world in which we all live from some mysterious world beyond our apprehension. Z.S. Strother char- acterizes the ritual house, or kibulu, of an Eastern Pende great chief as being “like that of Herod’s temple, [which] distinguishes (and honors) a hierarchy of insiders at different stages of initiation into village ritual.”40 The twisting 37 Oleg Grabar, The Alhambra (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1978), 114. 38 James Dickie (Yaqub Zaki), “The Palaces of the Alhambra,” in Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, ed. Jerrilynn D. Dodds (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), 135. 39 Blier, Royal Arts, 203, 246. 40 Z.S. Strother, “Eastern Pende Constructions of Secrecy,” in Secrecy: African Art that Conceals and Reveals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993), 165. The Throne Blier notes that one of the several terms for “secret” in Fon, do nu glo, refers to: the practice of burying, hiding, or covering something, actually or meta- phorically. Complementing this idea is the Fon practice of burying impor- tant objects (ideas or powers) in the earth…and placing a stone, tree, earth mound, building, or other form on top of this locale to mark the spot.41 She points out later that: every Fon man, woman, and child knows that the most critical part of the shrine—the site of its “secret” power—is beneath the surface of the earth, in the buried objects that in combination and through the sancti- fication of animal offerings constitute the godhead. That this is the “real” power of the god is a public “secret”; it is a secret made visible, tangible, and “known” through the artistically rendered anthropomorph built on the earth above the godhead for all to see.42 In a manner similar to the anthropomorphic mound created over a Fon shrine, the places where powerful materials are buried in a palace are said to mark the ruler’s throne and residence. It is unclear if the buried materials actively 41 Blier, “Art and Secret Agency,” 185. 42 Ibid., 188. One might expand this concept to a broader divergence between exterior aes- thetic and interior power, as with brilliantly beaded Yoruba crowns. The finely finished external surface is in some ways but an indicator of what lies within. Figure 116 Ruler’s throne and double gong in Jawleeru Nja, ca. 1897–1901. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 The association between the individual and the protections which he bur- ies are so strong that they often become a memorial for that person after their death. In the palace of Banyo, Mohamman Gabdo Yaya explained that making alterations to the palace, particularly in the laamiiɗo’s quarter, is difficult be- cause of these secret hidden safeguards. He recalled that a remodeling of the quarter early in his reign had revealed the special protections of his father and predecessor Laamiiɗo Yaya (r. 1904–1911, 1917–1934). Rather than moving or de- stroying these, Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya built around them, erecting a memorial for his father directly over their main location (Fig. 117). In some sense, they had become synonymous with Laamiiɗo Yaya, a remnant of his person, in much the same way that my colleague in Tignère left his grandfa- ther’s suudu standing as a memorial to him. The Well The most secretive of places within the palace is without a doubt the residence of the laamiiɗo. The place where the ruler sleeps is the most spiritually charged locale within this enormous edifice. It is also the location identified with the Figure 117 Memorial for Lamido Yahya in the laamiiɗo’s private quarter, late 1990s. Banyo, Cameroon Photo 2000 Figure 118 Protective materials hung above the entrance to the throne room, early 1920s. Banyo, Cameroon Photo 2000 most potent types of sacral protections. Here, as in other cases, most of the protections which guard the throne of the laamiiɗo and his home are buried in the earth below these places, although it is also common to find them on the walls and in the roofing materials of palace structures (Fig. 118). The association of the Earth with ancestral power is not uncommon in Af- rica. In the Kongo kingdom, for example, the ruler asserted his authority by planting a staff with a pointed iron shaft, called an mvwala, in the ground. The iron tipped staff aided the ruler’s communication with the earth and the ancestors.43 Similarly, and closer to the area of our concern, the connection between the Earth and ancestral wisdom is made explicit in the Cameroon Grassfields through a form of spider divination. In this divination system, a 43 Blier, Royal Arts, 206. Likewise, Robert Farris Thompson points out that the mvwala “was regarded as the ‘ford of the ancestors’ (nkokolo a bakulu), a tree across the water’s path, a bridge. And by brandishing this ‘bridge’ the king put the living world mystically in perpet- ual communication with the other realm.” Robert Farris Thompson and Joseph Cornet, The Four Moments of the Sun: Kongo Art in Two Worlds (Washington, dc: National Gallery of Art, 1981), 35. 44 Paul Gebauer, Spider Divination in the Cameroons, Publications in Anthropology 10 (Mil- waukee: Milwaukee Public Museum, 1964), 149. 45 “Maison traditionel, magique et royale.” 46 Leary, “A Decorated Palace in Kano,” 14. 47 Blier, “Art and Secret Agency,” 194, n. 4. 48 M.G. Smith, The Affairs of Daura: History and Change in a Hausa State, 1800–1958 (Berke- ley: University of California Press, 1978), 52–57. 49 Nicolas, “Structures fondamentales de l’espace,” 66, n. 1 and 76. 50 Froelich, “Notes sur les Mboum,” 115. Aesthetics of Secrecy The sense of constantly being observed, or never knowing when you were be- ing observed reminds one of Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon. The principal of the panopticon is that one can be controlled by the assumption that one is un- der constant surveillance by a hidden individual. Whereas in Bentham’s prison the location of the supposed observer remains constant at the center, in the case of the palace of Ngaoundéré the observer could seemingly be anywhere. The effect is the same. After the first time that the ruler suddenly appeared behind me, I learned to always be guarded in my actions when entering the palace with the knowledge that somebody somewhere could, and probably was, watching me. The importance of visual control has already been demonstrated in Ngaoun- déré’s palace architecture through the use of high walls, low eaves, shadow and light. The restrictions and control of one’s movement have also been noted, particularly as opposed to the ability of the ruler to move throughout the pal- ace, seeming to appear as if by magic out of thin air. All of this leads to a sense of monumentality quite separate and different from European notions of the concept as being defined by grandeur or permanence of materials. Rather, monumentality in northern Cameroon is defined by controlling the individual. This difference may relate to differing cultural conceptions of the relation- ship of ruler to ruled populations and domains. I propose that this distinction has at its heart a different conception of how power may be defined. Whereas European rulers historically based their power on defined domains with physi- cal boundaries, African cultures, frequently defined themselves more in terms of control of human resources. In other words, irrespective of land controlled, 51 Nicolas, “structures fondamentales de l’espace,” 66, n. 1. The Demise of Secrecy The palace plays multiple roles in creating and encapsulating the secrecy of rulership, in representing both the continuity of rulership and the unique power of the ruler in his sequestration within its walls. In the final analysis, it is less a question of the nature of the secret, however, than that of the nature of the secret’s presentation. Before all else, the secret of rulership in northern Cameroon is presented through the palace. It is precisely this act of possessing a secret which has been under attack for the past century from a multitude of directions. On the one hand, colonialism and the independent government made secrecy somewhat irrelevant. It is no secret that the laamiiɗo now receives his power, right to rule, and paycheck from the government. On the other hand, the city itself no longer pays obedi- ence as a whole to even his moral authority, thanks to the rapid immigration of cultural groups from other parts of Cameroon as well as surrounding coun- tries. This lack of respect was exemplified in the 1993 burning of Ngaoundéré’s palace entrance. Now, some people are seen to be so crass as to openly pro- claim that the current ruler was not chosen by the faada, but rather that he was installed through graft. The power of the laamiiɗo is thought to have decreased 52 Donald R. Wright, “‘What Do You Mean There Were No Tribes in Africa?’ Thoughts on Boundaries: And Related Matters: In Precolonial Africa,” History in Africa 26 (1999): 414–16. We have demonstrated that the criteria which strengthen a yerima’s chances for selection as laamiiɗo depended on the actual political con- text in both the lamidat and in Cameroon in general. That which was important for a laamiiɗo to know, and the qualities he should possess, changed according to changing values and social and political demands. One result was that to possess pulaaku [i.e. “traditional” Fulɓe values] has become increasingly less important for a laamiiɗo, while a yerima’s ca- pacity for maneuvering in “modern” milieus—represented by the Cam- eroonian state, commerce and international contacts—has become es- sential. It appears thus, as if it helps to be a “modern” man if one wishes to be selected as “traditional” chief.55 53 William P. Murphy, “Secret Knowledge as Property and Power in Kpelle Society: Elders versus Youth,” Africa 50, no. 2 (1980): 201. 54 Hansen, Historical Construction, 113–15. 55 Ibid., 115. The importance of being able to represent the people in the contemporary world has been recognized throughout northern Cameroon, as made evident in the candidates chosen for succession. In Garoua, the candidate chosen in the 2000 succession to the throne was Laamiiɗo Alim Garga Hayatou, who was at the time the Secretary of State for Public Health. The laamiiɗo of Demsa is also director of the beac (Bank of Central African States) in Garoua. The laamiiɓe of Banyo and Tchéboa are similarly well-educated and politically well-connected. Ability to rule is clearly measured in terms of one’s ability to negotiate the intricacies of the contemporary political and financial environ- ment in Cameroon. The new entrance to the palace of Ngaoundéré problematizes the issue of power in contemporary Ngaoundéré. It was not the laamiiɗo who paid for its construction; rather, it was financed by Alhajji Abbo, the wealthiest man in Ngaoundéré and in the larger Adamaoua Region. This is the same man who financed the construction of the central mosque across from the laamiiɗo’s palace. These two monuments serve as visual testimony to the usurpation of the power of the laamiiɗo, the wealthiest man in the lamidat in pre-colonial times, by the merchant class. Two complementary statements can be said of these acts: (1) the laamiiɗo no longer possessed the power to accomplish such projects, and (2) Alhajji Abbo not only possessed the means to achieve this, but he was also allowed to construct two of the most potent symbols of power in the city. Success, financial or otherwise, being a clear measure of one’s access to the “secrets of success,” the immense wealth distributed in the form of pub- lic monuments by this individual is seen to contribute the primary challenge to the leadership of the laamiiɗo. The reason that Alhaji Abbo’s monuments are perceived as challenging the laamiiɗo appears to rest on the question of who “calls the shots” in contempo- rary Ngaoundéré. While the current ruler possesses wealth, indeed it was one of the primary criteria in his selection as suggested by Hansen and Taguem Fah’s survey, he is no match for Alhaji Abbo. According to Hansen, the budget for Alhaji Abbo’s “compound” outside of Ngaoundéré was approximately $90 million (Fig. 119).56 The ruler, unlike during the pre-colonial era, is no longer the wealthiest individual, nor is he the most capable of sponsoring projects for the public or religious welfare, such as mosques. He does not even possess the largest residence anymore. Clearly, the ruler is in a difficult situation regarding his significance and representation of power in contemporary Ngaoundéré. In much the same manner, on an architectural as opposed to a political plane, the mystery of the palace for some may be destroyed by the construction 56 Ibid., 150. Figure 119 Alhaji Abbo’s mansion seen from Mount Ngaoundéré, late 1990s. Ngaoundéré, Cameroon Photo 2000 of concrete structures in an attempt to rival secular authority. Innovation is ex- pected of a ruler and alteration of the palace is a mark of one’s reign. It is also a mark of his success as a ruler and control of the means to effect changes in the palace.57 Those rulers who do not “modernize” in some manner either lack or are said to lack, the financial, political, and spiritual means to do so. The his- tory of alterations to the palace reflects the history of the lamidat itself. While innovation is expressive of one’s knowledge and ability to control the forces of contemporary life, there must be an equal attention to maintain a connection with the past and the very culture and people that the ruler is meant to protect and serve. Beidleman states that “each revelation of a ruler’s public presence, so long as it adheres to the cultural rules, increases a sense of what is hidden along with what is seen.”58 To completely turn one’s back on the 57 Michelle Gilbert similarly notes that it is expected that the ruler of Akuapem, an Akan kingdom in southern Ghana, will acquire and display new regalia during his reign, adding his personal touch to the king’s costume. Michelle Gilbert, “The Leopard Who Sleeps in a Basket: Akuapem Secrecy in Everyday Life and in Royal Metaphor,” in Secrecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, ed. Mary H. Nooter (New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989), 129. 58 Beidelman, “Secrecy and Society,” 47. The history of palace architecture in northern Cameroon since the founding of the Sokoto Caliphate in the early nineteenth century is one of constant change. The first palaces were constructed by conquering Fulɓe populations who had until that point lived a semi-nomadic life focused on animal hus- bandry, residing in relatively impermanent structures. They had little concept of permanent architecture, much less a sense of monumentality or the empha- sis on secrecy that came to constitute palace architecture. The conquerors therefore looked to sources outside of their own cultural knowledge for architectural models and construction techniques. Some of these could be found amongst the sedentary populations whom they had con- quered, whose unique styles helped to introduce an element of diversity that distinguished the architecture of one lamidat from the other and provided the building blocks for the construction of local identities that superseded ethnic ones. Other sources could be found in the longstanding Islamic polities of the Hausa and Kanuri that surrounded northern Cameroon, members of which lived amongst the Fulɓe conquerors. These polities provided models of Islamic rulership and political imagery that could be adopted wholesale. The adoption across Adamawa of forms from these common sources provided a degree of unity, in contrast to the more locally based idioms incorporated, that bound all of the lamidats together in a common identity, one related particularly closely to the rest of the Sokoto Caliphate in which pre-existing Hausa forms were likewise adopted by the new, largely Fulɓe, rulers. These divergent sources of architectural knowledge were brought together in northern Cameroon, and further informed by the previously semi-nomadic culture of the Fulɓe. One could take the point of view that such cultural com- plexity was merely the result of happenstance, a reflection of the composition of the population of northern Cameroon. Yet, it would seem that the end result was much more than mere chance, and was in fact the effect of a conscious desire to bind all of these different groups together into a single population. That is, palace architecture served the important role of forming a group iden- tity in which all held a stake and therefore owed allegiance to the ruler. One can see this impulse at play in the weekly rituals that bind together the palace and mosque as metaphors for the indigenous and Fulɓe populations, or in the annual rituals in which the laamiiɗo claims his domain as a microcosm. The palace architecture itself ultimately constructed a common political culture around the near-mythical figure of the ruler, whose identity is largely consti- tuted in the minds and imaginations of the general population in his near total absence. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi 10.1163/9789004316126_008 At the same time, one must not pretend that a single successful architec- tural solution has ever been found, but rather that a number of proposals at- tuned to contemporaneous needs and dilemmas have been put forward. Thus, the positioning of the palace in the foundational urban plan of Ngaoundéré was eventually renegotiated in a manner that more appropriately addressed the multitude of cultures within the lamidat. The initial impermanent vegetal architecture of Garoua, reflecting a nomadic aesthetic and notions of social status, was eventually replaced with more permanent earthen structures. Par- ticularly powerful and wealthy lamidats on the outer boundaries of Adamawa, i.e. Ngaoundéré and Rey, pushed the limits of their dependent status by adopt- ing the sooro along with its royal connotations. It must also be remembered that the Sokoto Caliphate existed for only about a century as an independent state. Colonization at the beginning of the twen- tieth century brought radically revised political realities for Adamawa, and in- deed for the entirety of the caliphate. As rulers were killed or forced to abdicate, with the powers of those who remained severely restricted, these new politi- cal realities could not be simply ignored. Instead, the rulers of northern Cam- eroon sought new more culturally based roles for themselves and attempted to exploit the poor understanding of the colonizer when possible. It is in this period that we see rulers across northern Cameroon, for example, reconstruct- ing their palaces with multiple soorooji, employing royal symbolism previously restricted from their usage. Likewise, entirely new lamidats were created both of previously subordinate entities as well as of formerly conquered popula- tions. Particularly illuminating is the adoption by these formerly conquered populations of architectural forms identified with their prior overlords. One may, on the one hand, see in such adoptions the effectiveness of this architec- ture’s vocabulary of power and representation of a local identity. On the other hand, one may take the more cynical approach that to solicit recognition and resources from the colonial government, the newly formed political entities had to assume the mantle of and represent themselves as the equals, at least visually, of the more established lamidats. One might even see in Ngaoundéré’s practice of holding faada not only on the usual Friday following communal prayer but also on Sunday, a response both to the colonial situation as well as to the arrival of new populations from the south. That is, in holding faada on both the Muslim and Christian days of prayer, the ruler perhaps sought to extend his role as representative over both of the dominant faith communities. These shifts and changes in political ritual and the architecture that de- fines it did not come to an end in the colonial period, nor has it in the era of independence which followed. It is indeed this question of the place of the laamiiɗo and of his palace in the current Republic of Cameroon that is Abbreviations ILCAA Institute for the Study of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa ORSTOM Office de la Recherche Scientifique et Technique Outre-Mer. Interviews May 23, 2000 Mbang-Mboum, Sultan-Bellaka Mbang-Mboum Mbang-Birni El Hadj Hamadou Sadjo Aboubakar. July 9, 2000 Galim, Laamiiɗo Djallo Hamadina. July 11, 2000 Tignère, Alhadji Ahmadou Dan Baba. July 11, 2000 Tignère, Ndottijo Mai. July 12, 2000 Tignère, Asta Jumbati. July 12, 2000 Tignère, Mallam Mamoudou. July 12, 2000 Tignère, Aissatou Tobi. July 13, 2000 Tignère, Alhadji Nana Hamadjoda and Bobo Hassana. July 13, 2000 Tignère, Ahmadou Djika Pouri and Baba Alim. July 20, 2000 Ngadjiwan, Laamiiɗo Djibrilla Djibi Danki. July 24, 2000 Kontcha, Yérima Haman Adama. July 24, 2000 Kontcha, Mallam Abba Aboubakar. August 5, 2000 Tchéboa, Matakarda Bobboy. August 5, 2000 Tchéboa, Laamiiɗo Moussa Aboubakary. August 10, 2000 Boundang-Touroua, Kaigama Matchoubé Adamou. August 10, 2000 Boundang-Touroua, Sarki Kofa Haruna. August 11, 2000 Boundang-Touroua, Laamiiɗo Ali Moustafa. August 11, 2000 Boundang-Touroua, Sarki Yai Ndjidda. August 18, 2000 Garoua, Modibo Ahmadou Bassoro. August 23, 2000 Garoua-Layindé, Tchingi. August 24, 2000 Bibèmi, Laamiiɗo Daouda Alidou. August 24, 2000 Bibèmi, Alhadji Samaki. September 7, 2000 Mbang-Mboum, Ndibo Hamadou Kaygama and Kaygama Suu- di Kaygama. October 5, 2000 Tibati, Laamiiɗo Mohammadou Barkindo with assistance from Mallam Issa, Mamoudou Djéka, Sarki Yara, with interpretation by Moussa Mayadji. October 7, 2000 Banyo, Laamiiɗo Mohamman Gabdo Yaya with assistance from Yaji Sarki Ara. October 23, 2000 Ngangha, Bellaka Saliou Saomboum. November 23, 2000 Idool, Ibrahim Halil Biya. December 10, 2000 Ngaoundéré, Kaygama Mboum Baba Moussa. Archives Archives d’Outre-Mer, Aix-en-Provence 67APC/2, dossier 12 Papiers Lyée de Belleau. M. de Lyée de Belleau. Randonnées d’un Aïeule au Monde Noir: du Cameroun au Hoggar. Paris: Ed. Alsatia, 1945. Draft manuscript. 3Ecol/93, dossier 4 Dominé, Jean. De Douala à l’Adamaoua (Eté 1948). Mémoire des étudiantes d’école na- tionale de la France d’Outre-Mer, 1949. Séries Géographique, carton 18, dossier 165 Rapport de mission du Gouverneur des Colonies Fourneau, 4 avril 1915. Séries Géographique, carton 33, dossier 320 Etude sur le Nord-Cameroun faite par les premières troupes d’occupation (1915–1916). 3Ecol/113, dossier 6 Fabre, Jacques. Le Milieu Foulbé de l’Adamawa (Cameroun français). Mémoires des éléves de l’école coloniale, Mai 1953. 3Ecol/136, dossier 3 Le Paudert, Gaston. Notes sur les M’boums de l’AEF et du Cameroun. Mem. de l’éleve de 2ème année, fev. 1958. Mission 6 Mission M. le Lieutenant de Vaisseau Mizon (Louis Alexandre Antoine). Mission 47 Mission Moll—1905–1907—Congo-Cameroun. Cameroon National Archives, Yaoundé 1 AC 3811 Adamaoua. Peul. Etude. 1953. Lacroix, Pierre François. Notes sur les Peul de l’Adamawa. Paris: N.P., 1953. 2 AC 8531 Ngaoundéré (Arrondissement) (département de l’Adamaoua). Rapport Annuel. 1959. 2 AC 8538bis Ngaoundéré (Subdivision). Rapport Annuel. 1950. APA11770/C Bouba-Djidda (Subdivision). Rapport de tournée. 1939. Rapport de Tournée par M. Beaudelaire, Adjoint principal de S.C. Adjoint au Chef de Ré- gion de la Bénoué et Chef de la Subdivision de Bouba-Djidda, 8 février–18 mars 1939. APA11901/B Ngaoundéré le 11 septembre 1917. Rapport du Lieutenant Petetin, Commissaire de la Circonscription sur les faits re- proche … aux Sarquins Goufa et Yara. S/C/ du Lieutenant Colonel Commandant le Corps d’Occupation, Douala, No. 32. Objet: Violences exercées contre des indigènes. N’Gaoundéré, le 30 août 1924. Le Chef de la Circonscription de N’Gaoundéré, à Monsieur le Commissaire de la Ré- publique Française à Yaoundé, No. 213. Objet: Demande de Déportation politique de l’adjia Al’Hamdou motivée par son attitude menaçante envers le Lamido et la détention clandestine d’armes de guerre. N’Gaoundéré, le 29 février 1925. Le Chef de la Circonscription de N’Gaoundéré, à Monsieur le Commissaire de la Répub- lique Française à Yaoundé, No. 31. Analyse: Incendie du tata du Lamido de NGaoundéré. VT 17/202/W Rapport de tournée sur le Bénoué du 27 Décembre 1943 au 8 Janvier 1944 de Garoua à Yola par M. Genin, Chef de Région de Bénoué. VT 17/209/B Bénoué (région). Rapport Annuel à la S.D.N. 1936. Région de la Bénoué. Rapport Annuel. 1936. Garoua, 12 janvier 1937 par M. Genin, Chef de la Région de la Bénoué. Films Denis, Clair, dir. Chocolat. DVD, 106 min. Santa Monica, CA: MGM Home Entertain- ment, 2000. Jerstad, Jon and Lisbet Holtedahl. The Sultan’s Burden. Videocassette, 50 min. New York: Filmakers Library, 1994. Newspapers “Dakole Daïssala: Le Kirdi, le Peul, la DCK et moi: une interview historique du leader du MDR,” L’œil du Sahel 34, July 31–August 10, 2000. “Les Kirdi en colère contre Biya,” L’œil du Sahel 31, April 24–May 10, 2000. “Les Kirdi sont marginalisés,” L’œil du Sahel 33, June 26–July 10, 2000. Articles and Books Abraham, R.C. Dictionary of the Hausa Language. London: University of London Press, 1962. Abubakar, Sa’ad. The lāmīɓe of Fombina: A Political History of Adamawa, 1809–1901. Ah- madu Bello University History Series. Zaria: Ahmadu Bello University Press; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. Abwa, Daniel. “Le Lamidat de Ngaoundéré de 1915 à 1945.” MA thesis, University of Yaoundé, 1980. Adams, Monni. “African Visual Arts from an Art Historical Perspective.” African Studies Review 32, no. 2 (September 1989): 55–103. Adepegba, Cornelius O. Decorative Arts of the Fulani Nomads. Ibadan: Ibadan Univer- sity Press, 1986. AlSayyad, Nezar. Cities and Caliphs: On the Genesis of Arab Muslim Urbanism. Contribu- tions to the Study of World History 26. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1991. Anderson, Christopher, ed. Politics of the Secret. Oceania Monograph 45. Sydney: Uni- versity of Sydney, 1995. Argenti, Nicolas. “African Aesthetics: Moving to See the Mask.” JASO: Journal of the An- thropological Society of Oxford 23, no. 3 (1992): 197–215. L’Atlas jeune afrique du continent africain. Paris: Le Groupe Jeune Afrique and Les Edi- tions du Jaguar, 1993. Azarya, Victor. Dominance and Change in North Cameroon: The Fulbe Aristocracy. Sage Research Papers in the Social Sciences, Studies in Comparative Modernization Series 4. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1976. ———. Aristocrats Facing Change: The Fulbe in Guinea, Nigeria, and Cameroon. Chi- cago: University of Chicago Press, 1978. ———. “Sedentarization and Ethnic Identity among the Fulbe: A Comparative View,” in Unity and Diversity of a People: The Search for Fulbe Identity, edited by Paul K. Eguchi and Victor Azarya, 35–60. Senri Ethnological Studies 35. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1993. Bâ, Ahmadou Hampaté. Kaidara: A Fulani Cosmological Epic from Mali. Translation and Interview with Bâ by Daniel Whitman. Introduction and Special Notes by Lily- an Kesteloot. Washington, DC: Three Continents Press, 1988. Bâ, Ahmadou Hampaté, and Germain Dieterlen. Koumen: Texte initiatique des pas- teurs Peul. Ecole pratique des hautes études, Sorbonne. VIe section, Sciences économiques et sociales. Cahiers de l’Homme: Ethnologie, géographie, linguis- tique, nouvelle série 1. Paris: Mouton, 1961. ———. “Les fresques d’époque bovidienne du Tassili N’Ajjer et les traditions des Peul: Hy- pothèses d’interprétation,” Journal de la Société des Africanistes 36, fasc. 1 (1966): 141–57. Bargery, G.P. A Hausa–English Dictionary and English–Hausa Vocabulary. London: Oxford University Press, 1934. Barkindo, Bawuro M. “The Role of al-Maghili in the Reforms of Sarki Muhammadu Rumfa (1463–1499) of Kano: A Re-examination.” Kano Studies, n.s., 3, no.1 (1987–88): 85–110. Bassoro, Modibbo A. and Eldridge Mohammadou. Garoua: Tradition historique d’une cité Peule du Nord-Cameroun. Mémoires et travaux de la R.C.P. 395. Bordeaux: Edi- tion du Central national de la Recherche scientifique, 1980. Beauvilain, Alain, Jean-Louis Dongmo, Mahamat Paba Salé, Jean Pahaï, Marcel Roupsard, and Christian Seignobos. Atlas aérien du Cameroun: Campagnes et villes. Yaoundé: Université de Yaoundé, Département de Géographie, 1983. Beguin, Jean-Pierre, Michel Kalt, Jean-Lucien Leroy, Dominique Louis, Jacques Macray, Pierre Pelloux and Henry-Noël Peronne. L’habitat au Cameroun. Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1952. Beidelman, T.O. “Secrecy and Society: The Paradox of Knowing and the Knowing of Paradox,” in Secrecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Noot- er, 41–52. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993. Bellman, Beryl L. “Masks, Societies, and Secrecy Among the Fala Kpelle.” Ethnologische Zeitschrift Zürich 1 (1980): 61–79. ———. “The Paradox of Secrecy.” Human Studies 4, no. 1 (January–March 1981): 1–24. ———. The Language of Secrecy: Symbols and Metaphors in Poro Ritual. New Bruns- wick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1984. Berns, Marla C. “Decorated Gourds of Northeastern Nigeria.” African Arts 19, no. 1 (1985): 28–44, 86–87. Berns, Marla C., and Barbara Rubin Hudson. The Essential Gourd: Art and History in Northeastern Nigeria. Los Angeles: Museum of Cultural History, University of Cali- fornia, Los Angeles, 1986. Bernus, Edmond. “Kobané: un village malinké du Haut Niger.” Les Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 9, no. 35 (July–September 1956): 239–62. ———. “Ahouati, notes sur un village Dida.” Etudes Eburnéennes 4 (1957): 213–29. Billard, Pierre. Le Cameroun fédérale. 2 vols. Lyon: Imprimerie des Beaux-Arts, 1968. Bivar, A.D.H., and P.L. Shinnie. “Old Kanuri Capitals.” Journal of African History 3, no. 1 (1962): 1–10. Blier, Suzanne P. “Houses are Human: Architectural Self-images of Africa’s Tamberma.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 42, no. 4 (1983): 371–82. ———. “Art and Secret Agency: Concealment and Revelation in Artistic Expression,” in Secrecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 181–94. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. ———. “Ritual,” in Critical Terms for Art History, edited by Robert S. Nelson and Rich- ard Shiff, 187–96. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1996. ———. The Royal Arts of Africa: The Majesty of Form. Perspectives. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1998. Bloch, Maurice. “The Ritual of the Royal Bath in Madagascar: The Dissolution of Death, Birth and Fertility into Authority,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Tra- ditional Societies, edited by David Cannadine and Simon Price, 271–97. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Boardman, John. Greek Sculpture: The Archaic Period, a Handbook. World of Art. Lon- don: Thames and Hudson, 1991. Bok, Sissela. Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation. New York: Pantheon Books, 1982. Bonfijiglioli, Angelo Maliki. Duɗal: Histoire de famille et histoire de troupeau chez un groupe de Woɗaaɓe du Niger. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Bourdier, Jean-Paul, and Trinh Minh-Ha. Drawn from African Dwellings. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996. Bourdieu, Pierre. “The Kabyle House or the World Reversed,” in Algeria 1960: The Dis- enchantment of the World, The Sense of Honour, The Kabyle House or the World Re- versed, translated by Richard Nice, 133–53. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Bourgeois, Jean-Louis, and Carollee Pelos. Spectacular Vernacular: The Adobe Tradition. New York: Aperture Foundation, 1989. Bovin, Mette. Nomads Who Cultivate Beauty: Woɗaaɓe Dances and Visual Arts in Niger. Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet, 2001. Bravmann, René. Open Frontiers: The Mobility of Art in Black Africa. Index of Art in the Pacific Northwest 5. Seattle: Published for the Henry Art Gallery by the University of Washington Press, 1973. ———. Islam and Tribal Art in Africa. African Studies Series 11. London: Cambridge University Press, 1974. Burmeister, Alice. “Demonstrating Iyawa: Hausa Hunters’ Arts and Womens’ Wealth Display (Niger).” PhD diss., Indiana University, 2000. Burnham, Philip. Opportunity and Constraint in a Savanna Society: The Gbaya of Mei- ganga, Cameroon. Studies in Anthropology. London: Academic Press, 1980. ———. The Politics of Cultural Difference in Northern Cameroon. International African Library 17. London: Edinburgh University Press for the International African Insti- tute, 1996. Campbell, Dugald. On the Trail of the Veiled Tuareg: An Account of These Mysterious Nomadic Warriors Whose Home Is the Trackless Desert and Whose History Fades into the Far Past. London: Seeley, Service and Co., 1928. Cannadine, David. “Introduction: Divine Rites of Kings,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, edited by David Cannadine and Simon Price, 1–19. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Chappel, T.J.H. Decorated Gourds in North-Eastern Nigeria. Lagos: Federal Department of Antiquities, Nigeria in association with Ethnographica, 1977. Cohen, Ronald. The Kanuri of Bornu. Case Studies in Cultural Anthropology. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967. Creac’h, P. “Notes sur l’art decorative architectural Foula du Haut Fouta-Djallon,” in Prémière conférence internationale des Africanistes de l’Ouest. Vol. 2, Comptes Ren- dus, 300–12. Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1951. Criaud, J. Géographie du Cameroun et de l’Afrique. Les Classiques Africaines 415. Issy les Moulineaux: Editions Saint-Paul, 1985. Cyffer, Norbert. English–Kanuri Dictionary. Westafrikanische Studien 3. Cologne: Rü- diger Köppe Verlag, 1994. Cyffer, Norbert, and John Hutchison, eds. Dictionary of the Kanuri Language. Publica- tions in African Languages and Linguistics 13. Dordrecht: Foris Publications; Maidu- guri: University of Maiduguri, 1990. Dantiye, Nasiru Ibrahim. “A Study of the Origins, Status and Defensive Role of Four Kano Frontier Strongholds (Ribats) in the Emirate Period (1809–1903).” PhD diss., Indiana University, 1985. David, Nicholas. “The Fulani Compound and the Archaeologist.” World Archaeology 3, no. 2 (October 1971): 111–31. ———. “Zur Herstellung und Lebensdauer von Keramik: Untersuchungen zu den so- zialen, kulturellen und ökonomischen Strukturen am Beispiel der Ful aus der Sicht des Prähistorikers.” Bayerische Worgeschichtsblätter 36, Heft 2 (1971): 289–317. David, Nicholas, and Hilke Hennig. “The Ethnography of Pottery: A Fulani Case Seen in Archaeological Perspective.” Current Topics in Anthropology: Theory, Methods, and Content 4, Module 21 (1972): 21/1–21/29. DeLancey, Mark Dike. “The Origins of the Hausa Dome.” Ngaoundéré-Anthropos 5 (2000): 71–86. ———. “Moving East, Facing West: Islam as an Intercultural Mediator in Urban Planning in the Sokoto Caliphate,” in African Urban Spaces in Historical Perspectives, edited by Steven J. Salm and Toyin Falola, 3–21. Rochester Studies in African History and the Diaspora 21. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2005. ———. “The Spread of the Sooro: Symbols of Rulership in the Sokoto Empire.” JSAH: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 71, no. 2 (June 2012): 168–85. ———. “Between Mosque and Palace: Defining Identity Through Ritual Movement in Ngaoundéré, Cameroon.” Cahiers d’études africaines 208, no. 4 (December 2012): 975–98. ———. “Localizing Fulbe Architecture.” Islamic Africa 5, no. 1 (Spring 2014): 1–43. DeLancey, Mark W., and Mark Dike DeLancey. Cameroon. Revised Edition. World Bib- liographical Series 63. Oxford: Clio Press, 1999. DeLancey, Mark W., Mark Dike DeLancey, and Rebecca Neh Mbuh. Historical Diction- ary of Cameroon. African Historical Dictionaries Series, 4th ed. Lanham, MD: Scare- crow Press, 2010. Delange, Jacqueline. “L’art peul,” Cahiers d’études Africaines 13, vol. 4, cahier 1 (1963): 5–13. ———. Arts et peoples de l’Afrique noire: Introduction à une analyse des créations plas- tiques, preface by Michel Leiris. Bibliothèque des sciences humaines 11. Paris: Edi- tions Gallimard, 1967. Denyer, Susan. African Traditional Architecture. New York: Africana Publishing, 1978. Diallo, Thierno. “Origine et migration des peuls avant le XIXe siècle.” Annales de la fac- ulté des lettres et sciences humaines 2 (1972): 168–74. Dickie, James (Yaqub Zaki). “The Palaces of the Alhambra,” in Al-Andalus: The Art of Is- lamic Spain, edited by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 135–51. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992. Dieterlen, Germaine. “L’initiation chez les pasteurs peul,” in African Systems of Thought: Studies Presented and Discussed at the Third International African Seminar in Salis- bury, December, 1960, 314–27. London: Published for the International African Insti- tute by the Oxford University Press, 1965. Djaït, Hichem. Al-Kūfa: naissance de la ville islamique. Islam d’hier et d’aujourd’hui 29. Paris: G.-P. Maisonneuve et Larose, 1986. Djidda, Hamadjoulde. “Diko Yébé: libératrice du people Pérè de l’Adamaoua.” Ngaoun- déré-Anthropos 3, numéro spécial 1 Acteurs de l’histoire au Nord- Cameroun XIXè et XXè siècles edited by Thierno Mouctar Bah (1998): 97–137. Dmochowski, Z.R. An Introduction to Nigerian Traditional Architecture. 3 vols. London: Ethnographica in association with the National Commission for Museums and Monuments, Federal Republic of Nigeria, 1990. Domian, Sergio. Architecture Soudanaise: Vitalité d’une tradition urbaine et monumen- tale: Mali, Côte-d’Ivoire, Burkina Faso, Ghana. Paris: L’harmattan, 1989. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Pollution and Taboo. London: Rout- ledge and Kegan Paul, 1966. Drewel, Henry John and John Mason. Beads, Body, and Soul: Art and Life in the Yorùbá Universe. Los Angeles: UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 1998. Drewal, Margaret Thompson. Yoruba Ritual: Performers, Play, Agency. African Systems of Thought. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992. Drexler, Arthur. “Engineer’s Architecture: Truth and Its Consequences,” in The Architec- ture of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, edited by Arthur Drexler, 13–59. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1977. Dupire, Marguerite. Peuls nomades: étude descriptive des Woɗaaɓe du Sahel Nigerien. Université de Paris. Travaux et mémoires de l’Institut d’ethnologie, 64. Paris: Institut d’ethnologie, 1962. Eguchi, Paul Kazuhisa. An English–Fulfulde Dictionary. African Languages and Ethnog- raphy 21. Tokyo: ILCAA, 1986. Ekwensi, Cyprian. Burning Grass: A Story of the Fulani of Northern Nigeria. London: Heinemann, 1962. Fardon, Richard. “Pere and Chamba: A Report on Comparative Researches in Adama- wa, North Cameroon.” Ngaoundéré-Anthropos 4 (1999): 5–52. ———. Lela in Bali: History Through Ceremony in Cameroon. Cameroon Studies 7. New York: Berghahn Books, 2006. Ferme, Mariane. “Staging Pᴐlitisi: The Dialogics of Publicity and Secrecy in Sierra Le- one,” in Civil Society and the Political Imagination in Africa, edited by John L. and Jean Comaroff, 160–91. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Forkl, Hermann. Der Einfluß Bornus, Mandaras, Bagirmis, der Kotoko-Staaten und der Jukun-Konföderation auf die Kulturentwicklung ihrer Nachbarn südlich des Tschad- sees. Münchner Universitätsschriften, Münchner Ethnologische Abhandlungen 5. Munich: Minerva Publikation, 1985. ———. “The Development of Urban Structures with Reference to Political Evolution in the Wandala Kingdom (17th to 19th Century, Northern Cameroon),” in House- holds and Communities: Proceedings of the 21st Annual Chacmool Conference, edited by Scott MacEachern, David J.W. Archer and Richard D. Garvin, 542–50. Calgary: Chacmool Archaeological Association, University of Calgary, 1989. Fortes, Meyer. The Web of Kinship Among the Tallensi: The Second Part of an Analysis of the Social Structure of a Trans-Volta Tribe. London: Published for the International African Institute by the Oxford University Press, 1949. Frank, Barbara E. “Open Borders: Style and Ethnic Identity,” African Arts 20, no. 4 (Au- gust 1987): 48–55, 90. ——— “Mande Leatherworking: A Study of Style, Technology, and Identity.” PhD diss., Indiana University, 1988. ———. Mande Potters and Leatherworkers: Art and Heritage in West Africa. Washing- ton, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998. Friedrich, P.M. “Description de l’enterrement d’un chef à Ibouzo (Niger).” Anthropos 2 (1907): 100–106. Froelich, J.-C. “Ngaoundéré: la vie économique d’une cité peul.” Etudes Camerounaises 43/44 (March–June 1954): 3–66. ——— “Le commandement et l’organisation sociale chez les Foulbé de l’Adamaoua (Cameroun).” Etudes Camerounaises 45/46 (September–December 1954): 3–91. ———. “Notes sur les Mboum du Nord-Cameroun.” Journal de la société des African- istes 29, no. 1 (1959): 91–117. Fuglestad, Finn. “A Reconsideration of Hausa History Before the Jihad.” Journal of Afri- can History 19, no. 3 (1978): 319–39. Gardi, René. Indigenous African Architecture. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Com- pany, 1973. Gauthier, J.-G. Les Fali Hou et Tšalo, montagnards du nord-Cameroun: Vie matérielle, sociale et éléments culturels. Oosterhout: Anthropological Publications, 1969. Gebauer, Paul. Spider Divination in the Cameroons. Publications in Anthropology 10. Milwaukee: Milwaukee Public Museum, 1964. Geertz, Clifford. “Centers, Kings, and Charisma: Reflections on the Symbolics of Pow- er,” in Rites of Power: Symbolism, Ritual, and Politics since the Middle Ages, edited by Sean Wilentz, 13–38. Philadelphia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press, 1985. Gennep, Arnold van. The Rites of Passage. Translated by Monika B. Vizedom and Gabri- elle L. Caffee. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960. Giesey, Ralph E. “Models of Rulership in French Royal Ceremonial,” in Rites of Power: Symbolism, Ritual, and Politics since the Middle Ages, edited by Sean Wilentz, 41–64. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985. Gilbert, Michelle. “The Person of the King: Ritual and Power in a Ghanaian State,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, edited by David Cannadine and Simon Price, 298–330. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. ———. “The Leopard Who Sleeps in a Basket: Akuapem Secrecy in Everyday Life and in Royal Metaphor,” in Secrecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 123–39. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. Gondolo, André. “N’Gaoundéré: Evolution d’une ville Peul.” PhD diss., Université de Rouen, 1978. ———. “Évolution du Peul urbain: Ngaoundéré,” in Pastoralists of the West African Sa- vanna: Selected Studies Presented and Discussed at the Fifteenth International African Seminar Held at Ahmadu Bello University, Nigeria, July 1979, edited by Mahdi Adamu and A.H.M. Kirk-Greene, 298–318. International African Seminars New Series 2. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press in association with the International African Institute, 1986. Goody, Jack. Technology, Tradition, and the State in Africa. London: Published for the International African Institute by Oxford University Press, 1971. Grabar, Oleg. The Alhambra. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978. Griaule, Marcel. “Plan du Palais du lamido de Garoua.” Journal des africanistes 48, fasc. 2 (1978): 101–02. Guernier, Eugène, ed. Cameroun-Togo. Encyclopédie de l’Afrique Française (Encyclo- pédie Coloniale et Maritime). Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1951. al-Hajj, Muhammad. “A Seventeenth Century Chronicle on the Origins and Missionary Activities of the Wangarawa.” Kano Studies 1, no. 4 (1968): 7–42. Hamadou. “L’architecture des palais des laamibe peul du Nord-Cameroun: Exemples de Mindif, Rey-Bouba et Ngaoundéré.” Master’s thesis, Université de Ngaoundéré, November 1998. Hanley, Sarah. “Legend, Ritual, and Discourse in the Lit de Justice Assembly: French Constitutional Ideology, 1527–1641,” in Rites of Power: Symbolism, Ritual, and Politics since the Middle Ages, edited by Sean Wilentz, 65–106. Philadelphia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press, 1985. Hansen, Ketil Fred. “Space and Power in Ngaoundéré,” in Le pouvoir de savoir de l’Arctique aux Tropiques/The Power of Knowledge from the Arctic to the Tropics, ed- ited by Lisbet Holtedahl, Siri Gerrard, Martin Z. Njeuma, and Jean Boutrais, 339–73. Paris: Editions Karthala, 1999. ———. “The Historical Construction of a Political Culture in Ngaoundéré, Northern Cameroon.” PhD diss., University of Oslo, 2000. Hardin, Kris L., and Mary Jo Arnoldi. “Introduction: Efficacy and Objects,” in African Material Culture, edited by Mary Jo Arnoldi, Christraud M. Geary, and Kris L. Har- din, 1–28. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1996. Herremen, Frank. Material Differences: Art and Identity in Africa. New York: Museum of African Art, 2003. Hino, Shun’ya. “Social Organization of the Mbum Village in North Cameroun.” Journal of Asian and African Studies 7 (1974): 1–51. ———. The Classified Vocabulary of the Mbum Language in Mbang Mboum, with Ethnographical Descriptions. African Languages and Ethnography 10. Tokyo: ILCAA, 1978. ———. “Social Relation Between Towns and Villages in Adamawa Regional Society: A Case Study of Ngaoundéré and Mbang Mboum.” Sudan Sahel Studies 1 (1984): 169–98. Hogben, S.J., and A.H.M. Kirk-Greene. The Emirates of Northern Nigeria: A Preliminary Survey of Their Historical Traditions. London: Oxford University Press, 1966. Hopen, C. Edward. The Pastoral Fulbe Family in Gwandu. London: Published for the International African Institute by the Oxford University Press, 1958. Hunwick, John O. “Religion and State in the Songhay Empire, 1464–1591,” in Islam in Tropical Africa, edited by I.M. Lewis, 296–317. London: Oxford University Press, 1966. Johnson, Paul Christopher. Secrets, Gossip, and Gods: The Transformation of Brazilian Candomblé. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Johnston, H.A.S. The Fulani Empire of Sokoto. West African History Series. First Pub- lished 1967. London: Oxford University Press, 1970. Jumbam, Kenjo. The White Man of God. African Writers Series 231. London: Heine- mann, 1980. Kantorowicz, Ernst H. The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1957. Kaouzad. “Itinéraire peu commun d’un viellard extraordinaire.” GICPAC Magazine: Organe d’expression du groupe d’initiative commune pour la promotion de l’art et de la culture du Mayo-Banyo 3 (July–September 1997): 17. Kasfir, Sidney L. “One Tribe, One Style? Paradigms in the Historiography of African Art.” History in Africa: A Journal of Method 11 (1984): 163–93. Kate, Ezra. Art of the Dogon: Selections from the Lester Wunderman Collection. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1988. Kendall, Timothy. Kerma and the Kingdom of Kush, 2500–1500 BC: The Archaeological Discovery of an Ancient Nubian Empire. Washington, DC: National Museum of Afri- can Art, Smithsonian Institution, 1997. King, Lamont. “State and Ethnicity in Precolonial Northern Nigeria.” Journal of Asian and African Studies 36, no. 4 (2001): 339–60. ———. “From Caliphate to Protectorate: Ethnicity and the Colonial Sabon Gari System in Northern Nigeria.” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 4, no. 2 (2003). Kirk-Greene, A.H.M. Adamawa Past and Present: An Historical Approach to the Develop- ment of a Northern Cameroons Province. London: Published for the International African Institute by the Oxford University Press, 1958. ———. Barth’s Travels in Nigeria: Extracts from the Journal of Heinrich Barth’s Travels in Nigeria, 1850–1855. London: Oxford University Press, 1962. Laclavère, Georges, ed. Atlas of the United Republic of Cameroon. Les atlas jeune af- rique. Paris: Editions Jeune Afrique, 1980. Lacroix, Pierre-François. “Matériaux pour server à l’histoire des Peul de l’Adamawa (à suivre).” Etudes Camerounaises 5, no. 37–38 (September–December 1952): 3–61. ———. “Matériaux pour server à l’histoire des Peul de l’Adamawa (suite et fin).” Etudes Camerounaises 6, no. 39–40 (March–July 1953): 5–40. Landeroin, M., and J. Tilho. Dictionnaire Haoussa. Paris: Imprimèrie Nationale, 1909. Last, Murray. The Sokoto Caliphate. Ibadan History Series. London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1967. Lauber, Wolfgang. Palaces and Compounds in the Grasslands of Cameroon. Stuttgart: Karl Krämer Verlag, 1990. Leary, Allan. “A Decorated Palace in Kano.” AARP: Art and Archaeology Research Papers 12 (December 1977): 11–17. Lebeuf, Annie M.D. Les Principautés Kotoko: Essai sur le caractère sacré de l’autorité. Etudes et documents de l’institut d’ethnologie, Université de Paris. Paris: Editions du centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1969. Lebeuf, Annie M.D., and Jean-Paul Lebeuf. “Monuments Symboliques du Palais Royal de Logone-Birni.” Journal de la société des africanistes 25, fasc. 1–2 (1955): 25–34. Lebeuf, Jean-Paul. L’habitation des Fali, montagnards du Cameroun septentrional: Tech- nologie, sociologie, mythologie, symbolisme. Bibliothèque des Guides Bleus. Paris: Libraire Hachette, 1961. ———. “Maisons peules du Cameroun,” in Itinérances … en pays peul et ailleurs: mé- langes réunis par les chercheurs de l’ERA 246 du CNRS à la mémoire de Pierre Francis Lacroix. Vol. 2, Littératures et cultures, 269–87. Mémoires de la société des african- istes. Paris: Société des Africanistes, 1981. Lebeuf, Jean-Paul, and A. Masson Detourbet. “Un campement Mbororo dans le Nord- Cameroun.” Notes Africaines 31 (July 1946): 24–26. Lefebvre, L. “Hypothèses nouvelle sur les peintures rupestres du Tassili-N’Ajjer d’après ‘Koumen’ de A. Hampate Ba et G. Dieterlen.” Libyca: Anthropologie, Préhistoire, Eth- nographie 9–10 (1961–62): 271–74. Leis, Philip E. “Accommodation in a Plural Chiefdom (Cameroon).” Man N.S. 5, no. 4 (December 1970): 671–85. Leisten, Thomas. “Between Orthodoxy and Exegesis: Some Aspects of Attitudes in the Shari’a Toward Funerary Architecture.” Muqarnas 7 (1990): 12–22. Lem, F.-H. “L’art du Cameroun,” in Cameroun-Togo, edited by Eugène Guernier, 363–74 Encyclopédie de l’Afrique Française, Encylopédie coloniale et maritime. Paris: Edi- tions de l’Union Française, 1951. Lembezat, Bertrand. “Les populations du Nord-Cameroun,” in Cameroun-Togo, edited by Eugène Guernier, 70–84. Encyclopédie de l’Afrique Française, Encylopédie colo- niale et maritime. Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1951. ———. Les populations païennes du Nord-Cameroun et de l’Adamaoua. Monographies ethnologiques africaines, l’Institut international africain. Paris: Presses Universita- ires de France, 1961. Leuzinger, Elsy. The Art of Africa: The Art of the Negro Peoples. Art of the World— Non- European Cultures: The Historical, Sociological and Religious Backgrounds. New York: Crown Publishers, 1960. Lhote, Henri. “L’extraordinaire aventure des Peuls.” Présence Africaine, n.s., 22 (1958): 48–57. ———. “Les peintures pariétales d’époque sur la magie et la religion.” Journal de la Société des Africanistes 36, fasc. 1 (1966): 7–27. Löfgren, O. “Adamawa,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. New ed., vol. 1, 179–82. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1979. López, Jesús Bermúdez. “The City Plan of the Alhambra,” in Al-Andalus: The Art of Is- lamic Spain, edited by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 153–61. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992. Lyons, Diane. “Deliver Us from Evil: Protective Materials Used in Witchcraft and Sor- cery Confrontation by the Mura of Doulo, Northern Cameroon,” in Cultures in Con- flict: Current Archaeological Perspectives: Proceedings of the Twentieth Annual Con- ference of the Archeological Association of the University of Calgary, edited by Diana Claire Tkaczuk and Brian C. Vivian, 297–302. Calgary: Chacmool Archaeological As- sociation, University of Calgary, 1989. ———. “Men’s Houses: Women’s Spaces: The Spatial Ordering of Households in Doulo, North Cameroon,” in Households and Communities: Proceedings of the 21st Annual Chac- mool Conference, edited by Scott MacEachern, David J.W. Archer and Richard D. Garvin, 28–34. Calgary: Chacmool Archaeological Association, University of Calgary, 1989. ———. “The Construction of Gender, Time and Space,” in The Archaeology of Gen- der: Proceedings of the Twenty-Second Annual Conference of the Archaeological As- sociation of the University of Calgary, edited by Dale Walde and Noreen D. Willows, 108–14. Calgary: Chacmool Archaeological Association, University of Calgary, 1991. ———. “The Politics of House Shape: Round vs Rectilinear Domestic Structures in Déla Compounds, Northern Cameroon.” Antiquity 70, no. 268 (June 1996): 351–67. ———. “Witchcraft, Gender, Power and Intimate Relations in Mura Compounds in Déla, Northern Cameroon.” World Archaeology 29, no. 3 (1998): 344–62. Maas, Pierre, and Geert Mommersteeg. Djenné: Chef-d’œuvre architectural. Amsterdam: Eindhoven, Institute Royal des Tropiques, 1992. Maishanu, H.M. “Trends and Issues in the History of Bilad Al-Sudan: The Sokoto Ca- liphate in Colonial Historiography,” in Islam in Africa: Proceedings of the Islam in Africa Conference, edited by Nura Alkali, Adamu Adamu, Awwal Yadudu, Rashid Moten and Haruna Salihi, 59–80. Ibadan: Spectrum Books, 1993. Malaquais, Dominique. Architecture, pouvoir et dissidence au Cameroun. Paris: Kar- thala, 2002. Mama, Fofou. “Monographie historique des Nyem-Nyem de l’Adamaoua (Nord Camer- oun).” DIPES II thesis, University of Yaoundé I, 1994. Mamoudou. “Le Lamido Mohaman Yero de Tignère: 1954–1982.” Master’s thesis, Uni- versité de Ngaoundéré, 1998. Marçais, G. “L’urbanisme musulman.” Congrès de la Fédération des Sociétés Savants de l’Afrique du Nord, Alger 5 (1940): 13–34. ———. “La conception des villes dans l’Islam.” Revue d’Alger 2, no. 10 (1945): 517–33. Marçais, W. “L’islamisme et la vie urbaine.” Comptes rendus de l’académie des inscrip- tions et belles-lettres (1928): 86–100. Meek, C.K. A Sudanese Kingdom: An Ethnographical Study of the Jukun-Speaking Peo- ples of Nigeria. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co., 1931. Mikhelson, André. Kings and Knaves in the Cameroons. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938. Minotaure, numéro spécial: Mission Dakar-Djibouti, 1931–1933 2 (June 1933). Mizon, L. “Explorations en Afrique Centrale: 1890–1893.” Bulletin de la Société de Géog- raphie 3 (1895). Mohammadou, Eldridge. L’histoire de Tibati: Chefferie Foulbe du Cameroun. Yaoundé: Editions Abbia in collaboration with Clé, 1965. ———. Fulbe Hooseere: Les Royaumes Foulbe du Plateau de L’Adamaoua au XIX siècle: Tibati, Tignère, Banyo, Ngaoundéré. African Languages and Ethnography 8. Tokyo: ILCAA, 1978. ———, ed. Ray ou Rey-Bouba: Tradition transmisé par Alhadji Hamadjoda Abdoullaye. Traditions Historiques des Foulbé de l’Adamâwa, Les Yillaga de la Bénoué. Garoua: Musée Dynamique du Nord-Cameroun, ONAREST; Paris: Editions du Centre Na- tional de la Recherche Scientifique, 1979. ———. Peuples et états du Foumbina et de l’Adamawa (Nord Cameroun): Etudes de Kurt Struempell et von Briesen traduites de l’allemand par Eldridge Mohammadou. Travaux et documents de l’institut des sciences humaines. Collection Archives Al- lemandes du Cameroun 1. Yaoundé: Délégation générale à la recherche scientifique et technique/Insitut des sciences humaines, 1982. ———. “Approche historique au problème du peuplement des monts du Mandara.” Sudan-Sahel Studies 1 (1984): 139–67. ———. “Islam et urbanization dans le Soudan central au XIXe siècle: La cite de Maroua (Nord-Cameroun),” in Proceedings of the International Conference on Urbanism in Islam, Vol. 4, 117–54. Tokyo: Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan, 1989. ———. Traditions Historiques des Peuples du Cameroun Central. Vol. 1. Mbéré et Mboum, Tikar. African Languages and Ethnography 23. Tokyo: ILCAA, 1990. ———. “L’empreinte du Borno sur les Foulbé de l’Adamawa et leur langue.” Ngaoun- déré-Anthropos 1 (1996): 90–113. ———. “Kanuri Imprint on Adamawa Fulbe and Fulfulde,” in Advances in Kanuri Scholarship, edited by Norbert Cyffer and Thomas Geider, 257–311. Westafrikanische Studien 17. Cologne: Rüdiger Köpe Verlag, 1997. Moody, H.L.B. The Walls and Gates of Kano City. Lagos: Department of Antiquities, Fed- eral Republic of Nigeria, 1969. Moughtin, J.C. “The Friday Mosque, Zaria City.” Savanna 1, no. 2 (December 1972): 143–63. ———. Hausa Architecture. London: Ethnographica, 1985. Muller, Jean-Claude. “Inside, Outside, and Inside Out: Masks, Rulers, and Gender Among the Dìì and Their Neighbors.” African Arts 34, no. 1 (Spring 2001): 58–71, 95–96. Murphy, William P. “Secret Knowledge as Property and Power in Kpelle Society: Elders versus Youth.” Africa 50, no. 2 (1980): 193–207. ———. “The Rhetorical Management of Dangerous Knowledge in Kpelle Brokerage.” American Ethnologist 8, no. 4 (November 1981): 667–85. Necipoğlu, Gülru. Architecture, Ceremonial, and Power: The Topkapi Palace in the Fif- teenth and Sixteenth Centuries. New York: Architectural History Foundation; Cam- bridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991. ———. “Framing the Gaze in Ottoman, Safavid, and Mughal Palaces.” Ars Orientalis 23, Special Issue on Pre-Modern Islamic Palaces guest edited by Gülru Necipoğlu (1993): 202–42. Nelson, Janet L. “The Lord’s Anointed and the People’s Choice: Carolingian Royal Ritual,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, edited by David Cannadine and Simon Price, 137–80. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Nelson, Steven David. “Site and Symbol: Framing Cultural Identities in Mousgoum Ar- chitecture.” PhD diss., Harvard University, 1998. ———. “Writing Architecture: The Mousgoum Tòlék and Cultural Self-Fashioning at the New Fin de Siècle.” African Arts 34, no. 3 (Autumn 2001): 38–49, 93. ———. From Cameroon to Paris: Mousgoum Architecture In and Out of Africa. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2007. Newbury, David. Kings and Clans: Ijwi Island and the Lake Kivu Rift, 1780–1840. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991. Newman, Roxana Ma. An English–Hausa Dictionary. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990. Nicolaisen, Johannes. Ecology and Culture of the Pastoral Tuareg (with Particular Ref- erence to the Tuareg of Ahaggar and Ayr). Nationalmuseets Skrifter, Etnografisk Roekke 9. Copenhagen: National Museum of Copenhagen, 1963. Nicolas, Guy. “Essai sur les structures fondamentales de l’espace dans la cosmologie Hausa.” Journal de la Société des Africanistes 36, fasc.1 (1966): 65–107. ———. “Un système numérique symbolique: le quatre, le trois et le sept dans la cos- mologie d’une société hausa (vallée de Maradi).” Cahiers d’études Africaines 32, vol. 8, cahier 4 (1968): 566–616. ———. “Fondements magico-religieux du pouvoir politique au sein de la principauté hausa du Gobir.” Journal de la Société des Africanistes 39, fasc. 2 (1969): 199–231. Nizésété, Bienvenu Denis. Apports de l’archéologie à l’histoire du Cameroun: le sol pour mémoire. Paris: L’harmattan, 2013. Njeuma, Martin Z. Fulani Hegemony in Yola (Old Adamawa): 1809–1902. Yaoundé: Pub- lishing and Production Centre for Teaching and Research, 1978. Nooter, Mary H. “Introduction: The Aesthetics and Politics of Things Unseen,” in Se- crecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 23–33. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. ———. Secrecy: African Art that Conceals and Reveals. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1993. Boutrais, Jean, ed. Le Nord du Cameroun: Des hommes, une région. Collection Mémoires ORSTOM 102. Paris: ORSTOM, 1984. Noye, Dominique. Dictionnaire Foulfouldé–Français: Dialecte Peul du Diamaré, Nord Cameroun. Preface by Roger Labatut, Illustrations by Christian Seignobos. Geuth- ner Dicitonnaires. Garoua: Procure des Missions; Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1989. Ojo, G.J. Afolabi. “Traditional Yoruba Architecture.” African Arts 1, no. 3 (Spring 1968): 14–17, 70–72. Osborn, Donald W., David J. Dwyer, and Joseph I. Donohoe, Jr. A Fulfulde (Maasina)– English–French Lexicon: A Root-Based Compilation Drawn from Extent Sources, Fol- lowed by English–Fulfulde and French–Fulfulde Listings/Lexique Fulfulde (Maasina)– Anglais–Français: Une compilation basée sur raciness et tirée de sources existantes, suivie de listes en anglais–fulfulde et français–fulfulde. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1993. Paden, John N. Religion and Political Culture in Kano. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973. Palmer, Herbert Richmond. “The Kano Chronicle.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 38 (1908): 58–98, pl. IX–X. ———. The Bornu, Sahara, and Sudan. London: John Murray, 1936. Pedrals, D.P. de. “Langues, Coutumes et Religions,” in Cameroun-Togo, edited by Eugène Guernier, 85–94. Encyclopédie de l’Afrique Française, Encyclopédie Coloniale et Maritime. Paris: Editions de l’Union Française, 1951. Pelletier, Corinne A., and A. Neil Skinner. Adamawa Fulfulde: An Introductory Course. Madison: Department of African Languages and Literature, University of Wisconsin– Madison, 1979. Perani, Judith, and Smith, Fred T. The Visual Arts of Africa: Gender, Power, and Life Cycle Rituals. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1998. Petitat, André. Secret et formes sociales. Collection sociologie d’aujourd’hui. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1998. Plommer, Hugh. “Vitruvius and the Origin of Caryatids.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 99 (1979): 97–102. Podlewski, Jean-Michel. “Note sur les objets sacrés traditionnels mboum (Adamaoua, Cameroun).” Journal des Africanistes 48, no. 2 (1978): 102–20. Pondopoulo, Anna. Les Français et les Peuls: L’histoire d’une relation privilégiée. Collec- tion Sociétés musulmanes en Afrique. Paris: Les Indes savants, 2008. Poppi, Cesare. “Sigma! The Pilgrim’s Progress and the Logic of Secrecy,” in Secrecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 197–203. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. Poujade, Jean. Les cases décorées d’un chef du Fouta-Djiallo. Documents d’ethnographie terrestre 1. Paris: Gauthier-Villars, 1948. Pradelles de Latour, Charles-Henry. “The Initiation of the Dugi among the Péré.” JASO: Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford 26, no. 1 (1995): pp. 81–86. Prussin, Labelle. Architecture in Northern Ghana: A Study of Forms and Functions. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969. ———. “Sudanese Architecture and the Manding.” African Arts 3, no. 4 (Summer 1970): 12–19, 64–67. ———. “Fulani-Hausa Architecture.” African Arts 10, no. 1 (October 1976): 8–19, 97–98. ———. “Building Technologies in the West African Savannah,” in Le sol, La parole et l’écrit: 2000 ans d’histoire africaine, mélanges en hommage à Raymond Mauny. Vol. 1, 227–45. Bibliothèque d’histoire d’outre-mer, nouvelle série, études 5–6. Paris: Société d’histoire d’outre-mer, 1981. ———. “Islamic Architecture in West Africa: The Foulbé and Manding Models.” VIA 5 (1982): 52–69, 106–107. ———. “Shelter for the Soul.” In Shelter: Models of Native Ingenuity, edited by J.M. Fitch, 34–42. Katonah, NY: Katonah Gallery, 1982. ———. Hatumere: Islamic Design in West Africa. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986. ———. African Nomadic Architecture: Space, Place and Gender. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press and the National Museum of African Art, 1995. ———. “Architectural Facets of Islam in the Futa-Djallon,” in Islamic Art and Culture in Sub-Saharan Africa, edited by Karin Ådahl and Berit Sahlström, 21–56. Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, Figura Nova Series 27. Uppsala: University of Uppsala, 1995. Quarcoopome, Nii Otokunor. “Agbaa: Dangme Art and the Politics of Secrecy,” in Se- crecy: African Art that Reveals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 113–20. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. Ravenhill, Philip L. “The Passive Object and the Tribal Paradigm: Colonial Museogra- phy in French West Africa,” in African Material Culture, edited by Mary Jo Arnoldi, Christraud M. Geary, and Kris L. Hardin, 265–82. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996. Roberts, Allen F., and Mary Nooter Roberts. A Saint in the City: Sufi Arts of Urban Sen- egal. Los Angeles, CA: UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 2003. Rodríguez, Darío Cabanelas. “The Alhambra: An Introduction,” in Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, edited by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 127–33. New York: Metropolitan Mu- seum of Art, 1992. Ruggles, D. Fairchild. “The Gardens of the Alhambra and the Concept of the Garden in Islamic Spain,” in Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, edited by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 163–71. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992. Sa’ad, Haman Tukur. “Between Myth and Reality: The Aesthetics of Traditional Archi- tecture in Hausaland.” PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1981. ———. “Role of Individual Creativity in Traditional African Art: The Gwani (genius) Amongst Master Builders of Hausaland.” Nigeria Magazine 53, no. 4 (1985), 3–16. Salasc. “Le Bebenda: Formation du Lamidat de Bibemi.” Etudes Camerounaises 3, no. 31–32 (September–December 1950): 201–206. Schilder, Kees. Quest for Self-Esteem: State, Islam, and Mundang Ethnicity in Northern Cameroon. Research Series 3. Leiden: African Studies Centre, 1994. Schön, James Frederick. Dictionary of the Hausa Language. First published 1876. Farn- borough, UK: Gregg Press, 1968. Schultz, Emily A. “Introduction,” in Image and Reality in African Interethnic Relations: The Fulbe and Their Neighbors, v–ix. Studies in Third World Societies 11. Williams- burg, VA: Department of Anthropology, College of William and Mary, 1981. Seignobos, Christian. L’habitat traditionnel au Nord-Cameroun, Etablissements hu- mains et environnement socio-culturel 3. Paris: UNESCO, 1977. ———. Nord Cameroun: Montagnes et Hautes Terres. Collection Architecture tradi- tionnelles. Roquevaire, France: Editions Parenthèses, 1982. ———. “Les relations entre habitations citadines et campagnardes dans le Nord-Cam- eroun,” Bulletin de la Société Languedocienne de Géographie 16 (1982): 169–75. Seignobos, Christian, and Henry Tourneux. Le Nord-Cameroun à travers ses mots: Dic- tionnaire de termes anciens et modernes, Province de l’Extrême-Nord. Collection dic- tionnaires et langues. Paris: IRD éditions and Karthala, 2002. Sekler, Eduard F. “Structure, Construction, Tectonics,” in Structure in Art and in Science, edited by Gyorgy Kepes, 89–95. Vision and Value Series. New York. George Braziller, 1965. Shaw, Thomas. The Fulani Matrix of Beauty and Art in the Djolof Region of Senegal. Afri- can Studies 34. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1994. Shaw, Thursten. Igbo-Ukwu: An Account of Archaeological Discoveries in Eastern Ni- geria. 2 vols. London: Published for the Institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan by Faber and Faber, 1970. Shimada, Yoshihito. “Dynamique politique des Etats traditionnels sous l’Indirect Rule: du pouvoir à l’autorité—étude de cas du Lamidat de Rey-Bouba,” in Africa 3, edited by Shohei Wada and Paul K. Eguchi, 289–359, Senri Ethnological Studies 15. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1984. ———. “Jihad as Dialectical Movement and Formation of Islamic Identity among the Fulbe,” in Unity and Diversity of a People: The Search for Fulbe Identity, edited by Paul K. Eguchi and Victor Azarya, 87–117. Senri Ethnological Studies 35. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1993. Simmel, Georg. The Sociology of Georg Simmel. Translated, edited, and with an intro- duction by Kurt H. Wolff. Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1950. Smith, Fred T. “Compound Entryway Decoration: Males Space and Female Creativity.” African Arts 19, no. 3 (May 1986): 52–59, 83. Smith, M.G. The Affairs of Daura: History and Change in a Hausa State, 1800–1958. Berke- ley: University of California Press, 1978. St. Croix, F.W. de. The Fulani of Northern Nigeria: Some General Notes. Farnborough, UK: Gregg International Publishers, 1972. Stenning, Derrick J. Savannah Nomads: A Study of the Woɗaaɓe Pastoral Fulani of West- ern Bornu Province, Northern Region, Nigeria. London: Published for the Interna- tional African Institute by Oxford University Press, 1959. Strother, Z.S. “Eastern Pende Constructions of Secrecy,” in Secrecy: African Art that Re- veals and Conceals, edited by Mary H. Nooter, 157–78. New York: Museum for African Art; Munich: Prestel, 1989. Suchel, Jean-Bernard. “Les Climats du Cameroun.” 4 vols. PhD diss., Université de Saint-Etienne, 1988. Talbot, P. Amaury. The Peoples of Southern Nigeria: A Sketch of Their History, Ethnology and Languages, with an Abstract of the 1921 Census. 4 vols. London: Oxford Univer- sity Press, 1926. Taylor, F.W. Fulani–English Dictionary. New York: Hippocrene Books, 1995. Tefft, Stanton K, ed. Secrecy: A Cross-Cultural Perspective. New York: Human Sciences Press, 1980. Tegomoh Ngwaelung, Evelyne. “Ngaoundéré Palace Museum: A Preliminary Feasibility Study.” Bachelor’s thesis, University of Maiduguri, 1996. Thomas, N.W. “Decorative Art among the Edo-speaking Peoples of Nigeria: 1. Decora- tion of Buildings.” Man: A Monthly Record of Anthopological Science 10, no. 37 (1910): 65–66, Plate E. Thompson, Robert Farris and Joseph Cornet. The Four Moments of the Sun: Kongo Art in Two Worlds. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1981. Turner, Victor. “The Center out There: Pilgrim’s Goal.” History of Religions 12, no. 3 (Feb- ruary 1973): 191–230. ———. “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rites of Passage,” in Betwixt and Between: Patterns of Masculine and Feminine Initiation, edited by Louise Carus Mahdi, Steven Foster, and Meredith Little, 3–19. La Salle, IL: Open Court Press, 1987. ———. The Anthropology of Performance. Performance Studies Series 4. New York: PAJ Publications, 1988. Unomah, A. Chukwudi. “The Gwandara Settlements of Lafia to 1900,” in Studies in the History of Plateau State, Nigeria, edited by Elizabeth Isichei, 123–35. London: Macmillan Press, 1982. Urquhart, A.W. Planned Urban Landscapes of Northern Nigeria: A Case Study of Zaria. Zaria: Ahmadu Bello University Press, 1977. Abbo, Alhaji 262, 263 fig. 119, 264 Bamum 70, 158 n. 92, 159, 214 Aboubakari, Arɗo of Kontcha 143, 144 Banco 22–26, 93 Adama Ndjikira, Arɗo of Tignère 14, 109 ɓangtal (see Pillar) Adamaoua ɓangtileewol (see Wall) Plateau 8, 13, 17, 69, 70, 71, 72, 249 Bantadjé 13 Region 1, 8, 12 n. 19, 14, 16, 31, 34, 37, 38, Banyo 8, 14, 15, 17, 53 n. 80, 54, 62, 66, 68, 51, 53, 55, 58, 92 n. 41, 101, 111, 125, 135, 81–84, 86, 87, 91, 101, 107, 109, 125, 127, 136, 137, 148 n. 76 & 77, 149 n. 78, 152, 141, 143, 144, 145, 147, 175, 186, 190, 191, 153, 154 fig. 76, 155 n. 86, 159, 161, 164, 192, 193, 199, 200 fig. 98, 203, 209, 211, 168 fig. 78, 172 n. 6, 183, 248, 262 212, 45, 254–255, 256 fig. 118, 257, 262 Adamawa Basséwo 14 Dialect 38, 40, 49, 50, 55, 120 n. 28, Bata 1, 11, 13, 35, 36, 89, 145, 190 125, 234 Bauchi 138 Emirate 12, 38, 40, 42, 44, 45, 47, 52, 78 n. Baule 21 n. 13, 151 n. 79 25, 119, 162, 234, 265, 266 Baya (see Gbaya) State 11, 12 n. 19, 34 Bayajidda 258 Adobe (see brick) Bé 14 Agorma 14 Béka 14 Ahidjo, Ahmadou, President of Cameroon Béka Hooseere 50, 223, 224 fig. 110 & 111, 230 16, 97, 99, 150 Bellaka 201, 202, 231 Ahmadou, Laamiiɗo of Kontcha 84, 143 Mbang-Mboum 70 n. 13, 127, 201, 202, al-Kanemi, Sheikh of Kanem-Bornu 135 203, 215 n. 48 al-Tabari 138 Ngangha 13, 59, 72, 73, 74, 96, 112, 113, 116, Almé 15, 91, 92, 95 127, 131 fig. 67, 150, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, Anglophone 16 n. 23 160, 201, 203, 213, 214, 215 n. 48, 237 n. 13, Arab 10, 40 n. 70, 67 n. 3, 138, 195 240, 241, 242, 257, 258, 259 Arabian Peninsula 137 Bello, Yérima of Ngaoundéré 78–79 Arabic 2 n. 3, 13 n. 20, 25 n. 23, 48 n. 62, 66, Benin 15, 80, 242 n. 25, 245 67, 67 n. 3, 130 n. 51, 138, 164, 205, 219 n. Bénoué River 8, 11 52, 234, 236 Bibèmi 14, 68, 71, 72 fig. 30, 100, 187–188, Arɗo 11, 12, 13, 14, 45, 65, 66, 76, 78, 79, 80, 191, 244 109, 114, 143, 145, 146 Birni N’gazargamu 25, 135, 136 Audience Room 81, 84, 86, 87, 97, 130 fig. 66, Biya, Paul, President of Cameroon 16, 179 132 fig. 68, 144 fig. 75, 166, 180, 182, 186, Boka 174 n. 9, 215, 216 fig. 103, 227 193, 194 fig. 96 Bonngooro (see Wall) Bornu (see Kanem-Bornu) Bâ Wabili, Regent of Boundang-Touroua 13 Bouba Djama’a, Laamiiɗo of Rey 76, 195 Baba Hausa (see Maiguini, Mohammadou) fig. 97 Ba’en 12 Bouba Kadalla 45 Balafon 167 fig. 77, 168 fig. 78, 182 fig. 92, Bouba Ndjidda, Laamiiɗo of Rey 74, 75 183, 240 Boubakari, Sarki Pawa of Tchéboa 141 Bali-Nyonga 71 n. 13, 92 n. 41 Boundang (see Boundang-Touroua) Bali-Tchamba (see also Tchamba) 70 n. 13 Boundang-Touroura 11–12, 13, 14, 15, 26 fig. 4, Bâmé 14 61 fig. 25, 66, 79, 87, 89, 100, 101, 107, 109, Bamenda 101, 103 166, 190, 192 n. 25, 264 Bamiléké 70 n. 13, 159, 214 Bouté (see Vouté) Brick 23, 25–27, 135 Decoration (architectural) 57–63, 87, 97, Adobe 26, 93 172–173, 174 n. 8, 186, 225, 237 Tubali 22–26 Déla 97 Britain 15, 16 n. 23 Dembé 13 British 12 n. 19, 14, 15, 65, 80, 110, 113, Dembo 14 215 n. 49 Demsa 14, 15, 104–105, 197–198, 262, 267 Buganda 96, 112, 201 n. 33 Déo-Déo 81 Bureau (see also Office) 90 fig. 48, 130 Dìì 1, 35, 72, 108, 116, 159, 160, 213, 237, 259 fig. 66, 168 fig. 78 Direction (see also Orientation) 11 n. 18, Burial (see also Cemetery) 53, 54, 166, 51–52 n. 75, 108, 119, 120 n. 28, 122, 123, 238–242 124 n. 42, 125, 126, 127, 133, 135, 138, 147, 161, 214, 243, 247 Calf rope 34, 120, 122, 153 Djohong 15 Cattle 8, 10, 11, 13, 21, 34, 38, 114, 119, 120, Dogari (See also Guard and Sarkin Kofa) 123, 182 183, 191, 196 Cavalry 84, 99, 212 Dome 18, 50, 68, 81, 86, 124 n. 42, 250 Caves 19, 112, 257 Douala Ceiling 50, 52, 67–70, 73, 74, 81, 82 fig. 38, City 15, 84 83, 84, 86, 87, 97, 104, 172, 185, 236, 237, Culture 70 n. 13 238, 257 Dourou (see Dìì) Cemetery 53, 54, 166 Dowayo 61 fig. 25 Central Africa 3, 21, 39, 67, 96, 104, 112, Durbi 257 151 n. 79, 155, 183, 204, 242 n. 26, 258, 262 Emir (see also Laamiiɗo) 12, 45, 65, 72, 80, Central African Republic 79, 230 116, 117, 140 Ceramic (see also Pottery) 23 n. 17, 48 n. 63, Emirate (see also Lamidat) 12, 40, 44, 45, 59, 62, 86 108, 116, 117, 129 n. 50 Chad (see Tchad) Entrance Chamba (see Tchamba) Dammugal 55 Colonial 2, 4, 5, 9, 15–16, 19, 65–66, 76, 79–81, Njákpàk 55 84, 87, 91–94, 97, 99, 103, 104, 106, 107, Yonnde 55, 169, 170, 175 fig. 84, 186, 187 112 n. 8, 113, 115–116, 117, 140, 143, 145, 194, 196, 201, 212, 214, 217, 218, 221, 226, 230, Faada (see also Council room) 68 fig. 28, 243, 260, 266 82 fig. 37 & 38, 86, 90 fig. 48, 164, 165, Concubine 1, 53, 166, 186 168 fig. 78, 174, 176 fig. 85, 180 fig. 89, Corral 119, 120, 122 193, 197, 198, 201, 205, 207–209, 210, 213, Council Room (see also Faada) 65, 90 fig. 48, 216–218, 227, 231, 242, 260, 266 130 fig. 66, 131 fig. 67, 132 fig. 68, 144 Fali 1, 11, 21, 50 n. 74 fig. 75, 165, 194 fig. 96 Fantasia 103 n. 61, 187, 210, 213, 216, 217, 219 cpdm (Cameroon People’s Democratic fig. 104, 222 fig. 108, 223 fig. 109, 225, Movement) 103 227–230, 232 Far North Region 3, 14, 16, 35, 36, 54, 58, 71, Dahomey 80 92, 97, 99, 211 Dakkawol (see Fence) Faro River 8, 11, 12, 14 Dammugal (see Entrance) Fellata (see Fulɓe) Dan Fodio, Shehu Usman (see Usman dan Fence 38, 39, 40–46, 47, 49, 66, 158, Fodio, Shehu) 245, 246 Danki 180, 182 Dakkawol 39–41 Danki Fulɓe 167 fig. 77, 179, 180–182 Fence poles 40, 43 Daura 258 Kírà dámpáánî 42 Fence (cont.) Gong 155, 176, 177 n. 10, 182 fig. 92, 183, 254 Kírà kánàké 42 fig. 116 Sekko 40, 41 fig. 16, 42, 46 fig. 18, 47 n. Gongola State 34 58, 95 Gounna 14 Ferooɓe 11, 14 Granary 23 n. 17, 69–70 n. 10, 147 Fombina (see Adamaoua) Grand North Province 16 Foumban 84, 85 fig. 41 & 42, 91, 158 n. 92 Grassfields 70, 71 n. 13, 84, 157–158, 159, 172 n. France 15, 16, 202, 228 6, 190, 228, 245, 256 Francophone 16 n. 23, 66 n. 2 Guard (See also Dogari and Sarkin Kofa) 1, French 2 n. 3, 7 n. 12, 8, 10 n. 16, 12 n. 19 & 20, 81, 90 fig. 48, 91, 93, 151, 165, 166, 167 14, 15, 16, 19, 52, 65, 76, 77, 80, 81 n. 32, fig. 77, 171, 175, 183, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195, 91, 92, 93, 94, 96, 99, 103, 104, 107, 112 n. 196, 205, 209, 244, 247, 248, 249, 252, 8, 115, 117, 140, 141 fig. 72, 164, 165, 187 n. 253, 256 19, 196, 201, 202 n. 36, 226, 230 Guard animal 53, 201 fsd (see sdf) Guassanguel 33 fig. 12 Fula (see Fulɓe) Guébaké 14 Fulani (see Fulɓe) Guinea 10, 50 Fulɓe Gurin 11, 12, 14, 44–45 Ethnonym 1 n. 1, 10 Guuga 185, 186, 188, 199, 257–258 Origins 10–11 Fulɓeization 2 Ha 112 n. 8, 154–156 Fulfulɗe 12 n. 19, 13 n. 20, 21, 31, 38, 39, 40, 41, Hajj (also see Pilgrimage) 6 42, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 66, 67, Hammadou Nyamboula, Laamiiɗo of Tibati 73, 74, 92 n. 41, 114, 119, 120, 125, 170, 205, 15, 110 234, 235, 236 Hamman Gabdo, Arɗo of Ngaoundéré 78 Futa Jalon 120 n. 28 Hamman Gabdo Dandi, Arɗo of Banyo 14, Futa Toro 120 n. 28 143 Hamman Lamou, Laamiiɗo of Tibati 46 Gachiga 14, 104–105, 106 fig. 58, 197–198, 267 Hamman Ndjobdi, Arɗo of Ngaoundéré 13, Galim 16, 66, 92–93, 94 fig. 50, 107, 127, 34, 76 fig. 33, 145, 146 132 fig. 68 Hamman Sambo, Arɗo of Tibati 12, 13 Gambia, The 2, 10, 50 Hausa 1 n. 2, 5, 9, 10, 11, 17–19, 23, 25, Gamsargou 14 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 48, 49, Garage 47 fig. 19, 100, 101, 166, 171, 175, 187, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 59, 62, 63, 64, 65, 194 fig. 96 66, 67, 72, 73, 83, 86, 89, 107, 108, 109, Garoua 8, 11, 14, 16, 31, 43, 45, 72, 101, 104, 127, 111, 112, 116, 119, 128–35, 136, 137, 139, 188, 197, 198, 262, 266 146, 161, 162, 165, 179, 183, 186, 191, 192, Garoua-Layindé 68, 87, 88 fig. 45, 127, 128 193, 211, 215 n. 49, 229, 257, 258, 259, fig. 64, 129 fig. 65 265, 268 Garoua-Yayréwa 43 Hausa Dome 18 Garoumélé 25 Herd 21, 38, 40, 114, 119, 120, 122, 125, Gashaka 14, 145, 192 n. 25 147, 182 Gbaya 1, 15, 116, 213, 259 Herding (see Pastoralism) German 5, 15, 16, 44, 46, 65, 79, 81 n. 32, 84, Hill 11 n. 18, 109, 110, 111, 112, 131, 211 87, 89, 93, 99, 107, 110, 143, 145, 194 Homestead 21, 38–40, 49, 119, 120–122, 125, Germany 65 134, 137, 151, 153, 158 Ghana 19 n. 8, 39, 240, 263 n. 57 Kírà 38–40, 42 Gidan Rumfa 45 Saare 38–40, 41, 43, 45, 48, 52, 60 fig. 22 & Gobir 9 23, 61, fig. 25, 125, 157, 165 Golombé 14 Hooseere (see Mountain) Horse 56, 91, 105, 165, 172, 176, 186, 187, 202, Kanuri 2 n. 3, 5, 13, 18, 20, 25, 38, 40, 41, 43, 214, 215 n. 49, 218, 219, 220 fig. 105, 221, 44, 49, 54–55, 67, 107, 108, 119, 135–136, 222, 223, 226, 228, 229, 230, 232, 267 137, 140, 145, 146, 161, 183, 191, 192, 193, 229, 265, 268 ibn Dunama, Biri, Sultan of Kanem-Bornu Katangawol (see Wall) 10 n. 17, 25 Katsina 17 ibn Fartua, Ahmed 10 n. 17 Kaygama 190 Id al-Adha (see Juulde Layhaaji) Kaygama Maccube 151, 190, 193, 225 Id al-Kabir (see Juulde Layhaaji) Kaygama Mboum 97, 190–191, 219 fig. 104, Idool 28, 29 fig. 8, 33, 47, 58, 60 fig. 22 & 23, 229, 239 126, 149, 150, 172 n. 6 Kibulu 252 Iraq 138, 139 fig. 71 Kilba 11 Islam 3, 5, 9, 10, 14, 18, 19, 22, 43, 53, 57, 77, Kirdi (see also Montagnard) 2 84, 93, 99, 105, 108, 111, 117, 119, 125, 126, Kírà (see Homestead) 127, 130, 133, 135 n. 56, 137, 138, 140, 146, Kiri 12 149, 159, 161, 166, 172, 186, 192, 207, 210, Kiri’en 12, 13 211, 212 n. 44, 213, 214, 215, 218, 226, 227, Koaka Nyake 168 fig. 78, 177, 178 231, 250, 251, 261, 265, 267, 268 fig. 87, 240 Islamic Health Center 102 fig. 56, 169, 170, Kofa (See Sarkin Kofa) 171, 176, 187, 188, 205, 206, 221, 222, Kontcha 14, 15, 53, 66, 81, 84–86, 87, 89, 91, 225, 230 94, 95, 96 fig. 52, 97, 107, 109, 113 n. 13, Issa Maïgari, Laamiiɗo of Ngaoundéré 58, 127, 141–145, 190, 191, 192 n. 25, 193, 236, 103, 174 n. 9, 261 246, 248 Iyawa Oussoumanou, Laamiiɗo of Tignère Kotoko 3, 17 14, 110 Koulawa 24 fig. 3 Koutine (see Péré) Jawleeru (see also Pàkfîl) 30 fig. 9, 32 fig. 10, Kuba 96, 112, 201 n. 33, 252 53, 54–57, 58, 60 fig. 22 & 23, 68 fig. 28, Kufa 138–139, 210 69 fig. 29, 82 fig. 37 & 38, 87 fig. 44, 90 Kukawa 135, 136 fig. 48, 102, 166, 167 fig. 77, 169, 170, 171, Kwararafa 9–10, 17, 19 172, 173 fig. 82, 174, 175 fig. 84, 176, 177, 178, 179, 182, 183, 184 fig. 94, 185, 186, Laamiiɗo 187, 188, 191, 199, 201, 208, 216 fig. 103, Adoption of title in Cameroon 80, 84, 237, 238, 240, 249 fig. 114, 254 fig. 116, 91, 93, 95 257, 267 Burial 53–54, 166 Jawro 58, 60 fig. 22 & 23, 115, 116, 126, Concealed 227, 244–245, 248–249 143, 149, 150, 172 n. 6, 223, 224 fig. 110 Defined 1, 12 & 111, 230 Ethnicity 191–193 Jihad 1, 4, 9, 12, 44, 63, 108, 109, 117, 119, 128, Gaze 178, 189, 247–251 130, 133, 135, 136, 137, 138, 146, 162, 192, Gender 152, 182, 189–191, 193, 197 258, 268 Government official 16, 103, 105, 260 Jukun 10 Head of household 114, 125, 137, Juulde Layhaaji 6, 164, 197, 218–231, 232 147, 182 Head of judiciary 148, 177, 241 Kamerun 15 Head of military 228, 230, 232 Kanem-Bornu 9, 10, 11, 17, 18, 19, 25, 38, 54, Investiture 197–204, 231 108, 135, 136, 192 Qualifications 192, 197–198, 228, Kano 10, 17, 37, 45, 63 fig. 27, 81, 83, 260–262 86, 111, 116–117, 129, 131, 133, 134 fig. 70, Political leader 12–13 n. 20, 78–79, 103, 140, 211 114–116, 125, 230 Laamiiɗo (cont.) Orientation 5, 127, 214–215 Religious leader 140, 141, 145, 192, 203, Relations with Fulɓe 1, 13, 14, 40, 64, 206, 208, 209–216, 218, 229, 231–232, 72, 92, 97, 108, 112–113, 116, 229–230, 267–268 240–241, 258–259 Ladde 21 Relations with other cultures 10, 17, Lagdo 14 70–71 n. 13, 72, 153, 159 Lake Tchad 8, 9, 25 Religion 108, 112, 154–158, 213, 215, 227 Lamidat Rulership 109, 116, 153–154, 160–161, Defined 1, 12 197, 201–203, 214, 229, 231, 242, Lawan Hamman, Arɗo of Boundang-Touroua 258–259 11 n. 17 Sorcery 148 n. 76, 206, 215, 227 Lompta 16 Mbuloore 33, 34 Mecca 138 Maccuɓe 115, 151, 190, 193, 225 Meiganga 15 Macina 120 n. 28 Memorial 54, 255 Madawaki 61 fig. 25 Mihrab 210 Mahol (see Wall) Millet 31, 70, 156, 157, 158, 159 n. 94, 160, Mai Idris of Kanem-Bornu 11 n. 17 213, 214 Maiduguri 135, 136 Modibo Adama 12, 13, 14, 44–45, 75 Maiguini, Mohamadou 81–84, 86–87, 96 Modibo Gana 11 n. 18 fig. 52, 127 Mohaman Gabdo Yaya, Laamiiɗo of Banyo Malloum Issa of Garoua 43 125 Maqsura 210 Mohaman Yero, Laamiiɗo of Tignère 91 Marabout 22, 56 Mohammadou, Laamiiɗo of Maradi 135, 258 Boundang-Touroua 87 Market 77, 113, 131, 140, 150, 189, 221, 222 Mohammadou Abbo, Arɗo of Ngaoundéré Grand Marché, Ngaoundéré 77, 117, 146, 76–79 170, 221, 221 Mohammadou Hayatou Issa, Laamiiɗo of Petit Marché, Ngaoundéré 230 Ngaoundéré 219, 220 fig. 105, 225, 261 Maroua 8, 16, 27 fig. 5, 211 Mohammadou, Yeriima of Garoua 197 Mauritania 49 n. 70, 50, 51 n. 75, 124 Mohamman Djalo, Laamiiɗo of Tignère 89 Mayo (see River) Mohamman Toukour, Laamiiɗo of Tibati 46 Mayo Baléo 15, 91, 113 n. 13 Montagnard (see also Kirdi) 2, 21 Mbang-Mboum 19 n. 6, 39, 41 fig. 16, 47, 61 Mosque 117, 130, 136, 137, 140, 145, 165, fig. 24, 70 n. 13, 92, 127, 201–202, 203, 215 210–213, 262, 265 n. 48, 237 Banyo 211, 212 Mbororo (see also Fulɓe) 16 Bauchi 138–139 Mboum Cordoba 212 n. 44 Agriculture 34, 39, 40 Gachiga 198 Architecture 17, 19, 29 fig. 7, 33 n. 30, 35, Gurin 44 37, 38–40, 41 fig. 16, 42–43, 47, 52, 55, 64, Kano 131–133, 134 fig. 70, 211 72–74, 89, 96–97, 98 fig. 53 & 54, 108, 131 Kontcha 84, 127, 141–145, 248 fig. 67, 248 fig. 113, 250 fig. 115 Kufa 138–139, 210 Burial 241–242, 257 Kukawa 136 Cities 13, 39, 47, 92, 96, 108, 109, 111–113, Maiduguri 136 201, 211 Maroua 211 Caves 19, 257 Ngaoundéré 117, 118 fig. 60, 140, 146, 190, Mborianha ceremony 154–158, 213–214 205–207, 209, 210–213, 215, 216, 218, 222, Mountains 6, 108, 109, 111–113, 127, 155, 227, 231, 262 215 n. 48 Sokoto 138–139 Tchéboa 140–141, 142 fig. 73, 145 79, 81, 87, 89, 92, 97, 102, 103, 107, Tibati 46 109, 112, 115–116, 117, 118 fig. 60 & 61, Tignère 140, 141 fig. 72 119, 137, 140, 145–146, 148, 149, 150, Zaria 87, 130, 133 fig. 69, 139 152–153, 161, 162, 164, 169 n. 4, 182, Mount Djim 19, 92, 93 186, 190, 193, 196, 199, 201, 203, Mountain 2, 6–7, 8, 19, 92–93, 108, 109–111, 206 fig. 99, 210, 211, 215 n. 49 & 50, 112–113, 127, 155, 215 n. 48, 257, 263 216 fig. 103, 217, 218, 221, 222, 223, fig. 119 224 fig. 110, 226, 227, 228, 229, Mousgoum 58 230, 233, 237, 238, 239, 254, 261, 262, Moussa Aboubakary, Laamiiɗo of Tchéboa 263 fig. 119, 265 141, 192, 243, 244 Laamiiɗo 15, 103, 109, 116, 126, 148, 151, Moustapha Moussa, el Hadj, Laamiiɗo of 152, 160, 178, 192 n. 25, 197, 199, 209, 214, Demsa 104 215 n. 50, 218, 219 fig. 105, 220 fig. 105 Muhammad Rumfa, Sarki of Kano 131, 133, & 106, 221 fig. 107, 222 fig. 108, 223, 224 211 fig. 111, 228, 230, 231, 239, 240, 242, 249, Muhammadu Bello, Sultan of Sokoto 136, 259, 264, 267 137–138 Mountain 6, 263 fig. 119 Mundang 92, 99, 160 Palace (see Palace, Ngaoundéré) Museum 80, 105, 131 fig. 67, 155 n. 86 Population 5, 108, 109, 217, 231 Muslim 2, 3, 6, 12, 18, 36, 44, 45, 47 n. 58, Ngaoundja 110 97, 99, 130 n. 51, 132, 133, 145, 164, Ngaousoupiri 72, 112, 215 n. 48 191, 192, 197, 212, 215 n. 49, 217, 229, Niger 3, 15, 25, 50, 62 n. 99, 120 n. 28, 133, 135, 231, 266 147, 259 Nigeria 1, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16 n. 23, 17, 18, Namchi 1, 192 19 n. 8, 23, 25, 34, 37, 43, 44, 45, 48, 52, Nassarawo 74 53, 57, 62, 63 fig. 27, 65, 70 n. 10, 71 n. Natural environment 20–22, 108, 119, 150 15, 72, 80, 81, 83, 86, 87, 97, 108, 109, 111, Nayéwa, Arɗo of Tchéboa 14 112, 113, 116, 117, 119 n. 24, 133 fig. 69, 134 Ndembé 112 fig. 70, 138, 139, 145, 192, 241, 242 n. 25, Ndjagouré 14, 109 248, 258 Ndjidda, Laamiiɗo of Bibèmi 71 Njakmuukon 30 fig. 9, 58, 69 fig. 29, 102, Ndjimom 70 171–176, 177, 178, 182, 186, 188, 208, 216 Ndjobdi, Arɗo Hamman (see Hamman fig. 103, 237, 238, 267 Ndjobdi, Arɗo) Nja 177, 179, 182 fig. 92, 183, 185, 191, 240, 249 Njoboli 12 fig. 114, 254 fig. 116 Ngadjiwan 15, 59 fig. 21, 66, 91, 92, 94–95, Njákpàk 55 107, 127, 130 fig. 66 Njomna, Wan of Galim 19, 93 Ngambé 46 Njoya, Ibrahim 84, 85 fig. 41 & 42 Ngangha 7, 29 fig. 7, 59, 66, 72–74, 92, 96–97, Njoya, Ibrahim, Sultan of Foumban 84, 91, 98 fig. 53 & 54, 107, 111–113, 116, 127, 107 131 fig. 67, 150, 155 n. 86, 159, 201, Nomadism 3, 10, 16, 18, 20, 21, 33, 34, 38, 203, 214, 215 n. 48, 237, 248 fig. 113, 43, 45, 49, 50, 51, 52, 57, 62, 64, 114–116, 250 fig. 115, 259 119, 121 fig. 62, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, Ngaou (see Mountain) 133, 136, 137, 145, 147, 149, 151, 153, Ngaouha 112, 155, 215 n. 48, 257 161, 180, 189, 227, 247 n. 33, 260, Ngaouhora 112 265, 266 Ngaoundéré North Region 1, 7, 16, 31, 35, 71, 74, 92 n. 41, Chef de Circonscription 101, 196 101, 125, 137, 140, 188 Lamidat 5–8, 12 n. 18, 13–16, 24 fig. 2, 28, nudp (National Union for Democracy and 30, 31–35, 37, 50, 65, 72, 76, 77 fig. 34, 78, Progress) 103 Nyem-Nyem (see also Souga) 14, 16, 19, 92, Kontcha 53, 81, 84, 86, 87 fig. 44, 94, 95, 93, 127 96 fig. 52, 97, 107, 127, 141, 143–145, 191, 193, 248 Office (see also Bureau) 45, 103, 166, 170, 175, Kuba 252 176, 177, 178, 179, 187, 188, 197, 198, 205, Kufa 138–139, 210 212, 264 Kukawa 136 Orientation (see also Direction) 5, 84, 108, Maiduguri 136 119–122, 124, 126–147, 161 Mankon 158 Orientalism 140, 152 Maradi 135 Oussoumanou, Laamiiɗo of Kontcha 144 Mbang-Mboum 127, 201, 202, 215 n. 48 Nassarawo 74 Pàk 33 n. 30, 52, 55, 73, 74, 157, 240 Ngadjiwan 92, 94, 95, 107, 127, 130 fig. 66 Pàkfîl (see also Jawleeru) 55, 168 fig. 78, 183, Ngangha 29 fig. 7, 59, 73 fig. 31, 92, 93, 96, 184 fig. 93 97, 98 fig. 53 & 54, 107, 127, 131 fig. 67, Palace 1, 3, 4, 5–6, 9, 17, 18, 20, 22, 27, 35, 155, 156, 157, 158, 201, 203, 215 n. 48, 237, 44, 45, 47, 54, 55, 59, 63, 64, 65, 248 fig. 113, 250 fig. 115 66 n. 3, 67, 71, 72, 79, 91, 92, 100, 106, Ngaoundéré 1, 5, 6, 17, 53, 58, 59, 69 107, 108, 109, 112, 117, 119, 125, 127, 135, fig. 29, 76–79, 87, 89, 96, 97, 101–104, 136, 137, 140, 145, 146, 147, 151, 152, 157, 105, 106, 107, 109, 117–119, 125, 126, 146, 161, 163, 164, 165–166, 186, 189, 190, 191, 151–153, 163–164, 165–189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 196, 197, 199, 203, 204, 228, 192, 196, 199, 203, 205, 207 fig. 100, 231, 232, 233, 234, 237, 239, 243–251, 208 fig. 101, 209 fig. 102, 210, 215–216, 253, 255, 260, 262, 263, 265, 266, 218–219, 221–225, 225–228, 231, 233, 267, 268 237–242, 243, 245, 247, 249, 251–253, Alhambra 251–252 254 fig. 116, 257, 258, 259, 262, 267 Almé 92, 95–96 Ngaousoupiri 72, 215 n. 48 Banyo 15, 17, 53 n. 80, 54, 62, 68, 81–84, Pouss 58 86, 87, 101, 107, 175, 191, 199, 200 fig. 98, Rey 17, 35, 37, 62 fig. 26, 74–75, 101, 105, 245, 255, 256 fig. 118, 257 107, 191, 194–196, 231 Bauchi 138–139 Rey Manga (see Nassarawo) Bibèmi 68, 71, 72 fig. 30, 188, 191, 244 Sokoto 138–139 Birni N’gazargamu 135 Tchéboa 82 fig. 38, 87, 101, 140, 141, 142 Boundang-Touroura 87, 89, 100 fig. 55, fig. 73 & 74, 145, 192 107, 166, 264 Tcholliré 74 Demsa (see Gachiga) Tibati 15, 45–46, 47 fig. 19, 175, 191, 193, Déo-Déo 81 194 fig. 96, 201 Foumban 84, 85 fig. 41 & 42, 91, 107 Tignère 15, 68, 89–91, 93, 94 fig. 50, 110 Gachiga 104–105, 106 fig. 58, 267 fig. 59, 111, 127, 166, 244 fig. 112 Galim 92–93, 94 fig. 50, 107, 127, Tsibiri 135 132 fig. 68 Versailles 251 Garoua 101 Yola 44, 45 Garoua-Layindé 68, 87, 88 fig. 45, 127, Zaria 130, 133, 139 128 fig. 64, 129 fig. 65 Parasol 206, 207, 211, 219, 223 Garoua-Yayréwa 43, 45 Pastoralism 10, 14, 16, 21, 34, 40, 119, 122 n. 35, Idool 58, 126, 150, 172 n. 6 123, 126, 136, 137, 145, 147, 149, 151, 153, Istanbul 250 154, 161, 227, 259, 260 Kano 45, 83, 116–117, 129, 131, 133 Pende 252 Kom 155 n. 87 Péré 1, 10, 14, 15, 17, 19, 45, 71 n. 13, 91, 92, 93, Kongo 252 94–96, 97, 127 Peul (see Fulɓe) Saomboum, Bellaka Saliou of Ngangha 112 Pilgrimage (also see Hajj) 6 Sarkin anna 258 Pillar 5, 50, 58, 68, 73, 77, 81, 83, 84, 86, 87, Sarkin ‘ara 209, 219 89, 91, 93, 95, 96 fig. 52, 97, 98 fig. 53, Sarkin kofa (See also Guard and Dogari) 104, 165, 172–173, 174 fig. 83, 183 n. 15, 185, 165, 191 203, 237, 238, 240, 241, 242 sdf (Social Democratic Front) 103 ɓangtal 50 Sekko (see Fence) Plaster 26, 57, 62, 81, 86, 174 Senegal 10, 50, 69 n. 10, 122, 123, 125, 126 Porch 58, 77, 86, 89, 91, 93, 100, 101, 103, 104, Servant 1, 13, 43, 53, 78, 102, 115 n. 19, 145, 155, 105, 167 fig. 77, 171, 176, 177, 178, 179, 182, 163, 166, 167 fig. 77, 169, 176, 177, 183, 185, 186, 205, 225, 230, 240 186, 187, 188, 189, 193, 195 fig. 97, 196, Pouss 58 198, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 221, 222, 223, Prayer 41, 127, 199, 209, 210, 212, 218, 266 241, 242, 243, 244, 254, 257 Du’a 203, 207, 208, 209, 213, 214 Siirku 219, 220 fig. 106, 227 Friday 6, 84, 143, 145, 152, 164, 190, Simaajo 115, 116 205–207, 208, 209–213, 215, 217, 227, Slavery 259 231, 266 Slave 8, 79, 113, 115 n. 19, 173, 193, 203, 230, Mboum 155, 156, 157, 158, 213, 214 237–243, 251, 259 Prison 1, 15, 38 n. 33, 165, 168 fig. 78, 170, 174, Songhai 9, 67 n. 3 175, 176, 194 fig. 96, 259 Sokoto Prophet Muhammad 210 Caliphate 3, 4, 5, 9, 12, 13 n. 20, 14, Protective materials 41, 173, 199, 206, 215, 15, 16, 43, 54, 65, 75, 79, 84, 91, 218, 219, 225, 227, 239, 253–256 106, 107, 108, 116, 117, 119, 128 n. 49, Pulaaku 34, 261 135, 136, 138, 145, 146, 161, 182, 212, 218, Pullo (see Fulɓe) 265, 266, 268 City 1, 138–139 Qibla 117, 136, 138–139, 140, 146, 165, 205, 206, Dialect 120 207, 210, 215 Soorowol 5, 65–107, 165, 166, 169, 173, 185, 187, 208, 266 rdpc (see cpdm) Sorcery 22, 148–151, 174 n. 9, 206, 215, Rey 14, 17, 35, 37, 62 fig. 26, 65, 74–76, 79, 100, 247 n. 34 101, 105, 106, 107, 109, 152, 191, 194–196, Suuɗal 53, 168 fig. 78, 183–185 231, 266, 267 Soudi, Laamiiɗo of Kontcha 84 Rey Manga (see Nassarawo) Souga (see also Nyem-Nyem) 92 n. 41 Ribadou 12 Stream 109 Ribat 129 n. 50, 135 n. 56, 136, 137, 138 Sulaymanu, Sarki of Kano 45, 129 Rimɓe 115 Suudu 52–54, 57, 59, 61 fig. 25, 87, 88 fig. 45 River 8, 11, 12, 14, 58, 109, 112, 113 n. 13, 123, & 46, 121, 127, 180, 185 n. 16, 234, 246, 255 143, 188, 244, 248 Roof 19, 27–37, 52, 54, 64, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, Tabaski (see Juulde Layhaaji) 71, 74, 75, 77, 87, 89, 91, 97, 100, 101, 103, Taraba State 14, 34 105, 165, 205, 218, 237, 247, 248, 249, Taxation 65, 92, 96, 113, 115, 205, 267 256, 267 Tayrou, Arɗo of Garoua 11, 43, 45 Roof-cap 31–37, 97 Tchabal (see Mountain) Tchad 1, 2 n. 3, 25, 154, 192 Saadek 42 fig. 17 Tchamba Saare (see Homestead) Culture 10, 12, 17, 70–71 n. 13, 92 n. 41, 158 Salon 100 fig. 55, 167 fig. 77, 168 fig. 78 n. 92, 160 Saomboum, Bellaka of Ngangha 96, 214 Lamidat 12, 13, 15 Tchéboa 14, 32 fig. 10, 35–37, 81, 82 fig. 38, 87, 183, 185, 186, 195, 199, 203, 208, 225, 236, 88 fig. 46, 101, 140–141, 142 fig. 73 & 74, 237, 238, 239, 241, 245, 247, 254, 256, 258 145, 192, 243, 262 ɓangtileewol 49 Tcholliré 72, 74 Bonngooro 48, 49 Tent 39, 40, 49 n. 70, 50–51, 57, 124 City wall 15, 25, 111, 130, 135, 157, 158 n. 92, Thatching 19, 27–31, 32 fig. 10, 35, 36, 43, 52, 227, 239 54, 67, 69, 70 n. 10, 71, 74, 75, 87, 89, 91, Katangawol 48 97, 100, 101, 105, 205, 247, 248, 249, 267 Mahol 47, 48 Throne 15, 19 n. 8, 78, 79, 84, 96, 141, 155 n. Palace wall 45, 47, 67, 77, 78, 91, 93, 101, 86, 190, 191, 192, 197, 199, 201, 229, 240, 157, 165, 187–188, 193, 205, 210, 226, 227, 241, 253–255, 256, 262 238, 243–247, 251, 259, 260, 264 Throne room 65, 72, 81, 83–84, 86, 166, 180, Qibla wall 117, 136, 138–140, 146, 165, 205, 186, 256 fig. 118, 257 206, 210 Tibati 8, 13, 14, 15, 45–46, 47 fig. 19, 81, 91 Wangarawa 132 n. 37, 100, 101, 109, 110, 175, 191, 193, 194 West Africa 10, 20, 22, 23, 38, 39, 50, 57, fig. 96, 201 66 n. 2, 130 n. 51 Tignère 14, 15, 53, 66, 68, 89–91, 92, 93, 94 Widi (see Garoumélé) fig. 50, 100, 109–111, 127, 140, 141 fig. 72, Wind 31, 36, 75, 124, 126 166, 244 fig. 112, 255 Wife 1, 49, 50, 53, 57, 121, 130 fig. 66, 131 Tikar 46, 70 n. 13 fig. 67, 134, 144 fig. 75, 147–150, 153, Tokkal 114–116, 260 159, 166, 167 fig. 77, 182, 183, 185, 186, Touareg (see Tuareg) 189–190, 193, 202, 242 n. 25, 246 Touroua (see Boundang-Touroura) Wollarbé (see Vollarbé) Tribunal 100 fig. 55, 168 fig. 78 Wooɗaaɓe 3, 147 Tsibiri 135 World War i 15, 76, 110 Tuareg 19, 25, 39, 40, 50, 52 Woubawo 14 Tubali (see brick) Wouté (see Vouté) Wuro 21, 38, 119, 125, 137, 147 undp (see nudp) Wuy Pakfil 183, 184 fig. 93 Uqba bin Nafi, Sidi 10 Usman dan Fodio, Shehu 1, 4, 9, 12, 18, 45, Yahya, Laamiiɗo of Banyo 81, 255 fig. 117 108, 128, 129, 136, 137, 138, 146, 192, 258 Yelwa 168 fig. 78, 179–180, 188 Yillaga’en 11, 14, 105 Volarɓe 11–14, 105 Yola 12, 44, 45, 55, 78, 79, 109 Vouté 1, 14, 17, 211 Yonnde (see Entrance) Yoruba 17 n. 1, 19, 69 n. 10, 80, 148 n. 77, Waalwaalɓe 123–124, 126 151 n. 79, 230 n. 59, 253 n. 42 Wall 19, 26, 27, 38, 42, 43, 44, 46, 47–52, 56, Yunfa, Sarki of Gobir 9 57, 59, 62, 64, 66, 68, 70, 73, 81, 86, 89, 91, 93, 100, 143, 144 fig. 75, 151, 158, 166, Zaria 10, 17, 37, 87, 111, 130, 133 fig. 69, 139, 258 171, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, Zubayr, Laamiiɗo of Adamawa 78 n. 25