Nago Legacy in Haiti

Milo Rigaud's La tradition voudoo et le voudoo haitien includes this beautiful veve for Ogou Batala.

The Yoruba legacy in Haiti survives in some rather influential ways. For instance, Haitian Rara music appears to be at least partly influenced by the Yoruba. According to J.B. Romain's Africanismes haïtiens, the word rara is likely derived from Yoruba. Although it is culturally a fusion of different elements, the use of a name derived from the Yoruba language attests to the presence of Yoruba speakers among the enslaved. In addition, the "Nago" are remembered and some of their orishas are honored in Haitian Vodou tradition. In fact, some Haitians still used the name Nago as a family name well into the 19th century. This important legacy suggests the Nago were remembered in Haitian tradition for far more than facial scarification on their cheeks or a penchant for stealing, as Malenfant described them in the 18th century. 

Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou includes many examples of songs alluding to the Nago spirits. 

In Milo Marcelin's Mythologie Vodou (Rite Arada), numerous allusions to the Nago and Nago-derived lwa can be found. The Nago orishas are often subsumed in the category of Ogou (Ogun to the Yoruba), in various manifestations or forms. Thus, some, like Ogou Chango, are clearly a reference to Shango. Others, like Ogou Olicha, appears to be an allusion to a lwa whose name includes the word orisha. Considering the military leadership and skill needed for Haitian independence to materialize, one can imagine Ogou was a major lwa for many in Haiti.

Hector Hyppolite's Ogoun Chango.

Additional Ogous whose names refer to the Nago are Ogou Feraille, Batala (Obatala), Ogou Badagri, Olisha, and Ossange. Badagri, whose very name refers to the slave trade port of Badagry, is hardly a surprise as a Nago divinity. Batala is undoubtedly derived from Obatala of Yoruba tradition, while Ossange, a healer, is Osanyin. Unsurprisingly, the Nago appear to be associated with war, military prowess, and iron in Haitian tradition. Such a reputation can be seen in the role of Nago war leaders during the Haitian Revolution, such as Halaou and Gracia Lafortune. Yet Marcelin also reported that the Nago lwa Ogou Badagri was the father of the Haitian "mulatto." We are not sure if this association with "mulattoes" may be an allusion to mixed-race generals and military leaders during the Haitian Revolution. 

Haitian African Updates

Our Haitian parent's updated results in Ancesty are essentially unchanged. Benin & Togo increased by 2% while Nigeria, Ivory Coast & Ghana, and Western Bantu Peoples each declined by 1%. They retained their minor estimates of new regions from last year (Yorubaland, North-Central Nigeria, Nigerian Woodlands). Our African ancestry through Haiti seems to largely consist of captives sold to Europeans from the Slave Coast and Bight of Biafra. 

23andme Update

 

Our Haitian relative shared their updated ancestry composition report from 23andme recently. As we expected, little changed for their sub-Saharan African ancestry. The "Broadly West African" category disappeared, but merely boosted their "Nigerian" estimate to 43.2%. They also retained the close Igbo match. As for their other African regions, everything is largely the same. Country matches with Liberia, Sierra Leone ad Ghana, but no specific ethnic groups or regions. Their Congolese and Southern East African results are also similar, with the 0.4% Southern East African estimate minor. Again, hardly anything new. In fact, it confirms their overwhelmingly West African ancestry that appears most rooted in Lower Guinea. From the slave trade data to Saint-Domingue, this suggests almost half of her ancestry is rooted in areas that fed the Slave Coast and Bight of Biafra. 

For Europe, however, some changes can be seen. France is finally severed from Germany, and clearly makes up most of her European ancestry. This is hardly surprising for Haitians. The Belgian, Rhinelander, and Southern Dutch is new, but also not too surprising as Belgium neighbors France. We also noticed that our parent and I had distant DNA matches with users from Belgium and the Netherlands on MyHeritage, too. Perhaps 23andme is confirming distant ancestry from that region for both of us. As for the Iberian Peninsula, 23andme's update assigned it to Andalusian, Asturian & Castilian with 0.2% Basque. Very small but there is some overlap with France in the Iberian Peninsula. Haiti, of course, also had people of Spanish origin during the colonial era. Lastly, the Irish ancestry at 0.2% was unexpected. But perhaps to be explained in the overlap of Irish populations with other groups in western Europe?

Fortunately, there is some more precision in the update for our Haitian parent's minor Amerindian ancestry. Like Ancestry DNA, 23andme assigns it to a vaguely South American origin. We would like to think this Central Andean/Amazonian estimate is misreading indigenous Taino ancestry, but our parent does not have any Historical Matches from the indigenous Caribbean. Therefore, if it's not from the indigenous peoples of Haiti or the Greater Antilles, it may be indigenous people who came to Saint Domingue under French rule. Baptismal records indicate Indians from Aruba, today's Colombia, and other regions were in the colony. Perhaps that's the origin of this allegedly South American indigenous ancestry? 

As for trace ancestry, it is now reflected as North African and Northern Indian & Pakistani. The latter appears at all confidence levels, too, while North Africa disappears at 80% confidence level. The North African may be via the minor Spanish ancestry or perhaps West Africa. It is difficult to say with certainty, but North African ancestry is not indicated by this relative's Ancestry DNA results at all. Even for myself, with far more substantial ancestry from the Iberian Peninsula, my North African estimate was only 1% on Ancestry DNA. Thus, is it possible the trace North African ancestry in our Haitian parent is via West Africa? Their South Asian trace ancestry is similarly ambiguous. It is no longer Malayali South Indian but remains an enigma.

Black and White, Unite and Fight

Whilst perusing  Moreau de Saint-Méry's compilation of laws, legal renderings, administrative decrees, etc. and came across a reference to a conspiracy by 2 black slaves and 1 white engagé to overthrow the colonial state in 1691. It involved allying with the Spanish colony in the east to distract the French troops and then the blacks would take Port-de-Paix and overrun the Nord of Saint Domingue. The  Loix et constitutions des colonies françoises de l'Amérique sous le Vent contains some details on the background of the authors of the conspiracy, which are interesting since this is one of the few recorded examples of white indentured laborers collaborating with African slaves in colonial Haiti (that we know of). According to this source, the 2 black slaves were Janot Marin and Pierrot, "owned" by different masters. Their conspiracy was also linked to a mulatto spy from the neighboring Spanish colony. The white indentured laborer, Louis Blaise of Tours, was about 16 years old and indentured to a marchand named Rouquier. Pierrot, also called Georges Dollo, was a "Senegalois" of about 18, who asserted that the chief of the conspiracy was a "Congre" (Congo?) black owned by Lamalle. 

Although it is a little difficult to determine from this brief source every part of the conspiracy, we know Blaise, Pierrot, and Marin were sentenced to death for it. Blaise, the indentured laborer, appears to have been involved in the conspiracy and was presumably drawn to collaborate with black slaves by the exploitative conditions of his contract. The black slaves, of diverse origins (Congo, Senegalois, and likely others), were politically astute and sought alliances with the Spanish colony of Santo Domingo to overthrow the French. Unfortunately for them, their conspiracy was discovered and the leaders executed. Clearly, the French authorities realized the potential dangers of interracial subaltern revolt. 

Estimating the Nago Population in Saint Domingue

One very rough method of estimating the possible Yoruba imports in Saint-Domingue is to combine estimates and data from Manning, Geggus, and other sources. Manning, whose study of the slave trade in Dahomey was a major source used by us for another group, has provided us some rough estimates for the ethnic origin of Slave Coast exports in the period from 1641-1870. Using his estimates for the period 1641-1800, we calculated that about 10.35% of the total exports were of Yoruba captives. If one applies this estimate of 10.35% to David Geggus's data on Bight of Benin imports in Saint-Domingue, one reaches the figure of around 16327 "Nago" captives. Intriguingly, Geggus's own dataset of 13,334 slaves from 1721-1797 included 1580 Nago captives. That makes them about 11.85% of the slave population in that particular dataset. But applying that percentage to the total estimated slave imports would wield an unreasonably high number,  about 71,077. 

When checking the Slave Voyages site on the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, one finds different numbers. For the period from 1709-1792, the data gives us a total of 185,248 captives brought to Saint Domingue from the Bight of Benin. If one uses Manning's data for a general estimate of 10.35%, then perhaps 19173 Yoruba were brought to the colony of Saint Domingue in the 18th century. This is higher than our earlier estimate of 16327 but still plausible. It also seems likely that in the later decades of the 18th century, the Nago presence among the African-born population was proportionally greater or more conspicuous. Nonetheless, it is likely that the numbers of Nago captives brought to the colony were perhaps anywhere from 16327 to 19173. Using the latter high, one might suggest the "Nago" were nearly 3.2% of the total imported into the island on French ships. The number was likely higher since smuggled captives were not considered and the data isn't as reliable as it should be. 

Manifeste du Parti d'Entente Populaire

The Parti d'Entente Populaire's Manifeste is a precious document for understanding how Alexis and other Haitian intellectuals viewed Marxism and the struggle of national liberation and development. While undoubtedly a Marxist and believing that the "New Independence" of Haiti must center the working classes, Alexis was a pragmatist who saw the extreme backwardness of the Haitian economy and the weakness of its working-class as major impediments to any type of socialist revolution. Instead, inter-class alliances uniting the peasantry (the vast majority of the population in the mid-20th century), the unemployed and poor urban masses, the tiny working-class, middle-class elements (despite being, on average, the most conservative, some of them and the middle-class intellectuals should be included in a united national front), and the bourgeoisie nationale should be the goal. With this broad coalition, Alexis and the PEP believed that the semi-feudal and imperialist conditions in which Haiti had languished for 150 years could finally be overturned. Already by this period, Haiti's conditions were dire and the writing was on the wall on the lack of any viable economic or social future. Consequently, the workers, peasants, progressive-minded Haitians and members of the bourgeoisie eager to industrialize Haiti or safely invest their capital in the country must cooperate to create a democratic, liberal state. 

Naturally, the PEP's program for this future state included active state intervention in the economy and a number of protections for workers, landless peasants, a plan for economic development that welcomed the national bourgeoisie and sought to limit the negative impact of US imperialism. But before any type of socialist revolution could take place, a bourgeoisie nationale must be included in a progressive coalition to overturn "feudalism" and imperialism. This reading of Haitian political history and the solution to the problems of Haiti led to a generally positive view of the Liberals of the 19th century and the champions of civil government and liberal reforms, including Edmond Paul and Firmin as intellectuals who correctly identified some of the solutions for Haiti. However, since the bourgeois and petit-bourgeois progressives in the 1840s, 1870s, and other moments ultimately sided with the "feudal" landowners, military generals, and imperialist forces at other moments when the semi-feudal, imperialist conditions of Haiti were threatened, the PEP promoted inter-class solidarity for a united front while placing less emphasis on their Marxist influences or believe in the next stage or mode. Through education, collaboration, and protecting Haitian commerce and industry, the PEP would win over progressives of the bourgeoisie whose long-term interests meant an end to the feudal conditions of Haiti. 

Of course, one wonders why conditions in the 1950s and 1960s would be any different from past experiences where Haiti's bourgeoisie chose to side with the retrograde "feudal" forces. Seeing their long-term class interests requires rational thought and a willingness to forego immediate profits while also risking everything in moments of unrest, arson or looting. Duvalierism itself also represented something new that, though obviously based on the "ancient Haitian tradition" of governance and corruption, was more extreme and authoritarian (arguably not so obvious in 1959). One assumes Alexis saw this, and perhaps was increasingly drawn to the Cuban model and Castro for their successes in seizing government and instituting a number of reforms and protections for the poor. Indeed, Mao and the Chinese Revolution were clearly another source of influence on how Alexis's political ideology and programs may have changed had he lived longer or the PEP was able to take power. And looking at Haiti today, with its apocalyptic conditions and nonviable economic, social and political conditions, one can see that no inter-class coalition that united the national bourgeoisie, workers, peasants, and the middle classes was able to institute a state with durable liberal governance. Although the political system did open up to include those from the lower classes and middle class, Haiti has been beset by various crises, foreign interventions, and now, a complete hollowing out of the state. One wonders how horrified Alexis would be today if he had lived to see what became of our island, and perhaps how far from fruition even some of the basic ideas in the PEP's program are.

Thoughts on the Nago (Yoruba) in Haiti

 

We have been revisiting the few sources on the Nago, or "Yoruba" captives in Saint Domingue. Runaway ads or notices in the colonial newspaper have severe limitations as sources, but they nonetheless provide some details about Africans of Yoruba extraction in the colony. For instance, Adidon, mentioned in the runaway ad above, appears to have a Yoruba name. Adidon could be the Yoruba term for sweatmeats and confectionery. 

Another interesting example from the corpus of runaway slave ads in Saint-Domingue is the case of the Bambara above who spoke Nago. Considering the distance between Yorubaland and the "Bambara" lands of Upper Guinea, one assumes this unnamed "Bambara" captive learned the "Nago" tongue in Saint Domingue. 

Also intriguing is the case of a Nago runaway in 1783 named Sola, also called Ambroise. Sola is likely the Yoruba name Ṣọlá. Although it has long been known that the Nago were from Yoruba-speaking backgrounds, it is still fascinating to see examples of names from that language among Africans in Saint Domingue.

We similarly found the case of a Nago runaway from 1777, Aboky, intriguing. The name Aboky could actually be related to the Hausa word, aboki, meaning friend. If so, one wonders if Aboky actually was Hausa or from the lands north of the Yoruba-speaking peoples. It also appears that most Hausa captives trafficked to Saint Domingue in the 18th century arrived via Slave Coast ports and likely passed through Oyo and other Yoruba-speaking communities before reaching the coast. Perhaps not unrelated, modern Nigerians in the south sometimes use the word aboki in a derogatory fashion when referring to northerners.

Yet another ambiguous case of a "Nago" is the Nago-Taqua, Hector. Taqua appears to have been one of the terms used for Nupe peoples in Saint-Domingue. Was Hector of mixed ethnicity, both Nupe and Yoruba? Or was he a Nupe person who had spent time in Yorubaland before being sold on the coast to Europeans?

Yet another runaway ad alluding to a Nago with what sounds like an African name is the case of Labidan. No obvious Yoruba name comes to mind with Labidan. In fact, there was a kingdom called Labidan on the Gold Coast, an area French slave traders sometimes extended to the Slave Coast.

Our final case of one of the interesting African maroons who was said to speak Nago despite hailing from another "nation" is Medor. Supposedly Ibo, he appears to have been owned by a Rossignol of the Gonaives area. Did he learn Nago in Saint Domingue?

Last, but certainly not least, visiting ANOM's digitized parish registries for Saint-Domingue reminded us of Julien Raimond. His African grandmother, who died in 1761, was of the Nago nation. It is somewhat unclear if her name was actually Marie or Catherine (or perhaps Marie Catherine?), but she married Raimond's grandfather, Francois Begasse, in 1706. To what extent, if any, she shaped the upbringing of her grandchildren is unknown, but her status and the growing wealth of her family in Bainet and Aquin may have made her one of the wealthiest African-born women in this part of Saint Domingue.

Toussaint Louverture and the 1801 Constitution

Toussaint Louverture and the 1801 Constitution

Claude Moise's Le projet national de Toussaint Louverture et la Constitution de 1801 is rather short yet raises some important questions. Since Toussaint Louverture, by the time he promulgated the 1801 Constitution, was the most powerful person on the island of Hispaniola and therefore needed a constitution to legitimize and protect the administrative structure he headed, one can see the seeds of future Haitian governments in the text and the practice of government. In addition, Toussaint must have seen the importance of establishing a clear government structure for Saint-Domingue as largely autonomous but still attached to the metropole. Such an attachment was likely believed to be necessary given the possible threat of maritime powers such as England, Spain, or the US, not to mention other cultural and economic ties to France that likely weighed in consideration. For Moise, what Toussaint envisioned was comparable to the free state association of Puerto Rico with the United States, although it is possible that if his regime had endured, independence may have become more attractive. 

Unfortunately, Toussaint Louverture's Constitution symbolized the failure to reconcile irreconcilable conflicts of interest. Former slaves who believed liberty and freedom entailed more individual liberties and control of their labor unsurprisingly butted heads with the government and planters (both the colons and the nouveaux libres elites who gained control of estates). The attempts to limit smallholder proprietorship of land and to regulate the movement of ex-slaves through the militarized administrative structure of the administration undoubtedly fueled discontent and continual marronage (vagabondage). Indeed, according to Moise, this is what led to the rebellion associated with Toussaint Louverture's nephew, Moise. Although the author suggests that Moise himself was not directly involved in orchestrating the revolt, his sympathetic words and inaction in suppressing it warranted his punishment by Toussaint Louverture. However, this impasse imperiled the longevity of the type of state envisioned by Toussaint and maintained by his successors in independent Haiti. 

Despite these fundamental contradictions of the social order of the Louverturian regime, independent Haiti endeavored to follow it. Of course, without the whites or colons as an integral part of the imagined Haitian nation. Nonetheless, Henri Christophe's government may be the best indication of what Louverture's vision of Saint Domingue would have looked like had it survived. The survival of large estates, the use of the military to police rural laborers, and the commitment to antislavery, educational reforms, and attempts to inculcate values approved of by the government in the masses certainly resemble the goals of the Louverturian regime. However, would Toussaint have taken the step to declare himself a king in a future Saint Domingue or Haiti had the autonomous relationship with France become more of a burden or threat?