A Window into West Africa
Anyone who publishes their own memoirs will almost certainly be accused of vanity, and that’s not the only difficulty they face. There’s also the problem that unusual experiences are rarely believed, while ordinary ones tend to bore readers, who may even resent the writer for wasting their time. Most people consider memoirs worth reading only when they’re filled with dramatic or remarkable events, the kind that inspire either admiration or sympathy. Everything else gets dismissed and forgotten. It is, I’ll admit, no small risk for a private, obscure individual, and a foreigner at that, to ask for the public’s generous attention, especially when I acknowledge upfront that I’m offering the story of neither a saint, a hero, nor a tyrant. Most of what has happened to me has probably happened to many others. The details are numerous, and if I thought of myself as a European, I might say my sufferings were considerable. But when I compare my life to that of most of my fellow countrymen, I consider myself a *particular favorite of heaven*, and I recognize the hand of Providence in every chapter of my life. If the narrative that follows isn’t compelling enough to hold a general audience’s attention, I hope at least my reasons for writing it will serve as some justification. I’m not foolish or vain enough to expect it to earn me immortality or a literary reputation. If it brings any satisfaction to the many friends who asked me to write it, or if it advances the cause of humanity even slightly, then the purpose for which it was written will have been fully achieved, and every hope I hold will have been met. Let it be noted, then, that in trying to avoid criticism, I make no claim to praise.
The region of Africa known as Guinea, where the slave trade was conducted, stretches more than 3,400 miles along the coast from Senegal to Angola and encompasses a wide range of kingdoms. The most significant of these is the Kingdom of Benin, notable for its size and wealth, the richness and cultivation of its land, the power of its king, and the large and warlike population. It lies nearly on the equator and runs about 170 miles along the coast, but extends deep into the African interior for a distance that, I believe, no traveler has yet fully explored. It seems to end only at the borders of the Abyssinian empire, nearly 1,500 miles from where it begins. This kingdom is divided into many provinces and districts, and it was in one of the most remote and fertile of these that I was born in 1745, in a beautiful, lush valley called Essaka. This province must have been a great distance from both the capital of Benin and the sea, because I had never heard of white men or Europeans, nor of the ocean itself. Our connection to the king of Benin was little more than symbolic; from what I could observe, every matter of governance was handled by the local chief or elders. The customs and government of a people who have little contact with the outside world tend to be straightforward, and the story of one family or village can stand in for the whole nation.
My father was one of those elders or chiefs I mentioned, and he held the title of Embrenche, a word that, as I recall, signified the highest distinction and meant, in our language, a *mark* of greatness. This mark was given to those who had earned it by cutting the skin across the top of the forehead and drawing it down toward the eyebrows. While the skin was held in that position, a warm hand was pressed against it and rubbed until it contracted into a thick *weal* across the lower forehead. Most of the judges and senators bore this mark; my father had carried it for many years. I had watched it conferred on one of my brothers, and my parents intended for me to receive it as well. These Embrenche, or chief men, settled disputes and punished crimes, always gathering together for that purpose.
Their proceedings were generally brief, and in most cases the principle of retaliation governed the outcome. I remember a man being brought before my father and the other judges for kidnapping a boy. Although the man was himself the son of a chief or senator, he was sentenced to compensate the victim’s family with a male or female slave. Adultery, however, was sometimes punished with enslavement or death, a penalty that I believe was common across most of Africa, so deeply did these people honor the marriage bond and guard the faithfulness of their wives. I recall one such case: a woman was convicted of adultery before the judges and handed over, as was the custom, to her husband to be punished. He decided to put her to death, but just before the execution it was discovered that she had an infant at her breast. Since no woman could be persuaded to take on the role of nurse, she was spared for the sake of the child. The men, however, did not hold themselves to the same standard of faithfulness they demanded from their wives, as they were permitted to take multiple wives, though rarely more than two.
Marriage among them worked as follows: both parties were usually promised to each other while still young, arranged by their parents, though I have known men to make their own arrangements. On the occasion of the betrothal, a feast was prepared, and the bride and bridegroom stood together in the presence of all their assembled friends while the groom declared that she was from that point forward to be regarded as his wife and that no other man was to pursue her. This announcement was immediately made known throughout the surrounding area, after which the bride withdrew from the gathering. Some time later, she was brought to her husband’s home, and another feast was held, to which the families of both parties were invited. Her parents then presented her to the bridegroom with many blessings, and at the same time they tied around her waist a cotton string about the thickness of a goose quill, which only married women were permitted to wear. She was now considered fully his wife, and at this point the dowry was given to the newly married couple, typically consisting of portions of land, slaves, cattle, household goods, and farming tools. These were contributed by friends of both families, and in addition, the bridegroom’s parents presented gifts to the bride’s parents, who had until that moment been considered her legal guardians. After marriage, she became the sole responsibility of her husband. With the ceremony complete, the celebration began, marked by bonfires, loud expressions of joy, music, and dancing.
We are, as a people, almost entirely a nation of dancers, musicians, and poets. Every major event, whether a triumphant return from battle or some other occasion for public celebration, is marked by communal dances accompanied by songs and music suited to the moment. The assembly divides into four groups, each with its own distinct character, dancing either separately or in sequence. The first group consists of married men, whose dances frequently depict feats of arms and the drama of battle. They are followed by the married women, who form the second group. Young men occupy the third, and unmarried girls the fourth. Each group portrays some compelling scene from real life: a great achievement, the rhythms of domestic work, a moving story, or a rural pastime. Because the subject is usually drawn from a recent event, the performances never feel stale or repetitive. This is what gives our dances a vitality and variety I have rarely encountered anywhere else. We also have a wide range of musical instruments, including drums of several different kinds, one instrument that closely resembles a guitar, and another that is much like a xylophone. These last two are played primarily by young women who are engaged to be married, and they bring them out on all major festivals.
Our customs are simple, and our luxuries are few. Men and women dress in much the same way: typically a long piece of calico or muslin wrapped loosely around the body, not unlike a Scottish highland plaid. The preferred color is blue, produced from a berry that yields a shade brighter and richer than anything I have seen in Europe. Women of high standing also adorn themselves with gold ornaments, worn in abundance on their arms and legs. When women are not working alongside men in the fields, they spend their time spinning and weaving cotton, which they then dye and fashion into clothing. They also produce earthenware of many kinds, including tobacco pipes made and used in the same style as those found in Turkey.
Our way of life is entirely simple. The people here have no knowledge of the elaborate cooking techniques that corrupt the palate in more “civilized” societies; cattle, goats, and poultry make up the bulk of what they eat. These animals are also the country’s primary source of wealth and its main trade goods. Meat is typically stewed in a pan, and we season it with pepper and other spices to give it flavor; we also use salt made from wood ash. Our vegetables consist mostly of plantains, eddoes, yams, beans, and Indian corn. The head of the household always eats alone, while his wives and slaves each have their own separate tables. Before any meal, we wash our hands without exception; cleanliness is a constant priority in our culture, but at mealtimes it is an absolute requirement. After washing, we perform a libation by pouring a small amount of drink on the floor and setting aside a small portion of food in a designated spot for the spirits of our departed relatives, whom the people believe watch over their behavior and protect them from harm. They have no knowledge of strong or distilled alcohol; their main drink is palm wine, drawn from the palm tree by tapping it near the top and securing a large gourd to collect the flow. A single tree can sometimes produce three or four gallons in a single night. Freshly drawn, it has a wonderfully sweet taste, but within a few days it develops a sharper, more potent flavor, though I never once saw anyone become drunk from it. The same tree also yields nuts and oil.
Our greatest indulgence is in perfumes: one variety comes from a fragrant, sweet-smelling wood, and the other from a type of earth, a small amount of which, when thrown into a fire, releases a remarkably powerful scent. We grind the wood into a fine powder and blend it with palm oil, and both men and women use this mixture to perfume themselves.
In our buildings, we prioritize practicality over decoration. Each head of household owns a large square plot of land, surrounded by a moat, a fence, or a wall built from red clay that, once dried, becomes as hard as brick. Within this enclosure stand the houses that shelter his family and enslaved people, and when the household is large, the compound can look very much like a small village. At the center stands the main building, reserved exclusively for the master of the house and divided into two rooms: one where he spends his days with his family, and another set aside for receiving guests. He also has a separate room where he sleeps, along with his sons. On either side of the main building are the quarters of his wives, each of whom has her own separate rooms for daytime use and for sleeping. The homes of the enslaved people and their families are spread throughout the rest of the compound.
None of these structures rises above a single story. They are built from wood or stakes driven into the ground, reinforced with woven branches, and neatly plastered on both the inside and outside. The roofs are thatched with reeds. Our daytime rooms are open on the sides, while the sleeping rooms are always enclosed and plastered on the interior with a mixture that includes cow dung, which keeps away the insects that trouble us at night. The walls and floors of these rooms are generally covered with mats. Our beds are raised platforms, lifted three or four feet off the ground and topped with animal skins and sections of a soft, spongy tree known as the plantain. Our bedding is calico or muslin, the same material we use for clothing. We typically sit on logs, though we also have benches that are usually scented with perfume for the comfort of visitors, and these make up the greater part of our household furnishings. Houses built and furnished this way require very little specialized skill to construct. Any man is perfectly capable of building one himself. The entire neighborhood pitches in to help, and in return, the only reward anyone expects or receives is a shared feast.
Since our land was so naturally abundant, our needs were few and easily met, which meant we had little need for manufacturing. What we did produce consisted mostly of cotton cloth, pottery, ornaments, and tools for farming and warfare. None of these, however, formed the backbone of our trade; as I mentioned earlier, our commerce centered primarily on food and provisions. In a society like ours, money had little practical value, though we did have some small coins of a kind. They were shaped something like an anchor, but I can no longer recall their worth or what they were called. We also had markets, which I visited often with my mother.
These markets were sometimes attended by powerfully built, mahogany-skinned men who came from the southwest. We called them *Oye-Eboe*, a name that means “red men living far away.” They typically brought firearms, gunpowder, hats, beads, and dried fish. That last item we considered a real delicacy, since our only water sources were brooks and springs. In exchange for these goods, they traded with us for fragrant woods, certain earths, and our wood-ash salt. They always passed through our territory with enslaved people in tow, but before they were allowed to continue on their way, they were required to give a strict account of how those people had been obtained. Occasionally we did sell enslaved people to them, but only prisoners of war, or those among us who had been convicted of kidnapping, adultery, or other crimes we considered serious offenses. The very fact that kidnapping was one of those crimes leads me to suspect that, despite all our precautions, their real purpose in coming among us was to abduct our people. I also remember that they always carried large sacks with them, and not long afterward I had the devastating misfortune of seeing exactly what those sacks were used for.
Our land is exceptionally rich and fertile, producing every kind of crop in great abundance. We have plenty of Indian corn, vast quantities of cotton and tobacco, and pineapples that grow wild without any cultivation. These pineapples are roughly the size of the largest sugar loaf and have a wonderful flavor. We also have several varieties of spice, particularly pepper, along with an array of delicious fruits I have never encountered in Europe, various kinds of gum, and honey in abundance. All of our energy goes toward making the most of these natural gifts. Agriculture is our primary occupation, and everyone takes part in it, including children and women. As a result, we are all accustomed to hard work from our earliest years. Everyone contributes something to the common good, and because idleness is simply not part of our culture, we have no beggars.
The advantages of this way of life are plain to see. West Indian planters prefer enslaved people from Benin or Eboe over those from any other part of Guinea, precisely because of their toughness, intelligence, honesty, and dedication. These same qualities show up in the general good health of our people, as well as in their strength and energy, and I might add, in their physical appearance as well. Deformity of form is genuinely unknown among us. The many natives of Eboe now living in London could be called upon to confirm this, since when it comes to complexion, standards of beauty are entirely relative. I recall seeing, while still in Africa, three children of a tawny complexion and one who was quite white, all of whom were widely regarded by me and by the local people as physically unusual, at least in terms of their coloring. Our women, too, were in my eyes at least remarkably graceful, lively, and modest to the point of shyness, and I cannot recall ever hearing of a single case of sexual misconduct among them before marriage. They are also notably cheerful. In fact, cheerfulness and warmth are two of the defining qualities of our people.
We farmed a large open plain some hours’ walk from our homes, and all the neighbors would go out there together. We used no animals for farming; our only tools were hoes, axes, shovels, and pointed iron implements for breaking the ground. Occasionally, locusts would descend on us in massive clouds that darkened the sky and wiped out our crops. This was rare, but when it happened, famine followed. I can recall two or three instances when it did. That common ground was also frequently a battlefield, so when our people went out to farm, they not only went in groups but typically carried their weapons as well, in case of a surprise attack.
When an invasion seemed likely, they would defend the paths leading to our homes by driving sharpened sticks into the ground, their points hardened and dipped in poison. From what I can remember of these conflicts, they appear to have been raids by one small state or district against another, aimed at capturing prisoners or seizing goods. These attacks were likely encouraged by the traders who brought European goods into our communities. This is a common way of obtaining slaves in Africa, and I believe more people are enslaved through such raids and through kidnapping than by any other means. When a trader wants slaves, he approaches a chief and tempts him with merchandise. It should come as no surprise that the chief sometimes yields to that temptation with as little moral resistance, and accepts the price of his neighbors’ freedom with as little shame, as any so-called enlightened merchant would. He then turns on his neighbors, and a fierce battle breaks out. If he wins and takes prisoners, he satisfies his greed by selling them; but if his side is defeated and he falls into enemy hands, he is put to death, because his role in stirring up the conflict makes it too dangerous to let him live, and no ransom can spare him, even though all other prisoners might be bought back.
We have firearms, bows and arrows, broad two-edged swords, and javelins, as well as shields that cover a man from head to foot. Everyone is trained in the use of these weapons; even our women are warriors, and they march out to fight alongside the men without hesitation. Our entire district functions as a kind of militia: at a given signal, such as a gunshot in the night, everyone rises up armed and rushes toward the enemy. It is worth noting that when our people march to battle, a red flag or banner is carried at the front. I once witnessed a battle on our common ground. We had all been working there one day as usual when our people were suddenly attacked. I climbed a tree at a safe distance and watched the fight from there. There were many women as well as men on both sides; among them was my own mother, armed with a broad sword. After a long and furious struggle in which many were killed, our people won the victory and captured the enemy’s chief. He was led away in triumph, and although he offered a large ransom for his life, he was put to death. A young woman of high standing among our enemies had also been killed in the battle, and her arm was displayed in our marketplace, where we always exhibited our trophies. The spoils were divided according to each warrior’s merit.
Those prisoners who were neither sold nor ransomed were kept as slaves among us, but how different their condition was from that of slaves in the West Indies. With us, they worked no harder than any other member of the community, including their own master. Their food, clothing, and lodging were nearly the same as everyone else’s (except that they were not permitted to eat with those who were freeborn), and there was hardly any other distinction between them and free people beyond the natural authority that the head of a household holds over his family. Some of these enslaved people even had slaves of their own, held as personal property for their own use.
On the subject of religion, the natives believe in a single Creator of all things, who lives in the sun and is encircled by a belt that prevents Him from ever eating or drinking. According to some accounts, however, He smokes a pipe, which happens to be our own favorite indulgence. They believe He governs all events, particularly deaths and captivity, though I cannot recall ever hearing any doctrine of eternity among them. Some do believe, to a certain degree, in the transmigration of souls. As for those spirits that are not transmigrated, such as beloved friends or relatives, the people believe these souls remain close, always watching over the living and protecting them from evil spirits and enemies. For this reason, as I have noted, they always set aside a small portion of food and pour a little of their drink onto the ground before eating, as an offering to these spirits. They also frequently make offerings of animal or bird blood at the graves of the departed. I was deeply devoted to my mother and spent nearly all my time by her side. Whenever she went to make these offerings at her own mother’s tomb, a small, solitary thatched structure set apart from the rest, I would sometimes go with her. There she would pour her libations and spend most of the night in weeping and lamentation. I was often overcome with fear on these occasions. The isolation of the place, the depth of the darkness, and the solemn ritual of the libation were all unsettling enough on their own, but my mother’s cries made everything far worse. Combined with the mournful calls of the birds that haunted those burial grounds, the whole scene produced a terror I could not put into words.
We calculate the year from the day the sun crosses the equator, and when it sets that evening, a great shout rises across the land; at least, this is what I witnessed throughout our region. At the same moment, people make a tremendous noise with rattles, not unlike the basket rattles children use here, though considerably larger, and they raise their hands toward heaven in prayer for a blessing. This is when the greatest offerings are made, and children whom our wise men have predicted will be fortunate are presented to various people. I remember many visitors coming to see me, and I was carried around to others for that very purpose. There are many offerings throughout the year, particularly at full moons, generally two at harvest time, before the crops are brought up from the ground, and when any young animals are slaughtered, part of them is sometimes offered as a sacrifice. When one of the heads of a family makes these offerings, the blessing extends to the entire household. I remember such occasions happening often at my father’s home and my uncle’s, with their families gathered together. Some of our offerings are eaten with bitter herbs. We had a saying among us about anyone with a sour temperament: that if they were ever to be eaten, they would have to be eaten with bitter herbs.
We practiced circumcision like the Jews, and held feasts and made offerings to mark the occasion, just as they did. Like them, our children were named after some event, circumstance, or omen present at the time of their birth. I was named *Olaudah*, which in our language means change of fortune, or fortunate; it also carries the sense of one who is favored, with a loud voice and a gift for speaking. I remember that we never treated the name of what we worshipped carelessly; on the contrary, it was always spoken with the deepest reverence. We had no familiarity with swearing, or with any of those terms of abuse and contempt that flow so freely and abundantly into the language of more supposedly civilized peoples. The only expressions of that kind I can recall were these: “May you rot,” “may you swell,” or “may a beast take you.”
I mentioned earlier that the people of this part of Africa are remarkably clean in their habits. For us, this commitment to cleanliness was part of our religion, and so we observed many rituals of purification and washing, nearly as many as the Jews, and practiced on similar occasions, if my memory serves me correctly. Anyone who touched a dead body was required to wash and purify themselves before they could enter a home. Every woman, too, was at certain times forbidden from entering a dwelling, or from touching any person or anything we ate. I was so devoted to my mother that I could not bear to stay away from her, or stop myself from touching her during some of those periods, and as a result I was required to stay outside with her in a small house built for that purpose, until an offering was made and we were both purified.
Though we had no places of public worship, we had priests and magicians, or wise men. I don’t remember whether they held separate offices or whether both roles were combined in the same person, but the people held them in great reverence. They tracked our calendar and foretold future events, as their name suggested, for we called them Ah-affoe-way-cah, which means calculators or yearly men, our year being called Ah-affoe. They wore beards, and when they died, their sons succeeded them. Most of their tools and prized possessions were buried alongside them. Pipes and tobacco were also placed in the grave with the body, which was always perfumed and adorned, and animals were offered as sacrifices in their honor. Only those of the same profession or tribe attended their funerals. They buried them after sunset and always took a different route back from the grave than the one they had used going there.
These magicians also served as doctors and healers. They practiced a form of bloodletting through cupping and were remarkably skilled at treating wounds and neutralizing poisons. They also had unusual methods for uncovering jealousy, theft, and poisoning, methods whose success almost certainly came from the enormous hold they had over a population steeped in superstition and credulity. I don’t recall the details of most these methods, but I do remember one or two cases involving poison that I hope the reader will forgive me for including here, since they serve as a fair example of the rest, and since similar practices are still used among Black communities in the West Indies. A young woman had been poisoned, though no one knew who was responsible. The doctors ordered several people to lift the corpse onto their shoulders and carry it toward the grave. As soon as the bearers raised the body, they appeared to be seized by some sudden, uncontrollable force and began running back and forth, unable to stop themselves. After crashing through a tangle of thorns and prickly bushes without suffering any injury, the corpse finally fell from their shoulders directly beside a house, striking it as it landed. The owner of that house was immediately taken into custody and confessed to the poisoning.
The people of my homeland were extremely cautious about poison. Whenever someone bought food, the seller would kiss it all around before handing it over, to prove it hadn’t been tampered with. The same was done whenever meat or drink was offered to anyone, and especially to a stranger. We had serpents of various kinds, and some were considered good omens when they appeared in our homes; these we never disturbed. I remember two such snakes, each as thick as the calf of a man’s leg and colored like a dolphin shimmering in water, that crept into my mother’s sleeping quarters on separate occasions. I always slept there with her, and each time, one of these snakes would coil itself up and crow like a rooster. Our wise men told me to touch them, so that I might share in the good fortune they represented. I did so without hesitation, since the snakes were completely harmless and allowed themselves to be handled without any resistance. Afterward, they were placed in a large earthen pan and left at the side of the road. Some of our snakes, however, were venomous. One of them crossed the path directly in front of me one day while I was standing on it, passing right between my feet without making any move to strike me. Many people who witnessed this were astonished. Both the wise men and my mother, along with everyone else who heard of it, took these incidents as powerful omens in my favor.
This is an imperfect sketch, drawn from memory, of the customs and way of life of the people among whom I was born. But I can’t move on without raising something that has struck me with great force for a long time: the remarkable similarity that even this incomplete account reveals between the customs of my people and those of the ancient Jews, particularly the patriarchs during the pastoral era described in Genesis. That similarity alone would lead me to believe that one people descended from the other. This is, in fact, the view of Dr. Gill, who in his commentary on Genesis makes a compelling case that Africans trace their lineage to Afer and Afra, descendants of Abraham through his wife and concubine Keturah (both titles are applied to her in scripture). Dr. John Clarke, formerly Dean of Sarum, reaches the same conclusion in his work on the truth of the Christian religion, and both scholars agree in tracing our origins to this source. Their reasoning is further supported by the biblical chronology, and if any additional evidence were needed, the sheer number of points of resemblance between our two peoples makes a strong case on its own.
Like the Israelites in their earliest period, our society was governed by chiefs and judges, by wise men and elders, and the head of a household held over his family the same kind of authority attributed to Abraham and the other patriarchs. The principle of retaliation as a form of justice was nearly universal among us, just as it was among them. Even their religion seems to have cast a ray of its light upon us, though that light was refracted and dimmed in its passage, or obscured by the layers of time, tradition, and ignorance that had gathered around it. We practiced circumcision, a custom I believe was unique to that people. We also had our sacrifices and burnt offerings, our ritual washings and purifications, and we observed them on the same occasions they did.
On the question of why the Eboan Africans and the modern Jews differ in skin color, I won’t pretend to have an answer. This is a subject that has occupied scholars and thinkers far more capable than I am. The highly respected Reverend Mr. T. Clarkson, however, addresses it thoroughly in his widely admired essay on the slavery and commerce of the human species, resolving every objection on the matter in a way that, at least in my own mind, is entirely convincing. I will therefore point the reader to that work for the theoretical explanation, and limit myself here to drawing out a relevant fact recorded by Dr. Mitchel: “*The Spaniards, who have inhabited America, under the torrid zone, for any time, are become as dark colored as our native Indians of Virginia; of which I myself have been a witness.*” There is also the case of a Portuguese settlement at Mitomba, on a river in Sierra Leone, where the inhabitants descend from a mixture of the original Portuguese explorers and the native population, and have since become, in both their complexion and the texture of their hair, *perfect negroes*, while still retaining traces of the Portuguese language.
These examples, and many more that could be offered, show how the complexions of the same people vary across different climates. It is my hope that they may also help dissolve the prejudice some hold against the people of Africa simply because of their color. Surely the minds of the Spaniards did not change along with their complexions! Are there not enough reasons to explain the apparent inferiority of an African, without placing limits on the goodness of God and assuming that He withheld understanding from beings who are certainly His own image, simply because they were, as it were, “carved in ebony”?
Could it not be explained naturally by their circumstances? When Africans come among Europeans, they are unfamiliar with the language, religion, customs, and manners of those around them. Does anyone take the trouble to teach them these things? Are they treated as human beings? Does not slavery itself crush the mind, snuffing out every spark of vitality and every noble feeling? And above all, consider what advantages a refined and cultivated people hold over those who have had no such opportunities. Let the polished and arrogant European remember that his own ancestors were once, like the Africans, uncivilized and even barbarous. Did Nature make them inferior to their descendants? Should they, too, have been enslaved? Every rational mind answers: no. Let reflections like these soften the pride of superiority into genuine sympathy for the needs and sufferings of their darker-skinned brothers and sisters, and compel them to admit that intelligence is not determined by appearance or skin color. If, when they look out at the world, they feel a sense of triumph, let that feeling be tempered with kindness toward others and gratitude toward God, “who hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth,” and “whose wisdom is not our wisdom, neither are our ways his ways.”
