Ben Ali and the Arabic Diary (Part Two)

One of the earliest well-known encounters with the Ben Ali Diary dates from 1896, and was recorded by Joel Chandler Harris, author of the popular Negrophobic stories "Uncle Remus" and "B'rer Rabbit." A character in one of Harris' books calls the manuscript a diary, and suggests that Ben Ali was an "Arab slave hunter" who was himself taken into slavery, and goes on to state quite erroneously that the first few pages were said to describe the events of Ben Ali being taken into slavery (Harris 1896, p. 13). It is perhaps worth noting here that some of Harris' personal papers contained in the rare books library at Columbia University suggest that he was on the lookout for African stories from which to profit in his own literary endeavors. I cannot resist also noting here that his predilection to profit from the heritage of African Americans might implicate Harris in an attempt at selling the manuscript, or parts of it, which could explain the missing pages, though that would be difficult to prove at this point unless one could show that he actually had it in his possession and had not merely heard of it. In any event, Harris' account of Ben Ali's life and writing, although found in a work of fiction, proved to be very resilient and was often recounted, even as late as 1931 by Goulding, who had the Ben Ali manuscript in his possession for a number of years but seems to have used Harris' opinion as his primary source for interpreting it. By 1940 the notion that Ben Ali was an Arab was questioned by a university academic, Joseph Greenberg, who found the account "improbable" (Greenberg 1940, p. 373). In the same year, one of Ben Ali's great-grandchildren described him as "coal black" (Georgia Writers' Project 1940, p. 166). In 1984, Austin refuted the claim that Ben Ali as an Arab slave trader, and suggested as evidence that Harris' stories were "completely Negrophobic" (1984, p. 265), but by that time the notion had lingered for nearly a century.

Ben Ali and the Arabic Diary (Part One)

In the early nineteenth century, an African Muslim was living out the rest of his adult life in chattel slavery on a plantation in Antebellum America. Before dying on the eve of the Civil War, he left a handwritten Arabic manuscript with an acquaintance of his slave master. Since then the manuscript has been the object of considerable study and debate by a wide range of characters, including a famous novelist, a state librarian and a prominent Africanist, as well as a number of academics and a host of curious enthusiasts. These characters have variously suggested (and in some cases have even hoped) that the writer of the manuscript was an Arab slave trader, a Moorish prince or a Muslim jurisprudent, who went by the name of Ben Ali, Bilali or Bu-Allah, and whose manuscript was a diary, a set of meditations, a plantation log, or an excerpt from a book of Islamic law. Opinions as to the importance of this manuscript range from writing it off as indecipherable gibberish to suggesting that it problematises the entire canonical structure of African American literary studies. Some of the above suppositions are certainly more defensible than others, but what is remarkable about this manuscript is that it has generated such an engaging and wide-ranging set of responses. Beginning with a chapter in my PhD dissertation and a subsequent journal article (Progler 1996 and 2000), I joined the ranks of those who have attempted to "decipher" the contents of this mysterious manuscript. In Part One, the first of a two part series, I recount and update my earlier efforts to describe its author and contents. In Part Two, I explore tangential questions of how and why people have come to see its origins and its significance in particular and self-serving ways.

Music out of Mud: Nigerian Pot Drums in Upstate New York

The workshop took place at the upstate New York pottery studio of Frank Giorgini. He and Abbas Ahuwan instructed 12 students in the finer points of pottery drum making. The workshop proper was held on consecutive weekends, and I had the opportunity to stay the week between as an impromptu apprentice. Abbas began on Saturday with a slide show of traditional Nigerian pottery making. Abbas is a professor of ceramics at Ahmed Bello University in Zaria, Nigeria and has a Ph.D from the University of Georgia. He shared scenes from his workshop in Zaria as well from rural areas. I initially sensed an “African” sensibility in the works he depicted. Designs and methods that might otherwise be labeled primitive by some observers appeared to come alive with a rhythm in the context of culture, albeit objectified through slides. I had later several discussions with Abbas about this - the differing sensibilities of Westerners and Africans. For me, it came down to a McLuhanoid viewpoint of oral and visual sensibilities. The African peoples can be considered orally oriented, I argued, and this sensibility shows in the work, the design. One does not see the obsession with formalization, quantization and uniformity. The works are shaped with an oral sensibility, the perfection being in the unperfected form. Abbas thought about this for a few moments, then replied, “There are no bad curves in nature.”

Children of Jaliya: Teaching and Learning Kora in West Africa

"From his mouth you will hear the history of your ancestors, you will learn the art of governing Mali according to the principles which our ancestors have bequeathed to us."

The youthful prince Sundiata heard these words as the reigning king of 13th century Mali presented him with a customary gift. Sundiata was about to receive his own personal jali, who was called Balla Fasseke (Niane 1965:17). The jali (also known as "griot") is an oral historian and master musician who presents his knowledge in the form of song. Balla Fasseke inherited his art, known as jaliya, from his father who was the king's jali. Prince Sundiata was heir to the kingdom, and Jali Balla Fasseke, was heir to its knowledge, wisdom and music.