Brig. Murtala Bello, A Military and Political History of the Malê Wars (Adamawa War College: Yola, 1979)
… The Malê took Sokoto in early May 1840, shortly before the onset of the rains put an enforced end to the season’s campaigning. With the capital of the Sokoto Caliphate taken, its remaining cities faced a choice of three options: remain loyal to the Sultan who had fled east to his vassal in Adamawa; declare for Paulo Abacar and the Republic, or seize the opportunity to regain their independence. Needless to say, each city found its own answer.
For the most part, the towns in the easternmost part of the Caliphate, within reach of the Adamawa Emirate’s armies, remained loyal, as did those in the central regions. There were four significant exceptions, however, and they were telling ones. The ancient cities of Kano, Kaduna and Zaria, forming a belt between the eastern lobe of the Caliphate and the central lands, declared independence, and the imams of Katsina, swayed by Nana Asma’u’s embrace of the Republic, declared their allegiance to Abacar.
In the west and south, where the Malê armies had passed, most of the smaller towns accepted the Republic’s overlordship. Gwandu, which was ruled by a relative of the Sultan, rejected Abacar’s claims, but the city had been conquered less than ten years before, and many of its citizens were still loyal to the old emir. The old elite, most of them Hausa, saw the Republic as an opportunity to restore the old order and, more ominously, to settle scores with the Fulani invaders.
Further south, Kontagora and Wawa broke away from Caliphate and Republic both; in Kontagora, the secession was peaceful and mediated by the city’s imams, in Wawa, it was marked by expulsion of Fulani citizens, many of whom fled north to Sokoto.
But it was Ilorin that was the greatest wild card. Ilorin was like no other city in the Sultanate. It was originally the northernmost of the Yoruba city-states, founded in 1450, and had lately attracted a mixed population and become Islamized. The Fodio dynasty had seized it in 1823, and the conquest resulted in the Yoruba elite being shunted aside in favor of the Hausa and Fulani. The Malê – a mixed group of ex-slaves that was at least as much Yoruba as northern – mirrored Ilorin’s own population, and its merchant class and even many of the imams saw Abacar’s message of radical equality as a chance to restore the city’s balance. There were stormy debates and even fights in the council chambers, but Ilorin declared for the Republic, simultaneously anchoring its southern flank and putting the breakaway cities at risk of a pincer movement.
It was only a matter of time before the political maneuvering of the rainy season was replaced by military maneuvering. Everyone knew that blood would be spilled come October – the only question was whose. As it turned out, it was the Caliphate’s. The coming of the dry season was greeted by slave uprisings in several of the eastern towns, and in the central city of Gusau. The Sultan would not be able to devote his full attention to reconquering Sokoto; instead, he would have to divide his forces and put down revolts in scattered parts of the empire.
At the same time, the Republic was unable to take full advantage of its enemy’s division. It remained at risk of attack from other quarters: the Gwandu emirate wasn’t far from the capital, and the Hausa kingdoms of Gobir to the northwest were eager to regain their former possessions. To be sure, Gobir was still recovering from its defeat by Usman dan Fodio, and was too weak to take on the Malê field army, but if Abacar left Sokoto uncovered, they were more than willing to capitalize on his absence.
Logistics, training and capacity were also a serious problem. Abacar had begun a powder works and a small iron foundry, but hadn’t had time to arm more than a few of the ex-slaves who had flocked to his banner – and while he had local sources of iron, sulfur had to be imported from North Africa over uncertain trade routes. Some of the new recruits had homemade jezail-type weapons, and they were integrated into the infantry squares, but most had to be formed into companies of pikemen leavened with javelins.
The Malê, who were still primarily an infantry force – some of the local Fulani population had joined them as cavalry, but not in sufficient numbers to be more than scouts and screening units – were far less maneuverable than the Adamawa forces, and their capacity for siege warfare was even worse. The roads and tracks of the Caliphate had been barely sufficient for small field pieces; siege guns were out of the question. And the ancient cities to the east would be much more difficult to seize by infantry assault than Sokoto, whose walls were low and designed mainly to hinder cavalry.
And Abacar’s problems were not only military. Despite the support of the Fodio women, many of Sokoto’s citizens were not fully reconciled to his rule, and an influential faction of imams – particularly among the Hausa – viewed his theology as heretical. There was still some resentment over his emancipation decree, and even some of the Malê themselves were restive – not all shared his anti-slavery fanaticism, and many had hoped that he would expropriate the Hausa and Fulani farmers and herders to provide them with lands. He was able to distribute some land to his troops, but refused for both principled and practical reasons to evict the local landowners, who he insisted on treating as citizens rather than conquered subjects. Instead, he encouraged the Malê to marry into merchant families and work in the nascent military industries, and while he offered subsidies for these purposes, many were not satisfied.
So when the campaign season began, Abacar had to leave nearly half his army and several of his most trusted officers in Sokoto, with Nana Asma’u to head a temporary governing council. His initial progress to the east was nevertheless smooth, and he was able to link up with the rebellious slaves in Gusau and secure the city for the Republic. As the army moved further east, however, resistance began to stiffen. At Kauru Namoda, a town near Gusau that lay aside his path to Adamawa, he was stymied by the town walls, and even though the Republic’s army outnumbered the defenders three to one, it was held up for two weeks and was finally forced to carry the walls through a costly infantry assault. If a relatively small city could cost so much to take, what hope was there to reduce Kano or Yola?
But in the field, the Malê proved as supreme as the Sultan’s forces were in the towns. Their field artillery and Peninsular War-proven formations helped negate the superior maneuverability of cavalry, and when the two armies met near Zaria on January 20, 1841, Abacar was able to choose his ground and anchor his right flank with a steep escarpment. By the end of a bloody day of fighting, the Adamawa cavalry was forced from the field.
Almost at once, both Abacar and the Emir of Adamawa put out feelers for peace. Each realized that he couldn’t defeat the other: the Malê knew they could take Yola only at great cost, and the Emir couldn’t keep the field army out of Adamawa’s territory. And to the Emir – an old and wily ruler who had been a loyal vassal of Usman dan Fodio but thought little of his grandson – even a shrunken Caliphate would be considerably more than Adamawa had ruled before.
By the end of February, the outlines of a settlement had been reached: the Republic would have the western and central Caliphate and Adamawa would have the east, with the free cities of Kano, Zaria and Kaduna forming a buffer between them. The border would be open for trade and for free passage of holy men and teachers – a clause that would, in subsequent years, allow Nana Asma’u’s jajis to continue their work in Adamawa.
The deposed Sultan – who had not been included in the peace negotiations – was of course livid at his vassal’s betrayal. Although the Emir did not force him to leave, he quit Yola to go into exile in the Bornu empire, preferring an ancient enemy to a new-minted traitor. Ultimately, he would make the pilgrimage to Mecca, and would die there a learned and revered man.
In the meantime, the peace with Adamawa freed Abacar to consolidate his position in the south. During the rains of 1841, he announced that any city who surrendered to his forces would be compensated for its slaves, while any town that had to be taken by force would not be compensated and would lose much treasure besides. In the event, he only had to seize two cities: he took Gwandu and restored the old emir after rebellious citizens opened the city gates to him, and carried Wawa’s walls with the help of Ilorin’s militia and Fulani volunteers who had been driven out the previous year. For the time being, the Malê state had settled its borders; now, Abacar could begin resolving the Republic’s ad hoc governing structures into a coherent political system…
… The Malê took Sokoto in early May 1840, shortly before the onset of the rains put an enforced end to the season’s campaigning. With the capital of the Sokoto Caliphate taken, its remaining cities faced a choice of three options: remain loyal to the Sultan who had fled east to his vassal in Adamawa; declare for Paulo Abacar and the Republic, or seize the opportunity to regain their independence. Needless to say, each city found its own answer.
For the most part, the towns in the easternmost part of the Caliphate, within reach of the Adamawa Emirate’s armies, remained loyal, as did those in the central regions. There were four significant exceptions, however, and they were telling ones. The ancient cities of Kano, Kaduna and Zaria, forming a belt between the eastern lobe of the Caliphate and the central lands, declared independence, and the imams of Katsina, swayed by Nana Asma’u’s embrace of the Republic, declared their allegiance to Abacar.
In the west and south, where the Malê armies had passed, most of the smaller towns accepted the Republic’s overlordship. Gwandu, which was ruled by a relative of the Sultan, rejected Abacar’s claims, but the city had been conquered less than ten years before, and many of its citizens were still loyal to the old emir. The old elite, most of them Hausa, saw the Republic as an opportunity to restore the old order and, more ominously, to settle scores with the Fulani invaders.
Further south, Kontagora and Wawa broke away from Caliphate and Republic both; in Kontagora, the secession was peaceful and mediated by the city’s imams, in Wawa, it was marked by expulsion of Fulani citizens, many of whom fled north to Sokoto.
But it was Ilorin that was the greatest wild card. Ilorin was like no other city in the Sultanate. It was originally the northernmost of the Yoruba city-states, founded in 1450, and had lately attracted a mixed population and become Islamized. The Fodio dynasty had seized it in 1823, and the conquest resulted in the Yoruba elite being shunted aside in favor of the Hausa and Fulani. The Malê – a mixed group of ex-slaves that was at least as much Yoruba as northern – mirrored Ilorin’s own population, and its merchant class and even many of the imams saw Abacar’s message of radical equality as a chance to restore the city’s balance. There were stormy debates and even fights in the council chambers, but Ilorin declared for the Republic, simultaneously anchoring its southern flank and putting the breakaway cities at risk of a pincer movement.
It was only a matter of time before the political maneuvering of the rainy season was replaced by military maneuvering. Everyone knew that blood would be spilled come October – the only question was whose. As it turned out, it was the Caliphate’s. The coming of the dry season was greeted by slave uprisings in several of the eastern towns, and in the central city of Gusau. The Sultan would not be able to devote his full attention to reconquering Sokoto; instead, he would have to divide his forces and put down revolts in scattered parts of the empire.
At the same time, the Republic was unable to take full advantage of its enemy’s division. It remained at risk of attack from other quarters: the Gwandu emirate wasn’t far from the capital, and the Hausa kingdoms of Gobir to the northwest were eager to regain their former possessions. To be sure, Gobir was still recovering from its defeat by Usman dan Fodio, and was too weak to take on the Malê field army, but if Abacar left Sokoto uncovered, they were more than willing to capitalize on his absence.
Logistics, training and capacity were also a serious problem. Abacar had begun a powder works and a small iron foundry, but hadn’t had time to arm more than a few of the ex-slaves who had flocked to his banner – and while he had local sources of iron, sulfur had to be imported from North Africa over uncertain trade routes. Some of the new recruits had homemade jezail-type weapons, and they were integrated into the infantry squares, but most had to be formed into companies of pikemen leavened with javelins.
The Malê, who were still primarily an infantry force – some of the local Fulani population had joined them as cavalry, but not in sufficient numbers to be more than scouts and screening units – were far less maneuverable than the Adamawa forces, and their capacity for siege warfare was even worse. The roads and tracks of the Caliphate had been barely sufficient for small field pieces; siege guns were out of the question. And the ancient cities to the east would be much more difficult to seize by infantry assault than Sokoto, whose walls were low and designed mainly to hinder cavalry.
And Abacar’s problems were not only military. Despite the support of the Fodio women, many of Sokoto’s citizens were not fully reconciled to his rule, and an influential faction of imams – particularly among the Hausa – viewed his theology as heretical. There was still some resentment over his emancipation decree, and even some of the Malê themselves were restive – not all shared his anti-slavery fanaticism, and many had hoped that he would expropriate the Hausa and Fulani farmers and herders to provide them with lands. He was able to distribute some land to his troops, but refused for both principled and practical reasons to evict the local landowners, who he insisted on treating as citizens rather than conquered subjects. Instead, he encouraged the Malê to marry into merchant families and work in the nascent military industries, and while he offered subsidies for these purposes, many were not satisfied.
So when the campaign season began, Abacar had to leave nearly half his army and several of his most trusted officers in Sokoto, with Nana Asma’u to head a temporary governing council. His initial progress to the east was nevertheless smooth, and he was able to link up with the rebellious slaves in Gusau and secure the city for the Republic. As the army moved further east, however, resistance began to stiffen. At Kauru Namoda, a town near Gusau that lay aside his path to Adamawa, he was stymied by the town walls, and even though the Republic’s army outnumbered the defenders three to one, it was held up for two weeks and was finally forced to carry the walls through a costly infantry assault. If a relatively small city could cost so much to take, what hope was there to reduce Kano or Yola?
But in the field, the Malê proved as supreme as the Sultan’s forces were in the towns. Their field artillery and Peninsular War-proven formations helped negate the superior maneuverability of cavalry, and when the two armies met near Zaria on January 20, 1841, Abacar was able to choose his ground and anchor his right flank with a steep escarpment. By the end of a bloody day of fighting, the Adamawa cavalry was forced from the field.
Almost at once, both Abacar and the Emir of Adamawa put out feelers for peace. Each realized that he couldn’t defeat the other: the Malê knew they could take Yola only at great cost, and the Emir couldn’t keep the field army out of Adamawa’s territory. And to the Emir – an old and wily ruler who had been a loyal vassal of Usman dan Fodio but thought little of his grandson – even a shrunken Caliphate would be considerably more than Adamawa had ruled before.
By the end of February, the outlines of a settlement had been reached: the Republic would have the western and central Caliphate and Adamawa would have the east, with the free cities of Kano, Zaria and Kaduna forming a buffer between them. The border would be open for trade and for free passage of holy men and teachers – a clause that would, in subsequent years, allow Nana Asma’u’s jajis to continue their work in Adamawa.
The deposed Sultan – who had not been included in the peace negotiations – was of course livid at his vassal’s betrayal. Although the Emir did not force him to leave, he quit Yola to go into exile in the Bornu empire, preferring an ancient enemy to a new-minted traitor. Ultimately, he would make the pilgrimage to Mecca, and would die there a learned and revered man.
In the meantime, the peace with Adamawa freed Abacar to consolidate his position in the south. During the rains of 1841, he announced that any city who surrendered to his forces would be compensated for its slaves, while any town that had to be taken by force would not be compensated and would lose much treasure besides. In the event, he only had to seize two cities: he took Gwandu and restored the old emir after rebellious citizens opened the city gates to him, and carried Wawa’s walls with the help of Ilorin’s militia and Fulani volunteers who had been driven out the previous year. For the time being, the Malê state had settled its borders; now, Abacar could begin resolving the Republic’s ad hoc governing structures into a coherent political system…
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