Malê Rising
- Thread starter Jonathan Edelstein
- Start date
Happy to comment if that helps you, I'm happy to see the TL return to Africa, I'm reading l'aventure ambiguë of Cheikh Hamidou Kane and the themes go very well with what could be written around that time by Africans : how to combine tradition and modernity?
About neo feodal agreements, don't forget that ethnic cleansing was not an option there, but in Hungary or in other places the good old solution of displacing populations could be used.
And just a question, will there be something about new caledonia? The society there will be quite different under Australasian sovereignty.
About neo feodal agreements, don't forget that ethnic cleansing was not an option there, but in Hungary or in other places the good old solution of displacing populations could be used.
And just a question, will there be something about new caledonia? The society there will be quite different under Australasian sovereignty.
There's both more and less Muslim immigration. On the one hand, people from Sierra Leone have married into Gullah families, and the country is more welcoming to African Muslims. On the other hand, there are fewer Balkan Muslim immigrants, because most of the Balkans are still Ottoman and there's nothing pushing them to leave.
There are more Balkan Christian immigrants than OTL, more Hungarians and fewer Jews (the United States still got plenty of Jews, but many of those who would have gone to America in OTL went to the Ottoman Empire, Salonika or western Europe). There might also be more Asians - given that the United States was still under a Republican administration in the early 1880s, the Chinese Exclusion Act may not have passed or it might have been enacted later (in OTL, Hayes vetoed a law against Chinese immigration, and it was only enacted under the Democratic Cleveland administration). Otherwise, immigration patterns are more or less the same.
Thanks for the reference! I see it's available in English, and seems to deal with many of the same themes that Achebe was writing about at the same time and that Maryse Condé treated later. I'll get a copy for myself.
I'll definitely visit New Caledonia during the twentieth century - there are actually some similarities between the culture of the New Caledonian settlers and that of rural Australia, and the Kanak-Maori interaction could also be potent.
Well, more of Africa's human potential is being realized, anyway. The effects are already being felt in tropical medicine and agriculture, and with Africans taking their place in the world, there will be more.
Into a new world
London and Chatham, 1899
It was Seye who conquered London.
To British high society, Usman Abacar was little more than a savage who’d somehow risen far above his proper station, but Seye was a princess royal, the sister of one of Britain’s most important African vassals. As an Indian prince would be, she was socially acceptable where her husband was not.
Her carriage made her stand out in any room, whether she wore the latest Paris fashions or dressed in a Yoruba wrap and gele at a reception at Ilorin House. And she was supremely indifferent to social snubs; she knew who she was, and knew she outranked all but a few of those who might shun her. She was something new and inspiring, and before long London hostesses competed to have her as a guest; by sheer force of will, she made a place for herself on the boards and charities through which the city’s society functioned.
Nor was it only the upper class she charmed. Her Cockney maid was in awe of her – “a real princess, and so gracious!” – and stories about her circulated in the world below stairs.
Adeseye opened London’s doors. And Usman passed through them.
“I think this will be our year, Usman,” said John Alexander. Long life ran in Alexander’s family, and he was no exception; at eighty-two, he was retired from Parliament but still a force in the Liberal Party, and he looked scarcely older than the Malê who sat across the table.
“Are you certain?” Usman asked cautiously. “Many people seem to approve of murdering strikers.”
“The ones who write letters to newspapers, yes, but in the mill-towns? Most of the working class can vote now, with the way wages rose during the war, and to them it’s bloody Peterloo. And whatever people may think of the strikes, army officers selling guns to Irish criminals hasn’t won Cranbrook any friends. Neither did selling the Bahamas to the Yanks.”
“That paid off quite a bit of the war debt.”
“Still, people don’t like it. And those True Conservatives – the ones who think he’s given the store away to the workers and the colonies – might take twenty seats away from him.”
The Malê nodded; that matched what he was hearing from the navy-yard workers in Chatham, and he was glad to hear that his old patron shared his opinion. “So you think we can do it.”
“Yes. We’ll get universal suffrage done, and social insurance, and home rule…”
“The last time you passed home rule, the Lords shot it down.”
“That was in Victoria’s day. Now we’ve got Bertie, and he’s promised that if the Lords don’t pass it, he’ll appoint enough Liberal peers so that they will. He favors a dual monarchy…”
“Because that worked out so well for the Habsburgs?”
“It’s working well enough for them now that they’re shot of the Hungarians.”
“The jury’s still out, I think.” Usman leaned forward across the table. “But I agree. It’s our year. And I’ve been talking to some people, and I’m going to be part of it.”
“You’re doing what?” Alexander was startled into momentary rudeness. “It can’t be done, Usman.”
“Naoroji did it. Bhownaggree did it. I’m as much a British subject as they are.”
“They’re Indian Parsis, Usman. Of all the colonial peoples, they’re the ones that seem least alien to Englishmen. And Naoroji won a safe Liberal seat by just three votes in ’92 and got turned out in ’98. If any African can do it, it would be you, but I don’t think any African can – I wouldn’t risk it, not even in the most liberal London borough.”
“I’m not running in London, John. I’m running in Chatham.”
“Chatham? That’s a Tory seat, and… oh.”
“Yes. The Malê who work in the navy yard – nearly all of them have the franchise. I’ll start with twenty-five hundred votes.”
“You’ll still need three thousand more.”
“I can get them. The seat’s ready to go Labour, and the English workers have had fifteen years to get to know us.”
The older man steepled his fingers against his chin. “You’ve almost convinced me. You’ve spoken to the nominating committee?”
“Yes, and to others in the party. It will be a Liberal-Labour candidacy.”
“I think I’ll recommend it, then. I wouldn’t if it were one of our seats, but in a Conservative seat – and in that one especially – it could be a risk worth taking.”
“Thank you,” Usman said. “And I wouldn’t be so skeptical of my chances.”
“Really? An African in Chatham, with a chance? I wish you’d tell me how.”
“I’m going to campaign like an American.”
You have your father’s blood in you, Mother Aisha had said – had it really been forty-five years ago? And you have your great-grandfather the shehu’s, and you have mine. Blood will carry you.
And the Nana Asma’u had answered, Get to know them. You’ll need to, whether you join them, fight them or even lead them.
He had done two of those.
Speech of Usman Abacar at the Liberal-Labour meeting in Chatham Borough, 19 September 1899
… Gentlemen, I am deeply honored to stand here today as your candidate in this borough. To many of you I am a man of strange name and race [1], and I know that you are asking, “Is he an Englishman?” I confess I am not English – a proud nation indeed, but one of which I was not born a member. But I am British! I am a subject of the King. I was educated here, and lived many years in Dorset. I served under British colors in India as a young man, and in Africa and the Balkans during the late war. My father died fighting alongside British soldiers, and my son gave his life as an officer in the Sikh regiments at Saragarhi. A British subject can surely do no more than that.
You may also ask – some of you surely have asked – whether I plan to be the member for Chatham or the member for Africa. I can answer that I will serve this district faithfully, as would be my duty if I were elected. But you deserve more of an answer than that. I will fight for this district, and for the working men of this district, because by doing so I also fight for Africa. Your struggle and Africa’s struggle are one and the same.
If the English working man is not free, then the African working man cannot be free! If the African working man is not free, then the English working man cannot be free! If the African worker is enslaved, then the English factory owner will pit you against him to drive down your wages. And if the English worker is enslaved, here at the heart of our great empire, then what hope has the African at its edge? There are no nations among the working class! I will fight here for the English working man – the Chatham working man – because that is the only way to fight for workers everywhere!
I am for the things that you are for. I will fight for the rights of trade unions. I will fight for old-age pensions and support for workers injured on the job. I will fight for every man to have a vote, to end the disgrace of soldiers coming home from the battlefield to be denied a voice in the affairs of their country. I will fight, also, for every woman to have the vote, lest those who served faithfully as nurses and helped to bring in the harvest also be forgotten. Women have the vote in Ilorin, and should have it throughout the empire. I will fight to bring home rule to Ireland, for again, if the Irishman is a slave, then the Englishman cannot be free…
.. Today I speak to you, but I invite you also to speak to me. In the days to come I will visit you in your homes and receive you in mine. I will not lecture or speak to you from a stage: I will listen, and I will answer. If I am to represent you as your elected member, I must speak in your voice, and if you are to have the confidence to elect me, you must be free to ask me anything and call on me to answer truthfully…
The rented house in Chatham was full of Englishmen and Malê, workers at the navy yard and in Chatham’s other factories. There were plates of fried potatoes and shepherd’s pie for the British workers, and wheat fufu and cantaloupe egusi for the Africans. The table that united them was the one heaped with suya, the skewered meat that had become a street-food staple in the docklands, though even there, some of the plates were spiced to the English taste. The Malê vendors had long since learned that British workers didn’t share their taste for pepper.
“The open house went well last night,” said Tom Cleary, a stick of suya in his hand. The Irishman who ran the shipyard union was one of his few countrymen who did like pepper, and he’d taken his food from one of the African plates.
“Yes, I’d say. Four more volunteers to knock on doors – three of them here today.” Open houses and armies of volunteers weren’t how these things were usually done in Chatham, but with so many other things having changed lately, populist politics didn’t seem to faze anyone. Neither did the open houses that Seye held for the women: they didn’t have the vote yet, but if women here were anything like those in Usman’s family, they wouldn’t be shy about stating their opinions. And it was important for as many people as possible to see Usman and Seye, talk to them face to face, get used to the idea that someone with an accent that spoke as much of the Niger as of the Harrow School might represent them in Parliament.
They’re already more than halfway there. He’d known that the British and Malê shipyard workers got along, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to see how well. The British workers had wondered at the beginning whether the Malê were friends or rivals, but when they saw that the Africans brought their own unions with them, most had opted for the former view. And that had been more than fifteen years ago.
“What’s planned for today?” Cleary was saying.
“I’ve got a tradesman’s meeting to address in an hour, and then a meeting on the Irish question. I’ll go visiting after.”
“Do you need company?”
“Yes. Yes, I’d welcome it.”
The sitting member for Chatham, Anthony Davies, was a decent and conscientious man who had represented the district for sixteen years and served it well. He made clear to his party that he would fight the election on its merits, and that he would not tolerate appeals to race or color prejudice.
That didn’t stop his supporters from making them, of course, and it certainly didn’t stop those who watched the campaign from outside. Rumors flew through Chatham that Usman kept a harem of Englishwomen, that his facial scars were a dedication to the devil, and that he had taken an oath on the Koran to subjugate England to Africa. Pamphlets with caricatures of Usman and his father appeared throughout the district, most of them drawn and published by outsiders, which reminded the voters that the elder Abacar had four wives and that Usman had carried on an affair with a Dorset girl in his younger days. An actor in blackface, dressed in a loincloth and bone jewelry, paraded through Chatham making ridiculous promises, leaving only after Davies threatened to set the police on him.
The campaign was grotesque, but the fears it appealed to were real. It might have worked, if the Chatham voters hadn’t come to know Usman. It might have worked, if it hadn’t been labor’s year.
But they had, and it was.
I, John Hazelwood, being the Returning Officer for the Chatham Borough Constituency, do hereby declare that all ballots have been counted and that the votes are apportioned as follows:
Anthony Davies, Conservative, five thousand seven hundred nineteen…
[Applause; cries of “Well done, Tony!”]
Brigadier General Sir Usman Abacar, Liberal-Labour, five thousand nine hundred and…
[Inaudible amid shouts of “God is great!” and “Labour! Labour!”]
I repeat, for Brigadier General Sir Usman Abacar, Liberal-Labour, five thousand nine hundred twenty-one. I hereby declare Usman Abacar the elected member for Chatham Borough.
[Rhythmic applause, leading to chants and singing of “Ya Malê, ya Malê…”]
Results of the United Kingdom General Election, 21 November 1899
Liberal (including Liberal-Labour): 394 (+123)
Of which Liberal-Labour 56 (+52)
Conservative: 161 (-142)
Irish Freedom: 52 (-11)
Unionist: 21 (+1)
True Conservative: 18 (N/A)
Catholic Irish Freedom: 6 (N/A)
Workers’ Irish Freedom: 4 (N/A)
Social Labour: 3 (N/A)
Independent: 11 (-2)
Usman looked up at the old clock on the mantelpiece. If it was correct, the nineteenth century had five minutes to run.
There was a celebration downstairs at Ilorin House, and Usman and Seye had made their obligatory appearance as hosts, but they hadn’t stayed long. Funmilayo was staying with her friend Mary Carroll for the holidays and was no doubt at some social engagement or another; the elder Abacars preferred to spend the evening quietly together.
“A member of Parliament,” Seye said, breaking their silence.
“I know. I have to say it sometimes too, or I’d still think I was dreaming. Some of the other members are still sure they are.”
“They’ll figure out what to do with you, I’m sure.”
“I’m hardly a typical recruit, am I? They’re calling it the parliament of three prime ministers, you know.”
“Three? Asquith, you, and… oh, Naoroji.”
“Yes, he’s back. By seven votes this time. It seems that ‘Narrow-majority’ will stick.”
“Bhownaggree too, for the Conservatives.” The Parsi lawyer had held his seat where so many other Tories had not. “Three from the colonies – maybe we’ll be heard now.”
“Three of six hundred seventy,” Usman reminded. He stood suddenly, walked over to where Seye sat and took her hands in his. “Was it all worth it, I wonder?”
“To stand for Parliament?”
“No, all of it. Joining the British, after we beat them at Agbor. Tying our fortunes so closely to theirs. Fighting in their wars – so many dead these last four years, that we might have avoided.” His eyes told Seye that he was thinking of one casualty of war in particular.
“You knew that if we didn’t join them, we’d be swallowed by them. We knew there were risks, but I think the last twenty years would have been much worse if we hadn’t taken them. No, I don’t think – I’m certain.” Her eyes met his. “And if we hadn’t, you’d never have got a chance to play on a stage as big as this one, would you?”
“I guess not. It won’t be easy, though.”
The clock struck midnight, twelve bells marking the end of a century and the beginning of a new one.
“Usman. You are Fulani, you’re Malê, and of all God’s miracles, you’re British. And none of those are known for giving up.”
_______
[1] With apologies to Dadabhai Naoroji.
London and Chatham, 1899
It was Seye who conquered London.
To British high society, Usman Abacar was little more than a savage who’d somehow risen far above his proper station, but Seye was a princess royal, the sister of one of Britain’s most important African vassals. As an Indian prince would be, she was socially acceptable where her husband was not.
Her carriage made her stand out in any room, whether she wore the latest Paris fashions or dressed in a Yoruba wrap and gele at a reception at Ilorin House. And she was supremely indifferent to social snubs; she knew who she was, and knew she outranked all but a few of those who might shun her. She was something new and inspiring, and before long London hostesses competed to have her as a guest; by sheer force of will, she made a place for herself on the boards and charities through which the city’s society functioned.
Nor was it only the upper class she charmed. Her Cockney maid was in awe of her – “a real princess, and so gracious!” – and stories about her circulated in the world below stairs.
Adeseye opened London’s doors. And Usman passed through them.
*******
“I think this will be our year, Usman,” said John Alexander. Long life ran in Alexander’s family, and he was no exception; at eighty-two, he was retired from Parliament but still a force in the Liberal Party, and he looked scarcely older than the Malê who sat across the table.
“Are you certain?” Usman asked cautiously. “Many people seem to approve of murdering strikers.”
“The ones who write letters to newspapers, yes, but in the mill-towns? Most of the working class can vote now, with the way wages rose during the war, and to them it’s bloody Peterloo. And whatever people may think of the strikes, army officers selling guns to Irish criminals hasn’t won Cranbrook any friends. Neither did selling the Bahamas to the Yanks.”
“That paid off quite a bit of the war debt.”
“Still, people don’t like it. And those True Conservatives – the ones who think he’s given the store away to the workers and the colonies – might take twenty seats away from him.”
The Malê nodded; that matched what he was hearing from the navy-yard workers in Chatham, and he was glad to hear that his old patron shared his opinion. “So you think we can do it.”
“Yes. We’ll get universal suffrage done, and social insurance, and home rule…”
“The last time you passed home rule, the Lords shot it down.”
“That was in Victoria’s day. Now we’ve got Bertie, and he’s promised that if the Lords don’t pass it, he’ll appoint enough Liberal peers so that they will. He favors a dual monarchy…”
“Because that worked out so well for the Habsburgs?”
“It’s working well enough for them now that they’re shot of the Hungarians.”
“The jury’s still out, I think.” Usman leaned forward across the table. “But I agree. It’s our year. And I’ve been talking to some people, and I’m going to be part of it.”
“You’re doing what?” Alexander was startled into momentary rudeness. “It can’t be done, Usman.”
“Naoroji did it. Bhownaggree did it. I’m as much a British subject as they are.”
“They’re Indian Parsis, Usman. Of all the colonial peoples, they’re the ones that seem least alien to Englishmen. And Naoroji won a safe Liberal seat by just three votes in ’92 and got turned out in ’98. If any African can do it, it would be you, but I don’t think any African can – I wouldn’t risk it, not even in the most liberal London borough.”
“I’m not running in London, John. I’m running in Chatham.”
“Chatham? That’s a Tory seat, and… oh.”
“Yes. The Malê who work in the navy yard – nearly all of them have the franchise. I’ll start with twenty-five hundred votes.”
“You’ll still need three thousand more.”
“I can get them. The seat’s ready to go Labour, and the English workers have had fifteen years to get to know us.”
The older man steepled his fingers against his chin. “You’ve almost convinced me. You’ve spoken to the nominating committee?”
“Yes, and to others in the party. It will be a Liberal-Labour candidacy.”
“I think I’ll recommend it, then. I wouldn’t if it were one of our seats, but in a Conservative seat – and in that one especially – it could be a risk worth taking.”
“Thank you,” Usman said. “And I wouldn’t be so skeptical of my chances.”
“Really? An African in Chatham, with a chance? I wish you’d tell me how.”
“I’m going to campaign like an American.”
*******
You have your father’s blood in you, Mother Aisha had said – had it really been forty-five years ago? And you have your great-grandfather the shehu’s, and you have mine. Blood will carry you.
And the Nana Asma’u had answered, Get to know them. You’ll need to, whether you join them, fight them or even lead them.
He had done two of those.
*******
Speech of Usman Abacar at the Liberal-Labour meeting in Chatham Borough, 19 September 1899
… Gentlemen, I am deeply honored to stand here today as your candidate in this borough. To many of you I am a man of strange name and race [1], and I know that you are asking, “Is he an Englishman?” I confess I am not English – a proud nation indeed, but one of which I was not born a member. But I am British! I am a subject of the King. I was educated here, and lived many years in Dorset. I served under British colors in India as a young man, and in Africa and the Balkans during the late war. My father died fighting alongside British soldiers, and my son gave his life as an officer in the Sikh regiments at Saragarhi. A British subject can surely do no more than that.
You may also ask – some of you surely have asked – whether I plan to be the member for Chatham or the member for Africa. I can answer that I will serve this district faithfully, as would be my duty if I were elected. But you deserve more of an answer than that. I will fight for this district, and for the working men of this district, because by doing so I also fight for Africa. Your struggle and Africa’s struggle are one and the same.
If the English working man is not free, then the African working man cannot be free! If the African working man is not free, then the English working man cannot be free! If the African worker is enslaved, then the English factory owner will pit you against him to drive down your wages. And if the English worker is enslaved, here at the heart of our great empire, then what hope has the African at its edge? There are no nations among the working class! I will fight here for the English working man – the Chatham working man – because that is the only way to fight for workers everywhere!
I am for the things that you are for. I will fight for the rights of trade unions. I will fight for old-age pensions and support for workers injured on the job. I will fight for every man to have a vote, to end the disgrace of soldiers coming home from the battlefield to be denied a voice in the affairs of their country. I will fight, also, for every woman to have the vote, lest those who served faithfully as nurses and helped to bring in the harvest also be forgotten. Women have the vote in Ilorin, and should have it throughout the empire. I will fight to bring home rule to Ireland, for again, if the Irishman is a slave, then the Englishman cannot be free…
.. Today I speak to you, but I invite you also to speak to me. In the days to come I will visit you in your homes and receive you in mine. I will not lecture or speak to you from a stage: I will listen, and I will answer. If I am to represent you as your elected member, I must speak in your voice, and if you are to have the confidence to elect me, you must be free to ask me anything and call on me to answer truthfully…
*******
The rented house in Chatham was full of Englishmen and Malê, workers at the navy yard and in Chatham’s other factories. There were plates of fried potatoes and shepherd’s pie for the British workers, and wheat fufu and cantaloupe egusi for the Africans. The table that united them was the one heaped with suya, the skewered meat that had become a street-food staple in the docklands, though even there, some of the plates were spiced to the English taste. The Malê vendors had long since learned that British workers didn’t share their taste for pepper.
“The open house went well last night,” said Tom Cleary, a stick of suya in his hand. The Irishman who ran the shipyard union was one of his few countrymen who did like pepper, and he’d taken his food from one of the African plates.
“Yes, I’d say. Four more volunteers to knock on doors – three of them here today.” Open houses and armies of volunteers weren’t how these things were usually done in Chatham, but with so many other things having changed lately, populist politics didn’t seem to faze anyone. Neither did the open houses that Seye held for the women: they didn’t have the vote yet, but if women here were anything like those in Usman’s family, they wouldn’t be shy about stating their opinions. And it was important for as many people as possible to see Usman and Seye, talk to them face to face, get used to the idea that someone with an accent that spoke as much of the Niger as of the Harrow School might represent them in Parliament.
They’re already more than halfway there. He’d known that the British and Malê shipyard workers got along, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to see how well. The British workers had wondered at the beginning whether the Malê were friends or rivals, but when they saw that the Africans brought their own unions with them, most had opted for the former view. And that had been more than fifteen years ago.
“What’s planned for today?” Cleary was saying.
“I’ve got a tradesman’s meeting to address in an hour, and then a meeting on the Irish question. I’ll go visiting after.”
“Do you need company?”
“Yes. Yes, I’d welcome it.”
*******
That didn’t stop his supporters from making them, of course, and it certainly didn’t stop those who watched the campaign from outside. Rumors flew through Chatham that Usman kept a harem of Englishwomen, that his facial scars were a dedication to the devil, and that he had taken an oath on the Koran to subjugate England to Africa. Pamphlets with caricatures of Usman and his father appeared throughout the district, most of them drawn and published by outsiders, which reminded the voters that the elder Abacar had four wives and that Usman had carried on an affair with a Dorset girl in his younger days. An actor in blackface, dressed in a loincloth and bone jewelry, paraded through Chatham making ridiculous promises, leaving only after Davies threatened to set the police on him.
The campaign was grotesque, but the fears it appealed to were real. It might have worked, if the Chatham voters hadn’t come to know Usman. It might have worked, if it hadn’t been labor’s year.
But they had, and it was.
*******
I, John Hazelwood, being the Returning Officer for the Chatham Borough Constituency, do hereby declare that all ballots have been counted and that the votes are apportioned as follows:
Anthony Davies, Conservative, five thousand seven hundred nineteen…
[Applause; cries of “Well done, Tony!”]
Brigadier General Sir Usman Abacar, Liberal-Labour, five thousand nine hundred and…
[Inaudible amid shouts of “God is great!” and “Labour! Labour!”]
I repeat, for Brigadier General Sir Usman Abacar, Liberal-Labour, five thousand nine hundred twenty-one. I hereby declare Usman Abacar the elected member for Chatham Borough.
[Rhythmic applause, leading to chants and singing of “Ya Malê, ya Malê…”]
*******
Results of the United Kingdom General Election, 21 November 1899
Liberal (including Liberal-Labour): 394 (+123)
Of which Liberal-Labour 56 (+52)
Conservative: 161 (-142)
Irish Freedom: 52 (-11)
Unionist: 21 (+1)
True Conservative: 18 (N/A)
Catholic Irish Freedom: 6 (N/A)
Workers’ Irish Freedom: 4 (N/A)
Social Labour: 3 (N/A)
Independent: 11 (-2)
*******
Usman looked up at the old clock on the mantelpiece. If it was correct, the nineteenth century had five minutes to run.
There was a celebration downstairs at Ilorin House, and Usman and Seye had made their obligatory appearance as hosts, but they hadn’t stayed long. Funmilayo was staying with her friend Mary Carroll for the holidays and was no doubt at some social engagement or another; the elder Abacars preferred to spend the evening quietly together.
“A member of Parliament,” Seye said, breaking their silence.
“I know. I have to say it sometimes too, or I’d still think I was dreaming. Some of the other members are still sure they are.”
“They’ll figure out what to do with you, I’m sure.”
“I’m hardly a typical recruit, am I? They’re calling it the parliament of three prime ministers, you know.”
“Three? Asquith, you, and… oh, Naoroji.”
“Yes, he’s back. By seven votes this time. It seems that ‘Narrow-majority’ will stick.”
“Bhownaggree too, for the Conservatives.” The Parsi lawyer had held his seat where so many other Tories had not. “Three from the colonies – maybe we’ll be heard now.”
“Three of six hundred seventy,” Usman reminded. He stood suddenly, walked over to where Seye sat and took her hands in his. “Was it all worth it, I wonder?”
“To stand for Parliament?”
“No, all of it. Joining the British, after we beat them at Agbor. Tying our fortunes so closely to theirs. Fighting in their wars – so many dead these last four years, that we might have avoided.” His eyes told Seye that he was thinking of one casualty of war in particular.
“You knew that if we didn’t join them, we’d be swallowed by them. We knew there were risks, but I think the last twenty years would have been much worse if we hadn’t taken them. No, I don’t think – I’m certain.” Her eyes met his. “And if we hadn’t, you’d never have got a chance to play on a stage as big as this one, would you?”
“I guess not. It won’t be easy, though.”
The clock struck midnight, twelve bells marking the end of a century and the beginning of a new one.
“Usman. You are Fulani, you’re Malê, and of all God’s miracles, you’re British. And none of those are known for giving up.”
_______
[1] With apologies to Dadabhai Naoroji.
Well, that’s it. After twenty months, nearly 400,000 views and close to 3000 comments, the nineteenth century is finished.
The twentieth century should go faster – I’m planning to do ten-year narrative cycles until 1960 or possibly 1940, and 15-year cycles thereafter, with the primary focus returning to Africa and places affected by African ideas. The format will revert to the pre-Great War style – mostly academic updates with narrative and literary interludes – although the narrative-to-academic ratio will probably be higher.
The final update will be in 2005 – I know what it will be, although the route is a mystery – followed by an epilogue or maybe a series of epilogues in the present day.
Anyway, I’ve sprinted to the end of this century, and I’m planning to update my other timelines and work some ideas out in more detail before beginning the new one. The next Malê Rising update will probably be in about two weeks, but look for updates to the Egyptian and Haitian stories in the meantime.
And given the point we’ve now reached, do any of you have a favorite scene, story, event or development thus far? Does TTL have a Crowning Moment of Awesome/Heartwarming? Yes, I’m shamelessly fishing for praise, but I also want to know what’s worked best and do more of it.
See you in 1900.
The twentieth century should go faster – I’m planning to do ten-year narrative cycles until 1960 or possibly 1940, and 15-year cycles thereafter, with the primary focus returning to Africa and places affected by African ideas. The format will revert to the pre-Great War style – mostly academic updates with narrative and literary interludes – although the narrative-to-academic ratio will probably be higher.
The final update will be in 2005 – I know what it will be, although the route is a mystery – followed by an epilogue or maybe a series of epilogues in the present day.
Anyway, I’ve sprinted to the end of this century, and I’m planning to update my other timelines and work some ideas out in more detail before beginning the new one. The next Malê Rising update will probably be in about two weeks, but look for updates to the Egyptian and Haitian stories in the meantime.
And given the point we’ve now reached, do any of you have a favorite scene, story, event or development thus far? Does TTL have a Crowning Moment of Awesome/Heartwarming? Yes, I’m shamelessly fishing for praise, but I also want to know what’s worked best and do more of it.
See you in 1900.
The 20th century, like every other century, technically starts with the year 1 - 1901 in other words. That was largely ignored in 2000, but OTL elite opinion was fairly strongly in favor of 1901: Stephen Jay Gould discussed this in "questioning the millenium"
http://books.google.com/books?id=D9...gould questioning the millennium 1901&f=false
Of course, that's OTL, so perhaps popular conceptions win in "Male Rising".
Bruce
http://books.google.com/books?id=D9...gould questioning the millennium 1901&f=false
Of course, that's OTL, so perhaps popular conceptions win in "Male Rising".
Bruce
Ephraim Ben Raphael
Banned
Alright! I expect decolonization will be very different ITTL with some colonies hanging around as integral parts of their colonizers.
I really enjoyed the updates that you did for the Great War- so much of this TL has stuff that I've never seen before on this site (Anglo-Omani Tanganyika, Free City of Salonika, gay Theodore Roosevelt, a TL focused on Africa) and I can only hope that this will bode well for African TLs in the future.
I really enjoyed the updates that you did for the Great War- so much of this TL has stuff that I've never seen before on this site (Anglo-Omani Tanganyika, Free City of Salonika, gay Theodore Roosevelt, a TL focused on Africa) and I can only hope that this will bode well for African TLs in the future.
If I could give only one CMOA, it would be the Hungarians in Africa, they more than deserve it. The life of Paulo Abacar and the 'Honolulu Incident' also came to mind. I'm a sucker for great war stories.
Both the Sarajevo interludes and Ibrahim Abacar's bittersweet life are excellent heartwarming moments, and I'd say that wartime Paris held host to one as well as far as CMOH's go.
I would say, Johnathon that these awards pale before your own accomplishment in writing this timeline, and I give my heartfelt thanks that I am able to read it.
Both the Sarajevo interludes and Ibrahim Abacar's bittersweet life are excellent heartwarming moments, and I'd say that wartime Paris held host to one as well as far as CMOH's go.
I would say, Johnathon that these awards pale before your own accomplishment in writing this timeline, and I give my heartfelt thanks that I am able to read it.
The Crowning Moment of Awesome is Paulo's heroic death. There are too many heartwarming moments to count. This reminds me of how much this timeline needs a TV Tropes page.
As for what you could do, what you did until now is AH perfection, so this is one of those instances where "more of the same" is not a bad thing. I liked the academic parts of your posts more than the literary ones, but I enjoyed both.
Sulemain
Banned
You've made an African Lib-Lab MP in 1900 plausible! Well done that man! Although I do foresee, not a liberal/conservative fight in the future, put an Imperialist/Little Englander one.
And I agree, this is singularly brilliant. It's up there with the AANW or Fight And Be Right in terms of brilliance.
Also, this definitely needs a TV Tropes page.
And I agree, this is singularly brilliant. It's up there with the AANW or Fight And Be Right in terms of brilliance.
Also, this definitely needs a TV Tropes page.
Last edited:
The crowning moment of awesomeness was the relief of the Haïtian debt, it may not have been the most intimate moment but the scene was quite impactful. In the war I particularly liked the updates in Sarajevo. What I really like however are the cultural updates and the literature interludes.
About New Caledonia, I don't know how French it was at the time : if there was Latin Right for Kanak leaders and how many Caldoches there were at the time. For relations between Kanaks and Maori look at OTL Wallisians in New Caledonia.
About New Caledonia, I don't know how French it was at the time : if there was Latin Right for Kanak leaders and how many Caldoches there were at the time. For relations between Kanaks and Maori look at OTL Wallisians in New Caledonia.
The coolest moments were the Haitian debt relief and the rescue of Hawaii, but the most moving was the final scene of the Hungarians in africa.
Thought relating to the Venezuela thing- though a successful movement to unify Latin America is obviously out of the question, what about unification movements? I can imagine that this timeline's Latin American activists and intellectuals might see the history of Central and South America as being one of fractured states still being exploited and colonized by the USA and European powers.
So abortive movements to reunify the southern cone (but properly, the theory will go, not in some Buenos Aires dominated relic of the Spanish viceroyalty), or Brazil, or even the Andes or Central America.
Not that all or even any of these will even come close to happening, but you could see the argument develop.
Thought relating to the Venezuela thing- though a successful movement to unify Latin America is obviously out of the question, what about unification movements? I can imagine that this timeline's Latin American activists and intellectuals might see the history of Central and South America as being one of fractured states still being exploited and colonized by the USA and European powers.
So abortive movements to reunify the southern cone (but properly, the theory will go, not in some Buenos Aires dominated relic of the Spanish viceroyalty), or Brazil, or even the Andes or Central America.
Not that all or even any of these will even come close to happening, but you could see the argument develop.
Oh, and proper congratulations are in order- you've achieved something remarkable with this timeline, and I'm sure much of the best is yet to come.
For me, the siege of Sarajevo was a big CMOA along with the Honolulu Incident and Ibrahim Abacar's last stand. For a CMOH, maybe I could mention Major Kishida giving a hand for his subordinate from the gutter, but there's a lot of heartwarming moments in this timeline too, so it's hard to really pick!
Well done, Jonathan. You have created a world that is both unbelievable and familiar to us, and I hope that the best times are yet to come.
Well done, Jonathan. You have created a world that is both unbelievable and familiar to us, and I hope that the best times are yet to come.