Aishwarya Trivedi, East Africa Under the Omani Raj (Zanzibar Univ. Press 2007)
… Militarily, the 1870s were a decade of consolidation for the Anglo-Omani empire after the previous fifteen years of turmoil. The empire had secured control over its hinterland nearly to the Great Lakes, its rebellious warlords had been brought to heel or else replaced with loyalists, and its administration was increasingly in the hands of a Swahili and Indian-dominated civil service. There would be more conquests in the years ahead, and the army was still needed to protect against raids and ensure the obedience of the feudal lords, but the Sultan began to turn his attention more to establishing commerce and diplomacy with the Great Lakes kingdoms, securing Zanzibar's place as a center of the sea trade, and developing the empire his proxies had conquered.
Internally, however, the decade of the 1870s was not as tranquil. Many of the Sultan’s subjects still resented being brought under his rule, some nobles in Oman proper chafed at their homeland becoming a neglected backwater, and the shift to plantation agriculture in the hinterland had sparked labor migration and wrenching social change. At the same time, the growth of the empire had created numerous power centers which now battled for influence. The old Omani and Swahili nobility contended with the warlords who had won their feudal holdings and the European and Indian financiers who had bought them; the indigenous rulers who had kept their domains fought for recognition as nobles and against settler encroachment; the army and civil service jockeyed for power at court; and Britain accreted power to itself by refereeing and sometimes fostering the political infighting.
Forgotten by all – or at least nearly all – were the lowly: the peasants, herdsmen and common soldiers who were the pawns in the struggles between the powerful. But this too would begin to change during the 1870s, as revolutionary currents of both Islam and Christianity began to make themselves felt.
The Islamic revolution was ushered in by Tippu Tip after his encounter with the works of Paulo Abacar, which had made a roundabout journey through Mecca, the Hadhramaut and India to get to him. It was the right time for a religious revelation: it was 1870, Tip had just fought two major wars and been promoted to a high position in the Sultan's court, and he was talking stock of his life in the calm that followed. He found himself less than impressed by Abacar's esoteric Sufi mysticism, but his writings on liberty and social justice were another thing entirely.
Tippu Tip was struck by how much of Abacar's teachings were consistent with his own Ibadi faith, which emphasized justice between ruler and ruled, and which called for the spiritual leader to be chosen by the elders of the community. Abacar's synthesis of similar principles with Western revolutionary thought, and his insistence that a just ruler need do more than simply be pious, struck a chord in the Swahili noble, and he began to think about reconstructing both his society and his religion.
The doctrines that Tippu Tip would promulgate were, in their foundation, Abacarism laid on an Ibadi base. Tip's teachings were shorn of Abacar's more mystical elements, but at the same time, they adopted the ecstatic ritual of Yao folk religion, and some of the rituals he engaged in privately and later taught to others involved dancing much like that of the dervishes. Tip's blindness played a large part in the creation of such rituals; he came to believe that the loss of mundane sight allowed him to see divine truth more clearly, and that other forms of sensory deprivation and alteration would bring him even closer to spiritual consciousness. He whirled to the point of dizziness, used drums and musical instruments to drown out unholy sounds, and experimented with fasting and mind-altering drugs, although ultimately rejecting the latter as artificial and approving only those forms of altered consciousness that came from within.
His teachings soon achieved a small following in the capital, although neither Zanzibar nor the Swahili coast would be where they had their large-scale success: instead, this would happen in the interior, where many peoples were being Islamized for the first time and where Tip's doctrines offered the same mystique of Western modernism that the missionaries' Christianity did. Their spread was also aided by the fact that, while the Ibadis believed that theirs was the only true form of Islam and that they should "dissociate" themselves from others, they were in practice a remarkably tolerant community who worked and prayed with all faiths on a daily basis, and were accepting of the indigenous traditions that remained among the interior peoples. [1]
Ultimately, Tippu Tip's faith would become not only revolutionary but prophetic. By 1875, some of his followers in the hinterland were characterizing him as a true prophet, albeit a "non-law-bearing" one who was of lesser degree than Mohammed and his predecessors. Although Tip didn't invent this idea and initially did nothing to encourage it, he also did nothing to
discourage it. He would eventually embrace the role to which his followers assigned him, and would accept the mantle of prophecy when a deputation of elders from the hinterland presented it to him in 1879. [2]
Ultimately, then, Islam would spread and compete with Christianity in the interior, but not in a way that would unite the people behind the Sultan's throne as he had hoped. At the turn of the 1880s, Islam in the Anglo-Omani polity had three layers: traditional Ibadi doctrines in Oman proper and Zanzibar (with some folk-Ibadism also among the Yao), Sunnis of the Shafi'i school along the Swahili coast, and prophetic Abacarist-Ibadism in the hinterland. Just as Ibadism would make Oman the most conservative part of the empire, it would play a part in making the interior a place of constant ideological and political ferment.
The Christian revolution came from another quarter. For some time, the feudal dues paid by the interior landholders had been insufficient to sustain the Sultan’s army and court; plantation agriculture had high start-up costs and took several years to become profitable, so many of the rich men who had bought noble titles were unable to afford the ambitious tributes they had pledged. To make up for the revenue shortfall, the Sultan proposed a direct tax on the peasants – a hut tax – which had to be paid in cash. In addition to the revenue raised by the tax itself, the Sultan anticipated that it would force more of the rural population into the plantation economy, which was the only source of money in much of the hinterland, and thus provide the landholders with a source of labor to help them pay their own tributes.
Many of the rural peasants and herdsmen acquiesced to the tax with the resignation of the recently conquered. In other places, however – particularly in those which still had indigenous rulers – the people either withheld the tax or rose in outright rebellion. One of the peoples who refused to accept the tax was the Maasai, and the 1876 campaign against them by the Sultan’s forces became known as the “Hut Tax War.” [3]
What made the Maasai rebellion different from the other tax revolts that occurred in the same year, to the point of being called a war, was that they were supported by many of the Swedish farmers and ranchers who had settled in the Rift Valley. Most of the Swedes had been drawn to the region by the Christian utopianism of Anders Carlsen, who had taught – among other things – that Europeans’ excessive intellectualism had drained them of their humanity, and that only by combining with African artistry and physical vigor could their souls be restored. This view of Africans was paternalistic and somewhat patronizing, but it predisposed the Swedes to sympathize with African interests: not all of them intermarried with Africans as Carlsen had made his followers do, but they instinctively sided with the Maasai against the central government’s oppressive policies. It was in fact a joint Swedish-Maasai force that successfully ambushed a column of the Sultan’s army at Magadi, inflicting a humiliating defeat on the government and temporarily freeing much of the Rift Valley from Zanzibar’s control.
The victory bought the Maasai just enough time, because by then, the Sultan was being pulled to the peace table from two directions. One was Tippu Tip, who, although still loyal to the throne, had had his religious awakening and considered it dishonorable and unjust to make war against peasants. The other was the British consul, who as always relished the role of intercessor between the court and the peasantry and who wanted to keep the Sultan’s revenue stream weak so that he would remain dependent on British loans. Ultimately, the Sultan agreed to a reduced hut tax which could be paid in kind as long as each district raised a sufficient amount of cash revenue, which meant in practice that the remittances of those who worked on the plantations were enough that the others could pay in produce or cattle.
When the dust cleared, the Sultan’s revenues had gone up, although not by nearly as much as he had hoped. At the same time, however, he had lost still further political ground to Britain, both because London received much of the credit for the remission in tax policy and because the administration of the tax fell to the British-trained civil servants. Moreover, in districts held by absentee landlords, the British district officers and the clerks who kept the tax records often knew the area much better than its nominal owner, and day-to-day administration increasingly fell into their hands. In the areas ruled by indigenous kings or feudal barons who actually lived in their domains, this process was much less advanced, but even there, the rulers often found the bureaucracy a convenient tool, and accepted the increased British influence that came with it.
While this was happening, however, Carlsen’s pietism was spreading outside the Rift Valley, aided by its success in resisting the hut tax, and it was being spread not by European missionaries but by the Africans themselves. It would become the first of the African independent churches, and while its doctrines on the relative capabilities of Europeans and Africans would change, its communalism, prophetic tradition and emphasis on an individual connection to God would make it a difficult faith for colonialists to manage. By 1878, parish records show that the Brotherhood Faith Assembly, as it came to be known, with its distinctive white garments and ritual bathing, was growing as fast as the more conventional forms of Christianity which had been introduced by the missionaries and which were more amenable to colonial authority.
It would be Carlsen’s legacy, and the impact of Tippu Tip’s parallel movement on the hinterland peoples who adopted Islam, that would shape the empire in the decades to come…
*******
Dimitri Negassie, The Remaking of Ethiopia (New Moscow: Icon Press, 1978)
… The situation facing Emperor Tewodros the Second as the 1860s drew to a close was daunting: although he claimed the throne of all Ethiopia, his erratic and sometimes atrocious rule had alienated much of the nobility. [4] The kingdom of Shewa under Ras Yohannes, and many of the Oromo feudal domains, were in open rebellion, and many of Tewodros’ remaining allies were wavering. Although he still controlled the Amharic heartland, he was in no position to attempt to subdue his rebellious vassals; it was apparent to many, even among his courtiers, that the project of reuniting Ethiopia was failing and that the Era of the Princes would soon return in full cry.
But this was not apparent to Tewodros himself, and in a manner typical of his mercurial nature, he cast about for allies both within and without his kingdom. His first overture was to the church. He had taken steadily harsher measures against religious minorities for some years, and in 1870, he called an ecclesiastical council at Gondar, and permitted the hierarchs to issue the decree that they had wished to issue for decades. It was solemnly declared that Ethiopia was a Christian nation and that all Muslim or pagan officials, from the highest prince to the lowest clerk, had to convert within three months or forfeit their offices; Tewodros, kneeling before the
abuna, pledged to enforce the ban. [5]
A few Muslims did convert: for instance, Mohammed Ali, a military commander who had married one of Tewodros’ daughters during a stint as a hostage at Magdala, adopted the Coptic faith and was rewarded with princely rank. [6] Many more did not, and chose rebellion or exile instead; a few of the southernmost feudal lords, and more military officers, took oath to the Omani Sultan in Tewodros’ place. But in exchange, Tewodros was now able to call his unification campaign a crusade, and to cast himself in opposition to other Christian princes who – as most did – still had Muslim vassals. In time, he hoped to suborn the loyalty of the bishops and military commanders in his rivals’ domains.
With characteristic megalomania, however, Tewodros was unwilling to wait for the seed he had planted to bear fruit. What he did instead was to make his crusade an international affair: he sent emissaries to each of his fellow Orthodox sovereigns, reminding them that Ethiopia was an anciently Christian country and a defender of the faith in Africa, and offering them lands to hold as his vassals if they helped him pacify and Christianize his empire. Shorn of flowery language, the deal on the table was a simple one: arms and military advisors in exchange for a foothold on the Red Sea coast.
The land Tewodros was offering was not, strictly speaking, his. In theory, coastal Eritrea belonged to Egypt, and although many Copts who identified as Ethiopians lived in the highlands, the province hadn’t been under Ethiopian rule since the days of Axum. But Egypt lacked the logistical capacity to rule Eritrea and had largely given up its southern expansionist ambitions in favor of consolidating northern Sudan; thus, control over the Eritrean littoral had largely devolved to local clan-chiefs and minor sultans. It was this power vacuum that Tewodros hoped to fill: his plan was to use the Orthodox countries to make good his claim to Eritrea, secure his rule over all Ethiopia, and give him access to Red Sea ports.
The majority of Orthodox princes were either uninterested or unable to accept Tewodros’ proposal, but in the Russian court, his offer was met with considerable interest. Pro-Ethiopian sentiment was high among the Russian elites, who saw the highland nation as a valiant champion of Orthodoxy. More practically, even a relatively small colony combined with subsidies and arms for Ethiopia could be a way for Russia to flex its muscles, counter Anglo-Omani expansion northward, and possibly outflank the Ottomans. The one sticking point was France, which had already acquired basing rights at Obock through a treaty with the local sultan and had tentative plans to expand into Eritrea; Russian interests in the region were relatively minor, and while a foothold in Eritrea seemed attractive, the Tsar didn’t want to establish one at the risk of antagonizing Paris.
As matters turned out, however, the French proved willing to work out a mutually acceptable arrangement. France had been uncertain of its ambitions in Eritrea, and was wary of provoking war with Ethiopia, so an opportunity to expand with Ethiopian cooperation was a godsend. Both countries also had an interest in maintaining freedom of navigation in the Red Sea and preventing Britain from controlling both sides of the Bab el Mandab, and under the circumstances, the diplomatic feelers sent out from Moscow quickly ripened into serious negotiations.
The result was a conference convened in Paris in May 1874, the first in which European powers agreed to divide their interests in Africa. The participants, in addition to France and Russia, were Italy, which had acquired its own treaty rights to the port of Assab, and Greece, which would participate in the project under Russian auspices. After some discussion, France agreed to recognize Italy’s control of Assab and not to interfere with Italian interests in Tunisia, in exchange for Italy giving up all other claims to Eritrea. At the same time, an agreement was made to divide Eritrea into French and Russian spheres of influence, with a small Greek enclave adjacent to the Russian settlement.
In theory, the Emperor of France and the King of Greece would hold their land as tenants of the Tsar, who in turn would hold Eritrea as a feudal vassal of Emperor Tewodros. In fact they planned to govern the province as a jointly administered colony. Russia agreed to this in exchange for the other parties’ agreement to recognize Ethiopia’s independence
outside Eritrea and to grant Ethiopian merchants free use of the ports of Obock and Massawa, and for a joint pledge to provide machine guns, mountain artillery and modern rifles to the Tewodros’ army. [7]
It is unlikely that Tewodros knew of the arrangements that Russia was making behind his back. If he did know, he didn’t care, because in January 1875, he accepted the homage of Tsar Alexander’s emissary and granted the Russian emperor a feudal patent to Eritrea. At virtually the same time, another Russian envoy was negotiating with the local sultan for a parcel of land outside Massawa, where the New Moscow settlement would be established three months later.
Ras Mikael (Mohammed Ali)
But the Ethiopian Emperor would never get to use his new alliance with Russia to secure his place on the throne. In November 1875, soon after the first arms shipment arrived in Magdala, Tewodros’ growing paranoia led him to engage in another purge of the court, and among the casualties was a close relative of Mohammed Ali, who was now known as Prince Mikael and commanded the capital’s garrison. This was a step too far for him, and on November 17, the army units under his command staged a coup and seized control of the city. Tewodros was killed during the fighting; legend has it that he personally took up a sword and fought against the rebels, killing three soldiers before he was finally brought down.
Mikael knew that the Amhara nobles would never accept him as emperor because of his Muslim birth, so he took the role of kingmaker instead, sending overtures to King Yohannes of Shewa. In February 1876, the two reached agreement: Yohannes would be emperor, and Mikael would retain his princely status and serve as governor of Oromo province. It was also tacitly agreed that Muslims who held office in Shewa and other rebellious provinces would be allowed to retain their positions, and that Islamic holy sites and freedom of worship would not be molested. With that, the two largest kingdoms of Ethiopia were once again united, and the way seemed clear to reunifying the empire as a whole.
Yohannes, and his nephew Menelik, would prove to be very different in temperament from Tewodros. In ambition, however, they were much the same, albeit more methodical. For the remainder of the 1870s, and into the next decade, they would be occupied with bringing the last rebellious provinces into the empire, but by that time they had already begun looking to France and Russia as partners in modernization rather than only military allies…
[1] British colonial officials in Zanzibar found this to be the case in OTL.
[2] Tippu Tip's doctrines have a number of inspirations: the twin bases of Ibadism (
http://islam.uga.edu/ibadis.html) and Abacarism are the strongest, while the prophetic aspects are similar, but not identical, to those of OTL's Ahmadis.
[3] A war with this name occurred in OTL Sierra Leone in 1898, which was considerably more brutal (on both sides) and ended rather worse for the Africans. It doesn't share much with this timeline's Hut Tax War other than the name and the precipitating cause. In fact, it's safe to say that little if anything about East Africa bears much resemblance to OTL by this point in the story.
[4] This is the first major change in Ethiopia: Tewodros doesn’t take British hostages (which was a pretty random event in OTL), leading to no British invasion in 1868. This means that Tewodros stays emperor a while longer and becomes even more erratic than he was during his later years in OTL. There’s also no Egyptian invasion during the 1870s due to Egypt’s turning away from military expansion, which on the one hand means that the Ethiopians are left alone to work out their political issues, but also that there is no external threat to seal the unity of the reborn empire.
[5] This decree was issued in OTL under Yohannes IV (who, ironically, will be the one who tacitly rescinds it in this timeline).
[6] As he did in OTL.
[7] Russia did in fact support and arm Ethiopia in OTL – there were Russian advisors with Menelik’s army at Adowa – and did set up an abortive, semi-official colony in what is now Djibouti. In OTL, France considered the colony an infringement on its sphere of influence, and Russia was forced to abandon the project. In this timeline, the Russian settlement is farther away from Obock and Moscow is able to get the French on-side by cutting them into its deal with Tewodros. Of course, Russo-French Eritrea is technically an Ethiopian fiefdom rather than a colony, which won’t affect how it’s run in the near term but will affect its legal status later.
Anyway, if you think southern and eastern Africa are becoming complicated in this timeline, wait till we get to the Congo.
