Latest / The Songhai Empire: Africa's Powerful Forgotten Kingdom — Fexingo History / The Songhai Emperor Who Was a Poet and Mystic
Transcript
- Lucas: Welcome back to Fexingo History. I'm Lucas, and as always I'm here with Luna. Luna: Hi! So today we're staying in Songhai territory, but I'm guessing we're not rehashing Askia Muhammad's Hajj or the Battle of Tondibi. Lucas: No, not this time. We've covered the big emperors, the wars, the salt mines, the scholars. But there's one figure who's barely a footnote in most histories: Askia Muhammad III, who ruled for just a few months in 1586. Luna: What made him so forgettable? Lucas: Well, his reign was short — about three months. But what's fascinating is that he wasn't a warrior or a builder. He was a poet and a mystic. And he wrote poetry that survives to this day, preserved in the Tarikh al-Sudan, the chronicle written by the Timbuktu scholar al-Sa'di. Lucas: Now, you have to understand the context. By 1586, the Songhai Empire is in decline. Askia Dawud, the great long-reigning emperor, died in 1582. His sons fought over the throne. There was a coup, a counter-coup, and in the chaos, this man — who was a grandson of Askia Muhammad I — somehow ended up as emperor. Luna: So he wasn't a military strongman. How did he get the throne? Lucas: He was probably put there by a faction of courtiers who thought a pious, scholarly figure would be easy to control. But he wasn't. He started challenging the ulema — the Islamic scholars in Timbuktu — accusing them of being too worldly and corrupt. And he did this while writing Sufi poetry in both Songhai and Arabic. That was unusual. Rulers usually left poetry to specialists. Lucas: One of his surviving poems is a qasida — a classical Arabic ode — where he describes his own soul as a 'bird trapped in the cage of the world.' It's personal, introspective, not at all what you'd expect from a Songhai emperor. Luna: Wait, where did these poems survive? Were they in Timbuktu's libraries? Lucas: Some were copied into the Tarikh al-Sudan. Others were found in private collections in places like Niamey and Gao, passed down through families. The fact that they survived at all is remarkable, because his reign was so short and he was overthrown and probably killed. The next emperor, Askia Ishaq II, was the one who faced the Saadian invasion at Tondibi just five years later. Luna: So he was a Sufi poet-emperor during a time of instability. That's a recipe for a short reign. Lucas: Exactly. The ulema he criticized had powerful allies. The Timbuktu scholar Ahmed Baba, who we've talked about before, was actually arrested later by the Saadians, but during Askia Muhammad III's time, the scholars had the ear of the military elite. So when he started denouncing them as hypocrites, they turned against him. Lucas: There's also a suggestion in some sources that he may have been influenced by the teachings of al-Maghili, the reformer who visited Songhai a century earlier and urged Askia Muhammad I to persecute 'heretics.' But Askia Muhammad III seems to have taken that in a different direction — he wanted to purify Islam by getting rid of worldly scholars, not by targeting non-Muslims. Luna: So he was a reformer, but his reforms were against the religious establishment itself. Lucas: Yes. And that made him enemies. Within months, a palace coup removed him. The precise date of his death is unknown, but it's likely he was executed or died in captivity. The chronicle says he was 'deposed and vanished,' which is a euphemism for being killed. Lucas: But here's the thing: his poetry lived on. And it gives us a rare glimpse into the inner life of a Songhai ruler. Most of what we know about Songhai emperors comes from court chronicles — battles, taxes, appointments. But Askia Muhammad III's poems talk about loneliness, spiritual longing, and the burden of power. In one line he writes: 'The throne is a fire, and those who sit on it are fuel.' Luna: That's powerful. And it's so different from the usual image of these emperors as larger-than-life figures. Lucas: Absolutely. And it raises a question: how much of Songhai's history have we missed because we only look at the political side? There were probably other poets, other mystics, other voices that didn't make it into the chronicles because they weren't seen as important. Askia Muhammad III is a reminder that there was a whole intellectual and spiritual world in Songhai that we're only beginning to recover. Luna: So his legacy is really more about his poetry than his rule. Lucas: Exactly. And that poetry is now being studied by scholars who look at West African Islamic literature. It's part of a broader tradition of Sufi poetry in the Sahel that includes figures like the Fulani poet Shehu Usman dan Fodio a couple centuries later. But Askia Muhammad III is one of the earliest known examples of a ruler who wrote poetry in both Songhai and Arabic. Luna: That's fascinating. I had no idea there was a poet-emperor in Songhai. Lucas: Most people don't. And that's why I wanted to talk about him today. He's a tiny footnote, but he opens up a whole different perspective on what Songhai was. It wasn't just an empire of warriors and merchants. It was also a place where a man could write, 'My heart is a desert, and you are the water that never comes,' and have that preserved for four centuries. Luna: Wow. That's beautiful. And tragic. Lucas: Yes. And it makes you wonder what else was lost. The Saadian invasion in 1591 destroyed much of the Songhai political structure. Many manuscripts were burned or scattered. But some survived, and every once in a while, a voice like Askia Muhammad III's emerges from the archives. Luna: So what happened to his poems after his death? Were they hidden? Lucas: They were copied by scribes and included in the Tarikh al-Sudan, which was written around 1655, about 70 years after his reign. The chronicler al-Sa'di included them partly as a curiosity — he notes that the emperor was 'a man of letters, but his rule was brief.' It's almost as if he's saying: look, even a poet can be emperor, but it doesn't end well. Lucas: The poems themselves are in classical Arabic, with some Songhai phrases. They follow the conventions of Sufi poetry — longing for union with God, despair at worldly attachments, and so on. But they're also deeply personal. In one, he writes about a dream he had where a saint told him he would die soon. It's eerie because he did die soon after. Luna: Did he have any followers? A Sufi order or something? Lucas: There's no record of him founding an order. He seems to have been a solitary seeker. But his poetry shows familiarity with the works of Ibn Arabi and other Sufi masters. So he was well-read. And he clearly saw himself as a spiritual guide, not just a political leader. In one line, he tells his listeners: 'Do not be deceived by the pomp of this world; it is a mirage.' Luna: He sounds like he would have been a better scholar than emperor. Lucas: Probably. And that's the tragedy. He was forced into a role he wasn't suited for, and it destroyed him. But thanks to his poetry, we remember him not as a failed emperor, but as a voice of spiritual longing from the heart of Songhai. Lucas: So next time you think of the Songhai Empire, don't just think of gold and salt and cavalry. Think also of a man who wrote: 'I am a stranger in this world, and my only home is the thought of You.' Luna: That's a beautiful way to end. Thanks for sharing his story. Lucas: Thanks for listening. Until next time, keep asking questions.