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- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about Mansa Musa's building projects — the Djinguereber Mosque in Timbuktu, the Sankore Madrasa, even the palaces he had al-Sahili design. But there's one structure that almost nobody talks about, and it might tell us more about the limits of his power than all those finished buildings combined. Luna: Which one? Lucas: The unfinished minaret in Gao. Now, Gao was a major city on the Niger River, about 400 kilometres downstream from Timbuktu. It was the capital of the Songhai kingdom, which Mansa Musa had annexed during his reign. He installed a farba — a provincial governor — there, but the Songhai were never fully pacified. Lucas: According to the Tarikh al-Sudan, the 17th-century chronicle from Timbuktu, Mansa Musa ordered the construction of a grand mosque with a towering minaret in Gao. It was meant to be a symbol of Mali's authority and Islamic piety. But the minaret was never finished. It just stops, about halfway up, with rough stonework and no top. Luna: So what happened? Did they run out of money? Lucas: Not money — Mansa Musa had more gold than he could spend. The more likely reason is political. After Mansa Musa's death around 1337, his son Maghan I took over, but he only ruled for four years. The Songhai saw their chance and rebelled, throwing off Mali's control by the 1350s. You don't build a monument to your overlord when you're trying to shake off his yoke. Lucas: The jeliw — the Mande griots — have oral traditions that hint at this too. They tell of a curse placed on the site by a Songhai sorcerer, which stopped the work. But that's likely a metaphor for the political resistance. The unfinished minaret became a symbol of Songhai defiance. Luna: It's fascinating that a building that was never finished can tell us so much. Lucas: Exactly. And it's not just the minaret. There are other ruins in the Gao region — collapsed walls, half-built cisterns — that suggest Mansa Musa had ambitious plans for the city. He wanted to make Gao a second Timbuktu, a centre of learning and trade. But the Songhai elite had their own agenda. Lucas: We also have to consider the role of the farba. The farba was a provincial governor appointed by the mansa, but he was often a local noble who had to balance loyalty to the emperor with the demands of his own people. If the farba in Gao was dragging his feet on the construction, that could explain the delays. Luna: Do we know who that farba was? Lucas: Unfortunately, no names survive from the Tarikh al-Sudan or other sources for that specific post. But we know from al-Umari's Masalik al-Absar that the farba system was the backbone of Mali's administration. Each province had a farba who collected taxes, maintained order, and oversaw public works. If a farba was incompetent or disloyal, the whole project could stall. Lucas: Now, contrast that with Timbuktu. Timbuktu was a cosmopolitan city where the local elites — scholars, merchants, the Qadi — supported Mansa Musa's vision. They saw his building projects as a way to enhance their own prestige. In Gao, the Songhai nobility resented Mali's rule. They didn't want a grand mosque that reminded them of their subjugation. Luna: So the unfinished minaret is like a political fossil — it preserves the moment when Songhai resistance won out over Mali's ambition. Lucas: That's a perfect way to put it. And there's another layer: the architecture itself. The minaret is built in the Sudano-Sahelian style, with mud-brick and wood scaffolding, but it shows signs of hasty construction. Some sections are thicker than others, as if the builders were rushing or changing plans midway. That suggests the project was started with great fanfare but quickly abandoned. Lucas: We also have the testimony of European explorers who saw the ruins in the 19th century. The French explorer René Caillié passed through Gao in 1828 and described a 'half-built tower' that locals said was the work of a 'great king from the east'. They didn't remember Mansa Musa by name, but the oral tradition preserved the memory of his ambition. Luna: It's amazing that a story can survive that long through oral tradition. Lucas: The jeliw are incredibly skilled at preserving history. They can recite genealogies and events going back centuries. And their version of the Gao minaret story is consistent with the archaeological evidence: a project that started big, then stopped abruptly. The jeliw say it was because the Songhai king at the time, whom they call 'Sonni', refused to let the work continue. Lucas: Now, that 'Sonni' might be a reference to Sonni Ali, the great Songhai emperor who ruled about 150 years after Mansa Musa. But that would be an anachronism — Sonni Ali was the one who conquered Timbuktu, not the one who resisted Mansa Musa. So the oral tradition might be collapsing two different Songhai rebellions into one. Luna: So the jeliw are like historians with a different method — they compress time to make a point. Lucas: Exactly. And that's why we have to cross-reference their accounts with written sources like the Tarikh al-Sudan, which is more precise about dates. The Tarikh says the minaret was started around 1325, during Mansa Musa's reign, and abandoned by 1350, after the Songhai revolt. That fits the timeline of Mali's decline after Musa's death. Lucas: So what does this tell us about Mansa Musa himself? He was an extraordinary ruler, but even he couldn't overcome local resistance. His empire was a patchwork of conquered kingdoms held together by military force and diplomatic marriage. When the central authority weakened, the cracks showed. Luna: And the unfinished minaret is one of those cracks made visible. Lucas: Yes. And it's a reminder that history is full of 'what ifs'. What if the minaret had been finished? Would Gao have become another Timbuktu? Would the Songhai have remained loyal to Mali? We'll never know. But the ruins are there, silent, waiting for us to ask the questions. Lucas: You know, thinking about all this — about how we piece together history from fragments and stories — it makes me appreciate the people who keep this show going. If you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know that we're ad-free and independent. And that's only possible because of listeners who chip in. Luna: Yeah, it's a small thing that makes a big difference. Just a coffee's worth. Lucas: Honestly, if today's episode was worth a coffee to you, you can find us at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. That's it — no pressure, just a way to keep the history flowing. Lucas: So back to Gao. There's one more piece of the puzzle I want to talk about: the role of the dyula merchants. The dyula were Mande traders who operated across the Sahel, and they had a strong presence in Gao. They were loyal to Mansa Musa because he protected their trade routes. But when the Songhai rebelled, the dyula had to choose sides. Luna: Did they stay loyal to Mali? Lucas: Some did, some didn't. The Tarikh al-Sudan mentions that the dyula of Gao initially supported the farba, but after the rebellion succeeded, they switched allegiance to the new Songhai rulers. That's just good business sense. But it also meant that Mali lost its economic foothold in the eastern Niger bend. Lucas: And without the dyula's support, Mansa Musa's successors couldn't finance another campaign to retake Gao. The empire slowly contracted back to its Mande heartland around Niani. By the time Ibn Battuta visited Mali in 1352, just fifteen years after Mansa Musa's death, the empire was already showing signs of strain. Luna: So the unfinished minaret isn't just a building — it's a marker of the empire's high tide, and then the ebb. Lucas: Exactly. And that's why I find it so compelling. It's easy to get caught up in the gold and the glory of Mansa Musa's hajj, but the real story of his empire is in the details — the things that didn't get built, the alliances that frayed, the quiet resistance of conquered peoples. Lucas: If you ever find yourself in Gao, the minaret is still there, though it's been eroded by time. Locals call it 'the tower that stopped growing'. It stands about fifteen metres high, which is maybe half of what was planned. And it's a reminder that even the richest man who ever lived couldn't build forever.