Latest / Timbuktu: Africa's Forgotten Center of Knowledge — Fexingo History / The Tarikh al-Sudan Chronicle That Preserved Timbuktu's Legacy
Transcript
- Lucas: Luna, after all we've covered about Timbuktu, there's one source that underpins almost everything we know: the Tarikh al-Sudan. It's a chronicle written in the 1650s by a scholar named Abd al-Rahman al-Sadi, and it's essentially the history of the Songhai Empire and the city itself. Luna: We've referenced it so many times—but never really talked about the book itself. Lucas: Exactly. Al-Sadi was born in Timbuktu around 1596, just five years after the Moroccan invasion that shattered Songhai power. His family were scholars, and he grew up amid the aftermath of Judar Pasha's conquest. He studied at Sankore, trained in Maliki law, and eventually served as the imam at the Djinguereber mosque and later as the qadi—a judge—in the city of Djenné. So he lived the history he wrote about. Luna: So he's writing the history of his own time, but also the earlier golden age he never knew. Lucas: Right. The Tarikh al-Sudan covers the Mali Empire first, then focuses on the Songhai Empire from Sunni Ali to Askia Muhammad and his successors. Al-Sadi drew on oral traditions, earlier Arabic works, and the memory of his elders. He also included a lot about Timbuktu's scholarly families—the Aqits, the Kunta—and the city's role as a crossroads of learning. It's one of our richest sources. Luna: And it survived the chaos of the Moroccan occupation and later centuries? Lucas: It did, in multiple manuscript copies. One of the oldest surviving copies is in the library of the Mamma Haidara family—we've talked about them before. The text was also used by European explorers in the 19th century, like Heinrich Barth, who relied on it to reconstruct the history of the Sahel. But for all its detail, al-Sadi had biases—he was a devout Muslim and often portrayed pre-Islamic rulers like Sunni Ali as impious tyrants. Luna: So it's not a neutral account. Lucas: No chronicle is. But when you compare it with other sources—like the Tarikh al-Fattash, the other great Timbuktu chronicle—you start to see patterns. The Tarikh al-Sudan is particularly strong on the Songhai administration, the organization of the provincial system, and the role of scholars in advising the Askia rulers. Luna: What's your favorite story from the book? Lucas: Maybe the account of Askia Muhammad's pilgrimage to Mecca in 1496. Al-Sadi describes how the Askia brought 300,000 gold dinars, stopped in Cairo to consult with Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti—the famous Egyptian scholar—and used the pilgrimage to strengthen his political legitimacy. There's also a vivid anecdote about the king of Mali, Mansa Musa, whose wealth was still legendary centuries later. But there's a more personal story: al-Sadi tells us about a drought so severe that people ate the seeds of the gum arabic tree, and how the qadi of Timbuktu at the time had to issue a ruling allowing them to borrow food from mosques. That's the kind of everyday detail that brings history to life. Luna: It's incredible that one book preserves so much. Lucas: And it reminds us how fragile knowledge can be. If you've been getting something useful from these conversations, the way we keep this show ad-free—and able to dive into sources like the Tarikh al-Sudan—is through listener support. You can buy us a coffee at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's a small thing that lets us keep doing the deep dives. Luna: Yeah, it really helps. And it means we can keep unpacking these stories without worrying about commercial breaks. Lucas: Exactly. So back to al-Sadi: after the Moroccan invasion, scholars like him faced a dilemma. The new rulers, the Arma, were Moroccan soldiers who had settled in the region. Some scholars collaborated, others resisted. Al-Sadi took a pragmatic path—he served as a qadi under the Arma regime, but in his chronicle, he subtly criticizes their rule, especially their heavy taxation. He recounts how the Arma commander in Djenné once demanded a huge bribe from him, which he refused to pay. And he got away with it, because his reputation gave him leverage. Luna: So the chronicle was also a form of quiet resistance. Lucas: In a way. By writing down the history of the Songhai Empire, al-Sadi was asserting that the region's past mattered—and that its scholarly tradition would survive. He completed the work around 1655, and it quickly became a standard reference. Within a generation, the Kunta scholar Sidi al-Mukhtar al-Kunti would use it in his own writings, and it was copied and recopied across the Sahel. Today, the Tarikh al-Sudan is part of the UNESCO Memory of the World register. Luna: It's almost like the city's own voice preserved across centuries. Lucas: Yes. And the manuscript itself is a physical object with its own story. One of the most famous copies is in the Ahmed Baba Institute, but during the crisis of 2012, many of these manuscripts were smuggled out of Timbuktu to safety. So the physical book had to be rescued, just like the other manuscripts we've discussed. Now scholars have digitized it, and you can read parts of it online. But nothing replaces the feeling of handling that old paper. Luna: Is the whole text available in translation? Lucas: Much of it is. The Orientalist Octave Houdas and Edmond Benoist translated it into French in 1900, and that translation is still widely used. More recently, John Hunwick and Nobili did an English translation, though it's not complete. But even reading excerpts, you get a sense of al-Sadi's voice: he's measured, cautious, but proud of his city. He ends the chronicle with a lament for the decline of Timbuktu after the Moroccan invasion, saying that 'the lamp of learning was extinguished.' Yet by writing it down, he kept that lamp alive. Luna: History written by a scholar who knew he was witnessing an end—and trying to preserve what came before. Lucas: Exactly. And it worked. Without the Tarikh al-Sudan, our picture of the Sahelian empires would be so much fainter. For example, we wouldn't know about the legal system of Askia Muhammad, who created a sort of supreme court of scholars. We wouldn't have the details on the salt tax that funded the empire, or the names of the key scholars at Sankore. The chronicle gives us names, dates, and even prices of goods—like that in 1578, a horse cost 30 mithqals of gold in Timbuktu. Those little facts are gold for historians. Luna: So where does the Tarikh al-Sudan sit in African historiography today? Is it still the go-to source? Lucas: Absolutely. It's one of the few internal sources for the Songhai Empire. Along with the Tarikh al-Fattash, which was written slightly earlier by Mahmud Kati, and the various letters and fatwas from Timbuktu scholars, it forms the core of what we know. But scholars today also cross-check it with oral traditions, archaeological evidence, and external accounts like those from the Arab geographer al-Idrisi or the Berber traveler Ibn Battuta. It's not the only voice, but it's a crucial one. Luna: And it's a reminder that Africa's history was written—not just transmitted orally. Lucas: That's a key point. For a long time, Western historians assumed that sub-Saharan Africa had no written history before colonialism. The Timbuktu manuscripts, especially the Tarikh al-Sudan, prove that wrong. They show a sophisticated literate culture that produced biographies, legal texts, astronomical tables, and historical chronicles. Al-Sadi's work is a testimony to that intellectual tradition. And it's still inspiring new research—each generation of scholars finds new insights in those pages. Luna: I'm glad we finally gave it its own episode. Lucas: It deserves it. Next time, maybe we'll look at the Tarikh al-Fattash and how it differs from al-Sadi's account.