Zaidani had a daughter, Salama. Salama had a daughter, Salha, and Salha has a daughter, Ida. Salha and Ida have compiled interviews, memories, and academic references to share with the world a biography of their matriarch, Salama.
Salama Binti Rubeya: Memories from the Swahili Littoral spans from Salama’s early memories when World War One broke out and the British arrived in Tanganyika to her final years in the early 1990s.
There is an expansive body of literature on Swahili archaeology, language, peopling, and history. Yet the story of Salama is an atypical combination of factors that both enriches and challenges our understanding of Swahili people.
The immediate past of Swahili history is usually narrated as histories of late Swahili civilisation, specifically the coasts of Kenya and Zanzibar. Salama was born and raised in Kilwa, the oldest known Swahili city-state.
Although Kilwa was no longer the central gateway between Africa and the world, in this book we learn that it was thriving enough to attract urban settlement, trade, and immigration.
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The later period of Swahili history also tends to be narrated from the vantage point of Omani Arab domination. Salama herself was a child of Yemeni Arabs. Like Omani Arabs, the Yemeni Arabs brought capital to establish themselves among the Swahili.
Yet the Omani, compared to the Yemeni, had more economic advantages, which allowed them to afford limited social integration and political domination.
Material conditions
Like the work of Abdul Sheriff, a trained historian who favours political economy in explicating the complexities of Swahili history, Salama’s life offers an appraisal of the material conditions of how wealth was generated.
Salama, however, was telling this reality from the household she grew up in: investments in land ownership and production of sesame oil. Whilst one or two men would own most of the property, Salama shows how their interactions and responsibility towards the women, servants, and even the animals (specifically camels) keep the wealth afloat.
Apparently, Salama had a position on the never-ending debate about the origins of Swahili civilisation. The main two positions are those who believe Africans had no means to develop such complex societies and that at every point of civilisation, there was foreign influence.
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The second position generally believes that whatever newcomers to the Swahili coast brought complemented rather than initiated Swahili civilisation. Salama belongs to the latter group, as she specifically says some of those Arabs became civilised upon settling in East Africa.
She believed the Swahili were a centre of civilisation among others, with the power to absorb and influence those who became part of it.
Becoming a woman
To be a woman in the social class Salama was in is to be married—period. An adult woman who is not married would be considered to be in a limbo between childhood and adulthood. A childless, divorced, or widowed woman had more social standing, stability, and freedom.
Whilst a woman like Salama was allowed to choose her groom, getting married was non-negotiable. Before agreeing to marry Mohammed at age fourteen, Salama confidently communicated her terms and conditions: he should be fluent in English, which he was.
The relationship between Salama’s mother and paternal grandfather is also telling about what decisions women could influence and what issues were beyond question.
As a woman who came of age in the 21st century, I am fascinated by the possibility of thinking about adult life as strictly happening within marriage. Rather than being single, women had to navigate their world from the conditions of their marital homes.
Support systems
Even as a feminist, I tend to think of the rise of “super women” and “alpha males” as endemic to the deception of capitalism—that an individual can stand alone and support themselves through adversities of life to become accomplished. Salama demonstrates the importance of women existing in networks that support each other.
In Kilwa, she tells of women in the tariqa (Islamic study circles). In Zanzibar, she recalls how women of different backgrounds supported each other to learn new cuisines, during childbirth, or simply enjoying life together. Men too had support systems of friends they cherished and visited in their homes to keep each other company beyond business meetings.
In a few sentences, I would not be able to capture how determined Salama was. She loved learning and making sense of life. As a child, she found a way to learn Roman letters even when she could not attend school. She was happy to continue learning about religion, writing, and English after marriage.
In retrospect, one of her daughters told us at the book launch that their mother made sure they had an equivalent of what we now call tuition (twisheni) at home. Rather than dismiss her son’s interest in communism, she heard him out and understood the importance of The Communist Manifesto.
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Needless to say, the brilliance of how Salha and Ida have organised the book can surely be directly linked to her legacy.
A book worth reading
The book is very accessible. Anyone with basic command of English or Kiswahili (both versions are available) can read it with ease. I would highly recommend it as primary or supplementary reading in history classes covering political economy, political history, women and gender studies, and most of all Swahili and African studies.
You do not have to take my words at face value—you can read the book and find out for yourself that there are interesting facts about Swahili history from the vantage point of Salama.
I am strongly convinced that people will come out with different interpretations and curiosities to pursue. We should not say history has been written simply because we now have access to a Swahili woman’s life.
Salama has been writing history for a long time. What Ida and Salha have done is present us with the receipts. They must be congratulated for tremendous record-keeping!
Diana Kamara is the daughter of Adria Kokulengya. She’s available at dianakkamara@gmail.com. The opinions expressed here are the writer’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Chanzo. If you are interested in publishing in this space, please contact our editors at editor@thechanzo.com.
