Wed, Jun 14, 2017
The Fra Mauro map (mid-15th century) provides a rare lens into the geographical worldview and mental landscapes of the medieval world.
By connecting identifiable geography from this map to historical place
names, we have begun to discover lost, medieval cities in Ethiopia.
Scholars long considered Africa the least reliable portion of the Fra
Mauro map. It is the contention of this article, however, that
implementing a more Afro-Arabian geographical framework resolves
apparent idiosyncrasies to the western mind, revealing a compelling
story long hidden in plain view. Untangling the region of Abassia
Ethyopia requires interpreting the physical features and polities
transposed upon the map through the worldview of the informants from
these respective regions: emissaries, pilgrims, merchants, etc. Our
hypothesis asserts we can translate images of the medieval geography
through the centuries to locate archaeological features. Using
remote-sensing in conjunction with other early maps, we identified sites
of long-lost cities such as Sadai and Tegulet, and via field-walking,
have confirmed substantial architecture and period-specific cultural
materials. Our continuing research traces patterns of land-use across
landscapes, identifying phases of occupation and trade networks during
Ethiopia’s poorly understood medieval periods. Having now created a
template for interpreting this map, we expect to be able to read and
understand other regions in Africa. Indeed, the Fra Mauro map has proven
more than the fanciful rendering of a medieval mind. Rather, it is the
“before” snapshot of a Mappa Mundi, that literally turned our view of
the world upside down within a single generation, and eventually
expanding it by four new continents.
The Fra Mauro Map: An Icon of Medieval Mental Landscapes at a Pivotal Point in History
Maps
serve as temporal, mental constructs of any given age. As graphic
symbols for visualizing the world, each literally represents a product
or icon of one’s respective worldview, in essence, the world made in our
image. Medieval maps served very different functions than our current,
science-based demands. Medieval navigators and, therefore cartographers,
focused primarily upon safe passage, trade networks, and political
alliances. Most maps contemporary with Fra Mauro depended wholly upon
the Ptolemaic model, or were tied to a cosmography of Christ as
Pantocrator reigning supremely from his heavenly throne (See Fig 2) (Falchetta, pp 57).
In
sharp contrast, the Fra Mauro map diverges from this mindset, using an
empirical, verifiable framework, gleaned from existing accounts and
charts. Most Christian or western maps from this period centered around
Jerusalem with east at the top. Muslim maps traditionally were
south-oriented given most medieval Muslims lived north of Mecca, the
center or qiblah for pilgrimage and prayer. As a masterpiece of medieval cartography, the mid-15th
century Fra Mauro map provides a rare lens into the geographical
mindset and mental landscapes of one of the most critical transitions in
Mediterranean history (Cattaneo, pp.123).
Also southern-oriented, the genius of this Venetian monk in collecting
maps and compiling written and oral primary accounts of travelers,
merchants, pilgrims, and emissaries, creates a remarkably accurate
planisphere representation of our world. Fra Mauro sketches his map not
simply to expedite navigation or exploration, rather, to lay the
foundations for a new world order.
In the contentious contexts of the mid-15th century, this map lays out a “Who’s who” of the medieval world. Like an intricate, medieval Risk gameboard, the cartographer’s draftings of geographical features, regional and city names, and trade routes, across his mappa mundi,
identifies possible alliances alongside real and potential threats.
Anything Christian, even the thinnest web of connection, is emphasized.
Every city stands fortified, bounded by copious notes on regions,
rulers, rivers, and where gold, spices, pearls, and fresh water can be
found. Unnamed walled villages (casali) bristle across
landscapes. Mountains feature prominently throughout. Passes or rivers
clearly bisect the landscapes, demarcating regions and polities. Ships,
identifiable with the contemporary, dominate traders, ply their
respective seas.
Mental Landscapes of Medieval Africa
With
the sacking of Constantinople in 1453, the migration of Byzantine
refugees to Europe swells to a flood. From this pinnacle of learning
come architects, artists, engineers, cartographers, and scholars,
carrying not only tools of their trade, but an alternate world view
framed by principles of an empirical perspective. Like midwives, these
intelligentsia from around the world, including the far-too-often,
underrepresented regions of Africa, help birth a new scientism in
Europe, of which Fra Mauro is a product.
Modern scholarship has long considered Africa the least reliable portion of the Fra Mauro map (Falchetta, pp.94).
It is the contention of this article, however, that by exploring and
implementing a more Afro-Arabian geographical perception, apparent
idiosyncrasies to the modern mind resolve, revealing a compelling story
long hidden in plain view. A re-assessment of the geographical and
political representations on the African continent, especially the
various Ethyopias and the “island” of Diab, demands we appreciate and honor the vantage-point and geographical knowledge of Fra Mauro’s respective African informants.
Fra
Mauro’s Ethiopian, Arabian, and East African informants would
undoubtedly exhibit an abundance of caution along with a fundamentally
diverse worldview in transmitting geographical information. Medieval Ethyopia Abassia’s
reticence in divulging too much information is rooted in a preservation
mentality, seven centuries in the making. Surrounded by adversaries,
the Christian kingdom of Abyssinia has long maintained its near-monastic
solitude, safeguarding its identity as the authentic church. The myths
and legends of the Kebra Negast, known in English as the Glory of the Kings,
grow deeper, entrenched in the Ethiopian psyche. Claiming direct
descendancy from Israel’s King Solomon via the Queen of Sheba, along
with St. Phillip’s conversion of Queen Candace’s eunuch as the first
Ethiopian Christian, Abyssinia visualizes itself as the new,
chosen-people of God. Comparatively, what this younger, diaphysite,
western church might proffer appears inconsequential.
During
the early medieval period, it is the west that initially courts Africa.
For three centuries, the legends of the famed Prester John have
fermented in the medieval mind, intoxicating the courts of Europe with
stories of wealth, military power, and a biblical, spiritual lineage
second only to Christ. By the mid-14th
century, the futile search for this monarch in Asia turns its focus to
Africa, where, due to Ethiopia’s intermediary trading position,
exporting trade goods from India to Europe, Ethiopian kings are often
misidentified as kings of India (Van den Bosch, 2007, pp.22). Fra Mauro inscribes references to the legendary king, Prester John, across Abassia, even to mentioning his capital and the number of kingdoms under his Lordship.
In
contrast, embassies from Abyssinia-Ethiopia visiting Venice in the
1430’s, and Florence in 1441, seek relics and icons over mere political
or religious alliances (Falchetta, pp.98; Siebold, Monograph #249).
One can easily imagine various diplomats and our monks plying these
illustrious pilgrims with wine and questions regarding geography,
political boundaries, trade networks, and allegiances. Over the
following decade, further information is gleaned, eventually making its
way onto a map that will literally turn the way we imagine our world
upside down.
The political and geographical information on Abassia,
or Abyssinia-Ethiopia, is disproportionately represented in relation to
other parts of Africa for two primary reasons. First, given their
respective Christian ties, Fra Mauro and his colleagues enjoy far more
contact and therefore, primary accounts from informants of these regions
than from southern, central, or western African communities. Second,
informants upon the Swahili Coast, in the 13th – 14th centuries called the Daybuli, consisting of African trade cities established by Muslim-Arab conquerors from India (Davidson,1967, pp.99),
appear reticent to divulge information of their particular region to a
competing, foreign, non-Islamic power. Understanding these factors
proved essential in reading and unlocking the secrets of what appears an
arbitrary, even nonsensical southern African geography.
Fra Mauro defends the reliability of his African primary sources as justification for expanding upon Ptolemy’s terra incognita.
Inscription number *98 regarding these regions informs our scholarship,
“Because to some it will appear as a novelty that I should speak of
these southern parts, which were almost unknown to the Ancients, I will
reply that this entire drawing, from Sayto (Assiut, Egypt)
upwards, I have had from those who were born there. These people were
clerics who, with their own hands, drew for me these provinces and cites
and rivers and mountains with their names; all these things I have not
been able to put in due order for lack of space” (Falchetta, pps. 210-203).
Fra Mauro’s paramount intent is reliability and authenticity to an
expanding body of knowledge. Yet bound by the parameters of his
parchment and wishing to be faithful to his latitudinal and longitudinal
constraints, he states, “I do not think that I am being unfaithful to
Ptolemy if I do not follow his Cosmography, because if I had wanted to
observe his meridians, parallels, and degrees, I would have had to omit
many provinces within the known part of the world that Ptolemy does not
give: everywhere in his account, but especially to the north and south,
he gives areas as terra incognita because in his day they were not known” (*2892 – Falchetta, pp. 711).
For
reasons stated above, the further south the cartographer ventures, the
less information is available. Fra Mauro defends himself against claims
that he does not follow Ptolemy, by paraphrasing the ancient geographer,
“one can only speak correctly of regions that are visited continually;
of those which are less frequented no-one should think himself capable
of speaking with equal accuracy.” Fra Mauro continues, “So I say that in
my own day I have been careful to verify the text by practical
experience, investigating for many years and frequenting persons worthy
of faith, who have seen with their own eyes I faithfully report above” (ibid, pp. 701). Fra Mauro evidently feels justified to move beyond the constraints of existing scholastic mindsets.
Our
current research has likewise benefited from this vantage point, aided
by an Afrocentric, indigenous frame of reference and many newly
translated manuscripts from these regions and periods. We too have
attempted to carefully “verify the text by practical experience” as we
continue to investigate on the ground what we have seen with our own
eyes. Our investigation has confirmed the surprising completeness and
accuracy of Fra Mauro’s research. In more southern regions, we
accounted for cultural, economic, and political factors while
recognizing a necessary shift in orientation, imposed by the limit of
his parchment space.
Approaching
the upper, southern margins of his parchment with regions yet to be
included, the cartographer is forced to sketch these further reaches of
Africa via shifting everything east. Recognizing the inevitable
inaccuracies in his degrees in longitude, he chooses rather to favor
completeness. We will come back to the operative words “in due order for lack of space.”
Translating Fra Mauro: a Cartographic Rosetta Stone
The
nature of most medieval maps dictates we interpret each through a
broader Ptolemaic or ecclesiastical metanarrative. In contrast, Fra
Mauro’s golden frame encompasses the medieval world within the broader,
regional, mental-constructs laid out above. Armed with this perspective,
our team began reading our current Ethiopian landscapes through the
flat iconography portrayed in the early renaissance style of Fra Mauro.
Rivers and mountains of varying hues designate the major physical
features enfolding respective medieval provinces and kingdoms. Five
centuries on, this geography still broadly defines Ethiopia’s current
regions and states, distinguished by factors of language, cultures, and
religious expressions. Cities within these regions, illustrated as
turreted towns, lay along trade routes.
Our initial task in untangling the provinces of Abassia Ethyopia,
writ large across most of central and east Africa, required recognition
of identifiable geographical features and polities transposed upon the
map by reputable Afro-centric clerics, scholars, and representatives of
these regions. Starting from Egypt’s first cataract at Sua (Aswan) near Nuba or Nubi, we traced mountain ridges and rivers up to the southern reaches of Abyssinian hegemony referred to as Ethyopia quasi deserta e montuosa.
An arbitrary river with a line of forest on either side demarcates
regions south of direct Ethiopic governance. Within Abyssinia-Ethiopia,
discernable rivers, mountains, kingdoms (Regnos), or provinces and cities, include Aksum in Tigray (hacsum, tegre)
and the four tributaries of the Tekeze river streaming from the
mountain of Roha. The map clearly defines Lake Tana and Abay, Ethiopia’s
name for the Blue Nile. Further south, the geographical features of the
Awash river (fl. Ausai) with Mt. Zukwala and lake Zwai (xiauala ouer xiquala & lago zuua)
circumscribe Prester John’s suzerainty of African Christendom under the
oversight of the Metropolitan of the Alexandrian Coptic church.
Having
oriented ourselves, we then attempted to “translate” the Fra Mauro map,
much as an epigrapher would an ancient inscription. Like a cartographic
Rosetta Stone, moving from the known to the unknown, we collected
images of subsequent medieval maps in an attempt to decipher the
conceptual content and mental landscapes of represented physical
geography through successive shifts in political, religious, or economic
paradigms. Throughout, our noted geographical features remained
constant. Topographies represented on medieval maps, such as lakes,
rivers, and mountains, evolved into discernable landmarks and observable
landscapes on modern maps. Slowly, like a developing embryo, we
witnessed these morph from medieval icons into recognizable place names
of regions, cities, or trade routes.
Our
final test sought to read our current landscapes back through the
centuries and interpret the physical geography seen and described by
mid-fifteenth century Ethiopian monks and emissaries to a Venetian monk
who then transcribed them on a two-meter piece of parchment thousands of
kilometers and a few cultures and languages removed. To crack the code
of the Fra Mauro map in regard to our regions, to say nothing of south
and central Africa, we had to try.
Our
first hurdle required we demythologize the majority of maps from the
subsequent centuries which retained much of the fanciful Ptolemaic
narratives and mythical topography of Africa’s interior, including
cyclops, fabled beasts, the Mountains of the Moon, and of course,
Prester John. Ironically, these maps were to provide invaluable clues in
addressing one of the major debates related to the interpretation of
the Fra Mauro map and Africa, that of the “island” of Diab.
The second hurdle involved geopolitical ramifications wrought by decades of war in the middle of the 16th
century. Regional conflicts left desolation to both sides. Many of the
main population centers and trade routes depicted on the Fra Mauro map
simply ceased to exist. Where once thriving, urban centers dominated,
sparse villages dotted the landscapes. In the highlands, new population
centers with new names replaced anything old. By the end of the 17th
century, the memory of the raging conflicts between the Islamic forces
of Imam Ahmad, known as Ahmad Gran or the left-handed, and the variably
named Christian kingdom of Shoa, Xoa, or Sewa, had cooled to an uneasy,
smoldering detente. Yet these wars had prompted mass migrations of
populations followed by the influx of new cultures and languages (Newman, pp. 99).
A shifting of place-memory displaced most previously associated oral
traditions. Alternate land use and new agricultural practices swallowed
up previous occupational contexts. Most associated religious structures,
along with their treasures of relics and manuscripts, also perished,
usually via fire. The loss of contexts with which to even begin to
identify lost cities was exacerbated by a paucity of scholarship related
to these eras. Undaunted, we pressed on.
The
earliest map that proved critical in framing the rugged landscapes of
Abyssinia’s identifiable mountain ranges, passes, and rivers, along with
cities in associated regions, was the 1690 Coronelli map, also from
Venice. This primary source provided a post-medieval perspective on our
tangible topography. The mountains that had defined medieval political
states continued to limit expansion. Like words borrowed from an archaic
vocabulary, Coronelli’s mountains helped us translate a matching
political narrative, back to Fra Mauro’s century-and-half-old geography,
and its original African mindset. Corresponding geographical features
provided our first key to unlocking locations of long-lost cities on the
Fra Mauro map.
The
1811 Cary map provided us our next series of clues. With each century,
the earlier artistic mythologies gave way to a more realistic physical
geography. Regions and political entities remained bounded by the
strictures of observable landscapes. Connecting rivers or mountains on
an 1811 map to rivers and mountains etched on a 1690’s map, we
translated back to the 1450’s map. Thus, we were able to “read” the
conceptualized landscapes through time and, more importantly, through a
medieval mind’s eye.
Pinkerton’s
1818 Abyssinia & Nubia map traces the upper Nile. The odd and
inaccurate orientation of the mountains of Shoa, however, caught my eye.
The cartographer appeared to have regressed to an earlier time where
mountains could arbitrarily be drawn upon a map for aesthetic purposes
rather than indicators of true landforms. This led me to reassess
Pinkerton’s abstractions of depicted mountains surrounding Ifat, Fatagar
and southern Abassia, and subsequently to reconsider and weigh
analogous geographical or conceptual biases all the way back to the Fra
Mauro map.
Since
Pinkerton’s focus is hydrology, his mountains appear drawn as merely
presumed necessary elements to funnel water from the highlands to the
Nile. Fra Mauro’s emphasis, on the other hand, frames the boundaries of
regional hegemonies and trade networks of an ancient and wealthy kingdom
determining potential alliances, trade, and partnerships for the
future. Whereas Pinkerton’s mountains seem practically superfluous, Fra
Mauro’s mountains represent physical barriers to commerce or conquest,
and inviolable boundaries between friend and foe.
The
final piece to our puzzle came with the 1868 Kautx map showing
substantial elements of geography recognizable to a modern map reader.
Many of the details on this map are sourced in an episodeall but
forgotten episode in the west: the British Napier Expedition against the
Emperor Tewodros in 1868 (Sharf).
For Ethiopians, however, this event defines the critical juncture of
Ethiopia’s emergence into the modern era. On Kautx’s map, the political
names and physical-geographical features we previously observed, had
gestated from fanciful images, into recognizable place names of cities,
lakes, rivers, and mountains. Through four centuries, our maps, like
Ethiopia itself, had entered the modern era.
A Tale of Two Lost Cities: From Google Earth to Artifacts on the Ground
Now
came the challenge to test our hypothesis. Could we physically locate
and discover a medieval site listed on the Fra Mauro map, but
long-forgotten and lost for centuries? Could we read the physical
geography of our current landscapes and then interpret back through the
centuries the actual landscapes as described by mid-fifteenth century
Ethiopian monks and emissaries to a Venetian monk? To crack the code of
the Fra Mauro map pertaining to Abassia and south and central Africa—again, we had to try.
We selected an undiscovered site within the southern reaches of Abbasia called Sadai or Saba. It is listed under Regno de Saba
(the Kingdom of Sheba and, therefore, of Prester John), as the
residence of the Metropolitan sent by the Coptic Patriarch in Alexandria
(Questa el legato euicario del patarcha). It lies on the west slope of a mountain called Ambanegst and south of a mountain range running east-west called the Entoto-Amba Range. It lies northeast of the Awash River (fl. Auasi), and west of the 3,000-meter volcano still called Mt. Zokwala (Xiquala). The only large mountain fitting the description for Ambanegest
is now called Menagesha or Mt. Wechecha, with a small mountain adjacent
where, until recently, emperors were crowned. The name Ambanegst
loosely translates to “the uplift or mountain of kings.” East of this
mountain, the still unidentified capital city of Barara is
indicated as the principal residence of Prester John. We have a
candidate for this site, but it remains off limits. Note: the map above
is inverted from our normal orientation.
Fra Mauro illustrates Sadai hugging the western slope of Mt. Ambanegst.
I searched Google Earth for locations fitting our parameters. And there
it was: large, circular fortifications upon a knoll overlooking the
entire western and much of the southern frontier. Clear evidence of
architectural features accompanied by crop marks indicated possible
occupation over an area extending several kilometers square. Sadai
had been one of the first cities destroyed in 1530 by the marauding
forces of Imam Ahmad Gran. None of our subsequent maps contain any
mention of this ecclesiastical capital. Since we had no possibility of
cross-referencing its location, we elected to physically visit the site
and hopefully confirm what we were seeing on images.
Managing
a team from the College of Development Studies at Addis Ababa
University, we visited the southern-most identified features, and walked
north. Cultural material and architecture were immediately evident upon
our transects across an area of several hundred meters. Thinking like
medieval strategists, we moved from high-point to high-point, noting
walls of ashlar masonry (carved stones), fieldstones, even evidence of
earthen bulwarks and moats or ditches. Every footfall evidenced urban
habitation.
Eventually,
we identified three substantial occupational areas and a possible
fourth distinct fortification site. Each contains dense period-specific
cultural material and architecture, with corresponding monumental walls
containing varying stages or phases of occupation. Immediately south
upon an isolated hill, lies a possibly related church complex where we
discovered a series of pre-Christian funerary monuments with inscribed,
monumental stones, deliberately toppled stone stelae, and a series of
well-built, rectangular, architectural elements. The current church sits
atop a much larger, older foundation. Medieval pottery remains in-situ in cuts along the road to the church.
Local
farmers and a church deacon gave us various renditions of stories
related to the sites, referring to the areas south as Sada, or north as
Sabu, similar to Fra Mauro’s Saba. The sites upon the forested
slopes they simply refer to as “the walls.” In asking for a translation,
we were told Sadai is the local word for standing stones, or stelae,
precisely like the desecrated ones identified in the ancient,
pre-Christian cemetery. This was our Eureka moment; a
previously un-identified site, fitting the descriptions on the Fra Mauro
map, containing substantial architecture and quantities of medieval
cultural material spread over an eight kilometer transect. Additionally,
an ecclesiastical capital required an adjacent major church. The small
modern church is built upon the substantial ruins of a much older and
larger church.
Convinced
now of the tenability of our hypotheses, I returned to our collections
of historical and modern maps. I sought hints to validate this as our
candidate. Upon each map, I traced feasible trade routes, constraining
topographical features, and traveling distances between identified sites
and settlements against associated geographical landmarks. I evaluated
geology and soil types, rainfall patterns, hydrological data, and
vegetation potentials in relation to relief maps. All these data
affirmed, this must be Sadai.
This process of discovering Sadai
provided a key whereby we could unlock the location of other lost
cities. We followed discernable trends as they echoed repeatedly across
the centuries. Specific physical features consistently restricted the
parameters of trade into and out of the highlands. At strategic choke
points, we found ruins of medieval fortifications. Upon protected,
defensible ridges with sufficient access to water and agricultural
soils, yet close enough to trade routes, larger population densities
were secreted away.
I
then had an epiphany—it was a technological shift in the tools of war
that generated the biggest alteration in occupational patterns. The
introduction of the musket and cannon in the early 16th
century radically altered the parameters of what constituted
defensibility. More than any other factor, gunpowder rendered moats and
wooden palisades inconsequential. Prior geopolitical criteria
determining strategic positions for earlier medieval sites and
fortifications became obsolete. Adding this new variable to our equation
enabled us to create an invaluable template of where pre-16th century sites should be situated.
As
if on cue, another long-lost city, Tegulet, asserted its presence. All
place-memory of this medieval capital had vanished. Though it is
mentioned throughout the medieval period as the capital of Abyssinia,
its location remained a mystery. Utilizing the remote sensing
methodology we had devised, and adding our new variable, we narrowed our
search to a series of ridges along the Jemma River drainage basin, west
of the ancient trade routes and north of Debra Berhan, the new city
established by Emperor Zara Yaqob in 1456.
Within
less than twenty minutes of scanning images on Google Earth, given our
set parameters, we had identified three possible candidates for
occupational-sites with probable architectural features. Hopeful, we
again ventured forth for a two-day excursion with a team from Addis
Ababa University. Driving along the main ridge we had identified, we
inquired of locals and were told the place was called Addis Ga, “the New Place.” So, there had been an “old place” somewhere nearby. Another name repeatedly given was Debra Warq,
“the Hill of Gold.” A designation of Tegulet was never volunteered.
Eventually we inquired, “Have you heard of Tegulet?” Most gave a shrug
or mentioned a region at the end of the valley by that name, yet no one
knew for sure. A bit disappointed, we continued walking west, descending
the narrow ridge toward our main sites, ten and twelve kilometers
further west.
Less
than a kilometer in, atop a flat plateau to the north, we discovered
our first evidence of architecture comprised of a double coursing of
monumental stones. Just beyond, the track dropped along a narrow
escarpment, where oddly, a road had been carved into the hillside. At
the base of the cliff, the road continued with pavers imbedded in the
earth. Three hundred meters further, where the road ascended a slight
slope, the bedrock showed evidence of ruts cut by wheeled vehicles over a
period of perhaps several centuries.
In
medieval Ethiopia, there is no record of wheeled vehicles, carts,
chariots, or the like. Yet, we followed an obvious, built-road, wide
enough for two vehicles with axels 185 cm, to the main site, a full ten
kilometers along the ridge. In the fields all along the route, medieval
cultural material abounded. When asked, our informants replied that
similar things could be found in heavy concentrations further down the
ridge.
In
medieval Ethiopia, there is no record of wheeled vehicles, carts,
chariots, or the like. Yet, we followed an obvious, built-road, wide
enough for two vehicles with axels 185 cm, to the main site, a full ten
kilometers along the ridge. In the fields all along the route, medieval
cultural material abounded. When asked, our informants replied that
similar things could be found in heavy concentrations further down the
ridge.
These
data: historical accounts, the “royal road”, the ubiquitous
period-specific cultural material, the monumental architecture, the
semi-precious stones, the iron slag, the affects of intense fire,
combined as confirming evidence that we had indeed found our site. Our
second eureka moment in as many weeks, painted an intriguing,
rich narrative lost in history—the forgotten grandeur of a medieval
kingdom hidden beneath the contemporary demands of a developing nation.
These
discoveries provide a promising beginning. In our exploration, no day
is ever routine. Using our research template, we continue seeking lost
cities and ruins strewn across Ethiopia’s magnificent and varied
landscapes. Daily we are tantalized with Ethiopia’s secrets. With every
footfall, the ground seems to reverberate this noble history’s sheer
will to be reborn. Starting from the ground up, our team continues to
actively pursue partnerships to enhance our remote sensing and
comprehensive field-walking surveys, and bring others along this journey
of discovery.
Regarding
our regions in Africa then, it appears the Fra Mauro map has proven
itself far more than the fanciful rendering of a medieval mind. It is
indeed a prescient icon or a Mappa Mundi that launched
thousands of ships which literally turned our view of the world upside
down within a single generation, eventually expanding it by four new
continents. As for us, we have set our sights to disentangle other
regions in Ethiopia including the unnamed cities on the southern border
of Abassi. We are also well on our way to implementing our
methodologies and creating partnerships with hopes we can eventually
address the mysteries associated with the “island” of Diab.
A Call for More African-based Research
Questions
inevitably remain pertaining to the poorly understood, yet complex
subjects relative to broader ancient and medieval studies. Historical,
cultural, and geographical connections across the Southern Red Sea, the
Indian Ocean, and the Eastern Mediterranean remind us of the larger and
deeper significance Ethiopian history and heritage holds for our world.
The mysterious, forgotten past that paint Ethiopia’s landscapes in
myriad colors of the impossible, inspire us. The brilliance of these
varied, interred ancient and medieval empires whisper their faded
splendor to those who still intently seek it.
Our
hope remains that we can initiate a series of broader conversations by
creating greater access to the literature from these regions, thus
informing and building a network of scholarship which utilizes all the
resources available to us. We wish to create partnerships with local
scholars across our regions and begin asking new questions, tying our
respective medieval periods together beyond the artificial standards of
comparisons based upon modern economic or religio-political terms. To
better understand our commonality and connectivity beyond modern or
traditional boundaries, we must validate and honor indigenous
self-perceptions within historical, national, and individual frameworks.
All will benefit from the cross-pollination of worldviews originating
within this wide-ranging, local historical discourse.
Through
the auspices of St. Mary’s University in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, we
continue our research and discovery. Our goal is to present our finds
while working alongside other professionals, institutions, agencies, and
governmental organizations to create indigenous capacity and trained
scholars to advance research and tourism potential within Ethiopia and
the broader region. The next steps require creating desk-based analyses
for each site and to conduct comprehensive field-walking surveys to
include sub-surface/geophysical survey and remote sensing analysis. Upon
completion of this phase, our goal is to preserve, present, and promote
these newly discovered cities to the world, opening them up for further
research, training, and tourism development.
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