Our reviewer returns after a brief pause, and hits the floor running with a close, incisive look at an incredibly important book.
By Akumbu Uche
Many African slave narratives, biographical and fictional, tend to focus on the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and chattel slavery in the Americas. Underrepresented in that genre are accounts of the Trans-Saharan and Indian Ocean slave routes and what happened to those unfortunate Africans who were sold into bondage in the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East and Far East.
One of several writers working to redress this imbalance is Victoria Princewill, whose historical novel, In the Palace of Flowers (Cassava Republic, 2021), tells the story of two Ethiopian slaves in 1890s Iran.
Even though scholars estimate that of the one to two million African slaves were exported from East African ports to Iran via the Indian Ocean, historical records of slavery in Iran are scant. Evidence of enslavement can be found in nineteenth century Iranian photographs and is mentioned in the Baha’i holy texts yet biographical narratives of the event are so rare that a 1905 letter penned by Jamila Habashi is the only existing self-documented, first-person account of an African slave in Iran. Documented in Behnaz Mirzai’s 2017 seminal text, ‘A History of Slavery and Emancipation in Iran, 1800-1929’, and reproduced in the novel, Habashi’s 158-word mini autobiography summarizes her ancestry and how she was sold off multiple times and transported to various cities in what would be present-day Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Iran, as she was passed from one owner to another before settling down in Shiraz with her latest owner.
An estimated two-thirds of African slaves were women who ended up as domestic servants and concubines. Ditto for both the real and novelized Jamilas. However, in fictionalising her life, Princewill transposes Jamila from Shiraz to Tehran, placing her in the harem at Golestan Palace. The time setting coincides with the decline of the Qajar dynastic era, and increasing British interference in the country; a choice that affords the author the opportunity to kill a few commentarial birds with one stone.
When we are introduced to Jamila at the beginning of the novel, she is going through an existential crisis. Having long acclimatised to her life as a lady’s maid to a harem wife and royal concubine to a prince, she is jolted out of her torpor when she realises that no matter how essential a slave’s services are, they are fundamentally undervalued. This road to Damascus moment awakens in her a desire to be more than a palace wallflower and her fear of leading an inconsequential existence drives her to insert herself into risky political intrigues.
Even though court life encourages little more than transactional relationships, Jamila manages to develop a friendship with Abimelech, a eunuch and fellow Habashi – Iranian slaves tended to take on toponyms that reflected their approximate ethnic origins – who serves as tutor to the spoiled and selfish Prince Nosrat. Abimelech’s smarts and eloquence win him favour with Naser al-Din Shah Qajar, and he begins to entertain hopes of eventual freedom and possible financial remuneration. Just as his trajectory begins to mirror that of Ya’qub Sultan who rose from slavery to governor of Bandar Abbas in 1717, the Shah falls ill and Abimelech finds himself reduced to a piyadeh or pawn as the monarch’s sons and palace courtiers vie for the not-yet vacant throne; a sobering reminder that no matter how intelligent, well-connected or highly-positioned, a slave’s life is inherently precarious.
This reader regrets that a few characters like the artistically-inclined Prince Nosrat and the savvy, social-climbing Sanaa were not given more scenes but the author makes up for this limitation with lush descriptions that make the resplendence of the palace come to life. It is worth noting that in her prose, as in reality, beauty coexists with brutism. Her depiction of the physical and sexual violence both Jamila and Abimelech are subjected to despite their relative privilege as high-ranking slaves is rooted in fact and challenges the assumption that slavery in the Persian Gulf was benign. In addition, she spotlights the elliptic origins of Afro-Iranians and makes a compelling argument for the recognition of their community’s contribution to Iranian nationalism.
Like Thomas Mofolo with Chaka, Margaret Atwood with Alias Grace, or Hilary Mantel with her Thomas Cromwell trilogy, Princewill excels at invigorating public interest in history without inundating the reader with trivia. Equally impressive is how well she has succeeded in painting an intensely chromatic portrait from a limited palette. I expect and look forward to more interpretations and reconstructions of historical narratives from this new author. Akumbu Uche is a Nigerian writer. Her work has appeared in Bella Naija, Brittle Paper, and Engaging Borders Africa. She lives in Owerri.
