On the sun-scorched highlands of Ethiopia, where ancient monasteries still cling to rocky cliffs and villages echo with centuries of memory, history does not lie buried in books alone—it lingers in the soil, in the names of rivers, in the stones of old battlefields. Five hundred years ago, these lands trembled under the march of Imam Ahmad ibn Ibrahim al-Ghazi, remembered as Ahmad Gragn, whose campaigns forever altered the balance of power in the Horn of Africa. For generations, his story was told through chronicles written by allies and enemies alike. But to truly understand it, one must walk where he walked.
Futuh al-Habash, the celebrated chronicle of the sixteenth-century wars between Imam Ahmad ibn Ibrahim al-Ghazi—better known as Ahmad Gragn—and the Christian Ethiopian kingdom, remains one of the most remarkable historical works of its kind. It was first composed by Shihab ad-Din Ahmad bin Abd al-Qadir bin Salam, an Arab jurist and close associate of the Imam. His account, the principal Muslim narrative of the conflict, captures the intensity of the campaigns that reshaped Ethiopia’s political and cultural landscape.
In the 19th century, René Basset published a study in 1882 that leaned heavily on Portuguese sources, especially the writings of Miguel de Castanhoso and João Bermudez. Castanhoso, who directly participated in the war, and Bermudez, a Portuguese cleric who arrived later, offered perspectives rooted in their alliance with Christian Ethiopia. Their narratives celebrated Portuguese exploits while portraying Imam Ahmad in a negative light. Yet, when set against Shihab ad-Din’s chronicle, they provide valuable contrasts that sharpen our understanding of the historical reality.
The modern rediscovery of Futuh al-Habash began with an Arabic manuscript preserved by Muhammad Ibrahim and published in 1812. At the same time, Ethiopian royal chronicles, particularly those of Emperor Gelawdewos and Emperor Minas, also recounted the wars. Like the Portuguese accounts, these chronicles amplified the achievements of Ethiopian kings while casting Imam Ahmad in hostile terms. Though biased, they remain indispensable supplementary sources.
Castanhoso’s memoirs later found new life in Amharic translation by Gobeze Tafete under the title The Heroism of the Portuguese. His detailed narrative highlights the campaign of Christopher da Gama, the Portuguese commander who, with about 400 musketeers, fought side by side with Queen Seble Wongel and Emperor Gelawdewos at Debre Damo, Nebelet, Hintalo, Hashenge, and Degoma. João Bermudez also contributed a report—Breve relação da embaixada que o Patriarca Dom João Bermudez—in which he recounted the Portuguese expedition and inserted his own controversial claims regarding the church in Ethiopia. Despite its subjectivity, Bermudez’s work preserves unique details of Portuguese activity during the conflict.
In the 20th century, Ethiopian voices entered the scholarly discussion. Tekle Tsadik Mekuria, working in French libraries, added details and commentary, though his perspective leaned toward reinforcing the dominance of Christian Ethiopia and preventing the rehabilitation of Muslim political influence. Later, Lapiso G. Delebo (Prof.) emerged as a powerful voice on the subject. Known for his deep admiration of Imam Ahmad, Lapiso often brought his findings to public forums and the media, earning respect from Ethiopia’s Muslim communities.
Lapiso occupies a special place in the study of Imam Ahmad ibn Ibrahim. Although he never published a stand-alone book on the Imam, he wove the subject into his broader works on Ethiopian history and politics. His approach was strikingly different from earlier chroniclers: he emphasized Ahmad’s military genius, political vision, and transformative impact on Ethiopian society. By treating the Imam as a historical figure of great significance—rather than as a mere invader—Lapiso reshaped the conversation.
His sympathetic approach stirred debate. Some critics suggested that Lapiso’s family history—his relatives were forcibly converted to Christianity under Emperor Menelik—influenced his scholarship. Regardless, his contribution opened new space for balanced discussion. He insisted that Imam Ahmad’s campaigns were not just episodes of destruction but transformative events that changed Ethiopia’s political, religious, and cultural trajectory. This perspective resonated deeply with Muslim Ethiopians, who long felt excluded from mainstream historiography.
International interest in the Futuh al-Habash reached a new level with the 2004 English translation by Paul Lester Stenhouse and Professor Richard Pankhurst, published by Tsehai Publishing. Reviewed by Muhammad Hassan in the International Journal of Ethiopian Studies, this edition expanded the audience for the text and cemented its importance for understanding 16th century Ethiopian–Adal relations.
For centuries, the story of Imam Ahmad ibn Ibrahim al-Ghazi remained confined to manuscripts and libraries—sometimes glorified, sometimes vilified, and often clouded by bias. Historians, both Ethiopian and foreign, relied heavily on these written sources, rarely venturing to the landscapes where the events had unfolded. The result was a history trapped in ink, distant from the land that bore witness to the struggle.
I chose a different path. Instead of depending solely on second-hand descriptions, I set out to retrace the routes once taken by Imam Ahmad and his armies more than five centuries ago. My journey carried me across valleys, mountains, and towns—places where battles raged, soldiers marched, and lives were forever changed. Standing on the very battlefields where history was written in blood, I sought to bring the chronicles into dialogue with Ethiopia’s living geography.
The outcome of this journey is my study, Imam Ahmed Ibrahim al-Gazi (Ahmed Gran). It is more than a retelling of the campaigns—it is a rediscovery. By carefully aligning sources with field observation, I have clarified obscure references, corrected misidentified locations, and tied written accounts to physical landscapes. In doing so, I have attempted to breathe life back into a history that has too often been distorted or silenced.
Revisiting these routes after five centuries is not just about reconstructing a military campaign. It is about bridging the distance between past and present, and about seeing how events live on in place names, in community memory, and in the geography itself. It is also about affirming that Ethiopian history cannot be fully understood through manuscripts alone—it must also be read in the soil, stones, and scars of the land.
This is why I believe Imam Ahmed Ibrahim al-Gazi (Ahmed Gran) matters. It stands as both scholarship and rediscovery. It shines light on forgotten truths, links Ethiopia’s present to its sixteenth-century past, and offers future generations a foundation for balanced understanding. By returning to the land itself—five hundred years after the Imam marched across it—we ensure that his story lives not only in chronicles but in Ethiopia’s enduring landscape of memory.
Contributed by Teshome Berhanu Kemal
