Griots are having a moment.
A griot is a storyteller who preserves and passes down history in stories and poems and songs.
They're part of West African culture but the term itself has a bit of colonialist irony in its aura — one theory is that "griot" is adapted from the Portuguese word "criado" or creator.
Griots are part of the story that unfolds in the number one movie in America last weekend, Sinners, set in 1930s Mississippi — a voiceover for the opening animation says that the griots' art "can bring healing to the community but [in the context of this movie] it also attracts evil."
And the oral history they've passed down has inspired archaeologists to excavate a now vanished kingdom of mythic proportions.
It's the kingdom of Kaabu — which held power from the 1500s through the 1800s and included modern-day Guinea-Bissau and Senegal.
The story of Kaabu's royalty and reign has been told for generations through the songs of griots. In fact, much of what's known about the kingdom and its capital city Kansala has been passed down by griots.
"It played a key role in many events of historical importance for the world, including early African statehood," says Sirio Canós-Donnay, an archaeologist at the University of Valencia.
Yet it was reportedly never visited by Europeans (even though there was contact — the people of Kaabu did trade with the Europeans).
Canós-Donnay wanted to know what this real-life Camelot looked like.
In early 2024, she and her colleagues, including a handful of Senegalese archaeologists, began the work of unearthing Kansala. They've since uncovered physical evidence of the kingdom's capital.
"Now, it is clear through science that what we have been saying about Kansala is true," says Nino Galissa, a descendant of the first griots of Kaabu and a griot himself.
'Guardians of history'
Modern-day griots like Galissa are not surprised by the discovery. "We are, above all, the guardians of history, of the people and places across the ages, and of the kings," says Galissa. "Our role is to interpret and preserve the history of our people of Kaabu."
Canós-Donnay put it this way: "They're the masters of the word."
Here's what the griots relay in their songs about Kaabu.
It emerged in the 13th century as a coastal province within the kingdom of Mali. But when Mali fell a few hundred years later, Kaabu became independent, growing wealthy from trade — including the slave trade — and dominating the region.
Kaabu survived until an attack by southern neighbors in the late 19th century. The story goes that the king saw the enemy army approaching Kansala and set fire to the capital's gunpowder house, blowing up the whole city.
This was the end of the kingdom.
"That's what European powers use — that void that Kaabu has left — to encroach upon the territory and start controlling things," says Canós-Donnay. "It's perceived as the end of independent African kingdoms before colonialism."
Griots like Galissa play a harp-like instrument called the kora to sing about this history. "This instrument is a part of our life — a part of my life," he says. "It's spiritual, it's entertaining, it's imaginative and it's a companion."
Galissa has sung stories about Kaabu and Kansala for decades. But to him, it's often felt like the stuff of legend. "To me it was a kind of fiction," he says, "like a story."
'I'm very proud of my ancestors'
Canós-Donnay has led multiple archaeological digs of Kaabu in present-day Senegal. But she had never excavated in Guinea-Bissau where its capital, Kansala, was once located. To understand the kingdom and its downfall, she believed she had to exhume that city, which had been buried by rain, flooding and perhaps worms and earthquakes.
She wanted to start — as she always does — with local buy-in. "We don't proceed with excavations without the explicit consent of the local community," says Canós-Donnay. "And they were very receptive. They're aware of the incredible past and they're very keen on people giving it visibility."
Canós-Donnay recalls that she and her colleagues, including a handful of Senegalese archaeologists, came with "everything from pickaxes to brushes," she says. Some traces of the city walls, shrines and ancient trees were still visible aboveground. But much of the site was half a foot to four feet below the ground.
The team sketched a map of the site that totaled nearly 150 acres, "which is absolutely enormous," says Canós-Donnay. That's the equivalent of about 114 football fields.
They found fortresses, the quarters of the king, indications of extensive trade and evidence of a detonation centuries ago — bits of roof tile and other debris were strewn about and big chunks of the floor were missing.
The archaeologists "only made a dent in an absolutely enormous site," she says, so they've already made plans to return. Even the small portion they've uncovered so far offers physical validation of the people and places coursing through the songs of the griots, passed down over generations.
"The importance of this project is [for] Africans to be able to tell their own story and their own perspective," says Antonio Queba Banjai, a descendant of the last emperors of Kaabu, rather than relying on Westerners to do it for them. "The storytellers tell us where we come from."
He says the songs of the griots that he's heard his whole life are more vivid to him now — like movies. "In my head, in my mind, I can make a picture so that things can be complete," he says. "I'm very proud about my ancestors."
Singing a new song
It was critical to Canós-Donnay to involve the griots throughout the archaeological dig. She invited a group of them to the excavation, including Nino Galissa. He was moved by what he saw.
"When you arrive at a place that people have spoken about your whole life and the characters we've sung about," he says, "and suddenly, you find people that tell you yes, this is where these folks actually sat, it's like you were dreaming." But it was no dream, he concludes. It was real all along.
Once the excavation concluded, the archaeologists gave Galissa a copy of the final report. They asked if he might transform their findings into song as a way of sharing the work with the community. "We wanted to go beyond what's normally done," says Canós-Donnay, "which is to use griots as a source, and instead create a dialogue where we could also be a source for griots."
Galissa accepted.
"It was absolutely amazing to see our work being turned into an epic itself that could resonate with the ways in which history is traditionally consumed in the area," says Canós-Donnay.
In his song, Galissa described some of the findings of the dig. But he also wrote lyrics about the aspect of all this that so touched him — that what the griots sing about is real.
"I stressed that the archaeologists returned to us a sense of pride," he says "that people can now truly understand the role of griots as historians."
Photojournalist Ricci Shryock contributed to this story.
Ricci Shryock contributed to this report.
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