The certainty of the individual's extinction as a human being contradicts so outrageously the value and effort of living that most cultures minimize the confrontation with this certainty, or cushion it with assurances of some form of immortality. I am going to describe some of the ways in which the Yoruba express their fear of death, and the response they make to it, especially through their traditional religion, which is still the religion of a good proportion of the five million Yoruba in South-West Nigeria and Southern Dahomey. These examples show the wide range of their attempts to cope with this recurrent fear.

There is an assumption that the photographic iconography of the South African struggle against apartheid is universally known and familiar. It is however dominated by certain tropes and categories that obscure the many complexities and nuances of its origins, its practitioners and its effects. This article focuses on one photographer, Omar Badsha, and explores his own narrations about city and family life in the Indian Ocean port city of Durban, and the artistic and political trajectories in which he was embedded that gave rise to his own photographic work and the organization of other photographers into the collective known as Afrapix. Badsha grew up in ‘the imperial ghetto’ of Grey Street in Durban within a rich legacy of radical political and cultural debate, becoming an artist and later a trade union organizer. It is the imperatives of the latter work that pushed him into photography as a medium of literacy. Many of his own photographs started as a personal visual diary when he re-explored the spaces of his childhood as an adult, and in the process became increasingly sensitized to the parallels between political and religious ritual. In particular he was fascinated by the dynamics between the leaders and the led, and the techniques and theatricalities of the different genres of mobilization. His work and the multiple forces and influences at play suggest that there were (and are) plural and competing aesthetic regimes during (and after) apartheid that are little recognized, mostly due to a deeply entrenched (and ongoing) separation between the domains of aesthetics and politics in South Africa and elsewhere outside the African continent.

The Yoruba, a people numbering over 5½ million, living in south-west Nigeria, need little introduction. They are almost unique among African peoples in that they live in large settlements, many of which were capitals of chiefdoms; 42 per cent, of them live in towns of over 20,000 people and there are nine towns with more than 50,000 inhabitants. Ibadan, now the capital of the Western Region of Nigeria, has a population of nearly half a million. Those towns which were capitals were, in the past, governed by kings (ɔba) and councils of chiefs (oloye or ijoye) who exercised sovereign powers throughout the town and its territory; the titles of these kings and chiefs were usually vested in lineages, so that a chief held a dual position as an elected representative of his lineage and as a member of the council of chiefs in the town. Other towns were governed in a similar manner, their rulers being subordinate to a king. The largest towns, especially those in Ibadan Province, owe their size to the influx of refugees from the crumbling Oyo kingdom in the early and mid-19th century; but it would appear that long before this the capitals of important rulers were towns of 10,000 or more inhabitants. The origin of Yoruba kingship is obscure; the first rulers may have come as conquerers, but their arrival cannot be less than seven centuries ago and may have been much earlier.

Cities as elusive, invisible, yet to come. ‘[T]he city is no-man's land’ (Grace Khunou, p. 240 in Mbembe and Nuttall). ‘Lagos is no man's land’ (heard in Lagos by the present writer, August 2010). A picture of a strangely empty and disrupted man-made landscape (William Kentridge, pp. 349–350 in Mbembe and Nuttall), balanced by a dense but also personless urban scene (by the same author, pp. 35–6 in the same text). … The slippage between conventional social scientific terms of runaway urbanization, the teeming human vitality of African cities, and the elusiveness of the titles, sayings and images of these three books, opens up the rich vein for research and writing into which these authors work their ways. Johannesburg. Kinshasa. Pikine (Dakar). Winterveld (a South African urban area outside Pretoria). Douala. Jeddah. The books reviewed here are based on detailed field research in six particular cities. They all juxtapose the categories of ‘metropolis’ and ‘modernity’ to the category of ‘Africa’, all positing the anomaly this move may represent in the categorical social scientific mind. The subtitles immediately indicate a different starting point from the analytics of population, geography and governance. With an approach through ‘tales’ (De Boeck and Plissart) and ‘reading the city’ (Mbembe and Nuttall), the authors indicate an alternative intellectual reach. They start from visual imagery, the language arts and the social mediations through which the lives lived in urban ‘modern’ Africa are expressed, communicated, understood, configured and conserved. Their aims evoked in my mind the modern art – rather than the analytics – of other cities. So here we have ‘circulation’ and vehicles as symbols and sounds without too much attention to traffic (the Lagos ‘go slow’; the accidents); ‘bodies’ without much attention to food or toilet needs or aging; ‘authority’ evaded or permeating rather than personified in mayors, town councils and multitudes of other officials and employees. In the ether of the invisible, what circulates are symbols and expressions; what emanates from bodies is sexual tension, aesthetic sensibility and physical vulnerability (‘bodies in danger’, De Boeck and Plissart, p. 117); what bears down oppressively is constraint and neglect of all kinds. In brief, what strikes the perceptive mind is precisely what bursts out of the conventional forms and has not yet taken a newly conventionalized shape. Through this orientation, all three books bring the humanities and artistic sensibilities to the question of the spirits, souls, inspirations, dangers, images and memories that inhabit the crowded spaces between buildings and people, insects and people, people and people.

Focusing on Gbekebor, a small rural community in Burutu Local Government Area in Delta State, this article examines the rise of small-scale artisanal oil refineries in the oil-rich Niger Delta area in south-eastern Nigeria. Mostly owned and run by unemployed youth in the Delta region, this informal underground oil economy is a classic example of the ways in which the mass of disgruntled youth in Nigeria have now evolved their own new survival strategies in the face of inauspicious social and economic conditions in everyday life. In the article, therefore, I argue that the growth of illegal refineries in the Niger Delta region represents ordinary people's desperate search for economic and social justice for themselves and their communities when the state and superordinate economic regimes (oil corporations) operating in the Delta area have connived to deny ordinary people their social and economic rights as citizens.

In recent years a new type of association, the improvement union or ‘meeting’, has become common in Southern Nigeria. Associations of this kind may be formed on a lineage, clan, village, village-group, divisional, or tribal basis, and may carry out various economic, educational, political, social, and general improvement activities directly related to changing cultural conditions. The present report is concerned with the development of this kind of association in the Afikpo villagegroup of the Ibo-speaking people. Its growth in this section of Ibo country has been more recent than in the more central Ibo areas, where European contact has been of longer duration, a circumstance that has made it possible to study its initial development in detail.

The subsistence economy of the Yoruba of West Africa, like that of their neighbours, on the Guinea Coast, is based on sedentary hoe agriculture. Hunting, fishing, animal husbandry, and the gathering of wild foods are practised, but the basis of the Yoruba diet consists of starchy tubers, grains, and fruits grown on their farms, supplemented by vegetable oils, wild and cultivated fruits and vegetables, and meat and fish. The commercial economy of the Yoruba is based on cocoa (koko, from English) Theobroma cacao, originally native to Central America, which has become the principal cash crop of the Yoruba during the present century. Today Nigeria's major export, cocoa, is produced almost entirely by the Yoruba. More than 99 per cent, of the total tonnage of Nigerian cocoa graded in 1940-1 was produced in Yoruba territory, only 741 out of 97,862 tons coming from Benin and Warri provinces. First exported in the last decade of the nineteenth century, cocoa has increased in importance until in 1947 it ranked first among Nigeria's exports in terms of value. It is the principal cash crop in Ǫyǫ, Ondo, Ijębu-Ode and Abęokuta provinces and part of the Colony, all of which are inhabited by the Yoruba.

A notre époque, l'agriculture urbaine-c'est à dire, la cultivation de cultures alimentaires dans les jardins d'arrièrecours, les espaces urbains inutilisés et les zones périphériques—est une alternative économiquement viable pour beaucoup de migrants africains. Bien qu'auparavant ‘invisible’ aux yeux des promoteurs et des économistes, il est maintenant reconnu que l'agriculture urbaine joue un rôle essentiel en ce qui concerne la subsistance des économies de ménages chez les gens ayant les revenus les plus bas dans les grandes villes de l'Afrique de l'Ouest. Mais ces pratiques font plus que nourrir les pauvres. En se servant de l'exemple de Ziguinchor à Casamance, au Sénégal, cet article démontre que les cultures agricoles à la périphérie des zones urbaines et à l'intérieur des zones urbaines, sur une terre autrement négligée ou à moitié urbanisée, protègent et enrichissent aussil'environnement de la ville tout en augmentant la productivité de base de ses habitants. Directement, ou d'une manière plus subtile, ces pratiques renforcent les liens amicaux, et promotent la coopération entre les groupes ethniques tout en aidant en même temps à maintenir la complexité biologique d'une façon intéressante et auparavant inexplorée. L'agriculture urbaine pourrait fournir un point de contact à travers lequel les pauvres des villes pourraient établir un rapport avec les débats sur la biodiversité.

This article presents fragments of conversation with elderly and younger people in the rural town of Kwahu Tafo. The statements of the various speakers are often contradictory. The borders between respect and hatred, admiration and envy, affection and fear prove porous. The article is an attempt to understand the changing sentiments of the young towards the old, and vice versa. Elders pronounce both blessings and curses. Their spiritual power is sometimes appreciated as wisdom, the fruit of lifelong experience. At other times that spiritual power is denounced as witchcraft. Theologically these statements sound confusing and contradictory. From a sociological point of view, however, they make sense. They express the basic ambivalence of young people towards the old. On one hand there is respect, a cultural code which is almost ‘natural’: one regards with awe and admiration what came before. On the other, old people engender resentment because of their overbearing attitude and their refusal to ‘go’. The fact that young people die while old people remain alive is a reversal of the natural order and reeks of witchcraft.

This article compares encounters with tourism in two African communities, the Dogon in Mali and the Kapsiki in north Cameroon. The societies are comparable in many respects, but the effects on them of the tourist presence quite different. The Dogon react to tourism by bolstering their cultural pride and self esteem, and they develop inventive ways of gearing their cultural performances to tourist demands without compromising the rituals to which the performances belong. For them, the tourist presence signals the importance and intrinsic interest of Dogon culture. The Cameroonian Kapsiki (called Higi in north Nigeria) interpret the attention bestowed upon them and their country as indicating that they are marginal, living at the rim of the habitable world. They translate the tourist quest for ‘authenticity’ as being ‘backward’ and left out. The reasons for these different reactions are traced to processes inherent in cultural tourism, to the specific agenda of tourism in either place, and to some characteristics of the host '. The overall effect of tourist encounters with local communities seems to be to reinforce existing patterns of identity construction and to restate the images of the relevant ‘other’ already current in those cultures.

The collapse of the mining company La Générale des Carrières et des Mines (GECAMINES) in the 1990s forced many unemployed workers in Lubumbashi to look at alternative means of survival. The post-GECAMINES era was characterized by acute economic crisis at a time of rapid population growth and increasing urban poverty. The object of this article is threefold: to demonstrate how Lubumbashi residents resorted to agricultural activities within and around the city; to identify reasons for success and failure from three case studies; and to categorize the types of agriculture that emerge. Data were collected by means of semi-structured interviews, in-depth questions and observation. One hundred farming households were selected and interviewed between November 2004 and March 2005. Data were analysed using thematic content analysis for qualitative aspects and SPSS for the quantitative information. Though the living conditions of 75 per cent of urban farmers declined despite the practice of urban agriculture, these conditions might have worsened without it. However, 20 per cent of the households in the sample succeeded in stabilizing their living conditions, even though they were unable to alleviate poverty completely. A few farmers (5 per cent) became food-secure through the practice of urban agriculture.

The analysis of ‘social stratification’ (a polite way of speaking of inequality) is crucial to that of political power, though not easy, regardless of the social group investigated. At the cost of oversimplification, die-hard theoreticians minimise the problem by using ready-made typologies and causal links purporting to explain all living social structures.

Everywhere in Africa contact with the European is causing change and disturbance, institutional dislocation and disintegration. If Bantu society is to survive the shock, its disintegrating institutions must eventually resolve themselves into new or modified forms better suited to the changed conditions. This transition can be accomplished only by gradual, often painful adjustments, in which the responses and reactions to the challenge of the more advanced culture might be investigated and the nature of culture growth analysed. One of the most fruitful approaches to the sociological processes involved in culture growth and the implication of the changes that occur is the study of the impact of a foreign culture upon the family and its associated institutions. Disturbances in these are often the reflection of widespread social and economic disintegration, and the extent of the disturbance may be regarded as a measure of the shock that has been sustained by the society. The purpose of this attempt at describing and analysing changing conditions in marital and parental relations is to show the extent of disintegration, the weaknesses and disadvantages of some of the institutions that are proving inadequate to meet the new demands, and the nature of the adjustments that are being made to regain equilibrium.

This paper is an investigation of the relationship between identity, politics, and rumours in Jimma, Ethiopia. The introduction of ethnic federalism in Ethiopia after the fall of the Marxist Derg regime in 1991 has been the topic of a significant amount of academic discussion, but little attention has been given to the day-to-day experience of this change. Consequently, post-1991 Ethiopian politics have been viewed primarily in terms of ethnic power struggles. An analysis of rumours that are circulated through casual conversation enables a better understanding of popular reactions to ethnic federalism. In particular, rumours regarding the drinking habits of Oromo Muslims and the political behaviour of Protestants reveal that ethnicity is closely intertwined with religion and nationalism. This analysis also demonstrates how a particularly Ethiopian form of discourse functions as a means both of resisting and coping with loss of political power and economic decline. Finally, it explores how international news media coverage of Christian–Muslim conflict and anxieties about globalisation are interrelated with local power struggles. In this paper, rumours are treated as a discourse that provides a window into the worldview of the speaker in order to explore how individuals negotiate political change and construct difference at the everyday level.

There are many references to despised groups of artisans in the literature on Ethiopia, but unfortunately they are scattered through travel books which, from the anthropologist's point of view, are too superficial to permit a sustained and rigorous analysis of the variant forms of this phenomenon. Among such works I would include the publications of Jensen and the Frobenius Institute. After only five weeks' stay among the Konso he attempted an ambitious account of their religion and society in Im Lande des Gada that is false or distorted in almost every detail, not excepting matters of elementary observation. Shack's study of the Gurage and the status of craftsmen among them is the only one known to the author which can be considered as the work of a professional anthropologist. This article is therefore intended partly as a contribution to the ethnography of artisan status in Ethiopia. Only when we have many more such studies will we be in a position to appraise the situation properly, and to ascertain the basic characteristics of discrimination against craftsmen in Ethiopia. It may well be that the criteria of discrimination cannot be reduced to a single pattern.

In this article and in a succeeding one I give a preliminary account of Nyoro kinship and affinal terms, together with some description of the expected and actual behaviour associated with the categories they denote. I hope at a later date to publish a very much fuller account, but it may in the meantime be useful to put on record a broad outline of the Nyoro system, so far undescribed except for the few pages devoted to it in Roscoe's work. In the present article I discuss Nyoro categories of kin; in the one which follows I shall consider affinal relationships and Nyoro notions about them.

Discourses on autochthony, citizenship and exclusion have become popular in Cameroon as well as in other parts of Africa, and lately even in Europe. This article considers the case of the Mbororo (agro-pastoral Fulbe) in north-west Cameroon (also known as the Western Grassfields) and their recent claims to regional citizenship and minority status.

The Mbororo are a minority in the region. They are perceived as strangers and migrants by local Grassfields groups who consider themselves their hosts and landlords. The Mbororo have long entertained host–guest and patron–client relations with their Grassfields neighbours. However, in the context of Cameroon's democratization and the constitutional changes of the 1990s, they have changed their political strategies, aiming at direct representation to the state. In 1992 MBOSCUDA (the Mbororo Social and Cultural Development Association) was founded and gradually developed into a nationally influential ethnic elite association. While confirming the Mbororo as regional citizens, it successfully portrayed them as an ‘indigenous people’ both nationally and internationally. Moreover, many Mbororo of the younger generation have gradually developed emotional bonds with their home areas. Neighbouring groups have mixed feelings about these developments, as they may generate new conflicts.

Actors in fluid African urban environments try to make collaborative social action work, collective responsibility enforceable, and instruments of power effective and legitimate. These efforts give rise to an uneasy tension between the adoption of normative discourses concerning urban management and governance, the ways in which urban residents attempt to adapt to a vast range of new opportunities and crises, and the role of the city as a place of experimentation. Given this tension, what are diverse groups of African urban residents doing to make cities habitable and to use cities as a means of enlarging the spatial parameters in which they operate? Focusing on the site of one of urban Africa's major governance restructuring projects, Pikine, Senegal, the article discusses a particular instance of translocal economic collaboration among three discrete groups of women. Whereas the major intervention, the City Project, sought to promote greater co-ordination among the localities making up Pikine, ‘real’ co-ordination, as exemplified by these women's collaboration, may be taking place in unanticipated and relatively invisible ways. Through examining some of the intricate difficulties actors often face in operating at translocal levels, ‘small leaps’ across scale are sometimes significant accomplishments and potentially important precursors to new extended forms of economic collaboration.

Since the early 1970s the heavy impact of recurrent drought has given rise to the sense that Sahelian pastoralism is in decline. This is usually attributed to increasing aridity, environmental degradation and the destructive effects of colonial policies on traditional mechanisms to spread risk and promote recovery from drought. These factors clearly contribute to the pastoral sector's apparently increasing difficulties in contending with environmental hardship and variability. However, analysts' strong emphasis on forces exogenous to the sector has created a seriously distorted view of a system in uniform decline. In fact, when changes within the pastoral sector are examined, it becomes clear that the movement of people away from full-time transhumant livestock raising since the 1970s reflects not the decline of pastoralism per se but rather the slipping-out by a stratum of producers for whom the risks associated with this activity were simply too great relative to possible returns. Understanding that drought-induced impoverishment has its roots in differential ability to bear risks linked to environmental variability is especially important in formulating sound policies to ensure present and former pastoralists' continued access to income-generating activities, whether in full-time livestock raising or in other areas.