History is often presented as a unilineal process whereby events follow on from each other in a causal sequence: A gives rise to B which in turn leads to C. While this structural form is extremely compelling as explanation, it has limitations when applied to the colonial encounter. The differences between the beliefs and practices of the people involved in this encounter, and the consequent variety in perceived significances of individual events, make it almost impossible to construct a unified history. The diversity of perceptions in historical events has been recognised and is most clearly seen in those historical accounts of the colonial encounter written from the perspective of the ‘other’ (Sahlins, 1981; 1985). However, these analyses, by focusing on events, still maintain the structural framework of conventional history.

‘I am in the Batawana's country,’ wrote the Herero chief Samuel Maharero to the British Magistrate in Tsau in Ngamiland on 28 September 1904. ‘I am writing to tell you that I have been fighting with the Germans in my country; the Germans were my friends; they made me suffer so much by the manner in which they troubled me, that I fought with them…’ (PRO CO 879/80). On the same date he wrote to the Tawana chief Sekgoma: ‘I tell you that I have fought with the German, they trouble me and killed my people, then I was angry about that. I have fought with them for 8 (eight) months, and I have no ammunition to-day, this is the reason why I came here…’ (PRO CO 879/86).

Recent literature on the agrarian crisis in Africa questions the adequacy of a technocratic approach to explaining and alleviating the crisis. Bringing about sustained growth in African agricultural output and rural incomes will require more than a technological breakthrough. Farmers' capacity to employ improved technology and to increase output and investment depends on their access to productive resources—broadly defined to include not only human, financial and material inputs, but also the knowledge and institutional means to use them effectively. To advance knowledge of the causes of the agrarian crisis and strengthen capacity to develop meaningful measures to alleviate it, it is necessary to understand the conditions under which African farmers gain access to productive resources and the ways in which conditions of access affect resource use and agricultural performance.

What has become known as ‘the African agrarian crisis’ is an extremely complex phenomenon. This much is clear from the fact that, despite the very considerable amount of literature which has been accumulated on the subject (Berry, 1984), there is still very little agreement as to its precise nature and dimensions and even less certainty on how to resolve it in the context of national level policies, plans and programmes. What this must mean, inter alia, is that explanations cannot be sought simply in pithy epigrams drawn from grand theories and hastily assembled micro-level data bases.

African men, like men everywhere, have dominated the public sphere, holding the vast majority of official positions of power and authority. In pre-colonial African societies women were formally subordinate to male authority and male dominance was buttressed by an ideology of male superiority and a status system where women showed deference to men. But formal systems, ideologies and codes of etiquette are not realities. In some societies women wielded considerable influence and authority, so much in fact that these systems have been characterised as dual-sex political systems with each sex managing its own affairs (Okonjo, 1976). Women were not so much involved in hierarchical orders of relationships as in complementary, mutually dependent relationships.

The themes of knowledge and ignorance are explored in this article, as is their dialectic, in the light of the continuing failure of development efforts based on top-down procedures. My specific aim is to deliver a statement about the intricate relationship between knowledge, ignorance and power in the context of a Rwandan development project. I will demonstrate how ignorance is generated through agricultural extension and will argue that agronomic services rely on power structures reminiscent of the ‘old’ premise of social inequality (Maquet, 1961; for a summary of the debate on social inequality in Rwanda, see Reyntjens, 1985: 21–30). My concern will be to assess whether the project-induced creation of ignorance—such as the distorted portrayal of practices outside the project area—leads to the displacement of local knowledge and the adoption of new methods.

This article has been written as a contribution to the future orientation of a research programme on the agrarian crisis in Africa, which has been set up by the Joint Committee on African Studies (JCAS) of the American Council of Learned Societies and the Social Science Research Council. The aim of this article is to provide an agenda for research on the environment and access to resources in Africa and is one of four which both provide a review of some of the most important research issues and suggest ways in which they might be tackled.

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.

On that day if you had seen me, you would not have known me; dirty cap with feathers and a long stick, since doesn't fear send a walking stick forward? I put dirty clothes on and I looked like ‘massa’ [my husband]. I even wore plant leaves around my neck so as to make all men [people] put their minds to this [problem].…Today fombuen doesn't march because there isn't trouble but if cows come again they will join! Women know the sound of the whistle and they will leave their cooking pots on the fire. [A Kedjom Ketinguh woman who participated in the 1958 fombuen march to Bamenda]

The Yoruba word aladura, meaning ‘one who prays’, generally refers to a set of churches that formed a powerful religious movement among the Yoruba in western Nigeria during the first decades of this century. To date, there have been three main lines of interpretation which received general recognition: first, in form of a theological analysis (Turner, 1967); second, in a discussion of social protest (Mitchell, 1970); and finally, through the sociology of religion (Peel, 1968). In this article I propose to introduce another aspect of interpretation. Following the many passing remarks made by these authors in respect to the use of writing within the Aladura churches, I will read their accounts in terms of how people perceived and experienced the written word in the specific context of the Christian–colonial order and consider whether and how this experience has influenced people's actions and religious behaviour. In doing so, I am going to take up a theme which has become widely popular in the anthropological field under the heading ‘the consequences of literacy’.

For over a decade African economies have been plagued by recurrent food shortages, economic decline and growing disparities between the living standards of rich and poor. To a large extent food shortages and rural impoverishment may be attributed to external shocks—world recession, oil price shocks, deteriorating terms of trade and mounting debt service obligations—compounded in the 1970s and early 1980s by drought and war. In addition government policies have exacerbated the effects of adverse environmental and world market trends, aggravating rather than alleviating food shortages and depressing rural output and incomes.

I describe a people who, in aspiring to Swahili Islamic values and life style, marginalise themselves economically and politically.

The title of the article both indicates the dilemma of their identity and, for scholars who study Swahili-speaking peoples, is deliberately provocative. How can people whom we call or who call themselves Swahili possibly also be referred to as Mijikenda? After all, these two peoples have in other descriptions been shown to be sharply distinct, either as enemies, as traders in separate goods, or as employers and labourers respectively. Yet, though this is a reasonable characterisation of a difference of great historical significance for the creation of Kenyan coast culture and hegemony, it forgets the areas of overlap between the two peoples, where, in effect, it becomes sometimes impossible to posit consistent differences. The sharp delineation conventionally recorded by writers between the Swahili and the Mijikenda (and the various names by which they have been known before the use of this term in 1945) is as much a result of the conditions under which such writings were produced: they unconsciously reproduce the very distinctions by which pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial authorities administered and ruled the area and its peoples.

The Nyamwezi and Sukuma area of Tanzania covers about 50,000 square miles from Lake Victoria in the north to the southern edges of Tabora District. The area probably contains between 4 and 5 million people, about one fifth of the total Tanzanian mainland population. The two peoples speak regional variants of a single language—the name Sukuma simply meant ‘northerners’ originally—and they share many common social structural and cultural forms (Abrahams, 1967b).

The Oberi Okaime Christian Mission has for long attracted the attention of scholars because of the way it developed a special script and even a language of its own. As early as 1937 the International African Institute was encouraging study of it. Today there is again a revival of interest in both the script and the language, and specimens of both as used in 1986 are included below, so as to put them once again on record some fifty years after they were invented. But these are not the primary focus of this article, the purpose oi which is to outline a history of the church, and by doing so to call attention to the wider phenomenon of Christianity in the context of Ibibio culture. The way Ibibio so readily took up Christianity after about 1910 has yet to be understood in detail, while the Spirit Movement in the region needs to be differentiated from such superficially similar movements as the contemporary Aladura or the earlier Garrick Braide movements.

The series of droughts in Africa and associated famine since the 1970s and the increasing reliance of most African countries on imported food are seen by many people to be key indicators of a crisis in African agriculture. At the same time there is a substantial difference between the story told by the macro-indicators of the crisis—foreign trade and grain production statistics from the formal sector, global famine statistics and environmental data—and by reports from individual village/community studies.

Among the Arab tribes of Oman the only acknowledged nobility is that reckoned by tribal ancestry (asl), affirmed by genealogies and oral history, and known by all. This goes not only for the Sultanate of Oman, but also for Omani tribes which have settled in East Africa. One is either a noble or a member of a group of inferior status, that is, the clients (mawâlî) who comprise the labour force in village communities. Slaves ('abid) by definition have no status. This society is thus socially divided between tribal organisations and client groups. On the other hand, within the tribe itself clans or sections appear to be equal or egalitarian, by law and in reality.