This article analyses continuity and change of the agrarian doctrine in colonial and postcolonial Malawi. It engages in a classic debate about images and polices concerning African farming. The article argues that the agrarian doctrine must be related to the broader notion of agrarian populism, more specifically to Chayanov's notion of the logic of the peasant family farm. Employing this broader approach allows a striking continuity of the agrarian doctrine to be revealed. Calls for changes of local institutions did not signify attempts to promote rural transformation, but contained strategies to increase the economic independence of the precapitalist family farm.

This study focuses on the hegemonic struggles between two ethnic communities, the Mbo and the Bamiléké, in Santchou, West Cameroon. At issue is the sharing of political roles in this locality, which point to issues of political representation. In this district, these roles (mayor, representative, etc.) were under the single party rule of the ethnic minority Mbo, who are a majority in this area but a minority in the rest of the district, where the Bamileke are the majority. In this monolithic context, where all protests were banned, the Bamileke had given up and accepted this arrangement. With the advent of the multiparty system and democracy, in which mayors are now elected and no longer simply nominated, uncertainty has been hovering over this political stronghold of the Mbo. Nevertheless, the Mbo have been able to hold onto the post of mayor and acquire other political posts as well. However, unlike during the single party era, the situation created by the political liberalization has offered to the Bamileke a public space where they can discuss the allocation of local political positions, and manifest their disagreement with the hegemonic trend. In the footsteps of Habermas and many other authors such as Cottereau, this study underlines the need to talk about public spaces in a plural form, instead of a single public space, in order to put in context the internal dynamics of popular cultures engendering subcultural public spheres or places of emerging democracy.

This paper illuminates the marginalization or absenting of the female from transformational processes in Nigeria evident in male-authored works, specifically the novel. This has engendered the woman writer’s creative response to the need for consciousness raising towards female capabilities, by redefining the female as an achiever in multiple transformational spaces—cultural, social, economic, educational, political. The paper argues that literature has played and is still playing a major role in female consciousness raising towards the transformation of Nigerian society.

Consciousness denotes awareness. Thus, to be conscious is to attain a state of awareness. Given that “the locus of consciousness [is] the psyche,” consciousness raising should re-educate and re-structure the psyche towards a growing awareness. Transformation connotes change in all spheres of life—the cultural, social, economic, educational, political, etc.

Guinea’s postindependence state (1958-84) discouraged ethnic identification in favor of national solidarity. In the decades since, ethnic groups have increasingly been mobilized as political interest groups in Guinea, a phenomenon that has been especially visible in recent multiparty elections. At the same time as ethnicity resurfaced as an explicit political force, young performing artists in Guinea’s capital city Conakry were inventing genres of dance and urban ceremony that de-emphasize ethnicity as a marker of belonging. Cohen engages with an interdisciplinary literature on publics to describe how the aesthetic practices of non-elite African youth constitute a crucial form of political engagement.

It is from that perspective that I wish to examine a case study of Hausa law in the Yoruba city of Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria. I argue that the Sarkin Sabo and his representatives, including the Waziri, in dispensing justice and governing Sabo provide just such a ritual manifestation of a “symbolic intercom between the level of cultural thought and complex cultural meanings, on the one hand, and that of social action and immediate event, on the other” to which Munn refers. Following Kiernan (1981, 6), moreover, I hold that a concept is needed to tie the sacred and secular together without slighting either one. In an article that aids in that task, Lubeck (1981, 70) reminds us that:

In his classic study of the Hausa Sabon Gari (new town) in Ibadan, Abner Cohen (1969; 1974) described a logical consequence of the amalgam of sacred and secular in an African society, the Hausa, as well as the manner in which Sabo was linked through the Hausa-British alliance with the capitalist world economy. Moreover, this study seeks to extend Cohen's work to the post-colonial period and note some ways in which that Hausa alliance to the colonial state served to establish an affiliation with the post-colonial state in Nigeria. It does so by focusing on a court case involving the Waziri of Sabo. A brief presentation of the history of Sabo further clarifies the case and enables contextual examination of the relevant social and cultural factors involved. Sabo, after all, must be understood as a consequence of the extension of British colonial power in Nigeria. The extension of that power enabled the Hausa to found dispersed trading centers throughout Nigeria and, indeed, British West Africa. Their power, however, rested on their ability to control those in their constituency. Appropriate analysis of the nexus of historical, political, social and cultural factors in this process will further the understanding of that unifying concept for interpenetration of the sacred and secular which Kiernan seeks.

In Sub-Saharan Africa there has been a steady rate of urbanization. First, there are the large burgeoning cities which are in most cases industrial, commercial and administrative centers with a population ranging between 500,000 to 3,000,000 or more. Second, there are cities with populations between 100,000 and 500,000. Some have industrial, commercial and administrative activities. Third, there are medium sized towns with a populations between 20,000 and 100,000. Some are district or provincial centers. Fourth, there are small sized towns with populations below 20,000 which are dotted in the countryside.

In terms of urban studies, the first and second categories usually attract the attention of scholars (Mabogunje 1980; 1968; Coquery-Vidrovich 1991; Okafor 1988, 253-63). The third and fourth categories are left out as being insignificant in terms of urbanization, population size, commercial activity and administrative importance. They are lowly rated in terms of importance to urban studies.

Although they vary in size and population, small- and medium-sized towns play similar and crucial roles in the economic, social and political development of the areas in which they are located. They serve as links between the urban centers and the rural countryside. They also act as centers of innovation and diffusion of ideas from the urban areas to the countryside and vice-versa. From the urban point of view, small- and medium-sized towns are seen and treated as forward bases for the domination of the countryside. In the rural view, they are seen and treated as either markets or distribution centers at which the produce of rural areas are collected, marketed and absorbed in the local, regional or export market economy. In short, they are seen as points at which capitalist and peasant economies meet and co-exist.

After gaining their independence, African countries followed various industrialization policies. Kenya and Tanzania, up to the Arusha Declaration in February 1967, pursued industrialization via private enterprises. Uganda and Nigeria followed a mixed pattern, that is, investments by both private and public enterprises; Ghana, since 1961 and up to the coup in February 1966 by the National Liberation Council (NLC) that ousted Nkrumah, relied primarily on public-enterprise investment (see also Grayson 1970, 1971ab, 1972).

Ghana started out along the Kenya and pre-Arusha Tanzania pattern, both before independence, with Nkrumah already in power, and after independence (in 1957) up till 1961. During that period Nkrumah set out to create an investment climate favorable to both private foreign and local capital. It was only after 1961 that Nkrumah embarked on large-scale public investments in manufacturing. (For an account of the political climate in the early 1960's, see Genoud 1969.) Aside from ideological leanings and a desire for prestige, the main economic considerations motivating Nkrumah were (1) his judgment that Ghanaian entrepreneurs were unable or unwilling to enter the modern manufacturing sector and (2) to break the economic power of the large foreign firms operating in Ghana.

In the fall of 1971 the United States Congress startled the international community by voting to allow American corporations to resume chromium ore imports from Rhodesia. Clearing the Senate on October 6 and the House of Representatives on November 10, Section 503 of the 1971 Military Procurement Bill stipulated that the President could no longer restrict the importation of a strategic material from a non-communist country when that same material was being imported from a communist country. The official intent of Section 503 was to reduce American dependence on Soviet chrome imports. However, many outside observers, both foreign and domestic, claimed that this “national security” decision was as much pro-Rhodesian as it was anti-Soviet. In any case, Section 503, popularly known as the Byrd Amendment, committed the United States government to participate in a direct violation of the United Nations' mandatory economic sanctions against Rhodesia's illegal white minority government.

This article discusses the traditional amd modern literary influences in Okot p'Bitek's poetry. It must be borne in mind, however, that the question of influences is very complicated because it is difficult to pin down an influence to a particular source. If those sources have become assimilated into an integral whole, it is difficult to sort them out—to know where the modern ends and the traditional begins, or where the Western ends and the African begins. Therefore, no attempt will be made to show that the modern and traditional influences are mutually exclusive. As with all aspects of life, there are bound to be overlaps, and this kind of overlap cannot be any more expected than in the work of a poet with the diverse kinds of experiences of p'Bitek.

A brief survey of his background is illumniating. Okot p'Bitek is an Acholi from Uganda. His father, Opii Jebedyo, was a teacher from the pa-Cua clan of the Patiko chiefdom and his mother, Lacwaa Cerina, came from the Palaro chiefdom. p'Bitek (1973: 21) has repeatedly testified to his early interest in oral literature and his mother's influence in forming that interest:

…my interest in African literature…[was] sparked by my mother's songs and the stories that my father performed around the evening fire.

The title, Song of Lawino, is derived from his mother's name and confirms that his mother, as a composer and singer, taught him many of the songs that he enjoyed throughout his life and used in many aspects of his varied career.

Contemporary critics of Portugal's presence in Africa charge that economic exploitation is the basis of Portuguese colonialism. They often emphasize, to the exclusion of other factors, economic reasons for Portugal's past and present stake in the tropics. These arguments contrast the actual and potential mineral wealth, agricultural produce, and abundant sources of hydroelectric power in Angola and Mozambique with the lack of them in Portugal. The Portuguese goal is often characterized as making the African dominions yield a profit on investments, furnish raw materials, and provide protected markets for metropolitan industries (Hance 1967, p. 23). In a recent issue of Africa Today, Jennifer Davis concluded that “the prospects for profit are exciting. Small wonder that the Portuguese want to keep their colonies now” (1970, p. 6). John Gellner, in a special to the Toronto Globe and Mail (1971), wrote: “Thus the strategic aim of the Portuguese is to hold what is worth holding.…Angola is a very rich country.”

African revolutionaries and their sympathizers reiterate these economic explanations of Portuguese behavior in a steady stream of books, pamphlets, and leaflets. Marxist in outlook, the authors couch their analysis of Portugal's colonial motives almost exclusively in economic terms. With the exception of revolutionary leaders such as Amilcar Cabral and Eduardo Mondlane, who identified other reasons for Portugal's retention of African colonies, many of those favorable to African liberation emphasize the economic rationale for Portuguese colonialism. (For representative accounts, see Chaliand 1969, pp. 5-12; Dependency…, pp. 3-6; Davidson 1969, pp. 25-28.)

Stepping ashore upon the ruined site of Kilwa island in 1824, British official W. F. W. Owen sadly reflected upon the history of the East African coast:

Owen's astute observations characterize the East African coast as it appeared in the nineteenth century; as he noted, the situation was far different prior to the European arrival.

Long before Portuguese caravels rounded the Cape, the East African coast played an important part in the Indian Ocean trading complex. The littoral was certainly known by the people of Arabia in the eighth century before Christ. In fact, the ancient Southern Arabian state of Ausan traded extensively there and may have actually held a portion of the coast (Gray 1962, p. 11; Wainwright 1947). In later centuries, adventurers and merchants from far more distant centers began to traverse the Indian Ocean in order to reach the land of Zanj.

Some events and settings stand out as important symbols of a historical period. Versailles, in my opinion, is such a symbol. Constructed at great cost by order of Louis XIV, Versailles symbolizes the isolation of the court of Louis XVI and the insensitivity of Marie Antoinette as expressed in the unforgettable lines: “The poor have no bread? Then let them eat cake.” More recently, in June of 1982, Versailles was the setting for the summit gathering of the heads-of-state of seven major industrialized countries. The response of these “guardians” of the present world order (or disorder) to the cries of the world's poor was an echo of Marie Antoinette: “The poor countries have no foreign exchange? Then let them eat monetarism.”

I could not escape this reflection and this symbolism as I re-read the World Bank Report, Accelerated Development in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Agenda for Action (1981), and its recent follow-up, Sub-Saharan Africa: Progress Report on Development Prospects and Programs (1983, hereafter Progress Report). Scapegoating the victims seems to be a popular pastime in the drawing rooms of the wealthy. These World Bank reports, supported by country and sectoral studies of many African nations, manifest this same tendency of “blaming the victims.” They are classical expositions of “horse and sparrow economics,” patronizingly instructing the sparrows to improve their techniques so that they might more completely pick out the oats in the horses' droppings. But they are deadly serious, as the geography of hunger and hunger-related deaths again expands.

The African writer has been very much influenced by politics, probably because the African intellectual is a part of the political elite. The writer is a sensitive point within his society. Thus, African literature has tended to reflect the political phases on the continent. Chinua Achebe is a very suitable example. Beginning during the colonial days his writing spans the succession of political crises which has beset Nigeria. Also, more than any other Nigerian writer, he has made statements on the role of the writer in his society. His conception of the writer's duty has also tended to change with the political situation in his country. By examining both his creative writing and his pronouncements, we can obtain an interesting picture of how the quality of a literature can be directly influenced by the degree of the writer's political commitment.

Achebe's first statement on the social responsibility of the African writer was made in a lecture entitled “The Role of the Writer in a New Nation,” delivered to the Nigerian Library Association in 1964. Although he had cast the title of his lecture in rather general terms, Achebe talked specifically about the role of the writer in what he called the new Nigeria. The major problem all over the world, he said, was the debate between white and black over black humanity, a subject which presented the African writer with a great challenge:

This paper is designed to explore the theory which relates the one-party state ideology to the class conditions prevalent in African societies. It is not my intention to argue against the one-party state and for the multiparty system because the latter seems inappropriate for Africa at its present stage of development. This article is an attempt to analyze critically one aspect of the African one-party state ideology rather than to evaluate the whole doctrine that only one-party states can lead African states toward rapid development and national unity.

Many African leaders defend the one-party system on the Marxist ground that political parties are part of the political-social super-structure which articulates basic economic class interests. They argue that there are no distinct economic classes in Africa and that, therefore, there is no justification for the existence of more than one party. Multipartyism in Europe, the United States, and even such developing countries as India is regarded as an outgrowth of class struggles which took place in the past and continue today.

African leaders suggest that in Africa there never were classes in the Marxist sense nor do they exist today. The Nigerian priest B. Onuoha states: “The idea of social classes, of a closed group, whose privilege it was to enjoy the best of everything and an underprivileged group for whom anything was good enough is foreign to Africa” (Onuoha 1965, p. 34). Most African leaders agree with him. Even the General Federation of African Trade Unions, which would presumably represent a specific working-class interest, declares that there is no class differentiation in Africa and that there are no large discrepancies between the living standards of Africa's major social groups (Friedland and Rosberg 1964, p. 22).

It is something of an understatement to say that the historiography of Islam in Africa came of age during the period 1960-1970. Looking back on this decade of active scholarship, and contrasting it with a previous era of “darkness” (a sort of jāhiliyya, at least for Western scholars), one cannot help but be astonished by the comparison. Before 1960 there were no university centers devoted to the study of Islam in Africa; there was only a handful of scholars fully engaged in Islamic studies, and of these very few trained in the historical discipline. With such a serious shortage of trained scholars, it is not surprising to note the absence of suitable historical monographs pertaining to the history of Islam in Africa.

The last decade has told a rather different story. Several prominent centers of African studies have been established, and while a serious shortage of Arabist-historians continues, it is encouraging to note that each of these centers has placed high priority upon the acquisition of scholars in African Islamic studies. Importantly, to stand Professor Trevor-Roper's argument on its head, it is no longer possible to speak of the “unrewarding gyrations of barbarous” Islamic peoples “in picturesque but irrelevant corners of the globe.” The good Regius Professor of Modern History at Oxford has had to consume much humble pie over this unfortunate statement, and it is not intended here to cram his palate much further. Suffice it to say, however, that the Jāhiliyya has always been an area of rewarding research, and despite Trevor-Roper, even “darkness” is a subject of legitimate historical study.

One of the major problems for anyone trying to understand United States-South Africa policy and relationships is the long established tradition of double talking. To find the truth it is necessary to penetrate behind the coded language and to recognize a series of myths which serve to cloak a far more unpleasant reality.

The Ovambo form the biggest population group in South West Africa: at the 1960 census they numbered 239, 363, or 45 per cent of the total population of all races, and in 1966, 270, 900, or 44 per cent of the total (South Africa 1967, p. 18). By 1971 their numbers had increased to 342,000, or 45 per cent of the population (South Africa 1971, introduction). The Ovambo people have been settled within the area now known as Ovamboland, or Owambo, for about four centuries. The territory is bordered by the Kunene River and Angola in the North, the Kaokoveld in the West, and Kavango in the East (see Map 1). It is isolated from the southern and western parts of South West Africa by vast tracts of uninhabited land. This comparative isolation has protected the Ovambo people from interference and attack by other tribes; on the other hand, it has made communication and trade with the most developed part of South West Africa difficult and expensive and has, therefore, tended to inhibit the economic development of the territory.

There are seven Ovambo tribes: the Ndonga, the Kuanyama (“the meat eaters”), the Ngandjena, the Kuambi (“those who work with clay”), the Kualuthi, the Mbalantu, and the Nkolonkati-Eunda. These tribes are linked by broad ties of kinship and by the fact that their languages are, for the most part, interintelligible. These factors, and the territorial isolation of the Ovambo people, have combined to create in them a strong sense of solidarity.