Exactly when Islam arrived on the Swahili coast is difficult to say, but Mombasa was a Muslim town long before the arrival of Vasco da Gama in 1498. During the two centuries or so that the Portuguese-Christians occupied this part of the sea route from Europe to India there were churches in Mombasa and elsewhere in Swahililand, but none has endured. Modern Christianity dates from 1844, when Ludwig Krapf arrived in Mombasa. Before then Mombasa was a “wholly Mohammedan” town. Krapf, a German Lutheran, was employed by the Church Missionary Society (CMS) based in London. Failing to make any converts on the island, Krapf moved into the coastal hinterland, among the Nyika, where Islam was less in evidence and where, therefore, Krapf was more hopeful of success. With remarkable perspicacity he wrote: “Christianity and civilisation ever go hand in hand…. A black bishop and black clergy of the Protestant Church may, ere long, become a necessity in the civilisation of Africa.”

In England, when attention was drawn to the east African slave trade, a settlement of liberated slaves was established on the mainland north of Mombasa island in 1875, and a church built (Emmanuel Church, Frere Town)—the first parcel of land in central Swahililand to be owned by European-Christians. There was still no church on the island. However, this was the zenith of the British imperial power and in the capital of almost every major British overseas possession, it was de rigueur—alongside the Secretariat and the Club—to have a Church of England cathedral.

This article examines Pierre Verger’s Notes sur le culte des Orisa et Vodun à Bahia, la Baie de tous les Saints, au Brésil et à l’ancienne côte des esclaves en Afrique and aims to investigate his position in relation to the study of religion, Vodun in particular, in the African context, and his contribution to the construction of an “African traditional religion” paradigm. In Notes sur le culte des Orisa et Vodun, Verger intended to make a comparative analysis of “African sources” and “Brazilian remnants” in order to ascertain what had survived the middle passage. This article seeks to highlight the innovative perspectives Verger introduced to the study of religions in Africa, perspectives that included a wide use of historical sources and a deep involvement in field research, and to point up his different methodological position on the two sides of the Atlantic. In Africa he sought pure tradition, while in Brazil he emphasized the modernity of the African religions that proved able to survive the Atlantic passage and resist the hegemonic powers of the New World.

The following bibliography is intended to supplement the excellent one (largely) of secondary sources compiled by Thomas Spear and published in History in Africa 27(2000). Research for a forthcoming monograph on the East African coast in the ‘middle’ period has taken me in recent years into a number of libraries and archives in India, East Africa, and Europe. There I have been able to build an extensive listing of source material and oral informants interviewed in East Africa. While this compilation includes many of the titles in Spear's list, study carried out in Goa and Lisbon afforded me the opportunity of viewing primary sources not included in Spear's collection. Despite the fact that this is still a work in progress, I submit this supplementary list hoping it might prove useful to other scholars interested in East Africa and the western Indian in the pre- and early-modern period.

Readers also will note that I have included some secondary listings not included in Spear's bibliography. This is due to the fact that my ideas concerning what is relevant to coastal history appear to be somewhat broader than Spear's. Consequently, this list includes some titles on southern and central Africa, as well as of coastal literature, which I have found to be useful and apposite to coastal studies. Naturally, I have tried not to duplicate titles found in Spear's list.

Since Namibian independence in 1990, historians have increasingly made use of Namibian archives to explore the history of the German and South African occupation. Researching the recent past is, however, much more difficult, considering the absence of a SWAPO archive and an embargo on governmental files of thirty years. But now, thirty years after independence, the files from the postcolonial administrations are set to gradually open up. In anticipation of this new chapter of Namibian history, this article examines the state of various archives in Namibia and offers a number of observations that may be of use to scholars who are interested in consulting them.

While doing research in Rhodes House Library I cam across a magnificently detailed description of parts of Kikuyuland in 1899 in the travel notebooks of Sir Halford John Mackinder. In this work Mackinder recounted his expedition's successful effort to be the first recorded group to ascend Mount Kenya. He is also one of the few travelers to leave a detailed account of this area for the nineteenth century. Furthermore, I discovered he had compiled a typescript of his notebooks clearly intended for possible publication. I did not compare the two closely at the time, as I relied on the notebooks, but when the African Studies Association announced a program to publish valuable unpublished primary sources, I immediately thought of Mackinder's work as being an important unpublished source for central Kenyan History. Here I discuss some of the implications of that thought that I have so far discovered.

Mackinder (1861–1947) was one of the intellectual founders of modern political geography. He read both natural science and modern history as a student at Christ Church College, Oxford and went on to study law and qualify as a barrister in London. Mackinder also traveled widely in 1885 as part of the Oxford extension movement, lecturing on his ideas concerning a “new geography.” He believed that there was a growing rift between the natural sciences and the humanities and that geography could act as a bridge between the two. Physical geography could aid in understanding and explaining human activities.

Construire l'histoire d'un pays quand on ne dispose que de la mémoire et des traditions orales est une situation familière à l'anthropologue. Y parvenir est une entreprise qui n'est pas toujours couronnée de succès. Le principal moyen de remonter dans le passé est fourni par les généalogies de personnes illustres qui ont été transmises de diverses façons. Puis de les comparer entre elles en les posant sur une même échelle temporelle. Les écueils sont nombreux. Plus le personnage est important, plus ses héritiers, ou ses détracteurs tendent à fournir des informations divergentes. Un exemple célèbre est la généalogie des rois du Dahomey qui est loin d'être entièrement claire.

L'histoire des Téké tsaayi intéresse une zone plus restreinte, un carré d'environ 100 kilomètres de côté situé à l'ouest des sources de l'Ogooué dans la forêt qui couvre les monts du Chaillu. Les autres groupes téké se trouvent dans les savanes situées à l'est de cette zone, à l'exception des Téké laali. Le travail de comparaison mené sur 13 généalogies a permis de remonter jusqu'aux débuts du 18e siècle et d'esquisser, sur près de trois siècles, un rythme temporel marqué d'abord par la métallurgie, puis par les guerres, puis par la traite et l'invention du masque Kidumu. Chacune des périodes a suscité un ou plusieurs héros dont le souvenir était diversement conservé en 1966-72. Parfois l'énumeration tourne court et cela renseigne aussi sur la faible profondeur de la mémoire. Ces généalogies constituent des documents exceptionnels qui contrastent avec l'épaisseur bien mince du passé dans une société ol'on arrive généralement aux temps immobiles dès que l'on dépasse la 3e génération, comme je le montre aussi dans ce travail.

In 1990 Jean Boyd and I began work on an edition of the works of Nana Asma'u. If not a trail of tears, finishing this proved at least to be an odyssey, taking two or three times as long as we had optimistically anticipated. In hopes of making it easier for others to be more realistic, we provide a brief account of this sojourn.

Adam Jones, and especially, Knut Vikør, have provided extensive guidelines for scholars working with Arabic manuscripts and preparing them for camera ready copy. Most of the technology they describe is suited to use with Macintosh PCs, and for a long time it has been Macintosh users who have been best able to deal with Arabic script and Arabic diacriticals in the transliterated form. The comments offered here reflect experience with a PC using WP 5.2 in DOS beginning in 1990. At the time, the massive size of our collection—and the need to reproduce Arabic, Hausa, and Fulfulde in WP 5.2—meant that we faced a different set of problems than those considered by others in the field using Macintoshes. Without an upgrade to WP 6.1 Windows very late in the process, this project could not have been completed satisfactorily.

In the first number of History in Africa P.E.H. Hair reiterated A.W. Lawrence's plea for a “critical appraisal” and analysis of primary sources for African history. The aim of this brief note is to appraise the originality of certain of these works. The focus will be the Gold Coast, with emphasis on the book by William Smith, A New Voyage to Guinea, first published in 1744 and reprinted (without an introduction or editorial comment) by Frank Cass in 1967.

The literature about the Gold Coast during the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries is rich in accounts by visitors, residents, and compilers. Dapper, Barbot, Bosman, Atkins, and Smith all provided descriptions. Only Bosman lived on the Gold Coast for an extended period of time, and the concentration of detail in his book reflects that experience. From about the 1720s to the early nineteenth century, a hiatus in the descriptive literature exists, but then Meredith, De Marree, Bowdich, and Dupuis resume the earlier tradition, so that one cannot say that the Gold Coast has been ignored in terms of European visitors or their original descriptions of the it area.

However, when we look carefully at some of these narratives, we find that not all of what is written is in fact original. For example, Barbot's account of the political organization of Elmina is an exact duplicate, in translation from the Dutch, of Dapper's description. Barbot also copied his description of the “Degrees of Blacks” from Bosman. De Marree, an early nineteenth century Dutch official on the Gold Coast, included without attribution in his narrative, a complete report by Governor General Pieter Linthorst written in 1807.

Towards the end of 1964 a campaign was launched by the University of the Orange Free State to collect political documents dating back as far as 1902 throughout South Africa. It was an attempt to gather all politically relevant documents still in private possession under one roof in a centrally situated place of safekeeping, where they could be arranged systematically and made available to researchers. The success of this venture and the rate at which political documents poured into the then Political Archive undeniably proved the need for such a center in South Africa.

It soon became clear that the function of the Political Archive extended beyond the mere collecting of documents. Scholarly interpretation of the material, the introduction thereof to the public and the stimulation of contemporary history were urgently necessary. This led to the establishment of an Institute for Contemporary History in 1970, formed around the nucleus of the Political Archive.

In the summers of 1971, 1976, and 1979 I visited the archives of the Zone de Bulungu, and in 1979 those of the Sous-Région du Kwilu. Both are located in the town of Bulungu, in the Région de Bandundu of Zaire. These archives have had a checkered history. The Zone de Bulungu was named Territoire du Moyen-Kwilu during much of the colonial period, with headquarters first at Niadi (about seventy kilometers north of Kikwit), then at Kikwit, and finally at Bulungu.

The capital of the Sous-Région du Kwilu has been transferred several times--from Kikwit to Bandundu (ex-Banningville) to Kikwit to Bulungu. After a look at the archives in Bulungu, I was not satisfied that all of them had been transferred there from Kikwit, but when I was in Kikwit in April of 1979 I could find nothing more, and officials of the Sous-Région de Kikwit (the city) insisted that they had all been transferred to Bulungu in 1968.

I did not get into the archives of the Région de Bandundu, but since Robert Harms drew a blank during his visit to Bandundu, I will pass on unconfirmed and indirect information that these archives were never transferred to Bandundu, and are still at Kikwit, at the Service de Sous-Région: Cultures et Arts, whose office is next to the main marketplace in Kikwit. But I also suspect that materials generated before 1962 will be found in Kinshasa, where the archives of the Province de Léopoldville are located, for it was in 1962 that the Province de Léopoldville was broken into five smaller provinces.

Our [documentary editors'] duty is to present the record, the documents, with a disinterested devotion solely to the document. We search for these documents in order to create an historical record….Our duty…is to present the record, whether we approve of it or not.

Il me restait à décrypter ces pages, écrites en lignes serrées par crainte de manquer de papier, très fréquemment raturées, surchargées au point de devenir presque illisibles, et à en faire une édition critique avec les notes et commentaires nécessaires…

Claude-Hélène Perrot and Albert Van Dantzig have remarkably little to say about their modus operandi in this long-awaited edition of Marie-Joseph Bonnat's account of his at times enforced stay at and around the court of Asante from 1869 to 1874. Scattered comments stimulate us to infer that the former was largely responsible for the text and the latter for the apparatus. Beyond that, they devote only a few sentences to discussing the ways they went about their business of producing the text published here and, it must be said, what they say there is by no means particularly encouraging for those who might have been expecting a diplomatic text edition:

Dans le travail éditorial, dont résulte l'ouvrage présenté ici, si aucune coupure n'a été pratiquée, nous avons effectué quelques aménagements: la ponctuation a été revue, les incorrections grammaticales éliminées, de trop longues phrases ont été portagés, des prépositions supprimées. Le parti que nous avons pris est sans doute discutable.

The years 2003-04 mark the centennial observance of a debate that emerged in Paris, Freetown, and Monrovia over whether or not the Liberian Benjamin Anderson trekked to the fabled town of Musadu in 1868. Musadu, now situated about five miles northwest of Beyla in Guinea-Conakry, or eighty-five miles northwest of the Liberian border town of Yekepa, represented Liberia's interiormost claim in the nineteenth century. Anderson's challenger was a captain in the French army named Henri d'Ollone, who went to West Africa in the late 1890s and surveyed some of the land that the French had recently conquered. Anderson won the debate, given the fact he was still alive and could prove that he went to Musadu, and because eminent persons such as the French diplomat-scholar Maurice Delafosse, and perhaps even the famed pan-Africanist Edward W. Blyden, came to his defense.

The controversy was set in the context of Britain, France, and Liberia's competing claims for land during the heyday of the western conquest of Africa. This paper examines the main contours of the debate, sets the debate in historical context, and republishes the most important primary sources so readers can examine the case more closely for themselves. While some have mentioned the controversy that emerged between d'Ollone and Anderson, the first detailed examination of what happened has been published in Fairhead et. al. (2003:79-88). This paper is a followup to that study.

In their Portraits of Nobel Laureates in Peace, Wintterle and Cramer wrote that “the odds against the baby born at the Seventh-Day Adventist Mission near Bulawayo in Rhodesia in 1898 becoming a Nobel Prize winner were so astronomical as to defy calculation. He was the son of a proud people, the descendant of Zulu chieftains and warriors. But pride of birth is no substitute for status rendered inferior by force of circumstance, and in Luthuli's early years, the native African was definitely considered inferior by the white man. If his skin was black, that could be considered conclusive proof that he would never achieve anything; white men would see to that. However, in Luthuli's case they made a profound mistake--they allowed him to have an education.”

If there is an extra-royal gentry in Zulu society, then it was into this class that Albert John Luthuli was born. Among the Zulus, chieftainship is hereditary only for the Paramount Chief; all regional chiefs are elected. The Luthuli family though, at least through the 1950s, monopolized the chieftainship of the Abasemakholweni (literally “converts”) tribe for nearly a century. Luthuli's grandfather Ntaba, was the first in the family to head the tribe and around 1900, his uncle Martin Luthuli took over.

George McCall Theal, most prolific of South African historians, deserves a modern biography. In the few, very inadequate, accounts of his life that are available there is no mention of his work as a labour agent in the western Cape. Bosman mentioned that he visited Stellenbosch and Tulbagh in 1878, but did not say what he was doing there. Babrow admits that she did not know what his first formal civil service post was. Immelman misleadingly suggests that it was a post in the Colonial Treasurer's Department, when in fact he did not join that department until March 1879.

This ignorance is not altogether surprising for, while Theal himself in his later published work and in the evidence he gave to parliamentary select committees in 1895 and 1906 provided a fair amount of information about his career before May 1878 and after March 1879, he did not say what he had done between those dates, almost as if he did not wish to remember it. In his History of the Boers in South Africa, indeed, he wrote that “when the war was over [referring to the Cape-Xhosa war, which ended in May 1878] I asked for and obtained the charge of the Colonial Archives preserved in Cape Town,” which is totally inaccurate. In the relevant volume in his History of South Africa, he mentioned that he was asked to superintend Oba's Xhosa in the Victoria East district in December 1877, and later that he had served as special magistrate at Tamacha in the King William's Town district in 1881, but there are no other references to his own career.

This paper traces the development of studies of African household budgets in South Africa, from the 1920s up to the 1970s, and indeed in summary form till the present. It argues that, although the genre seems to be politically neutral, and only concerned to establish “the facts,” in reality the outcome of the various researches, and certainly their presentation was dependent on the political and institutional position of the researcher, whether “liberal,” linked to commercial institutions, or as part of the apartheid state.

Doubt persists in pastoralist studies, but not the kind that David Henige champions in his explorations of historical methods. Nostalgia for past glories, when pastoral nomads were mighty and fierce or healthy and wise, throws doubt on today's mobile livestock herders surviving for much longer in modern times. Scholars of this sort direct their skepticism not at how they came to such a conclusion, which Henige would urge them to do, but at how “traditional” herding ways of life can possibly survive vis-à-vis “modernity.” In such a “disappearing worlds” approach to change, where students of pastoralist cultures confront their subjects through their approaching demise, documenting the ways of life of pastoralist peoples before they disappear has deeply romantic overtones.

Henige's pyrrhonist skepticism aids in exposing the assumptions behind such a romantic scholarly endeavor. “Pyrrhonists demand,” Henige reminds us, “that, to be successful, all inquiry must be characterized by rhythms of searching, examining, and doubting, with each sequence generating and influencing the next in a continuously dialectical fashion.” In his Montaigne-like essayistic book, Historical Evidence and Argument, doubting does not end inquiry like a one-man scorched-earth policy, but sets David on a journey with many twists and turns and no end in sight. Along the way, the implicit has a chance to become more explicit. Methods – the ways that we search for, examine, and doubt our evidence and eventual arguments – are thus revealed more effectively when made a subject of critical reasoning and their revelatory powers questioned.

This article is a critical assessment of the documentary sources of the International Trade Union Committee of Negro Workers (ITUCNW) available at the Comintern Archives in Moscow. The organization was the key platform within the Comintern Apparatus to establish an African-Atlantic network of radical activists and organizations in Africa and the Caribbean during the first half of the 1930s. The article addresses the current status of available archival sources for assessing and analysing the objectives, intensity, extent and impact of the organization and its key activists, namely James W. Ford, George Padmore and Otto Huiswoud. It reflects on past and present presentations and evaluations of the ITUCNW's activities and provides a short outline of the chronological order of the organization. In addition, the transfer of its records from Hamburg to Moscow is discussed. The main emphasis is laid on the presentation of the various documentary sources available in Moscow, including reports, resolutions and correspondence.

Regional distinctions such as “East” and “Central” Africa have been constructed, originally very much from an outsiders’ perspective. Different East and Central African historiographies reflect – and reproduce – these distinctions. However, the inhabitants of those spaces never stopped crossing and entangling them. Likewise, this section approaches East and Central Africa empirically as a space of historical entanglement. Moreover, the authors question the traditional divide between both regions epistemologically, by transferring research perspectives from one region’s historiography to the other. They thus illustrate that bridging histories of East and Central Africa can reveal histories that would otherwise remain hidden or marginal.

Maps may be important historical documents, reflecting the situation of a given place at a given time, and comparing several maps from different periods of the same area can inform us of changes in social and human geography. For some distant parts of the world they may be the only sources for a past that provides us with few if any sources. Thus Valentim Fernandes' five maps of São Tomé are a unique source for the slow and gradual growth of the first settlements. The maps are complemented by Fernandes' 1506 description of the island.

Valentim Fernandes, a German printer who worked in Lisbon from 1495 to 1513, compiled several works on Africa and published them in 1506. Apparently he sent a copy to his friend Conrad Peutinger in Augsburg, whose book collection came into possession of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, where they survive in the Codex Hispanicus 27 (now available online. The compilation contains several texts and a map collection with description of the Atlantic islands. While Fernandes' description of Africa, as the sole copy of Diogo Gomes' account, has received wide attention as an important source for early African history, the five maps of São Tomé inserted at various places in the Codex have hardly received any attention at all.