My case study is taken from the northern Igbo of Nigeria and focuses on the village-group of Ihuwe, which name is today rendered as Ihube— thanks to its Anglicization during the period of colonial rule. This not-withstanding, the people still call themselves “Ihuwe,” the form I use in this paper. The Northern Igbo area, especially the area around Awka, Orlu, and Okigwe, is commonly regarded as the heartland of Igbo culture and civilization. Ihuwe, in that portion of old Okigwe Division known today as Okigwe Local Government Area (LGA), lies in a region of southern Nigeria that has been identified as having witnessed human activity from very early times, at least from the period of Acheulean culture. It also lies on the geographically and historically prominent Nsukka-Udi-Okigwe cuesta, which archeology tells us entered the Iron Age quite early in African history, no later than about the eighth century BCE. We are thus dealing with one of the areas of ancient human occupation, as well as an area known for its dense demographic profile. It is these features–early human settlement and occupation with its attendant consequence of severely attenuated oral history, dense demographic profile, and being the cradle land of Igbo culture—that help to define the Northern Igbo and mark them out from the Western, Eastern, Southern, and North-Eastern Igbo, believed to be relatively more recent descendants from them.

Perhaps another feature that calls for mention here is their political culture. Although, like their other Igbo kinsmen, they could boast of having evolved only micro-, and therefore weak, states (what social anthropologists of the colonial period refused to refer to as states), they had their own special model of these micro-states.

Like most kids of my age and time, I was a pack rat in my youth, collecting toy cars, trucks, and tanks; comic books; baseball cards; postage stamps, and … chronological tables. Unfortunately for my later financial well-being, I kept—and kept up with—only the last. I remember little specific about the primal urge to collect these lists, but I remember enough to recall that I was entirely naive at the beginning. I wanted exotic names, exotic places, and exotic dates. Most of all I wanted dates. It did not disturb me in the least when I found out that Arakan was founded in 2666 BC, and that a complete list of its rulers until 1784 A.D. had been preserved for my edification. A strictly successive treatment of the thirty dynasties of pharaonic Egypt was infinitely preferable to new-fangled efforts to reduce this chronology by over 2000 years by shortening reigns and insisting that more than one dynasty ruled at a time. It seemed only natural to me that scores of European bishoprics were able to trace their episcopal lines right back to immediately post-New Testament times. I must have seen historical time as an infinitely replicable vacuum that needed to be filled

This idyll did not last very long—a sea change was all too soon in arriving. It probably was not an epiphany, but a gradual realization that I was encountering other lists of the same offices that were replete with gaps, disagreements, and question marks rather than dates.

Sangalan is located in northeast Guinea in the région of MaliYambering. It was a federation of groups of villages, consisting of three taane (kafo in Malinke, districts or groups of villages): Dombiya, Uyukha, and Djulabaya. To these three taane correspond three ethnic subgroups, the Dombiyanne, Uyukhanne, and Djulabayanne. The Dombiyanne were mostly the Keita families; the Uyukhanne the Camara; and the Djulabayanne the Nyakhasso. The people of Sangalan are Dialonka—those living in Sangalan are called the Sangalanka. They are originally all from Dialonkadougou, at first a province of the Soso empire founded and ruled by Sumanguru Kante, and later a province of the empire of Mali, created by Sundiata Keita in the thirteenth century. The Sangalanka call themselves “Sosoe Forine” (Old Sosoe), the Sosoe who lived on the high mountains (dialon) of both the Soso and Manden empires. They call the other Sosoe, living along the Guinean coast, Bani Sosone (Sosoe of the Coast, near the water). The Soso Forine and Bani Sosone lived in the Futa Jallon and were driven away by the Fulani invaders in the eighteenth century.

Neither Chad (or Tchad) nor the Central African Republic (or République Centrafricaine) has been much studied by American scholars. Because of this the following report discusses more than merely the archival resources of the two countries; it is hoped that the more practical aspects of research there that are discussed will render it more useful.

The Institut Tchadien des Sciences Humaines (henceforth INTSH) supervises research projects in Chad which are concerned with the social sciences—as defined by French scholarship. Research authorization is granted by the Director of the Institut, Boîte Postale 503, N'Djaména. Anyone intending to pursue research in Chad should have a letter of authorization from the Institut before leaving the United States—if possible, even before applying for a Chadian visa, since this will expedite the granting of such a visa.

Most temporary accommodations in N'Djaména (like other African countries) tend to be expensive; the only inexpensive hostel is operated by the Peace Corps for its own members. Sometimes, though, researchers have been allowed temporary accommodation pending the location of other housing. Enquiries should be sent to: Corps de la Paix, Boîte Postale 260, N'Djaména. In addition, temporary housing may sometimes be had with researchers at the Organisation pour des recherches scientifiques et techniques d'Outre-Mer, or ORSTOM.

For a long stay it is wise to rent a house. While the Peace Corps or Embassy personnel may be of some assistance, Muslim merchants near the main market should be of more help in finding a house in the African part of the town. Rents in N'Djaména are high: a mud brick house with electricity and running water will run about $175 monthly.

The three principal components of demography--fertility, mortality, and migration--can each provide information for reconstructing elements of the African past. Birth rate, more than anything else, determines the reproduction of the labor force, a particular concern of many historians. Death rate is an existential measure of the quality of life; any assessment of the long-run effects of colonial rule must take into account any discernable changes in mortality patterns that may have occurred. Finally, the study of migration is essential for understanding the redistribution of people and resources which resulted from the slave trade and colonization.

Although all three indicators are essential for a complete understanding of the history of a given population, they occur with substantially different rhythms. Mortality is a one-time happening for us all. Fertility depends on both partners in a sexual union, although most clearly circumscribed by menarchy and menopause in females. Migration, particularly in Africa, has affected males more frequently than females and can be, moreover, an abrupt and irregular phenomenon. Following the three activities simultaneously is thus an extremely complex undertaking.

For the developed world demographers have examined whole countries for periods as far removed as the eighteenth century and individual villages for demographic phenomena reaching back to the Middle Ages. Unfortunately for students of Africa, the materials available to us are not nearly so rich. Most colonial regimes did not conduct censuses in the current sense of the word. At most, they conducted surveys or village-by-village ‘nose counts’ which, naturally, vary enormously in their reliability.

Stephen Greenblatt has shown that wonder was the central characteristic of the first European encounters with the New World and the decisive emotional and intellectual experience in the face of radical difference (Greenblatt 1994:27). Wonder, says Greenblatt, appears to be a category immune to all denial and ideological co-optation, and it exerts an irresistible force. It occurs in a moment when meanings are lacking and is accompanied by the fragmentation of contextual understanding (Greenblatt 1994:33).

Wonder was already an essential topic of discourses in philosophy and art even before the voyages of discovery (Matuschek 1991); thus, for Socrates, philosophy begins with astonishment and wonder, and the art of poetry intends the creation of the wondrous (Greenblatt 1994:33). Greenblatt argues that the frequency and intensity with which European discoverers of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries referred to the experience of the wondrous provoked its conceptual elucidation (Greenlbatt 1994:34). The colonization of the wondrous began; and astonishment became a means of appropriation and subjugation (Greenblatt 1994:42).

By the nineteenth century, the century of European journeys of discovery in Africa, wonder had been used up. English, French, and German travelers no longer wondered about anything. Their glance had achieved a confidence that allowed them to objectify and take possession of what was foreign to them. It was now the various Others, the objects of their glance, to whom they imputed the wonder they themselves were no longer capable of.

In 1983 a note in History in Africa described a survey of Portuguese archive documents on West Africa organized by Vice-Admiral Avelino Teixeira da Mota but left stranded by his untimely death in 1982. The task of continuing the project—by extending the survey, completing the transcription of the survey documents and other relevant material, and publishing the transcripts—has latterly been taken up by the present successor of Teixeira da Mota in the directorship of the same scholarly unit, Dr Maria Emilia Madeira Santos. The first two volumes of Portugaliae Monuments Africana appeared in 1993 and 1995, volume 3 has been at the press since 1997, and the material for at least two more volumes is in advanced preparation. As the title shows, the geographical range of the series is wider than that of the original survey. The documents appear in Portuguese (or occasionally Latin). But a brief summary of each document is supplied in French and English, as well as in Portuguese, making the contents to some extent accessible even to those African historians who do not read (late-medieval) Portuguese. Having translated into English some thousand or so of these document summaries, I now discuss some of my problems in translating, and hence certain problems for African historians in using this material.

PMA earns all those responsible the highest commendation for undertaking this difficult project; it is invaluable for that period of early African-European contacts it progressively covers; and it deserves the support of the scholarly community. The comments that follow are intended to make it better known and to explain some of its features, advantages and limitations.

It has been in the tradition of this journal to elaborate a methodological apparatus to scrutinize the evidence of older written sources on African history. However, for various reasons, we tend to apply a different standard to recent sources, apparently considering them reliable per se because they developed in the same enlightened context of Western intellectual life as our own. Book reviews, nearly the only refuge for Western self criticism, sometimes cannot achieve it, as I will show.

The source on which I would like to comment is a dissertation completed at Boston University in 1984. It is based on oral traditions and for this reason, strictly speaking, a written source itself, apart from a number of published as well as archival sources, whose way of quotation will be re-examined below at first. The interviews were conducted by the author in 1974/75 (Morrissey 1984:225) with north Cameroonian Wandala and Shuwa Arab informants, some of whom I became acquainted with during my own fieldwork in 1984.1 would argue, though, that the following comments are not solely of interest to scholars specializing in northern Cameroon.

It might seem to some rather heavy-handed to criticize so closely a doctoral dissertation, but American dissertations are freely available to interested parties in both photocopy and microfilm. As a result they are commonly cited in other works in much the same way as more formally published studies. This being the case, it seems reasonable to submit them to the same scrutiny as any other work in the public domain. I should point out that I conducted my own fieldwork in ignorance of Morrissey's work, becoming aware of the latter only after my return from the field in 1984.

The concerns which dominated Yoruba historiography in the nineteenth century were similar to those of the first half of this century. Primary among these concerns were the patriotic desire to document Yoruba history, explain the turbulence of the nineteenth century, and inspire the new generation with a sense of history. Isaac Babalola Akinyele (1881–1964), the first to write a chronicle on Ibadan, expressed these concerns in the preface to the first edition of his book, Iwe I tan Ibadan, published in 1911. He explained that the origin of the book was the invitation extended to him in May 1911 by an Ibadan-based society, the Egbe Onife He Yoruba (“Lovers of the Yoruba”) to give a lecture on “Ancient and Modern Ibadan.” In the same month, he delivered a lecture which he later expanded and published into a book in order to preserve history at a time when the knowledge about the past was being forgotten and the elders were passing on. Chief Akinyele believed that it was urgent to document the oriki of Yoruba Obas, again being forgotten because only a few persons were interested in them. To him the oriki reveal much about Yoruba history. He also believed that the Yoruba language was undergoing a decline, and that there was a need for a rescue mission. He concluded his preface by appealing to his readers to accept his work and to ignore any derogatory remarks on people and ethnic groups in the oriki, which were composed by poets to eulogize the achievements of chiefs and warriors during a period of warfare. Finally, he enjoined all the Yoruba to unite, to learn from the British nation where everybody, irrespective of differences in language and culture, had united in order to build a strong and prosperous nation.

In the late 1950s, the National Archives of Ghana (NAG) began a decentralizaton programme which has progressed to the point where there is now a NAG regional depository in eight of the country's nine regions, the only exception so far being the Upper Region. Furthermore, unlike many of the efforts at bureaucratic decentralization in Ghana, which have been more de jure than de facto -- archival decentralization in Ghana is a reality. As a result, the historical researcher who limits his efforts to the Accra branch of the NAG is risking the loss of considerable richness of detail, as a recent trip to Sekondi made abundantly clear to me.

Sekondi houses the Western Regional Branch of the NAG. The Western Region is, in many respects, one of Ghana's most interesting areas. Until relatively recently it was, at one and the same time, the major center of foreign business activity in the country, and one of the country's most backward and underdeveloped areas. While ironic, this juxtaposition is certainly not surprising. But more importantly, from the point of view of the researcher into Ghana's history, it affords the opportunity for a more detailed micro-level historical examination of, for instance, the relationship between “modernity” and “tradition,” or between the “capitalist mode of production” and the “pre-capitalist mode of production.” The Western Region has been almost an ideal type in this respect, and as a consequence is virtually a laboratory, not only for the historian, but also for the historically-minded sociologist, economist, and political scientist.

Despite the slender evidentiary base of surviving sources, historians would dearly like to know more about colonial vital rates. In the absence of hard data, speculation has run rampant about changes in fertility and mortality. Were African birth rates always as high as they are today? Did the early years of colonial rule bring about rises in the deathrates in all areas and to the same degree? Researchers are now combing the available evidence for materials to answer questions such as these.

Unfortunately, the records of a single year's births and deaths are not a reliable indicator of long-term demographic trends. In a small population in particular, the events of a given year must be seen in the context of the years surrounding it. Inadequate reporting might lead to underestimates of either fertility or mortality rates, while uncommon events such as epidemics might be wrongly taken as typical.

These discontinuities have led researchers to concentrate on series of demographic rates rather than isolated estimates. Mathematically, this has promoted the use of techniques which convert the haphazard incidences of births and deaths into continuous functions which, although not as close to the raw data as year-by-year statistics, nonetheless give the reader a notion of trends over time.

In 1929 the American Antiquarian Society published an eighty-three-page manuscript that describes commercial transactions for slaves, ivory, and gold on the Gold and Slave Coasts from 1789 to 1792. George Plimpton owned this manuscript. As it includes a slave-trading ledger of the schooner Swallow, Plimpton entitled the manuscript “The Journal of an African Slaver.” The “journal” is one of the few published documents in the English language that specifies financial transactions for slaves between European and African traders on the coast of Africa during the late eighteenth century.

In his four-page introduction to the journal Plimpton stated that:

The name of the ship engaged in the traffic was the schooner ‘Swallow,’ Capt. John Johnston, 1790-1792. There is a reference to a previous voyage when ‘Captain Peacock had her,’ also some abstracts of accounts kept by Capt. David McEleheran in 1789 of trade in gold, slaves and ivory on the Gold Coast. None of these names can be identified as to locality, and there is, of course, the possibility, especially taking into consideration the English nature of the cargo bartered, that the vessel was an English slaver.

The journal was included with some mid-nineteenth century South Carolina plantation accounts when it was purchased at an auction in New York, thus suggesting to Plimpton that the journal's author was perhaps a “South Carolinian who made this trip to Africa.”

In this research note I will identify the various vessels and traders mentioned in this manuscript by referring to the data-set I have assembled from other sources concerning the slave trade during this period. We will seethat Plimpton's “journal” is a set of account books owned by the Gold Coast agents of London and Havre merchant William Collow. I then will discuss the importance of Collow as a merchant and shipowner in the late eighteenth-century British slave trade.

Visual strategy begins on the first page. The most pretentious form of first page differentation is the “lead-in” quotation whereby the author prefaces the main body of the text with a quote from an esteemed scholar, a famous decision, or some other prestigious source. … The objective of the “lead-in” quote is to spark immediate attention with a titillating example of erudition, humor, or impertinence… Ideally the lead-in quote should be obscure—oriental sources are recommended—and should not have a substantive link to the subject matter of the article. … This technique can generate guilt among readers who suspect the game but lack the nerve to speak out.

His books positively clank and groan under the weight of apparatus. Very good it is too.

As indicated in the first part of this paper, I adopt a generous definition of “annotation” in this discussion. There the traditional forms, footnotes, and other textual apparatus were discussed. Here I want to concentrate on a number of forms of annotation that are not usually treated under that rubric. Included (in roughly the order in which they are likely to appear in a given work) are titles, tables of contents, prefaces, epigraphs, graphs and charts, maps, quoted matter, facsimiles, appendices, glossaries, bibliographies, and indexes. Each of these is an occasion—and an opportunity—to provide access to the text, to the author's own sources, or to the author's mind. While every work will not use all of these, certain of them (prefaces, tables of contents, bibliographies, and indexes) should be a part of every substantial scholarly study.

Jan Jansen has substantially advanced our understanding of the “status discourse” between polities, in Mande and far beyond, through a new approach to one of the more common types of historical evidence: genealogy. At the core of his paper is an analysis of genealogical metaphors used in status discourse, combined with an awareness of the principles of lineage segmentation; he uncovered a nexus of ideology and social structure. The quintessential observation made by Jansen is that “the status of recent immigration and the position of the youngest brother is very prestigious” and that both ultimately emanate from the “principles of patrilocal settlement and patrilineal descent.”

Once this is accepted, everything falls into line: the unexpected claim for the status of ‘younger brother,’ as well as the contradictory genealogies of ‘related’ lineages. His observation has escaped the attention of previous research (including my own) because it contravenes our expectation that younger age, factual or figurative, always signifies subordination under ‘older’ authority. Oral traditions from different ethnic groups in Senegambia confirm Jansen and attest to Kangaba's historical prestige.

Jansen's paper should be read in conjunction with his “The Younger Brother and the Stranger,” in which he studies the social basis of status discourse in more detail and also touches on the symbolism employed. He has overcome a crucial error in a long tradition of historical writing on the western Sudan: the taking of genealogy at face value, whereas genealogy reflects the recent state of relationship between persons or groups rather than factual ancestry.

Despite its relatively brief history, African studies has developed a remarkably abundant bibliographic infrastructure to support its aims. This is tangibly evidenced in the recent appearance of Yvette Scheven's cumulated bibliography of Africana bibliographies, which comprises citations to well over 3200 bibliographies of various stripes published between 1970 and 1986, or an average of nearly 200 each year. Of course, some of the parts of the structure overlap and even duplicate other parts, and by no means has every effort attained acceptable standards, but on the whole there has been little about which to be ashamed or mortified.

Perhaps this should come as no surprise. In theory at least, the obstacles to preparing useful bibliographies are not outrageously demanding, and not at all commensurate with their enduring value. Mechanically, there are only a few rules, but these are unrelenting: entries must be accurate in all their parts, as well as complete, yet should be economical as well, and not provide useless information; coverage must be comprehensive within stated parameters; and access must be facilitated by means of thoughtful organization, extensive cross-referencing, and thorough and sensitive indexing. The intellectual challenges to accomplishing these goals might not be overwhelming; nonetheless forethought, punctilious and constant attention to detail, linguistic ability, doggedness, and above all a commitment to the highest standards of accuracy are all imperative.

The Arabic manuscripts of Timbuktu have received considerable publicity during the past 25 years, yet their contents remain largely unknown. Since 2012, an inventory of nearly 350,000 Timbuktu manuscripts in private libraries has been underway, and the contents of those libraries are now accessible in the West African Arabic Manuscript Database (WAAMD). This analysis examines 31 of the 35 libraries and in addition to reporting on their contents, notes challenges in accessing incompletely identified works, and compares the manuscripts with other West African collections.

The kingdom of Allada in the seventeenth century was an important supplier of slaves for the trans-Atlantic trade, and also an object of Christian missionary activity, but the earlier history of its interactions with Europeans is poorly documented. It has previously been assumed that the first direct Portuguese contact with the Allada area occurred in 1553. However, recently discovered documents in Portuguese archives correct this view. These comprise two petitions to the King of Portugal from an ambassador of the King of Allada currently in Lisbon: although undated, the content of one of them enables it to be dated to either 1544 or 1555, more probably the former; given the time which the ambassador had already spent in Portugal, his original dispatch from Allada occurred in 1540/1541 or 1551/1552. The petitions document the Allada king’s interest in the establishment of a Christian church in his realm, as well as commercial relations.

The introduction explores the ways in which Jan Vansina wrote Africa’s earlier history. It argues that he overturned paradigmatic knowledge in part through policing boundaries between disciplines, but always in search of new knowledge. The boundaries enclosed different kinds of labor in producing evidence about the past. Each kind of labor teaches the scholar something about place, responsibility, and imagination. These afterlives of working in Africa informed Vansina’s interdisciplinarian publishing strategies, shape-shifting them into the imaginative, and prompting new generations of scholars to chart their own paths.

This article discusses the methodology behind the development of new tools of research for African history that are a user-friendly source for public engagement. The focus is on biographical profiles of West African people during the era of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, which is an innovative approach to social history. The representation of enslaved Africans has typically been numbers recorded in logs and accounts compiled by slave merchants and captains. Freedom Narratives is an open-source relational database that reveals the people who constitute those numbers.

Scholars can elevate African voices as they recycle evidence from abandoned lines of research. This article discusses how to apply the confirmation and recycling methods of interdisciplinary research to engage with African historiologies. After reviewing contentious debates about Shungwaya from ca. 1955–2000, it draws on Mijikenda elder Thomas Govi’s descriptions of uganga and clanship (in a published collection of oral traditions) as a historiological theory for reimagining cross-linguistic collaborations, the formation of “stone towns,” and Islamic conversion in the settlement history of littoral East Africa.