The later precolonial history of a vast area in west central Africa between the Kwango and the Lubilash rivers starts with—and is dated by—the tradition of exodus of Kinguri and his companions from the heartland of the Lunda commonwealth. For the last two decades, however, several scholars have claimed that this tradition is merely a later addition to the older body of the traditions told by a dozen or so different peoples in west central Africa. Yet so far no one has examined where and when and how the Kinguri exodus tradition could have grafted itself onto the traditions of so many peoples over such a vast area. If true, this claim also requires a radical revision of the accepted history of western Lunda expansion. To examine the claim and its consequences is the aim of this article, which begins with the earliest written report of the Kinguri's exodus story.

In the course of the 1970s, one of the principal focuses of the emerging feminist anthropology was the reassessment of issues of gender inequality. Drawing their inspiration from Marxist theory going back to Engels, some works historicized female oppression and analyzed its political and economic determinants. To demonstrate that gender inequality was the product of specific historical formations, the observable gender relations were, at times, opposed to a prior egalitarian social order in which value differentiation was not attached to the gendered labor division (e.g., Leacock 1981). The approach was criticized by those who believed that female subordination characterized present and past societies on which solid documentary evidence was available (e.g., Rosaldo 1974). The idea that gender realtions in some non-western societies were marked by parity prior to the degradation produced by colonization was not abandoned, however, and influenced neighboring disciplines.

Recent studies concerned with the transformations of gender relations in sub-Saharan Africa over the twentieth century tend to stress the decline in social and economic position of women. Ethnographic, economic, and historical studies state that the traditional value attached to being female is threatened by the economic and political developments of the last century. Women are said increasingly to lose their previous independence, to have to cater for children and elderly by themselves, and to lose ground in productive activities (Robertson and Berger 1986; Mikell 1997a; Baerends 1998).

This article takes an introductory excursion into newspaper sources for researching Nigerian children's history during the colonial period by analyzing and describing items including news, editorials, stories, photos, advertisements, columns, debates, features, and letters among others. It situates these newspaper sources within the context of the circumstances under which they were produced and the prevailing politics of identity, gender, and agency, on the one hand, and the interaction between the forces of “tradition” and “modernity” on the other. Instead of approaching children's experience from the well-established stand-points of disease, violence, delinquency and crime, this paper examines the following areas: children and education; children and motherhood; and children as consumers. These uncharted areas of Nigerian children's history render alternative and useful perspectives on agency and the centrality of childhood to colonial state's ideas of progress, civilization, modernity, and social stability.

Many studies of ethnic formation find metaphors of descent at the core of largely masculinist discourse about belonging and difference. This study integrates the meaning, affect, and information-sharing prompted with the other-than-human beings – in particular, trees – enlisted during rhythmic assembly at an Island shrine in east Africa’s Inland Sea (Lake Victoria), in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Fostering ethnic identification there drew on lateral connections that crossed language, region, and standing without creating boundaries. A gendered discourse exceeding the masculine was likely indispensable to this sort of belonging. The beginning of a long period of bellicose state expansionism and the deep history of public healing in the region framed these developments.

[Off São Tiago Island, March 1456] We found so great a quantity of fish that it is incredible to record.

[Praia, São Tiago, April 1816] The strictest precautions are taken against the evasion of slaves on board foreign vessels that touch here, and particularly by not allowing boats of any kind to the inhabitants, the want of which gives to the port the appearance of a deserted settlement.

Numerous species of fish swim in Cabo Verdean waters, and the two streams of the Canary Current flowing past the archipelago nourish some of the richest marine resources on the globe. Yet, for centuries Portuguese colonial officials leagued with plantation owners to prohibit Cabo Verdeans from owning fishing craft and other vessels to prevent the escape of slaves, mutinous soldiers, exiled criminals, and political deportees. Denied the bounty of the sea and afflicted by multi-year droughts, tens of thousands of destitute people perished during famines. Cabo Verde during Portuguese rule was a gulag.

My paper dealing with the Andriambahoaka universal sovereigns and the Indonesian heritage that they embodied brought out the eminently religious character of the Malagasy marvelous tales, disarticulated fragments from a Malay myth of origin. As Françoise Raison has noted, the religious value of Ibonia was still perfectly felt in Imerina during the first half of the nineteenth century. I do not hark back to the possibilities offered by the notion of Hikayat--or in Malagasy the Tantara--at once narration and imitation--“semblance,” as it was called in the Arthurian Romance of the Grail. These notions refer to these Shiʿite syntheses, sometimes with gnostic and dualist ideas borrowed from neo-platonism and the ancient Babylonian philosophies of Lights which, introduced into Madagascar by an Indonesian relay, conceived the descendants of Andriambahoaka in the image of that of the imāms descended from Muḥammad through his daughter Fāṭima and her husband ʿAlī--prototype of Ramini, ancestor of the ZafiRaminia and fourth Caliph, but more importantly the first imām, initiator, after the cycle of revelation that Muḥammad closed, of the cycle of explanation, of initiation, of the “return,”, that is, of walayāt.

We are far from this “pedagogical model” that I evoked previously with regard to the other celestial line of the knights seeking the Grail. Far, too, from the unsatisfactory notions of ideology or the “imaginary” such as Georges Duby uses in his recent work, even though his chapter on “L'exemplarité celeste” returns to an infinitely richer universe, very near that which Henry Corbin describes. Can one truly explain from an agnostic point of view facts that are essentially perceived and experienced as religious? In any event going from Ibonia and the marvelous tales of the Andriambahoaka to the historical legends and genealogies in the first chapter of the Tantara ny Andriana of Callet, translated as Histoire des rois, we pass on to something entirely different.

Many readers have probably noticed that the manuals of historical method which deal with verbal societies are primarily concerned with the sources available and the application of a critique to them. This is true for McCall's or Gabel and Bennett's works on Africa. But what is to be done with the sources once they are ready for evaluation remains vague. How does one reconstruct the past? How does one explain, or eventually interpret, history? Of the two works mentioned, only the first pays some attention to the question of “historical synthesis.’ McCall lists three possibilities: (a) that the sources support each other; (b) that they contradict each other; and (c) that they have no common reference or meeting point. This last situation is the most common in African history and indicates merely that not enough is known and that eventually new data could lead to new interpretative situations-either (a) or (b). The manual stresses that sources should be classified by discipline so that comparison of sources yields either confirmation or contradiction, with obvious and known data reinforcing the validity of the result. Once this is achieved it would seem that the job is finished, except for the warning that historical reconstruction requires a certain type of mind: imaginative yet disciplined.

Yet the job is not finished. By comparing we have only established the degree of validity of reported events or situations. We have only verified how the observation, to borrow a term from the scientific experimental method, is correct. The impression remains that historical research is fairly mechanical: to find sources, subject them to a critique, assemble them. Reconstruction follows, with suitable use of imagination. That is the craft. Yet anyone who works with historical materials knows that that is not the practice of the craft. Josephine Tey's novel The Daughter of Time features a police sergeant who more nearly exemplifies historical practice–he guesses, ponders, backtracks, and finds sources almost by intuition. If he had made a few more mistakes he would have been a recognizable historian at work. A recent volume, The Historian's Workshop, though impressionistic, also yields a more realistic picture. In the real world historians start out with a hunch, an idea which leads them to an interest in documents or in oral traditions. Then the data suggest what Popper calls a historical interpretation – “untestable points of view.” The practitioner feels that the interpretation is not enough. It should be doubted and controlled by reference to more data until the point is reached at which no more control is possible. Then the historian feels satisfied with the result–even though it still remains an interpretation, because there remains the selective point of view implicit in the idea that initiated the research.

Historians rarely pause to reflect on the history and theory of our own discipline, but it is a salutary exercise, particularly when the discipline is as young as African history. Twenty years ago a majority of African peoples emerged from colonial domination and acquired their independence. In that same year their history was also symbolically liberated from domination by the activities of Europeans in Africa through the inauguration of the Journal of African History. And one year later the new African history was given what was to become one of its dominant methodologies with the publication of Jan Vansina's De la tradition Orale.

African history was to be the history of Africans, a history that had begun well before the European ‘discovery’ of Africa. The problem was sources. Western historiography was firmly based on written sources which could be arranged in sequence and analyzed to trace incremental changes and establish cause and effect relationships in evolutionary patterns of change. Unlike written documents which were recorded in the past and passed down unchanged into the present, oral traditions had to be remembered and retold through successive generations to reach the present. Their accuracy was thus subject to lapses in memory and falsification in the long chains of transmission from the initial report of the event in the past to the tradition told in the present. To overcome these problems Vansina established an elaborate and meticulous methodology by which traditions should be collected and transcribed, their chains of transmission traced and variants compared, and obvious biases and falsifications stripped off to produce primary documents suitable for writing history within the western genre.

The idea of Africanization is arguably one of the most important and prevalent in African historiography and African studies. I first encountered this notion some eight years ago when I started graduate school. With a background in Mexican and Latin American history, I found it necessary to immerse myself in the historiography of Africa. It was in this process that I encountered the idea of Africanization. It was not always identified in this manner, but it was clear that historians were, in one way or another, articulating a concern about how “African” was African history.

The objective of this paper is to examine the history of Africanization in African historiography. It departs from two basic premises. First, the issues that come with the idea of Africanization are more pronounced in the field of African history. When compared to other fields, such as Latin American history, this indigenizing of history is not given nearly so much attention. Second, the idea that African history needs to be Africanized has been taken for granted, and has not been critically examined. Here I will contend that the historical conditions that have framed the emergence and development of African historiography have made it necessary to emphasize the issue of Africanization. I will also argue that those conditions have changed in the past fifty years, and that the questions raised in the quest to Africanize history should be redefined in view of the new challenges for African history and of historiography at large.

There is a growing interest in the historical attitudes to work globally. This paper studies the stereotype of the “lazy African” in European travel accounts from precolonial West Africa. This was one of the central aspects in the European construction of an African “other” during this period, and came to be used as a justification for much European oppression in Africa in both precolonial and colonial times. It is argued in the paper that the stereotype has existed for much longer than suggested in previous literature in the field. Previous studies have also made over-simplified statements about the stereotype, since it overlooks a most significant trend among European writers, who described not only idleness, but also industriousness, among the Africans they wrote about. By the late eighteenth century, finally, the development of an anti-slavery ideology was followed by a challenge to the whole stereotype.

I argue here against two things: fetishizing the power and wholesomeness of colonial archives, and equating the scarcity of post-1960 repositories with new difficulties to write the past of Africa. Instead, I suggest the productive power of odd findings, and the necessity for historians to trust the energy of heterodox pieces to create original and meaningful historical narratives.

From the time of the translation into English of Jan Vansina's Oral Tradition in 1965, the use of oral traditions as historical sources has become an increasingly technical exercise. Historians of the non-literate societies of Africa in particular have been alterted to, among others, such things as “floating gaps” and “hour-glass effects” in traditions, elongated and collapsed genealogies, the peculiarities and fallibility of human memory, the overlaying of oral traditions with successive ruling group histories, and the functioning of oral traditions as cultural charters.

Some scholars consider this ‘reification of method’ to have wrought a tool increasingly honed for historical analysis, able to lay bare within oral tradition historical facts, consistent within themselves and with other oral traditions. Others argue that the elaborateness of the methodology reflects the inherently unreliable nature of oral traditions as historical sources. They suggest that, at best, oral traditions are able to provide reliable data only about the interests of a particular group at the particular moment when they were recorded.

This paper addresses the debate over the status of oral traditions as historical sources, with particular reference to the use of traditions in the illumination of the precolonial past. Drawing on some of the insights of the new social historians concerning ideology and first-hand oral testimony, it examines the relationship between ideology and oral traditions in non-literate societies. The argument developed here is that, far from simply representing the interests of a particular group, oral traditions often reflect ideological struggles between the rulers and ruled in a society.

This paper reviews Andrew Battell’s primary source material for the Jaga (Imbangala) of Angola as printed by Samuel Purchas from 1613 to 1625 in Purchas, his pilgrimage and Purchas, his Pilgrimes. It argues that Purchas most often altered Battell’s data in response to rivalries and Reformation politics in England rather than on new information from Battell. A broad, comparative reading of Purchas’s materials and statistical analysis of his editorial practices demonstrates that Purchas exerted more effort to counter data based on hearsay in the popular Relation of Pigafetta and Lopes than on carefully recording eyewitness data from Andrew Battell.

Most historians writing about twentieth-century Africa have, at one time or other, used colonial statistical data. When we do this, we normally add a disclaimer, pointing out that these statistics are likely to be unreliable, and then proceed to use them anyway. But surely, we should be able to say something more definite about the reliability of these data? If we know more about the process by which these statistics were collected, for which aims, and with what preconceived ideas in mind, we should be able to establish, if not a margin of error, then at least some idea of which aspects of colonial statistics are more reliable than others. Furthermore, the process of colonial data-collecting was linked to establishing ethnic and other categories, which have since become generally accepted. This paper addresses these questions in an analysis of the context and contents of the published report of the 1921 Census of Southern Nigeria, and discusses its usefulness as a source for historians. The issues I discuss here with specific reference to this Nigerian census are characteristic for colonial censuses in general and should therefore be of relevance to all historians using colonial census data, and also—more generally—help us to understand how some of the most basic categories describing African societies have been constructed in the process of the acquisition of information by colonial governments.

Europe and the Americas have long dominated studies of transatlantic exchanges and much more is known about European participation in the Atlantic world than of its African counterpart. Current knowledge of how those parts of Africa located a few miles away from the African littoral contributed to the early modern Atlantic World is particularly sparse. This is despite the fact that the slave trade was the largest branch of transatlantic migration between Columbian contact and 1870, and that it is becoming apparent that Africans and indigenous Americans helped shape the new political and economic power structures, as well as the post-Columbian worlds of culture and labor.

Assessments of the impact of any group on the global stage must begin with the nature of the group itself, and thus efforts to raise the African profile in Atlantic scholarship and to focus on the agency of Africans must quickly face the contentious issue of ethnicity. From the broadest perspective, it is odd that the way the ancestors of the Atlantic World defined themselves should have become so much more contentious among Africanists and Afro-Americanists than among those scholars who study Europe and Europeans overseas. At the outset of the repeopling of the Americas, the European state existed in nascent form in only Spain, Britain, and France. The predominance of the nation-state in the way the world is organized in the twenty-first century—rather than its status in 1492—has perhaps led scholars to stress the contrasts between Africa and Europe on issues of early modern nationhood, and, more generally, human identity.

Uganda has been in the world headlines since the mid-1980s, first as a nation severely hit by HIV and AIDS, and later, from the late 1990s onwards, as the first country in sub-Saharan Africa that has managed to reverse a generalised HIV epidemic. Countless newspaper articles, television and radio documentaries and broadcasts, papers, books, and films have been produced about AIDS in Uganda, making the epidemic one of the most thoroughly researched and documented in the world. Medical doctors, virologists, epidemiologists and social and behavioral scientists, both Ugandan and expatriate, have produced massive amounts of scientific information about it since the early 1980s, in addition to which there have been policy papers, evaluation reports, and action plans produced by various government ministries, international donor agencies, and national and international NGOs and relief organizations which document the epidemic from administrative, developmental, and humanitarian perspectives.

Uganda's AIDS epidemic has been publicized worldwide through the news media and various international agencies. It is being constantly monitored not only by national authorities and international health experts, but by myriads of Ugandan and international organizations, media, academics, and concerned members of the public using modern means of communication. Some of these national and international bodies not only monitor, report and educate, but demand their say in how the epidemic should be managed. Uganda has become a testing ground for medical and behavioral interventions, as exemplified by AIDS vaccination trials, the social marketing of condoms, antiretroviral treatment, and, recently, by the male circumcision trial. Positive results have then been marketed to other countries in sub-Saharan Africa as successful AIDS prevention strategies.

You are in Osu, Accra. As you walk along Castle Drive toward Christiansborg Castle, there is row of four houses on your left and a large open field on your right. The field, with the grass carefully tended, is the locus of the old Danish cemetery, where the gravestones that remained have been mounted into a low wall built on the sea side of the field. Across the street, one of the houses, the second one from your starting point, has a stone name plate over the main door bearing the inscription: FREDERICHS MINDE 1840 W.I.WULFF. Scandinavians who have visited Ghana know about this house. They know that it was built by a Danish civil servant who had worked for the Danish Board of Trade, that he had established a family there, and they may know that he died of illness there at the age of thirty-three. They also know that by simply going to the door and knocking they will be welcomed and permitted to look around.

The residents of the house—and indeed it is a residence—who so graciously receive unexpected and unannounced visitors, are at present members of the Wulff-Cochrane family. When I was last there it was Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Wulff-Cochrane who opened the doors to me and my three friends. We were shown around the house, treated to the fine view of the ocean from the living room, and then taken down into the basement to see the singular element of the house, the grave of Wulff J. Wulff.

Fifty years ago, a group of 100 ivory carvings from West Africa was first identified by the English scholar William Fagg as constituting a coherent body of work. In making this important identification, Fagg proposed the descriptive label “Afro-Portuguese ivories.” Then, as now, the provenance and dating of these carved spoons, chalices (now recognized as salt cellars), horns, and small boxes posed a challenge to art historians. Fagg proposed three possible geographical origins: Sierra Leone, the Congo coast (Angola, ex-Zaïre), and the Yoruba-inhabited area of the old Slave Coast. Although Fagg was initially inclined on stylistic grounds to accept the Yoruba hypothesis, historical documents soon made it clear that the ivories—or at least many of them—were associated with Portuguese commerce in Sierra Leone. This trade developed in the final decades of the fifteenth century.

Today approximately 150 works have been identified by scholars as belonging to the “corpus” of carved ivories from West Africa. Although the sobriquet “Afro-Portuguese” remains the most common appellation, these pieces should more appropriately be referred to as Luso-African ivories. The latter term more accurately reflects the objects' creation by West African sculptors who were working within Africa. The works, although hybrid in inspiration, are far more African than they are Portuguese. In addition, no documentary evidence exists to indicate that any of the ivories were carved by African artists living in Portugal. West African artists created the sculptures within the context of their own cultures.

No event has an autonomous life. It's always limited to things around it.
Jean-Luc Godard (1966)

It only takes three generations for personal contact to be lost, and then the
memory, if it exists at all, passes on to strangers, us.
Peter Greenaway (1994)

In this journal (HA 20:185-235, hereafter 1993), Lee and Guenther attack me personally and my work, particularly my book Land Filled with Flies, which elsewhere they (1995:298) say has “a density of error and misrepresentation unrivaled in recent anthropology.” This is not the first nor the last such attack, which began in 1989 when, in a symposium at the annual meeting of the American Anthropological Association, Lee implied that I was complicit in destroying data that he insinuated I wished not to be available for further inspection. He also then accused me, along with my colleague James Denbow, of pandering to the supposed need of the Government of Botswana to create a homogeneous national identity. We were to have done this by orienting our research toward a subversion of evidence of differences among the various peoples—especially “Bushmen”—of the country. Lee has never retracted this nor his accusation of data forgery, although he (1993:20n6) has elliptically acknowledged that the latter is false. Since then, Lee and Guenther, together and alone, have expanded their litany of alleged malfeasance and intensified their attacks. Most recently, Guenther (1999) continues to accuse me of “doctoring” evidence (this term was first used in 1993:217).

Les employés africains de l'Etat colonial font aujourd'hui l'objet d'un important renouveau historiographique. Des travaux récents sur les enseignants, les sages-femmes, les tirailleurs, ou encore les interprètes ont considérablement renouvelé l'histoire africaine. Dans le même temps, les termes désignant les groupes sociaux situés dans l'entre-deux de la société coloniale se multiplient: Intermédiaires culturels, intermédiaires coloniaux, middle figures, middle men, médiateurs, courtiers/brokers, etc. La question se pose dès lors des sources et méthodes pertinentes pour étudier ces catégories sociales. La présente contribution propose de s'intéresser à un type de source encore sous-utilisé par les historiens de l'Afrique: les dossiers de carrière. Elle défend l'idée que ces sources peuvent enrichir considérablement notre compréhension des carrières africaines au sein de l'Etat colonial et, partant, l'histoire des rapports entre Etat et sociétés en Afrique.

L'étude de cas concerne l'histoire de la police civile au Togo. L'enquête porte sur un corpus de 114 dossiers individuels de policiers ayant servi entre les années 1940 et le début des années 1960, dossiers actuellement conservés au Ministère de la Fonction Publique et de la Réforme Administrative à Lomé. Le recours à ce type de source n'est pas le résultat d'un parti pris, mais le constat, au terme d'une enquête historiographique et de terrain, de leur utilité pour l'histoire des corps professionnels d'Etat. Aujourd'hui bien connus des historiens et anthropologues européanistes, les dossiers de carrière—et, plus généralement, les dossiers personnels—restent pourtant peu utilisés par les historiens de l'Afrique.