This essay argues that female participation in agriculture and limited seclusion in Maradi (Niger) today do not stem from the absence of agricultural slavery in the pre-colonial period but rather result from the resistance of the Katsinawa élite to the Islamic reforms of the Sokoto Caliphate and from the absence of rimji (plantation) slavery in the region. The abolition of slavery did not mark a watershed in the rise of seclusion, as M. G. Smith argues was the case in Nigeria, but rather triggered a series of reformulations of marriage and female hierarchy. Semi-legitimate and legitimate polygynous marriages permitted men and women of the wealthier classes to retain the labor of former female slaves as ‘concubines’ and later enabled them to use junior wives to perform the duties once carried out by slaves. Women countered the ambiguities of such marriages by asserting their worth through wedding ritual and later by adopting the veiling of élite women. As economic and cultural ties with northern Nigeria grew during the colonial and post-colonial periods, and as goods and services reduced some of the labor demands upon urban women, seclusion gained in popularity. By acquiescing to the dependency implicit in purdah women could protect themselves from the labor demands of others and could sometimes free themselves up to earn independent incomes of their own. Thus the recent adoption of seclusion in Maradi has not arisen out of a unilateral decision on the part of newly freed women to adopt seclusion as a sign of status, as Smith claimed for Northern Nigeria, but resulted instead from of a series of redefinitions, contestations and negotiations of marriage in which both men and women have been active.

Accusations, trials and executions of witches and sell-outs frequently occurred at the MPLA's Eastern Front in Angola (1966–75). These events do not fit the general self-portrayal of the MPLA as a socialist, secular movement that was supported by the Angolan population without recourse to force. The people interviewed, mostly rural civilians from south-east Angola who lived under MPLA control, suggested many links between treason and witchcraft, yet at the same time differentiated between these accusations. Witchcraft cases were often initiated by civilian families and the accused were mostly people who had a long-standing reputation of being a witch. While the MPLA leadership was often suspicious of the accusations of witchcraft, many civilians regarded the trials of witches as more legitimate than those of treason. Civilians held that the accusation of treason was often used by the guerrillas to get rid of political or personal rivals and/or to control the population. The accusations showed few patterns and cannot be interpreted as deliberate attempts to overcome structural forms of domination, of chiefs over followers, men over women or old over young.

The records of trading between Africans and Europeans on the Guinea Coast since antiquity raise issues the practical resolution of which has never ceased to occupy economic historians. The Herodotean inadequacies of dumb barter in Carthaginian goods and in gold dust were fully resolved only at the time of the eighteenth-century slave trade. In Senegambia and even on the Windward Coast, as we now know, the Royal African Company had still to go without an effective profit-and-loss accountancy. With the advent of the regular slave trade two new commercial devices had to be introduced by the Europeans. Both the ‘sorting’ and the ‘ounce trade’ sprang from the vital need for adjustment between the radically different trading methods of Europeans and Africans. And it was not so much a case of mutual adjustment, for of the two systems only one, the European, adjusted.

When the first anti-slavery legislation was enacted for Angola in 1836, Brazilian planters began to experiment with coffee growing in Africa. They had some success during periods of high coffee prices in the 1850s, 1870s and 1890s, when a couple of dozen estates in the Cazengo district produced slave-grown coffee. Far from being abolished, slavery, in minimally modified forms, survived into the early twentieth century. Traditional slave traders were reluctant to invest in local slave crops and most preferred to supply the slave demands of Säo Tome. In Angola a rival peasant sector also evolved in the coffee business. Black smallholders responded with greater alacrity to opening crop markets than did plantations, and much conflict arose over the sequestration of peasant plots by credit-holding shop-keepers. Although the entire nineteenth-century coffee crop from Angola never amounted to a significant share of the international market, the pattern of land and labour exploitation adopted was revived in the mid-twentieth century when the colony became the world's fourth largest coffee producer. In the coffee slump of the 1890s Cazengo planters diversified into sugar cane which later also became a significant part of the modern agro-industry of Angola.

This examination of Maraka long-distance trade has underlined a commercial strategy involving both exchange and production. Most of the goods the Maraka traded were either locally produced or re-exports from the desert-side trade. Once the desert-side dimension of Maraka trade was interrupted, as it was following the Umarian conquest of 1861, the linkages holding together Sinsani's economy collapsed.

Maraka long-distance trade was characterized by small exclusively male caravans which maximized time constraints in bypassing numerous local markets along the route. The Maraka usually engaged in wholesale transactions, preferring smaller profit margins per unit and a rapid turnaround of goods. The Maraka traded in such a manner because involvement in commodity production at home absorbed much of their time. Profits from Maraka trade were invested in a plantation sector which fed cotton cloth and grain to the desert-side trade and to Maraka long-distance trade southward to the land of kola and down the Niger to Timbuktu.

Using a combination of oral tradition and written documents, the authors show that Benin’s civil war was a fundamental transformation of political structure, and not simply an isolated struggle. Before 1640, Benin was centrally governed by its king with the assistance of a royally appointed administration. Difficulties in succession, coupled with changing trading patterns, allowed the administration to gain some independence and then to challenge the kings, taking away some power. The civil war matched different levels of the administration and the kings against each other, and transformed Benin from a centrally governed to a more collectively governed kingdom.

A multi-sited, but nonetheless locally grounded, transnational history breaks with older modes of imperial history that treated Africa as little more than a setting for the history of colonizers. More recently, critical approaches to imperial history have pointed to, but not adequately pursued, the treatment of colonizer and colonized as coeval subjects of history and objects of analysis. Historians of Africa and the diaspora, however, moved beyond imperial history decades ago, and these fields provide important resources and models for transnational historians. Transnational history, nonetheless, always risks reproducing the boundaries between colonizer and colonized that it seeks to overcome. The need to think outside of empire from within a world structured by empires requires that historians embrace critical theory, but in a manner consistent with the groundedness of multi-sited historiography.

For a brief period between about 1878 and 1886, European traders in Eastern Pondoland played an important role in the politics of the chieftaincy. In these years the formerly amicable relationship between the Mpondo chiefs and the Cape Colony broke down. An expansionist colonial government confiscated the Mpondo port at St Johns, took control of an area claimed by the paramountcy, and threatened the political independence of the chiefs. The traders, especially a few larger wholesale firms, allied themselves with the paramount in his struggle to regain his land and port. Some traders feared that colonial encroachments would affect the concessions they had obtained from the paramount and that customs duties charged by the Cape at Port St Johns would undermine their competitiveness. Others, faced with an acute trading depression in 1882–3, sought to increase their share of the Pondoland market and hoped that conflict between the Cape and the Mpondo would stimulate a new boom. The chiefs, on their side, were receptive to the political overtures of the traders. As traders penetrated the area, they began to lose control over production and became increasingly dependent on taxing trade and granting concessions. They had lost confidence in missionary scribes and looked to the traders to provide secretarial skills. Various groups of traders could also give aid in the prosecution of Mpondo diplomacy by supplying firearms, opening negotiations with the imperial authorities, and establishing a new port. The alliance was formed at a specific moment in the penetration of merchant capital into an independent African polity. It serves to illustrate that some traders were prepared to act independently of the colonial powers in order to protect their interests.

During the first quarter of the eighteenth century, European merchants bought more slaves in the Bight of Benin than on any other part of the West African coast. From c. 1720 until 1727 much of their buying was concentrated in Savi, the capital of a small Aja state called Whydah. When the Dahomeans overran Savi in 1727 they stopped the inland slave suppliers from travelling to the coast, prevented the local Hueda from going inland to collect slaves, and insisted that the Europeans bought slaves only from Dahomean dealers. In an attempt to make sure that the Europeans had nothing more to do with their former trading partners the Dahomeans burned the factories in Savi and forced their European occupants to retire to Grehue, Savi's port, a spot on the coast where the Europeans maintained a number of fortified warehouses.

The middleman policy did not at first operate satisfactorily. There were two reasons for this. The first was that the Dahomeans were, in practice, unable to prevent the Europeans from continuing to trade with the Hueda. The second was that the inland suppliers refused to sell slaves to Savi's conquerors. The Dahomeans solved their ‘coastal’ problem in the 1740S by placing a garrison in Grehue. This garrison kept the exiled Hueda at bay and held the Europeans in what amounted to open captivity. The Dahomeans were never able completely to solve their ‘supply’ problem. In the 1730s and 1740S the inland merchants took their slaves to ports which opened up on the Bight to the east of Grehue. Only in the 1750s and 1760s did they channel substantial numbers of slaves through Dahomey. In the last decades of the century they again boycotted the Dahomean market. Dahomey therefore prospered as a middleman state only between c. 1748 and c. 1770.

An examination of their eighteenth century trading suggests that the Dahomeans were a slave-raiding community whose members realised in 1727 that they would soon run out of fresh raiding grounds. They appear to have introduced their middleman policy in an attempt to ensure that they would continue to profit from slave trading even after they had ceased to be able to take large numbers of captives themselves. Although the policy was by no means a complete success, it was important in that it seems to have led the Dahomeans to begin placing garrisons in the territories they ravaged. It appears, in fact, to have been the pursuit of their middleman goals that led them to begin creating the often described nineteenth century ‘greater’ Dahomean state. The middleman programme ceased to be of much importance after c. 1818, when the fall of Oyo enabled the Dahomeans to resume raiding widely in unexploited territory.

In July 1924, the Liberian government suddenly banned the Universal Negro Improvement Association from Liberia, and this after over four years of apparent co-operation with the Association in its plans to settle New World Negroes in Liberia and generally to aid Liberia financially. Yet the ban could not have surprised anyone familiar with Liberian matters. The Liberian economy, which at the advent of the Association in 1920 was in a very bad state, was beginning to recover independently of the Association. Moreover, Britain and France, which had colonies nearby, abhorred the Association's anti-colonialism crusade, and Liberia feared to alienate these powers. But most importantly, the ruling Americo-Liberian class feared that the Association's immigrants might challenge its already entrenched, privileged position in Liberia, and probably end its exploitation and oppression of Liberia's indigenous African population, which provided labour and revenue for this class and for the Liberian government generally.

This essay considers the life and career of the leading Mozambican intellectual of the early twentieth century, João dos Santos Albasini (1876–1922). A journalist and political activist, Albasini took advantage of the political space opened by Portugal's First Republic (1910–26) to challenge the articulation of colonial policy with respect to citizenship, land alienation, labor conscription and opportunities for education and economic participation. As a founding member of the Grêmio Africano, a Lourenço Marques social group and political lobby, he helped launch the group's newspapers, O Africano (1908–19) and O Brado Africano (1918–74). With the Grêmio newspapers as his vehicle, he sharply contrasted colonial and Republican ideals with the racism and injustice Mozambicans faced in the colonial capital of Lourenço Marques (today Maputo). The Portuguese deemed Albasini a worthy opponent, in part because of his ability to employ Portugal's most revered cultural symbols with an ironic twist.

The essay considers two sets of questions. The first set relates to the definition and analysis of issues Albasini highlighted and pursued. What was Albasini's political and social vision of possible choices within this seemingly fluid era? How does one recover and interpret Albasini's vision and style? Are their meaning and value to be found within the discourses of class struggle, ethnicity, assimilation and nationalism? To what extent did Albasini's vision shape contestation of political and social policy in colonial Mozambique in the critical first quarter of the twentieth century?

A second set of questions confronts Albasini's place in local society and his legacy. Who comprised the Grêmio Africano? What was it about João dos Santos Albasini that inspired Grêmio members and subsequent generations of Mozambicans to view him as a beacon? What did the rest of the local population think about Albasini, during his lifetime and after? What was his impact, and how did it relate to the broader issues of politics, historical agency and identity in early twentieth-century southern African history?

When the British Oil Rivers Protectorate was established in 1885, the political independence of the Delta States came to an end. The European invasion of African sovereignty, which in effect began in 1849 with the appointment of a British Consul, was complete. Since trade and politics were so intimately linked within these states, which had for so long guarded the middleman trade in the interior, the fortunes of the middleman chiefs were bound to be affected by such a major political change. The material which has emerged from my study of John Holt in relation to his Delta trade in the period 1880–1910, suggests, however, that the economic power of the chiefs (as opposed to the rulers) was by no means so quickly affected as has usually been suggested. The deposition of King Ja Ja of Opobo in 1887 symbolizes the end of the political power of the Delta rulers. His middleman chiefs were able, however, to maintain their control of the middleman organization of trade for a few years longer. Similarly, in each of the other rivers (with the exception of Brass), while the ruler lost his power, his hierarchy of middlemen retained control of internal commerce until almost the turn of the century.

On the basis of identifying the likely geographic origins of African names extracted from the Sierra Leone Liberated African registers, this essay estimates the provenance of the transatlantic slave trade that drew on the Cameroons estuary between 1822 and 1837. The sample, drawn from six separate vessels, is broken down by age and sex category and constitutes about 7 per cent of all Africans who left from the region in these years. It makes possible analysis of changes over time, comparisons of age and sex with distance between embarkation point and likely provenance zone, as well as interaction between Old Calabar and the Cameroons regions in the supply of slaves. The great majority of the captives originated within 200 miles of the coast and within 120 miles of the modern border with Nigeria.

The flowering of the Atlantic trade in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries caused many of the West African societies of the near hinterland to orient themselves increasingly toward the coast. This new focus created new geopolitical conformations. Given the nature of the stimulus, trade and politics went hand in hand and entrepreneurial ability could reap political rewards. These possibilities were greatest along the Gold Coast and in the Niger delta where the actual European presence was small in relation to the extent of the trade.

Such a trader cum political leader was John Kabes who, in a career spanning nearly forty years, established the paramount stool of Komenda, hitherto part of the inland state of Eguafo. Kabes began as a trader for the English (and sometimes for the Dutch) and gradually achieved political status which, however it may have been acquired, proved to be lasting because it was acceptable to existing political mores.

Such of Kabes's activities as are known suggest that his success sprang from his ability to wring advantage from the new exigencies of the time and place in ways which enabled him to acquire legitimacy as well as wealth and influence. Although Kabes's career is uniquely documented there is no reason to suppose that it was particularly unusual in its other facets. On this argument it can suggest ways in which other West African trade-derived polities, particularly in the Niger delta, may have coalesced.

Successive Europeans in south-east Tanzania looked for an ethnically based political authority under whom to live or with whom to work. Bishop Edward Steere of the Universities' Mission to Central Africa predicted the existence of very large tribal and linguistic ‘nations’ when this turned out not to be so, the UMCA missionaries who had settled at Masasi sought anxiously for some influential chief who could be represented as heading an ethnic polity; first German and then British administrators over-readily assumed that the chiefs whom they installed as akidas did in fact represent such ethnicities; finally, in the late 1920s, the British instituted historical research prior to the establishment of Indirect Rule, which was intended to reflect the ethnic and political complexity of the region. This European preoccupation with ethnicity bore little relation to the actualities of the region, which from the nineteenth-century incursions of the Yao, Makua and Makonde had constituted a mosaic of small, autonomous and ethnically mixed groupings. Nevertheless, certain African adventurers were able to take advantage of the European need for allies to build up their power, to become recognised as ‘chiefs’, and ultimately to become regarded as leaders of ethnicities. This was the case with Matola I and Matola II of Newala who between them developed their polity from a very small scattering of huts to a large and prosperous paramountcy. Within the Matola polity various social and cultural processes were at work to produce a common sense of identity, but these processes had not fully eroded the marks of the varying ethnic identities of those who belonged or submitted to the polity. The Indirect Rule inquiries, therefore, with their fanatical emphasis upon ethnicity as the only legitimate base for political authority had the result of dismantling the Matola polity and thereby destroying the only effective local nucleus of political consolidation.

Joseph Miller has argued that the ‘Jaga’ invasion of Kongo in 1568 was primarily an internal rebellion supported by people from Matamba or from Makoko and the Pool. In this article I suggest that the Jaga were more probably dislocated Kongo or Tio from the lower middle Kwango. They were the ancestors of the seventeenth-century ‘Muyaka’, who raided slaves for the Makoko market. Their invasion of Kongo probably began as slave raiding. It continued as an attempt to break the Makoko king's monopoly of slave trade outlets by gaining direct access to the European traders. The invaders succeeded in temporarily overthrowing Kongo for two reasons. Firstly, Kongo was generally ill adapted to withstand sudden invasion. Secondly, the Kongo ruling elite was divided while undergoing radical political and social change. The restoration of Kongo by Portuguese forces had two important consequences. Firstly, it confirmed and advanced the changes in the ruling elite which had begun in the early sixteenth century; it thereby laid the foundation for a monopoly of the throne by a slave-based patrilineal royal segment descended from Afonso I. Secondly, the restoration facilitated the development of a new cloth-trade route from Okango through São Salvador to Luanda which compensated the mani Kongo for his loss of coastal monopoly on slave exports. This new trade enabled Kongo to suvive economically and politically into the later seventeenth century.

The enduring ethnographic image of the pastoral Nilotes of the Upper Nile of the Sudan is that of peoples structurally opposed to each other with only limited social and economic ties between major ethnic groups. This image is derived from Evans-Pritchard's study of the Nuer, which was based on field work in the early 1930s. This was a time when both the Nuer and the Dinka of the region were subjected to a series of extreme natural calamities (floods, cattle disease, locusts, and crop failures), but were limited in their responses to these challenges through the restrictions on movement and social intercourse imposed on them by government pacification policies. By comparing the 1929–36 period with preceding and succeeding periods of great environmental stress, it is possible to discern a pattern of developing interdependence between contiguous Nuer and Dinka groups, as each sought the resources of the other in reconstructing their economic lives. Evans-Pritchard's description of a ‘common economy’ among the Nuer can be applied to the wider pastoral community in analysing this expansion of social and economic networks.

The introduction by the Arabs of new forms of storable wealth, together with fire-arms and gunpowder, into the interior of nineteenth century East Africa gave a direct stimulus to tribal warfare. Among the Nyamwezi of West Central Tanzania, who had practised long-distance trade in ivory before the Arab penetration took place, charismatic war-leaders appeared who created new hegemonies over the smaller, traditional units of these multi-chiefdom societies. These leaders attempted to capture the trade and control the main lines of communication. Mirambo was the most famous of them, but Nyungu-ya-Mawe, who was his exact contemporary (both died in 1884) was, perhaps, more successful. Nyungu created a polity which outlasted his own lifetime by more than a decade.

Like Mirambo, he used a corps of professional soldiers called Ruga-ruga to carry out his conquests. The latter included most of the 20,000 square miles of Ukimbu and a part of southern Unyamwezi as well. He skilfully adapted the chiefly institutions of the Kimbu to a wider hegemony, and to an economy based on the large-scale exploitation of Kimbu resources in ivory. By his appointment of vatwale, lieutenants or military governors, as his military, political and economic agents in the various provinces of Ukimbu, he was able to hold his ‘empire’ together. The proliferation of small chiefdoms had been endemic to the Kimbu, a people with a forest economy that imposed both the need for small, political units, and for freedom of movement over a wide area. Nyungu and his vatwale halted this process.

Nyungu was Mirambo’s ally in the early years, and was supported by him as the loyalist candidate for the important Nyamwezi chiefdom of Unyanyembe (Tabora). Later, however, in 1880, when Nyungu defeated Mirambo’s powerful vassal, Mtinginya, and seized control of the central caravan route to the coast, relations between the two men became strained. When the Germans dismantled Nyungu’s hegemony in 1895, they destroyed the only realistic attempt ever made to unify an area of extreme political complexity.

Copper and its alloys were for centuries staples of the import trade of West Africa, first across the Sahara, then by sea after the opening up of the Guinea Coast. However, little attention has been paid to the reasons behind this ancient and sustained demand. Although the uses of copper were many and changed from time to time and from place to place, the evidence of written, archaeological and artistic sources suggests that they fall largely into four broad and overlapping categories: a medium or standard of exchange, ornamentation, insignia of rank and power, and objects of cult and magic in a narrower sense. The preference for copper and brass over other metals for many purposes appears to have been determined by magic and the ritual properties ascribed to it, as well as by scarcity and practical and aesthetic considerations. Myth and legend may help to elucidate the uses of copper and brass by fitting them into a cosmological framework: thus along the Middle Niger copper is explicitly linked with the génie de l'eau and with myths of creation, while in the Niger Delta brass is frequently associated with the water spirits.

IT is a commonplace that British government in Uganda was, from its inception, essentially one of benevolent paternalism—just rule by kindly parents. It is also evident that, particularly in the final decade before independence, the dilemma of this policy lay in its conflict with a growing realization that the children would soon come of age. The political aspects of this dilemma are familiar. Its social and economic implications are perhaps less clear.