The problem of akori beads consists above all in the question of their [organic or inorganic] composition. If, according to the ‘water theory’, akori were some kind of corals, then how to explain their findings in old graves, where they remained in good state of preservation after the human bones decayed? In the present stage of research the following explanation might be offered: the term of ‘akori’ served for the designation of cylindrical and oval beads of varying composition and colour, made maybe of some now unknown kind of coral, but certainly also of stone or glass; perhaps the akori recovered from the sea-shores and rivers were not really corals but worked jewels from the corpses of those buried in the water or offerings to the sea-deity Olokun. The discovery in Ife of large production of glass beads seems to support this.

This paper reviews the present state of art historical research in Nigeria with a view to clearing the ground for a more accurate interpretation of the evidence. The ancient arts of Benin, Ife, Nok, Owo, Nupe and Igbo-Ukwu are discussed, among others, and suggestions offered that might shed more light on some of the problems created by the paucity of art historical data.

The past decade has seen much ink spilled on global interconnections in the early modern economy, especially those linking European and Asian economies. But this Eurasian concentration has excluded Africa from the discussion. This article addresses this absence by showing that West and West-Central Africa were integral to the global price revolution of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Considering evidence from West and West-Central Africa reveals how the price revolution was a genuinely global phenomenon, with increasing imports of locally-used currencies that created inflation in line with the inflation of gold and silver in Europe and Asia. The article argues that the coexistence of exchangeable value and other social uses of currencies also contributed to a relative depreciation in Africa's global economic strength. Also related to this phenomenon were the rise of an export slave trade and changes in the production and distribution of West and West-Central African cloth industries.

In 1858, after a reign of forty years, King Gezo of Dahomey died and was succeeded by one of his sons called Badahun, who took the royal name of Glele by which he is more generally known. Badahun had been Gezo's designated heir apparent for at least nine years prior to this but his accession to the throne was nevertheless challenged. The name Glele which he adopted alludes to these challenges, being according to Dahomian tradition abbreviated from the aphorism Glelile ma ñõn ze, ‘You cannot take away a farm [gle]’, meaning that he would not allow anyone to appropriate the fruits of his labours, which is explained as expressing ‘his contempt for the attacks to which he had been exposed as heir apparent’.

Mali's first nonstate radio went on air during the authoritarian rule of Moussa Traoré in 1988, challenging the common narrative that ties political and media liberalization together. Negotiations were conducted by Italian NGOs at a time when such organizations had become key political actors in Sahelian countries. The implementation of Radio Rurale de Kayes was part of a wider infrastructural project that notably included a road. This historical account follows the metaphorical and literal association between the radio and the road in order to reflect on mobility and its constraints. Tracing the radio's trajectory from space-making to community-building, it shows how the station managed to sustain itself thanks to its position within an emerging network of associations led by return migrants and because of how it fitted into local infrastructures of mobility, thus calling for a stronger attention to the relation between radio, the audiences it convenes, and space.

One of the problems with interdisciplinary work is that the outsider to a discipline so often tends to join its discourse at points which seem irrelevant to its practitioners. The experience is not unlike that of the foreign visitor who watches with amazement and not a little sadness as the ‘natives’ abandon those items of their culture which seem to him to be of most value. And the ‘native’ has only impatience for advice to slow down the pace of change.

African specialists on the history of the family seem to be entertaining a similar break with their past practices and present significant problems of orientation for the outside observer. The chief dissatisfaction appears to be with the legacy of the powerful generation of anthropologists who emerged in the 1930s and 1940s. They dealt with the organization of large corporate groups and interpreted action, belief and feeling in terms of a few principles derived from the structures of such groups.1 It has become an everyday criticism that this great work suffers from its ‘timelessness’, and of course historians have a professional interest in reiterating the point. More serious is the fact that the older constructs no longer seem to assist in analysing either the new problems that excite the historian aware of what his colleagues elsewhere are doing or the actual findings of new research.

To the outside observer – in this case an historian of Europe, whose bedtime reading consists of ethnologies of Africa, Papua-New Guinea, and the like – a confrontation with current research on Africa helps focus issues and problems in his own work and suggests a few points where common discussion might be fruitful.

African chiefs under colonial rule are conventionally described as collaborators. Those who failed to co-operate with their colonial masters were deposed. Tshekedi Khama, Regent of the Bangwato for his nephew, Seretse, from 1926 to 1950, does not fit this description. During the first ten years of his regency, he was almost continuously locked in conflict with the British on a whole range of issues both large and small. His sustained opposition to the British is the more remarkable in that he became regent at the age of merely twenty without having been specifically prepared for the governance of the largest of the Tswana states under British rule.

This article explores the reasons for Tshekedi's opposition to the British and the way in which he conducted this opposition, and asks why the British did not depose him as they almost certainly would have deposed a chief who behaved remotely like him in one of their other African territories. It concludes that while Tshekedi basically accepted the colonial situation in the Bechuanaland Protectorate, he was determined that the British should make no inroads into the powers of the chiefs as determined at the end of the nineteenth century when his father Khama III had accepted British protection. He was also resolved to hand over the chieftaincy intact to his ward, Seretse. Furthermore Tshekedi, unlike most African chiefs of his day, was Western-educated, having attended Fort Hare, and believed that the function of the British Administration was to teach him ‘how to govern…not how to be governed’. He reacted strongly against measures that were imposed on him without consultation or explanation, especially, those which he suspected were designed to limit his power or might affect the welfare of his people. In opposing such measures, he employed both ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ resources and was as skilful as any African nationalist of the time in mobilising press, parliament and public opinion in Britain in his support.

While the British did consider deposing him, and in 1933 temporarily suspended him from office, they were confronted by the fact that there was no other leader in Gammangwato who would be accepted as a legitimate alternative by the Bangwato or who would be remotely as competent as he was. After ten years of wrangling with Tshekedi the British learnt that it was in their interests to collaborate with him. For the next decade Tshekedi and the Administration worked largely in harmony. It was only in the late 1940s that Tshekedi began to use his formidable intellectual powers and administrative experience to challenge the colonial system itself.

Military organization and technology have been important factors in the history of Upper Volta. The innovation of the horse in the fifteenth century as an instrument of war played an important part in the establishment of the Mossi states, formed as they were by conquering cavalry from Mamprusi. In the late nineteenth century, the new innovation of firearms threatened to contribute to equally significant political change in the region.

Between 1968 and 1975, the leaders of white South Africa reached out to independent African leaders. Scholars have alternately seen these counterintuitive campaigns as driven by a quest for regional economic hegemony, divide-and-rule realpolitik, or a desire to ingratiate the regime with the West. This article instead argues that the South African government's outreach was intended to energise a top-down recalibration of the ideology of Afrikaner nationalism, as the regime endeavoured to detach its apartheid programme from notions of colonialist racial supremacy, and instead reach across the colour line and lay an equal claim to the power and protection of African nationalism. These diplomatic manoeuvrings, therefore, serve as a prism through which to understand important shifts in state identity, ideological renewal, and the adoption of new state-building models.

Au cours du XIXe siècle le territoire de l'actuelle Guinée, peuplée d'un à deux millions d'habitants, est parcouru par de nombreuses routes de commerce le reliant au nord à l'empire de Ségou, au sud à la ville prospère de Freetown et au pays forestier. Un trafic varié, complexe, s'effectue dans toute cette zone.

Following the late fifteenth- and sixteenth-century cavalry revolution in Senegambia, the horse and slave trade became a major sector of the desert-edge political economy. Black African states imported horses from North Africa and the western Sahara in exchange for slaves. Over time, under conditions of increasing aridity, the zone of desert horse-breeding was pushed south, and through crossbreeding with the small disease-resistant indigenous horses of the savanna, new breeds were created. Although the savanna remained an epidemiologically hostile environment for the larger and more desirable horses bred in North Africa, in the high desert and along the desert fringe, Black African states continued to import horses in exchange for slaves into the period of French colonial rule.

The evidence assembled on the horse trade into northern Senegambia raises the difficult issue of the relative quantitative importance of the Atlantic and Saharan/North African slave trades and calls into question the assumption that the Atlantic slave trade was the larger of the two. Most available evidence concerns the Wolof kingdoms of Waalo and Kajoor. It suggests that the volume of slaves exported north into the desert from Waalo in the late seventeenth century was probably at least ten times as great as the volume of slaves exported into the Atlantic slave trade. For both Waalo and Kajoor, this ratio declined during the first half of the eighteenth century as slave exports into the Atlantic markets increased. The second half of the eighteenth century saw an increase in predatory raiding from the desert which produced an additional flow of north-bound slaves. For Waalo and Kajoor – and probably for the other Black African states of northern Senegambia – the flow of slaves north to Saharan and North African markets probably remained the larger of the two export volumes over the eighteenth century. This northward flow of slaves continued strong after the abolition of the Atlantic slave trade and was only shut down with the imposition of French colonial authority.

Local studies are sorely needed in South African historiography in order to illuminate relations between dominators and dominated as the colonial political economy was restructured in the wake of the mineral discoveries of the late nineteenth century. Stellenbosch farmers had to confront, for the first time since emancipation, the implications of the proletarianization of the underclass of the Western Cape. In the context of an expanding economy and diversified labour market, labourers left, or threatened to leave, farm employment. Farmers now recognized that the control and power which they had exercised over labourers was a matter of open conflict. This was a time of depression and uncertainty for farmers who faced competition in their overseas markets, the ruining of their vineyards by phylloxera and what they perceived as insubordination and disloyalty by farm labourers at home. The criminal records of the Resident Magistrate provide the lens through which the article examines the changing dynamics of labour relations on the farms of Stellenbosch district between 1870 and 1900. A comparative perspective helps to inform the analysis of the meaning of theft, arson and assault in rural Stellenbosch. For a time labourers were able to exploit a measure of leverage against the farmers, but this was not to last, and by the early 1900s the tide had again turned in favour of the dominant class.

At the beginning of the twentieth century Muslim societies of northern Senegal and southern Mauritania moved slowly but surely into relations of accommodation with the French colonial regime. The process was led by marabouts, persons who combined various forms of Islamic learning and saintliness. It took the form of Sufi orders, often called ‘brotherhoods’, that became anchored in the emerging economy of the peanut basin in central Senegal. The accommodation permitted the marabouts and brotherhoods to develop considerable autonomy in the religious, economic and social spheres while surrendering the political and administrative domain to the French.

Of all these ‘paths to accommodation’ between Muslim societies and French colonial authorities, the one followed by Amadu Bamba Mbacke and the Murid movement is ostensibly the longest, the hardest, the most complete, and the most enduring. For these reasons the Murid movement has been much more fully studied – by Paul Marty of the colonial Muslim Affairs Bureau in the early twentieth century and by social scientists in recent decades.

The recent thesis propounded by Fisher and Rowland regarding the role of firearms in the Central Sudan requires considerable modification. While one must concede that the observable effects of firearms in the nineteenth century were not profound, this statement must be qualified to account for the incipient revolution in military technology, army organization, and political structure that occurred in many of the Central Sudanese states in the last quarter of the century. The relative ease with which European imperial powers conquered these states has tended to obscure from historians the dynamics of internal change that became manifest during the last decades of their independent existence.

It is clear from the evidence presented in this article that the increasing use of firearms intensified the tendencies toward bureaucratization and the centralization of power in the states of the Central Sudan. The creation of regular standing armies, the formation of slave musketeer units commanded by slave officers, and the progressive devaluation of feudal institutions in favour of bureaucratized political and military structures, were the distinguishing characteristics of this period. Although history is irreversible, it is interesting to ponder the possible alternative outcomes of this nascent revolution. Its directions were clear, its destination unknown. In this article we have argued that these developments in politico-military organization did in fact represent a new departure which, if permitted to run its course, would have radically affected the subsequent history of the Central Sudan. It is our contention that the Fisher-Rowland thesis underestimates and misinterprets the nature of these changes.

As older ways of raising credit declined or were re-defined, the acquiring of loans from a specialized group of money-lenders flourished in colonial Western Nigeria. Money-lenders charged exorbitant interest and insisted on loan repayment at a fixed date. Borrowing from the modern banking system, the money-lenders prepared legal documents and required surety. Debt recovery was generally painful to defaulters; they were humiliated, harassed, and had their property confiscated. The practice generated many conflicts. The debtor was generally unhappy, especially if the money was used for consumption. Lenders cheated with high interest rates and other charges and promoted for their own ends indiscriminate lending to poor and vulnerable people. To minimize conflicts and protect debtors, the colonial administration decided to regulate the trade with ordinances, especially the Moneylenders' Ordinance of 1938 which set limits to interest and forced lenders to obtain licences. In general, lenders subverted the ordinance, creditors and debtors became more cunning as documents were falsified to protect lenders, and those who needed money continued to accept harsh terms.

Dans une étude publiée en 1939 et traitant d'une oasis appelée S. b.rū par le géogrphe arabe al-Bakrī (1067–8) et D.b.r par l'auteur anonyme du Kitāb al-Istibsār fī 'agā’ib al-amsār (1191), oasis dont le centre porte le nom de Ŝ.b.rū dans le traité géographique d'al-Idrīsī (1154), nous avons essayé d'identifier ce lieu avec le groupe d'oasis de Koufra de nos cartes. Selon toute vraisemblance, Koufra était, dans le haut Moyen Age, une étape sur la grande voie saharienne, dont parlent certains géographes arabes médiévaux, à partir d'Ibn al-Fakīh al-Hamadānī (902–3), et qui reliait le pays de Gāna, dans le Soudan occidental, fameux par ses mines d'or, à l'Egypte. Cette voie, qui nous montre que les Egyptiens s'intéressaient depuis longtemps au commerce de l'Afrique occidentale, partait probablement de Koumbi Saleh actuel, ruines situées en Mauritanie du Sud et identifiées par la plupart des savants avec la capitale du royaume de Gāna. Elle passait, ensuite, conformément à un passage de l'ouvrage d'al-Fakīh al-Hamadānī, par les territoires de trois peuples noirs: Kūkū (aussi: Kawkaw), M.r.nda et M.rāwa, et aboutissait au Wabat Mir (« Les Oasis de l'Egypte »), c'est-à-dire a 1'Oasis de Dakhla et de Kharga. De ces trois « peuples » noirs, le premier, à savoir: Kūkū (Kawkaw), n'est pas inconnu aux autres géographes arabes médiévaux qui mentionnent un royaume et une yule de ce nom. Il s'agit du royaume négre, jadis puissant, de Songhaï et de sa capitale Gao située sur la boucle du Niger. A en croire al-Ya'kūbī, géographe et historien arabe, écrivant dans la deuxième moitié du IXe siècle (ii mourut en 897 de notre ère), c'était un important état soudanais dont la puissance égalait, a cette époque, celle du royaume de Gāna.

This essay argues that the apparent discrepancies between oral tradition and other kinds of historical evidence in the western Serengeti, Tanzania, result from a rupture in time and space. As people were incorporated into a meta-ethnic region to the east dominated by the Maasai in the last half of the nineteenth century, they created new ways of calculating time and organizing space based on new kinds of age-sets. Within this larger context of widespread disasters the small, unconsolidated western Serengeti ethnic groups that we now know as Nata, Ikoma, Ishenyi and Ngoreme formed their identities. New generational and gender contests of power came into play as western Serengeti peoples responded creatively to the pressures of the late nineteenth century by mobilizing their own internal cultural resources.

The formation of Bono-Manso appears to date from the early fifteenth century, perhaps c. 1420. It is concluded that it was not until the late sixteenth century, during the reign of the ninth king, that the procedures still in use at Takyiman for recording reign-length were first introduced. Muslim influence is strongly to be suspected. Perhaps at the same time, perhaps later, factitious records of reign-length were supplied for earlier generations of the dynasty, on the assumption that three generations make 100 years. Fairly accurate dating is possible for the kings and queenmothers of Bono-Manso during the period 1577–1723, and of Takyiman since its formation in the 1740s. It is no part of this paper to explore the implications of the shortened chronology suggested here, but a date in the early fifteenth century for the establishment of Bono-Manso seems to square well with current thinking.

This paper attempts to study the contrasting responses of two Kenya tribes, the Masai and the Kikuyu, to the establishment of British administration. It suggests that neither reacted in the way expected of them by early British officials, who anticipated that the Masai would forcefully oppose the British entry, while little or no resistance was expected from the Kikuyu.

Instead, the Masai actively co-operated with the British, through the support of a laibon, Lenana, and the provision of levies who accompanied British punitive expeditions. Although twice removed from their lands, the Masai still did not fight, but appealed to the law courts. When this failed, they showed little or no interest in further opposition. Although apparently having some cause to resent treatment received at the hands of the British, they showed virtually no interest in the protest movements of the twenties.

By contrast the Kikuyu, far from standing aside as had been expected, opposed the British entry in a series of short engagements, in which they suffered considerable casualties. Soon, however, collaborators began to emerge and ‘chiefs’ such as Kinyanjui—created by the British and beholden to them–benefited considerably from the connexion. Despite this co-operation, the earlier resentments continued and were reinforced by losses of land to European settlers, and by the unsettling effects upon tribal life of the proximity of Nairobi and the teaching of the missions. When, after the acute sufferings of the war years, further demands were made by the government, the Kikuyu responded by active participation in organized political protest.

Possible reasons are put forward for these contrasting responses, and the suggestion is made that differing attitudes to the protest movements of the twenties can be more fully appreciated when the history of these earlier years is taken into account.