Excavations at the Zimbabwe (enclosure) of Manekweni, in southern coastal Mozambique, have shown that it belongs to the Zimbabwe Culture which was centred on the Rhodesian plateau. Occupation levels have been dated to between the twelfth and eighteenth centuries. The faunal evidence indicates that a section of the population benefited from intensive beef production through transhumant pastoralism on the seasonally-fluctuating fringes of tsetse fly infestation. The settlement pattern of Rhodesian Zimbabwe suggests that their siting was determined by the demands of a similar system of transhumance. This model provides a basis from which to begin to reconstruct some aspects of the economies of early Zimbabwe. It is already clear that Zimbabwe were not simply the products of long-distance trade; rather, their economies integrated farming and cattle-herding as well as gold production and foreign trade.

It is argued in this paper that what happened in the region of Katsina in c. 1492–3 was not a dynastic change, but the establishment of the institution of ‘kingship’. This ‘kingship’ did not grow out of local pre-existing institutions. Rather, it was imposed on the kinship-society by the leaders of the new (Wangara) community of Muslim clerics and traders. These leaders aimed probably at creating a Muslim state in Katsina. However, owing to the resistance of the indigenous population, they failed to achieve this. Therefore, a rapprochement with the indigenous paramount animistic ‘priest-chief’—the durbi—was attempted. This led to the establishment of an institutional structure defined as ‘dual’ or ‘contrapuntal paramountcy’. Within this institutional structure the durbi became responsible for choosing the sarki or ‘king’. As a consequence, the institution of ‘kingship’ took on some of the characteristics of a ‘sacred’ animistic ‘kingship’.

It is further suggested that the evolutionary process outlined for the region of Katsina was paralleled by similar processes in Yauri, Kano and Gobir, and possibly also Zaria. However, in Kano the institution of ‘kingship’ did not originate from within the new community of traders and clerics: rather, the Kano ‘kings’, whose power was traditionally circumscribed by that of the local ‘priest-chiefs’, tried to bring about revolutionary changes with the support of the Wangarawa. But they too apparently failed.

It is suggested, finally, that the rapprochement achieved with the animistic ‘priest-chiefs’ alienated the community of clerics and traders; i.e. the community which constituted in a sense the very power-basis of the Hausa ‘kings’. This in turn may explain in part the jihad of 1804.

The excavations in the Central Sudanese Neolithic settlement at Kadero resulted in the discovery of a large amount of skeletal remains of domestic animals: cattle, sheep, goats and dogs. Cattle pastoralism was of great economic importance for the Kadero population and it was supplemented by the herding of sheep and goats; the presence of dogs is closely associated with this pastoralism. Preliminary examination of plant impressions on potsherds reveals the presence almost exclusively of sorghum and two kinds of millet, which were most probably cultivated. This may explain the large number of grindstones found in the Kadero settlement. The pastoralism and possible cultivation at Kadero point to a much more developed food-producing economy practised by the Central Sudanese Neolithic population, compared to that of the Esh Shaheinab settlement. Food-production at Kadero was supplemented by food-gathering activities, among which the collecting of molluscs predominated, with hunting and fishing playing a less significant role.

The data yielded by the burial ground at Kadero, where the heavily prognathous inhabitants of the local settlement were buried, seem to indicate that the Neolithic Kadero population was an autochthonous one on the Upper (main) Nile. It is assumed that the domestic animals and, perhaps, also the cultivated cereals of the Neolithic Kaderans, as well as of other Central Sudanese populations, were adopted by the local food-gathering human groups following contact with other and alien peoples.

The term ‘Wangara’ has most commonly been used to describe the gold merchants of ancient Mali and Ghana and has been equated with ‘Juula’ (Dyula). This article establishes another meaning for ‘Wangara’, as it has been used in the Central Sudan, particularly Hausaland. There the Wangara were descendants of merchants who were once connected with the Songhay Empire of the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Since the term is also used in Borgu to describe resident Muslim merchants in the Bariba states, it is postulated that the Wangara were once a Songhay-based commercial group which established diaspora communities in the Bariba and Hausa towns before the Songhay collapse of 1591. It is argued that these Wangara merchants were instrumental in the economic development of the Central Sudan in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. They were not only associated with commerce but were involved in early leather and textile production and probably were responsible for the introduction of such new products as kola nuts and the spread of the Songhay monetary system, based on cowries and gold. The immigration of the Wangara came at a time when other economic changes were taking place in the Hausa cities and Borno. The combined impact of these developments were such as to mark the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as a major turning point in the economic history of the Central Sudan.

The study of the history of Africa during World War I raises two major problems of synthesis and a host of smaller problems. First of all, the sheer diversity of the continent and the extremely uneven nature of its precolonial development, let alone the patchy and differentiated modes of imperial and colonial penetration, make it difficult to see its experience, even of so ostensibly cataclysmic an event as World War I, as a unified whole. Indeed, the diversity of the continent was mirrored in the diversity of its experience of the war, which combined the actual agony of the battlefield for many thousands of black troops both in Africa and in Europe at one extreme, with the undoubted uneventfulness of those same years for many others.

On admet en général que l'expansion de l'islam était une des principales préoccupations des géographes arabes quand ils décrivaient la situation dans les régions excentriques par rapport au monde musulman. En partant de ce présupposé on aurait pu s'attendre à trouver pour l'ètude de l'histoire d'une région précise, telle que le Kānem, des renseignements amples et explicites nous permettant de dessiner un tableau satisfaisant de la progression de l'islam, au moins dans ses grands traits. En fait, chemin faisant, on découvre que les renseignements qui nous ont été transmis dans ce type de sources, même sur un sujet aussi important, sont si lacunaires et contradictoires que presque rien ne peut être dit avec certitude du processus global dans lequel s’inscrit l'islamisation de la région. Or, dans le cas du Kānem une source interne, longtemps négligée, peut contrebalancer et corriger la vision non seulement lacunaire mais aussi déformant que les géographes arabes donnent du Kānem ancien, le Diwān salātin Bornū. Composée dans l'entourage du roi, cette source elle-même ne présente pas une vue neutre, et, surtout en ce qui concerne des questions touchant à l'islam, elle doit être maniée avec circonspection; mais contrairement aux aperçus aléatoires et sans rapport les uns avec les autres fournis par les géographes arabes, les chroniqueurs autochtones nous présentent une vision d'ensemble rigoureusement chronologique de l'histoire du Kānem dont la critique, à certains égards, est plus aisée.

At a time when coastal West Africa was responding to the growth of ‘legitimate’ trade, the Sokoto Caliphate was experiencing dramatic expansion in the plantation sector. Plantations (gandu, rinji, tungazi), which used slaves captured by the Caliphate armies, were established near all the major towns and were particularly important around Sokoto, Kano, Zaria and other capitals. Plantation development originated with the policies of Muhammad Bello, first Caliph and successor to Uthman dan Fodio, who was concerned with the consolidation and defence of the empire. Besides promoting the economic growth of the capital districts of Sokoto and Gwandu, Bello's policy encouraged the expansion of the textile belt in southern Kano and northern Zaria. Similarly, the desert-side market in grain also benefited from the emphasis on plantations. The result was the greater integration of the Central Sudan region into a single economic zone. The role of plantations in the economy differed from that of plantations elsewhere in the world. Market forces tended to be weaker, and no single export crop dominated production. Rather, the orientation towards the desert-side sector indicates that opportunities for expansion were limited, while the importance of textile manufacturing reflects the relatively weak links with European and other textile production. Other differences included a system of Islamic slavery which encouraged emancipation, a close connexion with slave raiding and distribution, and a system of land tenure which often resulted in fragmented holdings. Stronger links with the world economy did develop in parts of the Caliphate towards the end of the nineteenth century. Nupe and Yola were drawn more closely into the world market through the greater use of the Niger and Benue rivers, but these changes only marginally affected the wider Caliphate economy.

The recent Curtin–Inikori debate has revealed a basic shortcoming in the historiography of the eighteenth-century French slave trade. In computing the size of the French trade, historians have too long relied either on questionable estimates published by eighteenth-century authors or on published material about one port, Nantes. Enough material exists in various French archives to produce a more accurate appraisal of at least one aspect of the trade. An analysis of captains' reports and other documents shows that French exports from Africa were somewhat greater than Curtin believed, and that Curtin's errors resulted from limitations imposed by the published data. At the same time, it is almost impossible to know how many slaves were imported into the French West Indies during the eighteenth century, as an illegal British trade accounted for a significant percentage of the slaves delivered to the French colonies.

World War I marked the final phase of French colonial expansion. France's African war aims were determined not by the cabinet but by the leaders of the colonialist movement and by a handful of African enthusiasts in the colonial and foreign ministries. Most of these men harboured the unrealistic aim of acquiring not merely German territory but also other foreign ‘enclaves’ in A.O.F. At the peace conference, however, France's African gains were limited to mandates over the greater part of German West Africa.

Before August 1914 no government had given serious thought to the potential contribution of French Africa, either in men or raw materials, to a war in Europe. The enormous losses on the Western Front led to the recruitment of French Africa's first great conscript army. By the end of the War French Africa had sent 450,000 soldiers and 135,000 factory workers to Europe. The crisis of French food supply also led in 1917–18 to the first concerted campaign, mounted jointly by the colonialists and the colonial ministry, for the mise en valeur of the Empire. But France's shipping losses made it impossible to increase her African imports.

In the aftermath of victory French Africa appeared genuinely popular in France for the first time. The main reason for that popularity was the naïve belief that the resources of the Empire would free France from dependence on foreign suppliers and speed her post-war recovery. When the resources of the Empire proved even slower to arrive than reparations, the Empire quickly lost its newfound popularity. The War nonetheless left behind it the myth of the Empire as a limitless reservoir of men and raw materials: a myth which, though dormant for most of the inter-war years, was to be revived by the coming of World War II.

This article tries to throw light on one aspect of the ‘business partition’ of Africa, namely Anglo–erman economic rivalry on the Rand between 1886 and 1900. It examines the activities of the German-owned Netherlands South African Railway Company (N.Z.A.S.M.), which possessed the monopoly of construction and management of all railways connecting the republic with a seaport. The article assesses this company's impact upon the relations of the South African Republic with both the maritime colonies of the Cape and Natal and with Great Britain. Whitehall regarded the N.Z.A.S.M. as the fountainhead of ever-increasing German commercial and political penetration in the Transvaal and also considered the railway company hostile to its interests in that it allegedly discriminated against British commerce. The gold-mining industry also viewed the company with hostility, since its high freightrates increased the price of imported machinery, foodstuffs, etc. The South African Republic, on the other hand, saw the N.Z.A.S.M. as a useful means of access to both the German and Dutch capital markets, while the company arranged for diplomatic lobbying in Berlin and The Hague in favour of the Republic.

By 1898, German mining interests on the Rand had managed to persuade Berlin that their interests were not served by either the Kruger regime or the German-owned N.Z.A.S.M. and that an administration more favourably disposed towards their objectives, and possibly imposed by force by the British, should not be opposed. It is therefore argued that the South African War was prompted mainly by the desire to establish British commercial hegemony on the Rand, to safeguard the interests of international mining capital and to create a more pliable polity capable of articulating and responding to these particular economic imperatives.

It is a salient feature of the great jihāds of the western Sudan that the leadership for these wars of religious fervour should have sprung forth from a single source, the Torodbe clerisy. It was the Torodbe ʿulamā’ who sustained the jihāds in Futas Bundu, Toro and Jallon in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and prefigured the jihāds of Usumān dan Fodio and al-Hājj ʿUmar b. Saʿīd, perhaps the most illustrious leaders thrown up by Torodbe Islam.

We have long viewed these Islamic revolutions as ‘Fulani jihads’—as consummate examples of the way in which ‘Fulani’ skilfully orchestrated the people in favour of their own views. But it would now appear that those Muslims we have been calling ‘Fulani’ deserved this designation in language and culture only—that they were drawn from diverse strains of Sūdānī society—that Turudiyya suggests a métier and not an ethnic category.

The Torodbe clerisy evolved out of that mass of rootless peoples who perceived in Islam a source of cultural identity. Bound in a new persuasion—linked by a common oppression—they shook the sense of ethnic difference and sought to stimulate a counter trend of a levelling nature. Yet, having habitually recruited from all levels, and most notably from the submerged levels of society, the Turudiyya became an increasingly closed world, discoloured of their levelling intentions. This tendency was manifest in Futas Toro and Bundu especially. In these new communities, the Turudiyya took shape as a hereditary ruling class—succession to the imāmiyya became the special preserve of a select few families. The position of slaves in the new order progressively hardened; the ranks of the Turudiyya remained closed to artisans who continued to pursue their traditional crafts.

The levelling tendency of the Turudiyya movement seems to have reached its apogee in the ʿUmarian Jamāʿa. Though it is said that al-Hājj ʿUmar b. Saʿid did not extend freedom to his slaves, the ties of Islam and the community of faith came to supplant the old threads of allegiance. Among believers, superiority in the faith or stricter observance of its precepts presented a new passport to honoured status.

This paper discusses the history of the beef cattle industry in Southern Rhodesia between 1890 and 1938, but does so within the context of the world meat trade in order to examine the relationship between local and international capital. While certain entrepreneurs early recognized Southern Rhodesia as a potentially valuable beef cattle country, full realization of this hinged on breaking into the world meat market dominated by a few large cold storage companies, drawing on production based mainly in Argentina. Throughout these years, Southern Rhodesia faced at best indifference or at worst occasional outright hostility from such companies in its attempts to secure a place in the world market. Only Liebigs, who were primarily involved in meat extract requiring low-grade cattle, could be induced to operate in Southern Rhodesia.

The meat industry in Southern Rhodesia enjoyed certain advantages: land was extensive and cheap, labour power was produced and reproduced outside the capitalist sector, and there were stocks of indigenous cattle which were seized or purchased cheaply. But the industry also suffered from lack of capital, inadequate transport, the poor beef qualities of indigenous cattle, and disease. Despite state assistance from an early date, most Rhodesian ranchers proved incapable of rearing quality cattle for the world market. Once co-operative attempts by local capital had failed to secure markets for Southern Rhodesian cattle, further state involvement was necessary. Its limited resources obliged the state to try and attract, or seek partnerships with, international capital. However, the big companies remained uninterested, and Southern Rhodesia was obliged to settle for the Imperial Cold Storage Company which, although of overwhelming importance in southern Africa, was insignificant on a world scale. Contradictions in the state–I.C.S. Company relationship surfaced fairly quickly and in 1938 the local Cold Storage Commission was established.

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.

When the French government introduced military conscription into the A.O.F. in 1912, the Guinean colonial authorities saw the measure as a means of training a local administrative corps to replace the traditional chieftaincy, through whose military defeat the conquest of Guinea had very largely been effected. However, the chiefs had by no means disappeared by 1914, and wartime demands for recruits were too massive to be supplied without their assistance. Their help was bought with promises to consolidate their authority in peacetime. Although able to marshal recruits, the chiefs seem to have been unable to prevent large-scale desertions before the moment of embarkation for France; village populations could also avoid conscription by overland migration out of the A.O.F. The colonial authorities therefore felt constrained to offer substantial inducements, mainly concerning improved social status vis-à-vis the chiefs, to the individual recruits. These contradictory policies were compounded by the recruitment drive of Blaise Diagne in 1918, which involved a further promise to recruits of improved status vis-à-vis the French authorities. The return of ancien combattants to Guinea was marked by outbreaks of strike action among workers in Conakry and along the railway line; by riots in demobilization camps; and by rejection of or agitation against chiefly power in the home cantons to which they dispersed. The anciens combattants did not form a coherent or organized political movement, but remained a conspicuous social grouping between the wars. Although they appear to have been strongly influenced by their experience of war and by contact with French socialists, their conflict with the chiefs seems to have counted for more with them than any confrontation with the French.

A previously unused price series from the Liverpool Mercury provides new information about the early days of the palm oil trade. A boom in 1818 drove prices to their century high, only to be followed in the 1820s by a prolonged depression. The boom may have encouraged merchants to try to bring Bonny into the oil trade, as its development as an important oil port dates from this time. However the depression of the '20s did not prevent the continued expansion of the trade, which was also sustained during the better prices of the 1830s. This information does not affect Northrup's recent suggestion that the slave trade continued to expand in the 1830s, as his evidence is inconclusive and there is no comparable information on slave prices. Yet clearly both trades were carried on side by side at the time. This was not because their supply networks were different. Slaves and oil were both sent from Ibibioland, being peripheral to the main economic activity of that region, domestic agriculture and craftwork.

Ivory appears to have gone to the Cameroun coast in considerable quantity in the early nineteenth century, while little was being carried across the desert. By the middle of the century this position had been reversed. This paper traces the penetration of Hausa ivory traders to Adamawa and the southern ivory markets, and the subsequent struggle by European firms with posts on the Niger and the Benue to divert the trade back to the sea-borne route. Eventually the Germans in Kamerun had some success in diverting what had become a dwindling trade as the elephants fell victim to modern weapons and to the ‘opening up’ of the country.

This article seeks to explain the adoption of cotton-growing by the Langi of Uganda in the early twentieth century, on the assumption that considerations of ‘indigenous economics’ (notably labour constraints and the attraction of competing crops) were at least as important as the more usually stressed factors of administrative pressure, price incentives and petty trading by immigrant minorities. On the eve of the colonial period the Langi were already producing planned agricultural surpluses—principally sesame for trade with Bunyoro.

Cotton, which was introduced in 1909, could only have been grown on a significant scale at the cost of sacrificing the trade in sesame. This the Langi refused to do until the early 1920s, when the market for sesame declined and the buying price of cotton rose; partial alleviation of the threat of famine and changes in traditional dry-season occupations were also important. From 1931, however, cotton output in Lango ceased to expand. This stagnation was only partly a result of the Depression; once more the Langi found themselves producing as much as was humanly possible, given an extremely tough environment, a simple technology and a fully stretched labour-force.

The writing of South African history has yet to catch up with many of the historiographical advances made north of the Limpopo. This is especially obvious in the tendency to view white and black states confronting one another in the pre-conquest era as irreconcilably hostile monolithic blocks. This essay attempts to examine the reality of that interaction by focusing on the eastern Transvaal republics and the Swazi in the mid-nineteenth century. The Swazi, it suggests, were not the integrated society that is often assumed, and were forced to enlist the support of Boer factions in the eastern Transvaal to survive internal dissensions and Zulu attack. The Transvaal republics themselves were similarly divided along constitutional, political and economic lines, with access to African resources, whether for labour, for hunting, or for military assistance, constituting a crucial determinant of political power. As a result a shifting kaleidoscope of factional relationships grew up, characterized by changing political alliances and by fissions from both parties concerned. Only once they were freed from the fear of Zulu invasion after 1852 were the Swazi able to proceed undisturbed with the process of internal consolidation, and to present a more unified front to their neighbours. For the Transvaal (by then the South African Republic) that process was postponed even longer, until after the civil wars of the early 1860s, and the discovery of gold a decade after that. Only then can one talk of the South African Republic or the Swazi as being states in any meaningful way.

Although on the periphery of the war Gold Coast resources and manpower were mobilized for the imperial war effort. The educated élite and many traditional rulers were loyal and internal conditions, despite the withdrawal of personnel and troops, generally peaceful. Small-scale disturbances occasioned by the war occurred, the most serious in the Northern Territories. The direction and pattern of Gold Coast external trade changed; exports, with the exception of cocoa, contracted and the price of imports rose. Serious shipping shortages exacerbated difficulties. British ‘Combine’ firms increased their hold over Gold Coast commerce. A fall in government revenue held up public works, and railway construction was paid for by an export duty on cocoa. The war brought marked changes to the government fiscal system. Gold Coast troops were used in the West and East African campaigns and prepared for employment in the Middle East. Varying degrees of compulsion were used to recruit carriers and soldiers and resistance to this was widespread. Labour shortages and the withdrawal of whites provided new job opportunities for Africans. Cocoa and palm kernels were subject to imperial direction and control; Governor Clifford opposed the imperial preference scheme for palm kernels. Imperial wartime economic measures fuelled the nationalism of the NCBWA; the Gold Coast élite demanded political representation as a reward for wartime loyalty, while their economic resolutions attempted to displace European commercial interests strengthened during the war. Economic changes further weakened the position of traditional rulers; labour shortages provided wage labour with temporarily enhanced bargaining power. Post-war trouble from ex-servicemen was slight.