Urban migrants in Nampula City, northern Mozambique, perceive themselves to be living in an environment where they are particularly vulnerable to sorcery attacks. Key to this sense of vulnerability are Makhuwa notions of matrilineal descent and relatedness, which work to locate sorcery fears in the interstices of two kinds of proximity, namely social and physical. Accordingly, people fear the translocal reach of the ill will of kin residing in the countryside, with whose well-being they remain connected regardless of the physical distance. Simultaneously, there are threats posed by urban neighbours who, due to their proximity in physical terms but separation in social terms, are considered dangerous. This article analyses practices of conspicuous exchange as one of the strategies urban migrants employ in coping with these anxieties. Specifically, it draws on the life histories of two women in one neighbourhood of Nampula City to explore the challenges they experience in meeting demands for material assistance from rural kin and urban neighbours. The analysis shows that their accounts of sorcery are structured by the difficulty of balancing such demands in a setting of poverty and socio-economic inequality. This finding has implications for anthropological theories of sorcery, misfortune and urban migration.

Those who read in Gulliver's ‘Karamojong Cluster’ that the Iteso are socially and culturally divided from the rest of the Teso Dialect Cluster, may not realize how closely many of their customs resemble those of other members of the Cluster. In fact all the six main social or cultural features which Gulliver enumerates as common to the Karamojong Cluster are common also to the Iteso.

In June 1931, Daniel Odindo, chief of Asembo, resigned after seventeen years in office. Asembo was one of over twenty locations or chiefdoms through which the Luo were ruled by the colonial administration of Kenya; its population was no more than 20,000; it was over thirty miles from the Central Nyanza district headquarters at Kisumu; there was no mission station in the location. It possessed several bush schools, some small trading centres, a few acres of cotton, and a fishing harbour on Lake Victoria. Asembo was a backwater. But there were many parties to the dispute over the succession to Odindo. One of these was Archdeacon Owen, the local head of the Church Missionary Society (CMS) who lived at Maseno, thirty-five miles away in the Maragoli Hills which overlook Kisumu. Owen was a churchman who saw his vocation in bringing political and social as much as spiritual welfare, and was deeply conscious of the missionary's dependence upon the confidence of his African flock. His white supporters in his many political campaigns were more often to be found in England than in Kenya. One of these was Norman Leys, now retired from the Colonial medical service, the first well-informed critic of the Kenya situation and with access to the Labour Party. Leys thought that the Asembo case—then being pursued through the Colony's courts—might ‘prove to be the turning point in Kenya history and [might] become one of the famous trials of the world’. It was ‘perfectly terrific’. He believed he ‘could make a damned good book out of it’ but was thankful that Owen did not want him to take up the issue in England. ‘As well might an unknown medical practitioner in some French village have tried to get his country to undo the wrong done Dreyfus.’ But there was perhaps some hope that the Home Committee of the CMS might come to Owen's aid, for ‘the wizard-chief [Odindo's appointed successor] is obviously out to persecute the church’.

Of recent years many mosques have been built in Sierra Leone, while in Freetown itself the number and character of these new buildings is transforming the Eastern Ward into a visibly Islamic city. Several of the new Freetown mosques are alike in their ambitious scale, their architectural style, and in being associated with a particular sponsoring tribe. The older mosques, even the two or three which were built of permanent materials, were small in scale, had but few architectural pretensions, and were communal rather than tribal in character. The new mosques—the Temne, the Mandinka, the Fula, and the Hausa—are all very large and advertise the ecclesiastical architecture of the Near East; a particular tribe was responsible for the building of each, and the tribal vernaculars are—except in the case of the Mandinka—either being used already within them, or about to be introduced. Moreover, the process is obviously continuing. The foundation-stone has been laid of a Limba mosque; land has been acquired and collections are being taken for a Mende mosque, and both are intended to be large buildings in the new style. Finally, a small Susumosque, scarcely finished as yet, is reported to be destined for demolition in order that it may be replaced by a more handsome structure.