Reports of the occurrence of ‘woman marriage’ in parts of Africa as far distant from one another as northern and southern Nigeria, the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, and the Union of South Africa indicate the possibility that there may be other instances of this institution that have gone unrecorded. The purpose of this paper is therefore to call attention to this striking phase of social organization by describing the form which ‘woman marriage’ takes in Dahomey, presenting data collected in the field in 1931. In doing this, attention will be paid to such aspects of the social setting in which this kind of marriage is lodged as may be needed to allow it best to be understood, while some of the attitudes which arise from it will also be indicated.

In a recent paper on ‘The state and social processes in Africa’, Lonsdale (1981) convincingly demonstrates the poverty of assuming that any one ‘grand theory’ is able to explain the complex relations among state, social process and class struggle and other equally complex social phenomena. Images of the state as parasitic (as in formulations of the ‘Asiatic mode of production’), as an epiphenomenon of property relations or as a neutral mediator, individually fail to grasp the complexity of states' organization and action (Jessop, 1977), yet each clearly evokes an important dimension of that complexity. The fact of political and economic domination has to be dealt with but equally the often contradictory quality of state power reflects the fact that the mediating institutions and ideologies between dominating and dominated are the objects and arenas for competition and struggle among different social groups and categories. The recognition that one has to deal analytically not with a monolithic entity but a set of institutions that are subject to being ‘redefined, added to and patched’ (Lonsdale, 1981: 2) is important. The challenge, then, is to devise analytical means that capture such processes and allow us to unravel the dynamic of contradictions rather than merely note their pervasive character.

While the social history of Dakar, Senegal, exhibits many of the characteristics common to most Eurafrican cities on the West coast, the rather abrupt manner in which the policy of residential segregation replaced the earlier pattern of co-existence, if not integration, of the African and European populations merits particular attention. The establishment of the Medina—the ‘native quarter’, to employ the colonial idiom of the day—was the most decisive and significant action taken by the French authorities in the history of the city. Yet this decision resulted from no carefully considered change in administrative policy, which had been somewhat laissez-faire in residential matters, but rather was hastily urged after the outbreak of a severe epidemic of bubonic plague in 1914. What began medically was to become, however, a major social and urban problem.

The second, or informal, economy developed later in Lubumbashi (DRC) than it had in Kinshasa. The Katanga metropolis, long protected from the process of informalization thanks to its large industrial complexes, suffered seriously from the crisis of the 1990s which led to the collapse of the mining industry and, more generally, of the whole salaried sector. After a brief history of the city and of the state of play of the informal economy, this article attempts a detailed analysis of this economy's lexicon. Expressions newly created from Swahili, French and other languages provide an excellent point of entry into the concrete practices of this sector, as well as the representations and morality on which such practices are based. Strongly associated with expressions of energy, cunning and conspiracy, the vocabulary emerging from the second economy bears witness to the appreciation of the ‘anti-hero’ and demonstrates the inception of a new moral economy in which the state and the powerful have become targets of legitimate predation based on the principle of redistribution.

In the past two decades NGOs helping ‘street children’ in Addis Ababa have distinguished themselves by their adherence to highly controversial assumptions about the nature of childhood and the failure of the poor to raise their children in ways that they conceive as ‘proper’. The ratification of the UN Declaration on the Rights of the Child by the Ethiopian government has inspired them to stop food relief in order to persuade the children in their care to seek a way out of their miserable ways of life through work on the street. In a remarkable replication of late Victorian philanthropic thinking, NGOs dispel hereby local middle-class fears that relief agencies may foster truancy and idleness and reassuringly define the code—work—that confers legitimacy on children's presence on the streets. Anticipating their escape from undeniably harsh and unjust family relations, the children of the poor are enticed into accepting this solution as the price of a ‘decent’ and morally acceptable childhood. They remain nevertheless highly critical of the rights-based approach, claiming that in the name of their rights they are denied what used to be children's normal entitlement such as protected food prices, free basic health and education. The article is based on the findings of an action research project by social workers among the children assisted by eight Addis Ababa-based NGOs in the period 1996-98.

Miss Ward, in her paper on Some Observations on Religious Cults in Ashanti, maintains that the spread of ‘new witch-finding cults’ in Ashanti results from an emotional malaise deriving from structural changes in the society. The hypothesis is one which has been put forward on other occasions to account for the reported increase in such activities. The basic propositions appear to be four: firstly, that major changes in the social system increase the overall malaise in a society: secondly, that such increased malaise will be reflected in an increase in witchcraft: thirdly, that an increase in witchcraft will be reflected in an increase in witch-finding cults: fourthly, that there has been such an increase in Ashanti.

The difficulties attending the attempt of the new African polities to weld their disparate elements into viable nation-states have been popularly attributed to ‘tribalism’. Certainly, in some cases groups indigenous to a region did come into conflict as new states arose there, but a hard look at tribal relations in modern Africa shows these relations to be of a different order from those of pre-European times. One element in the so-called ‘tribalism’ in modern Africa, and one which has so far escaped systematic treatment, is the conflict which arose between Africans indigenous to an area and African ‘strangers’—those groups which for various reasons had moved out of their homelands and had established relatively long-term residence in the territories of other groups—as political autonomy and independence became a reality. An examination of the factors which made for conflict between ‘locals’ and ‘strangers’ in West African societies would not only give us the opportunity to understand this phenomenon in a time-perspective, but would also enable us to see whether the status and role of the ‘stranger’ in these societies could throw light on the universal problem of the ‘stranger’.

Much of the literature on Sierra Leonean diamonds focuses on the role that this mineral resource played in the recent civil conflict (1991–2002). However, the political-economic perspective that is common to these analyses has lost sight of the main actors in this social reality. What do miners think of diamonds? Like their Malagasy colleagues engaged in the search for sapphires, the Sierra Leonean diamond miners often maintain that they do not know what diamonds could possibly be used for. What is specific to the diamond mining areas in this West African country is that suspicions and fantasies about the uses of diamonds go hand in hand with the idea that these precious stones belong to invisible spiritual entities known locally as djinns or dεbul dεn. Although this article aims to analyse the occult imaginary of diamond miners, it takes a different stand from the occult economies approach. By combining a historical-imaginative perspective with a historical and ecological one, this article intends to highlight the indissoluble interweaving of material and imaginative processes of artisanal diamond production in the context of Sierra Leone's mines.

The contemporary construction of the past is crucial for the successful vindication of political rights in Africa. Often, however, more than a single past proves potentially valid as a claim to land and office. When arguments of the past, furthermore, intertwine with competing projections of legitimate forms of land control, complex combinations of claims emerge. The ubiquity of ‘the past’ in African politics and the increasing competition over space suggest that the naturalness with which some refer to the past and others conceive of space should be under constant scrutiny. Based on work in northern Ghana, the article argues that the contemporary construction of the past, as either tradition or history, and the competing projections of land control, as either property or political territory, interdigitate in complex ways. This affords certain rhetorical or discursive combinations that competing social elite groups instrumentalize. Each group sees its interests best served by a particular reading of the past and a particular conception of space.

The article puts forwards the argument that there is a pervasiveanxiety among Muslims over their security, both physical and spiritual, in today's northern Nigeria. It is an anxiety partly millenarian, partly political, that seeks to recreate a stronger sense of the ‘core North’ as dar al-Islam, with notionally ‘closed’ boundaries – just as it was in the pre-colonial Sokoto Caliphate. This has led first to the re-establishment, within twelve of Nigeria's 36 states, of full shari‘a law and then to the formation of a sometimes large corps of hisba (wrongly called ‘vigilantes’) – this despite Nigeria having a constitution that both is secular and reserves to the federal government institutions like police and prisons. The article explores the various dimensions, past and present, of ‘security’ in Kano and ends with the problem of ‘dual citizenship’ where pious Muslims see themselves at the same time both as Nigerians and as members of the wider Islamic umma.

This article addresses the uncertainties of life in the once booming, but now declining, centre of northern Madagascar's sapphire trade. Although the characteristic features of small-scale mining boomtowns have become well known to many through research on gold, diamond and other rushes throughout Africa and elsewhere in the world, relatively little is known of what happens to such distinctive communities after they boom. What becomes of the unique social networks, consumption patterns, and world-views so often associated with these places when the supply of or demand for the particular commodities around which they have developed declines? Who leaves and who stays behind? How do those remaining in such places continue to earn livings and make meaningful lives despite the decline that surrounds them, and how do they make sense of their circumstances in light of memories of better times? This article addresses these and other questions as they relate to life after the rush in the northern Malagasy sapphire-mining and trading town of Ambondromifehy, arguing that the uncertainties faced by those who remain indicate new possibilities as much as continuing decline.

East African rangelands have a long history of population mobility linked to competition over key resources, negotiated access, and outright conflict. Both in the literature and in local discourse, in‐migration is presented as leading to increased competition, driving poverty and social exclusion on the one hand, and conflict and violence on the other. Current analyses in developing countries identify economic differences, ethnic fault lines, ecological stresses and a breakdown in state provision of human and constitutional rights as factors in driving conflict. The present paper explores this interaction of in‐migration and conflict with respect to Kenyan and Tanzanian pastoralist areas and populations. Using quantitative and qualitative methods, patterns of resource access and control in Kenya and Tanzania Maasailand are explored in terms of the ways land and livestock are associated with migration status, ethnicity and wealth or political class. Contrasts and similarities between the two national contexts are used to develop a better understanding of the ways these factors operate under different systems of tenure and access. The conclusion briefly considers implications of these patterns, their potential for exacerbating poverty, and policies for minimising social exclusion and conflict in East African rangelands.

Sedentarization is often characterized by increased cultivation, which can result in either a partial or a total transformation from a livestock to a farm-based economy (Barth, 1961; Baxter, 1975; Nelson, 1973; Salzman, 1980). There are many possible permutations along this continuum from livestock to agriculture, and categories based on a sharp dichotomy between them are inadequate; even sub-units within a single ethnic group may show divergent patterns. Recent evidence reveals considerable intra-group variation in pastoral responses to agricultural opportunities (Alverson, 1979; Behnke, 1981; Haaland, 1977; Kjaerby, 1979; O'Leary, 1980). These differences are often in line with the generalization that large cattle herds are more closely associated with pastoralism than with agriculture.

In this article, I argue that the praise of legal and political analysts who perceive Rwanda's gacaca courts as a model of locally grounded and culturally relevant transitional justice is unfounded without consideration of the broader power dynamics in which justice is delivered. Drawing on life history interviews with 37 Rwandan peasants resident in the south-west of the country, I argue that the claims of the Rwandan government that its gacaca courts are promoting peace and reconciliation must also assess the impact of local justice mechanisms on those subject to its demands, namely ordinary people. In the case of Rwanda's gacaca courts, local-level analysis illuminates a darker and largely unexamined aspect of transitional justice – the playing out of local power dynamics and the social and political inequalities masked by the pursuit of justice and reconciliation. My study cautions against a wholesale endorsement of the gacaca courts as an effective and legitimate form of transitional justice. Instead, it is a mechanism of state power than works to reinforce the political power of the ruling RPF and to ply international audiences with the idea that Rwanda is ‘a nation rehabilitated’ from ‘the scourge of genocide’.

L'article décrit quelques uns des évènements politiques principaux qui ont eu lieu au Togo dans la deuxième moitié de 1991, à l'époque où le pouvoir du Président Gnassingbé Eyadéma faisait face à une opposition plus sérieuse qu'à aucun moment depuis sa prétention à la présidence vingt-quatre années plus töt, et examine comment ces évènements ont été représentés lors d'une discussion populaire à Lomé. En analysant certains aspects de la lutte au pouvoir pendant cette période et les perceptions populaires à ce sujet, l'article à pour but d'éclaircir les mécanismes culturels par lesquels Eyadéma a pu se maintaindre au pouvoir et par lesquels son pouvoir pourrait être contesté.

In Part I of this article (McCaskie, 1983a) I discussed the relationship between accumulation, wealth and belief in Asante to the close of the nineteenth century. In this concluding part I analyse these and cognate themes in the twentieth century. I remain wedded to the approach outlined in detail in Part I; an attempt to locate action and motive within a cognitive or ‘intellectualist’ framework. But this article is more episodic and less directly narrative than its predecessor. There are reasons for this change of stylistic gear.

I Do Not intend to say to-night all over again what has been said many times before in admirable addresses to learned societies. I propose only to bring to your notice some features of the subject which have often been overlooked or disregarded and yet seem to me to be important.

May I in the first place mention the confusion which frequently arises when someone asks whether social anthropology can, or should be, an applied science. It is evident that it cannot be applied in the same sense as, for instance, medicine or engineering are said to be applied sciences since it cannot state its findings as laws in the light of which it can predict events. Perhaps it will never be able to formulate laws as these are understood in the exact sciences. Nevertheless social anthropology is a body of knowledge about human societies and, like all knowledge of the kind, can be used in a common-sense way to solve social problems; and there is surely no one who holds that it should not be so used.

RENAMO is a shadowy movement and ill-understood, save for its well-established genesis as a military artefact of the Rhodesians, then its transition in 1980 to South African patronage. Lacking all the features we have come to associate with successful insurgencies in Africa, such as a charismatic leadership or easily identifiable ideology, it has failed to develop a political identity commensurate with its military strength. It has no clearly defined regional base, relies on widespread forced recruitment, and behaves with notorious brutality towards the civilian population. Yet it operates throughout the length and breadth of Mozambique, and holds the state in virtual paralysis. Since it lacks rear bases and therefore depends upon local provisioning, it must be able to obtain compliance over large areas of rural Mozambique. That also implies effective organisation.

Scholars have recently begun to describe a speech form emerging in post-colonial cities which reflects the creative melding or ‘creolisation’ of elements from indigenous and former colonial cultures. These ‘urban varieties’ are not, strictly speaking, Creoles but rather indigenous languages whose structures and lexicons have been adapted to the complexities of urban life. A primary characteristic of such varieties is their ‘devernacularisation’. No longer tied to the cultural values represented by the languages in their more traditional forms, they reflect instead the new values and way of life found in the urban centres where they are spoken. This article, based on fieldwork conducted in Senegal between 1986 and 1989, describes the formation and role of one such urban linguistic variety, Urban Wolof. In particular, it focuses on Dakarois’ conflicting tendencies to accept Urban Wolof in Dakar as the most pragmatic form of urban communication while rejecting it as evidence of an undesirable creolisation between indigenous and French culture.

Focusing on the tri-juncture of Ghana, Togo and Burkina Faso, this article examines the role of cross-border traders in the construction and redefinition of international boundaries. Through the study of the social and spatial patterning of trade surrounding three commodities–imported cloth, beans and shea butter (karite)—it explores the multiple ways the border is endowed with or deprived of significance. When the border is viewed as a socio-geographic region the importance of popular practice to the on-going constitution of state power and presence becomes evident.