This article is concerned with the way an African ethnic group is represented in the medium of television. It is argued, first, that, in the broad spectrum of programmes, ethnographic films will never be in the top rank. Nevertheless, as part of a general range appealing to an intellectual and academic audience, ethnographic films will be competing in this market. One solution is to let ethnographic films become more attractive through a closer resemblance to fictional films. But it creates a dilemma for an ethnographic film screened on television, as it must legitimise its position by differentiating itself from fiction through establishing a certain realism while at the same time employing fictional devices to dramatise ethnographic ‘stories’. This leads to distorted and sometimes racist undertones. The second issue concerns the ambitions of the film team. Their temporary role in the locality becomes political when, as inevitably happens, they favour, and are favoured by, one section of the local community in order to fulfil their mission of producing an ethnographic film. A split in the community is caused by such external forces and justified by the fact that we are all ‘living in a global village’.

In the 1990s the feared witch among Tonga-speakers of Gwembe Valley, Zambia, is often the father, whose adult children accuse him of using witchcraft to gain power over the child's life force to use in his enterprises. Suspicions of the father arise from changing family dynamics associated with restricted economic opportunities and a changing agricultural system involving cash cropping where family labour is of vital importance. Witchcraft fears, as elsewhere in Zambia, have become more salient as worsening economic conditions have led to general malaise and the loosening of restraints on public accusation. Feeling victimised and vulnerable in a world where transport minimises distance has led to witches being endowed with the power to operate without regard to distance. Nevertheless witchfinding deflects hostility from national political figures to elders in the neighbourhood, especially fathers, who are continuous sources of immediate frustration and are also vulnerable to local action.

In their accounts of the war in Angola, refugees from south-eastern Angola who now live in Rundu (Namibia) draw a distinction between warfare in the past and the events that happened in their region of origin after Angolan independence in 1975. Although they process their experiences through recounting history, these refugees maintain that the incidence of torture, mutilation and massive killing after 1975 has no precedent in the area's history and forms an entirely new development. This article investigates the reasons for this posited modernity of killing, torture and mutilation. The placement of the recent events outside local history is shown to represent an expression of outrage, anger and indignation at the army's treatment of the civilian population during the recent phase of the war. The outrage not only concerns the scale of the killing, torture and mutilation but is also linked with the issue of agency. The informants accuse UNITA army leaders in particular of wanton disregard for the lives and livelihood of their followers. They furthermore maintain that UNITA ordered ordinary soldiers to take part in killings which released powers the soldiers were unable to handle.

This article examines the social and political background of escalating violence between ethnic groups in south‐western Ethiopia who until recently had customary and ritually sanctioned ways of resolving conflict. It highlights the impact of the emerging state hegemony in a local setting on ethnic groups not yet involved in the global political economy. The account also indicates the changing arenas of ‘ethnic’ self‐definition and economic opportunity for local groups in post‐1991 Ethiopia. As the report of a big reconciliation meeting held between the government and the groups involved (and discussed here) makes clear, in the efforts of state agents to mediate emerging conflicts in conditions of increasing resource scarcity and identity struggle, the use of customary mediation mechanisms and their cultural symbolism was rhetorically recognised. But at the same time efficient mediation was structurally impeded by the very nature of the exercise of authority by the agents of the state and by their incapacity to implement practical measures to establish local peace. This failure to reconstitute a new political arena of conflict resolution was matched by the inability of the (representatives of the) ethnic groups concerned to redefine their relationship in a constructive and culturally acceptable manner.

This article briefly discusses the various factors that gave rise to tension in northern Ghana between Fulbe pastoralists coming in from Burkina Faso and the local Kassena farmers (who have livestock of their own). The Ghanaian government's decision in 1988–89 to expel the Fulbe resulted in more problems, not least the dilemma of how to patrol effectively the permeable borderland and the gradual introduction there of modern firearms. In consequence some argue that it is not the policies of conservation that are being called into question but the government's sovereignty.

The article examines a murder trial in the Nigerian city of Ibadan during 1902. In the course of the trial a senior chief stated that those found guilty of the homicide should be fined, not executed, as a more severe punishment. The meaning of this statement is closely investigated in the context of the political climate in Ibadan at the time, of past judicial practices and through a reconstruction of the murder incident. It was argued that the assertion related to increasing competition between Ibadan chiefs and was an attempt to define constitutionally the economic and political value of a follower’s body.

In their quest for material well-being Cameroonian women see the United States as a country of virtually boundless opportunities. It is Eldorado, offering chances of earning money by selling cosmetics that are guaranteed not to have been tampered with. It is the new frontier, the Far West, where mothers send their children to study in the hope that a job-oriented education will make it easier for them to return home. It is the future, prefigured in the New York skyscrapers; Cameroonian mothers dream of bringing forth American children, and so giving tham a better chance of absorbing this world of the future. When the American dream is not accessible, the United States still offers an imaginary space where women reinvent the conditions of their existence by adopting some of the signs of American culture in their everyday life in the tropics. The use of lipstick thus appears as the symbol of a world-culture behind which hovers the giant image of the United States. The experiences of Cameroonian women can be extended to women in other African countries and, beyond, to the men of Africa, also suffering the precariousness of the present, faced with the same challenges of the future and engaged in the same quest for material well-being.

Arising out of debates over ‘children at risk’ and the ‘rights of the child’, the article compares two contrasting childhoods within a single large society—the Hausa‐speaking peoples of northern Nigeria. One segment of this society—the non‐Muslim Maguzawa—refuse to allow their children to be beaten; the other segment, the Muslim Hausa, tolerate corporal punishment both at home and especially in Qur'anic schools. Why the difference? Economic as well as political reasons are offered as reasons for the rejection of corporal punishment while it is argued that, in the eyes of Muslim society in the cities, the threat of punishment is essential for both educating and ‘civilising’ the young by imposing the necessary degree of discipline and self‐control that are considered the hallmark of a good Muslim. In short, ‘cultures of punishment’ arise out of specific historical conditions, with wide variations in the degree and frequency with which children actually suffer punishment, and at whose hands. Finally the question is raised whether the violence experienced in schooling has sanctioned in the community at large a greater tolerance of violence‐as‐‘punishment’.

This article examines political oral traditions in the Sefwi (Akan) area of Ghana. Two types of narrative are studied: negotiations over the political status of stools within the kingdom and the claims to succession of matrilineal branches within stools. Narratives are analysed in relation to their claims to historicity, to the political conflicts in which they are generated and to their correspondence to legal criteria of attribution of ‘traditional’ political offices. It shows that pre‐colonial dynamic norms concerning stool status and succession turned into a fixed legal corpus in the twentieth century. Contenders’ histories have been used as evidence to judge ‘traditional’ stool disputes. Narrators have thus constructed narratives presenting ideal pasts considered worthy of legal attribution of ‘traditional’ political office. Narratives have consequently legalised narrators’ claims with reference to ancient history. The study of the context of the emergence of oral traditions—hostility between particular stool holders, national politics’ influence or conflicts over the sharing of stool revenue—shows that narratives and political conflicts have a history of their own which is carefully omitted from the narration.

In the mid-1990s the village vigilantism known as sungusungu emerged, for the first time, in Tarime District, in northern Tanzania, in response to high levels of cattle theft and related violence—not in the form of independently organised but co-operating village vigilante groups, as it had first manifested itself a decade and a half earlier, in west central Tanzania, among the Sukuma and Nyamwezi peoples, but under state sponsorship. This article describes the organisation and operation of this form of state-sponsored vigilantism as it unfolded in a village of the agro-pastoral Kuria people, and argues that, while it offers a number of significant benefits both to the state and to local people, it nonetheless suffers from some of the same weaknesses that plague the official law enforcement system.

This article takes issue with ahistorical typologies that depict all slaves as ‘dishonoured’ persons. It demonstrates that royal slaves in Kano emirate of the Sokoto Caliphate were initially valuable to the elite because they were indeed dishonoured outsiders. But, over time, slaves tried to limit their exploitation by developing their own systems of honour and status. The article traces when, where and how royal slaves in Kano acquired and attempted to acquire ‘honour’ as officials, kin and members of a broader social world. However, it concludes that, although slaves did indeed develop systems of honour, their ability to acquire an honourable identity was nonetheless limited by their status as slaves, which they remained despite their power and position.

This article analyses an acute moral crisis in the colonial administration of Basutoland in the late 1940s. It was provoked by a contagious rash of what became known as ‘medicine murders’, apparently perpetrated by senior chiefs. Two particular murders of this kind are examined in detail, as a result of which, in 1949, two very senior chiefs and some of their followers were hanged. This harshly dramatic episode brought into stark question the meaning of generations of the ‘civilising mission’, the fitness of the chiefs as leaders of the people, the moral integrity of the Basotho nation and the legitimacy both of colonial rule in general and of certain specific practices of the police. The political context of the murders is outlined, and the judicial process is dissected with special reference to the question of the validity of accomplice evidence.

Before the civil war, conversion to Islam for Igbo men resident in the predominantly Hausa city of Kano in northern Nigeria usually meant becoming Hausa. More recent converts, however, have retained their Igbo identity and created an organisation, the Igbo Muslim Community. Three case studies from the first group detail the process and criteria of becoming Hausa, including immersion in Hausa economic and social networks; three case studies from the second group demonstrate that, while Hausa-centred networks remain important, converts have worked to construct new, Igbo-centred support structures. The watershed in the changing relationship between religious and ethnic affiliation for Igbo converts is the end of the war in 1970 and resultant changes in Igbo perceptions of Muslims, and changes in Igbo community structures.

This article arose out of an attempt to quantify the risk of transmitting blood-borne diseases, in particular Hepatitis B and HIV, through the practice of making incisions (umgcabo) and punctures (ukutshobha) in the skin for the purpose of introducing medication (muthi) into the human body. The intention was to examine means of containing the risk. It soon became apparent that the practice of these therapies was inextricably bound up with legal and economic issues arising out of the impact of colonialism on Zulu medicine. Any endeavour to contain them would first have to address these fundamental issues. The article takes a step in that direction by (1) examining in detail some of the practices of diviners and herbalists in their historical context and (2) showing how colonial and post-colonial legislation has affected traditional healers and their clients in rural KwaZulu/Natal.

The circumstances of a child’s birth define his or her starting point in life, and they will be inscribed in the child’s file, so to speak, by means of a set of rule-governed birth names. These ‘child names’ are perfectly suitable for this initial stage of life, but all Baatɔmbu aspire one day to replace this original set of ‘orthodox’ names by another orthodox name, an inherited title name, corresponding to an achieved social and spiritual status. Commoners and nobles have separate institutions of gɔɔbiru, ‘inherited title names’, but in both cases the successive bearers of a gɔɔbiru share an exemplary essence that each must honour and perpetuate with his life. Baatɔnu nobles bestow baptism names on children around the age of seven, allowing these young candidates for the various gɔɔbiru to be matched, according to their potential, with a name whose influence will guide them into adulthood. Joking names and teknonyms can be classified as non-orthodox or informal names and seem to fill a gap left by the orthodox names, allowing personal and family relations to be expressed and negotiated. These names carry no prestige, but their use affords pride and pleasure and, unlike orthodox names, they can be used without infringing ‘shame’-based taboos.

This article revisits S.F. Nadel's study on land tenure in highland Eritrea from the mid‐1940s, and presents the current framework of the communal land tenure system of meret shehena. Under the meret shehena system, all land under the domain of the village is perceived as the common property of the village inhabitants. To restrict outsiders access to land, habitation rights (tisha) to the villages is guided by agnatic descent, and individuals obtain usufruct rights to land through residence in the village. The article proves that since Nadel's study almost sixty years ago, descent rules defining habitation rights have been changed, in order to restrict distant descendants returning to the village and claiming their land rights. Nevertheless, the overall workings of the system that redistributes all shehena land every seventh year to the village inhabitants, shows a remarkable resemblance to the observations made by Nadel. It appears that the customary operational guidelines of the system are virtually unaffected by wars and political turbulence during the last fifty years, following the core principle that each male adult individual with habitation rights (tisha) who marries and establishes a separate household, will be entitled to an equal share (gibri) of the village land, in order to secure the livelihood of all household members.

On the strength of research in 1992–95 and 1998 this article discusses the way Muslim women dress in Bouaké, Côte D'Ivoire, and what it tells us about the trajectory of their lives and view of the world. Arguing that fashion is emblematic of processes of identification, it seeks to explain how young women come to be situated and position themselves in these processes. To do so, it examines the processes through a life course analysis that takes into account local versionings of tradition and aesthetics, Muslim cosmology and ideals of Western modernity. The article shows that as young women gain social maturity and assume the socially defined status of adult they dress and act increasingly in a manner that emphasises Muslim identity. The various ways in which they use dress reflect the stance they adopt towards competing versionings of Islam.

There are two general approaches to assessing what is known as ‘development’. First, there are classical accounts focusing on Europe's development during the industrial revolution. They describe how urban areas expanded at the expense of the social and economic resources of the rural areas, disrupting an independent subsistence peasantry. A major consequence is that today all Europeans are dependent socially, politically, and economically on the modern capitalist system. The second (more common) approach to development focuses on the modern Third World. This approach assumes that, as with Europe, the entire Third World is dependent on the modern capitalist system. Development studies focus on the assessment of how Third World countries can most effectively engage world capitalism. Discussion is typically reduced to comparisons between world systems theory and neoclassical economics. The Tanzanian government has used standard policies grounded in neoclassical and world‐system assumptions since independence. But both policies failed to produce the predicted economic growth. This article argues that both policies failed because the Tanzanian peasantry, like the early modern European peasantry, is not dependent on the operation of world capitalism for basic subsistence. In fact, as studies have shown, rural Tanzania is only weakly incorporated into the capitalist world system, and in consequence has not been an easy target for what world‐system theorists call ‘peripheral integration’. What makes Tanzania different is the fact that the rural peasantry do not use market mechanisms in the distribution of the ‘means of production’, especially arable land for swidden agriculture, or, for that matter, labour or cattle.

Gender distinctions in personal names are quite remarkable in African naming traditions. Such names are attractive to linguists and anthropologists alike, especially as they reflect preferences in semantic hierarchy and deeply ingrained gender biases. This article studies the gender naming in Igbo personal names that contain a key religious concept: Chi.

The article examines relations between pentecostalism and politics in post-colonial Zimbabwe through a case study of one of Africa’s largest pentecostal movements, Zimbabwe Assemblies of God, Africa (ZAOGA). The Church’s relations with the state change considerably from the colonial to the post-colonial era. The movement began as a sectarian township-based organisation which eschewed politics but used white Rhodesian and American contacts to gain resources and modernise. In the first decade of independence the leadership embraced the dominant discourses of cultural nationalism and development but fell foul of the ruling party, ZANU/PF, because of its ‘seeming’ connections with the rebel politician Ndabiningi Sithole and the American religious right. By the 1990s ZAOGA and ZANU/PF had embraced, each drawing legitimacy from the other. However, this reciprocal assimilation of elites and the authoritarianism of ZAOGA’s leadership are in tension with the democratic egalitarian culture found in local assemblies, where the excesses of leaders are challenged. These alternative pentecostal practices are in symbiosis with radical township politics and progressive sources in civil society. Thus, while pentecostalism may renew the process of politics in Zimbabwe, it may itself be renewed by the outside forces of wider Zimbabwean society.