Zambia’s contemporary experience of recession without resolution is, alas, quite typical of the majority of African states over the decade; for since the celebration of ten years of independence in 1974, its national income has been in almost continuous decline. But this economic decay has had an uneven impact, between both time periods and social groups: occasional injections of foreign aid or loans have been permissive of relative affluence for elements in the bourgeoisie and labor aristocracy along the line-of-rail. The full impact of negative growth has been felt in the more distant rural areas and among the peasantry and the unemployed.

A literary scholar runs a certain risk when he ventures into the troubled waters of African politics. But a poet—whether it is Shakespeare carefully plotting his historical plays to conform to and support the Tudor position on the Wars of the Roses or Wordsworth confusing the atmosphere of the French Revolution with the air of heaven or Ginsberg howling with rage and existential despair at the sight of democracy betrayed—makes political statements. Sometimes these statements are only subtly and indirectly political; at other times they are specific and topical. In either case, they are part of the milieu in which a political culture flourishes. They are, in fact, part of the political culture itself.

I want to examine several of the ways in which indigenous poets of West Africa have functioned as part of the developing political culture. And I want to address myself specifically to political culture—a term of some exactness which nevertheless allows considerable latitude for analysis and speculation. The political culture of a society might be described as the political system internalized in the perceptions, judgments, feelings, and attitudes of its people. In their important study, Civic Culture, Almond and Verba (1966: 15-16) have this to say about the “orientation” which constitutes political culture:

At the present time, Accra--eighty years the seat of Gold Coast administration, and fifteen years the capital of an independent Ghana--stands atop an urban system that is relatively well developed by Black African standards. In several years the municipal population will reach the million mark, notwithstanding the fact that less than 5 per cent of the labor force is employed in modern manufacturing industries. Unlike most large cities in the West which expanded in response to the needs of industry, Accra grew despite a dearth of secondary industries. Foremost among its competitive advantages during the colonial period were its traditional role as a port, its administrative importance as a political capital, and its fortuitous location vis-à-vis the earliest cocoa-producing districts. It is proposed that this latter advantage was the primary determinant of the urban growth and spatial organization of Accra during the second decade of the present century, a seminal phase in its commercial development.

In this paper I would like to discuss the impact of the early years of the cocoa trade, first, on Accra in relation to the emerging urban system and, second, on the changing pattern of commercial land use within the town. Most of the discussion refers to those years between 1908, when the first significant cocoa exports occurred, and 1921, by which time the townscape of Accra clearly displayed the impress of the cocoa trade. During this brief but eventful period the economic shock waves released by the revolutionary new crop set up a condition of disequilibrium within the colonial space-economy. Centers, such as Accra, which serviced the cocoa trade flourished, while many other languished. The paper focuses, then, on cocoa as a primary influence on the economic geography of Accra, at a time when its leadership in the urban hierarchy was being consolidated.

At least three articles concerning anthropological and other research interests in Africa have appeared in recent years in the African Studies Bulletin: McCall's (1967) on the history of anthropological concerns and McKay's and Kopytoff's (both 1968) on “the research climate” in Eastern and francophone West Africa, respectively. In this paper I shall discuss some specific problems which the field anthropologist may face during the course of his research-problems the nature of which may not be foreseen in the preparatory stages, which may have few or no precedents in previous field-work situations, and which, in any case, receive little discussion in the literature on anthropological field methods. The problems to be discussed were encountered, or felt, by me in a specific location, and with specific research goals, but I think they reflect more than possible inadequacies in my own research methods and have potentially far wider application than merely to my particular field situation. Indeed, they could have important implications for the future of anthropological and other field research, both in Africa and elsewhere.

Research was conducted in Numan Division, Adamawa Province, North-East State, Nigeria, from September 1969 to April 1971. I had debated whether to mention specific names in this paper, but I have decided to do so, since “Village A” and “Chief B” and other such substitutions would be confusing, and especially since the situations to which I will refer are readily acknowledged and openly discussed by the people of the area. I will, however, avoid referring to particular persons by their given names.

As used in this article, indigenous cooperatives refer to those informal arrangements under which some or all members of different families help one another by working together or by consuming food and drink together while maintaining their separate existence as economic entities. This definition, I hope, clearly distinguishes them from modern cooperatives, which are joint undertakings formed for the purpose of running a modern business. I speak of African indigenous cooperatives because the ones that I have experience of are based on African practices and customs. While I am aware from the writings of economic anthropologists that this mode of economic organization is used in other continents, it is conceivable that details may differ among different peoples. Such issues, however, are not my concern here.

The purpose of this study is the humble one of attempting to classify the cooperative arrangements that have been briefly described above. To the researcher or intending researcher in this field, a knowledge of what types of cooperation exist would probably help him in clarifying his research proposals and in planning what information to collect, among other things. Given the hazards of research, it may save him effort and other resources.

Second, the matter is important because of the significance which some African leaders attach to such cooperatives as instruments for socializing their economies. The issue here is which types of cooperation should be used to achieve economic growth and in which activities, while at the same time leading to what is deemed an equitable distribution of income and wealth. Unless careful research has been done on all aspects of cooperation, it would be rash to say that this should be discarded or that should be adopted. Suppose that cooperative labour proves to be less efficient than hired labour. Do we then rely on hired labour, hoping that cooperation in consumption or in using property will take care of equity in income and wealth distribution?