Murray Last obliquely suggests that [the “Kano Chronicle”] is best regarded as a rather free compilation of local legends and traditions drafted in the mid-seventeenth century by a humorous Muslim rationalist who almost seems to have studied under Levi-Strauss.

The danger lies in being carried away by one's own ingenuity.

The question of the authorship and date(s) of writing of the so-called “Kano Chronicle” (KC) and hence how historians should evaluate it as a source, have intrigued students of Kano (and wider Hausa) history since the work was first translated into English by H. R. Palmer in 1908. Palmer himself had the following to say:

The manuscript is of no great age, and must on internal evidence have been written during the latter part of the decade 1883-1893; but it probably represents some earlier record which has now perished….The authorship is unknown, and it is very difficult to make a guess. On the one hand the general style of the composition is quite unlike the “note” struck by the sons of Dan Hodio [ʿUthmān b. Fūdī, Abdulahi and Muḥammad Bello, and imitated by other Fulani writers. There is almost complete absence of bias or partizanship…. On the other hand, the style of the Arabic is not at all like that usually found in the compositions of Hausa mallams of the present day; there are not nearly enough “classical tags” so to speak, in it…. That the author was thoroughly au fait with the Kano dialect of Hausa is evident from several phrases used in the book, for instance “ba râyi ba” used in a sense peculiar to Kano of “perforce.” The original may perhaps have been written by some stranger from the north who settled in Kano, and collected the stories of former kings handed down by oral tradition.

Work on volume 7 of the Cambridge History of Africa, covering the years 1905-1940, has obliged me to reflect on the nature of the literature for this period in African history. The past twenty years or so have of course seen some notable research on the subject, and much of this is now published. A common theme in this work, as in the study of earlier African history, has been an emphasis on African initiative and enterprise, whether among clerks and teachers, cocoa farmers or mineworkers. More recently, there has been a renewal of interest (often related to theories about “underdevelopment”) in the external forces which set limits to the scope and success of African initiatives. It has once again become acceptable in Africanist circles to study white farmers, trading companies, mine corporations, finance houses, administrative hierarchies, legislative councils, or mission headquarters. Thus the Cambridge History should now be able to achieve a more balanced appraisal of both local and alien factors in the colonial order than would have been possible even five years ago.

The question I want to raise here is whether, for the purposes of such a volume, it is enough to think in terms of synthesizing the work of professional historians of Africa over the past two decades, or whether recent shifts of emphasis have exposed topics and questions on which we must still look for guidance to works written when colonial rule was still a living reality and African history, as an academic subject, had not yet been invented.

The Guinea coast and near interior was a region of almost wholly preliterate societies before the coming of the Europeans. Islamic culture, with its literate strands, which had been spreading through the northern parts of West Africa over many centuries had barely begun to touch the Guinea region—although a handful of literate itinerant merchants and missionaries was to be encountered by the Portuguese, and Islamic religious practice had penetrated at least one royal court in Senegal. Hence the “medieval” sources in Arabic which are informative on the history of the Sudanic states of West Africa tell us little or nothing about the Guinea region. As for the oral traditions of the region, mostly collected only since 1850, these have an inbuilt “horizon” of recollection which falls far short of the arrival of the Europeans five centuries ago. Ethnographic, cultural, and linguistic evidence, systematized in recent times, can be extrapolated backwards to earlier times, but this can only be done, with any security, when trends over time have been identified from earlier hard evidence.

Such trends can of course be obtained from archeology, as well as from written sources. But the limited investigations of archeologists in Guinea to date, while they certainly inform on general issues such as agriculture and technology, are as yet decidedly weak, for a variety of good reasons, on the regional details of human settlement and population, and on the varieties of political structure. Moreover it is doubtful whether archeology per se can inform to any significant extent on ethnicity, language, and social characteristics. It is therefore only marginally debatable to refer to the earliest European written sources on Guinea as “the early sources.”

The argument that a process of “making tribes” has invested Africa from early colonial times has been used to explain the emergence of some ethnicities which appear not to have existed before colonialism. This emergence was often accompanied by the creation of written records of male historical discourse, thus not only giving them undue prominence but also suppressing female historical discourses which were not considered pertinent to “history.”

Yet whenever history is recounted orally by either men or women, it contains messages directed to a “gendered” audience (i.e., an audience composed of people of both genders) whose participants perceive messages differently and reproduce separate but interacting discourses. Such diverse perceptions result from certain aspects in oral genres as well as small, coded markers which can evoke immensely potent but gender-specific experiences. Such instances may become public symbols and, along with more obviously historical narratives, greatly influence how people relate to their past. Thus men and women in the same audience, hearing the same story, can make connections between elements of a narrative which are obscure to outside researchers.

Recently, it has become quite common for historians of Africa to deconstruct written historical sources on the basis of the agendas of both the original writer and his informants. These agendas are rarely explicit and thus hiddenly selective. Such deconstruction is a legitimate scholarly procedure; however, as female voices have rarely been recorded—the resulting analysis reinforces the omission of women's roles in the process of remaking history and creating identity.

Since the publication of Maine's Ancient Law in 1861 social anthropological studies have been prolific. The basic intellectual and investigative interest of these social anthropologists was and continues to be the social, political, and cultural organization of preliterate societies in their benign state of primitivity. Indeed, it might be said that the anthropologist created the savage, the barbarian, and the primitive and their state as an object of intellectual inquiry through fieldwork. Most of these studies conducted within the framework of what Owusu calls “structual-functional empiricism” were not exactly law-centered. Whatever glimpses of the legal system one could obtain was by accident. Law was merely part of a functioning, coherent, and consistent totality; part of the jigsaw puzzle of the primitive reality.

Subsequent legal anthropological works clearly fell into two categories: those that thought that primitive societies did not have law and others that thought that they did. Those of the first group have viewed small-scale societies from the monocles of western jurisprudence, expecting to find a system of rules emanating from an authoritative source in a hierarchically-organized political system with government, courts, and a law-enforcement mechanism backed by coercive physical sanctions. Viewed from this perspective they not surprisingly found what they considered to be a pattern of “statelessness,” lawlessness, anarchy, and notions of justice and remedy based upon the principle of self-help or the law of the claw and the fang. Critics of colonialism and anthropology suggest that this characterization of the expectations of the colonial anthropologist might be a serious misrepresentation of their true expectations. The colonialist needed the anthropologist to provide the methods by which colonialism could be most effective. The anthropologist on the other hand created the savage and his state of statelessness, lawlessness, and self-help to provide a rational basis for colonialist subjugation and exploitation of the savage.

Clashes between supporters of Inkatha and those of the ANC have resulted in the death of thousands of people in the last five years. The political death toll in 1990 was the highest South Africa has ever seen. While Inkatha, a Zulu-based movement, attempts to maintain the ethnic division enforced by the apartheid regime, the ANC is struggling for a non-ethnic and color-blind democracy and a political system elected on the basis of “one man, one vote.” Their struggle is about the future of South Africa, about sharing power and resources. It is also, however, about the past and the use of its symbols.

In this paper I look at the ways Inkatha has, since its formation, used the Zulu past to draw support, to achieve political gains, and to educate the youth in KwaZulu. I have used political speeches of Chief Gatsha Buthelezi, Inkatha's leader, as well as speeches by other key individuals in the movement, texts by the historians of the movement, novels written in the spirit of Inkatha, and most important, Inkatha textbooks on “good citizenship,” a subject introduced in all KwaZulu schools as a compulsory in 1978.

Since assuming power after the 1994 genocide, President Paul Kagame and his political party, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, have struggled to unite Rwanda’s citizens using, among other initiatives, a simplified version of Rwandan history to diminish the ethnic tensions that made the 1994 genocide possible. As a result, Rwanda’s history has become highly politicized, with vastly divergent versions of the nation’s past narrated in private settings, where it is more politically appropriate for Rwandans to share their experiences. This paper focuses on divergent representations of Rwandan monarchical figures – often unnamed – whom the narrators imbue with values according to their individual political affiliations, lived experiences, and identity. These narratives are indicative of the broader ways that modern Rwandans narrate their experiences of history in response to Rwanda’s current official history, as well as previous official histories. Careful analysis reveals much about the current political climate in post-genocide Rwanda: most notably, that Rwandans continue to see their nation’s past through vastly different lenses, demonstrating the enormous challenges facing the Rwandan government as it seeks to reconcile its population using current methods. It also highlights the ongoing need on the part of historians to approach contemporary sources critically, informed by sources produced and debated in the pre-genocide period.

The article describes the Bureau of African Affairs Collection. First it introduces the history of the archive by examining the crucial events that influenced its state and accessibility. Then, it describes the contents of the collection, underlying its importance for the study of Kwame Nkrumah’s domestic and foreign policies and African nationalism at a continental level. The documents included in the Bureau of African Affairs Collection provide unique insights into both Nkrumah’s foreign and domestic policies. In particular, they include invaluable information on his Pan-African policy. Moreover, the documents shed new light on the presence of African liberation movements in Ghana in the period 1957 to 1966. Thus, this Collection can attract scholars interested in both Ghanaian history as well as the history of Pan-Africanism and African nationalism at a continental level.

One wonders what Fernand Braudel and the school of the Annales have done to become a kind of Trojan Horse for the wholesale condemnation of the historical value of oral tradition. Yet they are the banner raised by W.G. Clarence-Smith in a recent article in his journal to preach jihad against its historical value. Clarence-Smith claims that the historiographical revolution effected by Annales has resulted in the definitive exclusion of oral traditions from the halls of Clio. Oral traditions are at best ambiguous “signs” about the past and are very much of the present. They lack absolute chronology and they are selective, so away with them. If they be worthy of attention at all, let anthropologists and sociologists be concerned, save in a few rare instances where a historian wants to check on some European printed source. And even then, caveat emptor. Significantly, the article is not just the expression of the views of one person; rather it is symptomatic of much of the criticism which has been leveled at oral tradition, mostly by fasionable anthropologists. And it brings this criticism to its logical conclusion.

But first a word about Braudel, the Annales, and oral tradition in general. The Annales School was founded by Lucien Febvre and Marc Bloch before World War II. Fernand Braudel is its most distinguished exponent. His major theoretical pronouncements can be found in his Ecrits sur l'histoire, a collection of articles reprinted and published in 1969. This and his two major historical works should be read by those who want to know more about his views and ways of dealing with history. The basic tenets that members of the Annales School hold is that the history of events is but the spray of past developments; other time depths tell us more about the waves of the past. There is the time of the conjoncture, the trend, and the even longer time periods -- sometimes many centuries long -- the longue durée or long term. Successful history writing does not liminate the study of events, but analyzes them against the movement of these longer and deeper-running trends.

In 1982 Carol Dickerman and David Northrup published a useful article on Africa-related archives in Belgium. Their work was limited, however, to two public institutions in Brussels which, in the past 12 years, have moved and grown. What is needed now is a more up-to-date and comprehensive list of Belgian public and private collections with historical or ethnological archives concerning Africa.

In Belgium such archives are unfortunately not grouped in one place, but are spread over a dozen public and private institutions according to their nature—diplomatic, military, religious, ethnological—or origin. Thus the foreign researcher who attempts to find these archives must often undertake trying adventures, and once they have succeeded, they still must obtain numerous authorizations to use reading rooms and to consult and photocopy documents. Thus this paper aims to list the different Belgian institutions with major archives, to indicate what is available in their collections, and to describe how to gain access, in the hope that foreign researchers will be able to benefit fully from the archival riches of Belgium.

The Africa-related documents in Belgian archives and libraries mostly concern Central Africa in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In addition, some collections are relevant to Belgian African politics in general and to Leopold II's expansionist aims in other parts of the continent.

Elsewhere I have set forth a basic outline for charting histories of vegetation change through the use of paleoenvironmental data (Schoenbrun 1991). This essay builds on the previous one by laying out the contours of vegetation change and human agency in the Great Lakes region (Map 1) over the roughly three millennia after ca. 2000 BC.

The history of the vegetation in eastern Africa's Great Lakes region brings into focus several important features of long-term environmental change—human action, climatic shift, and internal successional patterns. The primary sources for this history come from a variety of published palynological and limnological studies from Burundi, Rwanda, Uganda, and Zaire. Perhaps the most rewarding data for reconstructing climatic and vegetational change come from palynological studies. Pollen studies often reflect detailed changes in the constitution of plant communities, and their value for reconstructing the vegetational and climatic contexts for Holocene human history has provoked the development of a rigorous method for their analysis. Contemporary studies of plant community succession and human-vegetation relationships are a secondary source for the history of land clearance in the Great Lakes region. These works provide a means to determine the different imprints of human and climatic action on the paleoenvironmental record.

In this study I combine the full range of paleoenvironmental evidence to reconstruct the form and pace of vegetation change. I focus on a part of eastern Africa famous for its great ecological diversity. One of the rewards of this endeavor is to demonstrate to paleoecologists, archaeologists, and historians alike the value of a truly interdisciplinary approach to environmental change.

During the early nineteenth century, European travelers and residents in east Africa wrote of an important pastoralist society, called Loikop, that dominated the plains of the Rift Valley, and whose divisions included, among others, the rapidly expanding Maasai. These pastoralists were described in detail by three missionaries: Johann Ludwig Krapf, Johannes Rebmann, and Jakob Erhardt. Their various journals, letters, and published articles, written during the 1840s and 1850s, are widely recognized as the earliest documentary evidence for Maasai and Parakuyo history. But they have often been neglected, and sometimes deliberately shunned, in favor of later written or oral sources, perhaps because their views of pastoralist history, including the idea of a pastoralist Loikop community, seem rather incongruous when compared to those of more recent vintage.

This skepticism was fueled partly by the fact that during the course of the nineteenth century, Maasai expanded dramatically, demolishing and absorbing other Loikop sections; eventually, Maasai pastoralist identity superseded and erased that of Loikop. By the time of European colonial conquest, the term “Loikop” carried negative connotations, and scholars from this point forward had difficulty in seeing any other valid meaning for the term. This essay is devoted to making the case for restoring the idea of Loikop pastoralists in our narratives of east African history. In many ways, it is a response to John Berntsen's “The Enemy Is Us: Eponymy in the Historiography of the Maasai,” published in 1980.

On the worldwide scale Africa is the least-known continent demographically. Until the mid-twentieth century not even the size of the population was precisely known in many areas of sub-Saharan Africa. The major problems in African historical demography have either been the almost total lack of relevant sources or, if some have been available, they have been fragmentary and non-systematic. The reliability of the most commonly-used sources in African historical demography—population counts and early censuses—remained questionable until the 1960s. However, fairly far-reaching conclusions and estimations based on these sources using indirect methods have been drawn. Despite the development of methods in historical demography, the questionable source materials have naturally provided serious grounds for argumentation.

An excellent example is the debate between the natalistic and antinatalistic school over changes in fertility and mortality in sub-Saharan African societies during the precolonial and early colonial period. The fragmentary nature of the available sources has offered a firm basis for the disagreement.

The objective of this paper is to discuss limitations, pitfalls, and opportunities related to sources used in African historical demography. The paper first reviews the conventional sources—population counts, censuses, and surveys—and then presents an old but seldom-used group of sources, Christian parish registers. The usability of parish registers is discussed through a concrete research project based on data produced since the late nineteenth century in the parishes of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Namibia (ELCIN). Finally, attention is paid on widening the range of disciplines where African parish registers could be utilized.

This checklist of published versions of the Sunjata epic aims to include the widest possible corpus of written variants of the Mande tradition available through publishers, libraries, and in unpublished higher degree dissertations. It builds upon the work of Guy Tombs, Stephen Belcher, John Johnson, David Conrad and Ralph Austen. Entries are arranged alphabetically, by the name of thejeli (griot or bard, plural jeliw) or writer. Included in each entry are (1) the bibliographical reference (and subsequent references if the item has been republished or published in a translation or excerpted form); (2) the name of the performer (or writer); (3) details of the location and date of the performance; (4) details of the recorders) and translators); (5) the format of the published version (including the language(s) and the type of translation); and (6) the coverage of the published version. Coverage is indicated by use of a simple five-fold division of material traditionally included within the epic:

1. 1. Paternal ancestry of Sunjata—links with the Middle East, Bilali, the Three Simbons, etc.

2. 2. Buffalo-woman tale

3. 3. Birth and childhood of Sunjata

4. 4. Exile of Sunjata

5. 5. Return and war with Sumanguru

The largely literate African employees of European businesses during the colonial and postcolonial period have not been studied as a group, unlike miners, railway workers and colonial intermediaries. This group has nevertheless been of great importance. Many of its members became part of the core of the management of African-owned enterprises and organizations, others started their own businesses or became successful politicians. African employees of European business, alongside government employees, formed the basis of the rapidly growing middle classes during the period after the Second World War. They gave their children a Western-style education, often at well-respected schools. In many local communities the “manager” became a figure of respect. Many employees were elected to traditional office as chiefs. Such successes were not limited to those employees who made it into management. For example, a carpenter with a steady career with a European company could build and own several houses. These African employees domesticated capitalism in West Africa, mediated changes in consumption and the rise of a consumer society, and adopted European expectations of career progression and life cycle. Working for a European business, they also found themselves at important sites of contestation during colonial and postcolonial political struggles.

It is over a decade since Professor Lawrence made a plea “for subjecting the sources for African history to that kind of critical appraisal which has customarily been applied to Greek and Roman authors.” Among Anglophone African historians, the plea has largely gone unheard. Could this conceivably be because critical source analysis is dull stuff for minds accustomed to the excitement of filling blank plains of African history with elephants of speculation and castles of moralistic stance? The opportunity provided by the reprinting of the standard sources has all too frequently been lost. One editor of an essential west African source is content to remark that the contemporary translation into English he is reprinting, considered together with another contemporary translation into French, are “all [sic], for the most part, considered faithful renditions of the original Dutch.” Standards of source-verification in published African history not uncommonly fall below the standards demanded in other fields of history; even reputable publishing houses occasionally produce works whose standards of historical enquiry are so low that they have been termed, unkindly but not altogether unjustly, “Academic Oxfam for Africa.” Perhaps a case does exist for speculation and commitment in African history, perhaps non-written sources may inform in detail as well as stimulate in general; but if the African historian dares to step outside the ivory tower of African studies, and is concerned that his subject be taken seriously by the historical profession as a whole, he must perform his exercises on the common ground of historical enquiry. This means that he must include a measure of dull critical analysis of written sources. Professor Shepperson once suggested that the time had come for more ‘dull’ African history: the present paper is intended as a contribution to this and to no other good cause.

This discussion seeks to evaluate some of the previous writings on the biological origins of the northern Nile valley population or peoples, who came to be known as “ancient Egyptians.” The subject is of interest for three reasons. The first is that Egypt lies at a geographical crossroads and would have been subject to possible colonization or migration from all directions. The second is that Egypt is in Africa and there is no scientific reason to think that Egyptians would not share some biological origins with other Africans. The third reason is that previous discussions have been misguided in focusing on “race” as opposed to biological affinity. There seems to be a problem in understanding that human genetic variation cannot always be easily described. Genetic origins can cut across ethnic (sociocultural or national) lines. At what village along the Nile valley today would one describe the “racial” transition between “Black” and “White”—assuming momentarily that these categories are real? It could not be done.

On 3 November 1863 the first issue of Leselinyana la Lesotho, datelined Morija, was published by the Revd. Adolphe Mabille of the Paris Evangelical Mission Society. Leselinyana continues to be published today. Its contents have been recently used by two biographers of Moshoeshoe and in the present paper I hope to suggest some other ways in which the materials in this publication can be of value to historians of the Sotho.

Mabille had arrived among the Sotho in 1860 and had already published several small pamphlets written by himself on a small primitive printing press. The first issue of Leselinyana comprised just a single sheet containing two pieces of writing -- an editorial signed “Leselinyana la Lesutho” in which, inter alia, the newspaper introduced itself in the first person to the Basotho. The other piece was the first of what came to be a series of articles with the general title “Mogaogeli oa Moetsalibe” (“The Sinner's Pardoner”). From the beginning Leselinyana emphasized articles of a religious and catechetical nature, clearly indicating its basic purpose as a vehicle for religious instruction and propaganda.

According to Gérard the publication of Leselinyana was interrupted only twice. The first hiatus was from 1865 to 1869 when the Boers of the Orange Free State invaded and temporarily occupied areas west of the Drakensberg mountains, evicting the French missionaries who had supported the Africans there. The second occurred during the so-called Gun War of 1880/81 when the Sotho successfully resisted efforts by the Cape government to disarm them and to open Sotho lands to white settlement. In the following discussion I will touch briefly on a few representative materials in Leselinyana which suggest the richness of the paper as a source for historians, not only of the Sotho themselves but of their relations with the whites of the area and with the missionaries.

On 19 September 1998, Professor Sibusiso Bhengu, the South African Minister of Education, officially opened the National Arts and Heritage Cultural Centre (NAHECS) archives at the University of Fort Hare. This archive houses documentation from three former liberation movements: the Pan Africanist Congress of Azania, the Azanian People's Organization and the Black Consciousness Movement of Azania. Bhengu, from 1991 to 1994 the first black rector of Fort Hare, had signaled a new era for the university.

It was during Bhengu's administration that the university received ANC archival documents, firstly from the Solomon Mahlangu Freedom College (SOMAFCO), the ANC school in Tanzania during the exile period between 1978 and 1992, followed by other documents from ANC missions in different parts of the world. The arrival of these sources, which are lodged in the University Library, was followed by the official opening of the ANC archives on 17 March 1996 by Deputy President Thabo Mbeki of behalf of Nelson Mandela. Even before they were officially opened, the university had begun to receive scholars who combed the documents in an effort to reconstruct the history of the exiled liberation movements. Fort Hare historians also utilized the archives.

The presence of the ANC archives at Fort Hare seems to have inspired Mbulelo Mzamane, Bhengu's successor as Vice Chancellor, to state that Fort Hare should be a home for all South African liberation movements' archival material. Soon, sources from the three liberation movements were sent to the university and the former Centre for Cultural Studies (CCS), now NAHECS, took charge of the documents. While these papers were being sorted out, a building was being constructed on campus to house the papers.

In Angola, a trend towards labor commodification, set in motion under the impact of the nineteenth-century produce trade and colonial rule, has been reversed in the decades since independence. Angolans have always worked mainly in the reciprocal sphere, but with the growing commercialization of the economy after the abolition of the slave trade, self-employment has also become a constant in Angolan labor history. By 2000, the rural population was thrown back to subsistence farming, while the larger part of the urban population has tried to survive by self-employment in the informal economy. Wage labor, widespread under colonialism, has become less common.