Continuing the discussion of issues relating to Africa that arise from research into the volume of the Atlantic slave trade, this comment pursues three points raised by Paul Lovejoy's recent update in the Journal of African History (December 1989). An independent count of the data in the Mettas-Daget catalogue of French slaving ships and a careful assessment of its possible incompleteness makes it unlikely that upward adjustment greater than 12 per cent can be justified, giving an overall total for French exports from Africa of 1,125,000 for the period 1700–1810. Analysis of other research reconfirms the conventional estimate of two males carried abroad for every female slave. Finally, formal supply-demand theory interprets lower export prices for slaves in the nineteenth century as implying that internal African demand for slave labor did not fully replace demand from the Atlantic, thus modifying Lovejoy's linkage of a ‘transformation’ toward increased use of slaves to economic changes outside Africa; the reasons for possible increased use of slaves in nineteenth-century Africa must therefore lie within the continent.

The history of cocoa production in Western Nigeria is an example of a successful innovation in the Schumpeterian sense of the term—a new productive activity which, when adopted by a number of producers, leads to economic growth and structural change within a given institutional and social context. Cocoa growing spread in Western Nigeria through the efforts of migrant farmers, many of whom relied on traditional, non-economic institutions, such as the lineage or ethnic community, to mobilize the economic resources they needed to establish cocoa farms. From an examination of the activities of migrant farmers in three Yoruba states—Ibadan, Ife and Ondo—it is argued that the spread of cocoa farming probably strengthened these traditional institutions. At the same time, it has effected significant changes in the volume, organization and geographical distribution of rural economic activity in Western Nigeria.

A major component of the South African War, the imperialist conflict that gave birth to modern South Africa, was the violence that occurred between white settlers and indigenous black populations. This article seeks to understand the particular nature of this violence in the northern districts of the Cape Colony. The war intruded into a region in which memories of conquest were alive, and where recently established settler authority was extremely fragile. Here, the war has to be seen as the final chapter in the closing of a nineteenth-century colonial frontier. The conflict was one between masters and servants in a region where capitalist relations of production had yet to take hold. Conflict continued in the years immediately after the war, and an essential task of the post-war state was to calm disgruntled black subjects.

This article deals in detail with the various factors which affect the accuracy of radiocarbon dates. The familiar “error term” associated with each date and which caused so much confusion to users of radiocarbon dates in the early days of the method is derived from the statistical uncertainties of the measurements of radioactivity from which the date is calculated and is the only source of error which is capable of strict mathematical treatment. Other sources of error, as for example wrong attribution of the sample or human error in labelling, can be disastrously large on occasion, although they can usually be kept quite small. Errors arising from the effects of isotopic fractionation can be eliminated by the application of corrections based on mass spectrometric measurements of the stable carbon isotopes in the sample. However, it is now known that the most serious limitation on the accuracy obtainable by the radiocarbon method is set by the fact that the level of radiocarbon in the carbon exchange reservoir has not been constant in the past. Despite this limitation, however, the method is still the most important scientific aid to archaeological research to emerge since the end of World War II.

This article contributes to the critique of a particular historiographical construction of the rural socio-intellectual world of the Afrikaner, which portrays that world as narrowly Calvinist and culturally circumscribed, with rigidly patrolled racial borders. This challenge is effected through an investigation into the world of the Bushveld Boer through the work of Eugène Marais (1871–1936) and Christiaan Frederick Louis Leipoldt (1880–1947). The article seeks to show that the practical workings of agrarian race relations allowed for a certain measure of cultural osmosis, facilitating Afrikaner interest in African and traditional healing practices. Afrikaner interest in the paranormal and psychic, with an emphasis on European trends, is also investigated, to demonstrate that the image of intellectual isolation has been exaggerated. This is a contribution to the ongoing project of historians interested in Afrikaner identity, who probe the image of a monolithic, Calvinist past and stress variety and often secular thinking.

In the last few years, our understanding of police forces in Africa has increased significantly. Whilst in previous literature the police tended to be presented as a mere instrument in the hands of state elites, recent studies have shown the ability of policemen to defend their group interests. This article analyses a pivotal moment in the history of French West Africa, namely the creation of the Service de Sûreté in the early 1930s. Drawing on archival evidence from Togo, it takes a close look at the shift from military to urban policing, arguing that the bureaucratization of security modified the agency of African policemen. Whereas previously their forms of protest were very much connected with the specific setting of military camps (indiscipline, desertion, rebellion), these now increasingly included written protests within the administration.

During the period of the European Scramble for Africa, many African rulers, conscious of the military superiority of the European Powers, resorted to the use of diplomacy in a desperate but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to maintain the independence of their dominions. This approach was demonstrated in Futa Jallon's resistance to French expansion.

Among the methods of resistance used by the Alimamies of Futa were the rejection of the European version and interpretation of treaties, the grant of support to other African resistance movements, and the exploitation of Anglo-French rivalry. The Alimamies also exploited the lack of unity in French administrative organization in West Africa and the complexity of Futa's political constitution. Their resistance, marked by a considerable degree of duplicity, was facilitated by France's dependence on a policy of peaceful expansion towards Futa in contrast to its aggressive approach in many other areas of West Africa. Eventually, Fula resistance collapsed, largely because of the disintegration of the indigenous state, which enabled France to intervene and establish its authority over Futa with remarkable ease, using only a minimum of force.

This article examines the history of energy use in colonial Senegal from 1885 to 1945, and it considers how African populations and French colonial officials built a colonial energy economy through overlapping and competing infrastructures of local and imported fuels, labor, and networks of transportation. As the colonial state constructed a new system of infrastructure, from railways and roads to trains and trucks, the French extended their reach into the interior and increased the production of cash crops. At the same time, peasant farmers, migrant workers, and urban merchants incorporated colonial infrastructures into their own regimes of energy use while also fashioning an infrastructure of locally produced fuels. Through the entanglement of local and colonial infrastructures and labor, as well as the appropriation of various forms of technology, Africans and their colonizers forged a hybrid colonial energy economy — not organic, not industrial — specific to the context of colonialism.

The etymology of ‘Lucumí’ and ‘Terranova’, ethnonyms used to describe Yoruba-speaking people during the Atlantic slave trade, helps to reconceptualize the origins of a Yoruba nation. While there is general agreement that ‘Lucumí’ refers to the Yoruba in diaspora, the origin of the term remains unclear. We argue ‘Lucumí’ was first used in the Benin kingdom as early as the fifteenth century, as revealed through the presence of Olukumi communities involved in chalk production. The Benin and Portuguese slave trade extended the use of ‘Lucumí’ to the Americas. As this trade deteriorated by 1550, ‘Terranova’ referred to slaves captured west of Benin's area of influence, hence ‘new land’. By the eighteenth century, ‘Nagô’ had replaced ‘Lucumí’, while the ‘Slave Coast’ had substituted ‘Terranova’ as terms of reference. This etymology confirms the collective identification of ‘Yoruba’ and helps trace the evolution of a transnational identity.

The urban townships of South Africa have been contested terrain since their inception. Different groups have struggled to control territory, various resources and political activities within the confines of the locations and, all too frequently, violence has been an integral part of these struggles. Groups as varied in composition and ideology as squatter movements, well-organized criminal outfits, student groups, vigilantes, traditional courts (makgotlas), migrant gangs, youth gangs, municipal political groups and national political movements – with much overlapping between these categories – have all at one time or another sought to impose their will on township residents and have regarded violence as an essential element in their campaigns.

While much attention has been deservedly devoted to the violence employed by the state as a means of subjugating, dividing and controlling township residents, the different ways in which black urban groups struggled to assert control over their environments have received relatively little scrutiny. These processes cannot be regarded in isolation from the state's quest for control, but neither should they be subsumed by the larger focus on a revolutionary struggle. Rather, I would argue that a more informed understanding of the conditions and challenges faced by black urbanites requires study of the nature of localized power and violence within the townships. African groups pursued agendas which served their own interests and had a considerable impact on social relations and perceptions of power and authority, both within the locations and in the broader context of national/racial politics.

In the nineteenth century the Portuguese government became engaged in a long struggle with the most powerful of the landowning families of the Zambezi—the famous prazo holders. Beginning as a domestic affair brought about by the weakness of the administration, the wars eventually developed into a struggle for the survival of even the vestiges of Portuguese rule on the Zambezi. The Portuguese government mounted nine expeditions before it was finally successful in 1888. The prazo holders, for their part, gathered round them the tribes and families broken up by the wars and by the raids of the Landim and Ngoni, and their resistance became, by the end, a general struggle of the African peoples of the lower Zambezi, not so much for independence, as against any alteration in the way of life of the ‘Rivers’—against westernization. Most of the fighting centred round the stronghold of Massangano at the junction of the Luenha and Zambezi rivers a few miles below Tete. The ‘aringa’ at Massangano was destroyed finally in 1888 but there are still extensive remains of it and of other sites connected with the Zambezi wars. The expedition reported in this paper made a plan of the ‘aringa’ of Massangano and was able to show the continuity in building tradition between the Portuguese ‘fairs’ built in Mashonaland in the seventeenth century, the Swahili east-coast sites and the nineteenth-century building in the Zambezi valley. The expedition was also intended to form some estimate of the potential of the virtually unworked fields of Moçambique archaeology and tradition, and by making two detailed studies to attract other workers to the same area.

Mitchell maintained that the relationship between the Protectorate Government of Uganda and the Native Government of Buganda was that of protected rule rather than of indirect rule. In order to implement his policy of protected rule, he planned a reorganization in Buganda, involving the substitution of a Resident for a Provincial Commissioner and the withdrawal of district officers to the centre, where the Resident and his staff would offer advice to the Kabaka. Mitchell did not envisage that the Protectorate Government's influence would thereby be weakened, since he assumed that the Kabaka would be obliged to follow advice which was given to him. Under the Agreement of 1900, however, the Kabaka was specifically required to act upon such advice only in the case of the implementation of Lukiiko resolutions. Relations between the Kabaka and both the Protectorate Government and his own Ministers steadily deteriorated during Mitchell's governorship, and the deposition of the Kabaka was even considered. For these reasons, Mitchell proceeded cautiously with his reorganization and it was left to his successor, Dundas, to complete it. Owing largely to the restricted power of the Governor under the Agreement to impose his wishes upon the Kabaka, the changes introduced resulted in a steady decline in the influence which the Protectorate Government could exert in Buganda.

Cupido Kakkerlak's story provides a concrete example of Khoi experience under the impact of colonization at the beginning of the nineteenth century. During his first forty years or so he lived on Boer farms, learned a sawyer's skills, accumulated a little property and reared a family. In 1800, probably as a result of frontier disturbances at the time, he went to the village of Graaff-Reinet. There, in 1801, he met missionaries of the London Missionary Society and was converted. Casting his lot with the mission, he moved with his family to Algoa Bay and was based at Bethelsdorp until 1815. During this period he practised his trade as a sawyer at the same time as he gained prominence in mission work. In 1813 he served as John Campbell's ‘travelling director’ during a trip to the interior that lasted almost nine months. Campbell's proposals – that a number of new stations be established – made heavy demands on mission personnel and other resources. Six ‘native assistants’ were appointed, one of whom was Cupido. In 1817, after a short sojourn among the Griqua, he undertook a mission to the still nomadic Kora near the Harts River. Six years later, when difficulties both in and outside the mission society had multiplied, his services were abruptly terminated. He was then over sixty years of age. For frontier Khoi, hopeful of a new dispensation in the wake of the 1799–1802 war, the L.M.S. missionaries had provided an undreamt-of opportunity. In the interaction between missionary and Khoi, in the first stages of the mission project, Cupido played a leading part.