In April 1974, 74 Malawian migrant labourers returning from work in South Africa died in a plane crash in Francistown, Botswana. Immediately, Dr Hastings Kamuzu Banda, the then [Life] President of Malawi, banned all labour recruiting activities in his country. Miners on holiday were not allowed to go back to their jobs, and those under contract with the Witwatersrand Native Labour Association (WNLA), known as Wenela, were to be repatriated — a decision that cost the South African mining industry some R7 million during the next two years. Thereafter, Dr Banda frequently boasted that ‘I have killed Wenela’, as for example on two public occasions in 1983: I have killed two recruiting agencies, the Witwatersrand Native Labour Association, Wenela, in short, and the Rhodesian Native Labour Bureau, or Mthandii… They no longer recruit in Malawi. They have surrendered all their buildings to the government…, because the majority of the people have responded to my appeal to stay here and work in their gardens or on the estates.

A popular story made the rounds in the European community in Léopoldville at independence in 1960. It was said that the new Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba and President Moïse Tshombe of the dissident Katanga Province could only confer through an interpreter. Whether this colonial tale was true or not, neither French nor Flemish were widely diffused in the Belgian Congo; indeed, no single lingua franca had emerged during some 80 years of Belgian rule. This article examines the origins of the decisions taken and the attitudes established during the Léopold era, 1879–1908, that continued to influence language policy throughout the entire colonial period, and even thereafter.

In 1967, shortly after Lesotho's political independence from the United Kingdom, Michael Ward desribed Lesotho in this Journal as ‘the economic hostage of South Africa’:

it is clear … that Lesotho will become more and more economically dependent upon South Africa … in the short run it has virtually no hope of becoming economically viable or independent of South Africa and foreign aid.

The objective of this article is to examine how these views hold up 15 years later, and to argue that although in summary form Ward seems to have been very accurate, the nature of Lesotho's dependence has changed in ways few would have foreseen at the time of independence. In addition, the contrast between the rhetoric of the Government and what has happened, and the prospects for the future, will be explored.

In his classic study of decentralisation and development, Henry Maddick argued that economic growth and social modernisation depend in part on the ability of Third-World govenments to diffuse responsibility for development planning and administration, to expand participation in economic activities, and to promote new centres of creativity within society. Over-concentration of administrative authority stifles development, Maddick insisted; it leads to waste and corruption, delays action, and creates irrational and inefficient management practices, the costs of which developing countries cannot afford.1 To illustrate his point, Maddick cited the effects of the centralised supply system in the Sudan in the late 1950s, through which ‘shoes made in Fasher were sent 400 miles by rail to Khartoum where the whole shoe supply was concentrated. When Fasher wanted shoes for school children and government personnel it had to send to Khartoum for them.’ He also noted that school desks and equipment for the provincial city of Juba had to be ordered from Khartoum, which was 900 miles away and connected only by inefficient river transport, even though the wood from which the furniture was made originally came from Juba.2

The modern military development of the British East and West African territories reached its highest level during World War II. Great Britain at that time put aside her standing policy of maintaining establishments sufficient only for colonial domestic needs and recruited forces for general use against Germany, Italy, and Japan.1 Building on a base provided by the Royal West African Frontier Force and the King's African Rifles of East and Central Africa, Britain recruited approximately 470,000 Africans during the war, including over 65,000 from the Gold Coast and 77,000 from Uganda; about 80 per cent of these were serving when the war ended. Although the majority enlisted in army infantry or service corps, tens of thousands served as artisans and technicians, and others in small naval and air establishments. Modern war requirements caused not only a restructuring of African colonial forces, but also forced considerable changes in military recruitment. The 'martial races' traditionally favoured by British officers had to be supplemented by large numbers of skilled and literate recruits from other African peoples; for example, the Ibo, Baganda, and Kikuyu. This rapid expansion of the forces also meant an increased need for British commissioned and non-commissioned officers, who were recruited from Great Britain as well as locally. The many different languages spoken by the new forces meant that simple English displaced Hausa in the west and, to a lesser degree, Swahili in the east, as the standard military language.

In the 1980s and early 1990s, sending remittances from South Africa posed major challenges for Ndebele migrants. As a result households receiving remittances only did so at irregular intervals. With increased diasporisation into South Africa, it was to be expected that new channels would open up. This article explores what is known as the malayisha system, its role and significance as an informal channel of remittances into Ndebele society. It argues that the system bridged the geographical gap between Matabeleland and Johannesburg, averting food insecurity and poverty for semi-proletarian households in Matabeleland. By facilitating the movement of goods and people between Matabeleland and South Africa, the system became instrumental in the quest of households to reconstruct their livelihoods after the destruction of their rural–urban-based livelihoods in Zimbabwe due to perennial droughts and ESAP. As a result, the services of omalayisha are highly sought-after, by both the migrant community in South Africa and households in Matabeleland.

This article explores the complexity of managing refugee issues, particularly refugee repatriations, taking the Horn of Africa as a case. I argue that refugee repatriation endeavours are complex because their success depends on at least four actors, each with different – indeed often conflicting – interests. I examine the proposition that as the number of actors involved in a given issue area increases so does the likelihood of less-than-successful outcomes. This is particularly true if resource-poor actors are included in the decision-making process, and, because of the need to extract maximum benefits and/or minimise maximum losses, usually operate under the assumption of zero-sum situations. This assumption narrows their range of responses and hampers their ability to engage in mutually beneficial exchange relationships. As a result, repatriations, which are necessarily consensus-based, become more difficult to accomplish successfully as evidenced in the Horn of Africa.

The centenary of Mahatma Gandhi's birth during 1969 (October 2) provides a reason for reassessments of the Indian leader's thought and career. Among the matters which deserve reconsideration is his South African phase, which began in 1893, on his arrival in Natal as a fledgling barrister, and ended in 1914, when he left for India by way of England to begin his main work as an Indian nationalist. A reappraisal of this period is needed principally because there is a tendency in biographical studies and Gandhi's own account of his South African years to romanticise or simplify the record and to leave unanswered questions about the development of his ideas and activities during a critical two decades of his life.1 A reappraisal is possible chiefly because of the recent appearance of Gandhi's Collected Works as a rich source for newer interpretations of what he said and did in Natal and the Transvaal.2 As an effort to contribute to reconsiderations of Gandhi's African phase, this article will examine his views of Europeans and Africans and his protest policies and tactics as they emerged over 21 years. Special attention is given to Gandhi's outlook on Africans and the circumstances surrounding his first disobedience campaign. A close inquiry into these matters helps to explain better Gandhi's role in modern South African history and the nature of his legacy to continuing issues in the continent.

This article indicates the complexity of the social relations of whites and Africans in Southern Africa and the myths by which they rationalise their behaviour.1 The situation is not identical throughout Southern Africa, but there are, as I will show, certain fundamental similarities which validate an over-all analysis in terms of a ‘colonial situation’.2

Each of the countries of Southern Africa (the Republic of South Africa, Southern Rhodesia, Northern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, the three British High Commission territories of Swaziland, Bechuanaland, and Basutoland, and the Portuguese provinces of Mozambique and Angola) represents a distinct political unit, expressing in its constitution the limits of control and participation permitted to groups which are distinguished according to so-called ‘racial’, ‘ethnic’, or ‘cultural’ differences. There has been a major distinction, explicit in some countries, disguised in others, between a dominant white minority and a subordinate African majority, a division corresponding to the ‘colonisers’ or ‘colonials’ on the one hand, and the ‘colonised’ on the other. But now Nyasaland has become independent Zambia, and Northern Rhodesia will achieve independence in October 1964.

The beast lives unhistorically; for it ‘goes into’ the present, like a number, without leaving any curious remainder ... But man is always resisting the great and continually increasing weight of the past; it presses him down and bows his shoulders.

– Friedrich Nietzsche, The Use and Abuse of History (Indianapolis, 1949), p. 5.

If the past is ‘dead’, it dances, a lively corpse indeed, on new graves everywhere almost every day in whatever kind of time.

– Harold Isaacs, Idols of the Tribe (Cambridge, MA, 1989), p. 121.

THE past has a social purpose of stressing the virtues of courage, endurance, and sacrifice. Picturesque folkloric characters such as Robin Hood and Nicholas Chauvin become models for selflessness and patriotism. The term chauvinisme, which appeared in France by the 1840s, for instance, did not carry any negative connotations. Instead, it helped the nation-state to inculcate a sense of oneness in its people, who began to say ‘Nouns sommes tous français, Chauvin’. The past, thus, has a double mission. It is both therapeutic and vital political ammunition.

During the era of the All People's Congress (A.P.C.), 1968–92, the state machinery and resources of Sierra Leone were used to promote the interests of a relatively small number of persons rather than those of the general public. A system of patronage thrived under this ruling party primarily because membership of particular groupings was a more acceptable qualification for position than an individual's actual capabilities. The ensuing intrigues deterred development in the country because members of cliques were only accountable to their leader and his top officials.

The enlistment and conscription of combatants and non-combatants in Nigeria during World War I represented an unprecedented mobilisation of the country's labour force. In September 1914, the Nigeria Regiment supplied shock troops for the Cameroons Expeditionary Force, and in December 1917 the Nigeria Overseas Contingent entered the campaign in Tanganyika. By September 1919, when Nigeria's military recruitment drive ended, 17,000 combatants, 2,000 enlisted carriers, and some 35,000 non-enlisted carriers had participated in the Southern Caméroons and German East Africa campaigns. In addition, the British recruited thousands of Nigerians for military service along Nigeria's northern and eastern borders, and for related duties inside the country.

Prospects for political change figure prominently on the research agenda in sub-Saharan Africa, and in current debates within individual countries. Democracy is advocated not only as a goal in itself, since it is also frequently argued that elections and openness are required to make governments really responsive to the needs of the population and properly accountable for their actions. In addition, greater transparency is held to be necessary in order to make the public service behave in accordance with bureaucratic norms. Although the general principles of responsiveness, accountability, and transparency are embraced by a large number of scholars and observers of the African scene as a means of countering the detrimental effects of clientelism and personalistic rule, important nuances are found in the literature with regard to the way in which democracy is perceived to facilitate economic development in general, and presently needed reforms in particular.

Theories of modernisation and social change have been increasingly challenged during the past decade by events in the Middle East and other areas of the developing world. Leaders of oil-rich nations are choosing to industrialise but not to westernise, and Islamic revivals are shaping new patterns of political and social development. For example, improvements in female status can no longer be regarded as the inevitable concomitants of industrialisation; to the contrary, gender inequality may actually be exacerbated by national resurgences of religious and cultural traditions which often accompany planned social change.1

Aviation in Southern Africa was subject throughout the 1980s to increasingly intense political pressures. As ever, the cause was protests about apartheid. The severe blow that black African countries dealt to South African Airways (S.A.A.), the Republic's state-owned national airline, in the 1960s by withdrawing overflying rights was magnified by similar action from a wider spectrum of non-African governments. In the mid-1980s, Australia and the United States of America, for example, revoked S.A.A.'s landing rights, and forbad airlines registered in their countries from flying to South Africa. Other carriers, such as Air Canada, closed their offices and then terminated representation in South Africa.

This article examines the attempt of Kenya and Tanzania to deal with the universal problem of how to reconcile inequalities in the distribution of rewards with a concern for equality. It argues that in both countries the mainspring of educational policy is a desire to alleviate the potentially disruptive consequences of inequality, although for different purposes and by different means. The broad purpose of the article is to compare contrasting educational practice in Kenya and Tanzania from this perspective as a way of illuminating two distinctive modes of development. More specifically, it attempts to identify some of the contradictions and dilemmas inherent in their particular use of education. Finally, it uses this analysis to make a speculative assessment of how each is faring in the task of building a relatively integrated polity.

This paper deals with the gender aspects of urban livestock keeping in Eldoret, Kenya. It shows that men and women play different but complementary roles in livestock keeping. Men show greater preference for and are more involved – in terms of decision-making and responsibility taking – with large livestock and where income is the primary motive for livestock keeping, and perform tasks of an outdoor nature and/or which require considerable technical knowledge. On the other hand, women prefer and exercise greater control over small livestock, make the most decisions about consumption use of livestock products, and perform home-based routine tasks. However, there are instances where men and women cross gender boundaries, for instance where labour of the opposite gender is absent in the household, or as a strategy to control benefits accruing to the livestock. In terms of livelihood outcomes, women's role in livestock keeping is geared more towards improving household nutritional and food security status, while men's role is motivated more by personal benefits.

As peace returns to northern Uganda, a unique arithmetic of development is evident in the former Internally Displaced Persons camps. Small trading centres whose populations multiplied as they became camps now envision futures as Town Boards. Subtraction is necessary: the displaced people and the dead buried in the camps are being returned to their rural villages. Urban planners have produced meticulous drawings that envisage the division of land into plots for development. Donors are making additions in the form of new market buildings and water supplies. Yet this arithmetic must reckon with new problems as time passes. The article is based primarily on fieldwork in Awach, a former IDP camp now slated for status as a Town Board. In analysing material from interviews with landowners, ‘remainders’ who stayed behind after the camp closed, local leaders and officials, we emphasise the paradoxes, tensions and conflicts of this special path to development.

The transfer of European farms to Africans began in Kenya a few years before independence in 1963. The main principles of the programmes for land transfer and settlement – the two elements cannot be separated – were laid down at that time and continued thereafter. This article describes their history and main features, sets out the principles on which they were based, and explains the financial arrangements. It then analyses the experience of land transfer and settlement, and suggests lessons that may be drawin form this knowledge.

The efforts of American activists to pressure Asian corporations in Sudan have to date resembled a struggle to find the light switch in the dark, or swimming against a strong current. While the impact of the divestment campaign in the United States has been increasingly evident, its effectiveness in producing actual results in Sudan remains suspect. Thanks to China and a trio of Asian national oil companies, oil still flows in Sudan. The campaign's activities have failed to incorporate Sudan's wider international political and economic relations into its strategy. It has rather paradoxically sought to pressure state-owned corporations through financial market divestment. The nature of its Asian targets, reluctant Western investors and a distracted American government have obstructed the campaign from having a resounding impact in Sudan.