Following the useful distinction made by Marc J. Swartz this is a study in ‘local-level’ rather than ‘local’ politics, because of the fundamental fact that ‘actors and groups outside the range of the local multiplex relationships are vitally and directly involved in the political processes of the local group’.1 The political process is therefore not discrete. My focus is on the interrelationships existing between political forces within and outside the Kgatleng District of Botswana, and my analysis deals with the situation as it existed during the early 1970s; changes in certain key variables – most crucially the attitude of the Chief to the Government – could radically alter the configuration of alliances, as may be seen from my postscript.

The dynamics of world neutralism, either as an international doctrine or as a state policy,1 have witnessed variable responses from African states since the inception of the ideology known as peaceful coexistence. Between 1920, when Lenin talked of a ‘peaceful cohabitation with the peoples of all nations’, and 1961 when the Communist Party defined peaceful coexistence – by an official imprimatur – as ‘an objective necessity for the development of human society’, and denounced ‘war as a means of settling inter-national disputes’, the chrysalis of classical neutralism could be said to have spanned the decade between the close of World War II and the Bandung Conference of 1955.2

The emergence of a literature in English in Nigeria is usually described as a rapid post-war phenomenon, an unexpected flowering of creative energy which took scarcely more than two decades to produce rich, ripe fruit. According to most published reports, this literature was born suddenly in 1952 out of the pregnant thumb of Amos Tutuola; was nursed through a wobbly infancy by Cyprian Ekwensi, T. M. Aluko, and Onuora Nzekwu; was guided through a magnificent adolescence by Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, J. P. Clark, Christopher Okigbo, and their numerous university-trained followers; was tested by a civil war which left several casualties but no diminution of the will to write; and was later restored to normal prolificacy by the assiduous application of old and new talents.

Among the states of Africa, Algeria has been one of the most active participants in international politics. Its leaders have defended their considerable concern with foreign policy by arguing that the distribution of world power is a major variable in the success of the country's development objectives. Aware that many Third-World states have not attributed the same importance to the international situation, Algerians have insisted that it is in the general interest of the Third World to increase its influence in world politics. In the absence of economic and military strength, Algeria has emphasised political consciousness as an instrument to defend the interests of the developing countries. This approach has been particularly important in Algeria's relations with black Africa. This article is intended as a study in inter-African politics, examining the impact of Algeria's African policy upon the inter- African system and, to some extent, upon the Algerian political system.

The past decade has seen an increase in the scope of relationships, both political and economic, between Africa and the United States. These vary with the complexion of the government in power, though some would say that this was more in emphasis than in substance, others definitely not. It is felt by many Africans, nevertheless, that the Carter Administration's emphasis on human rights has now been downgraded by the present Reagan Administration and that, instead, the geopolitics of U.S.–U.S.S.R. rivalry, and the economic importance of developing the private sector at the expense of bilateral or multilateral aid, have been moved to the fore.

Much recent analysis of South Africa's outward-looking policy towards independent Africa has asserted that the implications of this are primarily economic in character: ‘South Africa is thrusting out into Africa for a number of reasons. She needs markets for her manufactured goods. She wants to export capital.’1 Indeed, many observers carry the argument further, and suggest that she is seeking an economic and political role in Africa analogous to that of the United States in Latin America. In the words of Sean Gervasi:

An understanding of Tanganyika's economy must begin with the bleak geographical facts. In 1945 an area of some 343,000 square miles, larger than France and Britain together, supported a mere seven million people. The size and distribution of this population resulted from an oppressive physical environment over which remarkably little human control was exerted. One example of this was man's subservience to the tsetse fly, which—as a result rather than a cause of under-population1— infested some 60 per cent of the land. Even more serious were the hazards of a rainfall that exhibited all the vices—inadequate and irregular in its geographical distribution, capricious in its seasonal visitations. Prolonged periods of drought were common everywhere except at the coast and near Lakes Victoria and Nyasa. As the overwhelming majority of the people were subsistence producers, the incidence of rainfall was a principal and variable determinant of economic welfare. Thus, for example, 1946 was a bad year; there were food shortages in every province and in some areas the Government had to organise famine relief. The rice crop failed almost completely, maize was grievously affected, and even sorghum and millet, the most drought-resistant of grain crops, were sufficient for only half the year. In the following year rainfall was heavy and well distributed; indeed in the Highlands it was excessive, destroying crops through flood and disease. But generally harvests were the biggest since 1943 and ‘a long back-log of tribal ceremonies’ was elebrated.2

Academics and aid officials are increasingly turning their attention to two aspects of rural development: the structure of the local society, and the social impact of agricultural programmes. In part this reflects a pessimistic and moralistic reassessment of earlier attempts to promote development in the Third World. However, this analytical focus also represents the continuing evolution of research by those who are engaged in refining their theoretical perspectives on rural society.

President Nkrumah, in opening this Congress in the Great Hall of the University of Ghana, called for the objective scientific study of Africa. He urged: ‘While some of us are engaged with the political unification of Africa, Africanists everywhere must also help in building the spiritual and cultural foundations of the unity of our continent.’ This appeal had in a sense already been answered by the arrival of scholars from nearly every State in Africa.

Company dividend policy involves the periodic determination of the proportion and stability of a firm's distributable earnings payable to its equity shareholders. The variables which influence the decision, especially in developed economies, have been highlighted by the pioneering work of J. Lintner,2 and by the research findings of other scholars.3

Freedom of expression is not only a fundamental human right but also constitutes one of the essential elements in the establishment of a democratic society. No country can seriously profess to be a democracy, or pretend to be making efforts towards this, if its citizens cannot freely express their opinions. Recent moves to introduce freedom of expression in Cameroon have come at a particularly difficult time. Like most African countries, it is on the horns of a dilemma. As it struggles to cope with an ever deepening economic crisis, it has come under strong internal and external pressure to democratise. The winds of change which blew into Africa at the end of the 1980s, when former communist-block single-party régimes collapsed, appeared to herald the beginning of a new era. But as leaders are increasingly pressed by impatient citizens to unfreeze their political, social, and economic rights, tyrants and dictators posing as democrats seem to be determining the nature and guiding principles of the new order.

The Objective of this article is to reassess the influence of the Muslim brotherhoods on politics in Senegal. In 1965–6 I undertook a study of the subject, but the resultant publication was not the first, nor indeed the most in-depth, research on the topic which has attracted the attention of scholars for many years.1 Beginning with the colonial administrator Paul Marty, and including the noted scholar Vincent Monteil, French observers have documented the peculiar organisation, power, and influence of the Muslim confrérie2 – the tariqa or sufi order introduced from North Africa to Senegal during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.3 Since independence in 1960, interest in the brotherhoods has intensified as the pattern of relationships became clear between modern African politicians and traditional Muslim leaders. Most notable were the marabouts heading the Murddiyya or Mouride order, 4 centred among the Wolof in the productive agricultural zone of central Senegal where most of the major crop, groundnuts, is produced.

The present leaders in the Third World are mainly drawn from élites who, in one way or another, were the product of the colonial era. Algeria, of course, is no exception. Although she was always part of the Arab world, French rule, to which she was subjected for more than a century, left a strong impact. One of the results of the colonial era in Algeria was the rise, in the late nineteenth century, of a French-educated elite who tried, despite their limited number, to find a formula by which the native and colonial societies could live together harmoniously. The purpose of this short study is to trace the origins of these Algerians who, without doubt, were among the pioneers of these élites in Africa.

The relationship between religious movements and political authorities in Africa has been a growing problem in political and social development. So long as these institutions of cultural life were less differentiated, and the head of the political unit was automatically the leader of organised religion, the difficulties appeared less acute. Because regal and sacerdotal roles were performed by a single person, conflicts of authority and allegiance hardly arose.1 Traditional African religion was also accommodating to foreign deities, a situation congruent with polytheism, and there was no assumption of religious exclusiveness.2 But, with the advent of different brands of Christianity and Islam, the relations between religious and political authorities changed; the former increasingly became church missionaries and the latter the agents of the colony, and eventually of the state. Perhaps the most extreme religious rejection of secular authority is found in the Watch Tower movement, whose early relations with the state of Zambia (then Northern Rhodesia) are the main subject of this article.

This article seeks to examine the status of the medical profession in Tanzania, in the context of political and economic developments since independence. It demonstrates that doctors have maintained a relatively privileged position within the health care system and in the wider society from the colonial period, through the early years of indpendence, to the present. This has been achieved by a variety of means. During the 1970s and early 1980s the profession was closely associated with the developmentalist project of the state. Because of economic restructuring since then it has had to adopt the rhetoric and techniques of accountability, to distance itself from the state and position itself in the notional realm of civil society. Recent cases of the Medical Council are used to demonstrate this trend. Renewed legitimation is most significant as a means of maintaining the profession's links with its international counterparts, and with foreign donors who support the health care system in Tanzania.

Colonial and neo-colonial situations are characterised by an absence of power-sharing, though those who have the political power may allow token participation by others. Tokenism exists in many aspects of life, though typically minority-group members enjoy greater economic and adminstrative rights than political and legislative rights. In the last analysis, the governmanet is not accountable to such minorities because they are not part of the electorate.

Many large-scale land acquisition studies focus on the role of powerful transnational corporations, foreign and domestic governments. Instead, we shift the focus to the role of local actors, in this case, pastoralists in Samburu County, Kenya. Here, we apply the concept of ‘intimate exclusion’ and show that pastoralist elites' desire and ability to maximise productive and financial gains from customary land, coupled with their privileged understanding of land-related laws and regulations and ability to use or threaten others with violence, enables the control of extensive customary lands and the exclusion of weaker pastoralists. These processes, we find, are rooted in the country's capitalist development trajectory traceable to colonial rule. Overall, the paper highlights local ‘homegrown’ actors’ role in large-scale land acquisition, how social intimacy provides space and opportunity for unequal benefits and how historical gains offer unique opportunities to gain from new political and economic developments.

What is the precise nature of the relationship between the so-called Third World and the industrialised West? While a question of this sort was much more easily answered in the era of direct colonial control over vast non-European regions, there is much debate concerning the symmetry of economic and political relationships in the postindependence period. In fact, to a considerable number of observers, it is asymmetry which characterises the ties between the industrialised and ‘underdeveloped’ countries, based on a long historical process of incorporation into the western capitalist system. Political independence, these critics argue, has merely shifted a ‘colonial’ to a ‘neo-colonial’ relationship, leaving the unevenness basically intact.

Ebola Virus Disease struck Sierra Leone in May 2014. An international response was instrumental in ending the epidemic by December 2015 and has been extensively documented. Less attention has been paid to local responses. Here, we focus on a case in which there was no infection despite high infection in neighbouring areas. This brings into focus the role of customary public authority in implementing successful controls. We pay particular attention to the activities of a chiefdom Ebola Task force committee chaired by the Paramount Chief. Meetings were characterised by protocol and ceremony, but ‘face time’ served to reinforce, in ritual terms, important messages about quarantine and social distancing. The committee's pronouncements had illocutionary force. Local volunteers translated this ceremonial message into practical action to block imported cases. The analysis of ceremonial competence, we conclude, opens a window into how public authority addresses developmental shocks in Africa.

Boys shook their heads a number of times while girls covered their faces with white handkerchiefs as the pathetic story of Congolese first Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba, was read out to a crowded audience by PYC dramatic group at the Lagos City College, Yaba, last Sunday.

This notice, describing the staging of a play by a youth club run by a Lagos newspaper, the West African Pilot, appeared in that newspaper on 31 March 1962.1 All over Africa Patrice Lumumba's meteoric rise and tragic death caught the imagination of men and women in all walks of life, and more especially that of the young. In Nigeria, however, this reaction is of particular interest. First of all, the news of Lumumba's murder in February 1961 provoked 'anti-white' rioting in a country where race relations had not been an overt issue for a decade. Demonstrations outside the United States Embassy in Lagos, the Federal capital, led to indiscriminate attacks on Europeans resulting in much damage to cars and serious injury to several individuals.2