The Muri Mountain range is located in the area formed by the boundaries between the federal states of Bauchi, Taraba, and Adamawa in Northern Nigeria. Various small, linguistically, and partly culturally distinct ethnic groups inhabit this mountain region. The Muri Mountains may be counted among those regions of Africa about which academic knowledge was rather scarce until recent times. Here I shall recount the experiences of two nineteenth-century German explorers of Africa, Eduard Vogel and Eduard Robert Flegel, who played an important part in the history of research on the Muri Mountains. Approaching the region from different directions, Vogel and Flegel were the first Europeans to gain detailed knowledge of vthe area and its inhabitants. The Muri Mountains, in themselves, were not a focus of attention for the two travelers, but just an incidental issue on which they touched during their voyages.

Most European travelers of that time bypassed the Muri Mountains. This becomes obvious when looking at contemporary maps, on which one can hardly find any geographical information on the area between present-day Gombe and the river Benue until the 1870s (compare the two maps in Rohlfs 1872). Previously, in 1851 Heinrich Barth had arrived at Yola, coming via the Mandara Mountains. After a short stay, however, he had to return to Borno. In the itineraries he collected at Yola, the names of Tangale and Chongom are mentioned as stations on the way from Yola to Dukku (cf. Barth 1857, 2: 701, 708-09, 601-02).

During the summer of 1998 I undertook a preliminary survey of archival materials relating to the Yemeni Arab residents of Dessie kept in the town's municipality. Until 1969, when the Arab immigrants in the entire country were subjected to a state-orchestrated public call for their expulsion—a call which manifested itself in a wave of anti-Arab demonstrations triggered by a bomb explosion on an aircraft belonging to the national carrier at Frankfurt Airport in which the Syrian Front for the Liberation of Eritrea was implicated—Dessie was the home of a large, relatively prosperous, and conspicuous Yemeni community, whose members were concentrated in several distinct quarters, one of which is still popularly known as Arab Ganda. The other areas are Sharf Tara, Taqa Tara, and Mugad, near the main daily market of Arada.

The archive of the Municipality (or Town Council) of Dessie, capital of South Wallo administrative zone in northern Ethiopia, is perhaps unique among other town archives in the country, including that of the capital, Addis Ababa, in terms of the care and sense of duty that the office has shown towards preserving materials pertaining to expatriate residents. Until recently, the vast majority of these had been of Yemeni and Hadrami origin, although there were also some Hijazis and Libyans, and a significant number of non-Arabs: Italians, Greeks, Americans, Englishmen, Indians, and Czechs/Slovaks.

I consulted all but two of the existing registers entitled Yawuch Agar Zegoch Mazgab (Register of Foreign Nationals), which seem more likely to have been misplaced than lost altogether, perhaps during the move of the Municipality to its present premises.

By the mid-nineteenth century African societies had begun to use petitions as an instrument of agitation for reforms in nascent colonial policies. This was especially true of those societies located in the coastal enclaves where precolonial European and diasporic African influences were markedly profound. Compared with other African responses to European colonial rule, anti-colonial petitions are less spectacular. This explains, perhaps-deservingly so, why petitions or memorials, which also took the form of deputations, as a historical genre have been marginalized in the polemical studies of African responses to colonial rule. Such studies have included militant responses in the form of war, riots, social banditry, millennarianism, arson, strikes, avoidance of conscription, desertion, and mass migration. Other forms of African response, devoid of militancy or overly tumultuous actions, have been aptly described by James C. Scott as the Weapons of the Weak. These have included foot-dragging, the use of songs, and the protest politics of the indigenous African press.

This study deals with how slaveholders in the Gold Coast responded to British abolition of slavery and pawnship in the Gold Coast in 1874-75. Specifically, I examine how the African intelligentsia in the Gold Coast Colony used quasi-legal means, essentially petitions, to oppose abolition and emancipation of slaves and pawns. This opposition was undertaken on behalf of slave/pawnholders, including the indigenous rulers of the coast, especially the Fante region. Additionally, the study draws attention to Africans' use of petitions as an important historical source that can benefit the study of various aspects of colonial rule and facets of African responses.

The study of African demography, unlike the study of populations in Europe, North America, and even Asia, has been remarkably ahistorical. The absence of historical understandings of the facts and dynamics of African populations based on focused, local research has led to the creation and perpetuation of notable myths about African populations in the past. Perhaps the most powerful of these stereotypes is the Malthusinn and neo-Malthusian belief that, whatever the historical era and whatever the social and economic contexts, African populations have invariably sought to maximize births.

In 1977 participants at the first conference on African historical demography, convened at the African Studies Center in the University of Edinburgh, argued for a more historicized analysis of the evolution of African populations. Papers presented at Edinburgh in 1977, at a second seminar there in 1981, and in a respectable number of conferences, seminars, and panel sessions in the last two decades, confirm in a variety of time periods and social and economic contexts just how historical research contributes to our understanding of the pasts and presents of African societies.

This paper surveys research in African historical demography by demographers and by historians “in the years since Edinburgh,” concluding with a mention of a variety of demographic topics—fertility, nuptiality, mortality, migration, and family history—to show how such research has added depth and complexity to our appreciation of social history in Africa, and how various were the ways that African societies sought to ensure their demographic survival.

In 1983 a note in History in Africa described a survey of Portuguese archive documents on West Africa organized by Vice-Admiral Avelino Teixeira da Mota but left stranded by his untimely death in 1982. The task of continuing the project—by extending the survey, completing the transcription of the survey documents and other relevant material, and publishing the transcripts—has latterly been taken up by the present successor of Teixeira da Mota in the directorship of the same scholarly unit, Dr Maria Emilia Madeira Santos. The first two volumes of Portugaliae Monuments Africana appeared in 1993 and 1995, volume 3 has been at the press since 1997, and the material for at least two more volumes is in advanced preparation. As the title shows, the geographical range of the series is wider than that of the original survey. The documents appear in Portuguese (or occasionally Latin). But a brief summary of each document is supplied in French and English, as well as in Portuguese, making the contents to some extent accessible even to those African historians who do not read (late-medieval) Portuguese. Having translated into English some thousand or so of these document summaries, I now discuss some of my problems in translating, and hence certain problems for African historians in using this material.

PMA earns all those responsible the highest commendation for undertaking this difficult project; it is invaluable for that period of early African-European contacts it progressively covers; and it deserves the support of the scholarly community. The comments that follow are intended to make it better known and to explain some of its features, advantages and limitations.

Portugal and Western Africa have built a common history since the middle of the fifteenth century. In this century the Portuguese maritime expansion was a pioneer movement within the European expansion process. It established an uninterrupted connection between societies that had never met before. After a short period of Portuguese warlike activities (1436-48), the African resistance to enslavement, inter alia, forced a radical change of strategy. By 1460 the Portuguese had explored the western African coast as far as the present Sierra Leone, and had begun to establish with African societies a fairly peaceful relationship founded on mutual trade interests. Within this context, Christianity, although it might be faced in a different way by each culture, constituted a common “language,” a path to find approaching ground and fulfil reciprocal needs.

From the beginning, the Portuguese Crown attempted to establish a monopoly on the European coastal and riverine activities, an attempt that was progressively challenged, in loco, by the French, the English and the Dutch, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. But the State interests were also challenged by illegal private traders that came both from the Iberian Peninsula and Santiago Island and had their own agents in Guinea.

The geographical basis for trade activities (legal and illegal) were, at least until the 1560s, the Cape Verde islands, which were discovered ca. 1460-1462. Trade—together with the strategic value of the archipelago to the Atlantic navigation—was the reason why the colonization of the main island, Santiago, began very early, in 1462, followed, at the end of the century, by Fogo island.

Among the rich legacy of African oral traditions, the Sunjata epic is still one of the most complex phenonema, because it undoubtedly goes back to the times of Ibn Battuta, because of the limited variety between the available text editions, and because of its present-day popularity in sub-Saharan West Africa among people of all kinds of social background. In scholarly discussion, the epic has challenged many academics since Delafosse used the Sunjata epic as evidence for his reconstruction of the Mali empire as a thirteenth-century vast centralized polity. Although his views have been criticized since then, they have become part of history lessons at primary schools in Mali, the Gambia, Senegal, and Guinea. All these countries belong to the so-called “Mande,” an area inhabited by various ethnic groups that have close similarities in language, oral tradition, and social organization.

In the last decade History in Africa has given room to discuss the Sunjata epic, in particular in order to explore how data from the epic can be used as historical sources, and as what history for whom. Articles by David Conrad, Tim Geysbeek, Stephan Bühnen, Stephen Bulman, Kathryn Green, George Brooks, Ralph Austen, and myself come my mind. All these authors have treated the Sunjata epic as a text. This seems to be a logical and inevitable choice for the historian.

However, this approach implies a choice that limits the range of interpretations which can be made about the Sunjata traditions as a source for African history.

“Famines gather history around them,” we are told, even more so, it seems, with high numbers of dead. These numbers are treated sometimes like monuments for famines, increasing over time according to utilitarian concerns. Sources for a famine on Madagascar show that though high numbers may be useful in drawing attention to a calamity, people closer to the event may not locate this history or situate their memory via numbers. Emphasizing numbers in lieu of other ways of remembering and also forgetting a calamity appear not to be very good guides to this history.

The killing famine that struck southern Madagascar in 1930–31 attracted substantial written comment among the French. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about this famine, which followed the surprising and dramatic killing of the predominant species of prickly pear cactus by cochineal insects in the late 1920s. A large area, a seventh of the island (approximately a sixth of France), with a population at the time of around a half million people and perhaps two million head of cattle, was effected by the biological war on cactus. “Cactus pastoralists” were suddenly without a very resourceful plant. It had provided thick fences of protection to these herders and their cattle; its fruit and water a mainstay for people; its singed cladodes a critical source of water and sustenance for cattle.

The “furnace of contamination”—the rapidly reproducing cochineal choking to death their cactus hosts—started in 1925 at the southwest provincial center of Toliara and spread to the east, north, and south at a rate of 100 kilometers per year.

James Thomas, whose journal is transcribed and appended to this introduction, was a ‘native agent’ of the Church Missionary Society (CMS) at Gbebe and Lokoja at the confluence of the Niger-Benue rivers between 1858 and 1879. A liberated slave who had been converted to Christianity in Sierra Leone, he enlisted in the service of the CMS Niger Mission headed by Rev. Samuel A. Crowther. Thomas was kidnapped around 1832 from Ikudon in northeast Yoruba, near the Niger-Benue confluence. He lived in Sierra Leone for twenty-five years before returning as a missionary to his homeland.

Gbebe was an important mid-nineteenth-century river port on the Lower Niger. It was located on the east bank of the Niger, a mile below its confluence with the Benue, and about 300 miles from the Atlantic. Aboh, Onitsha, Ossomari, Asaba, Idah, and Lokoja were other famous mid-nineteenth century Lower Niger towns. From an 1841 estimated base of about 1,500, its population rose to about 10,000 by 1859. Contemporary exploration and trading reports by W. B. Baikie, S. Crowther, T. Hutchinson, and J. Whitford indicate that the town occupied an important place in the commercial life of the region.

However, little is known about the town's sociopolitical structures and processes, and still less is known about its relationship with its neighbors. Hence the internal sociopolitical and economic basis for the settlement's economic role in the region is largely unresearched. The reports of James Thomas, Simon Benson Priddy, and Charles Paul, CMS missionaries resident in the town for several years, contain evidence that would be useful for such an endeavor.

The present paper deals with the settlement history of a West African agricultural society, that of the Dagara in present-day northwestern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso. In it, I shall be particularly interested in the appropriation of space, which is ritually legitimized through the acquisition of earth-shrines, and in the conflict-ridden relationships between the in-migrating Dagara and the Sisala, who were already settled in their new habitat. My primary concern, however, is not to examine the Dagara's expansion strategies or the history of interethnic conflicts as such, but their working out in disputed oral traditions. Using the example of the controversial settlement history of Nandom (see map 1), I wish to show how Africans, both today and in the colonial past, have used oral traditions in order to conduct politics. I shall discuss the methodological implications that this mutual constitution of oral traditions and political interests has for the reconstruction of settlement history and examine the possibilities of a thorough criticism of sources to detect core elements of the historical settlement process and appropriation of space as well as the presentday confrontations with history.

Oral traditions have played an important role in research into African history and societies. This is because in many places it was European missionaries and colonial masters who first introduced literacy and writing, and because we have only a few written sources—sometimes none at all—for the period up to the end of the nineteenth century.

Before arriving in Canberra in 1950 as the foundation Professor of Pacific History at the Australian National University, J.W. (Jim) Davidson (1915-1973) was an Oxbridge don and author of a small book on The Northern Rhodesian Legislative Council (1948). A New Zealander by birth and upbringing, Davidson arrived at Cambridge in late 1938 on a Strathcona Scholarship and embarked on a PhD dissertation at St John's College, becoming a Fellow in 1945 and from 1 January 1947, a University Lecturer in Colonial Studies. While the formal details are easily established, little of substance is known about Davidson's activities at Cambridge. As Davidson's biographer-to-be, I was fortunate to receive a letter from P.E.H. Hair, one of Davidson's undergraduate students at Cambridge, who learned of my work from a footnote in one of my journal articles. Hair put me in contact with a fellow Davidson student, George Shepperson, which led to another fruitful correspondence.

Davidson is well known as the founding father of modern Pacific Islands historiography, and perhaps even better known as a Constitutional Advisor and Consultant to various Pacific territories approaching independence or self-government. These aspects of his life have been amply documented, not least by Davidson himself. A largely unknown aspect of Davidson's career is his undergraduate teaching: after all, he spent most of his working life at an institution devoted to research and postgraduate supervision, unfettered by the demands of undergraduate teaching. With this in mind, and with their permission, it was decided to publish the recollections of Paul Hair and George Shepperson of Jim Davidson as their History tutor at John's.

Kenneth Onwuka Dike (1917-1983) is a definite turning point in African historical scholarship. West Africa (28 September 1957) appropriately called him “The Pioneer Historian.” Robert July credits Dike with being “responsible for many of the advances in historical scholarship that marked the two decades following the conclusion of the Second World War.”

Dike was born in Awka, Nigeria, on 17 December 1917. In 1933 he entered Dennis Memorial Grammar School (DMGS), Onitsha, Nigeria. After three years at DMGS, Dike spent another two years at Achimota College in the Gold Coast. From Achimota he moved on to Fourah Bay College, Sierra Leone. At the time, Fourah Bay was affiliated to, and awarding the degrees of, Durham University. This meant that through Fourah Bay, Dike took the B.A. (in English, Geography, and Latin) of Durham University. In 1943, he went home to Nigeria, but not to stay for long. In November 1944 he left, on a British Council scholarship, for the M.A. degree in History at University of Aberdeen. In June 1947 he graduated, taking a first-class honors (the best of his year) at Aberdeen. Four months later, Dike registered for his Ph.D. at King's College, University of London. Under the supervision of Vincent Harlow and Gerald S. Graham, he did a dissertation entitled “Trade and Politics in the Niger Delta, 1830-1879.” He earned his Ph.D. degree on 28 July 1950. With it he became the first African to “pass through professional training” in Western historical scholarship.

The Ijebu are a subgroup of the Yoruba of southwestern Nigeria. In precolonial times they established a single kingdom under the Awujale (the titular head) whose seat of government was the town of Ijebu-Ode. Structurally, the kingdom was composed of geographical divisions, each of which was identified by a name. Some of them were characterized by close socioeconomic and political ties effected through the joint control of a political association, the Pampa society, which coordinated commercial, communal, and military activities in the area. Three such divisions form the focus of this paper: Ijebu-Igbo, Imusin, and Ago-Iwoye.

The British colonial administration engendered a process of political integration in these three areas as they were each brought under a single ruler; the purpose of this paper is to highlight how Ijebu oral historical traditions were employed to give support to this integrative process., but first, an identification of the areas concerned.

The Ijebu-Igbo area is composed principally of five distinct settlements or towns: Okesopin, Ojowo, Atikori, Oke-Agbo, and Japara. Okesopin is accorded primacy as the oldest of the settlements. The term Ijebu-Igbo (forest) is an allusion to the forested nature of this area of Ijebu.

The Imusin area, made up of about fifty very small settlements, is subdivided into two geographical groups: the northern group, called Ikatun, and the southern group or Ikasi. The term Imusin means the area of the akee apple (Imu: place or area; Isin: akee apple).

Communication between the practitioners of the two disciplines [history and archeology] is still often difficult.

Five years ago Jan Vansina asked historians whether archeologists were their siblings. The question seems to have been rhetorical, since Vansina himself offered the opinion that, at least “when archaeologists offer specific reconstructions of history, as they often do in their site reports, they are historians.” However, he also admitted that archeology “is a discipline in its own right.” Since no historians were sufficiently riled by these assertions to offer a response to Vansina's article, we must assume that archeologists are accepted, though not necessarily with open arms, in the family of historians. But what did archeologists say about their adoption? Nothing it appears, though perhaps many archeological practitioners missed Vansina's article because it was published in an historical, not an archeological, journal. I stumbled across the article a couple of years ago and plunged in with both anticipation and trepidation. Which archaeologist could resist reading a critique of his discipline by a respected historian? My feelings turned out to be justified. I was both excited and a little dismayed by what I read, though I was relieved to find that my own archeological efforts in Uganda were favorably viewed by the eminence grise.

Between 1000 BC and AD 1000, or so the story goes, sub-Saharan Africa was the setting for one of the all-time great population movements of antiquity—the Bantu migrations. Sweeping to and fro across the continent in a kind of grand migrationary gavotte, absorbing or brushing aside the autochthonous hunter-gatherers, the ancestral Bantu speakers carried with them on their march the seeds of a settled life fueled by food production and iron technology. Their movements are represented by large arrows scything across big blank maps of the African interior. How good is the evidence that any of it ever happened?

In this paper we shall examine some of the serious methodological and practical problems that bedevil the migrationary model. We shall also present an alternative model for the prehistory of sub-Saharan Africa: in brief, that the development of the Early Iron Age in Africa was a process rather than an event; that autochthonous populations gradually adopted the suite of traits that define the Early Iron Age, without any large-scale movement of peoples; and that increasing sedentarization actually led to a population decline which was only overcome after AD 500.

The model constitutes a new paradigm that emphasizes continuity and takes into account a few observations that are awkward for the migrationary paradigm: that sub-Saharan Africa has a difficult topography that may put certain constraints on population movements, and that the continent was slowly filling up on its own when events starting in the sixteenth century turned the autochthonous peoples' lives upside down.

Modern nationalisms first arose during the later eighteenth century around the wide periphery of the ancient heartland of western culture and gnawed their way inward during the course of the nineteenth century to the core, culminating in World War I, Each new nationalism generated an original “imagined community” of human beings, part of whose ideological cohesion derived from a sense of shared historical experience. Since the actual historical record would not necessarily satisfy this hunger, it was often found expedient to amend the past through acts of imagination aptly termed the “invention of tradition.”

One of the many new “imagined communities” of the long nineteenth century took shape in the northern Nile-valley Sudan between the final disintegration of the old kingdom of Sinnar (irredeemable after the death of the strongman Muhammad Abu Likaylik in 1775) and the publication of Harold MacMichael's A History of the Arabs in the Sudan in 1922. The new national community born of the collapse of Sinnar, strongly committed to Arabic speech and Islamic faith, was tested by fire through foreign conquest and revolution, by profound socio-economic transformation, and by the challenges attendant on participation in an extended sub-imperialism that earned it hegemony—first cultural, and ultimately political—over all the diverse peoples of the modern Sudan.

One important response of the nascent community to the trials of this difficult age was the invention of a new national historical tradition, according to which its members were descended via comparatively recent immigrants to the Sudan from eminent Arabs of Islamic antiquity.

Several years ago, Derek Nurse and I began to consider the increasing need to make revisions to our book, The Swahili: Reconstructing the History and Language of an African Society, 800-1500. We knew there had been significant archeological finds subsequent to its publication in 1985, but we were surprised to discover that hundreds of new books and articles had appeared. It therefore seemed expedient, not simply to revise the earlier work, but to compile a comprehensive new bibliography on early Swahili history and society that would facilitate thorough reconsideration of the issues in the future. This now includes 700 items, 428 published before 1985 and 272 published after. This is a massive literature, and it will make extensive demands on those working in the field (Spear 1999).

The focus here is on the history and development of coastal societies over the past two millennia, but I have included recent ethnography, linguistics, and history for comparative purposes. What is missing, however, are sources covering literature and the arts, for which one may consult Kelly Askew's excellent online bibliography (Askew 1999). I have included mainly published work, but unpublished theses and papers are also included where available. I have not, however, included archival materials in government (e.g., Tanzanian, Zanzibari, British, German, Indian, French, U.S.), mission (CMS, UMCA, LMS), or local (Salem, Hamburg, Rhodes House) collections, nor have I included material in mission publications.

The bibliography is subdivided by discipline—archaeology, linguistics and language, ethnography, and history. Most items have been confirmed in OCLC WorldCat or other authoritative sources, correcting numerous errors in previous citations. Arabic names are alphabetized as they appear, inconsistently, in databases for ease of finding.

Historical tales are the most abundant and the sources most used to reconstruct the history of the kingdoms of the area between the Great Lakes. This is especially true for the history of the Nyiginya kingdom in Rwanda, where such tales, preserved at the court as well as by local people on the hills, are even more abundant than anywhere else. It is not surprising then that they form the bedrock on which authors have built their reconstructions on the history of that kingdom. Yet little attention has been paid to a general critical examination of these tales. Here, and elsewhere in the region, their contents have generally been accepted as credible, after the arbitrary erasure of all references to passages judged to refer to miracles, after the arbitrary dismissal of the bits and the variants that do not conform to one's preferred version, and after either the exclusion of local “provincial” narratives, or as happened after 1960, the exclusion of all those that stemmed from the court. Such practices will simply not do.

Because these tales form the bedrock of the history of the kingdom the Institute for Scientific Research in Central Africa (IRSAC) under my direction instituted a large collection of such sources between 1958 and 1962, and made them available in the original and in translation first in depots at Butare and Tervuren and later in 1973 on microfilm. Surprisingly enough, this collection as well as even major editions of other sources, have been completely ignored by most scholars working after 1960.

Any mention in a text to something demonstrably more recent than its attributed date of composition is an anachronism. The presence of an anachronism is absolute proof that the purported date given for the redaction of the final the text is wrong and that the real date occurred later than the date implied by the anachronism. In rare cases an anachronism can also occur in reverse, namely, when it can be shown that the anachronism implies the presence of something (an archaism, a practice) which had been replaced or had disappeared by the purported date for the manuscript. Anachronisms can be very useful both to date a document and in some cases to show us something about the dynamics involved in the creation of a text. The detection of anachronisms is common with regard to written documents, but they can also be used for the study of oral documents which have been memorized word by word, especially when only one version of such documents has survived. That is the case for the Rwandan esoteric code of kingship, which yields an excellent example of how a systematic search for anachronisms throws light on such a document and allows a historian to use its contents with much greater confidence than was the case otherwise.

Ubwiiru is the name given in Rwanda to a set of eighteen pieces in prose, called “roads” or “ways,” which vary in length between 74 and 1252 lines and were learned by heart since “immemorial times” by specialists called abiiru.

This paper provides a first report of a study of the population of Somié, a Mambila village in Cameroun, which seeks to explore ways of linking microdemographic analysis and the results of anthropological research. We have sought ways in which we can analyze in a common frame genealogical data, residence patterns, and other data from anthropological fieldwork, together with census returns and archival materials.

By combining the details of kinship and residence (gathered during anthropological fieldwork over a period of ten years) with the statistics of births and deaths from census results and archival materials from 1950 onwards, we can begin to assess the effects of genealogical and residence factors on fertility and mortality. Conversely, it becomes possible to examine the effects of demographic factors on the genealogical basis of village life.

In an area where sister exchange marriage was practiced, repeated marriages give rise to complex genealogies whose connection to demographic factors has not been analyzed. Demographic changes influence the numbers of kin available for marriage, and the relationships between fertility, fecundity, mortality, morbidity, rates of sister exchange, and numbers of kin (in different categories) are significant and their change over time is hard to investigate without this type of research. In addition it provides ways in which demographic changes can be analyzed, and points to ways of assessing the impact of the introduction of health care provision and primary education on both demographic indicators and on beliefs and attitudes to health and fertility. Such research has clear relevance for policy-makers.