Since the 1960s researchers have emphasised the continuing importance of rural–urban connections as a special aspect of urbanisation in Africa. It is clear that since then, in many parts of Africa, the involvement of urbanites with their ‘home’ village has increased rather than decreased. Four of the articles in this issue were originally papers presented at two ASA panels (Toronto, 1994) which set out to explore these rural–urban connections. The content of the exchanges and the moral involvement of city people and villagers in such relations vary greatly. The variations have important implications for regional differences in, for instance, the development of new modes of accumulation or the cementing of ethnic networks. The other article (by Dickson Eyoh) addresses the effects of recent political changes in this context—a theme also raised by the other articles. In many parts of Africa democratisation seems to evoke an obsession with ‘autochthony’, origin and belonging. The increasing role of elite associations, as an alternative to multi-party politics, makes the rural connection of vital importance to urban politicians. Hence ‘the village’, and more generally the region of origin, acquire new importance as a power base in national politics.

The Nigerian musical landscape changed significantly following the advent of Christian missionary activity and British colonial administration in the later nineteenth century. New idioms of musical practice which have evolved as a result of this historical process include a new tradition of religious, Christian, music, urban syncretic popular styles, new operatic forms and European-derived art/ classical music. This article focuses on one of these emerging styles, Nigerian art music, as reflected in the life and works of its most notable pioneer, Fela Sowande. After a brief historical background, the article discusses the circumstances of Sowande's life and the beliefs which shaped his composing career and his compositional style. In discussing elements of style in Sowande's works, it examines the nature of the interaction between African and European elements, a stylistic feature which constantly recurs in his works. The article ends by discussing the need to consolidate the growth of this new idiom by putting in place institutional structures within which it can develop.

Scholars in several disciplines have recently turned their attention to the effects of community characteristics on attitudes and behaviour. ‘Social capital’ figures prominently in this new literature. This article explores the influence of trust, optimism, voluntarism and other standard components of social capital on political participation and institutional performance in two African contexts: Uganda and Botswana. It concludes that generalised trust and participation in social clubs help shape decisions to participate in formal politics, although their influence is dwarfed by gender and urbanisation. However, social capital bears no clear relation to institutional performance, as measured by residents' levels of satisfaction with government services.

A much neglected perspective on Zimbabwe's post-independence war is that held by its insurgents, the so-called dissidents. The experience of dissidents has been little explored, in part because of the difficulty of doing so until recently but also because scholars and journalists have analysed post-1980 violence primarily in terms of the political interests of either ZAPU or ZANU-PF, Zimbabwe's dominant nationalist parties, or the South African state. No account has sought to explore the motives, goals and organisation of the dissidents themselves; the how-and-whys of the turn to war have remained obscure. Though dissidents' views are often as partisan as those of their detractors, focusing on the perspectives of the dissidents allows a substantial reinterpretation of the war and its aftermath. From the dissidents' point of view, post-Unity politics is bitterly disappointing: they say Unity is meaningful only for the national leaders. Unity has not overcome the political tribalism of the 1980s nor has it brought an end to economic hardship. Though the dissidents' perspective on Zimbabwe's post-independence war is unique in many ways, the stress on the unresolved wrongs of the 1980s—continued developmental neglect, the lack of restitution or even recognition for losses and suffering, the failures to make peace with the High God of Njelele and the spirits—finds a much wider resonance within Matabeleland as a whole.

Young people are the major participants in most wars. In the African civil wars of the last twenty years combatants have become increasingly youthful. Some forces are made up largely of young teenagers; combatants may sometimes be as young as 8 or 10, and girl fighters are increasingly common. The trend to more youthful combatants also reflects the discovery that children—their social support disrupted by war—make brave and loyal fighters; the company of comrades in arms becomes a family substitute. There are two main adult reactions. The first is to stigmatise youth combatants as evil (‘bandits’, ‘vermin’). The other (regularly espoused by agencies working with children) is to see young fighters as victims, as tools of undemocratic military regimes or brutally unscrupulous ‘warlords’. But many under-age combatants choose with their eyes open to fight, and defend their choice, sometimes proudly. Set against a background of destroyed families and failed educational systems, militia activity offers young people a chance to make their way in the world. The purpose of this article is to let young combatants explain themselves. The reader is left to decide whether they are the dupes and demons sometimes supposed.

Western concern with ‘conserving’ or ‘managing’ the rain forests of Africa has led to the setting up of a number of conservation projects. In such projects the ‘participation’ of the ‘community’ in forest conservation has become the new orthodoxy. However, proposals about local people's participation presume that defining the future of the forest is a straight contest between the alternatives of conservation or forest clearing. Such proposals also presume that the existence of communities is non-problematic. In contrast, this article documents that there is already considerable local debate about forest use and conservation, much of it among those excluded from the formal arena of politics and policy-making. Concern with ‘the environment’ includes concern about the perpetuation of society, and represents a clear continuation of West African village cosmologies focused on the societalisation of space. At the same time, conservation aims of ‘keeping the forest as it is’ have few resonances, since forest people see society itself as an artful, but often problematic, construction in which the conversion of the forest plays a central part. In conclusion, the article suggests that the key to environmental management must be for external agencies to articulate with the interests and values of those who hold a legitimate stake in African forest resources.

Evaluations of colonial education policy tend to treat it as a tool for applying imperial ideology, which—among other things—denied the Africans their past. This study of the debate about history education in southern Nigeria in the 1930s suggests the need to re-evaluate this assessment. While some imperial pronouncements did deny African history, colonial administration also required historical knowledge. Further, many colonial educators thought it proper to provide African students with a sense of their past appropriate to colonial subjects. A few went much further, to actively promote pride in African history. In this ambivalent context African schoolteachers and graduates got on with the task of describing their past, often using colonial educational media, constrained but not silenced by their colonial situation. Recognising the fertile ambivalence of this aspect of imperial culture opens new and more fruitful approaches to colonial intellectual history in general.

The development of elite associations has been a consequence of the growth of multi-partyism and the weakening of authoritarian state control in Cameroon in the 1990s. The attachment of electoral votes and rights of citizenship to belonging to ethnicised regions has encouraged the formal distinction between ‘natives’ and ‘strangers’ in the creation of a politics of belonging. The article argues that this development has also led to the replacement of political parties at the local level by ethnicised elite associations as prime movers in regional and national politics.

The inhabitants of Kaokoland, Himba and Herero, have recently gained prominence in the discussions concerning a controversial hydro-electric power scheme in their region. They are depicted as southern Africa's ‘most traditional pastoralists’ by groups opposing the dam and those demanding it. The article describes how Kaokoland's pastoralists suffered tremendously from the politics of encapsulation the South African government adopted against them. Having been enmeshed in interregional trade networks, commodity production and wage labour around 1900, they were isolated by the South African government within a period of twenty years. Buffer zones for the commercial ranching area and prohibitions on movement across other newly invented boundaries limited their spatial mobility. Trade across borders was inhibited altogether. Pastoralists who had diversified their assets during the previous fifty years and had taken the chance of a first wave of commercial penetration were forced back on to subsistence herding.

This article explores the strategies of acquiring and legitimating power in Ghana, taking the example of three ‘big men’ from the north, a paramount chief, a mine captain and a politician in the making. After offering some observations on the recent public debate on the (im)morality of power and ‘bigness’, it outlines the biographies of these three ‘big men’ and analyses how they skilfully combine different registers of power and legitimacy. It then analyses the strategies of legitimation and grounds of moral judgement which depend, at least to a certain degree, on the particular relationship of the ‘judge’ with the ‘big man’ in question. The article concludes by discussing the common ‘grammar’ that seems to regulate the debates on ‘bigness’, morality and interest.

A prominent feature of political liberalisation in Cameroon (as elsewhere in Africa) is the increasing resort by elites to idioms of community (regional, religious and ethnic) and neo-traditional institutions like chieftaincy as a means of mobilising political support and reasserting control of local populations. Focusing on the anglophone part of Cameroon this study examines the historical roots of the salience of these phenomena in current struggles for power. It uses the circumstances surrounding the death of a chief in the South West Province to explain the ways in which elite reliance on these phenomena facilitates the linkage of locally specific, culturally encoded political conflict with competition for power at the national level, and provokes local populations into resisting state power, often through the reinvention of traditions of their own. The study concludes that popular scepticism about whether current political struggles will lead to fundamental changes in state–society relations is rooted in the ways in which elite politics are played out in local and regional spaces.

The Rwandan refugee camps in Tanzania witnessed the marriages of very young adolescents: girls as young as 13–14 married boys of 14–15 years, boys they often did not even know. These marriages usually did not last very long; after a few months many girls were forced to leave—sent away by their husband. People of both sexes and all ages, when asked about the problems in the camp, would always mention these child marriages as one of the biggest problems. They were worried not only about the loss of respect for Rwandan culture and traditional values but also about the future of the marriages and what would become of the children. This article is not based on extensive research into child marriages, but the author was able to interview a number of young people who had got married in the camps, and to collect information and the opinions of other people on these and other cases. Rather than describing marriage customs and wedding ceremonies in Rwanda, and comparing them with what took place in the refugee camps, the article aims to show the impact of (civil) war, the consequent poverty and the destruction of social structures on a community, in order to show how in these circumstances behaviour can change radically. Refugees have to build up a new life in a camp, and the new ‘society’ is likely to be different from the one they came from, with different rules and changed values. Among various examples of deviant behaviour child marriages were the most remarkable.

If ritual songs of obscenity and abuse have become a familiar topic in Africanist ethnography since Evans-Pritchard's first discussion of their ‘canalising’ functions in 1929, few studies have paid sufficient attention to the socio-political and discursive contexts of the song texts themselves. The present article moves in that direction by relocating abusive songs of the Oroyeye festival in an Ekiti Yoruba town within the local forms of history and knowledge that motivate their interpretation and performative power. After reviewing the cult's historical interventions in local political affairs, the article examines the repressed historical memory of a displaced ruling dynasty and its associated line of civil chiefs as invoked by the song texts in two festival contexts. In the first—the Àjàkadì wrestling match—which occurs at night, male age mates from different ‘sides’ of the town fight to stand their ground and topple their opponents while young women praise the winners and abuse the losers with sexual obscenities. In the second festival context, during the day, the elder ‘grandmothers’ of Oroyeye target malefactors and scoundrels by highlighting their misdeeds against a discursive background of homage and praise. In this fashion the female custodians of a displaced ruling line bring repressed sexual and political sub-texts to bear on male power competition, lineage fission, and antisocial behaviour. More generally, they mobilise the fertility and witchcraft of all Yoruba women to disclose hidden crimes and speak out with impunity.

This article discusses the historical construction of land tenure patterns in the Communal Areas of Zimbabwe, previously the Reserves of colonial Rhodesia. In many respects the form of communal tenure found in the Communal Areas today emerged during the early colonial period. While being glossed as ‘traditional’, communal tenure is a contradictory amalgam of local, regional and state initiatives. The discussion outlines the historical development of present tenure relations in the Communal Areas, reviews their multiple sources of legitimacy and suggests that common property regimes in Zimbabwe are not simply the artefact of colonial indirect rule.

This article explores indigenous notions of power and chiefly legitimacy among the Ihanzu, a relatively small Bantu-speaking community located in north central Tanzania. Particular attention is paid to local ideas and ideals of gender—that is, the cultural categories ‘male’ and ‘female’, as well as the relationship between them—in an effort to show the complex ways in which gender categories, when combined, are powerful and capable of effecting transformations of different sorts. Men and women, by combining male and female fertilising fluids, create children. Similarly, male and female chiefs, through royal incest, bring forth male and female rains. It is suggested that the strategic combination of the cultural categories ‘male’ and ‘female’ provides the underlying transformative model both for sexual reproduction and for rainmaking. And it is through the combination of gender categories that chiefs legitimise their own positions, first by producing rain and, second, by metaphorically giving birth to all Ihanzu people each season. But whether for chiefs or commoners, it is argued that power frequently comes in gendered pairs.

This article examines home-town linkages among the Ije§a Yoruba of south-western Nigeria, focusing on their implications for local development activity. The author argues that elite non-residents play an especially important role in determining the agenda of activities and that, despite limitations and constraints, the maintenance of home town linkages by members of the elite provides their community with crucial access to financial and other resources. The motives for the continued maintenance of these ties are discussed. Finally, the article provides a perspective for comparison with research in other parts of the world, where rural-urban linkages primarily connect migrants with family and household; in the case considered here, involvement with the community as a whole is equally important.

The study and application of household coping have largely been confined to the problems of famine and food insecurity. Based on field insights from West Africa, this paper argues that understanding how households cope and allocate resources in times of crisis is of immense value to a broad array of development interventions. It also introduces a conceptual framework that evaluates household coping in exogenous and endogenous contexts. The application of this framework may provide a more informed approach to development intervention design, implementation and targeting that is sensitive to the differential needs and experiences of rural households and communities.

The chiefdoms of Sierra Leone are institutions of colonial origin but nevertheless continue to serve as local government units in the post-colonial state. The prevailing view among scholars is that these institutions have little basis in indigenous political culture, and have furthermore become breeding grounds of political corruption. This view has tended to elide anthropological analysis of internal chiefdom politics. However, it is argued in this article that such conclusions are premature. With reference to the Biriwa Limba chiefdom of northern Sierra Leone, it is shown that historical precedent, in many cases relating to prominent political figures of the late nineteenth century, continues to serve as a primary means of ordering local rights in land, settlement and political representation. This phenomenon is not a product of innate conservatism but emerges rather as a pragmatic response to the persistent failure of successive Sierra Leone administrations to extend modern measures of citizenship to the bulk of the rural populace. Rights and properties have become progressively localised in villages originally registered for tax collection in the early colonial era. Here one finds one of the most telling legacies of the British policy of indirect rule in post-colonial Sierra Leone.

This article investigates the nature and structure of linkages between the urban elite and local institutions in their home villages in the Nso' area of north-west Cameroon. It argues that indigenous institutions provide a frame of reference for the negotiation of identity and the provision of security in a context where state institutions seem to have lost their raison d'être. The notion of a home village has become a defining factor in the urban–rural nexus which allows the elite to acquire resources from external sources which they in turn invest in the production of social and symbolic capital. The materialisation of this capital is manifested in the acquisition of neo-traditional titles. Under conditions of dire financial and material hardship some local traditional authorities have started to ‘commodity’ what was previously earned through merit and service to the group.

Studies of associations in West Africa have tended to focus upon the development of new development-related institutional forms. Other, so-called traditional, cultural groupings have tended to be ignored. This article points to transformations and changes in the masquerade society of the north-eastern Yoruba town of Ìkòlé and considers the continuing development of the masquerade society as an association. Changes in the masquerade society are being strongly promoted by younger men as a way to establish masquerade as a resource, promoting Ìkòlé's cultural identity. They are aided and funded by groups of elite citizens who are not necessarily resident in Ìkòlé. The article examines the relations between the various groups involved in masquerade, as well as the relationship between those often elite town members who support masquerades and Pentecostal Christian groups which would happily see their demise.