Despite its manifest, if largely undocumented, histories of menacing violence and perilous politics, the thrust of popular memory in the former apartheid bantustan of KaNgwane insists that it was a peaceful, even apolitical, place. In a contemporary South African memorial culture that idealizes memories of victimization by (and resistance to) apartheid and its political violence, why would some in KaNgwane persistently narrate the past through tropes of peaceful order and disavowals of the political? Are these mnemonic effacements in KaNgwane best conceived of as forms of forgetting? This article challenges such a proposition. First, it recovers the hitherto unrecognized politics and violence in KaNgwane, in part (and paradoxically) out of the very same narratives that deny such histories. Second, it explores the dialectical co-implication of remembering and forgetting, and of memory and history, in KaNgwane's supposed anamnesis. And third, it proposes that the occlusions and assurances of memory in KaNgwane are structured by a localized semiotics in which politics is retrospectively signified by order and restraint, and negated by disorder and revolt. In this ‘memory work’, KaNgwane's past is anaesthetized of violence, and heroism is recovered not from rehearsals of victimization and resistance, but from memories of pacified civility instead.

In this article, I argue that the praise of legal and political analysts who perceive Rwanda's gacaca courts as a model of locally grounded and culturally relevant transitional justice is unfounded without consideration of the broader power dynamics in which justice is delivered. Drawing on life history interviews with 37 Rwandan peasants resident in the south-west of the country, I argue that the claims of the Rwandan government that its gacaca courts are promoting peace and reconciliation must also assess the impact of local justice mechanisms on those subject to its demands, namely ordinary people. In the case of Rwanda's gacaca courts, local-level analysis illuminates a darker and largely unexamined aspect of transitional justice – the playing out of local power dynamics and the social and political inequalities masked by the pursuit of justice and reconciliation. My study cautions against a wholesale endorsement of the gacaca courts as an effective and legitimate form of transitional justice. Instead, it is a mechanism of state power than works to reinforce the political power of the ruling RPF and to ply international audiences with the idea that Rwanda is ‘a nation rehabilitated’ from ‘the scourge of genocide’.

The collapse of the mining company La Générale des Carrières et des Mines (GECAMINES) in the 1990s forced many unemployed workers in Lubumbashi to look at alternative means of survival. The post-GECAMINES era was characterized by acute economic crisis at a time of rapid population growth and increasing urban poverty. The object of this article is threefold: to demonstrate how Lubumbashi residents resorted to agricultural activities within and around the city; to identify reasons for success and failure from three case studies; and to categorize the types of agriculture that emerge. Data were collected by means of semi-structured interviews, in-depth questions and observation. One hundred farming households were selected and interviewed between November 2004 and March 2005. Data were analysed using thematic content analysis for qualitative aspects and SPSS for the quantitative information. Though the living conditions of 75 per cent of urban farmers declined despite the practice of urban agriculture, these conditions might have worsened without it. However, 20 per cent of the households in the sample succeeded in stabilizing their living conditions, even though they were unable to alleviate poverty completely. A few farmers (5 per cent) became food-secure through the practice of urban agriculture.

Brand marketing in its latest global advances offers ideologies of public participation and the audience–‘provider’ relationship that many in the developing world are finding compelling, even when consumer capitalism fails to produce its promised rewards immediately. Strategies of ‘branding’ are being explored in combination with older performance strategies, with new syncretic branded arenas emerging as a result. In Africa, music and dance have always been important for establishing certain arenas and mediating transactions within them. In the era of post-independence nationalism, ‘traditional’ dances were itemized and made more disciplined and spectacular to give new states an aura of inclusiveness, rigour and historical depth. As the image of a powerful African state declines, these same dance traditions are being hitched to commercial brands, and to the globalized consumerist/entreprenurial dream. This article considers the Senator National Cultural Extravaganza, an annual traditional music-and-dance competition sponsored by East Africa Breweries Ltd, which requires participants to compose ‘local’ songs and dances in praise of Senator Extra Lager. It focuses on the spatial and temporal architectures of events and the way these channel, and are complicated by, the energies and significances of dance. The ‘textbook’ brand–consumer relationship does not, it is argued, survive wholly intact.

This article analyses the historical roots of decentralization, a policy which is presented in the development world as the miracle cure to Third World evils. The text is based on the current literature on the topic as well as field research carried out in Mali in the Office du Niger region, which, already in the colonial period, represented a particular decentralization challenge. It offers a critical perspective on the concept of decentralization, which some trace back to the Middle Ages, and examines colonial experiences. How can the Malian state, inherited from the colonial state, decentralize everything whilst adopting the policy according to which the lands of the central delta of the Niger have been state-owned property since 1935? The aim is to show the analogy between problems encountered by the French colonial state and those that plague the Malian post-colonial state, whilst guarding against the sirens of a false authenticity reeking of neo-traditionalism.

This article analyses the reasons why, since the beginning of the Fourth Republic in 1992, the Upper West Region (UWR) has become one of the strongholds of the National Democratic Congress (NDC) in northern Ghana. In all five general elections to date, the NDC has won more than half of the presidential vote and over 70 per cent of the parliamentary seats. The article explores the factors that explain the NDC's electoral dominance in the UWR. At the regional level the accepted argument has been that the NDC's predecessor extended developments to the area. However, if voting preferences are based on development considerations, why didn't loyalty shift to the NPP? I argue that political loyalty is generational and that the popularity of the NDC in the UWR can be understood through an appreciation of the recent history of the region. On 14 January 1983, PNDC Law 41 decreed the creation of the Upper West Region, carved out of what was then the Upper Region. I conclude that the political and socio-economic opportunities that came along with decentralization are historical memories of high value, which the NDC capitalizes on in its electioneering campaigns.

Cities as elusive, invisible, yet to come. ‘[T]he city is no-man's land’ (Grace Khunou, p. 240 in Mbembe and Nuttall). ‘Lagos is no man's land’ (heard in Lagos by the present writer, August 2010). A picture of a strangely empty and disrupted man-made landscape (William Kentridge, pp. 349–350 in Mbembe and Nuttall), balanced by a dense but also personless urban scene (by the same author, pp. 35–6 in the same text). … The slippage between conventional social scientific terms of runaway urbanization, the teeming human vitality of African cities, and the elusiveness of the titles, sayings and images of these three books, opens up the rich vein for research and writing into which these authors work their ways. Johannesburg. Kinshasa. Pikine (Dakar). Winterveld (a South African urban area outside Pretoria). Douala. Jeddah. The books reviewed here are based on detailed field research in six particular cities. They all juxtapose the categories of ‘metropolis’ and ‘modernity’ to the category of ‘Africa’, all positing the anomaly this move may represent in the categorical social scientific mind. The subtitles immediately indicate a different starting point from the analytics of population, geography and governance. With an approach through ‘tales’ (De Boeck and Plissart) and ‘reading the city’ (Mbembe and Nuttall), the authors indicate an alternative intellectual reach. They start from visual imagery, the language arts and the social mediations through which the lives lived in urban ‘modern’ Africa are expressed, communicated, understood, configured and conserved. Their aims evoked in my mind the modern art – rather than the analytics – of other cities. So here we have ‘circulation’ and vehicles as symbols and sounds without too much attention to traffic (the Lagos ‘go slow’; the accidents); ‘bodies’ without much attention to food or toilet needs or aging; ‘authority’ evaded or permeating rather than personified in mayors, town councils and multitudes of other officials and employees. In the ether of the invisible, what circulates are symbols and expressions; what emanates from bodies is sexual tension, aesthetic sensibility and physical vulnerability (‘bodies in danger’, De Boeck and Plissart, p. 117); what bears down oppressively is constraint and neglect of all kinds. In brief, what strikes the perceptive mind is precisely what bursts out of the conventional forms and has not yet taken a newly conventionalized shape. Through this orientation, all three books bring the humanities and artistic sensibilities to the question of the spirits, souls, inspirations, dangers, images and memories that inhabit the crowded spaces between buildings and people, insects and people, people and people.