The starting point of this article is what I see as the contrasting contemporary Asante and Fante views about the admirable man. The Asante say of such a man that ‘ose ohene’, lit. ‘he is like a chief’; the Fante say of him that ‘oye krache dodo’, lit. ‘he is extremely well educated’. For the Asante the ‘ohene’ remains the model of social achievement, while for the Fante it is the apparently well educated who lives and behaves like a ‘gentleman’ who is the model of social excellence.

These statements about what may be called the ‘ideal’ man among the two Akan sub-groups express the actual social position of traditional rulers and educated persons among them (Sarbah, 1897,1906; Casely-Hayfordj 1903; Manoukian, 1950: 9). The Asante respect a traditional ruler, known as nana, of any rank, more than an educated person, whatever his degree of education. For the Fante it is the reverse. An Asante, however well educated or rich, aims at some kind of chiefship as the supreme index of social achievement. The Fante aims at the acquisition of repute as a highly educated man.

During the first few months of 1978, at the height of the rainy season, mourning lamentations hardly ever ceased at the mortuary of Mbala General Hospital. Infants and children were dying. Inadequate food intake, malabsorption of nutrients and malarial infection were the main causes of death.

Those who survived the ‘hunger months’ of 1978 lived in overcrowded quarters and were fed a diet consisting mainly of diluted maize meal (‘mealie meal’) porridge. They suffered from poor dietary variation and an unprecedented shortage of basic foodstuffs. The small and isolated township of Mbala could not provide for itself; it relied on maize flour imports from the Copper belt and from Lusaka. The arrival of a truckload of flour–the road to Kasama had not yet been tarred– was sufficient to bring the town community to its feet and cause long queues of despairing people.

This paper deals with certain aspects of a Christian congregation in a kingdom of southern Ghana, in particular its growth over the past 150 years and the part it plays in the lives of the people of the capital town of the state. Most studies of the development of Christianity in Africa deal with questions of religious ideology (especially that of the conflict between different systems of belief), of conversion, and of the growth of syncretist and separatist movements. Here I am concerned with the development of a Christian congregation that is neither syncretist nor separatist and with its place as one element of a total local religious system which includes other faiths. It is the local congregation of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana in the town of Akuropon, the capital of the eastern Akan kingdom of Akuapem, in the Akuapem Hills that lie some twenty-five miles north of Accra, the national capital. The state has a resident population of about 70,000 and the town one of some 6000. However, the number of people who, wherever they live, regard themselves as Akuroponfo, ‘people of Akuropon’, probably amounts to some 20,000. Those who live elsewhere return to the town when they can at weekends, Christmas, Easter, and the great annual purificatory festival of Odwira, held in September or October; and most hope finally to return to their ‘home-town’ (as it is known in Ghana) to be buried. Although not a large town, it is known widely as the seat of the main educational facilities of the Presbyterian Church since the arrival of the Basel Mission in the then Gold Coast in 1828. Due largely to this fact it has provided more than its share of political, educational and other leaders of Gold Coast and Ghanian society.

The present article is intended as the first of two contributions to the economic and social– but above all to the intellectual– history of the West African forest kingdom of Asante or Ashanti (now located in the Republic of Ghana). Both papers will attempt to pull together and to situate in a ‘mentalist’ framework a number of recent and confessedly disparate research findings concerning a cluster of concepts, ideas and beliefs that, merely for the sake of brevity at this point, I will assign simply to the embracing ‘neutral’ rubric of general transformations in the ideology (or ideologies) of wealth. The first article will be concerned with developments in Asante society up to the close of the nineteenth century (defined here interpretatively rather than in strictly chronological terms); its successor will concentrate on a highly detailed examination of a sequence of crucially telling events in the early colonial period, and upon selected developments thereafter in the twentieth century. The articles are designed and intended to be read sequentially; the first, it is hoped, will assist in making sense of the significantly denser context (and more detailed content) of the second.

In writing the history of the Gbaya-speaking peoples, a group of some half-million population inhabiting east-central Cameroon and the western third of the Central African Republic, we are seldom able to recount the careers of famous individuals, and genealogical charters which link present leaders with long-dead heroes are uncommon. For the most part, in the pre-colonial and early colonial periods, the Gbaya were not organized politically at a level greater than very localised, clan-based groupings, and political leadership was more a matter of competition for short-lived political powers among locally influential men than of formally institutionalised chieftaincy (see Burnham, 1980a: 19 et seq.). However, in some cases during the late pre-colonial period, particularly in the westernmost parts of the Gbaya region, certain leaders began to consolidate their positions as a result of political and economic relations with the neighbouring Fulbe states of Adamawa and their associated Hausa and Kanuri traders (Burnham, 1980b). The names of men like Dogo Lokoti, Bafio and Mbartua (Bertoua) then occasionally figure in the oral histories and colonial documents, and we obtain glimpses of their personalities and careers. It is all the more striking, therefore, when we encounter a Gbaya figure who stands out clearly in the historical record. Without a doubt, Karnu, the inspiration behind the movement that has been called the Karnu Rebellion or the ‘War of the Hoe Handle’ in the Gbaya language, is the most widely known name in Gbaya history.

This article reassesses the accepted model of pre-colonial Tonga (Zambian) society. In a series of books and articles Elizabeth Colson has established an anthropological framework in which to analyse Tonga social and political activities. The basic parameters of that framework would appear to be: ‘Until the beginnings of the colonial period, approximately seventy years ago the largest named territorial unit among the Tonga was the small neighbourhood community.’ Ritual offices existed within the neighbourhood but political office was embryonic or non-existent until the British Government recognized headmen and chiefs and later developed a local council with an appointed civil service. (Colson, 1980b: 35). Social life is characterized as ‘anarchical’ (Colson, 1970a: 87). Politically the Tonga were said to be ‘stateless’ (Colson, 1970a: 207) and ‘amorphous’ (Colson, 1970b: 36). In a paper given in 1968 Colson analyses the concept of tribe, and states that the Tonga only recognized themselves as Tonga when young nationalist schoolboys tried to give them self-awareness. Thus, the Tonga in Colson's view are a creation of British bureaucracy and of a burgeoning nationalism. (Colson, 1968: 202; cf. also Colson, 1970b: 36). More recently the same basic position is reiterated, though the possibility of a change of viewpoint is left open; ‘Even the idea of a social unit of all Tonga is a recent creation and is still likely to be invoked principally in the national political arena, though the continued importance of the shrine of Monze may have political overtones of which I am unaware.’ (Colson, 1977: 137).

On 15 November 193 5 a riot took place in Wiawso, the capital town of Sefwi Wiawso district in the then Western Province of the Gold Coast. It followed weeks of struggle to bring destoolment charges against the omanhene, Nana Kwame Tano II. Four people died of gun-shot wounds, forty were injured and the omanhene was assaulted. On 2 December the State Council completed its hearing of fifteen charges against the omanhene and brought in a majority verdict in favour of destoolment, which in due course was confirmed by the Governor.

Studies of the deposition of chiefs in the Gold Coast have tended to focus on the changing reasons for and, particularly, the increased frequency of destoolment (Busia 1968: passim; Owusu 1970: 63ff.). Arhin especially has looked at the effect of the cash economy upon the relationships between chiefs and their subjects (Arhin 1976). Others have described the increasing complexity of the politico-jural structures surrounding the office and functions of chieftaincy as revealed in destoolment cases (Dunn and Robertson, 1973; Robertson 1976).

In the present paper we shall describe the ways in which dreams are regarded by the members of a West African religious sect and explain how dreams figure in the social organization of the sect. Our point of departure will be largely sociological, and in this respect our study differs from most anthropological writings on dreams. The dream narrations which we are considering arise as much out of the social organization of the sect as from the psyche of the individuals. Furthermore, the narrations are public performances and are evaluated by members of the sect for the purpose of situating each other within the community of church members. The narrations are used by church members to demonstrate the depth of their religious commitment and to assist them in competing for key roles within the church. Thus dreams are important as indicators of a person's worth and as instruments of social mobility. Following Charsley's treatment of dreams in a Ugandan independent church we will not focus on the use of dreams as a ‘privileged channel of insight into the culture’ (1973: 244), although the themes and symbols which are described in the narratives can indeed reveal much about the beliefs of church members and suggest ways in which their beliefs might guide their behaviour. It is appropriate to discuss some of these themes and symbols en route to our objective, and in doing so it will be possible to shed some light on the teachings of the sect and on the mentality of many of its members. It is important to state, however, that the primary data of this study are not accounts of dreams such as those that might be told privately to an analyst or an ethnographer. Rather they are mostly accounts which people present in public at church services. They are sometimes retold, embellished and circulated throughout the community of church members. Thus the data are speech events which are often used instrumentally by the narrator, sometimes for the purpose of ennobling the self and sometimes for the purpose of praising the sect. This means that one would have to question the authenticity of the narratives if one were to use them as windows into the minds of church members. We are on safer ground if we view the narratives of dreams as public performances which are patterned in accordance with the expectations of the church community and which have an effect on social action within that community.

On sait que beaucoup de sociétés africaines associent une position sociale originate à la pratique d'un art quelconque: musiciens ici, devins ou guérisseurs ailleurs, sont placés hors du commun. Dans ce domaine des rapports entre occupations et status le sort de la métallurgie est remarquable par l'élaboration symbolique qui partout s'y attache et par la place réservée à ceux qui travaillent le fer: parias ou aristocrates, les forgerons sont des êtres à part. Ces phénomenès attestés partout sur le continent prennent des formes très variables, et de nombreux auteurs se sont attachés à concilier ces deux aspects: l'extrême généralité de l'existence d'un symbolisme du fer et d'un status spécial des forgerons, d'une part, et l'extrême variété des configurations observées, d'autre part.

Le terme Minyanka est aujourd'hui officiellement consacré mais il n'est probablement qu'une déformation, due aux premiers auteurs européens, de Myanka, d'ailleurs rarement utilisé par les intéressés. Ceux que tout le monde appellent aujourd'hui les Minyanka se donnent eux-mêmes le nom de Bamana, dont la signification populaire est ‘ceux qui refusent le maître’. Par maître, il faut entendre aussi bien Allah, le dieu suprême des musulmans que le maître politique. Bamana désigne le fond de population non islamisée et demeurée fidèle à ses traditions religieuses. L'expression bamana djomo s'applique à la langue minyanka, par opposition au bambara, appelé blo djomo, la ‘langue des esclaves’, parce qu'elle était apprise par tous ceux qui étaient emmenés en captivité par les armées du royaume bambara de Ségou.

Students of Europe's contact with Africa have long regarded the Christian missions in the ancient kingdom of Kongo as a peculiarly potent symbol. For some the conversion and subsequent reign of Afonso I in the first half of the sixteenth century were a momentary aberration, a false dawn quickly to be obscured by the realities of the exploitation associated with mercantile capitalism and the horrors of the Atlantic slave trade. For others, the story of these missions has merely served to illustrate the continuing inviolability of indigenous traditions. Kongo society, it is argued, accepted only a thin veneer of Christianity, while its basic cosmology, practices and beliefs remained unchanged.

II se fait sur le terrain un consensus autour du terme Gbe pour désigner l'ensemble des parlers plus ou moins intelligibles dont le territoire s'étend en gros du fleuve Amugán (connu dans les documents en langues étrangères comme Volta) à l'ouest, au fleuve Wógbó (connu dans les documents en langues étrangères comme Ouémé et Weme) à l'est, puis de l'Océan Atlantique au sud jusqu'en dessous de la latitude 9° nord (cf Capo 1980a). Ce continuum dialectal, mieux connu comme Ewe depuis les importants travaux de Westermann (en particulier Westermann 1930), est maintenant divisé en cinq sections (caractérisées par des innovations précises), à savoir les dialectes Vhe, les dialectes Gen, les dialectes Ajá, les dialectes Fon et les dialectes Phla-Pherá (cf Capo 1980b). En fait, aux expressions comme ‘continuum dialectal’, ‘complexe linguistique’, ‘groupe de parlers’ Gbe, je voudrais proposer qu'on préfère la désignation de ‘la langue Gbe’. Le but de cette étude est done de mettre en lumière certains critères qui permettent d'identifier une langue, et de montrer ainsi que l'option pour ‘la langue Gbe’ n'est pas arbitraire.

Major factors which influence the pace of change in rural districts of Kenya relate to the nature of the local environment and traditional economy, population density and the degree of integration with the national economy and polity. In general change takes place more rapidly in the better watered high potential areas than in the semi-arid or arid areas. Kitui is a district in the semi-arid zone of the Eastern Province, Kenya. Traditionally its residents – the Kitui Akamba – were agro-pastoralists. With the establishment of British rule they expanded cultivation into former rangelands, and grazed their animals‘cattle and small stock – in areas once the preserve of wild life. This generated a resurgence in the local economy mirrored in the fact that the young men adamantly resisted administrative pressure to induce them to become labour migrants.

In studying class formation in rural Africa, many subtleties of this process are initially elusive, even when the process itself appears to be quite straightforward. The elusiveness of reality frequently results, at least in part, from the assumptions made by the researcher. So, for example, in studying one area of freehold tenure in Zimbabwe, in which ‘squatting’ is officially disapproved and where the land is legally inherited by a single heir, the informal allocation to others of rights to arable land for cultivation has obvious importance in the process of class formation. Less obvious, however (at least to me at the time), was the significance of grazing usufruct.

Although the Khoikhoi or so-called Hottentots are still discussed in social anthropological literature, there is relatively little interest in them nowadays in comparison with the San (Bushmen) or various Bantu-speaking peoples. This lack of interest is really quite surprising since Radcliffe-Brown drew heavily on the Nama Khoikhoi material in his essay on the mother's brother in South Africa (Radcliffe-Brown 1924). Radcliffe-Brown, incidentally, based his knowledge of the Nama almost entirely on his interpretation of the field work of Mrs A. W. Hoernlé, using two unpublished papers and personal communication with Mrs Hoernlé as his sources. There is, however, a more important reason why the Khoikhoi are of interest. Many aspects of their way of life, ranging from the status of wives to religious beliefs and practices, are very ‘unAfrican’ if we equate African with Bantu-speaking Africa as is so often done.

L'histoire religieuse de l'Imerina rural, après la réouverture au christianisme qui eut lieu sous le règne de Radama II, en 1861, peut être divisée en trois périodes. De 1861 à 1868, un développement sans caution royale, de 1869 à 1876, un développement précipité, sous l'effet du baptême protestant de la reine et du premier ministre; de 1876 à 1895, un ‘unanimisme’ de façade, cachant mal de nombreuses divergences entre les groupes missionnaires et leurs fidèles, entre les missionnaires L.M.S. eux-mêmes, enfin entre population rurale et notables des églises.