One problem in the rural areas of developing countries is the question of securing new sources of capital as the economy moves from a traditional agrarian system to a more fluid and flexible economic condition. New capital resources seem necessary to ensure this flexibility, to satisfy the needs of individuals in a world where economic achievement is highly stressed whatever its role in the more traditional society. Yet in the absence of banking facilities, or of government-sponsored loan organizations, the sources of funds for expanded or new economic endeavours must arise from the activities of the entrepreneurs themselves.

In his introductory notes to Bargery's dictionary, Westermann summarizes the early historical records of the Hausa-speaking peoples and, in particular, discusses the name ‘Hausa’ itself, without forming any theory as to its provenance. He points out that, apart from a reference to Ḥauṣiyin by Ibn Sa‘id, an Andalusian Arab writer who died in the last quarter of the thirteenth century, the first reference to the word is four centuries later, in the Tarikh-es-Sudan. Ibn Sa‘id incidentally—if we are to believe Ibn Khallikan—got no nearer to the Western Sudan than Tunis, so it seems that his information was as secondhand as that of most of our other Arab authorities for the area. In the interim four centuries, though Ibn Batuta uses such names of individual Hausa chiefdoms as Kūbar (Gobir), the only generic name used was by Al Maqrizi, an Egyptian, whom Hiskett suggests got the name from some Bornu source, without knowing much about the people it referred to. This was Afnū, which is still the name used for the Hausa by the Kanuri and other related peoples of the Chad area. While making no suggestion himself as to a possible source of origin, at the end of the first section of his notes, Westermann makes reference to the conquest of Hausaland by Muhammadu Askia of Songhai, and to his ultimate repulse by Muhammadu Kanta, chief of Kebbi, in 1513.

There are many references to despised groups of artisans in the literature on Ethiopia, but unfortunately they are scattered through travel books which, from the anthropologist's point of view, are too superficial to permit a sustained and rigorous analysis of the variant forms of this phenomenon. Among such works I would include the publications of Jensen and the Frobenius Institute. After only five weeks' stay among the Konso he attempted an ambitious account of their religion and society in Im Lande des Gada that is false or distorted in almost every detail, not excepting matters of elementary observation. Shack's study of the Gurage and the status of craftsmen among them is the only one known to the author which can be considered as the work of a professional anthropologist. This article is therefore intended partly as a contribution to the ethnography of artisan status in Ethiopia. Only when we have many more such studies will we be in a position to appraise the situation properly, and to ascertain the basic characteristics of discrimination against craftsmen in Ethiopia. It may well be that the criteria of discrimination cannot be reduced to a single pattern.

The Yoruba town of Iseyin, 55 miles north-west of the city of Ibadan, is a traditional settlement with little economic specialization or division of labour other than according to sex. There is no factory development or industrial employment in the town. In the local tax returns for 1966, 88 per cent of the male taxpayers recorded farming as their primary occupation and the basis of the town's economy is still agricultural. Iseyin is now influenced by modern media of communication, however—by road, radio and the postal services—and its economy is responding to consumer demands in the large cities of Ibadan, Abeokuta and Lagos, in addition to those of its own locality. This applies also to the hand-weaving products for which Iseyin is well-known throughout Nigeria.

The basic features of the political processes among the Ibo of Eastern Nigeria are well documented. The most striking element of the system is its decentralization. Margery Perham wrote thirty years ago that ‘it is almost impossible to imagine a wider diffusion of authority’ than one finds in Ibo society (Perham, 1937, p. 234). When a decision affecting an Ibo community is to be made, several groups and organizations concern themselves with the issue and within each organization near unanimity must be reached before discussion can be closed. Participation is on such a broad scale that most traditional meetings have no chairman or central direction, take no votes, permit more than one person to speak at a time, have no agenda, and continue for long periods. A decision reached by one organization within a community that is not acceptable to another organization can usually not be implemented. Margaret Green writes: ‘Ibo democracy works through a number of juxtaposed groups and a system of checks and balances rather than on a unitary or hierarchical principle’ (Green, 1947, p. 145).