After gaining their independence, African countries followed various industrialization policies. Kenya and Tanzania, up to the Arusha Declaration in February 1967, pursued industrialization via private enterprises. Uganda and Nigeria followed a mixed pattern, that is, investments by both private and public enterprises; Ghana, since 1961 and up to the coup in February 1966 by the National Liberation Council (NLC) that ousted Nkrumah, relied primarily on public-enterprise investment (see also Grayson 1970, 1971ab, 1972).

Ghana started out along the Kenya and pre-Arusha Tanzania pattern, both before independence, with Nkrumah already in power, and after independence (in 1957) up till 1961. During that period Nkrumah set out to create an investment climate favorable to both private foreign and local capital. It was only after 1961 that Nkrumah embarked on large-scale public investments in manufacturing. (For an account of the political climate in the early 1960's, see Genoud 1969.) Aside from ideological leanings and a desire for prestige, the main economic considerations motivating Nkrumah were (1) his judgment that Ghanaian entrepreneurs were unable or unwilling to enter the modern manufacturing sector and (2) to break the economic power of the large foreign firms operating in Ghana.

The imbalance in the sizes of the former regions of Nigeria (Table 1) had been frequently cited as one of the main reasons for political instability of the federation. For example, the Premier of the Eastern Region and leader of one of the political parties which contested the federal elections of 1964 declared during the election campaigns that

In light of the bitterness engendered over the past 150 years between the North and South Sudan—especially during the past two decades—the Addis Ababa Agreement signed in February 1972 is indeed a singular event. (For a text of the agreement, see “Agreement Issue” 1972, pp. 18 and 22; full text on pp. 17-26.) Not only did this mark the end of the seventeen-year-old insurgency in the South, but it may well mark the beginning of a new phase in the relationships between the two regions. This is particularly important when it is noted that apparently neither side achieved their declared objectives. There is a need for caution, however. The basis for future relationships, as well as the effectiveness of the post-insurgency reconstruction, rest on the outcome of the eighteen-month interim arrangement, which is a basic part of the Addis Ababa Agreement.

The interim arrangement (February 1972-June 1973) privides interalia for an Interim High Executive Council, whose President and members are appointed by the President of the Democratic Republic of the Sudan. In effect, the Council is the “Executive and Cabinet” for the Southern Sudan during this interim period. Additionally, a number of other provisions provide for the establishment of institutions and initiate steps for integrating them into a wider national system. Implicitly, the arrangement assumes an effective relationship between the North and South from which a permanent settlement can evolve.

Lagos, at present the political capital of Nigeria and the nerve centre of the country's economy, has been the meeting point for the commercial talent of Yorubaland since the opening of the port to trade with Western Europe. From the start, that trade had inspired and depended upon the activities of a large number of middlemen who linked the expatriate merchant firms in the principal coastal market towns with the young but promising Nigerian market in the hinterland. These indigenous traders, the first generation to take advantage of the, new economic opportunities, came from all the main Yoruba subcultural groups. But, as several historical accounts have shown (see among others Johnson 1921, Forde 1951, Bauer 1954), the Ijebu have turned out more prominently in the process and have distinguished themselves as commercial entrepreneurs above other Yoruba subcultural groups.

Sierra Leone is one of the more important rice-producing and consuming countries in West Africa. Sierra Leone was an exporter of rice in the early 1950's. Since 1955 the agricultural sector has not been able to meet domestic needs; Imports from 1960 to 1970 averaged $2.7 million annually (USDA 1968, p. 18). The need to import rice has continued in spite of governmental efforts to increase domestic production through a price-support program, fertilizer subsidization, land clearing, a heavily subsidized mechanical-plowing scheme, and the development of the Rice Corporation, which is legally responsible for controlling imports, providing for adequate distribution of rice throughout the country, establishing centers for collection, purchase, storage, and sale of rice, and setting the price for imported rice.

Self-sufficiency in rice production has become the central focus of the national agricultural policy as established by the Government of Sierra Leone. With this as a policy framework, this paper first summarizes recent research related to the economics of rice production in Sierra Leone. Second, it outlines four possible strategies to increase rice output, in the context of both micro and macro costs. The four strategies examined include (1) improved extensive cultivation with existing levels of capital inputs, especially tools and equipment; (2) extensive cultivation based upon the broader development of rice lands suitable for partial mechanical cultivation; (3) intensive cultivation of inland-valley swamps developed primarily with family labor; and (4) intensive cultivation of mangrove and associated swamps requiring external expenditures for land development.

One fact that has emerged from a study of the existing literature on the techniques for recording the oral histories of African societies since the last decade is that these societies, even where they possessed similar structural models, still exhibit several complex variables. This raises the question as to whether or not the available methodological studies can suffice to provide a generally acceptable model for interpreting the totality of African history. The answer is, of course, that historians ought to be encouraged to publish descriptive, analytic, or reflective materials arising from their specialized research interests. Such studies would not only prove invaluable for comparative analysis but would also be useful as working tools for the graduate student or the beginner in research. Indeed, anyone with field experience is aware that the art of collecting oral data is acquired mainly through trial and error. The technique that has proved successful for Vansina (1960) in dealing with Bakuba, for example, may prove disastrous in dealing with Banyoro. The importance of the existing studies is that they enable the young researcher to minimize the number of his errors and maximize the use of time available to him. In the final analysis, however, he learns by experience. And his experiences, if put down in print, may prove of significance for other researchers.

Collecting oral traditions in the field is like learning to drive a car. No amount of lectures and films can make a nondriver into a driver. He must attempt to drive it himself and learn from his mistakes. And when eventually he becomes a driver, his technique, efficiency, or inefficiency will be determined by many personal considerations: courage, physical condition, public relations, courtesy, temperament, integrity, alertness. So with the field worker. He is constantly adjusting to new situations and to different personalities. And he ought to be a person capable of responding to these situations without losing his equanimity.

The purpose of this paper is threefold: (1) to study and discuss statistics on Ethiopia as related to commission of offenses, treatment of offenses at court, and status of the convicted at prisons; (2) to attempt selective comparisons with American data; and (3) to discuss analytical interpretations of the findings resulting from the foregoing data. However, emphasis here will be upon the Ethiopian aspects studied. At the outset it must be recognized that data on offenses committed as well as on some aspects of prison practices, such as executions, in Ethiopia have been in short supply.

While sparsity of data existed and still exists, commendations are due the Ethiopian National Police for the positive step of gathering and arranging such statistics systematically. It is my understanding this was begun in 1967. That there may be some deficiencies in accuracy of figures may be laid to relative recency of concern over them on a wide-scale basis. The reader should be aware also that problems of accuracy were not limited to Ethiopia. Perusal of almost any American text on crime and/or delinquency reveals this fact (for example, see Haskell and Yablonsky 1970, pp. 38, 47-50; Cavan 1962, pp. 20-22). I wish to extend my appreciation to the Ethiopian National Police for releasing to me these statistics for use, for, to my knowledge, very little has appeared in Western literature on this phase of Ethiopian culture.

The purpose of this investigation is to examine the problem of diffusion of Ikenga art form in geographically contiguous cultures. Although the concept of diffusion of cultural traits among contiguous cultures is well established among certain kinds of anthropologists, fresh theories of interpretation may be observed. First, I will try to develop the framework which would help to identify the strategic factors in the process of diffusion and facilitate the ordering of what is currently known about them. Second, since the establishment of a framework seldom includes anything but a model, Igbo Ikenga is focused upon to illustrate how deduction from art may lead to new factual conclusions.

Current anthropological concern about the diffusion of elements of culture in the Niger/Benue basin has attracted attention to the Ikenga art form because of the apparent widespread occurrence of the Ikenga cults among the Igbo, Benin, and Igala. Jeffreys (1954 pp. 25-40) traces the origin of the word “Ikenga,” and thus its cult, to the Kengawa (Hausa) people of Sokoto Province. Later, William Fagg (1960, “The Ibo Tribes”) explains the “universal cults of Ikenga” partly in terms of adaptability among contiguous ethnic groups, particularly as certain Igbo culture traits show similarity to those of their neighbours at the periphery. More recently, this notion of an “intra-diffusion” has been extended by Bradbury. Comparing diffusion processes between the Igbo and Benin Ikenga cults, Bradbury (1961, p. 138) attributes a greater possibility to one single Ikenga cult which later separated into the Igbo and Benin and mutually coexisted.

For centuries nearly every European who visited Sierra Leone was struck by the great potential for trade to which the area seemed geographically suited. Caravans from Kankan and Segu, and even from as far away as Bamako and Timbuctu, came down through Siguri and Faranah, passed through the dispersal points inland of the forest at Timbo, Bunban, and Samaia, and carried the gold, ivory, hides, and produce of the interior down to the tidewater towns, of Temneland (Canot 1854, p. 89). From Kambia, Mange, Port Loko, and Magbeli the trade accumulated with local produce, and the caravans ferried their goods by canoe and “Bullom Boat” to the European ships waiting off the mountainous peninsula in West Africa's deepest and largest natural harbor.

Anyone familiar with the map will note that much of Temneland is well situated to command this inland trade from the Futa Jallon and the upper Niger. The northwestern Temne control the navigable reaches of the Scarcies and of Port Loko Creek. Likewise, the southeastern chiefdoms are astride the Rokel and command the approaches to Freetown. Ijagbemi has noted how the major trade routes going inland from the coast “took a north-easterly direction, which, though hilly, was only partially forested and so afforded a relatively easy access to the interior (1970, p. 45).

Slave traders recognized the strategic value of controlling the estuaries, and some of the earliest “slave factories” were built right in the Sierra Leone River.

Contemporary critics of Portugal's presence in Africa charge that economic exploitation is the basis of Portuguese colonialism. They often emphasize, to the exclusion of other factors, economic reasons for Portugal's past and present stake in the tropics. These arguments contrast the actual and potential mineral wealth, agricultural produce, and abundant sources of hydroelectric power in Angola and Mozambique with the lack of them in Portugal. The Portuguese goal is often characterized as making the African dominions yield a profit on investments, furnish raw materials, and provide protected markets for metropolitan industries (Hance 1967, p. 23). In a recent issue of Africa Today, Jennifer Davis concluded that “the prospects for profit are exciting. Small wonder that the Portuguese want to keep their colonies now” (1970, p. 6). John Gellner, in a special to the Toronto Globe and Mail (1971), wrote: “Thus the strategic aim of the Portuguese is to hold what is worth holding.…Angola is a very rich country.”

African revolutionaries and their sympathizers reiterate these economic explanations of Portuguese behavior in a steady stream of books, pamphlets, and leaflets. Marxist in outlook, the authors couch their analysis of Portugal's colonial motives almost exclusively in economic terms. With the exception of revolutionary leaders such as Amilcar Cabral and Eduardo Mondlane, who identified other reasons for Portugal's retention of African colonies, many of those favorable to African liberation emphasize the economic rationale for Portuguese colonialism. (For representative accounts, see Chaliand 1969, pp. 5-12; Dependency…, pp. 3-6; Davidson 1969, pp. 25-28.)

The Ovambo form the biggest population group in South West Africa: at the 1960 census they numbered 239, 363, or 45 per cent of the total population of all races, and in 1966, 270, 900, or 44 per cent of the total (South Africa 1967, p. 18). By 1971 their numbers had increased to 342,000, or 45 per cent of the population (South Africa 1971, introduction). The Ovambo people have been settled within the area now known as Ovamboland, or Owambo, for about four centuries. The territory is bordered by the Kunene River and Angola in the North, the Kaokoveld in the West, and Kavango in the East (see Map 1). It is isolated from the southern and western parts of South West Africa by vast tracts of uninhabited land. This comparative isolation has protected the Ovambo people from interference and attack by other tribes; on the other hand, it has made communication and trade with the most developed part of South West Africa difficult and expensive and has, therefore, tended to inhibit the economic development of the territory.

There are seven Ovambo tribes: the Ndonga, the Kuanyama (“the meat eaters”), the Ngandjena, the Kuambi (“those who work with clay”), the Kualuthi, the Mbalantu, and the Nkolonkati-Eunda. These tribes are linked by broad ties of kinship and by the fact that their languages are, for the most part, interintelligible. These factors, and the territorial isolation of the Ovambo people, have combined to create in them a strong sense of solidarity.

It is now more than twenty years since the Rome Treaty (1958) creating the European Economic Community (EEC) was signed. Eighteen African States were also associated with EEC at the signing of the Treaty. However, during that period numerous views have been expressed either for or against the special preferential treatment that was arranged for these eighteen African nations. Some of the arguments have been made without a proper understanding of the background leading to the association of these African States with the EEC. As a result, these viewpoints have been misleading to those people who are interested in African development problems and to observers in general.

In view of this unsatisfactory situation and the author's concern, this paper will be devoted to examining the economic background to the association, with respect to French economic and financial policies in Africa. It is hoped that this exercise will help create a better understanding of the position in which French African states found themselves at the time the Rome Treaty was signed and, therefore, the rationale for their association with the EEC.

Indeed, the African countries were justifiably concerned with their world trade position, because for all of them international trade had been very important as a source of foreign exchange and capital, which are essential for their economic development and also for raising the living standards of the masses of the people.

Seemingly oblivious to outside pressure and censure, the present-day Nationalist government of South Africa remains firmly wedded to a policy of separate development, known as apartheid, for its white and nonwhite populations. Criticism from abroad is inevitably parried with the assertion that South Africa has its own means of dealing with questions of race, based on more than 300 years of historical experience. Traditionally this attitude has been upheld and shared by South African historians, particularly by those of Dutch extraction, who comb South Africa's past in search of material to justify the prejudices and policies of today. “History,” writes a contemporary South African historian, “has become a tool to perpetuate the laager mentality of a minority group embattled forever against British imperialists, missionaries, Kaffirs, Communists, liberals, and the world in general” (Patterson 1957, p. 37).

More specifically, South Africa's current inflexible position on apartheid may be related to events that took place in the early part of the nineteenth century. During this period, British efforts to bring about the “equalization” of the native peoples led to the “first clash of significance” between the British and the Afrikaners (Van Jaarsveld 1964, p. 8), as the descendants of the Dutch Boers call themselves; and because the agents of the London Missionary Society at the Cape and in England agitated for many of the reforms introduced by the home government in its South African colony, the Afrikaners have held them responsible for setting in motion the events leading to the Great Trek of 1836.

Most countries of Black Africa started independence with the parliamentary democratic system. At the time, two versions of the system existed: the Westminster model and the Western European, typified by the French experience. While it is true that some regimes had been moving in the direction of pseudo-monopolistic arrangement, the tacit agreement between the nationalist and colonial elites was that the new rulers of Black Africa would accept and implement parliamentary democracy.

The orthodox parliamentary system is typified by the Westminster model. At the formal headship of the system is a monarch whose functions are symbolic and integrative rather than political and administrative. Executive authority in the parliamentary system is invested in a council of ministers, also known as the government. A small and inner committee of this council, designated as the cabinet and comprising the most influential and intelligent ministers, is the effective forum for governmental authority. The cabinet as a structure, then, combines executive and legislative functions. At the head of the cabinet is the prime minister. Appointed nominally by the monarch but in reality by the majority party in parliament, the prime minister is the chief executive and chairman of the cabinet. Because he is conventionally the equal of his colleagues, the effective power of the prime minister over the cabinet is a function of his personality, intelligence, and experience.

It is ironic that the United States, a nation purportedly born, out of revolution, should he so naive in its understanding and reticent in its recognition of other indigenous uprisings and nationalist aspirations. In the post-World War II era, no area has experienced more political upheaval than the continent of Africa. The rejection of colonialism within a wave of nationalist insurgency has produced no less than forty independent states. North Africa, in particular, provides a faithful reflection of the road to independence for the whole of Africa. The four Muslim states have attained sovereignty through United Nations supervision, French concessionary reluctance, and bloody civil war. Yet, in all cases, the United States belatedly withheld sympathetic diplomatic action.

American political insensitivity toward the Maghrib is evidenced by the scarcity of published materials on United States-North African relations. Perhaps if American interests in the area were only the product of the post-1945 period, this historiographical inadequacy could be excused within the argument of unfamiliarity and other foreign priorities. Yet the argument would be a shallow one. The United States has enjoyed deep-rooted, though irregular, historical connections with North Africa both before and during the colonial period. Although material on United States relations with North Africa, 1776-1945, centers on only a handful of topics, those sources of contact alone would partially invalidate the specious excuse of unfamiliarity and irrelevance which ethnocentric scholars raise.

Stepping ashore upon the ruined site of Kilwa island in 1824, British official W. F. W. Owen sadly reflected upon the history of the East African coast:

Owen's astute observations characterize the East African coast as it appeared in the nineteenth century; as he noted, the situation was far different prior to the European arrival.

Long before Portuguese caravels rounded the Cape, the East African coast played an important part in the Indian Ocean trading complex. The littoral was certainly known by the people of Arabia in the eighth century before Christ. In fact, the ancient Southern Arabian state of Ausan traded extensively there and may have actually held a portion of the coast (Gray 1962, p. 11; Wainwright 1947). In later centuries, adventurers and merchants from far more distant centers began to traverse the Indian Ocean in order to reach the land of Zanj.

Political philosophy is concerned with the ends and purposes of government. It involves a conception of “the good life” and is primarily, though perhaps not exclusively, concerned with human beings. A conception of the good life presumably implies a view of how to attain that end. In this view, then, political philosophy is also concerned with the question of means, or how is the good life to he won and secured for the members of a particular community or society or state? Of those people of African ancestry who have done systematic thinking about the ends and purposes of government in Africa in the period since the end of World War II, there are few who measure up to the stature and originality of Frantz Fanon. (For biographical sketches on Fanon, see Caute 1970; Geismar 1969, 1970; Césaire et al. 1962; de Beauvoir 1965, Ch. 5, especially pp. 583, 591-597, 606-607.)

A rejected evolué in both Martinique and France, Fanon came to realize the extent of his own depersonalization and that of other blacks. It was this awareness which, in Geismar's words (1969, p. 24), led him first to make “a revolutionary carthartic break with the past,” and then to “a more definite African revolutionary ending.” His life, as Aimé Césaire (1962, p. 119) pointed out, was short, active and full of personal tragedy.

Fifty or more years ago much of Nigeria and other African countries still lacked the rudiments of a lively business in the modern sense of the word. This was mainly because there were much less goods and services to dispose of, much less purchasing power, much less serviceable means of transport for handling the meagre surpluses than are available today. However, there existed centres of aboriginal economic organization which also, even in a rudimentary way, achieved the circulation of goods. For instance, relevant information is available which indicates that even where barter prevailed, extrafamilial and intertribal exchanges were to be found, while what might be termed protomarkets, where particular kinds of goods were bartered at particular times, existed.

From the point of view of the functional common denominator, exchange, therefore, proofs abound which falsify the concept that separates different levels of “the market” or of “marketing” and concentrates attention only on the “modern” aspect. This is to say that what existed in Africa in this regard was, and to some extent is, the first end of a continuum whose other end is the modern market. In many cases, a movement toward the middle of this continuum and even to the modern end is today observable in nearly every country in Africa. Thus, in truth, the difference is not in kind but rather in degree.

What I am trying to emphasize is that the trading instinct is strong in many Africans.