The Conversation – Africa – Page 14

December 8, 2025

South Africa’s water, energy and food crisis: why fixing one means fixing them all

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Thulani Ningi, Research associate, University of Fort Hare

South Africa faces serious water, energy and food problems. Drought, overuse and ageing infrastructure strain water supplies. Coal-fired electricity is not sustainable in the long term and causes high greenhouse gas emissions. Tens of millions of people can’t afford enough food because of rising prices. These crises are interconnected: water is needed to grow food and cool power plants; and energy is needed to pump and treat water and grow food. Problems in one area affect the others. Agricultural economists Thulani Ningi and Saul Ngarava and environmental law specialist Alois Mugadza were part of a team that researched uncoordinated funding and planning in food, water and energy. They explain what needs to change.

What are South Africa’s water, energy and food problems?

Water: Millions of South Africans still don’t have reliable access to clean water, proper toilets, or steady electricity.

The country has limited water sources, and has experienced changing climate (floods and drought).

Energy: The country suffered from regular power cuts between 2007 and 2024.

A big part of the problem is that South Africa still depends heavily on coal for energy. The transition to green energy is slow and largely depends on individuals, businesses and families to buy solar systems. However renewables are now cheaper in many parts of the country.

Food insecurity: High levels of hunger, with about one in four families going to bed hungry, show how the system isn’t working well. About 23% of children in South Africa live in severe food poverty.

How are food, energy and water funded now?

Apart from receiving government funding, these sectors are funded by institutions like the World Bank, European Investment Bank and African Development Bank, as well as local institutions such as the Public Investment Corporation and Land Bank.

Our research found that funding decisions about water, energy and food are usually made separately.

This makes it difficult to get funding for projects that could solve problems across all three areas at once. For example, using solar power to pump water for irrigating crops could help with energy, water and food needs all at the same time.

Our research found that one of the main funding problems is that the current financing model is highly centralised. Decisions are taken in national offices about local projects. Big institutions like the Public Investment Corporation and Land Bank dominate decision-making.

Communities are rarely consulted, even though they understand their own challenges in managing drought or securing food best. They’re also not chosen to lead projects.

In addition, international funding tends to go towards big infrastructure projects, rather than helping local communities get basic services like clean water and toilets.

Another problem is that local municipalities sometimes lack the technical capacity, skilled personnel and financial management systems to deliver effectively. For example, a national plan to roll out solar-powered water pumps in small towns might not happen if the municipalities lack the ability to procure the pumps or maintain them.

Many municipalities are also mired in corruption and mismanagement, which undermines their ability to act on plans or use funds appropriately.

The current financing model slows down progress, wastes resources, and fails to build the resilience needed for a just transition, away from coal and towards renewable energy.

How should water, energy and food projects be funded?

Water, energy and food should be funded through financing hubs. These could pool funding from different sectors and sources specifically to support integrated projects.

Development finance institutions should also use blended finance, which means combining public and private money, to fund climate-friendly infrastructure. In practice, this works by using government or donor funds to reduce the risk for private investors. This makes solar energy, water systems, or sustainable farming projects more attractive to private investors.

We also suggest that decentralised funding instruments be set up. These include:

Provincial green funds – locally managed public funds that support environmentally friendly projects, like renewable energy or sustainable farming, within a specific province.
Local water, energy and food financing trusts – these would fund projects that meet the needs of specific communities.
Water, energy and food communities – there should be localised funding mechanisms allowing communities to self-finance and self-govern their own initiatives. Communities could come together and decide on projects, and finance these themselves. But a proper framework needs to be in place to prevent abuse of finance going to these initiatives.
Community development finance institutions – locally rooted financial organisations that provide loans and support to underserved communities for projects like small businesses, housing and basic services.

Banks and government agencies should check how big projects affect all three – water, energy and food – before approving a project in one area. Departments should share information, work together on projects, and keep track of money openly. These steps make the system clearer, fairer and easier to understand.

What needs to happen to get there?

Finance institutions must change how they work. Development banks should require different government departments to set up teams that work across departments. This will ensure that food, water and energy projects are rolled out in a coordinated way.

Local communities should have a say in how money is used. This helps make sure funding matches both national plans and the needs of local people. Community-based organisations like stokvels, cooperatives and catchment partnerships should be explored and developed as alternative funding structures.

Finally, development finance institutions should prioritise pilot projects involving women, youth and smallholder farmers. These can highlight how local leadership drives sustainability and equity.

Thulani Ningi received funding for his PhD studies from the South African National Research Foundation. He is also currently employed as a Socio-Economics Manager at Conservation International, working on Behavioural Incentives for Land Transformation and Natural Grasslands research.

Saul Ngarava receives funding from Project Groundwater funded by the Lincolnshire County Council and Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA), through the Flood and Coastal Resilience Innovation Programme, which is managed by the Environment Agency, United Kingdom.

Alois Mugadza does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. South Africa’s water, energy and food crisis: why fixing one means fixing them all – https://theconversation.com/south-africas-water-energy-and-food-crisis-why-fixing-one-means-fixing-them-all-267374

December 7, 2025

Nigeria has jailed Biafra separatist leader Nnamdi Kanu: why it risks backfiring

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Onyedikachi Madueke, Teaching Assistant, University of Aberdeen

The terrorism conviction and life sentence handed down by the Federal High Court in Abuja on Nnamdi Kanu, leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra, brings an end to a ten-year legal battle. But it opens up a larger political and security question for Nigeria.

Kanu has long championed the secession of Nigeria’s south-east region, a demand the Nigerian constitution forbids. The last major attempt at secession, in 1967, triggered a 30-month civil war that killed over one million people, mostly Igbo civilians.

Kanu’s campaign for Biafra as an independent Igbo state is rooted in decades of perceived political marginalisation and unresolved historical grievances of the Igbo.

The Igbo are one of Nigeria’s three largest ethnic groups – the other two are the Hausa and the Yoruba. Yet no Igbo person has held the presidency or vice presidency since 1999.

Additionally, Igbos feel marginalised because of the way in which Nigeria has organised its regional political groups. The south-east geopolitical zone that the Igbo live in encompasses only five states. The Hausa and the Yoruba have geopolitical zones that are made up of at least six states each. This structural imbalance is widely seen to weaken the south-east region’s political influence and reduce its share of federal resources and representation.

Such perceived marginalisation is what has driven the Biafra separatist movement.

In protest against Kanu’s arrest in 2021, armed groups linked to the movement have imposed and violently enforced “sit-at-home” orders. A report shows that between 2021 and 2025 over 770 lives, including civilians and security personnel, have died in the subsequent violence.

This has contributed to the region’s transformation from one of Nigeria’s most peaceful zones into a centre of insecurity.

As a scholar researching security and separatist conflicts in Nigeria, I argue that a court judgement cannot resolve the political, economic and psychological grievances that underpin the Biafra separatist sentiment in Nigeria.

The region’s demands extend beyond any single personality. They include calls for greater political inclusion, equitable federal representation, improved infrastructure, economic revitalisation, and a national reckoning with the legacy of the civil war.

Until these issues are addressed, the ideology of Biafra will continue to resonate.

In fact, Kanu’s life sentence is more likely to escalate than de-escalate the Biafra agitation, for three reasons. Firstly, by providing an opening for more extremist leaders to emerge. Secondly, by turning Kanu into a martyr for the Biafran cause; and lastly, by potentially opening the door to greater violence.

Leadership removal rarely ends insurgencies

The expectation that harsh punishment will end the Biafra agitation misunderstands how separatist or insurgent movements behave. Decades of global research show that removing a charismatic leader, whether through imprisonment, exile or execution, does not necessarily weaken a movement. In many cases, it produces the opposite effect.

Nigeria’s own history with Boko Haram is an example. After the group’s founder, Mohammed Yusuf, was killed extra-judicially in police custody in 2009, Boko Haram did not collapse. Instead, it radicalised under Abubakar Shekau, who adopted a more extreme ideology and militarised the group’s structure.

The same pattern can be seen elsewhere. Research by Jenna Jordan and Ulaş Erdoğdu shows that Islamic State (ISIS) survived multiple leadership losses. Other terrorist groups like Al-Shabaab, the Taliban and the PKK have all endured and adapted despite strikes to remove leaders.

These cases demonstrate that leadership removal often fragments the organisation, empowers hardline commanders and intensifies violence.

Kanu’s life sentence risks producing similar dynamics. The Indigenous People of Biafra has already splintered into factions, some captured by criminal networks.

A life sentence may remove the last figure capable of restraining extremist or opportunistic actors. Before Kanu’s arrest, his organisation had no major factions, and south-east political leaders engaged directly with him to calm tensions.

Kanu alleged that he had set out conditions for ending the agitation, which the Nigerian government did not honour. His imprisonment removed this central point of contact. Meaningful engagement by the Nigerian government could become more difficult.

In addition, when movements lose central authority, they tend to fracture into smaller, less accountable groups, each pursuing its own agenda.

Elevation to martyrdom

Kanu is not the first leader of the Biafra agitation. Before the Indigenous People of Biafra emerged, Ralph Uwazuruike’s Movement for the Actualisation of the Sovereign State of Biafra, founded in 1999, had mobilised thousands using largely non-violent methods. In 2010, the Biafra Zionist Front was formed by Benjamin Onwuka.

The sentiment that fuels these movements has persisted for more than five decades. Leaders emerge, are repressed, and are replaced by new voices.

What Kanu’s sentencing may do, especially if he dies in prison, is to elevate him to the status of martyr, a symbolic role far more powerful than that of an active leader. Martyrdom transforms political grievances into moral ones. When a community perceives a leader as unjustly punished, that figure becomes a rallying point for collective identity and resistance.

For example, the Niger Delta environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa was extrajudicially executed by Nigeria’s military junta in 1995, and became a lasting symbol of regional marginalisation and injustice.

Many political stakeholders in the south-east now perceive Kanu’s sentencing as unjust, reinforcing existing grievances.

The ruling may worsen insecurity

The south-east is already experiencing its worst instability in decades. Armed groups, some ideological, others purely criminal, have used the emotive appeal of Biafra to justify assassinations, kidnappings, extortion and attacks on state institutions.

Kanu’s sentencing could intensify these trends.

Factions seeking to avenge him may escalate attacks on security forces or political figures.

Splinter groups may interpret the verdict as proof that peaceful agitation is futile.

Confusion surrounding Kanu’s future may weaken the few actors still capable of influencing extremists.

Criminals will likely expand operations under the guise of political resistance.

Pathways towards de-escalation

The conclusion of Kanu’s trial should have opened a window for political reflection. Instead, it risks deepening the mistrust between the south-east region and federal authorities.

Nigeria must consider three steps.

First, federal authorities should open structured political dialogue with south-east stakeholders.

Second, the government should develop a plan for the region that combines security and development. Development, not coercion, weakens separatist sentiment.

Third, Nigeria must confront the trauma of the civil war through a national truth-telling and reconciliation process. Without acknowledging past injustices, nation-building remains impossible.

Onyedikachi Madueke does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Nigeria has jailed Biafra separatist leader Nnamdi Kanu: why it risks backfiring – https://theconversation.com/nigeria-has-jailed-biafra-separatist-leader-nnamdi-kanu-why-it-risks-backfiring-270643

December 7, 2025

Djibouti’s democracy takes another knock as ageing president engineers yet another term

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Federico Donelli, Associate Professor of International Relations, University of Trieste

Djibouti’s president, Ismaïl Omar Guelleh, pushed through constitutional changes removing presidential age limits in October 2025. The changes enable him to remain in power beyond 2026. He has already ruled for 26 years and is a shoo-in at elections in April 2026. Guelleh leads a country on the Horn of Africa where the Red Sea meets the Indian Ocean – one of the world’s most strategically important locations. Federico Donelli, who has studied Djibouti’s political landscape, unpacks the dynamics that have kept him in power.

Who is Ismaïl Omar Guelleh and what is his governance style?

Ismaïl Omar Guelleh, commonly known as IOG, has been the president of Djibouti since 1999. He succeeded the country’s first president, Hassan Gouled Aptidon, whom he served as chief of staff for more than two decades.

Now aged 77, Guelleh is one of the longest-serving leaders in east Africa.

He belongs to the majority Issa-Somali ethnic group, which has monopolised power since the country gained independence from France in 1977. Djibouti’s population is largely composed of two main groups – the Issa-Somali and the Afar. This demographic mirrors the context in Afar regional state of neighbouring Ethiopia. It’s mirrored even more closely in the de facto state of Somaliland due to clan and family ties.

Consequently, political dynamics in Djibouti frequently intertwine with developments in these neighbouring states. This is particularly true when it comes to security, cross-border mobility and clan-based networks.

In theory, Djibouti is a presidential republic with a multiparty system. In practice, however, political authority remains highly centralised, leaving little room for genuine political competition.

The ruling Popular Rally for Progress (RPP) party dominates parliament, holding 45 of the 65 seats. The broader pro-presidential coalition, the Union for the Presidential Majority (UPM), controls 58 seats in total, consolidating the executive’s influence over the legislative arena.

Opposition coalitions such as the Union for Democratic Change (UAD) and the Union for Democratic Movements (UMD) face significant constraints. They have occasionally boycotted elections. There have been five presidential elections and five legislative elections since 1999.

International organisations frequently highlight restrictions on the media and public dissent, with the majority of outlets being state-controlled.

Guelleh also owes his longevity to a close-knit network of officials, family members and political allies who occupy key roles in government and business. The coalition around him is not always entirely harmonious. Subtle rivalries have emerged among political figures and members of his inner circle from time to time. But these dynamics do not pose a political threat.

What accounts for his longevity?

Guelleh’s tenure can be attributed to a combination of institutional changes, geopolitical factors and elite dynamics.

One such element is constitutional reform. Over the years, Djibouti’s parliament has eroded key democratic safeguards of the 1992 constitution.

First came the removal of presidential term limits in 2010. These changes enabled Guelleh to stand for re-election and reduced presidential terms from six to five years.

The November 2025 parliamentary vote to abolish the presidential age limit followed this pattern. This eliminated the last formal restriction on his eligibility for office come April 2026.

A second factor is Djibouti’s strategic importance. Located at the entrance to the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, a vital shipping lane connecting the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, the country is home to several foreign military bases. Represented here are the US, France, China, Japan and Italy. For many international partners, the stability of the Djibouti government has been viewed as a source of predictability in a volatile region.

Consequently, there has been limited external pressure for political reform. In turn this has reinforced the stability of the current leadership.

Thirdly, the cohesion of the ruling elite has played a central role in domestic politics. A network of influential figures, including members of the president’s family, long-standing advisers, and economic figures, has formed around Guelleh’s leadership. This group controls key state institutions and sectors of the economy, providing strong incentives to maintain leadership continuity.

Djibouti’s economy relies primarily on port and logistics services, particularly its international port which serves regional trade, as well as on the revenues generated from hosting multiple foreign military bases.

At the same time, the absence of an openly designated successor has sparked quiet competition within this circle. The prospect of a post-Guelleh era has, in recent years, encouraged various individuals to seek to increase their influence. This has ranged from family members to senior advisers and political figures.

Emerging rivalries do not openly challenge the president’s authority. Nevertheless, they do illustrate the complex internal dynamics that underpin the current political order.

What has he achieved; what does he promise?

Over more than two decades in office, Guelleh has presided over a period of relative stability in Djibouti. While neighbouring Somalia and Ethiopia have experienced ongoing insecurity and internal conflict, Djibouti has remained comparatively insulated.

The government frequently cites this stability as one of the defining features of his tenure.

Djibouti has also developed its position as a strategic hub. The presence of multiple foreign military bases, alongside port and logistics facilities, has generated significant state revenue.

Since 2016, Chinese investment and management have increasingly shaped the country’s main port infrastructure, further integrating Djibouti into global commercial networks. These factors have raised the country’s profile in international trade and security arrangements.

In addition, Djibouti has played a part in regional diplomacy. It is an important member of the Intergovernmental Authority on Development (IGAD). This is the regional organisation mandated to address conflicts rooted in resources, political competition and identity. Djibouti’s most recent engagement includes participation in the attempts to mediate the conflict in Sudan.

The government has also highlighted certain institutional reforms as markers of progress. An example is the abolition of the death penalty in 2010.

However, structural challenges remain significant. Djibouti has a very young population. Issues such as unemployment, high living costs and limited political participation persist.

What does the age-limit vote tell us about Djibouti’s politics?

The decision was adopted without public debate and with no dissenting votes among the 65 lawmakers present. This reflects the extent to which the National Assembly aligns with the executive.

The vote also highlights the central role of elite consensus in Djibouti’s political system. Key figures within the ruling coalition, including representatives from the Issa and co-opted Afar elites, supported the reform. For these groups, maintaining leadership continuity is often seen as a means of preserving access to economic and political resources. This is preferred to uncertainties associated with a change in leadership.

Bypassing a popular vote on the constitutional provision limits the opportunity to see the true levels of support or opposition. This has the effect of particularly excluding younger citizens who have only ever known one president.

Overall, the vote shows that constitutional provisions can be modified when they hinder leadership continuity. This reinforces a model in which formal rules adapt to political needs rather than constrain them. It also highlights the importance of elite cohesion in maintaining the current political order.

As the 2026 presidential election approaches, the government’s dominant narrative remains one of continuity, supported by those who view stability as essential to protecting national and regional interests.

However, socio-economic pressures and underlying concerns about the inevitable succession continue to influence public expectations, particularly among younger citizens.

Federico Donelli is affiliated with the Italian Institute for International Political Studies (ISPI), the Nordic Africa Institute (NAI), and the Orion Policy Institute (OPI)

– ref. Djibouti’s democracy takes another knock as ageing president engineers yet another term – https://theconversation.com/djiboutis-democracy-takes-another-knock-as-ageing-president-engineers-yet-another-term-271009

December 5, 2025

Pops Mohamed mixed old and new to reinvent South African music

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Gwen Ansell, Associate of the Gordon Institute for Business Science, University of Pretoria

Ismail Mohamed-Jan – better known by South African jazz fans as Pops Mohamed – has passed away at the age of 75. His life in music represented a struggle against narrow, oppressive definitions – of race, instrumental appropriateness and musical genre.

A few days before his death, a remastered version of his 2006 album Kalamazoo, Vol. 5 (A Dedication to Sipho Gumede) had been released on digital platforms ahead of an official launch.

Mohamed was born on 10 December 1949 in the working-class gold-mining town of Benoni in South Africa. By his mid-teens, the Group Areas Act – which divided urban areas into racially segregated zones during apartheid – had forced his family to move to Reiger Park (then called Stertonville).

The suburb was allocated to residents of mixed heritage: Mohamed’s father had Indian and Portuguese ancestry; his mother, Xhosa and Khoisan forebears.

Influences

Significantly for his musical development, Reiger Park was a stone’s throw from the Black residential area of Vosloorus and the remnants of the historic informal settlement of Kalamazoo, where people of all racial classifications had lived side by side. He told me in a radio interview about travelling in the area with his father:

I used to witness migrant workers from the East Rand Property Mines coming with traditional instruments to the shebeens (taverns) and playing their mbiras (thumb pianos) and their mouth bows … and at the same time you’d have jazz musicians playing Count Basie stuff on an old out-of-tune piano … and these traditional guys would be joining in, jamming on their instruments.

At home, Mohamed’s family played music from LM Radio – which defied apartheid by broadcasting from Mozambique – and Springbok Radio – the first commercial station in South Africa, owned by the state (“I got attracted to Cliff Richard and the Shadows”).

As he became more interested in music, but still at high school, he’d take trips to central Johannesburg, to Dorkay House and the Bantu Men’s Social Centre, both famous as cultural centres for Black artists and thinkers. There he found his first guitar teacher, whose name he remembered as Gilbert Strauss. He heard legends like saxophonist Kippie Moeketsi rehearsing.

His first teenage band was Les Valiants (The Valiants). And by the early 1970s he was with The Dynamics, influenced by the assertive Soweto Soul sound of groups such as The Cannibals and The Beaters (later Harari).

Partly to pay school fees and partly out of a sense of adventure, those teenage bands sometimes played in white clubs, enduring the bureaucracy of special permits and sometimes playing behind a curtain while white men mimed out front. Apartheid laws prohibited venues from allowing racial mixing.

Something musically very interesting, he suggested, was emerging at that time from “how we copied the Americans and couldn’t get it quite right”. He was teaching himself to play a Yamaha keyboard with a ‘disco’ pre-set, falling in love with the sounds of Timmy Thomas and Marvin Gaye. “But then I was also influenced by Kippie Moeketsi and those melodies”.

Challenging boundaries

Introduced by As-Shams label founder Rashid Vally to reedman Basil Manenberg Coetzee, and together with an old Dorkay House friend, bassist Sipho Gumede, that eclectic mix went down on record as the first album by the band Black Disco, which produced the popular hit Dark Clouds.

Mohamed wasn’t yet confident to call himself a jazzman, but:

Sipho and Basil told me: just play what your heart is telling you. They were my mentors.

The success of Dark Clouds led to a second album, this time with drummer Peter Morake, called Black Discovery/Night Express – until the officious white minority apartheid censors blue-pencilled the first two words.

And after that the Black Disco band, with shifting personnel, was very much in demand at more upmarket clubs in the coloured townships.

Already the music was challenging boundaries:

We were bridging between a Jo’burg and a Cape Town feel – but still keeping the funk alive … But it was always very important for us not to stay inside the classification.

He explained:

The regime divided us – people classified coloured (mixed race) had identity documents; Black people had the dompas (pass book). We didn’t accept that separation. Black Disco was our way of saying: we are with you.

With work precarious and earnings uncertain, Mohamed played across genres and in multiple bands. Playing pop covers with his band Children’s Society did not satisfy him, but it provided some income. And he scored an even more substantial hit with them in 1975 with the original song I’m A Married Man.

It had been Black Disco that established the politics of his music. And in the shadow of the anti-apartheid 1976 Soweto uprising, with drummer Monty Weber, he established the project Movement in the City – a name he said was code for fighting the system.

Traditional sounds

He began exploring traditional instruments too, fearing that this heritage would be taken away.

So he mastered various mouth-bows and whistles, berimbau, didgeridoo, a range of percussion and the Senegambian kora, a stringed instrument with a long neck. On the kora, his style was unique, combining West African motifs, South African idioms and his personal, plaintive, tuneful melodies. It became his favourite instrument, “telling me more about what’s happening in myself … about who I am”.

Mohamed had a prolific and diverse recording career from that time on, producing more than 20 albums. Five of them, titled Kalamazoo, revisited Khoisan and African jazz tunes. He established a close relationship with individual Indigenous Khoisan musicians, healers and their communities, taking frequent trips to visit and play music with them in the Kalahari Desert.

With former Earth Wind and Fire trumpeter Bruce Cassidy he recorded the duo set Timeless. He also toured Europe with the London Sound Collective and voice artist Zena Edwards. Sampling, he said to me, was “a nice way of educating young people about traditional sounds”.

He established a partnership with steelpan player and multi-instrumentalist Dave Reynolds: “We’re both committed to a South African musical identity,” Reynolds says, “and we both play instruments that we weren’t born to – Trinidadian pans and Senegambian kora – but were rather called to.”

Mohamed’s final video.

In late 2021, Mohamed was hospitalised, and his convalescence left him struggling to work for a period. He continued working. His most recent release, Kalamazoo 5, used digital remastering to extend the sound palette of earlier work.

It showed how, never content to stay within anybody else’s boxes, he held on to his mission of “taking the old and mixing it with the new. We’re not destroying the music: we’re giving it a way to live on.” Through his recordings, it will.

Gwen Ansell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Pops Mohamed mixed old and new to reinvent South African music – https://theconversation.com/pops-mohamed-mixed-old-and-new-to-reinvent-south-african-music-175710

December 4, 2025

God in Nigeria: the country’s novelists help us understand the complexity of Christianity

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Adriaan van Klinken, Professor of Religion and African Studies, University of Leeds

From conflict to prosperity, Nigerian novels trace a history of how Christianity has changed after colonialism. Luis Quintero/Pexels

In African literature, Christianity has usually been shown as a foreign religion brought to the continent by European missionaries and colonisers. But in the past few decades, Nigeria’s writers have dealt with it in a far more complex way as Christianity is rooted in, and transformed by, local realities, ranging from conflict to prosperity.

A new open source book by a scholar of African religion, Adriaan van Klinken, sets out to understand these changes through the eyes of Nigeria’s fiction writers. We asked him five questions.

What made you decide to use fiction to understand religion?

What fiction and religion have in common is that both are works of human imagination and meaning-making. I became interested in literary writing as a commentary on religion. As the late Kenyan writer, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, put it:

The novel, like the myth and the parable, gives a view of society from its contemplation of social life, reflecting it, mirror-like, but also reflecting upon it.

In the book I ask a two-fold question. How do the novels of today’s writers represent religion as a central part of African social life? But also, how do they reflect on religion, critiquing and reimagining it?

I chose Nigeria because the country has become the continent’s major centre of both literary production and Christian growth. (According to researchers, Nigeria’s Christian population grew by 25% to 93 million from 2010 to 2020. The country is projected to have the third largest Christian population in the world by 2060.)

When I started reviewing novels by contemporary Nigerian writers, I discovered that, in many texts, Christianity is a central theme in one way or another.

So, how is Christianity being written about?

The Nigerian classic Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe was published in 1958. It’s about the changes and tensions in traditional Igbo society because of colonisation. Christianity is described as a newly arriving religion. At first it has little traction but thanks to its links to colonial institutions, it gradually grows its influence, causing division in society.

This critical take on Christianity by Achebe and other African writers of his generation has been well documented.

But both African literature and African Christianity have developed. The writers I discuss were born after independence and engage with Christianity in the postcolonial period.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s 2003 novel Purple Hibiscus signals a transition. In it a teenage Igbo girl, Kambili, grows up in a family dominated by a fanatically religious father.

By contrasting how faith is experienced in two Catholic families, Adichie explores the complexity of Nigerian Catholicism and its transformation from a European missionary product into something locally rooted. Towards the end, Kambili has an apparition of the Virgin Mary in a Nigerian landscape. It’s an empowering religious experience for her.

Adichie invokes Christian imagery and symbols in a story about gender issues. Other writers have done something similar in stories about issues of sexuality (Chinelo Okparanta’s Under the Udala Trees) and ecology (Chigozie Obioma’s The Fisherman). Dominant forms of Christianity are critiqued in these novels for their links to colonialism, patriarchy, homophobia, and environmental destruction. But Christian traditions are also creatively reinterpreted.

Nigerian-born sociologist Wale Adebanwi argues that African literary writers are social thinkers. I expand this to argue they’re religious thinkers, too. They think about and with religion, precisely because religion – not only Christianity, but also Islam and indigenous religions – is part of the fabric of society that shapes their own identities.

What can we learn about Christianity and conflict?

In one chapter I focus on the Biafran War (1967–1970). This tragic episode in Nigerian history is still a source of national trauma, especially among the mainly Christian Igbo people in the east. Although far from simply a religious conflict between Christians and Muslims, the civil war shows how religion is enmeshed with other major divisions in Nigerian life. Like ethnicity, economic resources, political power.

The war and its aftermaths are a big theme in Nigerian literature. I discuss two novellas – Chris Abani’s Song for Night and Uzodinma Iweala’s Beasts of No Nation. They don’t mention the war by name but can be seen as a commentary on it.

Both tell of the traumatising impact of brutal violence through the eyes of child soldiers. Both draw on Christian objects, texts, and symbols while processing postwar memory and the complex question of forgiveness. Avoiding simple answers, the books suggest Christianity might offer resources for a much-needed path of healing and reconciliation.

Another chapter is about Christian-Muslim relations. This is important given Nigeria’s religious demographics (both Christian and Muslim populations are growing fast, with Muslims in a slight majority). But also because of the history of tensions and conflicts between Christians and Muslims. This has (geo)political significance (just see US president Donald Trump’s threat of military intervention over alleged “Christian persecution” in Nigeria).

Uwem Akpan’s Luxurious Hearses (2008), E.E. Sule’s Sterile Sky (2012) and Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani’s Buried Beneath the Baobab Tree (2018) are all set in the Muslim-dominated north.

They all complicate simplistic views and offer nuanced insight into inter-religious relations in a time of escalating tensions between Christians and Muslims. Written by authors from Christian backgrounds, they interrogate the tendency among some Nigerian Christians to see Muslims as the enemy. They also suggest that Christian radicalisation is part of the problem.

By including Muslim characters who protect Christians, and other examples of Christians and Muslims living together harmoniously, these novels promote an everyday practice of neighbourliness.

How do writers discuss Pentecostalism?

Nigeria, and Lagos in particular, has been described as the Pentecostal capital of the world. Pentecostalism is a fast-growing form of Christianity. It emphasises the experience of the holy spirit, energetic worship, divine healing, and a gospel of prosperity. Nigeria (and Africa more generally) has become a major centre of Pentecostalism. As such it’s become a prominent theme in Nigerian literature.

By and large, it’s not favourably depicted. The satirical novel Foreign Gods, Inc by Okey Ndibe (2014) is a case in point. Through the character of Pastor Uka, it explores how hypocricy, exploitation and deception could accompany the prosperity gospel. It suggests Pentecostalism could be continuing the colonial project, with its hostility towards indigenous religions.

For my part I agree, but argue that the depiction of Pentecostalism in Nigerian fiction is somewhat one-sided. It fails to consider the diversity and possibilities within this movement.

Pentecostalism also gives hope to impoverished communities. It empowers people socially and economically. It creates local and global networks, and even builds new cities.

What do you hope readers will take away?

Of course, I hope people will go and read these novels (as well as many others I couldn’t include). Then they too can experience the fascinating life-worlds in them that religion is such an intricate part of.

Good literature is able to avoid simplistic accounts of religion and social life, because by including a diverse range of characters, viewpoints and events it adds nuance and complexity to the conversation.

Debates about whether Christianity has been good or bad for Africa, and Nigeria in particular, can probably never be settled, because so much depends on context and perspective. Nigeria’s writers offer just that.

Adriaan van Klinken does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. God in Nigeria: the country’s novelists help us understand the complexity of Christianity – https://theconversation.com/god-in-nigeria-the-countrys-novelists-help-us-understand-the-complexity-of-christianity-270894

December 4, 2025

Who was Albert Luthuli? The murdered South African leader who put his people above himself

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Judith Coullie, Senior Research Associate, English Studies, University of KwaZulu-Natal

South African liberation leader Albert Luthuli died on 21 July 1967 near his home in Groutville, in the South African province of KwaZulu-Natal. A government inquest concluded his death was an accident – that he was hit by a train. This was always disputed by his family and almost 60 years later they were vindicated.

In 2025, a court ruled that Luthuli was murdered, his death the result of “assault by members of the security special branch of the South African police”. The ruling corrects long-standing historical records. It adds Luthuli’s murder to the catalogue of torture and assassination that the apartheid government increasingly relied on to suppress dissent.

Albert John Mvumbi Luthuli was born around 1898. He was an educator, Zulu chief, and religious leader. Africa’s first Nobel Peace Prize winner was also president-general of the African National Congress (ANC) from 1952 until his death at 69.

The ANC resisted white minority rule in South Africa and Luthuli was active in the organisation’s defiance campaign. He became head of the ANC in 1952, four years after apartheid was formalised.

In the last decades of his life, Luthuli was silenced and persecuted. Once democracy was achieved in 1994, honours were heaped on him – his image is the watermark on South African passports.

Still, Luthuli is largely overshadowed by fellow Peace Prize winners Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. And while over 14 million copies of Mandela’s autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, have been sold, Luthuli’s account of his own life, Let My People Go, is comparatively little known.

Much of my research on life writing has focused on autobiography published during apartheid, including analysis of Let My People Go.

It’s a book that deserves to be more widely read. It defies expectations that the autobiographer will offer a candidly personal account of self and life.

Luthuli’s autobiography mostly focuses on the struggle for justice. It depicts a steadfastly moral man whose fight against racist oppression inspired activists within and beyond South Africa, and should still.

Who was Albert Luthuli?

Let My People Go offers a brief sketch of Luthuli’s ancestors and early life. His grandparents were Zulu Christian converts. He was born, he calculated, “in the year 1898, and certainly before 1900” near Bulawayo, in today’s Zimbabwe. He was not born in his ancestral home, Groutville, because his father had left to serve in the Second Matabele War. After the conflict, his parents stayed on at a Seventh Day Adventist mission station.

His father died when Luthuli was a baby. At about 10, he was sent back to Groutville for his schooling. Qualifying as a teacher, he became principal of a small school. A government bursary allowed him to study further at Adams College, where he performed exceptionally well and was invited to join the staff and rose up the ranks. He met Nokukhanya Bhengu there and they married in 1927.

Luthuli loved teaching. However, in 1935, after prolonged urging from tribal elders, he and Nokukhanya decided he was duty-bound to accept nomination as chief of the Umvoti Mission Reserve.

For 17 years, he dedicated himself to improving the lot of the people of Groutville and providing principled leadership in confronting the injustices of racism. He took the “revolutionary step of admitting women” to local meetings. He organised African sugar farmers and held a seat on the Native Representatives Council. In 1938, he was a member of the executive of the Christian Council of South Africa.

In the years that followed he would remain deeply involved in Christian and civic organisations. In 1945 he was elected onto the executive of the ANC’s provincial branch, becoming president of it in 1951 and, in 1952, of the whole organisation.

An oval-framed vintage studio photo of a young African man in suit and tie, a middle path in his hair and a proud expression on his face/. — A young Luthuli.
Wikimedia Commons

Overseas travel widened Luthuli’s perspective, whether it was a missionary conference in India (1938) or a nine month church-sponsored lecture tour of the US (1948).

His autobiography recounts in detail his religious, civic and political involvement, weaving in a narrative of increasingly draconian and devastating apartheid policies.

Writing painstakingly and usually without emotion – though disgust and horror sometimes break through – he challenges the “twisted, distorted” versions of history promoted by the regime. He offers meticulous evidence of the irrationality and immorality of racism.

Banned

From 1953, repeated banning orders prevented Luthuli from leaving his home or publishing or distributing any written material. In 1956 he was arrested on a charge of high treason. (Discharged in 1957, he was acquitted in 1961.)

Despite this, Luthuli carried on with his autobiography, dictating his story to his friends Rev Charles Hooper and his wife Sheila Hooper. They compiled the draft which Luthuli then edited.

It was a foregone conclusion that Let My People Go would be banned and Luthuli knew it was unlikely to enlighten apartheid rulers:

There is not really even a common language in which to discuss our agonising problems. (They) cannot speak to Africans except in the restricted language of Baasskap.

The term refers to whites being boss, and anyone classified as non-white adopting a position of subservience.

Nonetheless, the narrator insists that:

If the whites are ignorant of the realities, the fault does not lie with us.

Autobiography of a selfless self

Readers of autobiography tend to look for insight into the author’s personal life, but Luthuli’s gives greater weight to political-historical analysis.

In the book, he repeatedly denies his own importance, reminding readers that much of what he experienced was shared by other oppressed South Africans. This is key to the depiction of his character in the book.

He only briefly mentions his family. He and Nokukhanya have seven children, but he doesn’t share their names and draws a “veil” over any details about their marriage.

Four statues stand against a backdrop of Table Mountain in Cape Town. They are slightly stylised. — From left, statues of Luthuli, Tutu, De Klerk and Mandela, peace prize winners.
flowcomm/Flickr, CC BY

Nokukhanya, he writes, “ungrudgingly” assumed full responsibility for their home and smallholding so that he could focus on his public duties. At Adams College, for example, he was also a choirmaster, soccer team administrator and Zulu cultural organiser, and served on an association for African teachers.

Under his leadership, the ANC became a mass organisation. Luthuli had to travel the country in support of the defiance campaign:

I quite literally neglect my family and feel extremely guilty about it.

Luthuli’s reserve is reinforced by his use of the passive voice. For instance, he describes being urged to take leadership roles, rather than seeking these himself.

Nonetheless, even in these apparent self-deflections, Luthuli’s character emerges: his centre of gravity does not lie in the domestic sphere but in service to the community. He is driven by his “desire to serve God and neighbour”.

By refusing the “self-assertion and self-display” that is typical of autobiography, Let My People Go portrays a selfless self.

The humility of a man who cannot be humiliated

Luthuli’s story depicts a humble man who refuses to yield, despite growing persecution. Or, as Charles Hooper observes in the introduction, the “humility of a man who cannot be humiliated”. Luthuli expresses gratitude when outrage might seem more reasonable. He describes his prison cell, when he was ill and isolated, as a prayerful “sanctuary”.

A leafy park with a realistic statue of a black man, dapper in a suit. — Statue of Luthuli in KwaZulu-Natal, where he was born.
J Ramatsui/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

Accounts of casual racism, police harassment and brutal assault are harrowing. Hard to read, too, is Luthuli’s self-recrimination. He reproaches himself for “having contributed too little” to the political struggle.

This reserve doesn’t obscure his character, it illuminates it. He emerges as a thoughtful, humble man committed to non-racism, non-violence and justice who even tries to understand Afrikaners’ fears of “being swamped”.

Farsighted, he predicted the rise of “terrorism (and) legalised murder by army and police forces”. Yet he retained faith that “the outcome of the struggle” would be justice for all.

After his release from prison, Luthuli, still banned, lived in isolation in Groutville. He was murdered before the banning order expired.

Judith Coullie does not receive funding from any organisation.

– ref. Who was Albert Luthuli? The murdered South African leader who put his people above himself – https://theconversation.com/who-was-albert-luthuli-the-murdered-south-african-leader-who-put-his-people-above-himself-269729

December 4, 2025

Becoming human in southern Africa: what ancient hunter-gatherer genomes reveal

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Marlize Lombard, Professor with Research Focus in Stone Age Archaeology, Palaeo-Research Institute, University of Johannesburg

New genetic research is shedding light on some of the earliest chapters of our human history. In one of the largest studies of its kind, scientists analysed DNA from 28 individuals who lived in southern Africa between 10,200 and a few hundred years ago. The study provides more evidence that hunter-gatherers from southern Africa were some of the earliest modern human groups, with a genetic ancestry tracing back to about 300,000 years ago. Marlize Lombard, an archaeologist whose research focuses on the development of the human mind, breaks down the key findings.

Why did you study the DNA of ancient hunter-gatherers in southern Africa?

According to the genetic, palaeo-anthropological and archaeological evidence, modern humans – Homo sapiens – originated in Africa hundreds of thousands of years ago and then spread around the world. But the evolutionary process of exactly how, where and when this happened is debated.

Africa has the greatest human genetic diversity and the hunter-gatherers of southern Africa represent some of the oldest known genetic lineages. They can therefore reveal more about where and when we originated as a species.

After thousands of years of migration, modern African populations have a mixed genetic heritage. So their genomes are not very helpful for understanding our deep evolutionary history. For that, we need to look at genetic variation among individuals living before large-scale population movements on the continent.

In southern Africa, it means going back to before about 1,400-2,000 years ago. It also means that such rare ancient hunter-gatherer DNA can provide valuable information, not available in the DNA of living people.

What we specifically wanted to learn from the ancient southern African DNA was to which extent the biological and behavioural patterns we observe in the fossil and archaeological records were continuous and particular to the region.

For example, at a South African fossil-bearing site called Florisbad, we have a human skull dating to about 260,000 years ago that shows a possible transition from Homo heidelbergensis into Homo sapiens. And from about 100,000 years ago there was a rapid increase in technological innovations such as paint-making, glue-making and long-range weapon use.

We sequenced the DNA of 28 ancient individuals from what is now South Africa, all dating to the Holocene epoch that started about 11,700 years ago. DNA sequencing “reads” the order of the chemical base-pairs that make up an individual’s DNA. This helps us to reconstruct a person’s genome, or their complete set of genetic information. Among other things, it can tell us something about the individual’s biological and behavioural characteristics.

Eight of the individuals used to live near the coast at Matjes River, in today’s Western Cape province. Several others lived at inland sites across South Africa. We dated their remains with radiocarbon dating, finding that the oldest died about 10,200 years ago at Matjes River and the most recent died just 280 years ago in the Free State. (All DNA from archaeological contexts is scientifically known as ancient DNA.)

What did the DNA reveal?

Our study shows that the genetic makeup of the southern African hunter-gatherer population didn’t change much for 9,000 years across the whole of South Africa, not only in the southern Cape, even though their technologies and lifeways may have changed or differed during this time.

All ancient southern Africans dated to more than 1,400 years ago had some unique Homo sapiens genetic variations. The ancient DNA had genes associated with UV-light protection, skin diseases, and skin pigmentation. These could have been essential to life on southern Africa’s grasslands and fynbos. Among the genetic variants that were common to ancient and modern humans were genes related to kidney function (potentially connected to improved water-retention) and immune-system related genes.

About 40% of the ancient southern African genes are associated with neurons, brain growth and the way that human brains process information today. Some of these gene variants may have been involved in the evolution of how humans pay attention today. Attention is a cognitive or mental trait that seems to have evolved differently in African Homo sapiens compared to the now extinct Neanderthals and Denisovans from Eurasia. It may have played a role in the successful spread of Homo sapiens out of Africa after about 60,000 years ago.

What does this tell us about human evolution and population migration?

Our work shows that some biological adaptations for becoming modern humans were unique to southern African hunter-gatherers who lived in a relatively large, stable population for many thousands of years south of the Limpopo River.

Co-author and geneticist from Uppsala University in Sweden, Carina Schlebusch, commented that

Because we now have more unadmixed ancient genomes from southern Africa, we are gaining better population-level insights, and a much clearer foundation for understanding how modern humans evolved across Africa.

Our findings contrast with linguistic, archaeological and some early genetic studies pointing to a shared ancestry or long-term interaction between different regions of Africa. Instead, it seems that southern Africa may have offered humans a climate and landscape refuge where hunter-gatherers thrived, adapting to a place rich in plant and animal resources for 200,000 years or more. During this time, we see no genetic evidence for incoming populations. Instead, sometime after about 100,000-70,000 years ago, small groups of southern African hunter-gatherers may have wandered northwards, carrying with them some of their genetic and technological characteristics.

According to population geneticist Mattias Jakobsson at Uppsala University,

these ancient genomes tell us that southern Africa played a key role in the human journey, perhaps ‘the’ key role.

Up to now, humans seemed to have developed their modern anatomical (physical) form before they developed modern behaviour and thinking. Learning more about ancient genes could help to close this gap, especially once more becomes known from genetic studies of other ancient African forager groups, and indigenous peoples elsewhere on the globe.

Marlize Lombard works for the University of Johannesburg. She received funding from the National Research Foundation of South Africa.

– ref. Becoming human in southern Africa: what ancient hunter-gatherer genomes reveal – https://theconversation.com/becoming-human-in-southern-africa-what-ancient-hunter-gatherer-genomes-reveal-270378

December 3, 2025

Africa’s drylands need the right kind of support – listening to the pastoralists who live there

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Claire Bedelian, Senior Researcher, SPARC Consortium, ODI Global

Africa’s drylands are often imagined as vast, empty spaces. Romantic wilderness on the one hand. Zones of hunger, conflict and poverty on the other. Media stories tend to emphasise crises and scarcity, portraying these regions as peripheral and fragile.

But this narrative obscures a more complex and hopeful reality. Across these landscapes, millions of pastoralists and dryland farmers are constantly adapting, innovating, and building livelihoods in some of the continent’s most variable environments.

Drylands are areas of low rainfall and high temperature that cover 60% of Africa. They support the livelihoods and food security of half a billion people who depend on pastoralism and crop farming. These regions are integral to biodiversity, culture and economies. Pastoralists alone supply over half the continent’s meat and milk, sustaining millions of households and enterprises. They underpin food systems and trade networks that reach far beyond the drylands.

Yet drylands people face mounting pressures. These include political marginalisation, insecure land tenure, persistent conflict and climate change. These challenges are often worsened by misguided investments and inappropriate policies. Among them are land grabs and mining concessions to rangeland conversion.

In addition, many initiatives in the drylands have failed to deliver lasting change despite decades of investments. Too often, they are shaped by outdated, crisis-driven narratives. These misrepresent drylands as “empty”, “unproductive”, or in need of “saving”.

Such interventions disrupt livelihoods and distort the underlying logic of dryland societies, while being used to justify yet more external investment.

For more than a decade we have been researching dryland livelihood systems in Africa and the Arab Region. We are part of the six-year SPARC programme (Supporting Pastoralism and Agriculture
in Recurrent and Protracted Crises), which informs more feasible and cost-effective policies and investments in the drylands of Africa and the Middle East. We recently produced a documentary that followed five stories of pastoralists driving positive change in Africa’s drylands.

We found that the most effective support for drylands builds on the local systems and expertise that people already rely on. Yet many external initiatives still attempt to replace these rather than work with them. This matters because efforts that overlook local systems often weaken resilience and increases vulnerability.

Why past efforts often fall short

Misconceptions about drylands define them by what they lack rather than by their strengths. They oversimplify complex, dynamic systems to rationalise interventions aimed at taming dryland variability. The result has been projects that often undermine resilience instead of strengthening it.

For example, many investments in large-scale irrigation schemes have diverted water from traditional livelihoods while failing to boost agricultural productivity.

Similarly, fixed water infrastructure such as boreholes or dams can disrupt pastoral mobility. In Turkana, northern Kenya, permanent water points contributed to resource conflicts and rangeland degradation, and many have since fallen into disuse.

These “imported” solutions rarely account for local priorities or ecological realities. That’s why dozens of boreholes lie abandoned even in areas still facing water shortages.

Limited long-term learning compounds this problem. Few organisations return to assess how previous resilience projects fared. Millions are spent on building resilience, yet there is little follow-up to understand the outcomes of past efforts.

In contrast, locally-led approaches have proven far more effective. Along the shores of Lake Turkana, joint planning between local communities and county government has produced investments people value and maintain. These include shared water systems, fishing equipment and community gardens.

These examples underline a key lesson: initiatives designed around community priorities and local governance structures are more likely to have lasting impact.

Dynamic, adaptive and innovative

While external projects often struggle, dryland people continue to adapt in creative and diverse ways. Their resilience is rooted in mobility, cooperation and environmental knowledge passed down through generations.

Pastoralists and farmers have developed finely tuned strategies for living with this variability such as unpredictable rainfall, recurrent droughts and occasional floods. They move herds, manage grazing and water resources, diversify incomes, and draw on social networks that spread risk.

Mobility and flexibility are central. Herders move strategically across rangelands to access water and pasture, balancing environmental and social factors in real time. In flood-prone Bor, South Sudan, many Dinka women shift seasonally from livestock to fish preservation and trade.

Pastoralists also embrace digital technology, dispelling myths of technological illiteracy. Herders use mobile phones, social media, and digital tools such as Kaznet and Afriscout to locate water and monitor pasture.

Initiatives like Livestock247 – a livestock traceability and marketing platform – show how tech can open markets and improve herd management when aligned with pastoralist social values and practices.

Informal networks are another cornerstone of resilience. Motorbike riders scout for pasture during droughts, local traders offer credit to women, lorry drivers deliver goods to remote areas, and mobile money agents keep remittances flowing. In times of crisis these social and economic linkages often provide more reliable safety nets than formal aid systems.

Rethinking support: building on what works

If governments, donors and development partners are serious about helping Africa’s drylands become more peaceful, prosperous and resilient, they must start by recognising the expertise, agency and innovation that already exist.

Effective support means investing in – and strengthening – the systems that already work rather than replacing them with rigid, top-down solutions. These include mobility, local governance, informal trade, and indigenous knowledge

Empowering women and youth is key. When given opportunities and resources, they are often the first to innovate, diversify livelihoods and rebuild communities after crises.

Iterative, context-specific efforts strengthen resilience in the drylands, not rapid, transformational change. Small-scale, locally-grounded efforts can have a lasting impact. In many post-conflict recovery examples, smallholders steadily rebuilt agriculture through gradual improvements in seeds, fertilisers and tools. They do this with minimal government support.

Building resilience in drylands is not a technical fix. It requires flexibility, listening, and partnership over control and prescription.

2026 is the International Year of Rangelands and Pastoralists (IYRP). It is a year for highlighting the importance of drylands for food security, biodiversity and sustainable livelihoods, and for elevating pastoralist’s contribution and influence over policy and investment priorities. It offers an opportunity to shift the narratives from outdated myths of scarcity and crises to those that champion the agency, knowledge and resilience of dryland people.

This requires sustained commitment – placing dryland communities at the centre of decisions, nurturing their innovations, and resisting attempts to impose incompatible models.

A new story of Africa’s drylands is emerging, one grounded in respect, recognition and partnership. One worth amplifying for a more peaceful, resilient and prosperous future.

Guy Jobbins and the SPARC Consortium receive funding from the UK Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office. However the views expressed do not necessarily reflect the UK government’s official policies.

Claire Bedelian does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Africa’s drylands need the right kind of support – listening to the pastoralists who live there – https://theconversation.com/africas-drylands-need-the-right-kind-of-support-listening-to-the-pastoralists-who-live-there-269975

December 3, 2025

Sudan’s protesters built networks to fight a tyrant – today they save lives in a war

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Lovise Aalen, Research Professor, Political Science, Chr. Michelsen Institute

Sudan has a long history of civilian-led resistance, with young people playing a key role. For example, informal neighbourhood networks established in 2013 to survive repression under three decades of authoritarian rule have since transformed into vibrant support systems.

These groups helped mobilise mass protests in 2018. They have provided a lifeline for communities in the ongoing civil war, which started in 2023.

During the mass protests, youth-led networks organised political sit-ins and demonstrations against the Islamist regime of Omar al-Bashir. They were ultimately successful in overthrowing a 30-year dictatorship.

We are researchers in the fields of anthropology and political science, studying youth mobilisation in authoritarian states. In a recent paper, we studied the emergence and role of Sudan’s neighbourhood committees and informal networks. These became the backbone of protests.

We found that young people built grassroots networks through engagement in different forms of voluntarism and charity. They built resistance structures under the repressive environment of the Islamist regime. Later (around 2013 or so), these developed into neighbourhood committees organising resistance underground.

And since the outbreak of war in April 2023, Emergency Response Rooms, which are community-led networks, have been providing crucial humanitarian relief.

African youth mobilisation is often seen as an outcome of tension between an urban underclass and a repressive state. We argue that in Sudan, a collaboration between different classes, including the middle class, has been key in the fight against autocratic governance.

We found that the committees enabled protests. They played a vital role in organising emergency responses during times of crises.

Building the resistance

Under the repressive policies of the al-Bashir regime, political activities were not allowed in public spaces. Opposition was heavily suppressed.

Despite this, young people found innovative ways to create political spaces. Neighbourhood committees became sites of resistance, emerging as a critical infrastructure for grassroots mobilisation.

The committees represent a unique blend of political and practical action. They serve a dual functionality – mobilising for change while addressing immediate community needs. This underscores the potential of informal, decentralised networks to drive both political and social transformation.

They were initially formed during the 2013 anti-austerity protests as neighbourhoods’ underground cells. These committees were informal, hyper-local networks of politically engaged youth.

Over time, they evolved into organised structures. They facilitated protests, provided essential services and emergency responses during crises. In the 2018 uprising, they coordinated logistics. They also provided real-time updates through social media.

The committees also supported a sit-in at the military headquarters in April 2019. This became a focal point of the uprising. This sit-in presented a vibrant community space where youth experienced a sense of political togetherness. It featured art exhibitions, public debates and cultural performances, creating a shared vision of a better Sudan.

The civil war

The war between the army and a paramilitary group, the Rapid Support Forces, has put more than 30 million people – about two-thirds of the population – in need of humanitarian aid. This has created one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. Conflict and blockades have meant international efforts to send aid hasn’t always been possible.

During the transitional period after al-Bashir’s exit and the 2023 war, the committees transformed into emergency response rooms. These provided critical services, such as healthcare, food and water. These rooms were run by the same youth networks that had led the protests. They drew on their pre-war experiences of grassroots mobilisation and humanitarian aid.

Amid a devastating civil war, they carry on the idea of political togetherness. Bonds of trust, necessity and solidarity established years ago have transcended ethnic or class divisions. They have created civilian resilience against state repression.

Lessons in resilience

The committees’ ability to adapt to new challenges underscores the importance of grassroots networks in both political and humanitarian contexts.

The concept of political togetherness, as seen in Sudan, reveals how temporary alliances across class, gender and ethnic divides can create a cohesive force for change.

This has implications for understanding youth movements globally, particularly where formal political spaces are inaccessible or untrustworthy.

The adaptability of Sudan’s neighbourhood committees illustrates the resilience of grassroots networks. By stepping into the void left by state failure, these committees provide essential services and also reinforce their legitimacy within their communities.

This suggests that such networks can serve as a foundation for future governance models, especially in post-conflict reconstruction efforts.

However, our study also reveals risks associated with informal and flexible structures.

The lack of formal governance mechanisms within these committees leaves them vulnerable to co-optation, fragmentation and the erosion of trust over time.

Without proper institutional support, the cohesion and effectiveness of these networks may wane. This is especially when the crises or transitions are prolonged.

What next?

In a post-war Sudan, both the Sudanese government and the international community should aim to preserve the emergency response rooms’ autonomy and grassroots nature. This should happen while providing resources and institutional support to enhance their capacity for community service and crisis response.

Activists within Sudan and similar contexts should continue to build on the model of political togetherness. This means fostering inclusive alliances that transcend traditional divides.

By prioritising both political mobilisation and community service, these grassroots networks can maintain the momentum for change while addressing immediate needs.

The humanitarian efforts that the Sudanese people invented are based on previous experience in civil engagement. The current call for a civilian government, which was also a demand by the protesters during the 2018 uprisings, is rooted in political togetherness. It is also linked to the long history of civilian governance practices at the grassroots level.

Lovise Aalen receives funding from the Research Council of Norway (grant no. ES620468) and the Sudan-Norway Academic Collaboration (SNAC). She is a member of the board of the Rafto Foundation for Human Rights.

Mai Azzam receives funding from the Bayreuth International Graduate School for African Studies (BIGSAS) and from the Gender and Diversity Office (GDO) of the Africa Multiple Cluster of Excellence, University of Bayreuth, Germany.

– ref. Sudan’s protesters built networks to fight a tyrant – today they save lives in a war – https://theconversation.com/sudans-protesters-built-networks-to-fight-a-tyrant-today-they-save-lives-in-a-war-270176

December 2, 2025

South Africa needs to rethink how it measures intellectual and developmental disabilities – what’s lacking

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Lieketseng Ned, Lecturer, Stellenbosch University

The effective planning and delivery of services for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities in South Africa is severely constrained by the lack of reliable data.

Intellectual disability is characterised by significant limitations in:

intellectual functioning (reasoning, learning, problem solving)
adaptive behaviour (a range of everyday social and practical skills)

which originate before the age of 22.

Developmental disabilities are a diverse group of chronic conditions due to an impairment in physical, learning, language, or behaviour areas. Intellectual disability, autism, cerebral palsy, Down syndrome and fetal alcohol syndrome are some of the conditions.

South Africa measures disability at population level using the Washington Group Short Set of six functional questions. This ensures international comparability. But it doesn’t adequately capture intellectual and development disabilities. This is because the questions only capture difficulties in doing basic activities. They don’t capture a diagnosis. It’s therefore difficult to know what diagnoses have led people to report difficulties.

This makes disaggregation by disability diagnosis difficult. Data disaggregation by disability types is key. It contributes to effective policy, resource allocation and budgeting as well as appropriate intervention and targeted services.

This article builds on our work researching disability in South Africa for over 10 years.

In it, we propose pragmatic steps to improve the ability to monitor the status of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities of all ages. South Africa can add to the evidence base by producing robust, actionable metrics that strengthen population data. In turn this will enhance planning and implementation.

Current measurement landscape

Disability measurement in South Africa rests on two main pillars.

The first is administrative records. These include:

the South African Social Security Agency’s medical assessments for disability grants
the Department of Basic Education’s records of learners with special needs
the South African Revenue Service’s Disability Tax Rebate system (which also requires a medical diagnosis and assessment)
the Department of Health healthcare registers.

These all provide useful service-level insights. But they only capture people already in contact with services. And they use different coding standards.

The second pillar is population-based surveys. These include Washington Group questions on disability. This generates internationally comparable prevalence estimates. But this measurement doesn’t include children under 5 years. The nature of the questions also means that a wide range of predominantly invisible disabilities are missed.

For children, the Washington Group/Unicef Child Functioning Module is internationally recognised as a valid measure for 2–17 year olds. It is available and recommended. But it’s still not widely implemented in South Africa.

As a result, the current system remains inadequate in reliably disaggregating data by disability type, age, severity or onset.

Measurement limitations

Population-based measures of functioning don’t provide a diagnosis. It is therefore difficult to identify people with intellectual and developmental disability within the data.

Additionally, the Washington Group does not ask about psychosocial functioning. An example of such a question could be: Do you have difficulty forming relationships?. Relying on it alone may undercount many people whose primary impairments are cognitive, adaptive or psychosocial.

Ideally, it would be beneficial to have both the diagnosis and the functional profile.

National reporting also leaves an important early-childhood blind spot. Infants and many toddlers (0–4 years) are not captured in the same way as older children and adults. Yet this is the period when early detection and intervention can have the most impact. The Washington Group/Unicef measure improves data for children from 2 to 4 years. But it isn’t embedded in the country’s data collection platforms.

Data on young children are further limited by uneven developmental surveillance and the narrow use of the Road to Health Booklet. The booklet serves as a comprehensive record of a child’s medical history, health status, growth and development.

Administrative records are also inconsistently coded and weakly linked. This makes them an unreliable source of data on type of disability. Single-item indicators (for example, “difficulty communicating”) risk misclassification unless analysed alongside onset and other related functioning.

What is possible?

The question that we asked in our recently completed country assessment in collaboration with Special Olympics South Africa is:

how does one use data on the functioning profile to understand diagnosis and vice versa?

Such a crosswalk would allow identification of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities in the data. As an initial step, we created and used a composite indicator. This could potentially assist in identifying people 5 years and older.

For each dataset, we used a combination of the already existing Washington Group Short Set variables to create the new “With intellectual and developmental disabilities” variable.

This was followed by running cross-tabulations of the “with possible intellectual and developmental disabilities” versus “without intellectual and developmental disabilities” with a number of other health-related variables. These cross-tabulations were used to identify gaps in accessing health care services.

We acknowledge that this is an imperfect measure. But it provides a starting point to try and understand the trends in access to health care.

Next steps

We recommend the following:

Amend survey instruments to include the Washington Group alongside diagnosis questions for those under five.
Do research to understand the functional profile of people with people with intellectual and developmental disabilities based on their responses to the Washington Group Short Set.
Expand training for field staff on the new modules. This should include interviewing techniques.
Ensure national and subnational coordination.
Publish detailed breakdowns by disability type, by age group (including under 5), and by region.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. South Africa needs to rethink how it measures intellectual and developmental disabilities – what’s lacking – https://theconversation.com/south-africa-needs-to-rethink-how-it-measures-intellectual-and-developmental-disabilities-whats-lacking-268497