Category: The Conversation – Africa

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

The oldest evidence for the use of arrow poison globally was long thought to come from Egypt, dating to 4,000 years ago. It was a black, toxic residue on bone arrowheads from a tomb at the Naga ed Der archaeological site.

New evidence from southern Africa is challenging this.

New research has found poison on stone arrow tips from South Africa dating to 60,000 years ago. It is the oldest direct evidence for hunting with poisoned arrows.

This adds to what is already known about the know-how of ancient African bowhunters. These abilities may have contributed to our species’ long and flourishing evolution in the region, and ultimately the successful spread of Homo sapiens out of Africa.

Hunter-gatherers in southern Africa

The evidence comes from Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter, in South Africa’s KwaZulu-Natal province. The site was partly excavated in the 1980s to preserve archaeological material that could be damaged during the construction of the N3 highway between the cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg.

Umhlatuzana is recognised as an important Stone Age site where hunter-gatherers lived at least 70,000 years ago. It is one of only a few sites in southern Africa where people continued to live until just a few thousand years ago.

In southern Africa, people have a long history of hunting with poisoned arrows. For example, a team of South African and Swedish archaeologists found residues on arrow tips dating to between a few centuries and 1,000 years ago, that revealed how different arrow poison recipes were used.

Recently, three bone arrowheads stored in a poison-filled bone container were reported from Kruger Cave in South Africa dating to almost 7,000 years ago. This pushed back direct molecular evidence of arrow poison use to about 3,000 years before the Egyptian poisoned arrows.

Traces of poison have previously been found on a stick and in a lump of beeswax dating to between 35,000 and 25,000 years ago at Border Cave in KwaZulu-Natal. These were seen as indirect suggestions of early hunting poisons.

As a researcher in cognitive and Stone Age archaeology, I studied some of the artefacts from Umhlatuzana almost 20 years ago, finding use traces and adhesive residues on some of the quartz backed microliths (small, shaped stone tools) from 60,000 years ago. This showed that they were probably used as arrow tips.

Now, Sven Isaksson in the archaeology laboratory at Stockholm University has been able to identify molecular traces of toxic plant alkaloids (chemical substances), known to be an arrow poison, on a handful of these artefacts.

Poison from indigenous plants

This latest research revealed the presence of buphandrine and epibuphanisine toxic alkaloids on five out of ten analysed arrow tips from Umhlatuzana. The same alkaloids were also found on bone arrowheads collected by Swedish travellers in the region 250 years ago. This tells us that the same arrow poison was used for many millennia in southern Africa.

Both alkaloids can be found in several southern African species of Amaryllidaceae, a family of flowering plants growing from bulbs. But only what is colloquially known as gifbol (poison bulb, Boophone disticha) is well-recorded as the source of an arrow poison. The plant’s bulb contains a toxic juice (exudate).

Finding these specific alkaloids on five out of the ten quartz arrow tips studied cannot be coincidental. Ancient hunter-gatherers would have been familiar with the toxic properties of the gifbol exudates. For example, by about 77,000 years ago, people of the same region also understood the insecticidal and larvicidal properties of some aromatic leaves that were used for bedding. So they probably would not have kept the gifbol substance in their living space.

Substances with buphandrine and epibuphanisine molecules are not used commercially or in archaeological conservation, ruling out accidental modern contamination of the arrow tips.

Gifbol bulbs can survive for a century or more, despite drought cycles and fire regimes. The plant is indigenous to South Africa, thriving in grassland, savanna and Karoo vegetation. It is widespread throughout the southern, eastern and northern regions of South Africa, growing within a day’s walk from Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter today. For various reasons, it’s likely that it was also available to the inhabitants of the site thousands of years ago.

The toxic chemicals in the bulb last a long time. They don’t decompose easily, even in wet environments, and they interact well with mineral surfaces like stone arrow tips. That’s probably why they survived for 60,000 years at Umhlatuzana.

Implications of the world’s oldest known poisoned arrow tips

The quartz arrow tips with gifbol poison now represent the first direct evidence for hunting with poisoned arrows in southern Africa, and globally – at 60,000 years ago.

It demonstrates that these ancient bowhunters possessed a knowledge system enabling them to identify, extract and apply toxic plant exudates effectively. They must have also understood prey ecology and behaviour to know that the delayed effect of poison shot into an animal would weaken it after some time. That would make it easier to run down, a technique known as persistence hunting.

Such out-of-sight, long-distance action is a convincing indicator of complex cognition that requires response inhibition (being able to delay an action for a reason). Because poison is not a physical force, but functions chemically, the hunters must also have relied on advanced planning, abstraction and causal reasoning.

Thus, apart from providing the first direct evidence of hunting with poisoned arrows, the findings contribute to the understanding of human adaptation, techno-behavioural complexity and modern human behaviour in southern Africa.

Marlize Lombard works for the University of Johannesburg

– ref. Arrow tips found in South Africa are the oldest evidence of poison use in hunting – https://theconversation.com/arrow-tips-found-in-south-africa-are-the-oldest-evidence-of-poison-use-in-hunting-271444

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Hayley Clements, Senior Researcher, African Wildlife Economy Institute and Centre for Sustainability Transitions, Stellenbosch University

South Africa has a thriving wildlife economy – enterprises like trophy and meat hunting, ecotourism, live wildlife sales and game meat production.

Over the past few decades private (predominantly white) farmers have converted millions of hectares once reserved for livestock into game ranches. These enterprises generate profits and jobs while maintaining natural vegetation and conserving indigenous large mammals.

Government policy considers the sector key to integrating conservation with rural development. The national 2024 strategy is to grow “sustainable and inclusive eco-tourism-based businesses by 10%” every year.

It is also projected that the GDP contribution of game meat will increase from US$4.6 billion (2020) to US$27.6 billion by 2036. The overarching aim is to:

• grow the wildlife economy to include more black landholders and communities

• expand the amount of land that is conserved “from 20 million ha (hectares) to 34 million ha by 2040”.

In South Africa, land uses based on wildlife could address the twin land reform objectives of economic development and empowerment, while also conserving biodiversity.

Land reform is central to the country’s strategy to rectify historical inequities in land access. Beneficiaries of reform include black individuals, families and communities.

Yet little is known about how land reform beneficiaries – who often begin with fewer resources – might realistically participate in the wildlife economy.

We are conservation and wildlife economy researchers with a focus on South Africa’s inclusive conservation agenda. In a recent paper, we explored whether land reform beneficiaries were engaging in the wildlife economy, and what might hold them back or help them.

Knowing more about this would be useful for policymakers.

We found that new landholders were not yet participating meaningfully in the wildlife economy. With focused government help and investment they could benefit from the land through mixed livestock–wildlife enterprises that align with their experience and resources. In this way, South Africa could promote inclusive economic development while safeguarding its wildlife.

The study

Since 1994, the Department of Land Reform and Rural Development has pursued a constitutional mandate of land restitution, land tenure reform and land redistribution. The intention is to redress the historical injustices of apartheid and promote equitable access to land and livelihoods. Many redistributed farms fall within areas of high biodiversity value that are well-suited to wildlife-based enterprises.

In South Africa’s Eastern Cape province, for instance, herds of kudu and springbok are a common sight on hillsides. The land that they roam is no longer managed by white farmers only, but also by black farmers, enabled in part by the country’s land reform programme.

During our study in Addo-Amathole Biodiversity Economy Node we interviewed 19 land reform beneficiaries. It is one of the government’s focal areas in the Eastern Cape for promoting the wildlife economy. It also overlaps with one of the “mega living landscapes” in South African National Parks’ new Vision 2040. The farms in our study cover nearly 50,000ha. They represent two-thirds of the land reform beneficiaries in the province who aspire to be part of the wildlife economy.

To date, land reform programmes in rural South Africa have focused strongly on agriculture. In the Addo-Amathole region, this means livestock farming.

Interviews were conducted in English and isiXhosa and covered wildlife and livestock numbers, revenue streams, infrastructure, business planning, employment, skills and barriers to market access.

We set out to understand how the characteristics of land reform farms align with existing wildlife ranches, what types of infrastructure and investment they would need to grow, and where their strengths already lie. These 19 properties were compared with 74 established wildlife ranches in the region.

The findings

One of the most striking findings is that land reform farms in this region hold a lot of ecological value. Most of the land overlaps with critical biodiversity areas.

Yet only 42% of the farms earned any income from wildlife. On average it contributed less than 5% of total income. Almost all income still came from livestock, despite all of the beneficiaries’ business plans being focused on wildlife enterprises.

The greatest barrier was the lack of basic infrastructure needed to participate legally and commercially in wildlife markets.

Only six farms out of 19 had any perimeter game fencing. Water systems, vehicles and access to game meat processing facilities were very limited. Accommodation for visitors was scarce, with about two-thirds of farms lacking suitable facilities.

Another important finding was that almost all of the land reform beneficiaries’ business plans (submitted to government in their application for land) emphasised specialised trophy hunting or high-end ecotourism enterprises.

These enterprises require hundreds of millions of rands in infrastructure, charismatic wildlife such as rhinos and lions, skilled staff and access to specialised markets.

However, the size and current wildlife densities on land reform farms closely resemble mixed livestock–wildlife ranches. These focus on a mix of trophy and meat hunting, game meat sales and domestic tourism, alongside more traditional livestock farming.

Mixed ranches require far less initial investment and align more closely with the skills many emerging farmers already have. As seen in the COVID-19 pandemic, diversified wildlife ranches can also be more resilient.

What should happen

South Africa’s wildlife economy could become more inclusive if land reform farms were supported to adopt realistic business models in stages. It’s not realistic to copy the high-capital enterprises of some established ranches.

This starts with growing mixed livestock-wildlife enterprises that match existing knowledge and allow farmers to build experience and capital.

The first investment should not be animals, but infrastructure – notably perimeter fencing, water systems and modest visitor accommodation. Then wildlife numbers should be boosted, using existing programmes such as South African National Parks’ innovative game loan and donation programme.

Landscape partnerships like conservancies – where landowners cooperate to manage their land for environmental and economic sustainability – are an option.

National and regional government entities responsible for agriculture, land reform or the environment need to work together.

Joint initiatives could also allow for private investment via the government’s Biodiversity Sector Investment Platform. The platform aims to connect investors with investment opportunities in the sector.

Meanwhile, established ranchers and private operators can mentor emerging wildlife ranchers and help them access markets. Beneficiaries could build on their existing livestock experience while gradually expanding into wildlife activities that match their capacities and resources.

Inclusive wildlife economies could connect economic opportunity, land justice and biodiversity conservation in ways that advance South Africa’s transformation and development goals.

But this will only happen if support is grounded on evidence from research.

Naledi Mneno co-authored the research on which this article is based.

Hayley Clements receives funding from Agence Française de Développement, Oppenheimer Generations Research and Conservation, the Benjamin Raymond Oppenheimer Trust, Jamma Communities and Conservation, and Kone Foundation

Alta De Vos has received funding from gence Française de Développement, the National Research Foundation, Google, the National Institute for the Humanities and Social Sciences, the Global Resilience Partnership, and the Australian Research Council.

Matthew Child and Siviwe Shwababa 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. Land reform in South Africa: how new landholders could prosper from wildlife and not just farming – https://theconversation.com/land-reform-in-south-africa-how-new-landholders-could-prosper-from-wildlife-and-not-just-farming-270986

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Duncan Mitchell, Honorary Professorial Research Fellow, University of the Witwatersrand

The Namib desert of south-western Africa can be extremely hot – the surface temperature can be over 50°C. But a surprising number of around 200 beetle species live on its bare, inhospitable-looking sand dunes.

Scientists studying them were perplexed by the astonishing behaviour of one of the beetle species – a darkling beetle, Onymacris plana.

Like most desert darkling beetles, it is black – a colour that absorbs heat. And it has a flattened body, a big surface area exposed to heat. Scientists didn’t expect to find it active on the sand surface in the dangerous heat of the day. But it sprints in the sun, sometimes pausing in the shade of a desert shrub.

In fact, it’s the fastest of all the invertebrates of the Namib desert sands. This tiny beetle can run as fast as a human can walk.

When humans and other animals run, the fuel burning in our muscles produces heat. The faster we run, the more oxygen we use and the hotter we get.

But not so these beetles.

In an astonishing discovery, we established that the beetle in fact gets cooler when it exercises. This is the first land animal to have been found with this capability (and the first research of its type on a pedestrian animal).

Their cooling system enables them to move around to find their wind-blown food before it’s covered by sand. And they can be active when other animals (predators and competitors) are not. Finally, males can spend more time looking for mates. So we believe they are adapted to move in the sun because it’s good for survival.

The hunt

In the early 1980s, entomologist Sue Nicolson and her co-workers from various universities and research institutes went out on the dunes in the hot sun to measure the temperature of the beetles. They used a thermometer in a fine hypodermic needle to measure each beetle’s temperature without harming it. The needle went into the beetle’s thorax, from underneath. They looked for beetles that had just finished a sprint and others that had rested for the same time in the shade of a shrub. The beetles that had finished a sprint were no hotter than those that stayed in the shade.

In the 1980s, comparative physiologist George Bartholomew and his co-workers from various universities measured how much oxygen the beetles used while running on a treadmill. Running fast took hardly any more oxygen than running slowly. So, running faster would not make the beetles much hotter.

So, we knew how hot the beetles were after a sprint (not very hot), and how much oxygen they used while running (not much). But what no-one had done was to measure the temperature of the beetles while they were running.

We’re a team of scientists who work on how animals’ bodies cope with heat. Much of our desert research is done in the Namib Desert. We wanted to know how the beetles achieved something that looked impossible physiologically: run in the Namib sun.

We attached a fine thermocouple thermometer fed through the end of a fishing pole.

One of our team followed the beetle while it was running in the sun, keeping the weight and drag of the thermometer off it. But the beetles did not get hotter when they ran – they got cooler.

Run like the wind

We calculated what should have happened to the temperature of the beetle. Because it was black, we could estimate how much of the sun’s radiation it would have absorbed. The Namib’s sun is so intense that the radiation falling on a tabletop would boil a kettle.

We measured how far the beetles had run and in what time, so we knew their speed. We could calculate how much heat they were generating in their muscles. Adding the sun’s heating to the heat coming from the muscles, we calculated that, in the hottest Namib sun, the beetles’ temperature should have risen by 5°C per minute. That should have killed them.

The Namib desert’s sand can be burningly hot but its air, blowing in off the Atlantic Ocean, is cool. Running generates a wind over the body. We concluded that the heat from the sun and from the muscles must be carried away by that cool wind.

The males have an especially flattened body shaped like the wing of an aircraft so that they almost float, clear of the hot sand.

We needed to confirm that what we had observed on the sand dune did not conflict with what engineers know about heat transfer (moving thermal heat from one object to another). So, we took beetles into the laboratory. We put them under a lamp which heated them as much as the sun would have done.

Then we blew cool air over them from the front at the speed at which they would have run. So, we mimicked the cool wind they would have felt when they were running on the dune. Switching on the fan dropped the temperature of the beetles by as much as 13°C.

Our laboratory experiments confirmed that the wind generated by running could carry away all the heat that the beetles absorbed from the desert sun. But to survive on the dunes, they had to run. Standing still in the sun in windless conditions would have meant death by overheating.

So evolution has delivered an animal that is cooled by running. This is unique for a pedestrian animal so far, though we think that some desert ants may also be able to do it. Many aquatic animals do cool by swimming and some insects cool by flying.

Carole S. Roberts, Mary Seely, Liz McClain and Victoria Goodall of the Gobabeb Namib Research Institute, Walvis Bay, Namibia, contributed to this research and article.

Duncan Mitchell has received funding from South African National Research Foundation, South African Medical Research Council, Oppenheimer Memorial Trust, Australian Research Council.

– ref. A Namib desert beetle runs to stay cool: how scientists solved the puzzle of this unique and speedy species – https://theconversation.com/a-namib-desert-beetle-runs-to-stay-cool-how-scientists-solved-the-puzzle-of-this-unique-and-speedy-species-269433

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Eutychus Ngotho Gichuru, PhD Candidate in Educational Management, Makerere University

Academics today, around the world, are confined by the way their research output is measured. Indicators that count the number of times their work is cited by other academics, and the relative prestige of journals that publish their papers, determine everything: from career development to research funding.

What does this international system mean for African scholars like ourselves? Our work has found that metrics for measuring excellence are instead acting as a disadvantage for academics who seek to generate knowledge relevant for their communities.

The higher the traditional indicators like citation counts and impact factors are for African scholars, the lower their score for local relevance and community impact. The globally accepted metrics punish what matters most, while blocking African scholars’ career progress.

Our findings show that there’s a need for a philosophical and practical alternative to the existing system. Ngotho’s work towards a PhD in educational management offers one: an assessment framework built on the African ethical principle of ubuntu – “a person is a person through others”. The PhD work suggests a practical, quantifiable assessment tool to create an ubuntu score for academic output.

Taking an academic’s measure

The doctoral study first looked at the evaluation mechanisms being used across all African Research Universities Alliance member universities.

It found that the indicators used as the basis for academic assessment across the globe appear objective in design, but they are not. They foster a deep bias against African scholarship.

1. The h-index measures both publication productivity and citation impact. This inherently disadvantages collaborative scholarship, particularly community-based work, which is essential for social transformation. Our research indicates that 73% of faculty who are engaged in participatory research have h-indices that fail to reflect their true impact. The index has other flaws: it can be artificially inflated through self-citations, and its value changes depending on which database calculates it.

2. Journal impact factors favour journals from the global north. Western Europe and North America dominate academic publishing, contributing 74% of indexed public health journals. Africa represents just 2%. This forces scholars to bypass excellent regional journals that their peers and policymakers actually read. In effect, it silences locally important conversations.

3. Citation counts reinforce negative tendencies against African scholarship in fields like public health and agricultural development. The constant pressure for high publication counts values quantity over quality. According to the PhD research, 61% of African faculty report excessive pressure to publish, leaving insufficient time for the deep contextual analysis that our communities need.

4. Even altmetrics, designed to track broader societal impact, are calibrated for global north social media ecosystems. They typically ignore how knowledge is transmitted in African contexts, for example through community radio programmes, speaking and local workshops. This means promotion committees, focused on social media mentions and blog citations, overlook how African academics actually engage with their communities.

Many African scholars suffer from geographical bias before their work is even read. As the study contends, abstracts have even been rejected if reviewers have low regard for the authors’ institution or country of origin.

Ubuntu: an African alternative

The PhD thesis research provides a philosophical and practical alternative to this dysfunctional system. It’s an assessment framework founded on the African ethical principle of ubuntu, “I am because we are”, which means that any individual’s identity is fundamentally connected to collective wellbeing.

An “ubuntu score” allows for traditional measurement, complemented or surpassed by a collaborative impact quotient. It measures co-creation of knowledge with communities, interdisciplinary teamwork, custodian partnerships, and similar cooperative efforts in forming indigenous knowledge. Ubuntu metrics invert assessment from individual prestige to collective wellbeing, placing value on:

• analytics addressing African developmental challenges

• scholarship published in African languages

• research disseminated in regionally relevant venues like the African press.

From theory to practice: early successes

Preliminary trials carried out in Addis Ababa University in Ethiopia and the University of Nairobi in Kenya revealed that 68% of faculty disadvantaged by the traditional journal impact factor rated highly on the ubuntu-based evaluation, which measured their contribution to society.

Pilot stakeholder panels were conducted at the University of Pretoria (South Africa) and echoed this finding. High-impact scholars who were overlooked by promotion committees wedded to citation counts were identified by community residents. Their excellence, embedded and serving their communities, was erased by conventional metrics.

This is in line with the growing realisation that African universities must shift from being research institutions to innovation engines.

The issue is far bigger than just creating new measures; it involves an entire transformation of academia’s culture.

Ranking systems should come from the African universities themselves. Encouraging citations of relevant articles from one’s region could build up the presence and influence of African publications.

Beyond alternative metrics, a total recomposition of academic values is what ubuntu-style assessment buys into. It does not ask “How visible is this scholar to the world?” but “How has this scholar’s work strengthened their community?” It measures not citations in far-away journals but solutions in local contexts.

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. Measures of academic value overlook African scholars who make a local impact – study – https://theconversation.com/measures-of-academic-value-overlook-african-scholars-who-make-a-local-impact-study-269201

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Tolu Olarewaju, Economist and Lecturer in Management, Keele University; University of Lancashire

Nigeria has endured decades of violent insurgencies and ranks 6th on the 2025 Global Terrorism Index. Numerous people have been killed and millions displaced. The number of casualties from terrorist attacks in 2025 can be seen in both the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data and the Council on Foreign Relations’ Nigeria Security Tracker. Most of the casualties are in places with high poverty levels, as the Nigerian Poverty Map shows.

Tolu Olarewaju, who has researched ethnic poverty, unpacks why regions of violence and poverty overlap in Nigeria.

What is the state of poverty in Nigeria?

Poverty in Nigeria comes in various forms: a lack of income and productive resources to sustain livelihoods; hunger and malnutrition; illness and death; and limited access to education and other basic services. It includes inadequate housing and unsafe environments. It is also seen in a lack of participation in decision-making and civil, social and cultural life.

Nigeria currently has a population of 237 million people and over 133 million Nigerians are living in this kind of poverty. It is higher in rural areas, where 72% of people are poor, compared to 42% of people in urban areas. The current poverty in Nigeria is the result of two key factors:

• history – particularly the slave trade and British colonial rule, which put the economic gain of the British Empire ahead of the development of the local population

• corruption and poor governance practices.

My work shows that when initiatives are introduced to reduce poverty in Nigeria, they are often hijacked by corrupt individuals.

There have been numerous government efforts to combat poverty in Nigeria. The current administration launched the “Renewed Hope Conditional Cash Transfer” programme in October 2023 to cushion the effects of its fuel subsidy removal, which had raised the cost of living and caused inflation. The programme hasn’t made much impact on the level of poverty in the country.

The failures of successive Nigerian governments to reduce poverty stem from multiple factors. They include corruption, poor targeting of programmes, limited funding, weak legislative oversight, political interference, and the absence of a flexible, people-centred approach.

Meanwhile, poverty is the common thread across the places experiencing terrorism in Nigeria. Poor people are more likely to be recruited into terrorist groups, and their targets are likely to be poor people like themselves.

What is ethnic poverty?

Ethnic poverty occurs when there is systemic poverty for an ethnic group. An ethnic group is a social group that shares a common and distinctive history, culture, religion, language, or the like.

My work on ethnic poverty also shows that it can lead to conflicts that are easily labelled as ethnic, religious or tribal.

Ethnic poverty disparities, uneven development and radical ideologies will make any country susceptible to violent insurgencies. This has occurred, for example, in Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Ethiopia.

Ethnic poverty can increase hatred and violence, but economic growth could create a “win-win solution” if wealth can be shared equitably.

Nigeria is a multinational state where more than 250 ethnic groups live, speaking over 500 distinct languages. The three largest ethnic groups are the Hausa in the north, the Yoruba in the west, and the Igbo in the east. The country is prone to violent insurgencies where armed groups who suffer from ethnic poverty try to overthrow the government.

How does ethnic poverty play out in Nigeria?

Poverty in Nigeria is intertwined with ethnicity. Inequalities in wealth and education persist between ethnic groups and regions. For example, 65% of the poor and less educated live in the north, where the Hausa and Fulani ethnic groups are predominant. Poverty levels across states also vary. The incidence of multidimensional poverty ranges from a low of 27% in Ondo (in the south) to a high of 91% in Sokoto (in the north).

What are the solutions to ethnic poverty?

There is no single solution, but several that will mature over time. The Nigerian government should:

• Hold transparent discussions and elections to decide if a regional system of government that focuses on local problems will be better than the current centrally planned government.

• Devise a strategy that combats corruption and focuses on ethnic groups with higher poverty rates.

• Expand education and vocational training to promote peace and tolerance, and employable skills linked to local markets.

• Deliver entrepreneurship training and financial literacy programmes to foster self-reliance and community-based economic growth.

• Offer incentives for responsible industrial development and local enterprise investment in areas of high ethnic poverty.

• Implement policies that promote balanced urban–rural economic growth and integrate ethnic populations economically into the national story.

• Invest in transport, digital and communication infrastructure in remote areas to improve access to education, security and markets.

• Promote inclusive national narratives that celebrate ethnic diversity.

Together, these measures can create a more equitable social contract that gives every ethnic group a stake in national progress. By being transparent and accountable, the government can rebuild trust.

Sustained investment in people, infrastructure and local economies will help break the cycle of inter-generational ethnic poverty. Over time, these efforts can strengthen unity and share prosperity across Nigeria.

Tolu Olarewaju 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 a high poverty rate – what this has to do with ethnic conflicts – https://theconversation.com/nigeria-has-a-high-poverty-rate-what-this-has-to-do-with-ethnic-conflicts-270649

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Mamokete Modiba, Senior Researcher, Gauteng City-Region Observatory

Johannesburg’s inner city is a bustling hub of economic life – a dense, dynamic web of informal traders, adjacent businesses and other users. Informal trading remains an essential survival strategy for many households. It is also a key source of affordable goods and services.

Managing this activity, however, is not straightforward. The city authorities face legitimate pressures to maintain order, safety, hygiene and accessibility in highly contested urban spaces. At the same time, they have a mandate to support livelihoods and encourage inclusive economic participation.

Balancing these objectives is complex. But, as urban planners and researchers, we believe it’s possible and necessary. It needs to be done in a way that recognises the realities of both municipal constraints. These include budgets, conflicting political pressures and traders’ contributions. Traders generate local economic activity and provide convenient, affordable goods and services.

Johannesburg’s informal trading sector should not be viewed as a problem to eliminate. Rather, it should be managed effectively. The focus for the city should be on improving how this is done.

The city has a chequered history of managing informal traders. In October 2025, Johannesburg authorities removed informal traders from De Villiers Street in the heart of the city’s central business district. The city went on to expand the operation to other inner-city areas and townships to promote “order” and “cleanliness”.

This approach was reminiscent of the 2013 Operation Clean Sweep, which disrupted livelihoods and increased urban inequality and violence. After the events in 2025, the Gauteng High Court ruled in favour of traders who took the city to court. But the court’s ruling has not been implemented.

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Read more:
Africa’s city planners must look to the global south for solutions: Johannesburg and São Paulo offer useful insights

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The city’s 2022 informal trading policy provides a roadmap for a different approach. It provides a structured framework that includes:

• recognising informal traders as essential contributors to the urban economy

• setting out clear procedures for registration, spatial planning, permit processes and trader support.

Its strength lies in offering a coherent, rights-based approach that can bring transparency and fairness to how trading spaces are allocated and managed. But its success hinges on implementation that is transparent, inclusive and responsive.

A durable solution

In our view, Johannesburg can turn contested spaces into engines of shared prosperity by:

• investing in adequate infrastructure

• promoting collaboration among traders, property owners, municipal authorities and other affected stakeholders

• enforcing regulations that protect livelihoods instead of punishing them.

A durable solution requires systematic reforms grounded in provisions of the city’s 2022 informal trading policy. This emphasises co-management by various stakeholders. Among them are officials from various relevant departments, municipal-owned entities and the informal traders.

But laws and regulations have to be updated.

By-laws passed in 2012 are still being used to regulate the sector. This is even though a new policy was adopted in 2022.

Updated by-laws would enable the city to reflect the policy’s developmental orientation. This includes its focus on supporting livelihoods and expanding access to jobs and entrepreneurial opportunities. It also includes creating a conducive regulatory and management environment for informal traders.

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Johannesburg’s produce market has supplied the informal sector for decades: a refresh is due

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The policy adopted in 2022 contains several important provisions that support more effective management of informal trading. Key elements include:

1) Informal trading plans.

A comprehensive, independently conducted census of all traders – registered and unregistered – will form the evidence base for this plan. This will enable the city to understand the full scale and distribution of informal trading.

The city must make enough suitable trading sites available. This expanded access would help accommodate more traders legally and reduce pressure on overcrowded locations. Throughout the process, the city must balance the need to demarcate trading sites with:

• the principle of minimal relocation to protect livelihoods

• ensuring that pavements, transport routes and other public amenities remain accessible to all.

2) Appropriate infrastructure and services.

Ensuring that informal traders have adequate services supports their livelihoods and also contributes to cleaner, safer, and more attractive streets for all users. All informal trading environments in the inner city would benefit from access to better infrastructure. This includes water, electricity, street lighting, storage, improved sidewalks, trading shelters and ablution facilities.

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3) Clear articulation of traders’ rights and responsibilities.

The greatest responsibility rests with the city to transform informal trading management. But the policy also makes clear that informal traders themselves have important responsibilities to ensure the system works effectively.

Once allocated trading sites, traders are expected to:

• operate only within designated areas

• avoid restricted or prohibited spaces

• help to maintain order

• conduct their business in line with applicable regulations, policies and by-laws

• play an active role in maintaining the cleanliness and upkeep of their trading spaces

• work collaboratively with the City, neighbouring businesses and other local stakeholders.

The plan also envisages the establishment of an independent informal trade forum, an informal trading task team and a dedicated informal trade unit. Urgent action is needed to constitute these structures.

Next steps

The City has an opportunity to shift from reactive, enforcement-driven approaches to a proactive, developmental model that values informal trading as a central part of Johannesburg’s economy and identity.

There are key next steps that need to be taken.

Firstly, fully operationalising the commitments of the 2022 policy by updating by-laws.

Secondly, by completing a transparent and comprehensive census of all traders. This needs to include involving them meaningfully in decisions about management processes.

Alongside this, the city should prioritise investment in adequate infrastructure and strengthen communication and collaboration platforms. It also needs to establish the dedicated structures envisioned in the policy.

Together, these actions can build an enabling system that protects livelihoods, reduces conflict, and supports a vibrant, inclusive and economically resilient inner city.

Mamokete Modiba previously received funding from the National Research Foundation and Tiso Foundation.

Sarah Charlton previously received funding from the National Research Foundation and various UK & European research grant funders. .

Claire Benit-Gbaffou and Tanya Zack 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. Johannesburg has failed its informal traders: policies are in place, but action is needed – https://theconversation.com/johannesburg-has-failed-its-informal-traders-policies-are-in-place-but-action-is-needed-270911

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Simangele Mayisela, Senior Lecturer, University of the Witwatersrand

Corporal punishment – usually referring to adults hitting children – was abolished in South Africa in 1997. The Constitutional Court had already ruled it incompatible with the bill of rights in 1995. In that judgement, the chief justice said that in his view, “juvenile whipping is cruel, it is inhuman and it is degrading” – as well as “unnecessary”. The South African Schools Act of 1996 also outlawed it. Anecdotal evidence suggests, however, that this practice is still common in many schools and homes. Educational psychologist Simangele Mayisela researched the subject for her 2017 doctorate, asking why some teachers and parents (and even children) believed it was an effective and harmless form of discipline.

How did you study the roots of this behaviour?

My PhD research used observations and interviews at a rural public school in a low-income area in South Africa to investigate the historical and socio-cultural origins of corporal punishment. I wanted to understand how teachers’ childhood and cultural exposure to corporal punishment had influenced their use of it, and how punishing children this way could affect their development.

There hadn’t been much research about how corporal punishment in schools could be passed on in culture from one generation to the next.

Under the oppressive apartheid regime’s system of “Bantu Education”, which aimed to keep black people subservient to white people, corporal punishment was widely used.

But even after South Africa became a democracy in 1994, this practice continued.

What did you see that suggested teachers had a deep belief about corporal punishment?

There were numerous examples.

I observed a grade 4 social science lesson on the types and functions of landmarks. The teacher used the example of Table Mountain in Cape Town as a natural landmark and the Ponte City tower in Johannesburg as a manmade landmark. One boy in the classroom raised his hand and, before he was called on to speak, said: “Sir, here in our village Ntabande (a hill) is a natural landmark and the Vilakazi tavern is a manmade landmark”. The teacher was angry because the boy had spoken without permission, and promised him a “hiding” after the lesson.

I also attended a community meeting about various issues, including scholar transport. The chief asked parents to give their children a hiding if they didn’t get to the bus on time. The message for teachers and parents was that traditional authority encouraged corporal punishment.

Study participants told me that parents supported the practice of teachers physically punishing their children.

In another sign of how people in this community thought about order, discipline, punishment and reward, I saw various kinds of sticks at the school where I did my research. They were not all used for inflicting pain; some were used for pointing to charts, for example. They had different names indicating different functions and intentions. In interviews, children referred to sticks as umqondisi (a person who makes something straight, puts things in order), uphiphizinyefu (cleaner of your mess), or “sweets”.

In the early childhood development class, children started the morning by reciting rhymes and moving their little bodies in meaningful imitative rhythm. One of the rhymes has this line:

Shaya tishela, shaya tishela, shaya tishela (hit the child, teacher).

What did teachers and children say about it?

In focus groups and interviews, generations of teachers (retired and working) said that when they were children, it was normal to be beaten at home and at school. It was hard to avoid being beaten, even if you behaved well.

It was not something to negotiate.

Yet they were grateful to their teachers for having used corporal punishment. They believed there was a direct relationship between that form of “discipline” and their academic success. It had enabled them to become teachers themselves. One teacher described it as “the very instrument that made you who you are”. And academic success was what they wanted for the children they were teaching.

Some could still recite things they had “learned” by rote as children. One mentioned how, when they were children, the teacher would walk around the classroom as learners wrote their essays, and unleash the “hookaai” (also a word for a whip used on animals) on them for spelling mistakes. The same kind of experience was described by the current generation of children in the study.

The teachers even referred to corporal punishment as “sweets” – making it sound like a reward.

In the way they spoke, the participants did not separate corporal punishment from the teaching and learning process. They seemed to think of the three – teaching, learning and beating – as one activity.

In my class there is a stick … I made sure that I leave no mark on a child.

Teachers believed that corporal punishment encouraged children to focus:

The person (child) begins to think.

All three generations of teachers in the study accepted corporal punishment as normal. They took this humiliating experience lightly, laughing about it. In psychology, this is a sign of coping and acceptance.

Several teachers spoke of it as part of their culture: “We believe that we must raise a child with a stick.”

Children had already internalised that idea. One said: “At home they say every child needs to be beaten.” And they believed they had called it upon themselves: “It’s me who has started her (the teacher)”. This created feelings of guilt: “If we start them, the teachers feel the pain”. Children also laughed when talking about punishment.

Of all the children interviewed, only one indicated that being beaten made him think about why he’d done what he did.

What are the outcomes of this disciplinary approach?

Being exposed to corporal punishment all the time made the community see it as a normal tool for raising children.

It appeared that teachers believed that corporal punishment produced desired behaviour from a child. But this was mainly from the child’s avoidance of physical pain, not from understanding what was “wrong” about their behaviour.

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Read more:
Four reasons why physically punishing school children doesn’t work

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In a classroom where children are motivated by avoiding pain and ridicule, there is little development of higher mental functions. Fear and anxiety interfere with thought processing, hindering development and learning. It’s likely to affect the development of psychological functions related to discipline like problem-solving, self-regulation and agency.

For instance, in this study, I observed two siblings from a child-headed family coming late for the whole week while I was at the school, and they would be beaten every day for latecoming. When I engaged with the siblings, they simply said they woke up late and their brother, in high school, also got to school late. They had not learned to solve the problem of being late for school and to regulate their sleep and waking up pattern. In line with education policy, these learners are an example of children experiencing social and economic learning barriers.

The reliance on corporal punishment as a discipline measure deprives children of a chance to discover for themselves what is true and right, and the knowledge and experience they will need in adulthood.

This study was funded by the National Research Fund (NRF) and Social Science Research Council (SSRC).

Simangele Mayisela is a registered Educational Psychologist, a faculty member in the Department of Psychology, University of the Witwatersrand and a Board Member of the Centre for the Study of Violence and Renciliation (CSVR).

– ref. Why do South African teachers still threaten children with a beating? A psychologist explains – https://theconversation.com/why-do-south-african-teachers-still-threaten-children-with-a-beating-a-psychologist-explains-270904

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Jude Kagoro, Postdoctoral Fellow, Institute for Intercultural and International Studies, Universität Bremen

Uganda’s police have long faced criticism for politically charged interventions. These include episodes in which lethal force has been used in ways that observers describe as excessive or indiscriminate. The main targets of restrictive or coercive tactics are supporters of the political opposition.

For example, in November 2020, weeks before the 2021 elections, protests at the arrest of the main opposition candidate escalated into nationwide unrest. More than 100 people died.

Under President Yoweri Museveni – in power since 1986 – the police have become a central pillar of the ruling party, the National Resistance Movement. In the campaigns for the January 2026 general election, police are critical in containing demonstrations, mobilising political support and enforcing loyalty. They can be seen ferrying ruling-party supporters and guarding their processions.

They are also active against the opposition. Party activities of Museveni’s main rival Robert Kyagulanyi, alias Bobi Wine, face routine obstruction, teargas and street confrontations. In November and early December 2025, police violently dispersed or blocked Bobi Wine’s caravans. The UN Human Rights chief condemned this.

I have published widely on themes of militarisation, security and policing, including the relationship between the Uganda police and the ruling party. It’s my conclusion that the role of the police in Uganda cannot be meaningfully analysed through a western-centric expectation of institutional neutrality.

Rather, policing has developed together with Uganda’s broader political direction of personalised authority and an ideology of cadreship that continues to shape expectations within the ruling NRM party. This has fostered, in my view, an ethos in which officers see themselves as active custodians of the existing political order. I’ve concluded that they don’t see themselves as being a neutral institution. They believe their job is to maintain the status quo.

My previous research challenges the common assumption that the police act only on direct orders to protect the regime or target the opposition. In reality, many officers believe that being visibly pro-ruling party defines them as “good officers”.

Based on my research, it’s clear that elections due in 2026 are likely to repeat these old patterns.

History of partisan policing

My extensive engagement with officers over more than 15 years, as both a researcher and a consultant, has given me a nuanced understanding of the attitudes and shared mentalities that shape policing culture. These beliefs are reflected not only in what officers say but also in their everyday behaviour.

For example, several commanders prominently display ruling party symbols or images of the president as their WhatsApp profile photos – clear signs of how pro-NRM attitudes influence officers’ conduct and become woven into police identity.

As a result, officers often take actions that favour the incumbent even without being told to. They want to signal allegiance and do what they think is expected of them as police.

This behaviour is rooted in a long relationship between political power and control of the security forces. Society expects the police to serve ruling elites rather than operate as an impartial institution. Consequently, the force today functions less as a neutral body and more as an extension of the ruling party.

Police in formation

Uganda’s police force played active roles in political policing and in supporting Britain’s colonial administration when it was established in 1906.

It continued to play the same role under the post-independence governments of Milton Obote, Idi Amin, the Tito Okello junta, Obote II, and now under the National Resistance Movement since 1986.

There have been changes in nuance and emphasis. For example, the force was initially sidelined in favour of military and intelligence agencies in the early years of Museveni’s reign. The turning point came in the early 2000s, with the appointment of senior military officers as police chiefs. This signalled a strategic fusion of military command culture with domestic policing.

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Read more:
Why Uganda needs new laws to hold police in check, and accountable

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Under General Kale Kayihura, appointed in 2005, the police expanded rapidly in size, budget and operational authority. He aligned the force with the ruling party by reshaping recruitment, sidelining older officers and elevating young and highly educated cadres loyal to the party.

By the mid-2010s, the police were firmly embedded within the political machinery and sustaining Museveni’s rule.

Going beyond the use of force and coercion is also credited to Kayihura’s legacy. Under the guise of community policing, he drafted millions of largely unemployed youth into a nationwide network of so-called crime preventers. Their presence at 2016 election rallies, in villages and on urban streets was decisive in boosting National Resistance Movement turnout.

Their presence also undercut opposition mobilisations.

By 2021, however, Kayihura’s apparatus had largely collapsed. Without his centralised coordination – and confronted by the rapid rise of Bobi Wine’s youth-driven movement – the state increasingly relied on coercion alone. The result was violent campaign scenes in the 2021 elections.

Heading into the 2026 elections, the National Resistance Movement appears to have rebuilt soft-power apparatus to go with strong-arm tactics. The police’s head of the Crime Intelligence department, Christopher Ddamulira, is now central to youth mobilisation. He is using outreach programmes and targeted incentives reminiscent of Kayihura’s tactics.

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Read more:
How the Ugandan state outsources the use of violence to stay in power

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They include the temporary integration of ghetto youth into the police intelligence networks, and funding small-scale business ventures. While these have been effective in diluting opposition support, it is the open use of force that dominates public debate.

Equipped with armoured carriers, high-capacity tear-gas launchers, water cannons and fast-response vehicles, security forces use their mobility and intelligence networks to disrupt opposition mobilisation.

It’s part of police strategy to restrict the mobility of opposition candidates. The candidates are especially restricted from densely populated urban areas where they could draw large crowds. Opposition candidates are often pushed onto back roads or sparsely populated routes. There they are less visible and less able to engage voters.

Police are also frequently deployed to bar candidates from being hosted by radio stations.

These police operations are reinforced by the Resident District Commissioners representing the presidency and backed by the military, which intervenes whenever political stakes rise. Together, they form a tightly coordinated apparatus of political control nationwide.

The constitution of Uganda establishes the police force under Article 211, requiring it to be national, patriotic, professional, disciplined, and composed of citizens of good character – standards that are incompatible with partisanship or the oppression of political opponents. Under Article 212, the police are mandated to protect life and property, preserve law and order, prevent and detect crime, and work cooperatively with civilian authorities, other security organs, and the public.

A familiar contradiction

Uganda’s 2026 elections will not simply test the popularity of competing political actors. They will again expose the fusion of policing and politics that has shaped the country for more than a century.

Police have consistently served as instruments of political order rather than neutral guardians of public security. Today’s officers operate within this inherited logic, in a political culture that has never experienced a peaceful transfer of power.

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Read more:
Why Uganda needs new laws to hold police in check, and accountable

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The campaign trail reveals a familiar contradiction: a security force constitutionally mandated to protect all citizens, yet increasingly functioning as a political arbiter – shaping who is heard in the public sphere.

Jude Kagoro 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. Political policing in Museveni’s Uganda: what it means for the 2026 elections – https://theconversation.com/political-policing-in-musevenis-uganda-what-it-means-for-the-2026-elections-271316

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Devin Smart, Assistant Professor, Department of History, West Virginia University

As Kenya’s cities grew, more and more people left their rural homes and subsistence farming systems to go to urban settlements like Mombasa to find work. In the city, meals were paid for with cash, a major transformation in Kenya’s food systems.

A new book called Preparing the Modern Meal is an urban history that explores these processes. We asked historian Devin Smart about his study.

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What’s the colonial history of Mombasa?

At the turn of the 20th century, the British were expanding their empire throughout sub-Saharan Africa, including the parts of east Africa that would become Kenya.

They built a railway that connected the port town of Mombasa on the Indian Ocean coast with the newly established Protectorate of Uganda in the interior. This created the foundations of the colonial economy and drove urbanisation.

While Nairobi grew in the Kenyan highlands, Mombasa became the most important port in east Africa. The city grew fast as people came to work at the railway, docks and in other parts of the urban economy.

After independence in 1963, cities like Mombasa carried on growing rapidly and more and more people started working in the informal sector, which included making and selling street food.

How did rural people get their food?

During the early 1900s, the cuisines of east Africa’s agrarian (farming) societies were mostly vegetarian. Much of the food people ate was grown in their own fields, though there were also regional markets.

These communities grew lots of staple crops like sorghum, millet, maize, bananas, cassava, and sweet potatoes. They also had legumes, greens, and dairy products as regular parts of their meals.

These ingredients were prepared into a variety of dishes, like the Kikuyu staple irio, a mash of bananas with maize kernels and legumes added to it. The Kamba often ate isio, a combination of beans and maize kernels, while the Luo who lived along the shores of Lake Victoria regularly included a dish called kuon as part of their cuisine. It’s a thick porridge of boiled milled grain (often millet), eaten with fish or vegetables to add contrasting flavours and textures.

In these communities, the daily meal was also defined by seasonal variety. Food changed depending on what was being harvested or what stores of ingredients were dwindling. These were also gendered food systems, with women doing much of the farming work and nearly all the cooking.

In my book, I consider the dramatic changes in how east Africans came by their food when they left these rural food systems for the city.

How was food organised in the city?

In Mombasa, they entered a food system organised around commercial exchange. My study is about Kenya, but the story it reflects is one that’s unfolded on a global scale. The shift from subsistence to commodified food systems, from growing your own to buying it from others, has been one of the central features of the modern world.

By the 1930s, most people in Mombasa bought nearly all their food with cash, visiting small dried-goods grocers, fresh-produce vendors, and working-class eateries. In this urban food system, the seasonal variety of rural cuisines was increasingly replaced by the regularity of commercial supply chains.

This was especially the case with staple grains. In the countryside, people ate a variety of grains, but in Mombasa maize meal and wheat became daily staples eaten year-round, transforming east African foodways.

Migration also changed domestic labour in the kitchen. Many migrant men now lived in homes without women, which meant they had to prepare their own food, often for significant periods of their lives.

However, the idea that cooking was the work of women proved enduring. When women joined these households in the city, they again prepared the family’s meals.

How did street food emerge?

By the 1930s, Mombasa had a fast-growing working class. The majority of the town’s workers spent their days in the industrial district, around the railway and port. Many also had to commute a considerable distance to work.

With the long working day of urban capitalism, returning home for a filling lunch wasn’t practical, which created strong demand for affordable prepared food at midday. As this was happening, many in the city also struggled to find consistent jobs and turned to informal trades like street food to earn a living.

This convergence of supply and demand led to the rapid growth of the street food industry around the 1950s, with people opening eateries in makeshift structures outside the gates to the port and in nearby alleyways, parks, and other open spaces.

What kind of food was served?

At these working-class food spots, a popular dish was chapati, an east African version of the South Asian flatbread. People could complement it with beans, meat, or fried fish, along with githeri, a mixture of maize kernels and beans (similar to isio).

In later decades, ugali, the ubiquitous Kenyan staple made from maize meal, became more common at street food eateries, as did Swahili versions of Indian Ocean dishes like pilau (aromatic rice with meat) and biryani (rice with meat braised in a spice-infused tomato sauce).

How were street food vendors policed?

The business model that made street food work in Mombasa’s economy also brought these vendors into regular conflict with the city’s administration. Street food vendors kept overheads and thus prices low because they avoided rents and licensing fees by squatting on open land in makeshift structures.

But, in an era of urban development and modernisation, many officials desired a different kind of city, one without this kind of informal land use and architecture. Authorities began campaigns to remove these businesses from Mombasa’s landscape, arresting vendors and demolishing their structures.

This also created a tension, though, because the city’s workers, including those at the port and railway who ran the most important transportation choke point in east Africa’s regional economy, needed affordable meals at lunch.

Given that informal trade had become essential to Mombasa’s economy, there were limits on how far these campaigns could be pushed. However, arrests and demolitions did still occur, and sometimes on a dramatic, city-wide scale, which made street food a precarious way to earn a living in Kenya’s port town.

For example, in 2001, the Kenyan government launched a massive demolition campaign to clear informal business structures from city sidewalks, parks and open spaces.

After the demolitions, many rebuilt and reopened their street food businesses, but in less visible parts of town and on side streets rather than main roads. Today, these eateries remain an essential part of Mombasa’s economy and food system.

What do you hope readers will take away from the book?

I hope that readers will see how food history helps us understand the ways that capitalism transformed the modern world.

The regional focus of the book is east Africa, but it explores themes relevant to the history of capitalism more generally, including the gendered division of household labour, the commercialisation of everyday needs and wants, and the political and economic struggles of working-class communities to find space for themselves in modern cities.

The research for this book was supported with funding from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and West Virginia University.

– ref. Street food in Mombasa: how city life shaped the modern meal – https://theconversation.com/street-food-in-mombasa-how-city-life-shaped-the-modern-meal-266590

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Olayinka Ajala, Associate professor in Politics and International Relations, Leeds Beckett University

A month before the US carried out its Christmas day attack on militants linked to the Islamic State group (IS) in north-western Nigeria, president Donald Trump had declared Nigeria a “country of particular concern”. This was due to the alleged killing of Christians by terrorist groups in the country. Trump threatened military intervention if the attacks against Christians continued.

The threat became a reality on Christmas day when the US military’s Africa Command – in coordination with the Nigerian authorities – carried out strikes on terrorist locations in Sokoto state, North-West Nigeria.

There were mixed reactions to the attacks. Some citizens hailed the attacks, saying they hoped they would send a message to the terrorists to desist from their activities. Others condemned the strikes, citing concerns about sovereignty.

I have been researching conflicts, terrorism and the formation of insurgent groups in Nigeria and the Sahel for over a decade. After the US intervention, a key question that arises is: does the attack strengthen Nigeria’s counter-terrorism mechanisms. Or will it weaken them, and threaten national security and sovereignty?

I argue that the US military intervention will indeed strengthen the hand of the Nigerian government in fighting insurgency in the short term in four ways, including enhanced intelligence gathering. Nevertheless, there’s also a risk that it will trigger unintended consequences if Nigeria doesn’t fully take charge of its counter-terrorism initiatives. These include loss of sovereignty and internal political division.

Immediate gains

First, the recent cooperation between the US and Nigerian military would help Nigeria with enhanced surveillance and intelligence gathering. Prior to the Christmas day bombing, the US has been conducting reconnaissance flights in Nigeria. The data gathered from these flights helped identify terrorist gatherings and movements.

The US and its allies have struggled to gather intelligence in the region since closing down a US drone base in Niger following a coup in the country. The loss and subsequent withdrawal from the US drone base in Agadez has significantly degraded US and Western intelligence-gathering capabilities. This is why the US flew reconnaissance flights from Ghana for this attack.

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Read more:
US military is leaving Niger even less secure: why it didn’t succeed in combating terrorism

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Second, the reported military collaboration will give the Nigerian government access to state of the art military hardware and resources. The US and Nigeria’s relationship has been fractured since 2015 following the release of an Amnesty International report in which the Nigerian military was accused of gross human rights abuses.

The US government immediately suspended sales of key military hardware to Abuja. It also banned Nigeria from using some US equipment already purchased.

Six years later Nigeria signed a military agreement with Russia.

The Christmas Day strike ordered by Trump suggests that the US might once again be willing to help Nigeria in its counter-terrorism initiatives.

Third, the intervention could help Nigeria fight terrorism along its borders. The Christmas day attack is based on intelligence that terrorist cells from Niger and Burkina Faso had entered Nigeria to carry out coordinated attacks. I have previously written about how terrorism is spreading in West Africa and how international cooperation is needed to fight the surge. Such coordinated attacks could help Nigeria’s cross-border counter-terrorism initiatives.

Finally, the coordinated attacks send a message to terrorist groups that there is a renewed effort to turn the heat on them.

Unintended consequences

There is nevertheless a risk of the US action having unintended consequences if Nigeria does not fully take charge of its counter-terrorism initiatives.

Since 2009 when Boko Haram surfaced in Nigeria, the country has been battling terrorism within and around its borders. Despite counter-terrorism initiatives such as military response, intelligence coordination, community resilience, international partnerships, and rehabilitation efforts to dismantle extremist networks and address root causes, Nigeria has not been able to stop terrorism in the country.

While renewed collaborations with the US is a step in the right direction, the possible dangers for Nigeria include:

• A loss of access and control of intelligence data. Nigeria needs to take charge of its surveillance architecture and intelligence gathering or risk a weakening of its sovereignty. Large quantities of data is collected during reconnaissance flights. But the country running the flights owns the data. It has the prerogative of what it wants to share, and when.

Nigeria has been here before: when the US drone base in Agadez was operational, all the data gathered across the Sahel was analysed by the Pentagon which decided what information to relay to its partners.

Nigeria should guard against this by taking charge of the reconnaissance and surveillance activities relevant to protect its national interest.

• Swift follow-up action. The Nigerian military needs to take advantage of the impact of the strikes. It needs to capitalise on the disarray in terrorist camps. By acting in a coordinated way after 2015, the Multinational Joint Task Force (MNJTF) was very successful in dismantling Boko Haram as an organisation and weakening its bases.

But the Nigerian military needs to keep a close eye on the terror group splintering as a result of success against its military bases. The Multinational Joint Task Force’s successes was partly responsible for Boko Haram breaking into three factions in 2016.

The initial strikes conducted by the US military will only be significant if the Nigerian army prevents smaller terror groups from being formed.

• Nigerians need to be assured the government will act in their interests. The US attack risks worsening political divisions in Nigeria if not properly managed. While Trump framed the attack as an action against the murder of Christians in the country, the Nigerian government has insisted it was part of a renewed campaign against terrorists destabilising the country.

Trump’s explanation of the attack has angered some political groups in Nigeria. For instance, Islamic cleric Sheikh Ahmed Gumi vehemently condemned the US airstrikes calling Nigerians who supported the strikes ‘stupid’ and ‘misguided’.

The Nigerian government must control the narrative and clearly explain how the renewed military collaboration with the US is in Nigeria’s national interest, and not targeted at particular ethnic or religious groups.

Olayinka Ajala 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. US air strikes in northern Nigeria: possible windfalls, as well as dangers – https://theconversation.com/us-air-strikes-in-northern-nigeria-possible-windfalls-as-well-as-dangers-272630