Category: The Conversation – Africa

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Tracy Kitchen, Lecturer: Student Academic Development, Rhodes University

South African learners consistently struggle with reading comprehension, performing poorly in both international and local assessments. A significant issue is that 81% of grade 4 learners (aged 9 or 10) are unable to read for meaning: they can decode words, but do not necessarily understand them.

While this problem has received considerable attention, no clear explanation has emerged.

In my recent PhD thesis, I considered a crucial, but often overlooked, piece of the puzzle – the curriculum policy. My research sought to uncover and understand the gaps and contradictions in reading comprehension, especially between policy and practice, in a grade 4 classroom.

This research revealed a difference between curriculum policy and practice, and between what learners seemed to have understood and what they actually understood in a routine reading comprehension task.

My main findings were that:

• grade 4 learners were being asked overly simple, literal questions about what they were reading, despite the text being more complex than expected

• the kinds of questions that learners should be asked (as indicated in the curriculum policy) were different from what they were being asked

• this gap led to learners seeming to be more successful at reading comprehension than they actually were.

Pinpointing the gaps between what the policy says and how reading comprehension is actually taught at this crucial stage of development (grade 4) could pave the way for more effective interventions.

Curriculum policy

South African teachers are expected to base their reading comprehension instruction and assessment on the guidelines provided by the 2012 Curriculum and Assessment Policy Statement.

The policy outlines specific cognitive skill levels – essentially, ways of thinking and understanding – that learners should master for each reading task. These levels are drawn from Barrett’s 1956 Taxonomy of Reading Comprehension, an international guideline. It’s based on the popular Bloom’s Taxonomy of Reading Comprehension, which categorises reading comprehension according to varying skill levels.

According to Barrett’s Taxonomy, reading comprehension involves five progressively complex levels:

1. Literal comprehension: Identifying meaning that is directly stated in the text. (For example, “Name the animals in the story”.)

2. Reorganisation: Organising, paraphrasing, or classifying information that is explicitly stated. (“Find four verbs in the story to describe what the animals did.”)

3. Inference: Understanding meaning that is not directly stated, but implied. (“When in the story is the leopard being selfish?”)

4. Evaluation: Making judgements about the text’s content or quality. (“Who do you think this story is usually told to?”)

5. Appreciation: Making emotional or personal evaluations about the text. (“How well was the author able to get the message across?”)

Typically, reading comprehension tasks will assess a range of these cognitive skills.

South Africa’s Curriculum and Assessment Policy Statement document specifies (on pages 91-92) that all reading comprehension tasks should comprise questions that are:

• 40% literal/reorganisation (lower-order thinking skills)

• 40% inferential (middle-order)

• 20% evaluation and appreciation (higher-order).

This approach aims to allow most students to demonstrate a basic understanding of the text, while challenging more advanced learners.

However, as my classroom case study shows, the system appears to be failing. There was a mismatch between the policy and what was taking place in the classroom.

Classroom practice

For this research, I observed the reading comprehension practices in a single classroom in a public school in the Eastern Cape province. This took place over six months, at a time when schools were not fully reopened during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The task in question included a text and activity selected by the teacher from a textbook aligned with the policy. My analysis (which used Appraisal, a linguistic framework that tracks evaluative meaning) showed that most of the text’s meaning was implicit. To fully understand it, learners would need higher-order thinking and sophisticated English first-language skills. This was a surprising finding for a grade 4 resource, especially because most learners in this study were not English first-language speakers.

Even more surprising, learners achieved seemingly high marks on comprehension, with an average of 82.9%. This suggested they understood this complex text.

However, I found that the questions in the textbook did not align with policy. Instead of the balance of skills required by the policy, 73% of the questions called only for lower-order skills. Only 20% were inferential and a mere 7% required evaluation or appreciation (middle- to higher-order skills).

At least six of the 15 available marks could be gained simply by listing explicitly stated items, not requiring genuine comprehension.

This reveals that, in this classroom, activities labelled as policy-compliant actually tested only lower-order comprehension. Learners could pass simply by identifying and listing information from the text. This creates a false sense of comprehension success, as revealed by the high marks.

When learners were tested on the same text but using different questions that I designed to align with the policy requirements, they scored lower marks, especially for the higher-order questions.

This mismatch might partly explain why South Africans score poorly in international tests (which require more higher-order thinking).

Why this matters and moving forward

These findings are concerning, as learners may be lulled into believing that they are successful readers. A false sense of accomplishment could have significant impacts on the rest of their education.

Comprehension difficulties can’t be blamed solely on the disconnect between policy and practice, however. Many other contextual factors shape how learners perform in reading comprehension tasks.

In my study, factors like COVID-19, insufficient home language teaching policies, educational inequalities, and the pressures on teachers during a crisis (brought on by COVID-19) all contributed to the literacy crisis.

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Read more:
South Africa’s reading crisis: focus on the root cause, not the peripherals

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However, two key points became clear during this study.

Firstly, teaching materials favour lower-order comprehension skills, skewing perceptions of learners’ abilities.

Secondly, teachers may lack the knowledge, resources or motivation to adjust these materials to truly align with the national policy in how reading comprehension is assessed.

This calls for urgent intervention in how reading comprehension is taught and assessed and in how teachers are prepared to do this effectively.

This research was partially funded by the National Research Foundation (NRF).

– ref. South African learners struggle with reading comprehension: study reveals a gap between policy and classroom practice – https://theconversation.com/south-african-learners-struggle-with-reading-comprehension-study-reveals-a-gap-between-policy-and-classroom-practice-260033

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Jonathan E. Cohen, Professor of Clinical Population and Public Health Sciences, Keck School of Medicine and Director of Policy Engagement, Institute on Inequalities in Global Health, University of Southern California, University of Southern California

Steep cuts in US government funding have thrown much of the field of global health into a state of fear and uncertainty. Once a crown jewel of US foreign policy, valued at some US$12 billion a year, global health has been relegated to a corner of a restructured State Department governed by an “America First” agenda.

Whatever emerges from the current crisis, it will look very different from the past.

As someone who has spent a 25-year career in global health and human rights and now teaches the subject to graduate students in California, I am often asked whether young people can hope for a future in the field. My answer is a resounding yes.

More than ever, we need the dedication, humility and vision of the next generation to reinvent the field of global health, so that it is never again so vulnerable to the political fortunes of a single country. And more than ever, I am hopeful this will be the case.

To understand the source of my hope, it is important to recall what brought US engagement in global health to its current precipice – and how a historic response to specific diseases paradoxically left African health systems vulnerable.

Disease and dependency

Over two decades ago, the field of global health as we currently know it emerged out of the global response to HIV/Aids – among the deadliest pandemics in human history. The pandemic principally affected people of reproductive age and babies born to HIV-positive parents.

The creation of the US President’s Emergency Plan for Aids Relief (Pepfar) in 2003 was at the time the largest-ever bilateral programme to combat a single disease. It redefined the field of global health for decades to come, with the US at its centre. While both the donors and issues in the field would multiply over the years, global health would never relinquish its origins in American leadership against HIV/Aids.

Pepfar placed African nations in a state of extreme dependence on the US. We are now witnessing the results – not for the first time. The global financial crisis of 2008 reduced development assistance to health, which generated new thinking about financing and domestic resource mobilisation.

Yet, the US continued to underwrite Africa’s disease responses through large contracts to American universities and implementers. This was for good reason, given the urgency of the problem, the growing strength of Africa’s health systems as a result of Pepfar, and the moral duty of the world’s richest country.

With the rise of right-wing populism and the polarising effects of COVID-19, global health would come to be seen by many Americans as an elite enterprise. The apparent trade-off between public health countermeasures and economic life during COVID-19 – a false choice to experts who know a healthy workforce to be a precondition for a strong economy – alienated many voters from the advice of disease prevention experts. The imperative to “vaccinate the world” and play a leadership role in global health security lacked a strong domestic constituency. It proved no match for monopolistic priorities of the pharmaceutical industry and the insularity and economic anxieties of millions of Americans.

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How Trump’s proposed US aid cuts will affect healthcare in Africa

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This history set the stage for the sudden abdication of US global health leadership in early 2025. By the time the Department of Government Efficiency came for USAID, many viewed global health as a relic of the early response to HIV/Aids, an excuse for other governments to spend less on health, or an industry of elites. The field was an easy target, and the White House must have known it.

Yet therein lies the hope. If global health came of age around a single disease, an exercise of US soft power, and a cadre of elite experts, it now has an opportunity to change itself from the ground up. What can emerge is a new global health compact, in which African governments design robust health systems for themselves and enlist the international community to assist from behind.

Opportunity to build back better

To build a new global health compact for Africa, the first change must be from a focus on combating individual diseases to ensuring that all people have the opportunity for health and well-being throughout their lives. Rather than allowing entire health systems to be defined by the response to HIV/Aids, tuberculosis and malaria, Africa needs integrated systems that promote:

• primary care, which brings services for the majority of health needs closer to communities

• health promotion, which enables people to take control of all aspects of their health and well-being

• long-term care, which helps all people function and maintain quality of life over their entire lifespan.

No global trend compels this shift more than population ageing, which will soon engulf every nation as a result of lengthening life expectancy and declining fertility. As the proportion of older adults grows to outstrip that of children, societies need systems of integrated healthcare that help people manage multiple diseases. They don’t need fragmented programmes that produce conflicting medical advice, dangerous drug interactions, and crippling bureaucracy. Time is running out to make this fundamental shift.

Second, there is a need to shift the relationship between low-income and high-income nations towards shared investment in the service of local needs. This is beginning to happen in some places, and it will require greater sacrifices on all sides.

Low-income governments need to spend a higher percentage of their GDP on healthcare. That will in turn require addressing the many factors that stymie the redistribution of wealth, from corruption to debt to lack of progressive taxation. The US and other high-income countries need to pay their fair share, while also sharing decision-making over how global public goods, from vaccines to disease surveillance to health workers, are shared and distributed in an interconnected world.

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Read more:
Africa relies too heavily on foreign aid for health – 4 ways to fix this

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Third, there is need to change the narrative of global health in wealthy countries such as the US to better connect to the concerns of voters who are hostile to globalism itself. This means addressing people’s real fears that public health measures will cost them their job, force them to close their business, or advance a pharmaceutical industry agenda. It means justifying global health in terms that people can relate to and agree with – that is, helping to save lives without taking responsibility for other countries’ health systems.

It means forging unlikely alliances between those who believe in leadership from the so-called global south and those who take an insular view of America’s role in the world.

Leading from behind

Make no mistake. I am not counting on this – or any – US administration to reinvent global health on terms that are more responsive to current disease trends, more equitable between nations, and more relevant to American voters.

But nor would I want them to. To create the global health for the future, the leadership must come not only from the US, but rather from a shared commitment among the community of nations to give and receive according to their capacities and needs. And that is something to hope for.

Jonathan E. Cohen 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. The global health system can build back better after US aid cuts – here’s how – https://theconversation.com/the-global-health-system-can-build-back-better-after-us-aid-cuts-heres-how-259798

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Simphiwe Gongqa, PhD candidate, Rhodes University

The failure of many development initiatives has led some scholars, especially those associated with the post-development and decolonial schools of thought, to call for alternatives to development.

The idea of development is a very influential way of explaining inequalities between different parts of the world. Most people think of some parts of the world as ‘developed’ and others as ‘developing’ and believe that those in the ‘developing’ world need to follow in the footsteps of those ahead of them on a universal path to development.

However, critics of development reject this way of thinking. They believe that development damages the environment and is a form of cultural imperialism and that people should rather look to Indigenous concepts and practices to find alternative ways to live a good life. The African concept of Ubuntu is often mentioned.

This term can be explained with reference to the isiZulu saying ‘umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu’ which means ‘a person is a person through other people’. It entails an ethics of care, compassion and cooperation.

Concepts like Ubuntu are often contrasted with the idea of development. Advocates of alternatives believe that people in the Global South can draw on these concepts, rather than the idea of development, in order to improve their lives.

We both study development and are interested in how communities in Africa understand development, including the question of whether or not people in Africa are pursuing alternatives to development.

Based on our work, we contributed a chapter to a recent book which explores the question of alternatives to development in the Global South. Our contribution to this book looks specifically at the question of how South Africans understand development and Ubuntu and whether they see Ubuntu as a possible alternative to development.

We spoke to people living in four marginalised communities in KwaZulu-Natal and the Eastern Cape. Such communities would be regarded by mainstream development thinkers as in need of development. These communities were also chosen because the people living there would be likely to have some understanding of the concept of Ubuntu as residents are isiZulu or isiXhosa speakers, two of the sociolinguistic groups commonly associated with the idea of Ubuntu.

We found that people in these communities value both development and Ubuntu and see the two concepts as related to each other, but not necessarily in the way that either development or post-development theorists imagine. This study supports our previous research suggesting that people continue to value development.

Respondents’ views on development and Ubuntu

There were some differences in the way in which the communities spoke about development and Ubuntu. The KwaZulu-Natal communities placed emphasis on infrastructure, education and health, when asked to define how they understand development.

Typical responses of KwaZulu-Natal residents to the question ‘What is development?’ included:

• We want development … in order to have roads, [government housing], clinics and farming initiatives.

• When we say that a place is developed, we see schools, libraries, roads, churches and clinics.

• Things like water, houses [government housing], electricity, and sewerage systems.

• There should be libraries, schools, houses [government housing], water, electricity, sewerage systems and hospitals.

In the Eastern Cape, where only rural respondents were interviewed, residents mentioned infrastructure (roads, houses and schools) less often than those in KwaZulu-Natal and placed greater emphasis on income-generation opportunities, employment opportunities and support for farming. Some of the responses are given below:

• Development means the creation of jobs to me.

• Development means building. For example, building creches in the village, planting crops and creating jobs.

• Development is growth. For example, rearing chickens and other animals for you to grow financially.

When defining Ubuntu, respondents emphasised care, compassion, cooperation, helpfulness, mutual respect, harmony, consideration, dignity and a willingness to share.

Here are some of the typical responses given when people were asked to define Ubuntu:

It is being able to live with one another, you see. A person is a person because of other people kind of thing, and you must get along with all people and there shouldn’t be a person that you hate. You must be able to help another person in need if you can and there must be harmony with everyone.
Ubuntu is about unity and empathy and love, yes. If we speak of Ubuntu, we speak of thinking for each other, and helping each other.

When asked about the relationship between Ubuntu and development, most respondents suggested that Ubuntu and development can and should work together.

Respondents commonly argued that development could best be advanced if people showed Ubuntu, which was presented as an ethic of care and cooperation. Consider the following comment:

[Development and Ubuntu] go hand in hand because when I have something, I have to pull up a person that I see who is struggling and place them at an equal footing with me or maybe higher than me. I don’t look down on them because they are struggling, and I shouldn’t watch them walk to town everyday whilst I have a car that can help them because they are disadvantaged. If I have food, and a fellow person is hungry; I must give them food for free, yes, that is Ubuntu.

The strong sense from our interviews is that people want development (understood as the provision of basic services and the general improvement of their lives) and they want it to be brought about in a way that is characterised by an ethics of Ubuntu (understood as an ethic of care and cooperation).

Advocates of alternatives need to be cautious

Our research suggests that at least some Global South communities engage with concepts like Ubuntu and development in ways that do not support claims that people should abandon development and live according to Indigenous concepts and practices to have a better life. Rather than viewing Ubuntu as an alternative to development, the people we interviewed suggest that development and Ubuntu are complementary.

When seeking to articulate alternatives, it is important to be attentive to what people mean by development and Ubuntu so that activists and scholars from different communities can work together to build better lives for all.

We acknowledge the role of Nhlanhla Mkhutle who conducted the KwaZulu-Natal fieldwork for this study and who co-authored the chapter upon which this article is based.

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. Ubuntu matters: rural South Africans believe community care should go hand-in-hand with development – https://theconversation.com/ubuntu-matters-rural-south-africans-believe-community-care-should-go-hand-in-hand-with-development-259422

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Alessandro Arduino, Affiliate Lecturer, King’s College London

Alessandro Arduino has researched Africa’s security affairs with a particular focus on the use of private military companies and other guns-for-hire across the continent. In his latest book, Money for Mayhem, Arduino examines how military privatisation intersects with international power dynamics. Drawing on fieldwork, interviews and firsthand data, he tracks actors from Russia, China and the Middle East to explore how they profit from instability across Africa.

What war trends did you identify in your book?

In Money for Mayhem, I chart the rise of mercenaries, private military companies and hackers-for-hire, alongside emerging technologies like armed drones.

Nowhere does this rise ignite more readily than in Africa. The continent is flush with abundant natural resources that offer lucrative gains, but is hobbled by weak post-coup states desperate for foreign support. The continent has also been fractured by power vacuums, creating ineffective or weak regional and continental institutions that enable militant networks.

As a result, mercenaries and contractors have returned to the central stage in Africa. They were once the not-so-hidden hand in post-colonial civil wars, such as in Angola in the 1970s and Sierra Leone in the mid-1990s where highly trained mercenaries profited from the conflict.

Today, guns for hire wield profound geopolitical influence.

What did you find out about the key players?

Take Russia’s Wagner Group. It continues to be active from Libya to Sudan. The group is known for deploying paramilitary forces, conducting disinformation campaigns and supporting powerful political figures from Mali to the Central African Republic. Following its leader’s death in 2023, the Wagner Group shifted its operations. Rebranded as the Africa Corps,the group serves as a key instrument of Moscow’s influence on the continent.

Then there are Turkish private military outfits operating from Tripoli to Mogadishu. Turkey’s private military companies are fast becoming a key instrument in President Recep Erdogan’s foreign policy. What sets these companies apart is their ability to pair boots on the ground with Turkey’s battle-proven armed drones. This fusion of a rentable army and an off-the-shelf air force could become a powerful export, serving Ankara’s political and economic ambitions in Africa.

Then there are the Chinese private security companies, protecting Chinese investments and citizens in Africa. Their rise mirrors Beijing’s deepening footprint, where it is pouring billions into infrastructure and mining projects. In volatile nations like the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan and South Sudan, weak and unreliable local security forces have created a vacuum that’s being filled by Chinese security contractors.

Through the ages, the mercenary’s paradox has endured: despised yet indispensable. Their business thrives on perpetual chaos. Every ceasefire threatens their livelihood.

This dynamic was evident after Muammar Gaddafi’s fall in 2011 in Libya. Both the Government of National Accord in Tripoli and the rival Libyan National Army in the east turned to international mercenaries such as the Wagner Group and fighters from sub-Saharan Africa. This heavy dependence on foreign fighters obstructs national reconciliation.

The Wagner tale is instructive. Once a Kremlin proxy in resource-rich Africa, the group amassed its own power. It was dismantled when it outlived its usefulness. The dispatch of Russian generals to negotiate Wagner’s fate in 2023 from Libya to Niger was a lesson in power: the puppeteer remains firmly in control.

Russia’s foreign and defence ministries moved swiftly to reassure Middle Eastern and African partners that operations would continue uninterrupted after the death of Wagner’s leader. This signalled that unofficial Russian forces would maintain their presence on the ground.

What is happening that’s new?

The revolution in modern warfare is evident across Africa. Mercenaries, armed drones and AI-driven disinformation campaigns are redefining conflict. Today’s battlefields are evolving at such a dizzying pace that even seasoned military experts are routinely caught flatfooted.

The speed of change is unprecedented.

Drones, once the province of great powers, have become commonplace. Inexpensive, lethal, versatile and ever more autonomous, they patrol the skies daily, ushering in a remote-warfare era that upends ethical, strategic and tactical norms.

The cost of a suicide drone, for instance, typically runs into a few thousand US dollars. A battle tank averages US$3–4 million. Three such drones and a skilled pilot can destroy a single tank, dramatically shifting the cost-benefit equation on the modern battlefield.

Africa was an early proving ground: drones shaped the Libyan civil war. Since 2019, multiple incidents of precision air strikes conducted by unknown aircraft have occurred in apparent violation of a United Nations arms embargo.

In early 2025, drones served as an off-the-shelf air force in the bombing of Port Sudan. Explosions rocked the vital humanitarian gateway in Sudan’s ongoing civil war between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces.

Sudan’s army pinned these strikes on the Rapid Support Forces, highlighting the paramilitary group’s deadly embrace of drone warfare. Lacking a formal air force, drones offer the Rapid Support Forces a low-cost, high-lethality shortcut that delivers devastating blows while cloaking its operators in plausible deniability.

How else is the warfare landscape changing?

War is now being waged on other fronts as well.

Africa’s youthful population consumes information primarily via social media. This provides fertile ground for propaganda, disinformation and misinformation – amplified by artificial intelligence (AI) at minimal cost.

Deepfakes have burst onto the scene as a dire cybersecurity threat. AI-driven disinformation at an industrial scale is already a reality, magnifying hate speech and targeting the message to intended audiences with precision and at very low cost.

For example, TikTok’s own recommendation engine has already come under fire from African human rights groups for amplifying toxic rhetoric.

Already, false narratives thrive in Africa all on their own. AI’s true danger lies in its ability to turbocharge disinformation.

Governments recognise that defending the homeland no longer means guarding cables and servers alone. It also means safeguarding the integrity of information itself.

What needs to be done?

Based on my findings, I argue that the fractures today are tomorrow’s global crises. War has irrevocably changed, and its next phase is already upon us.

Marshalling global vigilance is a categorical imperative – or the world risks ceding control over violence. Building international consensus on already available enforcement mechanisms to regulate non-state armed actors is needed. There is also a need to strengthen global intelligence sharing to track the movements and influence of mercenaries across conflict zones.

Alessandro Arduino is an Associate Fellow at the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI)

– ref. Drones, disinformation and guns-for-hire are reshaping conflict in Africa: new book tracks the trends – https://theconversation.com/drones-disinformation-and-guns-for-hire-are-reshaping-conflict-in-africa-new-book-tracks-the-trends-262256

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Tinashe Mushakavanhu, Assistant Professor, Harvard University

Driven by a desire to explore Nigeria’s literary and cultural history beyond the metropolis of Lagos, I took a road trip to Ibadan, once the most important university town in the country. Ibadan, in Oyo State, was the first city in Nigeria to have a university set up in 1948.

Ibadan is where the Mbari Club once gathered, an experimental space where Nigerian writers, artists and thinkers – among them Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, JP Clark, Christopher Okigbo, Uche Okeke, Bruce Onobrakpeya, Mabel Segun and South Africa’s Es’kia Mphahlele – met, debated and dreamed in the 1960s and 70s.

It’s the city where celebrated Nigerian artist and architect Demas Nwoko imagined and built his utopias. Where the Oxford University Press and Heinemann Educational Books established their west African headquarters.

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Books have always been a form of cultural currency in Ibadan. The presence of major publishers meant that bookshops were not just retail outlets, but intellectual salons, sites of encounter and exchange.

So while in Ibadan I visited cultural spaces and independent bookshops but it was the charms of the University campus that mostly captured my imagination. And my favourite place was the University of Ibadan Bookshop. At this campus bookshop I lingered the most, in awe and wonder. Its eclectic range of books, journals, public lecture pamphlets, novels, poetry collections and monographs excited me.

Today, when the global publishing economy has increasingly digitised and centralised, the bookshop feels almost radical just by existing. It’s a reminder that intellectual life in Africa is not peripheral or derived from the west. It is present, prolific and profoundly local. To walk through the shelves of this bookshop was to encounter a history of African thought written and produced on its own terms.

As a scholar of African literature and archives, my research traces the hidden lives of spaces that have shaped publishing and archives. University bookshops have been overlooked but are essential nodes in the continent’s intellectual history.

A snapshot of Nigeria

This campus bookshop gives a snapshot of Nigeria as a print country. Here we witness the nation through its printed matter. A nation of prolific publishing. I found the literary output in the Ibadan campus bookshop not only vast but exuberant and unrelenting. It reflects the texture of the Nigerian personality: loud, boisterous, layered and insistent. Stacks upon stacks of books.

In these stacks, it dawned on me that beneath the surface lies a vibrant, ongoing literary discourse that is unmistakably Nigerian, and sadly not resonant far beyond its borders. These are books you don’t see on reference lists of “popular” and “influential” scholarship that privileges work produced and imported to Africa from the Euro-American academy.

I was especially intrigued with how the Nigerian academic and writer does not tire in producing academic and cultural journals. There are journals for every subject under the sun.

While the critical framework of African literature is too often shaped by the global north (see critiques by Ato Quayson, Biodun Jeyifo, Simon Gikandi and Grace Musila) in Ibadan, I saw a distinctly local and deeply African critical discourse rooted in place, language and lived experience. To walk into the University of Ibadan Bookshop is to step into legacy. Its shelves bear the weight of decades of African thought, theory and storytelling.

Despite being housed in an ageing building, it has stayed defiant. Even though floods destroyed books and computers worth a small fortune in 2019, the bookshop is still standing proudly. And there was pride too among the staff who were eager to help or answer any questions about the books.

More than bookshops

The University of Ibadan bookshop reminded me of the bookshop from my undergraduate days in Zimbabwe. Even though our campus bookshop was much smaller, I used to find pleasure going there in between lectures. It often felt like walking into a vault of African knowledge and memory.

Our bookshop at Midlands State University stocked old, canonical books alongside current literature. On occasion, rare, out-of-print secondhand books would appear on the shelves. The bargain sales also meant I spent most of my money there.

But to call these spaces on African university campuses “bookshops” hardly does them justice. They are hybrid cultural ecosystems that function as part bookshop, part print shop, stationer, library and sometimes even archive. They have long served as vital nodes in the circulation of African knowledge and thought.

Yet this ecosystem is rapidly eroding, undermined by the rise of internet culture, artificial intelligence, piracy and harsh economic conditions. The result is a slow but devastating disappearance of African intellectual memory. As scholars remind us, digital platforms are not neutral. They are structured by algorithms that often marginalise black and African knowledge. So, the loss of these analogue spaces is more than nostalgic, it is epistemic erasure.

In this digital age, there is something vital about the physical presence of bookshops on African campuses. Thanks to them, as a student, for me literature was the serendipity of discovery, the tactile feel of books, the beautiful persistence of a local knowledge system that was relatable and produced by people like me.

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Nigerian architect Demas Nwoko on his award-winning work: ‘Whatever you build, it should suit your culture’

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On the way out of the city, we stopped at Bower’s Tower. From there you can see Ibadan’s sprawling layout, the ancient hills from which the settlement was built, and its red roofs.

The view reflected the complexity and density of ideas the city has nurtured. And despite shifts in Nigeria’s publishing geography from here to Lagos and Abuja, Ibadan still matters. It’s a city that remembers, that archives, that holds on to knowledge.

Tinashe Mushakavanhu 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. A university bookshop in Ibadan tells the story of Nigeria’s rich publishing culture – https://theconversation.com/a-university-bookshop-in-ibadan-tells-the-story-of-nigerias-rich-publishing-culture-262050

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Habib Noorbhai, Professor (Health & Sports Science), University of Johannesburg

If you were to walk through the corridors of some of the world’s leading cricket schools, you might hear the crack of leather on willow long before the bell for the end of the day rings.

Across the cricketing world, elite schools have served as key feeder systems to national teams for decades. They provide young players with superior training facilities, high-level coaching and competitive playing opportunities.

This tradition has served as cricket’s most dependable talent pipeline. But is it a strength or a symptom of exclusion?

My recent study examined the school backgrounds of 1,080 elite men’s cricketers across eight countries over a 30-year period. It uncovered telling patterns.

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Cricket: children are the key to the future of the game, not broadcast rights

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Top elite cricket countries such as South Africa, England and Australia continue to draw heavily from private education systems. In these nations, cricket success seems almost tied to one’s school uniform.

I argue that if cricket boards want to promote equity and competitiveness, they will need to broaden the talent search by investing in grassroots cricket infrastructure in under-resourced areas.

For cricket to be a sport that anyone with talent can succeed in, there will need to be more school leagues and entry-level tournaments as well as targeted investment in community-based hubs and non-elite school zones.

Findings

South Africa is a case in point. My previous study in 2020 outlined that more than half of its national players at One-Day International (ODI) World Cups came from boys-only schools (mostly private).

These schools are often well-resourced, with turf wickets, expert coaches and an embedded culture of competition. Unsurprisingly, the same schools tend to produce a high number of national team batters, as they offer longer game formats and better playing surfaces. Cricket’s colonial origins have influenced the structure and culture of school cricket being tied to a form of privilege.

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Elite boys’ schools still shape South Africa’s national cricket team

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In Australia and England, the story is not very different. Despite their efforts to diversify player sourcing, private schools still dominate. Even in cricketing nations that celebrate working-class grit, such as Australia, private school players continue to shape elite squads.

The statistics say as much; for example: about 44% of Australian Ashes test series players since 2010 attended private schools, and for England, the figure is 45%. That’s not grassroots, it could be regarded as gated turf…

Yet not all countries follow this route. The West Indies, Pakistan and Sri Lanka reflect very different models. Club cricket, informal play and community academies provide their players with opportunities to rise. These countries have lower reliance on private schools. Some of their finest players emerged from modest public schooling or neighbourhood cricketing networks.

India provides an interesting hybrid. Although elite schools such as St. Xavier’s and Modern School contribute players, most national stars emerge from public institutions or small-town academies. The explosion of the Indian Premier League since 2008 has also democratised access, pulling in talent from previously overlooked and underdeveloped cities.

In these regions, scouting is based on potential, not privilege.

So why does this matter?

At first glance, elite schools producing elite cricketers might appear logical. These institutions have the resources to nurture talent. But scratch beneath the surface and troubling questions appear.

Are national teams truly reflecting their countries? Or are they simply echo chambers of social advantage?

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Read more:
Cricket inequalities in England and Wales are untenable – our report shows how to rejuvenate the game

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In South Africa, almost every Black African cricketer to represent the country has come through a private school (often on scholarship). That suggests that talent without access remains potentially invisible. It also places unfair pressure on the few who make it through, as if they carry the hopes of entire communities.

I found that in England, some county systems have started integrating players from state schools, but progress is slow. In New Zealand, where cricket is less centralised around private institutions, regional hubs and public schools have had more success in spreading opportunities. However, even there, Māori and Pasifika players remain underrepresented in elite squads.

Four steps that can be taken

1. One solution lies in recognising that schools don’t have a monopoly on talent. Cricket boards must increase investment in grassroots infrastructure, particularly in under-resourced areas. Setting up community hubs, supporting school-club partnerships and more regional competitions could discover hidden talent.

2. Another step is to improve the visibility and reach of scouting networks. Too often, selection favours players from known institutions. By diversifying trial formats and leveraging technology (such as video submissions or performance-tracking apps), selectors can widen their net. It’s already happening in India, where IPL scouts visit the most unlikely of places.

3. Coaching is another stumbling block. In many countries, high-level coaches are clustered in elite schools. National boards should consider optimising salaries as well as rotating certified coaches into public schools and regional academies. They should also ensure coaches are developed to be equipped to work with diverse learners and conditions.

4. Technology offers other exciting possibilities too. Virtual simulations, motion tracking and AI-assisted video reviews are now common in high-performance centres. Making simplified versions available to lower-income schools could level the playing field. Imagine a township bowler in South Africa learning to analyse their technique using only a smartphone and a free app?

Fairness in sport

The conversation about schools and cricket is not just about numbers or stats. It is about fairness. Sport should be the great leveller, not another mechanism of exclusion. If cricket is to thrive, it needs to look beyond scoreboards and trophies. It must ask who gets to play and who never gets seen?

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A batter from a village school in India, a wicket-keeper from a government school in Sri Lanka or a fast bowler in a South African township; each deserves the chance to be part of the national story. Cricket boards, policymakers and educators must work together to make that possible.

The game will only grow when it welcomes players from all walks of life. That requires more than scholarships. It requires a reset of how we think about talent. Because the next cricket superstar may not wear a crest on their blazer. They may wear resilience on their sleeve.

Habib Noorbhai 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. Cricket’s great global divide: elite schools still shape the sport – https://theconversation.com/crickets-great-global-divide-elite-schools-still-shape-the-sport-261709

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Michael E Odijie, Associate Professor, University of Oxford

When historians and the public think about the end of domestic slavery in west Africa, they often imagine colonial governors issuing decrees and missionaries working to end local traffic in enslaved people.

Two of my recent publications tell another part of the story. I am a historian of west Africa, and over the past five years, I have been researching anti-slavery ideas and networks in the region as part of a wider research project.

My research reveals that colonial administrations continued to allow domestic slavery in practice and that African activists fought this.

In one study I focused on Francis P. Fearon, a trader based in Accra, the Ghanaian capital. He exposed pro-slavery within the colonial government through numerous letters written in the 1890s (when the colony was known as the Gold Coast).

In another study I examined the Lagos Auxiliary, a coalition of lawyers, journalists and clergy in Nigeria. Their campaigning secured the repeal of Nigeria’s notorious Native House Rule Ordinance in 1914. That ordinance had been enacted by the colonial government to maintain local slavery in the Niger Delta region.

Considered together, the two studies demonstrate how local campaigners used letters, print culture, imperial pressure points and personal networks to oppose practices that had kept thousands of Africans in bondage.

The methods Fearon and the Lagos Auxiliary pioneered still matter because they show how marginalised communities can compel power‑holders to close the gap between laws and lived reality. They remind us that well‑documented local testimony, amplified trans-nationally, can still overturn official narratives, compel policy change, and keep institutions honest.

Colonial ‘abolition’ that wasn’t

West Africa was a major source of enslaved people during the transatlantic slave trade. The transatlantic trade was suppressed in the early 19th century, but this did not bring an end to domestic slavery.

One of the principal rationales for colonisation in west Africa was the eradication of domestic slavery.

Accordingly, when the Gold Coast was formally annexed as a British colony in 1874, the imperial government declared slave dealing illegal. And slave-dealing was criminalised across southern Nigeria in 1901. On paper these measures promised freedom, but in practice loopholes empowered slave-holders, chiefs and colonial officials who continued to demand coerced labour.

On the Gold Coast, the 1874 abolition law was never enforced. The British governor informed slave-owners that they might retain enslaved persons provided those individuals did not complain. By 1890, child slavery had become widespread in towns such as Accra. According to the local campaigners, it was even sanctioned by the colonial governor. This led to some Africans uniting to establish a network to oppose it.

The Niger Delta region of Nigeria had a similar experience. The colonial administration enacted the Native House Rule Ordinance to counteract the effects of the Slave-Dealing Proclamation of 1901 which criminalised slave dealing with a penalty of seven years’ imprisonment for offenders. The Native House Rule Ordinance required every African to belong to a “House” under a designated head. It went on to criminalise any person who attempted to leave their “House”. In the Niger Delta kingdoms such as Bonny, Kalabari and Okrika, the word “House” never referred to a single dwelling. Rather, it denoted a self-perpetuating, named corporation of relatives, dependants and slaves under a chief, which owned property and spoke with one voice. By the 1900s, “Houses” had become the primary units through which slave ownership was organised.

Therefore, the Native House Rule Ordinance compelled enslaved people in Houses to remain with their masters. The masters were empowered to use colonial authority to discipline them. District commissioners executed arrest warrants against runaways. In exchange, the House heads and local chiefs supplied the colonial administration with unpaid labour for public works.

African campaigners in Accra and Lagos organised to challenge what they perceived as the British colonial state’s support for slavery.

Fearon: an undercover abolitionist in Accra

Francis Fearon was an educated African, active in the Accra scene during the second half of the 19th century. He was highly literate and part of elite circles. He was closely associated with the journalist Edmund Bannerman. He regularly wrote to local newspapers, often expressing concerns about racism against Black people and moral decay.

On 24 June 1890, Fearon sent a 63-page letter, with ten appendices, to the Aborigines’ Protection Society in London. That dossier would form the basis of several further communications. He alleged that child trafficking continued.

As evidence, he transcribed the confidential court register of Accra and claimed that Governor W. B. Griffith had instructed convicted slave-owners to recover their “property”.

Fearon’s tactics were audacious. He remained anonymous, relied on court clerks for documents, and supplied the Aborigines’ Protection Society with evidence. He pleaded with the society to investigate the colonial administration in the Gold Coast.

Although the society publicised the scandal, subsequent narratives quietly effaced the African source.

Lagos elites organise – and name the problem

Like Fearon, Nigerian campaigners also wrote to the Anti-Slavery and Aborigines’ Protection Society. They denounced the colonial government in Nigeria for promoting slavery, but they did not remain anonymous.

By this time, the Native House Rule Ordinance had prompted some enslaved people to flee the districts in which it was enforced. They sought refuge in Lagos. Through these arrivals, Lagosian elites learned of the ordinance. They unleashed a vigorous campaign against the colonial state.

The principal figures in this movement included Christopher Sapara Williams, a barrister, and James Bright Davies, editor of The Nigerian Times. Others included politician Herbert Macaulay, Herbert Pearse, a prominent merchant, Bishop James Johnson and the Reverend Mojola Agbebi. Unlike Fearon’s lone-wolf strategy, they mounted a coordinated assault on the colonial administration. They drafted petitions, briefed sympathetic European organisations, and inundated local newspapers with commentary.

Their arguments blended humanitarian indignation with constitutional acumen. They insisted that the ordinance contravened both British liberal ideals and African custom.

After years of pressure the law was amended and then quietly repealed in 1914.

Why these stories matter now

Contemporary scholarship on abolition is gradually shifting from asking “what Britain did for Africa” to examining the role Africans played in ending slavery.

Many African abolitionists who fought and lost their lives in the struggle against slavery have long gone unacknowledged. This is beginning to change.

The two articles discussed here highlight the creativity of Africans who, decades before radio or civil-rights NGOs, used transatlantic information circuits. They exposed colonial governments that continued to rely on forced-labour economies long after slavery was supposed to have ended.

They remind us that grassroots documentation can overturn official narratives. Evidence-based advocacy, coalition-building, and the strategic use of global media remain potent instruments.

Research for these articles was funded by the European Research Council under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Grant Agreement No. 885418).

– ref. The African activists who challenged colonial-era slavery in Lagos and the Gold Coast – https://theconversation.com/the-african-activists-who-challenged-colonial-era-slavery-in-lagos-and-the-gold-coast-261089

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Adrino Mazenda, Senior Researcher, Associate Professor Economic Management Sciences, University of Pretoria

Poverty goes beyond income. It often arises when health, education and opportunities fall short of meeting people’s needs.

Individuals are classified as impoverished when they face deprivation in one-third or more of the indicators in a multidimensional poverty index. The index reflects the various influences on socioeconomic class. These include housing, sanitation, electricity, cooking fuel, nutrition and school attendance.

The index is one of the most comprehensive measures of poverty. The fact that the multidimentional index captures multiple dimensions enables it to reflect overlapping disadvantages. And provides a fuller picture of well-being. Other monetary measures such as income aren’t as comprehensive.

About 18% of the world’s population are poor by the definition of the multidimentional poverty index. Sub-Saharan Africa is especially affected, with a multidimensional poverty rate nearing 59%.

In South Africa, it is at around 40%. This means it experiences four in 10 of the dimensions of poverty.

The province of Gauteng is South Africa’s economic hub. Nevertheless it contains pockets of severe deprivation. About 4.6% of households are poor. In some wards up to 68% are severely deprived.

We are social scientists with research histories in food systems and livelihoods, public policy and economics of human capital. We recently conducted a study focused on Gauteng. We wanted to determine what could enable poor and vulnerable households to move out of those categories.

We used a modelling exercise that allowed us to isolate the most relevant factors for this transition.

The study found six factors: education, age, income, working time, medical aid and being a recipient of a low income municipal support grant. We concluded from this that attending to these six variables was the foundation for upward mobility.

Conversely, vulnerability to economic shocks, such as job loss or food insecurity, can trigger rapid downward mobility.

Based on our findings we make eight policy recommendations. These include boosting education and skills training, better healthcare and affordable, reliable transport.

Range of factors

Multidimensional poverty intersects with socioeconomic class structures. It reinforces inequality by placing individuals into hierarchical groups. These range from the affluent and middle class to the transient, vulnerable, and chronically poor.

These disparities shape access to resources, opportunities and upward mobility.

Lower-class households differ from middle-class and affluent (non-poor) households across multiple dimensions. These differences include income stability, consumption patterns, access to services, asset ownership, social capital and vulnerability to shocks.

In the light of this we adopted a multidimensional poverty approach to classify households. We used various dimensions and indicators of poverty to assess the extent of deprivation and associated poverty levels.

We calculated the deprivation score and classified households into three levels: not poor, moderate poverty (vulnerable), and severe poverty (chronically poor).

Working time had the strongest effect. Part- or full-time work greatly lowered odds of severe poverty (chronic poverty) and moderate poverty (transient poverty). Working time refers to the duration that a person is engaged in paid employment or work-related activities. This is usually between 35 and 45 hours per week for full-time employment. And fewer than 35 hours per week for part-time employment.

Some factors only influenced certain groups. For severe poverty, transport access, household health, food parcel reliance, household size, and skipping meals were significant. For moderate poverty, gender, food parcel reliance and skipping meals mattered. And for the vulnerable non-poor (middle class), distance from public transport was the only additional factor.

Social grants and being part of the black population group showed little influence. Transitions and the ability to transcend poverty classes were driven mainly by direct socio-economic factors.

These dynamics underscore the precariousness of low-income households. They also highlight the importance of targeted interventions to break cycles of poverty.

Higher education, stable income and access to full-time work, drastically reduce the odds of remaining in severe or moderate poverty or being vulnerable. Medical aid access and municipal assistance programmes that provide free or subsidised basic services, also serve as protective factors. These help households meet essential health and welfare needs.

However, several structural and socio-economic constraints hinder transitions out of poverty. For example, living a greater distance from public transport increases the likelihood of severe poverty and vulnerability.

Food insecurity, measured by skipping meals or dependence on food parcels, remains a persistent marker of entrenched deprivation.

Gender disparities suggest underlying labour market or social vulnerabilities that require targeted policy interventions. For example, male-headed households are more likely than female-headed households to be moderately poor.

What can be done

Escaping multidimensional poverty in Gauteng requires targeted, practical and complementary interventions. Examples include subsidised transport, decentralised clinics, or housing closer to jobs.

This will enable grants to be translated to improved well-being.

We suggest eight areas for improvement:

• access to education, vocational training and digital skills. This will help to increase employment prospects

• public works and youth entrepreneurship support. This will boost income generation

• social protection like indigent benefits, food vouchers and subsidised medical aid

• food security. This can be done through community gardens and nutrition programmes

• support for female-headed households and young people

• affordable, reliable public transport. Services also need to be decentralised

• data-driven municipal planning to guide infrastructure and service investments

• consistently tracking progress against defined objectives.

The province implements multiple poverty-reduction initiatives. These include expanded public works, township economy support, food gardens, free basic services, subsidised housing, and public transport projects.

These efforts address income, food security and mobility. But they have limited impact due to persistent barriers. This is because many, particularly young people, don’t have market-relevant skills. In addition, spatial inequality results in long, costly commutes. And housing shortages and rising food prices deepen vulnerability.

Fragmented funding, weak coordination and inadequate data tracking also undermine progress.

Massimiliano Tani receives funding from Australian Research Council (unrelated to this article).

Adrino Mazenda and Catherine Althaus 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. 8 policies that would help fight poverty in South Africa’s economic hub Gauteng – https://theconversation.com/8-policies-that-would-help-fight-poverty-in-south-africas-economic-hub-gauteng-261388

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Veda Vaidyanathan, Associate, Harvard University Asia Center, Harvard Kennedy School

Ghana has historically been an anchor of Indian enterprise and diplomacy on the African continent.

New Delhi and Accra formalised ties in 1957. At the time, their partnership was grounded in shared anti-colonial ideals and a common vision for post-independence development. India offered counsel on building Ghana’s institutions, including its external intelligence agency. Meanwhile, Indian teachers, technicians, and traders regularly travelled to the west African country in search of opportunity.

The July 2025 visit of the Indian prime minister, Narendra Modi, to Ghana – the first by an Indian leader in over three decades – came at a critical moment for the continent. As the global order shifts towards multi-polarity, countries like Ghana are navigating a complex landscape, which includes western donors scaling back commitments. This has opened space to deepen cooperation through pragmatic, interest-driven collaborations with longstanding partners like India. Speaking at the Munich Security Conference, Ghana’s President John Mahama captured the spirit of this global realignment, noting that

as bridges are burning, new bridges are being formed.

Against this backdrop, Prime Minister Modi’s visit offered an opportunity to both revive and recalibrate bilateral ties. The visit carried a strong economic and strategic orientation. Ghana positioned itself as a partner in areas where India holds comparative advantage, such as pharmaceuticals. Over 26% of Africa’s generic medicines are sourced from India. The Food and Drugs Authority’s (Ghana’s regulator of pharmaceutical standards) listing of foreign pharmaceutical manufacturing facilities is dominated by Indian firms.

Defence cooperation was also on the agenda. Ghana is looking to India for training, equipment and broader security engagement in response to rising threats from the Sahel and coastal piracy.

This emphasis on shared security interests is underscored by Ghana’s alignment with India on counter-terrorism. President Mahama for instance has condemned the Pahalgam terrorist attacks that occurred in April, 2025.

Reviving economic ties

Economic ties are at the heart of this renewed engagement between the two countries. Bilateral trade currently stands at around US$3 billion. Both leaders aim to double it to US$6 billion over the next five years. Currently, Ghana enjoys a trade surplus with India. This is mainly due to gold exports, which account for over 70% of its shipments. Cocoa, cashew nuts, and timber are also key exports, while imports from India include pharmaceuticals, machinery, vehicles, and various industrial goods.

India has invested more than US$2 billion in Ghana. These investments span private capital, concessional finance and grants across 900 projects. India now ranks among Ghana’s top investors. Indian firms and state-backed institutions play a key role in critical infrastructure development. Landmark projects include the 97km standard gauge Tema-Mpakadan Railway Line and the Ghana-India Kofi Annan ICT Centre, a hub for innovation and research.

In an earlier study, I documented the perspectives of Indian entrepreneurs in Ghana. The findings underscored the country’s appeal as a land of economic opportunity. In interviews, Indian businesses highlighted Ghana’s stable political environment. An expanding consumer base, and relatively transparent regulatory framework were also mentioned. Together, these factors continue to attract investor interest.

This economic momentum likely paved the way to pursue a closer bilateral relationship, marked by the elevation to a ‘Comprehensive Partnership’.

While delegates in the July visit addressed issues such as financial inclusion, healthcare and agriculture, the tangible outcomes were limited. Four memoranda of understanding were signed. They cover cooperation on traditional medicine, regulatory standards and cultural exchange. The creation of a joint commission to structure and advance bilateral collaboration across priority sectors was also signed.

Moving forward, Ghana offers India an entry point into west Africa’s resource landscape. With reserves of gold, bauxite, manganese and lithium, Ghana is well positioned to contribute to India’s needs for critical minerals. President Mahama’s invitation for investment in mineral extraction and processing aligns with India’s National Critical Mineral Mission, New Delhi is looking for supply chains for its energy transition. It creates an opportunity for Indian mining companies to expand into African markets.

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Pragmatic diplomacy

With nearly US$100 billion in trade, cumulative investments of nearly US$75 billion, and a 3.5 million strong diaspora, the broader contours of India’s Africa policy is increasingly pragmatic and issue based.

New Delhi’s evolving relations with Accra reflects this. It comes as Ghana is making sweeping economic reforms domestically, particularly in fiscal management and debt restructuring.

This ambitious “economic reboot” hinges on attracting private sector investment. In this context, the Indian diaspora, already deeply embedded in Ghana’s commercial networks, is well positioned to foster stronger economic ties.

In his address to Ghana’s Parliament, The Indian Prime Minister spoke of development cooperation that is demand driven and focused on building local capacity and creating local opportunities. This approach “to not just invest, but empower”, signals India’s growing intent to anchor relationships in mutual agency, rather than dependency.

Veda Vaidyanathan is Fellow, Foreign Policy and Security Studies, at a leading Indian think tank.

– ref. Modi’s visit to Ghana signals India’s broader Africa strategy. A researcher explains – https://theconversation.com/modis-visit-to-ghana-signals-indias-broader-africa-strategy-a-researcher-explains-261187

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Rennie Naidoo, Professor of Information Systems, University of the Witwatersrand

African cities are growing at an incredible pace. With this growth comes a mix of opportunity and challenge. How do we build cities that are not only smart but also fair, inclusive and resilient?

A smart city uses digital tools such as sensors, data networks and connected devices to run services more efficiently and respond to problems in real time. From traffic and electricity to public safety and waste removal, smart technologies aim to make life smoother, greener and more connected.

Ideally, they also help governments listen to and serve citizens better. But without community input, “smart” can end up ignoring the people it’s meant to help.

That’s why a different approach is gaining ground. One that starts not with tech companies or city officials, but with the residents themselves.

I’ve been exploring what this looks like in practice, in collaboration with Terence Fenn from the University of Johannesburg. We invited a group of Johannesburg residents to imagine their own future neighbourhoods, and how technology could support those changes.

Our research shows that when residents help shape the vision for a smart city, the outcomes are more relevant, inclusive and trusted.

Rethinking smart cities

Our research centred on Westbury, a dense, working-class neighbourhood west of central Johannesburg, South Africa. Originally designated for Coloured (multi-racial) residents under apartheid, Westbury remains shaped by spatial injustice, high unemployment and gang-related violence, challenges that continue to limit access to opportunity and basic services. Despite this, it is also a place of resilience, cultural pride and strong community ties.

We tested a method called Participatory Futures, which invites people to imagine and shape the future of their own communities. In Westbury, we worked with a group of 30 residents, selected through local networks to reflect a mix of ages, genders and life experiences. Participants took part in workshops where they mapped their neighbourhood, created stories and artefacts and discussed the kind of futures they wanted to see. This approach builds on similar methods used in cities like Helsinki, Singapore and Cape Town, where local imagination has been harnessed to inform urban planning in meaningful, grounded ways.

We invited residents to imagine their own future neighbourhoods. What kind of changes would they like to see? How could technology support those changes without overriding local values and priorities?

Through this process, it became clear that communities wanted a say in how technology shapes their world. They identified safety, culture and sustainability as priorities, but wanted technology that supports, not replaces, their values and everyday realities.

The workshops revealed that when people imagine their future neighbourhoods, technology isn’t about gadgets or buzzwords; it’s about solving real problems in ways that fit their lives.

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Safety was a top concern. Residents imagined smart surveillance systems that could help reduce crime, but they were clear: these systems needed to be locally controlled. Cameras and sensors were fine, as long as they were managed within the community by people they trusted, not some distant authority. The goal was safer streets, not more control from afar.

Safety is a deeply rooted concern in Westbury, where residents live with the daily reality of gang violence, drug-related crime and strained relations with law enforcement. Trust in official structures is eroded. The desire for smart safety technologies is not about surveillance but about reclaiming a sense of control and protection.

Energy came up constantly. Power cuts are a regular part of life in Westbury. People wanted solar panels, not as a green luxury but as basic infrastructure. They imagined solar hubs that powered homes, schools and local businesses even during blackouts. Sustainability wasn’t an abstract goal; it was about self-sufficiency and dignity.

Technology also opened the door to cultural expression. Residents dreamed up tools that could make their stories visible, literally. One idea was using augmented reality, a technology that adds digital images or information to the real world through a phone or tablet, to overlay neighbourhood landmarks with local history, art and personal memories. It’s tech not as a spectacle, but as a way to connect past and future.

And then there were ideas about skills and education: digital centres where young people could learn to code, produce music or connect globally. These were spaces to build the future, not just survive the present. People imagined smart tools that could showcase local art, amplify community voices, or support small businesses.

In short, the technology imagined in Westbury wasn’t about creating a futuristic cityscape. It was about building tools that reflect the community’s values: safety, creativity, shared power and resilience.

Lessons for the future

If we want African smart cities to succeed, they need to be designed with, not just for, the people who live in them. Top-down models can miss the nuances of everyday life.

There are growing examples of participatory approaches reshaping urban futures around the world. In Cape Town, the “Play Khayelitsha” initiative used interactive roleplay and games to engage residents in imagining and co-planning future neighbourhoods. This helped surface priorities such as safety, mobility and dignity.

In Medellín, Colombia, a history of top-down planning was transformed by including local voices in decisions about transport, public space and education.

These cases, like Westbury, show that when communities are treated as co-creators rather than passive recipients, the outcomes are more inclusive, sustainable and grounded in real-life experience.

This shift is especially important in African cities, where the effects of colonial history and structural inequality still shape urban development. Technology isn’t neutral. It carries the assumptions of its designers. That’s why it matters who’s in the room when decisions are made. The smartest cities are those built with the people who live in them.

Rennie Naidoo 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. Smart cities start with people, not technology: lessons from Westbury, Johannesburg – https://theconversation.com/smart-cities-start-with-people-not-technology-lessons-from-westbury-johannesburg-260346