Category: The Conversation – Africa

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Paul Onanuga, Lecturer, Federal University, Oye Ekiti

Nigerian rapper, actor and social media star Falz released his sixth studio album, The Feast, in 2025.

Few Nigerian popular musicians have shown as much versatility and staying power as the man behind the #ElloBae and #WehDoneSir social media trends. For over a decade now, Falz has been marrying musical skills and social activism with digital savvy and comedy.

His rise to global prominence was solidified with his 2018 song This is Nigeria. But it began in 2014 with Marry Me off his debut album Wazup Guy.

As a young artist known for his video skits, he created an online challenge ahead of releasing the song Ello Bae (Hello Babe). In it he tries to romance a woman who appreciates him and his ambition, but is looking for a man with money. It remains a common hashtag when TikTokers post about love and money.

In 2017 he released Wehdone Sir (Well Done, Sir), a witty takedown of people with fake glamour lifestyles. #WehDoneSir is still used on social media to satirise pretentious individuals.

Falz would become known for his unique blend of hip-hop and Afropop, but what really made him stand out was his skill at infusing humour into his socially conscious, often revolutionary, songs.

It’s often argued that Falz is a natural heir to Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. He was the Nigerian music legend and activist who helped create the Afrobeat movement (a precursor to today’s Afrobeats).

Like Fela, Falz packs his music with playfulness and satire while also stirring public consciousness with activist lyrics. Both call for action against the oppressive political class. In 2020, when young Nigerians took to the streets to demand an end to police corruption, Fela and Falz were both part of the inventory of #EndSARS protest songs.

As a scholar of Nigerian hip-hop, I have published papers on Fela and Falz and how they have shaped protest music that responds to social challenges in Nigeria.

So, who is Falz, and how has he spread his message – and come to be the political voice of his generation, as Fela was to his?

Who is Falz?

Falz (real name Folarin Falana) was born in 1990 in Mushin, Lagos. He is the son of a respected human rights lawyer and activist father, Femi Falana, and lawyer mother, Funmi Falana. In fact, his father was Fela’s lawyer, defending him against charges brought by the state.

Falz also qualified as a lawyer, but chose instead to pursue his interests in music and acting. These multiple skills feed into his productions on diverse levels. Beyond his songs, he is also very active on Instagram and Tik-Tok, where he establishes trends, especially around his songs and films.

His character in Ello Bae, for instance, struggles with English, using big formal words in unexpected ways, finding comedy in his faux Yoruba inflections. It would be a trademark of the #ElloBaeChallenge and would enjoy renewed public attention when Falz was cast in the TV series Jenifa’s Diary playing a similar character.

In 2016, Falz won best new international act at the BET Awards in the US. Numerous other awards would follow. His albums have received commercial and critical success. His roles in movies have further solidified his status as a multitalented entertainer.

Activism

Falz does not shy away from living the talk. He took part in the 2020 #EndSARS protests and his work repeatedly tries to steer the government towards addressing socio-economic challenges.

Soon after the protests, he released Moral Instruction. On the album, the track Johnny depicts the everyday experiences of Nigerians. This is Nigeria, a localised version of US rapper Childish Gambino’s This is America, depicts Nigeria as a country struggling with corruption, lawlessness and social injustice. A stark contrast to its potential. The video reflects a breakdown in law and order, corrupt officials, and the struggles of young people facing limited opportunities and resorting to crime.

Falz has used his platform as a celebrity and his background as a lawyer to call for social justice and for young people to make a difference.

Fela and Falz

There have been a number of pretend heirs to Fela’s throne of musical consciousness. Many of these have either not lived up to the hype or have fizzled out.

However, many popular Nigerian artists leverage Fela’s ethos through sampling his beats and lyrics. This is evident in Falz’s musicography too.

My study on the lyrical and thematic connections between Fela and Falz songs compares a number of tracks. Fela’s No Agreement and Falz’s Talk, for example, both draw attention to social inequality and systemic challenges in Nigeria.

Fela’s song was produced in the context of a military regime while Falz’s was within a democratic dispensation. But both speak of a crisis of leadership in Nigeria, as is the case in many postcolonial societies. What particularly links Fela and Falz is that both are unrelenting in their revolutionary struggles and determination to ensure an equitable Nigerian society.

Religious leaders are not spared criticism. Echoing Fela’s Coffin for Head of State (1980), Falz’s Amen (2019) points to the deceptive practices and complicity of religious leaders in poor political leadership and endemic poverty. Both critique the double standards that have become normal in the country.

Falz’s Follow Follow (2019) addresses current realities in Nigerian society – a lack of personal conviction and independent thought and the mindless following of social media trends. Integrating lyrics from Fela’s Zombie (1976), the song is about asserting one’s identity. It also rehashes Fela’s Follow Follow, mocking those who allow themselves to be led blindly by others.

To make sure his advocacy resonates, Falz co-opts his listeners through a call-and-response strategy. A phrase is sung and the next phrase answers it. This way, along with catchy lyrics, the audience become active participants.

This also echoes the traditional Yoruba chant-and-refrain rendition used by musicians, poets and bards to engage their audience. Its possible nod to the indigenous is also at the heart of his faux Yoruba accent, a style that downplays his prestigious upbringing and connects him to ordinary people, much like Pidgin did for Fela.

But echoes of Fela don’t in any way take away from the creative force of Falz’s work. Rather they reinforce his critique of how the postcolonial Nigerian state has failed to live up to its promise.

Into the future

While Fela was unrepentantly anticolonial, Falz is sublimely hybridised. His mixture of talents and views creates a pulsating pan-African consciousness that’s able to exist in a global contemporary world view.

His lyrics and videography are aimed at the masses – especially young people – who have the most to gain from positive social change. In this way Falz can be said to represent a generational conscience. He uses his empowering songs to motivate his fans to take their destinies in their own hands.

Paul Onanuga 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. Revolutionary rap: Nigerian star Falz has kept protest music alive – https://theconversation.com/revolutionary-rap-nigerian-star-falz-has-kept-protest-music-alive-266529

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Unaludo Sechele, Research Fellow, University of the Free State

The history of labour migration in Botswana can be linked to the discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa in the late 19th century. South Africa needed cheap labour, and men from neighbouring territories were pulled into the workforce as unskilled or semi-skilled workers in mines, factories, kitchens and farms.

Mine recruitment agencies like the Native Recruiting Corporation and the Witwatersrand Native Labour Association began expanding recruitment networks in Botswana in the 1930s.

Men in Botswana – a British protectorate and largely rural economy at the time – were open to labour migration for several reasons. They had to pay taxes to the colonial administration, and for that they needed cash. Some needed to pay traditional bride price in cattle, acquire ploughs for agricultural production, or educate their children. Drought pushed some farmers to look for other work.

So men were forced leave their families and migrate to work in South Africa or Southern Rhodesia (today’s Zimbabwe). They would return home only about once a year. This left women as primary caregivers in their families, in a society with a patriarchal culture, where men are normally in charge. As a Tswana phrase puts it: “Mosadi ke ngwana wa monna – A woman is a man’s child.”

Families experienced a variety of challenges and changes as a result, and their responses to the circumstances varied. Previous studies have examined the effects of men’s absence, but there hasn’t been much historical research on the impact on women and families of their return. As a women’s historian I was interested in this aspect.

I interviewed 33 rural women in Botswana’s north-east and central disricts whose husbands had been away between 1970 and 2015 to ask them how this had affected them. From what they told me, it became apparent that most marriages did not work out for the best.

Their stories and perspectives add to what’s known about the economic and social impact of labour migration in the southern African region.

Labour migration and the disruption of families

Previous research has found that labour migration damaged families in the countries that provided workers. The tightly knit cooperative, social and economic unit became economically dependent on migrants’ income. Although it improved people’s lives economically, labour migration separated husbands and wives for long periods.

In Tswana society, marriage is typically seen as a husband and wife living together to raise children and make decisions. However, for women married to migrant workers, the situation was quite different. They spent much time apart; they only spent time together when the husband came home to visit, was on leave, or was between jobs.

It also shifted women’s social and economic status – and traditional gender roles. Even though the absent husband retained power over strategic family decisions, male migration improved the position of women, who became, in practice, heads of the house.

However, miners returned home when retired, retrenched or injured. Many also came back to Botswana following Botswana’s independence in 1966 and the discovery of diamonds in the country in 1967.

According to national censuses, the number of people living abroad decreased from 45,735 in 1971 to 38,606 in 1991 and 28,210 in 2001.

As these miners returned home, they removed their wives from critical aspects of running the household and reclaimed their roles as heads of families.

The return of husbands

My research aimed to analyse the redistribution of responsibilities and power dynamics between husbands and wives when migrants returned to Botswana.

The interviews with women revealed a range of outcomes. Three cases illustrate them. (I have changed the names to protect identities.)

Conflict

According to Julia Keneetswe, her husband’s return and attempt to reassert authority caused conflicts. Keneetswe provided a brief background of her marriage and the type of parent her husband was when he was working in the mines. She claimed that her husband’s contract was terminated because of violence. She stated that after his return, he was a violent man who nearly killed her.

Keneetswe said:

My husband was already at the mines when we got married. He would not come home even for the Christmas holidays or support the children. Since he came home after being fired for fighting with a colleague at the mine, there hasn’t been any peace. This man is extremely violent … He is also a useless drunkard, but I can’t leave him because where will I go, so I will just stay here and mind my own business while he takes care of his.

It is important to highlight that most women did not simply sit back and wait for their husbands to return; instead, they empowered themselves in various ways.

Independence

For example, Mary Mojadi had progressed to become head of department at the primary school where she was teaching. As a result of the differences they had when her husband returned, she opted to leave the marriage since she was not only educated and aware of her rights but also was financially stable and had the means to start a new life by herself.

Similarly, Kelebogile Sejo told me she had been on the village development committee for several years, a position that garnered her respect in the community. Although she was not the one who initiated the divorce, she did not oppose it because she had proved to herself over the years that she could build a life for herself and her children without depending on her husband.

Reunion

Not all reunions ended in fights and divorce. Beta Mojela’s experience was different. She said that when her husband left for the mines, she was left with nothing but uncultivated land. She took it upon herself to start a horticultural business, which became successful. When her husband retired, he returned home to an up-and-running business, and they continued working together to grow the business.

Conclusion

My research looked at labour migration from Botswana through a feminist lens. It noted that migration was a challenge to the patriarchal nature of Tswana society – the belief that men ought to be the head of the family.

Some women who had spent significant time without husbands failed to adjust to life in the shadow of their husbands when they returned. Miscommunication and a lack of compromise led to conflicts in some marriages. But there were cases in which the couples reunited.

The return of husbands did not have the same results or reception for different families. Nonetheless, these circumstances allowed some women to evolve as heads of families and become more independent.

Unaludo Sechele received funding from American Council of Learned Societies- African Humanities Program. She is affiliated with University of the Free State- International Studies Group.

– ref. Marriage and migration: what happens when men return to the family home in Botswana – https://theconversation.com/marriage-and-migration-what-happens-when-men-return-to-the-family-home-in-botswana-270403

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jo Barnes, Senior Lecturer Emeritus, Stellenbosch University

Water is a vital resource. Life on earth, as we know it, is impossible without access to safe drinking water. Concerns over declining quality and consistency of municipal drinking water supplied to consumers have been increasing over a long time.

In South Africa, widespread problems with the availability and quality of drinking water across urban areas have been well documented and have often given rise to protests.

For example, there have been service delivery protests in the eThekwini municipality, an important port city, amid power and water outages as well as in Johannesburg, the country’s economic centre.

There are many types of contaminants that can threaten the safety and quality of drinking water. The major water pollutants are disease-causing organisms (pathogens) and toxic chemicals.

Drinking water means more than the relatively small amount used for direct drinking. Water used for brushing teeth, washing food, washing hands (particularly when handling babies or young children) and washing tableware used while eating should receive priority when clean, safe water is scarce.

As a researcher working for decades on water issues, health and water and water quality, I can offer some suggestions about how people can purify their water and deal with water interruptions.

It’s not possible for the general public to purify all the water supplied to them every day using home-based methods. It is simply too expensive and laborious. So, the advice below concentrates on the situations when disasters or emergencies force residents to temporarily purify drinking water for themselves and their families.

Making water safe to drink

A simple filter: If the only available water has not been purified by any official system, pour the water through a sieve lined with one or more layers of paper towel or a dishcloth. When the “filter” becomes clogged, replace it with a clean layer. Do not reuse the soiled dishcloth without thoroughly washing it in hot water and soap and drying it in the sunlight.

Boiling: Bring the filtered water to a rolling boil for at least 3 minutes. Boiling the filtered water will get rid of the disease-causing organisms. It won’t remove any harmful chemicals that may be present, but may reduce the concentration of some of them.

Bleach Add a teaspoon of unscented household bleach (5 millilitres of a 3.5% sodium hypochlorite solution) to 25 litres of water for the treatment of drinking water. Mix well, cover the container and let the water stand for at least two hours before using it.

This should disinfect most of the disease-causing organisms and make the water much safer to use. Important: do not use any cleaning solution containing bleach that also includes other soaps or cleaning compounds. Use only unscented chlorinated household bleach.

Solar disinfection of water: Nicknamed SODIS, it can be used to disinfect water by killing disease-causing organisms using sunlight. Fill glass (preferable) or plastic bottles with contaminated water and place them in direct sunlight for at least six hours on a sunny day or up to two days if the weather is overcast. The heat and the ultraviolet radiation from the sun disinfect the water by killing most of the disease-causing organisms.

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Read more:
Tiny technology that can find pollution in South Africa’s water and trap it

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A problem that’s growing

The quality of water being delivered to South African residents continues to deteriorate. This is due to ageing or broken infrastructure, inadequate water and sewage treatment, poorly trained staff and extensive, uncontrolled sources of pollution.

The Blue Drop Report of 2023 is the newest official data from the Department of Water and Sanitation. If found that only 26 water supply systems achieved a Blue Drop score of around 95%. This was down from 44 water supply systems that achieved this distinction in 2014. Countrywide, 29% of water supply systems were identified as being in a critical state.

The nongovernmental organisation AfriForum tested the municipal drinking water quality of 210 towns and cities across South Africa in 2024 (17 locations more than in 2023).

The tests indicated that 87% of municipal drinking water was safe for human consumption and met the minimum requirements. This represents a nine percentage point decrease from the 96% that was indicated as safe in the previous year.

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Read more:
Is my water safe to drink? Expert advice for residents of South African cities

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Water quality is not the only aspect of water provision that affects the health and safety of citizens. Water availability is crucial for hygiene and safe living standards. For years, some parts of the country have been experiencing widespread water outages due to a combination of climate change-induced droughts, ageing and under-maintained infrastructure, population growth and poor management. There have been frequent and prolonged disruptions, particularly in the Johannesburg area.

This forced municipalities to implement water shedding, water throttling and water rationing. Water shedding typically occurs when the demand for water exceeds the available supply, forcing authorities to ration water. This can mean scheduled water outages, reduced water pressure, or even complete cuts in supply in certain areas for a specific period of time. Water throttling refers to reduced water pressure to decrease water use, while water rationing means only having a certain amount of water available per day or week.

A new report from the Department of Water and Sanitation warns that the provinces of Gauteng and the Western Cape in particular are set to face increasing water scarcity due to rising populations driven by in-migration.

Jo Barnes 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. How to make sure water is safe to drink: four practical tips – https://theconversation.com/how-to-make-sure-water-is-safe-to-drink-four-practical-tips-268713

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Tony Roberts, Digital Research Fellow, Institute of Development Studies

Between 2016 and 2024 there were 193 internet shutdowns imposed in 41 African countries. This form of social control is a growing trend in the continent, according to a new open access source book. It has provided the first-ever comparative analysis of how and why African states use blackouts – written by African researchers.

The book, co-edited by digital rights activist and internet shutdown specialist Felicia Anthonio and digital researcher Tony Roberts, offers 11 in-depth case studies of state-sponsored shutdowns. We asked five questions about it.

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How do you define an internet shutdown and why do they happen?

Put simply, an internet shutdown is an intentional disruption of online or mobile communications. They’re usually ordered by the state and implemented by private companies, internet service providers or mobile phone companies, or a combination of those.

The book argues that internet shutdowns are not legal, necessary or proportional in accordance with international human rights law. Shutdowns intentionally prevent the free flow of information and communication. They disrupt online social, economic and political life. So, each internet shutdown typically violates the fundamental human rights of millions of citizens. This includes their rights to freedom of expression, trade and commerce, democratic debate and civic participation online.

Our research looked at case studies from 11 countries between 2016 and 2024. It reveals these shutdowns are timed to coincide with elections or peaceful protests in order to repress political opposition and prevent online reporting.

In Senegal five politically motivated shutdowns in just three years transformed the country’s digital landscape. It cut off citizens’ access to online work, education and healthcare information.

The Uganda chapter shows how the government imposed social media shutdowns during the election. They were fearful of dissenting voices online including that of musician and politician Bobi Wine.

In Ethiopia internet shutdowns are timed to coincide with opposition protests and to prevent live coverage of state violent repression.

In Zimbabwe the government cut off the internet in 2019 to quell anti-government demonstrations.

It should be a concern that regimes are imposing these digital authoritarian practices with increasing frequency and with impunity.

What are the big trends?

The report warns that internet shutdowns are being used to retain power through authoritarian controls. Across Africa, governments are normalising their use to suppress dissent, quell protests and manipulate electoral outcomes.

These blackouts are growing in scale and frequency from a total of 14 shutdowns in 2016 to 28 shutdowns in 2024. There have been devastating consequences in an ever-more digitally connected world.

Internet shutdowns have also increased in sophistication. Partial shutdowns can target specific provinces or websites, so that opposition areas can be cut off. In recent years foreign states, military regimes and warring parties have also resorted to the use of internet shutdown as a weapon of war. This was done by targeting and destroying telecommunications infrastructure.

Ethiopia has experienced the most internet shutdowns in Africa – 30 in the last 10 years. They’ve become a go-to tactic of the state in their attempt to silence dissent in the Oromo and Amhara regions. Shutdowns are timed to coincide with state crackdowns on protests or with military actions – preventing live reporting of human rights violations. Ethiopia is a clear example of how internet shutdowns both reflect and amplify existing political and ethnic power interests.

Zimbabwe is one of many examples in the book of the colonial roots of shutdowns. The first media shutdowns in Zimbabwe were imposed by the British, who closed newspapers to silence calls for political independence. After liberation, the new government used its own authoritarian control over the media to disseminate disinformation and curtail opposition calls for justice and full democracy.

Towards the end of former president Robert Mugabe’s rule, the government imposed a variety of nationwide internet shutdowns. It also throttled the speed of the mobile internet, degrading the service enough to significantly disrupt opposition expression and organisation.

Sudan has experienced 21 internet shutdowns in the last decade. These have increased in recent years as the political and military action has intensified. Intentional online disruption has been consistently deployed by the state during protests and periods of political unrest, particularly in response to resistance movements and civil uprisings during the ongoing conflict.

Has there been effective resistance to shutdowns?

Activists resist by using virtual private network software (VPNs) to disguise their location. Or by using satellite connections not controlled by the government and foreign SIM-cards. They also mobilise offline protests despite violent repression.

Nigeria has not suffered the same volume of internet shutdowns as Sudan or Ethiopia. This is partly because civil society is stronger and is able to mount a more robust response in the face of state disruption of the right to free expression. When an internet shutdown has been imposed in Nigeria, the state has not enjoyed the same impunity as the government in Zimbabwe or elsewhere.

When Nigerians were unable to work online or participate in the online social and political life of the community, they took decisive action by acting collectively. They selectively litigated against the government. This led to the courts ruling that the internet shutdown was not lawful, necessary or proportionate. The government was forced to lift the ban.

How has 2025 fared when it comes to shutdowns?

We have seen both positive and negative trends in 2025. The total number of internet shutdowns across the continent continues to grow. The increasing ability of regimes to narrowly target shutdowns on specific areas is of great concern as it allows the state to punish opposition areas while privileging others.

On the positive side, we have seen resistance rise: both in terms of the use of circumvention technologies but also in the emerging ability of civil society organisations to stand up to repressive governments.

What must happen to prevent shutdowns?

The right to work, freedom of expression and association, and the right to access education are fundamental human rights both offline and online. African governments are signatories to both the Universal Convention on Human Rights and to the Africa Union Charter on Human and People’s Rights. Yet, politicians in power too often ignore these commitments to preserve their personal hold on power.

In some African countries citizens are now exercising their own power to hold governments to account but this is easier in countries that have strong civil society, independent courts and relatively free media. Even where this is not the case the constitutional court is an option for raising objections when the state curtails fundamental freedoms.

And while it is states that order internet shutdowns, it is private mobile and internet companies that implement them. Private companies have obligations to promote and protect human rights. If companies agreed collectively not to contribute to rights violations and refused to impose internet shutdowns, it would be a great leap forward in ending this authoritarian practice.

Tony Roberts receives funding from the Open Society Fund.

– ref. Internet shutdowns are increasing dramatically in Africa – a new book explains why – https://theconversation.com/internet-shutdowns-are-increasing-dramatically-in-africa-a-new-book-explains-why-271222

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Luke Melchiorre, Assistant Professor of Political Science, Marist College

On the eve of Uganda’s 2021 presidential election, it was clear that regardless of how Ugandans voted, the incumbent, Yoweri Museveni, would most likely be declared the winner. Amid mounting repression, accusations of vote rigging, and an internet blackout, that is exactly what transpired. Museveni was declared the winner for his sixth consecutive term in office.

Five years on, that prediction could just as easily and accurately be applied to the 15 January 2026 vote. This should not be taken as evidence that national politics in Uganda have remained static. Far from it.

It is true that state repression has remained a constant since the 2021 polls. Museveni’s main opponent continues to be a youthful, charismatic political outsider. But the landscape of opposition politics has shifted significantly along with speculation about 81-year-old Museveni’s potential successor.

Moreover, recent elections in Mozambique and Tanzania offer a pointed political lesson. Though an oppressive and entrenched ruling party can virtually assure its electoral triumph at the polls, it does not mean that everything after the election will go to its plan.

As a researcher of democracy and its discontents in African politics (with a particular focus on east Africa), I have followed the Ugandan case closely over the last six years. In this article, I will elaborate on the four key sources of continuity and change which mark the country’s politics heading into the upcoming election.

Bobi Wine remains the face of opposition

Robert Kyagulanyi entered the political scene in 2017 as an independent candidate in a parliamentary by-election, which he won by a landslide. Better known by his stage name, Bobi Wine, the 43-year-old popular musician-turned-presidential candidate has defied the predictions of friends and foes alike to become the undisputed face of Uganda’s political opposition.

In my academic research, I have documented his remarkable political rise and ideological evolution.

In an era of African politics marked by growing intergenerational tensions, Bobi Wine has been able to mobilise the younger generation in opposition to almost four decades of Museveni’s rule.

His captivating narrative: rising from humble origins in a ghetto of Kamwookya to a life of pop stardom and political defiance. This has made him a global icon, attracting attention in the West, as the subject of an Oscar-nominated documentary and Spotify podcast.

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Read more:
Bobi Wine has shaken up Ugandan politics: four things worth knowing about him

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Since 2017, he has carved a national political reputation in Uganda. Notably, he:

• led protests against the constitutional amendment that lifted presidential age limits, allowing Museveni to run again in 2021

• mobilised against a new social media tax that would limit (young) people’s access to social media debates

• led his party, the National Unity Platform (NUP), to a strong showing in the 2021 election.

With 57 seats in parliament, National Unity Platform became the country’s official opposition party. It won impressive support in traditional ruling party strongholds.

The party’s massive rallies and Bobi Wine’s recent attempts to build bridges across ethno-regional divides suggest that the National Unity Platform is still the country’s best hope of toppling Museveni at the polls.

But the opposition faces the ruling party’s continued use of violence to manipulate the election. This makes it difficult to know how the National Unity Platform might perform in a free and fair election. More troubling, the incumbent’s iron grip on the Ugandan military makes it nearly impossible to imagine a peaceful transfer of power.

State repression persists

As Bobi Wine’s popularity has risen, so has state violence against his movement. Nationwide protests against his arrest in November 2020 led to police killings of at least 54 people.

Bobi Wine’s political stance has also come at a great cost to himself. He has been arrested, tortured, shot in the leg, and survived multiple assassination attempts.

In the run-up to the 2026 election, prominent the National Unity Platform members remain in detention and have been tortured. In November 2024, opposition veteran Kizza Besigye was renditioned from Nairobi and has since been held in a maximum security prison.

Bobi Wine has likened the campaign trail to “a war”. Video footage recently captured police and defence force soldiers beating National Unity Platform security personnel.

The severity of the violence has led the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights to warn of a “deepening crackdown on Uganda’s opposition” and urge the Museveni regime to “cease … such repressive tactics”.

Museveni’s manoeuvrings

The Museveni regime has effectively coopted key political opponents, infiltrated opposition parties, and sowed the seeds of distrust and division among and within them.

In July 2022, the Democratic Party (DP) leader Norbert Mao was appointed as Museveni’s new justice minister. Mao once bragged that he could “never be bought”. Subsequently, the Democratic Party – Uganda’s second oldest political party – entered into a formal cooperation agreement with the ruling National Resistance Movement.

Meanwhile, Besigye has left the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) after accusing fellow party leaders of accepting “dirty money” from State House.

Even National Unity Platform “isn’t really safe from Museveni’s infiltration”. In early 2024, a high-ranking leader, Mathias Mpuuga, left the party, amid allegations of corruption and wrongdoing during his tenure as leader of the opposition. Mpuuga subsequently started a new party, the Democratic Front. He has since publicly criticised his former party leader.

Breeding internal suspicion and division undermines the opposition’s ability to mount a united front against the incumbent.

The rise of Muhoozi

The 2026 elections raise political questions about the fate of Uganda post-Museveni. In the last five years, speculation has centred on the Ugandan president’s eldest son, Gen Muhoozi Kainerugaba.

There is a widely held belief that Museveni is grooming his son, the current defence force chief, to be his presidential successor.

The constitution prohibits serving members of this institution from running for political office. Yet Muhoozi has made his own ambitions for political power clear.

Uncharacteristic of a decorated military officer, Muhoozi is given to erratic and at times shocking public outbursts. He also constantly stokes controversy.

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Read more:
Museveni’s first son Muhoozi: clear signals of a succession plan in Uganda

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But Museveni appears to continue to lay the groundwork for his son’s political ascendance. A cabinet reshuffle in March 2024, and more recent party elections, phased out “the old guard” in favour of Muhoozi loyalists. This suggests that the influence and power of Museveni’s son is growing.

As political scholar Kristof Titeca recently noted, the National Resistance Movement’s electoral victory in January is certain. But the politics of “succession are not”.

Paying close attention to the fortunes of Muhoozi loyalists on key party committees and within Museveni’s new cabinet after the election, perhaps the Ugandan president’s last, will reveal much about the fate of the Muhoozi project. And the political future of Uganda more broadly.

Luke Melchiorre receives funding from NORHED-II.

– ref. Uganda election: Museveni will win, but the landscape has changed since his last victory – https://theconversation.com/uganda-election-museveni-will-win-but-the-landscape-has-changed-since-his-last-victory-271535

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Saana Hansen, Postdoctoral Researcher in Social and Cultural Anthropology, University of Helsinki

Each December, long-distance buses, minibus taxis and private cars stream northwards from South Africa as Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s second biggest city, prepares for its annual ritual: the seasonal homecoming of “injiva” – migrants returning for Christmas.

The old industrial city, where businesses have declined and shops and restaurants struggle to survive, fills temporarily with cars with South African number plates and people dressed in trendy clothes signalling urban South African lifestyles. Trailers are loaded with remittances known as “Christmas boxes” containing cooking oil, soap and other groceries. A jumping castle is erected in the park, and popular music merges with laughter in the restaurants.

These are historically rooted signs of achievement and success earned abroad. They are a refashioned form of the festive season of colonial-era injivas: men from the Matabeleland region of Zimbabwe who worked in South African mines and farms, returning home typically once a year with gifts.

Yet, it is common knowledge that this performance is often hard-earned, and injivas – both women and men – struggle to meet these expectations. The real-life migration experiences include economic and legal uncertainties and discrimination in the labour market, low wages and difficulty in sending remittances home.

Amid the festive return lies a quieter and more solemn south-north movement – that of Zimbabwean migrants who have passed away and are taking their final journey home. Contrasting with the festivities surrounding Christmas visits, the coffin-shaped trailers along the A6 highway from the Beitbridge border post to Bulawayo are a reminder that migration’s promise of prosperity comes with risk and loss.

This homecoming, which I studied for my PhD in anthropology and have described in a recent paper, is shaped by bureaucracy, cost and intergenerational care.

The study reveals how a life-sustaining web of care is maintained. It contributes to anthropological discussions on migration, kinship, the state, documentary practices, law and development.

The moral duty and economic headache of return

The migration pattern between Zimbabwe and South Africa has its roots in colonial-era labour migration and has intensified since Zimbabwe’s independence in 1980. In the early 2000s, Zimbabwe’s economic collapse, marked by hyperinflation, political violence and mass unemployment, drove millions to seek economic opportunities and protection in South Africa.

Estimating the number of Zimbabweans in South Africa is difficult due to the largely unregulated nature of this mobility, but figures generally range between one million and three million.

Although deceased migrants, documented or not, can be buried in South African soil, bringing a body home is a vital act in Zimbabwe, as in many other African contexts. It is to restore the deceased to the lineage and to enable the spirit to be mourned and settled so it will protect younger generations. Failing to do so risks spiritual and social disorder. The respectful return in death, like the festive Christmas return of the able-bodied injivas, reinforces ties between generations.

Despite the religious and cultural importance of burial at home, repatriating a body from South Africa poses economic challenges to a family. It’s not only a moral duty but also a financial burden. So, in principle, only those whose death has been unforeseen return in coffins. Those who can will return home before they die to save the cost of repatriation.

Families make extraordinary efforts to make repatriation possible. Relatives collect and borrow money, and reach out to kin across borders. Burial societies mobilise payments from their members to collect the funds for embalming, transportation, paperwork and funerals. These obligations reveal the importance of the ancestral continuity being an economic matter, and sustenance of family welfare continuing after death.

Formal and informal burial societies

Since the 1990s, Bulawayo’s once-thriving industries have largely collapsed, leaving its old mills and factories deserted or refunctioning as spaces for religious congregations, education and garages. Amid these modest ventures, funeral services stand out in the city’s otherwise melancholic landscape.

As Zimbabwe’s economic and political instability pushes many to seek livelihoods in South Africa, the funeral industry has expanded. The Beitbridge border, crossing the Limpopo River between Zimbabwe and South Africa, has long organised the movement of labour and remittances, governing also the return of bodies.

Indeed, funeral parlours and burial societies date back to the colonial era when injured and dead migrants had to be sent home. Today, carrying prosperous names such as Doves, Kings & Queens and African Pride, funeral parlours function as key institutions in managing transnational death.

Besides these licensed funeral services, people belong to informal money pooling societies that mobilise money collectively to cover the cost of death. While some collect steady monthly deposits, others gather money ad hoc during emergencies.

These societies blur boundaries between formal and informal systems. Many “undocumented” migrants, who cannot have bank accounts, participate through friends or relatives with legal status, contributing to pooled funds tracked via mobile communication apps and bank transfer receipts. Societies sustain solidarity networks, and transparent contributions signal both moral and financial responsibility, shaping participants’ social standing.

Bureaucracies of transnational death

Between the death and the burial, numerous legal and bureaucratic steps must be completed, from obtaining death certificates and health clearances to coordinating with South African and Zimbabwean authorities.

Often, identity documents from Zimbabwe need to be collected to prove that the deceased is a Zimbabwean national. When the deceased has not revealed their identity to the South African authorities and remains “undocumented”, or has two legal identities, the disparity needs to be explained in affidavits.

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These administrative steps are not simply procedural; they are part of the politics of death. The paperwork that allows a body to move, such as a stamp, a signature, or an affidavit, is both a form of recognition and a reminder of inequality. While some deaths can move across borders with relative ease, others become delayed or trapped in institutional procedures.

Bureaucracy is a space where care, legality and belonging intertwine. State officials may draw not only on formal guidelines but also their cultural logics of care. They are central in navigating the legal and bureaucratic challenges. Immigration officers might be sympathetic and share the cultural understanding of the importance of returning home respectably.

The homecoming of the dead mirrors, in reverse, the December journeys of the living. Both are seasonal movements that bind families across generations, space and time. The same routes that carried migrants south in search of work now carry their bodies northward, accompanied by papers, payments and prayers.

In the end, the bureaucracies that regulate transnational death are not merely state procedures, but central to how families remake connection, dignity and belonging under precarious conditions.

This research was supported by funding from the Academy of Finland. The author is currently supported by the Kone Foundation.

– ref. The price of going home: Christmas boxes and the final return from South Africa to Zimbabwe – https://theconversation.com/the-price-of-going-home-christmas-boxes-and-the-final-return-from-south-africa-to-zimbabwe-268046

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Nicolette V Roman, SARChI: Human Capabilities, Social Cohesion and the Family, University of the Western Cape

At the end of the year, many families reunite to enjoy time together. These times can be happy, yet sometimes they reveal tensions, unsatisfied needs and difficult relationships. The reality is that being together does not necessarily mean you are connected. Families can be both joyful and anguished or distressed at the same time.

These contradictions are brought into focus during festive periods. They show just how strong the ties of a family are, and remind us that family life is not just a social structure but a continuous practice of connecting and caring.

In our work at the Centre of Interdisciplinary Studies of Children, Families and Society at the University of the Western Cape in South Africa, we pose what seems on the surface a very simple question: what do families do to not only survive, but thrive together?

We find repeated themes in our research: families thrive (or do well) when trust is fostered, when care is given and when all members feel they belong.

Family cohesion enables individuals to feel safe and connected. It is not about being perfect or agreeing always, but being able to trust and get along with each other.

We’ve found that more unified families can:

• communicate openly

• adapt to change

• support each other in the trials of life.

These virtues are not something to be assumed. An example is trust, which is not automatic. It is constructed gradually, by respecting each other, the consistency of a present caregiver, the fairness of shared tasks, the assurance that a person’s voice is heard.

In cases where trust breaks down, families tend to say that they feel uncertain, or even unsafe, in their own homes. Yet when trust is strong, it creates the invisible thread which helps families to survive change.

Our studies show that disagreement can coexist with closeness, provided families have ways to repair relationships after tension. One parent in our research said it best:

We fight, we cry, but we still sit together for supper.

That small act of sitting together is part of the work of care that holds families intact.

South African families

South African families and households are diverse in their structures: nuclear, single-parent, multigenerational, child-headed or based on emotional connection and choice. That’s the result of cultural richness as well as the heritage of apartheid, which disturbed traditional family life through forced migration, labour relations and systemic marginalisation.

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In our qualitative research in urban communities, families mixed both traditional values and contemporary realities. Grandmothers are usually key figures in caregiving and young people contribute meaningfully to family and household life. But families face significant pressures. Many struggle to meet basic needs, like shelter and food, as well as intangible needs like love, respect and understanding. Family cohesion may be eroded when these needs are not met.

Unmet needs also reflect what we call “bad care”. By that we mean not getting care, or getting inadequate care.

The impact of bad care on people is among the most interesting things that we discovered during our research. It occurs when care-giving responsibilities are not shared equally, when intangible needs are not met or when family members can’t talk to each other. The consequences of unmet intangible needs are usually quite powerful.

For example, a grandmother may make sure her grandchildren are fed, dressed and safe every day. But if her desire for love, connection, or relaxation is not met, she may feel like no one cares about her or that she is being taken for granted. As one grandmother described it, being “the glue” that kept the family together meant her personal needs for rest, emotional support, or simply being cared for were overlooked.

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Some families expect their younger members (daughters in particular) to take care of other people, even if they are not prepared or haven’t consented. In our study, one interviewee said that since the death of her grandmother, she was supposed to be the one who would keep the family together though she did not consider herself ready. Her personal needs such as being heard, respected and given space to grieve were placed on hold.

A care-giver who feels as though no one is noticing or supporting them might end up feeling depressed, angry, or burned out. They might not ask for help, for fear of being judged or rejected. One woman said she never talked to her family about her concerns since they “have their own problems” and “don’t want to listen”. This silence, which can be caused by pride, fear, or a lack of trust, can hurt relationships and make people feel even more alone.

Bad care also refers to being given care that is not responsive to all the needs of a family member. Families who only consider aspects like food, shelter and money might lose sight of emotional and spiritual needs. And as those are not fulfilled, the emotional fabric of the family starts to fall apart.

During the holidays, these family behaviours tend to get worse. Being back under one roof brings out disparities in money, values, or hopes. Adult children come home with fresh experiences, parents remember the sacrifices they made, and grandparents hope their traditions will live on.

Care becomes the language that connects people of all ages in this mix. It can be said in words, like when people talk, laugh, or say they’re sorry. It often happens softly, like when people share a meal made with love, offer to help, or take a moment to listen.

Care is not seasonal. It is every day and intentional. The family is not a luxury; it is the pillar of wellbeing. Once the decorations are packed away and the noise fades, what remains are the relationships we have tended.

Nicolette V Roman receives funding from National Research Foundation (NRF), Social Sciences Research Council – African Peace Network.

– ref. Family time: how to survive – and even thrive – over the holidays – https://theconversation.com/family-time-how-to-survive-and-even-thrive-over-the-holidays-269035

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Shirley C. Strum, Professor of the Graduate Division, School of Social Sciences and Emerita, Department of Anthropology, University of California, San Diego

Conflict between humans and baboons can tear communities apart. Shirley C. Strum has studied wild olive baboons in Kenya for more than 50 years. In that time she’s come to understand the species intimately. In this article she argues that humans have taken from nature (without asking) for too long. And that now it’s time for us to rethink this relationship.

What have you learnt about baboon behaviour and habits over the past 51 years?

During my studies I have found that baboons are smart and sophisticated, and they need each other to be successful because of an unwritten “golden rule” – “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”.

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Baboons aren’t yet endangered, because they adapt to new human environments. Part of this adaptability includes flexible primate hands (not trunks or hooves), primate intelligence, and the combined knowledge of their social group.

My research over the decades has provided a great deal of evidence of this.

As far as conflict with wildlife is concerned, you can’t ignore the growth in human population everywhere. In 1972, when I started my research, Kenya’s population was 12 million. Now it is pushing 60 million people.

This rate of population growth means more land is used for infrastructure and food. Development has converted wildlife areas into rural, suburban and urban human environments over the last 50 years.

As a result, human-wildlife conflict has increased. In Kenya, most wildlife exists in parks, reserves and surrounding areas. Kenya Wildlife Service recorded 10,000 episodes in these areas in 2024.

My research demonstrated that the cost of raiding has to outweigh the benefits for the baboons. Once tasted, human foods, including field crops, are ideal. Baboons are a special case of conflict because they can outsmart most humans. And baboons can be very destructive when they lose their fear of humans as they have in some parts of Cape Town, South Africa.

How can baboons be stopped from raiding farms and homes?

This depends on both the context and the history of baboon troops in the area.

The best solution to resolving conflicts is to prevent them. Changing human behaviours is difficult. And preventing bad baboon behaviour – like raiding human foods – is easier than trying to change baboon behaviours once they occur.

But this is an increasingly rare opportunity today because of the humanisation of the landscape.

What approaches have been tried and which ones have been successful?

The Gilgil Baboon Project – after translocation it became the Uaso Ngiro Baboon Project – started on a 45,000 acre (18,000 hectare) cattle ranch with more wildlife than cattle. We tried many control techniques, old (guarding and chasing) and new (playback of baboon alarm calls, leopard scats and lithium chloride taste aversion).

The ranch was then sold to Gikuyu Embu Meru Association, which distributed land to its members. Baboons began enjoying the new foods, raiding crops regularly.

Research demonstrated that the costs of raiding had to outweigh the benefits for baboon to stop raiding. It might surprise you that baboons do not eat human food out of spite but because of deep evolutionary imperatives. Their foraging aim is always to get the most nutrition for the least expenditure of energy.

Once tasted, human foods are special. They are large packages of easy to digest fare, the equivalent of baboon fast food. This makes baboons very difficult to control given the benefit of eating human food.

Some observations about solutions.

Boundaries: To prevent baboons raiding, you must draw a line beyond which baboons cannot go and reinforce it frequently and consistently. Given how much a baboon has to gain, she or he can devote plenty of time to waiting for the right moment.

Because of the growth of human population, many places already have baboon raiders. In this case, fields must be guarded by people all the time, homestead doors and windows can’t be left open (unless window bars prevent baboons of any size getting in) and many other human time-consuming and costly coping behaviours have to be used to control baboon raiding.

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Remember, to control raiding the cost must exceed the benefit. You have to use up baboon time, forcing them to look for other things to eat. But harming a baboon doesn’t work unless it is directly linked to the raiding and in full view of the rest of the group.

If the baboon habit of eating human food has become a “tradition”, it is difficult to extinguish.

Translocation: If you have enough money and time, translocating the baboons might be an alternative. Translocation means moving them to a new place in their historical range. I pioneered translocation for primates in 1984 when I moved three troops from Kekopey Ranch near Gilgil, Kenya to a place where crops couldn’t grow, the Eastern Laikipia Plateau in Kenya.

Today, however, there are very few places left where baboons can’t get into trouble.

Killing: The final option is to remove the baboons. I call it “killing” because fancy names don’t hide the reality. However, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. You first need to understand baboons. Second, the baboons can’t be killed by a helicopter gunship or even professional hunters. They are too wily. Killing a whole baboon group has its challenges. Even if you succeed (which I doubt), removing one group from a population means another troop will soon take its place.

These are hard choices that I don’t take lightly. It is one thing to view wildlife from the safety of your home or vehicle but another to have baboons steal your food, take your livestock, or decimate your crops.

What needs to change?

Human views about baboons have changed over the last 50 years from positive to negative. Today, social media is rife with conflict between baboons and humans in southern Africa. Nature is real, but our ideas about nature are cultural and based on our experiences and attitudes.

We are faced with a difficult dilemma: humans cause the problem but wild creatures pay the price. Conflict between baboons and humans won’t change unless human behaviour and attitudes change.

Dr Strum has a new book published by Johns Hopkins University Press: Echoes of Our Origins: Baboons, Humans and Nature. It is available on Amazon US and Amazon UK.

Shirley C. Strum 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. Managing conflict between baboons and people: what’s worked – and what hasn’t – https://theconversation.com/managing-conflict-between-baboons-and-people-whats-worked-and-what-hasnt-264821

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Alexander M. Laskaris, Visiting Scholar, University of Florida

Kidnapping for ransom has a long history in the west African Sahel. In 1979, a rebel group led by Chad’s future president Hissène Habré kidnapped a French archaeologist and a German medical doctor in the north of the country. The kidnappers asked for the release of political prisoners, among other demands.

Over the decades kidnapping became an industry in the Sahel. Governments were willing to pay financial and political ransoms even if they denied it publicly. This industry fuelled the expansion of jihadist groups from Algeria to the Sahel (south of the Sahara) between the early 2000s and mid-2010s. The most spectacular of these kidnappings was the abduction of 32 European tourists in 2003. It was carried out by the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat in the Algerian Sahara. A €5 million ransom was reportedly paid for the hostages.

Using conflict data from the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data Project, we examined the evolution of abductions and forced disappearances in 17 west African countries over the last 24 years. We are scholars with personal experience as a former ambassador to Chad and Guinea and a geographer.

We analysed nearly 58,000 violent events. These events have caused the death of more than 201,000 people from January 2000 through June 2024.

Our findings suggest that the kidnapping industry has experienced a major shift. We discovered that most of the victims of kidnappings for ransom were westerners until the end of the 2010s. Since then violent extremist organisations have turned to local civilians. Both western and local hostages represent lucrative resources that ultimately fuel insurgencies in the west African Sahel.

A lucrative industry

Armed groups have learned that seizing a western hostage is a low-risk and high-reward proposition. It leads to financial gain and political accommodation. The exact amount of money paid is difficult to assess due to the opacity of the negotiations and the number of intermediaries involved. An estimated US$125 million was paid by European countries to liberate hostages captured by al-Qaida and its affiliates in this region from 2008 to 2014.

These resources have fuelled the international development, training and arms purchases of armed groups. For example, in October 2025, the United Arab Emirates allegedly paid a US$50 million ransom. They also allegedly delivered military hardware to al-Qaida-affiliated militants for the release of Emirati hostages in Mali.

The revenues generated from ransom payments have facilitated the development of alliances between militant groups and local leaders. They have also made the recruitment of young combatants from Mali, Niger, Mauritania and Burkina Faso easier for extremist organisations, by offering significant financial incentives.

As security expert Wolfram Lacher explains, kidnapping for ransom was the most important factor behind the growth of al-Qaida in the Islamic Maghreb in northern Mali.

The common perception is that when a westerner is taken hostage in the Sahel, a mighty military apparatus is deployed to rescue them. However, there is little to suggest that western military pressure on terrorist or criminal networks contributes to hostage recovery. Indeed, the most likely outcome of an armed rescue operation has proven to be the death of the hostage. Most of the time, the reason for their release has been ransom and concessions negotiated by local partners.

Local civilians increasingly targeted

In the last decade, the number of foreigners living or travelling in the Sahel has plummeted. Due to terrorism and political unrest, travel to the region is strongly discouraged by western countries.

Jihadist militants have therefore turned to local targets and started abducting a growing number of civilians from the region. Our report reveals that abductions and forced disappearances have experienced a twenty-fold increase since Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) was formed in 2017.

Kidnappings tend to occur both along major transport corridors and in rural areas. There, jihadist groups have implemented a predatory economy based on looting and ransoming civilians. In the central Sahel, this kidnapping economy has spread to most rural areas. This includes the south of the Wagadou forest in Mali to the W National Park at the border between Burkina Faso, Benin and Niger.

The brutal local economics of kidnap for ransom is also vibrant in the Lake Chad region. Although the kidnapping of westerners is, on a per capita basis, far more lucrative in the Sahel, these groups are doing a brisk business of kidnapping civilians, as shown on the map below.

In late November 2025, for example, more than 300 children were kidnapped by unidentified gunmen in a Catholic school in western Nigeria. Our analysis shows that about a third of these events involve abductions of girls and women.

Civilians are usually released unharmed shortly after their motorbikes, food items, phones and animals have been taken, or ransom has been paid.

Should ransoms be paid?

The question of whether hostage situations should be resolved by paying a ransom depends on the parties involved.

For Sahelian governments, acceding to ransom demands weakens their political position and provides material support for those who threaten them. The same applies to foreigners in the Sahel – relief workers, missionaries, business people, tourists – for whom every ransom paid makes their position more precarious.

For western governments responsive to family, media and political pressure, however, bringing hostages home via ransom is always the easiest solution. Media coverage focuses on joyful reunions, not moral hazard.

In the United States, the 2020 Robert Levinson Hostage Recovery and Hostage-Taking Accountability Act reorganised the internal hostage response capacity of the government. By streamlining the process by which accommodations are made to the kidnappers, the act established clear lines of authority, while giving families both better support and access to decision-makers.

Left unresolved is the tension between the prohibition on paying ransom to terrorist organisations and the reality that, for kidnapping victims and their families, the best response is to pay. Given the vastness of the Sahel and the lack of any effective security response, caving to ransom demands is the best hope for a successful resolution.

We should not criticise families for demanding action from their governments, for acceding to terrorist organisations’ ransom demands, or for rejoicing when hostages are liberated. At the same time, however, one should also not be afraid to state the obvious: their joy leads inevitably to another westerner’s or African’s trauma.

The opinions and characterizations in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of the U.S. government.

Olivier Walther receives funding from the OECD Sahel and West Africa Club.

– ref. Kidnapping for ransom in the Sahel: analysis of 24 years of data shows a new trend – https://theconversation.com/kidnapping-for-ransom-in-the-sahel-analysis-of-24-years-of-data-shows-a-new-trend-270714

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Malyn Newitt, Emeritus Professor in History, King’s College London

The Zambezi is Africa’s fourth longest river, flowing through six countries: Angola, Zambia, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique, where it becomes the largest river to flow into the Indian Ocean.

The entire length of the river is referred to as the Zambezi Valley region and it carries with it a rich history of movement, conquest and commerce.

Great Britain colonised Zambia, Botswana and Zimbabwe; Germany colonised Namibia. The beginning and the end of the Zambezi, in Angola and Mozambique, were Portuguese colonies.

Malyn Newitt is a historian of Portuguese colonialism in Africa and has written numerous books on the subject, and one on the Zambezi in particular. We asked him about this history.

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When and how did the Portuguese encounter the Zambezi?

The Portuguese were the first Europeans to establish permanent relations with the peoples of sub-Saharan Africa. After the explorer Vasco da Gama’s successful return voyage from Europe to India (1497-1499) the Portuguese heard about the gold trade being carried on in the ports of the Zambezi River. By the middle of the 1500s they were trading there, from their bases on the coast of modern Mozambique. From Sofala and Mozambique Island, they sent agents to the gold trading fairs inland.

Between 1569 and 1575 a Portuguese military expedition tried to conquer the gold producing regions of what became known as Mashonaland (today part of Zimbabwe). This failed, but permanent settlements were made in the Zambezi valley from which Portuguese control was gradually extended over the river up to the Cahora Bassa gorge in modern Mozambique.

Portuguese adventurers, with their locally recruited private armies, began to control large semi-feudal land holdings known as prazos. These reached their greatest extent in the mid-1600s.

During the 1700s and early 1800s the area of Portuguese control was limited to the Zambezi valley. Here the elite of Afro-Portuguese prazo holders traded gold and slaves.

The first half of the 1800s saw drought, the migrations of the Nguni (spurred by Zulu-led wars in southern Africa) and the continuing slave trade. During these disturbed conditions, Afro-Portuguese warlords raised private armies and extended their control up the river. They went as far as Kariba (on the border between modern Zambia and Zimbabwe) and through much of the escarpment country north and south of the river.

This eventually brought them into conflict with Britain, whose agents were expanding their activities from South Africa. It resulted in an 1891 agreement which drew the frontiers in and around the Zambezi valley which still exist today.

Who are the people who live along the river?

The people who have inhabited the length of the Zambezi valley have often been generically referred to as Tonga. For the most part they’ve organised their lives in small, lineage-based settlements. Their economy is based on crop growing and occupations relating to trade and navigation on the river.

Because of the lack of any centralised political organisation, the valley communities were often dominated by the powerful kingdoms on the north and south of the river. This might involve raiding and enslavement or simply paying tribute to the kings. On the upper reaches of the river in Zambia, populations became subject to the large Barotse kingdom in the 1800s.

On the lower river many of the people came under the overlordship of prazos. They worked as carriers, artisans, boatmen and soldiers. Because of the extensive gold and ivory trade, a fine tradition of goldsmith work developed and men became skilled elephant hunters.

Throughout history, valley communities have often been loosely organised around spirit shrines with mediums. These are very influential in providing stability and direction for people’s lives.

How did the Portuguese understand these cultures?

For 400 years the Portuguese controlled the lower reaches of the Zambezi, in Mozambique. They wrote many accounts of the people of the region which show a complex interaction. Portugal’s administration and system of land law controlled matters at the apex of society, but could not control African culture.

The Portuguese were few in number and intermarried to some extent with the local population. This produced a hybrid Afro-Portuguese society in which everyday life was carried on according to African traditional practice. Agriculture, transport, artisan crafts, mining and warfare reflected local traditions.

Although the Portuguese tried to introduce Christianity, it failed to attract many people away from the spirit cults. It became diluted with local religious ideas.

The Portuguese built square, European-style houses in the river ports and on the estates along the river. But most of the population retained the traditional African hut design. Afro-Portuguese were often literate but literacy did not penetrate far and the Portuguese language never replaced the local languages.

How did silver play a role in all this?

Late in the 1500s the Portuguese became obsessed with the idea that there were silver mines in Africa comparable to those discovered by the Spanish in the New World. Considerable effort was made to locate these mines in Angola and in the Zambezi valley.

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Military expeditions were dispatched and skilled miners were sent from Europe to test the ores that had allegedly been discovered. Attempts to find the mines throughout the 1600s helped to sustain Portuguese interest in the Zambezi settlements. No silver was ever discovered – not surprisingly, as there is no silver in southern Africa.

Can you bring us up to today? What impact has development had on the river?

Until the 1900s the Zambezi defied most attempts at development. The river was difficult to navigate – too shallow in the dry season, too dangerous during the floods. These fluctuations determine the pattern of migrations and agricultural production.

Moreover, as the river passed through a series of gorges which blocked navigation it was only on its upper reaches, beyond the Victoria Falls, on the borders of Zimbabwe and Zambia, that it was able to act as a major highway.

And the river constituted a major obstacle to any contact between people north and south of it. The first bridge was only built in 1905, to carry the railway from South Africa to the copper belt. In the 1930s, British engineers built a second rail bridge across the lower Zambezi. But the first road bridge was only built in 1934, at Chirundu at the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. This at last linked the areas north and south of the river.

Meanwhile the floods of the Zambezi came to be contained by the building of the Kariba Dam (opened in 1959) and the Cahora Bassa Dam (1974). As a result much of the Zambezi below the Victoria Falls has altered drastically and been turned into a succession of large inland seas.

Large sectors of the population have been forcibly removed and the floods no longer keep sea water from invading the delta. Meanwhile water extraction for irrigation, and increasingly frequent droughts, have endangered the river’s very existence.

The Zambezi has become an example of what happens when the natural resources of a great river have been thoughtlessly over-exploited.

Malyn Newitt 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 history of the Zambezi River is a tale of culture, conquest and commerce – https://theconversation.com/the-history-of-the-zambezi-river-is-a-tale-of-culture-conquest-and-commerce-269217