Category: The Conversation

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Maurice Hutton, Research Associate, School of Environment, Education and Development, University of Manchester

Kontuthu Ziyathunqa – Smoke Rising – was what they used to call Bulawayo when the city was the industrial powerhouse of Zimbabwe. Now, many of its factories lie dormant or derelict. The daily torrent of workers flowing eastward at dawn, and back out to the high-density western suburbs at dusk, has diminished to a trickle.

But there is an intriguing industrial-era institution that lives on in most of the older western suburbs (formerly called townships). It is the municipal beer hall or beer garden, built in the colonial days for the racially segregated African worker communities. There are dozens of these halls and garden complexes, still serving customers and emitting muffled sounds of merriment to this day.

Read more:
Mbare Art Space: a colonial beer hall in Zimbabwe has become a vibrant arts centre

Like other urban areas in Rhodesia (colonial Zimbabwe), Bulawayo was informally segregated from its inception, and more formally segregated after the second world war. Under British rule (1893-1965) and then independent white minority rule (1965-1980), municipal drinking amenities were built in the townships to maintain control of African drinking and sociality. At the same time, they raised much-needed revenue for township welfare and recreational services.

Read more:
Zimbabwe’s economy crashed – so how do citizens still cling to myths of urban and economic success?

I researched the history of these beer halls and gardens as part of my PhD project on the development of the segregated African townships in late colonial Bulawayo. As my historical account shows, they played a key role in the contested township development process.

From beer halls to beer gardens

Bulawayo’s oldest and most famous beer hall, MaKhumalo, also known as Big Bhawa, was built more than a century ago. It still stands at the heart of the historic Makokoba neighbourhood. It’s enormous, but austere, and in the early days it was oppressively managed. Drinkers would describe feeling like prisoners there.

The more picturesque beer gardens began to emerge in the 1950s, reflecting the developmental idealism of Hugh Ashton. The Lesotho-born anthropologist was educated at the Universities of Oxford, London and Cape Town, and took up the new directorship of African administration in Bulawayo in 1949.

He was tuned into new anthropological ideas about social change, as well as developmental ideas spreading through postwar colonial administrations – about “stabilising” and “detribalising” African workers to create a more passive and productive urban working class. He saw a reformed municipal beer system as a key tool for achieving these goals.

Ashton wanted to make the beer system more legitimate and the venues more community-building. He proposed constructing beer garden complexes with trees, rocks, games facilities, food stalls and events like “traditional dancing”. So the atmosphere would be convivial and respectable, but also controllable, enticing all classes and boosting profits to fund better social services. As we shall see, this strategy was full of contradictions…

Industrial beer brewing

MaKhumalo, MaMkhwananzi, MaNdlovu, MaSilela. These beer garden names, emblazoned on the beer dispensaries that stick up above the ramparts of each garden complex, referenced the role that women traditionally played in beer brewing in southern Africa. This helped authenticate the council’s “home brew”.

But the reality was that the beer was now produced in a massive industrial brewery managed by a Polish man. It was piped down from steel tanks at the tops of the dispensary buildings into the plastic mugs of thirsty punters at small bar windows below. (It was also sold in plastic calabashes and cardboard cartons.)

And the beer garden bureaucracy, which offered a rare opportunity for African men to attain higher-grade public sector jobs, became increasingly complex and strictly audited.

As the townships rapidly expanded, with beer gardens dotted about them, sales of the council’s “traditional” beer – the quality of which Ashton and his staff obsessed over – went up and up.

Extensive beer advertising in the council’s free magazine mixed symbols of tradition (beer as food) with symbols of modern middle-classness.

Beer monopoly system

The system’s success relied on the Bulawayo council having a monopoly on the sale of so-called “native beer”. This traditional brew is typically made by malting, mashing, boiling and then fermenting sorghum, millet or maize grains. Racialised Rhodesian liquor laws restricted African access to “European” beers, wines and spirits.

So, the beer hall or garden was the only public venue where Africans could legally drink (apart from a tiny elite, for whom a few exclusive “cocktail lounges” were built). The council cracked down harshly on “liquor offences” like home brewing.

This beer monopoly system was quite prevalent in southern and eastern Africa, though rarely at the scale to which it grew in Bulawayo. Nearly everywhere, the system caused resentment among African townspeople, and so it became politically charged.

In several colonies, beer halls became sites of protest, or were boycotted (most famously in South Africa). And they usually faced stiff competition from illicit drinking dens known as shebeens.

In Bulawayo, the more the city council “improved” its beer system after the Second World War, the more contradictory the system became. It actively encouraged mass consumption of “traditional” beer, so that funds could be raised for “modern” health, housing and welfare services in the townships. Ashton himself was painfully aware of the contradictions.

In his guest introduction to a 1974 ethnographic monograph on Bulawayo’s beer gardens, he wrote:

The ambivalence of my position is obvious. How can one maintain a healthy community and a healthy profit at one and the same time? I can almost hear the critical reader questioning my morality and even my sanity. And why not? I have often done so myself.

Many citizen groups – both African and European – questioned the system too. They called it illogical, if not immoral; even some government ministers said it had gone too far. And when some beer gardens were constructed close to European residential areas, to cater for African domestic workers, many Europeans reacted with fear and fury.

As Zimbabweans’ struggle for independence took off in the 1960s, African residents increasingly associated the beer halls and gardens with state neglect, repression, or pacification. They periodically boycotted or vandalised them. Nevertheless, with few alternative options, attendance rates remained high: MaKhumalo recorded 50,000 visitors on one Sunday in 1970.

After independence

After Zimbabwe gained independence in 1980, the township beer gardens remained in municipal hands. They continued to be popular, even though racial desegregation had finally given township residents access to other social spaces across the city.

The colonial-era municipal beers continued to be produced, with Ngwebu (“The Royal Brew”) becoming a patriotic beverage for the Ndebele – the city’s majority ethnic group.

But with the deindustrialisation of Bulawayo since the late 1990s, tens of thousands of blue collar workers have moved to greener pastures, mostly South Africa. The old drinking rhythm of the city’s workforce has changed, and for the young, the beer gardens hold little allure. Increasingly, they have been leased out to private individuals to run.

Read more:
Beer, politics and identity – the chequered history behind Namibian brewing success

Nevertheless, there is always a daily trickle of regulars to the beer gardens, where mugs and calabashes are passed around among friends or burial society members. Some punters play darts or pool. And there are always some who sit alone, ruminating – perhaps in the company of ghosts from the past.

The beer gardens of Bulawayo embody the moral and practical contradictions of late colonial development – and the ways in which such systems and infrastructures may live on, but change meaning, in the post-colony.

Maurice Hutton received funding from the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) and the University of Edinburgh’s College of Humanities and Social Sciences to conduct the research on which this article is based.

– ref. Alcohol and colonialism: the curious story of the Bulawayo beer gardens – https://theconversation.com/alcohol-and-colonialism-the-curious-story-of-the-bulawayo-beer-gardens-256511

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Luca Bussotti, Professor at the PhD Course in Peace, Democracy, Social Movements and Human Development, Universidade Técnica de Moçambique (UDM)

Samora Moisés Machel, the first president of independent Mozambique, was born in 1933 in Gaza province, in the south of the country. He died in an unexplained plane crash on 19 October 1986, in Mbuzini, South Africa.

Authoritarian and popular, humble and arrogant, visionary and tactical. All these words have been used to describe Machel. Despite these contradictions, there was one quality that everyone recognised in him: his charisma. At the time this gift wasn’t lacking in many political leaders of emerging countries, especially those of Marxist-Leninist inspiration. Cuba’s revolutionary leader Fidel Castro above all.

Their common faith went beyond any personal or family interest. It was a faith for the progress of humanity, for the liberation of oppressed peoples from the colonial yoke, from the chains of capitalism and from traditional values and practices considered regressive.

Machel’s enlightenment programme was as fascinating as it was difficult to achieve in Mozambique in the mid-1970s. Small farmers, with all their “traditional” beliefs, made up the majority of the population. It was a political battle for social justice as well as a cultural crusade.

Machel’s speech on 25 June 1975, at the Machava Stadium in Maputo, proclaiming Mozambique’s independence from Portugal, highlighted the contradictions. The new head of state addressed the “workers”, who represented a small minority of the Mozambican people. At the same time, he called for freedom from colonial-capitalist oppression and the effective, total independence of the new country, already identifying its possible enemies: the unproductive and exploitative bourgeoisie.

The task of nation-building

Machel’s charisma recalled that of the proto-nationalist hero Gungunhana, who had tried to resist the Portuguese occupation at the end of the 19th century. Machel’s grandfather, Maguivelani, was related to the “terrible” Gungunhana, the last emperor of Gaza, who was defeated in 1895 by Mouzinho de Albuquerque after years of struggle. He was deported to Portugal, where he died in 1906.

Paradoxically, the anti-traditionalist Machel was the descendant of a great traditional chief. This heritage played a role in shaping his personality and political action.

Machel’s main task was to build a nation that only existed because of political unification under the Portuguese. The initial choices, embedded in the Cold War atmosphere, forced the nationalist Machel to opt for a rapprochement with the Soviet Union. Mozambique formally adopted a Marxist-Leninist doctrine at its Third Congress in 1977.

That approach meant political intolerance and the repression of “dissidents”, as well as the marginalisation of certain ethnic groups, above all the Amakhuwa people, who did not sympathise with Machel’s party, Frelimo.

The forces opposed to the Marxist-Leninist solution expected democratic elections to be held after the proclamation of independence from Portugal. But this opportunity never came. Portugal handed over power to Frelimo (Lusaka Accords, 1974), ignoring the existence of other political groups.

The treatment of leaders who opposed Frelimo’s vision was harsh. On their return from abroad, many were imprisoned in concentration camps in the north of the country.

They included the resistance leader Joana Simeão, along with others such as Uria Simango, former vice-president of Frelimo, his wife, Celina Simango, and Lázaro Kavandame, the former Makonde leader who left Frelimo because he didn’t agree with its political line.

They were put on arbitrary trial and executed. The dates and the method of execution are still officially unknown, despite the former president Joaquim Chissano’s public apology, in 2014, for these deaths.

About a year after independence, an armed opposition, Renamo, was formed. It was financed first by Ian Smith’s Southern Rhodesian government, and then by the South African apartheid regime.

Renamo, contrary to Machel’s expectations, had a solid popular base in central and northern Mozambique, especially among peasant populations who had expressed opposition to the policies of collectivisation and cooperation imposed by the Marxist-Leninist government.

And it was war which led Machel to a controversial agreement with the South African apartheid enemy. The Nkomati Accords, signed in 1984, provided for the end of Mozambique’s logistical support to the exiled African National Congress in Mozambique and South Africa’s military and financial support to Renamo.

This agreement did not bring peace. On the contrary, the war intensified, as the South African regime continued to finance Renamo.

Machel died in 1986, with the war still raging, unable to see the end of a conflict that had devastated Mozambique and which defeated the socialist principles.

The General Peace Accords between the Mozambican government, represented by the president, Chissano, and Renamo, represented by its leader, Afonso Dhlakama, were only signed in Rome in 1992.

End of an era

Machel took the first, important steps towards a rapprochement with the west, as demonstrated by his visit to Ronald Reagan in Washington in September 1985.

It can be said that with his death the First Mozambican Republic ended, with all its positive and negative elements. The dream of building a fair Mozambique with an equitable distribution of national wealth came to an end.

Machel had worked hard to ensure that health, education, transport, water and energy were distributed equally among Mozambicans. A poor but fair welfare state was born. But it was quickly dismantled in the years following his death. The Mozambican state had very few resources to devote to the welfare state. The rest was done by the rapid abandonment of an ideology, the socialist ideology, which by then the Frelimo elite no longer believed in.

In addition, international financial institutions entered the country, with the notorious structural adjustment policies, as early as 1987.

Corruption, which Machel sought to combat with various measures, and which he addressed at many of his rallies, spread across the country and all its institutions. The Frelimo political elite soon became the richest slice of the nation.

Several observers began to speak of a kleptocracy. The country suffered from continuous corruption scandals. One of the biggest became known as “hidden debt,” in which the political elite, including one of ex-president Armando Guebuza’s sons and former intelligence chief, Gregório Leão, were convicted of a scheme that cost the public treasury more than US$2 billion.

However, the main defeat was the fall of an inapplicable socialism.

The adoption of a capitalist, liberal and democratic model, at least formally, put an end to the arbitrary violations of human rights as in the age of the socialist state, such as “Operation Production” of 1983. The programme aimed to move “unproductive” people living in cities to the countryside to promote agricultural production.

In reality, it turned into arbitrary detentions and displacement of entire families, increasing the systematic violation of human rights by the state.

At the same time, the end of socialism meant democratic openness. Since the 1990 constitution, Mozambique has had as its fundamental principles respect for civil and political freedoms based on the 1948 Declaration of Human Rights. Still, socio-economic rights have been denied as a result of the dismantling of the welfare state.

How he’s remembered

Today, many people miss Machel’s rule. Those who were close to him, such as José Óscar Monteiro, the former interior minister, recall him as an ethical statesman, intolerant of corruption and abuses against “his” people. So do some of the international media.

Others, since the 1980s, such as Amnesty International, have denounced the serious violations of the most basic human rights by the Mozambican government and its leader.

What remains of Machel today is above all his ethical teaching. He died poor, committed to the cause of his nation, leaving his heirs moral prestige.

It is curious that his figure is associated, even in musical compositions by contemporary rappers from Mozambique, with his historical enemy, Dhlakama, who died in 2018.

This popular tribute is proof of the distance between the country’s current ruling class and a “people” who are looking to the charismatic figure of Venâncio Mondlane, the so-called “people’s president”. But that’s another story that won’t fit here.

Luca Bussotti 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. Samora Machel’s vision for Mozambique didn’t survive: what has taken its place? – https://theconversation.com/samora-machels-vision-for-mozambique-didnt-survive-what-has-taken-its-place-260110

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

More than 40 Malian soldiers were killed and one of the country’s military bases was taken over in early June 2025 in a major attack by an al-Qaeda linked group, Jama’a Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin (JNIM), on the town of Boulikessi.

The same group launched an attack on the historic city of Timbuktu. The Malian army claimed it repelled the Timbuktu attack and killed 14 terrorists.

Terrorist groups have attacked Boulikessi in large numbers before. In October 2019, 25 Malian soldiers were killed. The target was a G5 Sahel force military camp.

Timbuktu has been in the sights of terrorist groups since 2012. JNIM laid siege to the city for several months in 2023. Timbuktu has a major airport and a key military base.

In neighbouring Burkina Faso, there have been running battles in recent months between the military and terrorist groups. About 40% of the country is under the control of groups linked to al-Qaeda and Islamic State. Military bases in the country have also been targeted.

Mali and Burkina Faso are under military rule. Insecurity, especially increasing terrorist attacks, were key reasons the military juntas gave for seizing power in both countries.

I have been researching terrorism and the formation of insurgent groups in west Africa and the Sahel for over a decade. What I am observing is that the terrorist groups are becoming more daring and constantly changing tactics, with increased attacks on military camps across the region.

Military camps are attacked to lower the morale of the soldiers and steal ammunition. It also sends a message to locals that military forces are incapable of protecting civilians.

I believe there are four main reasons for an increase in large scale attacks on military bases in the region:

• the loss of the US drone base in Niger, which has made surveillance difficult

• an increase in human rights abuses carried out in the name of counter terrorism

• a lack of a coordinated approach to counter terrorism

• constant changes of tactics by the terrorists.

Identifying and addressing these issues are important to counter the trend.

Why are the attacks increasing?

First is the loss of the US drone base in Agadez, Republic of Niger, in 2024 after the military seized power in the country.

I was initially sceptical when the drone base was commissioned in 2019. But it has in fact acted as a deterrent to terrorist groups.

Terrorist organisations operating in the Sahel knew they were being watched by drones operating from the base. They were aware surveillance information was shared with member states. The loss of the base has reduced reconnaissance and surveillance activities in the region.

Second, an increase in human rights abuse in the fight against terrorism in the region is dividing communities and increasing recruitment into terrorist groups. A report by Human Rights Watch in May 2025 accused the Burkina Faso military and allied militias of killing more than 130 civilians during counter-terrorism operations.

The report argued that members of the Fulani ethnic group were targeted in the operations because they were perceived to have relationships with terrorist groups. Terrorist groups are known to use such incidents to win the hearts and minds of local populations.

Third, the lack of a coordinated approach to counter terrorism in the region is reversing the gains made in the last decade. Major developments have included the dissolving of the G5 Sahel. This grouping was created in 2014 to enhance security coordination between members. The members were Mauritania, Burkina Faso, Mali, Chad and Niger. The organisation launched joint counter-terrorism missions across member states but was dissolved in December 2023 after Niger and Burkina Faso withdrew.

The weakening of the Multinational Joint Task Force due to the military coup in Niger and the countries’ strategic repositioning is undermining counter-terrorism initiatives. Task force members were Cameroon, Chad, Niger, Nigeria and Benin.

The mandate of the task force is to combat Boko Haram and other terrorist groups operating around the Lake Chad basin. After its establishment in 2015 the task force achieved significant progress. In January 2025, Niger suspended its membership, putting the fight against terrorism in the region in jeopardy.

Fourth, terrorist groups in the region are becoming more sophisticated in their approach. In April 2025, JNIM terrorists were suspected of launching a suicide drone attack on Togolese military positions.

For its part, the military in the Sahelian countries are struggling to adapt to the terrorists’ new tactics. In the last few years, there has been a proliferation of drones in Africa by states and non-state actors.

Halting the trend

To combat the increasing attacks by terrorist groups, especially large-scale attacks on military positions, four immediate steps are necessary.

First, nation states need to invest in surveillance capabilities. The loss of the drone base in Niger means Sahelian states must urgently find new ways of gathering and sharing intelligence. The topography of the region, which is mainly flat, with scattered vegetation, is an advantage as reconnaissance drones can easily detect suspicious movements, terrorist camps and travel routes.

There is also a need to regulate the use of drones in the region to prevent use by non-state actors.

In addition, countries fighting terrorism must find a way to improve the relationship between the military (and allied militias) and people affected by terrorism. My latest publication on the issue shows that vigilante groups engaged by the military forces are sometimes complicit in human rights abuse.

Training on human rights is essential for military forces and allied militias.

Terrorism funding avenues must be identified and blocked. Large scale terrorist attacks involve planning, training and resources. Funding from illegal mining, trafficking and kidnapping must be identified and eradicated. This will also include intelligence sharing between nation states.

Finally, the Sahelian countries must find a mechanism to work with the Economic Community of West African States.

As the numbers and intensity of terrorist activities are increasing across the Sahel, immediate action is necessary to combat this trend.

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

– ref. West Africa terror: why attacks on military bases are rising – and four ways to respond – https://theconversation.com/west-africa-terror-why-attacks-on-military-bases-are-rising-and-four-ways-to-respond-258622