The term ‘popular Islam’ at once suggests denial or fragmentation within the Great Tradition or ‘orthodoxy’ in Islam as well as a degree of hostility on the part of those Islamicists and Muslims whose understanding of the oneness of God extends to the indivisibility of His Community. Social scientists may be expected to embrace the notion with more enthusiasm, being accustomed to observing Islam ‘from below’, but legitimate disquiet follows after plumbing the analytical shallows implicit in simple attributions of ‘popular-ness’ to matters of causation, motivation or ideology. Yet, with that said, few students of Islam in Africa cannot cite examples of belief or practice that represent ‘popular Islam’, and most would agree that this frequently bears some relation to the dramatic expansion of Islam during this century in Africa. These were some of the considerations that lay behind the selection of the theme ‘Popular Islam in Twentieth- Century Africa’ for a two-day symposium held at the University of Illinois in April 1984. Five of the papers presented at that meeting – by Louis Brenner and Murray Last, Mbye Cham, Lidwien Kapteijns, Paul Lubeck and Gabriel Warburg – are published with an essay by Abdullahi Osman El-Tom in this issue.

Work-parties, i.e. occasional labour groupings organized for specific economic tasks, are not as yet a topic of marked concern, either for social anthropology in general or for economic anthropology in particular. This is borne out by the fact that there is thus far no study which discusses them in any depth, or crossculturally. Yet work-parties are a fairly widespead phenomenon in Africa.

Since 1980, with considerable regularity during the dry season which propels the rural poor into the urban centres of northern Nigeria, religious riots have erupted in or adjacent to five cities: Kano (1980), Kaduna (1982), Bulum-Ketu near Maiduguri (1982), Jimeta near Yola (1984) and Gombe (1985). In each instance the conflict was remarkably similar. When confronted by the state authorities, an Islamic sect, the 'Yan Tatsine, unleashed an armed insurrection against the Nigerian security forces and those outside the sect, resulting in widespread destruction, in thousands of deaths and in millions of naira of property losses. Indeed, if one were to search for a historical equivalent in Nigerian history, only the communal riots of 1966 surpass the destruction wrought by the 'Yan Tatsine insurrections of the eighties. The account appearing in West Africa, describing the Gombe outbreak, provides a typical press analysis of the insurrection:

Fighting began early on Friday, April 29 when a detachment of police moved in to arrest suspected members of a maitatsine type religious sect in the Pantami ward of Gombe. The suspected leader of the religious group is a man named Yusufu Adamu. That was when all hell broke loose. Within hours, some streets had been littered with corpses many of them caught in the cross fire between fanatics and the law enforcement agents. [West Africa, 6 May 1985: 876]

For the following analysis it is noteworthy that the correspondent describes the sect as a ‘maitatsine type’, that the insurrection erupted only when the police attempted to arrest an alleged leader and that the members of the dissident sect are labelled ‘fanatics’ without any supporting evidence.

Colin M. Turnbull's publications form virtually the only source available on Ik clture and society. His book The Mountain People has found wide distribution, far beyond anthropological circles. The problems it raises have been discussed in a number of reviews (see especially Beidelman, 1973; Spencer, 1973; Barth, 1974; Winter et al., 1975). Through the present article, I wish to show that there is an urgent need for a more comprehensive and less biased study of Ik culture md society.

Sedentarization is often characterized by increased cultivation, which can result in either a partial or a total transformation from a livestock to a farm-based economy (Barth, 1961; Baxter, 1975; Nelson, 1973; Salzman, 1980). There are many possible permutations along this continuum from livestock to agriculture, and categories based on a sharp dichotomy between them are inadequate; even sub-units within a single ethnic group may show divergent patterns. Recent evidence reveals considerable intra-group variation in pastoral responses to agricultural opportunities (Alverson, 1979; Behnke, 1981; Haaland, 1977; Kjaerby, 1979; O'Leary, 1980). These differences are often in line with the generalization that large cattle herds are more closely associated with pastoralism than with agriculture.

This article is based on a wider study of the history of the western Sudan, in particular the border area between the historical sultanates of Dar Fur and Wadai (Kapteijns, 1985). The period under discussion is 1882–1930, from the successful struggle against foreign domination led by the Sudanese Mahdi to the firm establishment of British colonial rule in the western Sudan. The theme which this article explores for this area and period is that of popular revolt and Islamic (specifically Mahdist) ideology. The source materials for this study consist of Arabic correspondence from the Mahdist archives, oral data and British and French colonial records.

The early years of the 1970s saw two important milestones for the political economy and historiography of Kenya. The ILO report of 1972 was a major critique of Kenya's development efforts since independence that identified growing problems of poverty and inequality which were the result of policies that in many other respects achieved desirable objectives (International Labour Office, 1972). The ILO diagnosis and proposals had some direct influence on government policies, notably in the Third and Fourth Development Plans, for 1974–78 and 1979–83 respectively, and several but by no means all or even the majority of the proposals were acted upon, e.g. in policies towards agriculture (Clayton, 1978). Equally important, however, was its indirect effect on creating a climate of opinion that emphasized a ‘basic needs’ approach (Ghai et al., 1979) and ‘redistribution through growth’ (Chenery et al., 1974) and brought the attention of the public, the government and of scholars to the problems of rural and urban poverty in Kenya at a time when they seemed to be growing alarmingly.

The linguistic and religious affiliation of the peoples of the arid lowlands of northern Kenya and adjacent areas of the Horn is very heterogeneous. Although most of the populations east of Lake Turkana speak languages which belong to the Lowland branch of the Eastern Cushitic sub-family, within this branch Oromo speech (Boran, Gabbra, Sakuye, Orma) is not mutually intelligible with Somaloid languages like Rendille and Somali. Even within the Somaloid group, successful communication between monolingual Rendille and Somali is normally difficult, but a high degree of bilingualism is found.

Since 1960 several million Africans have been relocated in South Africa, mainly from the common (or ‘white’) area to the so-called ‘homelands’. This process of relocation is still under way, and precise enumeration of the numbers of people who have been and will be affected is impossible. Estimates vary according to the definition of ‘relocation’: it is apparent, for instance, that official sources define the process as narrowly as possible in order to minimize the numbers involved. There is abundant evidence, however, that relocation has taken place on a vast scale, and that the process has generally resulted in increased poverty and misery for its victims (Surplus People Project, 1983). Kane-Berman has recently argued that the South African Bantustans are, at present, not so much reservoirs of a reserve army of labour as dumping grounds ‘for people who have little chance of obtaining employment anywhere’ (1981: 29). From having been sub-subsistence dormitory areas for labour migrants, they are rapidly becoming places to which the structurally unemployed are being permanently consigned.

This story begins with Robin Horton's thoughtful and stimulating article ‘African conversion’, published in Africa in 1971. My own ‘Conversion reconsidered’ followed in 1973. This was in part a response to Horton, though concentrating upon Islamic conversion, which had been only a supporting feature in Horton's chiefly Christianity-based argument. I also explored a little the possibilities for Muslim/Christian comparison in black Africa, a fruitful and promising field which has not figured prominently in the subsequent discussion, but to which I return briefly towards the end of the present article. Horton's own rely (‘On the rationality of conversion’, in 1975) being essentially rather acid in tone, it seemed best at the time to let the matter rest, which I did.

The research upon which this article is based was carried out over a period of four months in the Northern and Luapula Provinces of Zambia. Before that, I spent two years working in the area as an agricultural officer. One of the villages described in the article is situated on the western shore of Lake Bangweulu, the other 20 km south of Kasama, the major city of Northern Province, the homeland of the Bemba (Fig. 1). The area is almost exclusively devoted to chitemene shifting cultivation, an agricultural system where crops are grown in the ash from burning the collected, stacked branches that have been lopped and chopped from an pressure, vegetation is now chopped before it is fully regenerated, and the system seems to be starting to break down. A major task during my field stay was to describe the ecological (Stromgaard, 1984a) and economic (Stromgaard, 1984b) aspects of this change, but it soon became apparent that subsistence activity and social structure deeply influenced the village's economic activities.

In June 1978, following a series of arguments in her marital home, a young Temne woman called Isatu travelled from her home in Makeni (a town which is the capital of Sierra Leone's Northern Province) to the village of Petbana Masimbo three miles away in order to consult a diviner about the cause. The diviner she consulted was Pa Koroma, a well-patronized Muslim diviner who was also her father's brother. Pa Koroma happened to be conducting a session of the dramatic and relatively expensive α η-yina Musa mediumship method of divination, which is commissioned by a wealthy client but which more minor clients such as Isatu can also participate in. He put a female medium, completely covered by a protective white cloth and gazing into a white bowl of water containing Islamic medicine (mǝ-nαsi), into a trance in which she was able to communicate with αη-yina Musa, the fearful ‘Muslim’ spirit of divination. Around Pa Koroma's central parlour, in which the divination took place, were seated members of the village, some of whom had come to ask questions, others simply to watch and, where appropriate, to interject comments on what was being said. The medium, an elderly woman called Mami Yeno, was a sister-in-law of Pa Koroma from Makaper, a village about two miles from Petbana. Each person who had come to ask about a problem addressed their question to Pa Koroma, who repeated it to Mami Yeno. Mami Yeno then silently conveyed the question to αη-yina Musa and, after a pause, returned the reply to Pa Koroma, the latter repeating and often elaborating upon her utterances to the audience.

The relationship between Islam and State has been a problematic feature of Sudanese politics both before independence and after. To a certain extent this is the result of the very nature of Islam in which the unity of ‘Church and State’ is taken for granted. However, the history of the Sudan has been affected by several other sociopolitical factors which complicated matters even further.

Islam, probably more than any other religion, connotes the image of a great tradition which has imposed itself on culturally diverse populations and gradually united them in a monolithic belief whose basic tenets stem from the Koran and the prophetic tradition. This image is bolstered by the fact that, despite the recognized cultural diversity of the Muslim world (see Geertz, 1968) which has been perpetuated through the differing interpretations of Islam embodied in its holy text, little research has been done on the meaning of the Koranic text at the local level. The lack of such research, in its own turn, perpetuates the false image of a uniform meaning of the Koranic text throughout the Muslim world.

This article examines the growth of the Anomabo settlement pattern. Two main perspectives are used: one geographical, in which the number and configuration of villages are investigated; the other historical, in which village origins are examined, largely through the use of oral evidence collected from local informants. A discussion of Anomabo's geography begins the study.

Anthropologists are beginning to investigate the sociological dimension of dreams, at least of those purporting to be channels of religious revelation. Two recent examples of this tendency are Charsley (1973) and Curley (1983), each of whom researched dream phenomena in an African independent church. The sociological approach is a firm rejection of earlier and some current attempts to extract patterns of culture and personality from the subjective reconstruction of the dream-as-dreamed, a purely private event. In contrast, the sociological emphasis isolates as its primary datum the dream-as-told to others, an essentially social act, which leads to an analysis of dreams as social assets, which can be manipulated to advantage or disadvantage. Consequently, the method of analysis demands that as much attention be directed to the act of recounting as to the content of the narration, although in practice this seems to mean that content is subordinated to purpose and can be related to social arrangements only indirectly through purposive action. I shall endeavour to correct this latter impression in subsequent argument. The second methodological requirement is to connect narration to social action, social relations and social organization, and to demonstrate the tactical use of dreams in social encounters.

In the colonial period Zambia, then Northern Rhodesia, was a field for brilliant social research. The social scientists who worked at the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute (hereafter abbreviated to RLI) in Lusaka produced studies which can be found in libraries throughout the world. Yet the relevance of this literature for understanding present-day Zambia may not be immediately obvious. Our knowledge of society turns into historical knowledge, especially when great social changes such as decolonization take place. Social scientists inevitably capture one particular historical moment. The work of those connected with the RLI can therefore be treated as part of history; Kuper (1973) has characterised its role in the development of British anthropological thought as a part of the history of ideas, and Brown (1973, 1979) has written evocative accounts of the involvement of its members in the country as an example of the white man's presence in Africa.