Increasing participation in decision-making processes by service users is one of the objectives of decentralisation reforms in Tanzania. The argument is that decentralisation enhances participation by all sections of the community, and by women in particular, and results in decisions that better reflect local needs. This paper examines the impact of decentralisation reforms on service users' participation for delivery of water and health services in rural Tanzania, using a gender perspective and principal-agent theory. The paper investigates how decentralisation has fostered spaces for participation and how men and women use these spaces, and identifies factors that constrain or encourage women's participation. It shows that decentralisation reforms have created spaces for service users' participation at the local level. Participation in these spaces, however, differs between men and women, and is influenced by the socio-cultural norms within the household and community. Men have gained more leverage than women to exercise their agency as principals. Women's participation is contributing to addressing practical gender needs, but strategic gender needs have been less adequately addressed because gendered power relations have been largely untouched by the reforms.

The listing of the African elephant in Appendix I to the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species in late 1989 provided a dramatic indicator of the overwhelming pressures threatening the natural heritage of a number of states in Africa. While both their leaders and international organisations express concern about the longterm environmental stability of many areas, the more immediate economic difficulties in producing enough food and obtaining sufficient foreign exchange to finance essential imports and service debts mean that effective conservation measures have been largely neglected.

This article examines the distribution of power among public, private and criminal interests invested in Mombasa port. It approaches Kenya as a gatekeeper state, in which national elites compete to control the country's points of interaction with the rest of the world. Mombasa's controversial private dry ports are used to highlight (1) how the opportunity to profit from inefficiencies in container storage has been distributed among the political elite, and (2) how the development of the country's principal seaport not only reflects Kenya's underlying political settlements, but is one of the key sites in which those settlements are tested and reshaped. The case exposes a dynamic interaction between Kenya's shifting political settlement on the one hand, and the gate itself – Mombasa port's physical infrastructure and regulations – on the other.

In the post-World War II period, South African capitalism is considered by many to have been reproduced on the basis of ‘cheap’ African labour-power. This is generally understood to mean that the prosperity of capitalism in the Republic depended on the poverty of the African majority. On the one hand, between 1950 and 1979, gross domestic product grew (in constant 1970 prices) from R4·4 billion to R15·5 billion. On the other hand, Africans on average earned wages that were below subsistence levels as defined by such minimal indices as the poverty datum line, and that were only 5 to 25 per cent as large as those earned on average by whites – see Tables 1 and 2. As generally analysed, both overall growth and the absolute and relative poverty of Africans were the direct result of the apartheid policies of the régime, in particular those responsible for the so-called cheap labour system.

Tanzania differs from many countries in the Third World in that it does not have a fully fledged national bourgeoisie. The class that led the nationalist movement, the petty bourgeoisie, captured the fruits of the drive towards political independence. The upper stratum transformed itself into a bureaucratic bourgeoisie and used the state apparatus against its local rivals, initially the commercial bourgeoisie. But owing to a weak material base rooted outside the local economy, the former has been unable to direct effectively the process of accumulation and economic reproduction. Thus, while the governing class of Tanzania is comprised of African politicians and civil servants, the ruling class is the international bourgeoisie.1

A Strongly charged Swahili political vocabulary has emerged in Tanzania, which sharply distinguishes persons and nations, in both domestic and foreign affairs, as being either for or against Tanzania's policies. The implications of the selection and usage of this vocabulary are considerable in any assessment of political trends in Tanzania, since language and culture are certainly related. Not only does language reflect cultural patterns, but language also imposes its patterns on culture.1

Traders in Cotonou (Bénin), a prominent hub in the Euro–West African second-hand car trade, traditionally sold cars imported from Europe. Since the 2000s however, more and more cars are being imported from the US. Anthropological study of one group of entrepreneurs active in this new business, traders from Niger, reveals an African entrepreneurship at work that follows a distinct social pattern: traders are groomed in close kinship ties in West Africa and then develop new social ties with overseas migrants. Their trade thus becomes embedded in more globalised networks, yet at the same time it loosens and that works against profitable business. Close analysis of their careers reveals a cultural pattern that compels entrepreneurs to become traders, economic opportunity notwithstanding. Whether this is representative of Africa's changing place in the global economic order remains to be seen; however, this article suggests how culture in entrepreneurship may be key to understanding that.

Agriculture is the main sphere of material production in all African countries. It is generally recognised that all African countries, excepting the South African Republic, belong to the group of under-developed agrarian countries. It is impossible to define the exact share of agriculture in the total annual output because of the predominance of the subsistence economy, and the almost total absence of statistics on this phase of labour. As a rule, the available statistics underestimate the share of agricultural output. Some idea about the role of agriculture in African economies can be gained from the data on the distribution of rural and urban population. Though in the past 20 years there has been considerable movement from villages to towns, nevertheless the rural population in various countries still constitutes from 67 per cent in Egypt (1957) to 96 per cent in Togo (1956). Only in the South African Republic is the urban population nearly half (46·6 per cent in 1951) of the whole population.1

In most African countries, the housing situation is most unsatisfactory, both in quality and quantity. The underlying factors are both demographic (population growth, rapid urbanisation) and economic (the under-development of productive resources). Although the poverty of housing is only one facet of the ‘pauperisation’ of the African masses, and although new needs arise directly from the process of development itself, yet the only possible framework for any modern housing policy is planning—economic, social, and spatial—in which the role of the public authorities is decisive both in the preparation and the implementation of the plan. Housing then becomes one element in the total modernisation of society.

Economic progress in many developing African countries depends mainly on raising productivity. Agricultural development is required to free resources—especially labour—for the expansion of industry and the creation of the infrastructure of a modern state. At the same time the physical volume of output must rise, both to provide food and raw materials for the expanding urban areas, and to earn foreign exchange.

Ever since independence Lingala has been gradually spreading throughout Zaïre to the extent that nowadays in Bukavu, a traditionally Swahili-speaking city near Rwanda and Burundi, about 70 per cent of the population has some knowledge of the language. This holds true for all layers of society: youngsters, students, teachers, civil servants, businessmen, petty traders, soldiers, and prostitutes. The advent of Lingala raises an important question: how do we explain the presence of this new language in a city where already three lingua francas exist, namely French, Swahili, and Indoubil.1

Because there is growing evidence of interest in increasing the level and scope of activities in family planning programmes in sub-Saharan Africa, we believe that it is important to examine some of the assumptions under which these are being undertaken. In what is one of the poorest areas of the world, particularly in terms of health resources and educational facilities, with enormous gaps of trained personnel in both, the programmes already in existence have not been a notable success. Yet a rapidly expanding population quickly outpaces what efforts have been made in health and education, and there is now a growing concern that food supplies, particularly in West Africa, may soon enter a period of chronic shortage.

African economies are currently experiencing an upsurge in foreign ownership of key parts of their economies. This, however, is not new, and in the wake of independence several African countries pursued indigenisation policies to bring ownership back to their own citizens. Now indigenisation policies thrive again, this time disguised in terms such as ‘empowerment’, but just as politicised as in the 1970s. Zambia is at the heart of this development. In the light of liberalisation, booming commodity prices and the increasing importance of Chinese investors, this article seeks to further our understanding of how processes of exclusion interact with domestic politics in Zambia. It argues that the Citizens Economic Empowerment Commission, a new institution to bring ownership back to Zambians, builds on a long tradition of nationalist policies in Zambia, while its actual work is strictly related to the critique of the growing foreign dominance over the economy, and in particular of the upsurge in Chinese investments.

Many students of human relations in South Africa would probably agree that an understanding of the policy of racial separation and the general determination of whites not to yield power to the black majority necessitates an awareness of their fears. The importance of this factor can hardly be overlooked, especially if it is defined broadly along the lines suggested by Philip Mason in his succinct study of racial tensions around the globe: There are fears of all kinds… There is the vague and simple fear of something strange and unknown, there is the very intelligible fear of unemployment, and the fear of being outvoted by people whose way of life is quite different. There are fears for the future and memories of fear in the past, fears given an extra edge by class conflict, by a sense of guilt, by sex and conscience… Fear may also act as a catalytic agent, changing the nature of factors previously not acutely malignant, such as the association in metaphor of the ideas of white and black with good and evil… Where the dominant are in the minority they are surely more frightened.1

This paper examines the impact of regional sanctions on the trajectory of the Burundian regime following the 1996 coup. Despite the country's socioeconomic and geopolitical vulnerability, the Buyoya government initially withstood the pressure from sanctions. Through a vocal campaign against these measures, the new government mitigated the embargo's economic consequences and partially re-established its international reputation. Paradoxically, this campaign planted the seed for long-term comprehensive political concessions. While previous literature has attributed the embargo's success to its economic impact, the government actually responded to the sanction senders' key demand to engage in unconditional, inclusive peace talks once the economy had already started to recover. Based on a novel framework for studying the signalling dimension of sanctions, I show how the regime's anti-sanctions campaign, with its emphasis on the government's willingness to engage in peace talks, backfired, with Buyoya forced to negotiate after having become entrapped in his own rhetoric.

The establishment of the World Trade Organisation (WTO) in 1995 reflected and reinforced significant shifts in global orthodoxies in favour of the liberalisation of world trade, and posed problems for trading arrangements such as the Lomé Conventions between the European Union (EU) and the 70 African, Caribbean and Pacific (ACP) states, which had initially been established in the very different setting of the mid-1970s. Integral to the Lomé Conventions has been the principle of non-reciprocity, under which the EU offered preferential conditions for access to its markets by products originating in the ACP states, without any requirement for reciprocal concessions (other than most-favoured-nation status) by the ACP. These preferences are due to expire with the 4th Lomé Convention in February 2000. Because they are non-reciprocal, these preferences cannot qualify under Article XXIV of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) of 1947. Being available only to a particular group of developing countries, they are discriminatory and cannot be regarded as being covered by Part IV of the GATT, or the Enabling Clause of 1979, since these measures only sanction special, differential and preferential treatment for all developing countries. As a result of the changed climate of opinion in the World Trade Organisation (WTO), emphasising the obligation of members to bring their trade measures into conformity with WTO disciplines, the EU sought and obtained a waiver from Article I (principle of non-discrimination) for the remaining duration of the Convention, leaving open the arrangements to be put into effect after 2000.

In the public discussions and consultations on a successor arrangement to Lomé, the European Commission has emphasised the need for such an arrangement to be compatible with WTO requirements, so as to ensure the legal security of preferences. It is therefore envisaged that Lomé preferences will be available only to the least developed countries (LLDCs), but will be generalised to all of the least developed countries, including for example Bangladesh, Bhutan, Cambodia, Lao D.R., Maldives, Nepal and Yemen, and not just to members of the ACP Group. The Commission has proposed that the non-LLDC ACP countries should be offered a series of regional and sub-regional free trade agreements. Not only would such arrangements seek to be WTO compatible, but the Commission also sees reciprocal regional agreements as stepping stones to fully liberalised trade and the integration of the developing countries into the world economy – an important development cooperation objective of the Maastricht Treaty.

This article examines the Commission's proposals, and analyses the likely static and dynamic effects of a free trade agreement on the African ACP countries. It concludes by questioning whether the Commission's proposals would assist, rather than hinder, the regional integration and greater participation of these countries in the world economy.

In order to give an account of the Congolese tragedy since independence, the inhabitants of Haut-Katanga often resort to four different narratives: the abandonment by Belgium; the biblical curse on Africans; the conspiracy of Western capitalism; or the alienation of life powers by Whites. Though these four stories offer different scenarios, they are all constructed with two types of actors – Whites and Congolese people. This article suggests that this racial/national frame finds its origins in colonial and national ideologies, which have left their mark on Haut-Katanga, and that it continues today to structure the narratives through which people remember their post-colonial history. Collective memory and racial/national identity are reciprocally constituted in these stories, but in different terms. They offer, accordingly, different ways of influencing the present.

Given the history of the International Criminal Court in Africa, the relationship between African states and the Court is particularly significant to its legitimacy. If the power of the Court is grounded in international political support and the perception that it transcends international and national politics to deny impunity for ‘atrocity’ crimes, the Court's perceived legitimacy and normative legitimacy are so intertwined that charges of illegitimacy from significant regional stakeholders hold particular weight. More importantly, criticisms voiced by African actors point to a valid challenge to the Court's legitimate moral standing as an arbiter of global justice: the international power imbalance that seems to be becoming more entrenched and apparent in the Court's work. Tactics adopted by some African leaders of prioritising the issue of heads-of-state immunity, however, minimise the broader issue of power differentials and reduce the chance that African states will find allies in their cause to challenge the Court's operations.

Within the last four years, a number of high profile reports outlining new strategies for pulling African agriculture out of its current impasse have emerged. These include the Comprehensive African Agriculture Development Programme of NEPAD, and the InterAcademy Council Report commissioned by UN Secretary General Koffi Annan. Whilst these strategies are a welcome improvement on those that have characterised African agriculture in the past, it is argued here that like their predecessors, they fail to focus on business-competitive approaches as an integral part of the reform package needed to stimulate African agricultural productivity and development. This paper draws on innovation, business and organisation literature to highlight some of these approaches. It focuses on three concepts: value innovation, lead user focus and organisational value logic.

The Big Man has attracted considerable attention from social scientists, both as an explanatory force as well as a phenomenon to be explained. But the concept has become unmoored from its original meaning. Once used to refer to an apex figure within a patrimonial regime, today Big Men are often described as dictators or thieves. I show this using an original dataset covering discussions of Big Men in leading African Studies journals since 1980. I find that authors, especially political scientists, overemphasise theft and underemphasise accountability of Big Men. Then, drawing on my research with Ghanaian local politicians, I show how Big Men are constantly under pressure from their supporters. The paper concludes with a modest call to put the Big Man back in his place as powerful but also empowered, and thus indebted, to those beneath him.