Ethnicity in Ghana: the limits of invention

Ethnicity in Ghana Also by Carola Lentz MIG RANTES: Campesinos de Flores y Licto BUSCANDO LA VIDA: Trabajadores event...

Author: Carola Lentz & Paul Nugent (editors)

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Ethnicity in Ghana

Also by Carola Lentz MIG RANTES: Campesinos de Flores y Licto BUSCANDO LA VIDA: Trabajadores eventuales en una plantaci6n de azucar en el Ecuador CHANGING FOOD HABITS: Case Studies from Africa, Latin America and Europe

(editor)

VON SEINER HEIMAT KANN MAN NICHT LASSEN: Migration in einer Dorfgemeinde in Ecuador DIE KONSTRUCTION VON ETHNIZITAT: Eine Politische Geschichte Nord-West Ghanas,

1870-1990

Also by Paul Nugent BIG MEN, SMALL BOYS AND POLITICS IN G HANA: Power, Ideology and the Burden of History,

1982-1994

AFRICAN BOUNDARIES: Barriers, Conduits and Opportunities

A. I. Asiwaju)

(co-editor with

Ethnicity in Ghana The Limits of Invention Edited by Carola Lentz Pro(es.mr o( Social Anthropology University o( Frankfurt Frankfurt-on-Main

and Paul Nugent Senior Lecturer in African History University o( Edinburgh Edinburgh

Foreword by Kenneth King Director, Centre of African Studies University of Edinburgh Edinburgh

First published in Great Britain 2000 by

MACMILLAN PRESS LTD Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and London Companies and representatives throughout the world A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN 0-333-73323-1 First published in the United States of America 2000 by

ST. MARTIN'S PRESS, INC., Scholarly and Reference Division, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 ISBN 0-312-22405-2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ethnicity in Ghana : the limits of invention I edited by Carola Lentz and Paul Nugent ; foreword by Kenneth King. p.

cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-312-22405-2 (cloth) I. Ethnicity-Ghana.

2. Chiefdoms-Ghana.

4. Language policy-Ghana. 6. Ghana-Ethnic relations.

3. Land tenure-Ghana.

5. Ghana-Politics and government. 7. Ghana-Social life and customs.

I. Lentz, Carola.

Il. Nugent, Paul.

GN655.G45E74

1999

305.8'009667-dc21

99-23357 CIP

Selection, editorial matter and Chapter I © Carola Lentz and Paul Nugent 2000 Foreword © Kenneth King 2000 Chapter 7 © Carola Lentz 2000 Chapter 8 © Paul Nugent 2000 Chapters 2-6 © Macmillan Press Ltd 2000 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London WIP OLP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. 10

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire

Contents

List of tables

vii

List of figures

viii ix

Foreword by Kenneth King Notes on the contributors

X

1

1

Ethnicity in Ghana: a comparative perspective Carola Lentz and Paul Nugent

2

In the mix: women and ethnicity among the Anlo-Ewe

29

Sandra E. Greene

3

'We stay, others come and go': identity among the Mamprusi in northern Ghana

49

Michael Schlottner

4

Asante nationhood and colonial administrators, 1 896-1935

68

Ivor Wilks

5

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan: thoughts on gender, identity and the colonial encounter

97

jean Allman

6

Imagined martial communities: recruiting for the military and police in colonial Ghana, 1 860-1 960

119

David Killingray

7

Contested identities: the history of ethnicity in northwestern Ghana

137

Carola Lentz

8

'A few lesser peoples': the Central Togo minorities and their Ewe neighbours

162

Paul Nugent

9

The 1994 civil war in northern Ghana: the genesis and escalation of a 'tribal' conflict Artur Bogner

V

183

vi

10

Contents

Promotion of Ghanaian languages and its impact on national unity: the Dagara language case

204

Sebastian K. Bemile

Index

226

List of tables

8. 1 8.2

The Central Togo minorities in Ghana Voting by the Central Togo minorities in the plebiscite of 1 956

1 63 1 76

List of figures

1.1 1.2 5.1 5.2 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 9.1 10.1

Map of Ghana Tribes in Ghana The Asantehene Agyeman Prempe and the Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa, taken by Elmina (1896) Persis Beer, Mmofraturo School, Kumasi, no date (1930s) Section of the 'Carte du Haut-Niger au Golfe de Guinee' North Western district of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, 1905 The 'LoDagaba', 'Wiili' and 'Dagaba' (according to Goody) The new districts of the Upper West Region, 1989 Northern Ghana, 1965 Dagara and neighbouring languages

viii

3 11 97 98 139 141 145 149 184 213

Foreword

On 24-26 May 1995, the Centre of African Studies at Edinburgh University held its annual conference, but on this occasion the format was slightly different from normal. In addition to a conference on ' Ethnicity in Africa', the Centre and Carola Lentz jointly organised a workshop dealing specifically with 'Ethnicity in Ghana'. The proceed ings of the full conference have since been published as Louise de la Gorgendiere, Kenneth King and Sarah Vaughan (eds), Ethnicity in Africa: Roots, Meanings and Implications (Centre of African Studies, University of Edinburgh, 1996). When it came to the Ghana workshop papers, Carola Lentz and Paul Nugent set out to find an external pub lisher. The present volume, which brings together a selection of the papers delivered at the workshop, is the result. The Centre is grateful to a number of bodies which provided the financial assistance that made the conference and workshop possible: the Binks Trust; the British Council offices in Nigeria and in Ghana; the British Academy; the Scottish Catholic International Aid Fund (SCIAF), and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Within the University of Edinburgh, additional assistance was provided by the Interdisciplinary Symposium Fund, the Law and Social Sciences Faculty Group and the Arts and Divinity Faculty Group Research Fund. Thanks are also due to the many people who contributed to the conference organisation, and especially to Christopher Fyfe. The editing of the papers that appear in this volume has involved regular communication between Edinburgh and Frankfurt. The editors owe special thanks to Mrs Marianne Stadler at the Institut fur Historische Ethnologie, Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universitat in Frankfurt, who undertook most of the essential secretarial work. KENNETH KING

Director, Centre of African Studies University of Edinburgh

ix

Notes on the contributors

is Associate Professor of African History at the University of Minnesota and has studied and researched in Ghana for two decades. She is the author of The Quills of the Porcupine: Asante Nationalism in an Emergent Ghana ( 1 993) and related articles on the social history of Ghanaian politics. Her current research focuses on gender and social change in colonial Asante.

Jean Allman

Sebastian K. Bemile is the Director of the Ghana Institute of Languages, Accra, and a research fellow at the Language Centre, University of Ghana (Legon). He has published books and articles on the linguistics of Ghanaian languages and in the field of German studies. His main fields of research are phonology, lexicography, multi lingualism and oral literature. He is winner of the prestigious Goethe Medal ( 1 997) for the promotion of the German language and intercul tural exchange between Ghana and Germany. Artur Bogner was Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Essen and authored several publications on sociological theory and the sociology of development. He holds a PhD from the University of Bielefeld, Germany. As Research Fellow at the Graduate School of Social Anthropology and Development Sociology at the University of Bielefeld ( 1 992-3) and as Research Assistant at the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences ( 1 994-7) he has conducted research and pub lished a number of articles on the ethnic conflicts in northern Ghana.

is Associate Professor of African History at Cornell University and a past president of the African Studies Association. She has conducted extensive fieldwork among the Anlo-Ewe of Ghana as well as archival research in Denmark, England and Germany. She is the author of Gender, Ethnicity and Social Change on the Upper Slave Coast ( 1 996) and many related articles. Among her most recent research interests is an examination of the changing meanings attached to par ticular places in Anlo during the precolonial and colonial periods. Sandra E. Greene

David Killingray is Professor of Modern History at Goldsmiths College, University of London, where he has taught for the past twenty-five years. He is the author of a number of books and articles on African, Imperial, Caribbean and English local history. Since 1 99 1 X

Notes

on

the contributors xi

he has been co-editor of African Affairs, the journal of the Royal African Society. is Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of Frankfurt, Germany. After her doctoral research on labour migration and ethnicity in Ecuador, she is conducting research on ethnicity, elite formation and history in northwestern Ghana. She is the author of Die Konstruktion van Ethnizitiit: Eine politische Geschichte Nord-West Ghanas, 1870-1990 ( 1 998) and many related articles. Her current research focuses on the dynamics of settlement histbries in northwestern Ghana and southwestern Burkina Faso. Carola Lentz

Paul Nugent is Senior Lecturer in African History at the University of Edinburgh and a research associate of the Department of Political Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London. He is the author of Big Men, Small Boys: Power, Ideology and the Burden of History (1 995/6) and the co-editor (with A. I. Asiwaju) of African Boundaries: Barriers, Conduits and Opportunities ( 1 996). He is currently writing a history of the Ghana-Togo border since 1 9 1 4. Michael Schlottner holds a PhD in anthropology from the University of Frankfurt, Germany. He has conducted fieldwork in the US, Canada and, since 1 988, in Ghana and Burkina Faso. Among his main interests rank oral texts and music. He is the author of Sehen, Horen, Verstehen: Musikinstrumente und Schallgeriite bei den Kusasi und Mamprusi in Nordost-Ghana ( 1 996) and related articles about musical and sound instruments among the Kusasi and Mamprusi of northern Ghana. Ivor Wilks is Herskovitz Professor Emeritus of African Studies at Northwestern University and Honorary Professor of History at the University of Wales. He lived in Ghana from 1 953 to 1 966, where he was Research Professor and Deputy Director of the Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana. He has written extensively on West African history. Among. his recent works is Forests of Gold: Essays on the Akan and the Kingdom of Asante ( 1 993). His current research concerns the colonial transformations of Asante.

Chapter

1

Ethnicity in Ghana: perspective

a

comparative

Carola Lentz and Paul Nugent

Introduction

By comparison with some African countries where ethnicity casts an imposing shadow over public debate it has manifested itself in a vari able and episodic manner in Ghana.1 While the history of twentieth century Ghana could certainly not be written without reference to ethnicity, nor could it serve as a central organising principle without distorting the totality of the picture. Perhaps because ethnicity has proved so elusive, less attention has been paid to its study than in many countries with a comparable research literature. However, the passage of recent events, most notably the fresh eruption of conflict in the Northern Region in 1 994, renders a reconsideration of ethnicity extremely timely. But even in the absence of such dramatic events there would have been a strong case for turning the focus back on a neglected area of enquiry. Given that a number of researchers on Ghana have begun to revisit the study of ethnicity, nationalism and the politics of identity, it seemed appropriate to arrange a forum at which research agendas and perspectives could be discussed. The purpose was both to consider what recent advances in the study of eth nicity have to teach those who work primarily on Ghana, and to con sider ways in which the Ghanaian experience might shed light on issues of continental (and possibly wider) concern.2 Judging from the lively response to a call for papers, and from the spirited discussions at the Edinburgh symposium itself, the timing of our initiative could not have been better. The contributions to the symposium, a selection of which are pre sented in this volume, covered a wide spectrum - including papers dealing with the relationship between chieftaincy and identity, the

2 Ethnicity in Ghana

interaction between gender and ethnicity, the role of the colonial state, the cultural construction (and contestation) of ethnic boundaries, the debate surrounding language policy, the political uses of ethnicity, and the roots of conflict in the north. Our initial intuition was that, by contrast with parts of Southern Africa,3 many of the identities of present-day Ghana were not simply an 'invention' of the colonial period, but drew on older 'we'-group processes of inclusion and exclu sion. For that reason the contributors were invited to adopt a long range perspective on identity, spanning the pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial periods. Most of the chapters do indeed trace the suc cessive mutations which have occurred over time and which have cul minated in the nuanced and multi-layered identities (often still in the process of flux) that characterise Ghana today. It was also our aim to cover a range of case studies that broadly reflected the geographical, cultural and linguistic diversity of the country. The present collection comprises studies of both the north and south of the country and a selection of states and stateless societies: namely Asante, Anlo, Mamprusi, the Central Togo minorities, the Konkomba and the Dagara.4 Despite the diversity of historical experiences reflected in the indi vidual chapters and the different approaches adopted by the various contributors, some common themes seem to emerge which deserve closer attention. One purpose of this introduction is to tease out the points of commonality, as well as the differences of emphasis, which arise out of the constituent chapters. But before doing so, it is neces sary to clear the decks in two other respects. Firstly, it would be helpful to assess the state of play in Ghanaian studies with respect to recent debates about ethnicity. And secondly, it is necessary to tackle the issue of why Ghana constitutes a meaningful unit of analysis at all - as opposed to a culturally defined unit, such as say 'the Akan', which might cut across colonially derived frontiers. Towards an historical perspective

' Ethnicity' is a dazzling, ambiguous category, which is at once descrip tive, analytical and evaluative-normative. It has long since ceased to be the exclusive domain of social scientists, having entered the working vocabulary of politicians and social movements. In academia, the world of politics and the media, 'ethnicity' and 'ethnic group' are much-used terms that frequently absorb, overlap or replace other con cepts such as 'race' or 'tribe' which have come to be seen as problem atic for one reason or another. The concept of 'ethnicity' functions

Ethnicity in Ghana BURKINA FASO

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much like the joker in a game of cards. It can be introduced into various play sequences, taking on the characteristics of the 'card' (concept) it replaces. It is precisely because of its analytical fuzziness, and its potential association with a wide range of different collectivi ties, that the language of 'ethnicity' has become such a powerful idiom for the creation of communities and hence such an important political resource. Even if today's social scientists and historians would prefer to discard 'ethnicity' as an analytical category, its currency in the world 'out there' means that they have no choice other than to confront it. This volume, like others of its kind, is forced to work within the con straints of the existing terminology. It does not seek to invent an entirely new language, which would constitute a highly ambitious project and which would cramp the style of the contributors. The indi vidual authors do, however, grapple in a more or less conscious fashion with the terminology which ethnic discourse has thrust upon them. Some authors choose to work within a broad definition of ethnicity, such as the 'we-they' distinction deployed by Sandra Greene. Others, such as Lentz and Schlottner, engage in a more critical analysis of the categories themselves, locating them in the discourse of the social actors. In these cases, 'tribes' and 'ethnic groups' might be seen almost as quotations rather than as the definitions (even working definitions) of the academic observer. Given that the individual chapters are seeking to achieve different ends, there is no reason why a plurality of usages should not be accepted - provided the reader is aware of the inherent pitfalls of the terminology. Although the terminology cannot be avoided, one can still insist on a level of analytical rigour and of sensitivity to history that has not always been present in academic writing. The ubiquitous usage of 'eth nicity' by a range of different actors (academic and otherwise) has con tributed to its reification. A perennial staple of the literature on ethnicity is the debate between primordialists and constructionists. The former regard ethnicity as the embodiment (or at least sediment) of primary bonds - or 'primordial ties' - which are deeply rooted in the past and turn on a common history, culture and language. 5 On the other hand, the constructionists (or instrumentalists) insist that researchers must not naively adopt the actors' own discourses on ethnic identity (Elwert, 1 989). Ethnic groups, according to construc tionists, exist only in the plural, that is in the relationship between 'us' and 'others' (or frequently 'them').6 Constructionists tend to lay emphasis on the manipulability and strategic character of ethnicity, often viewing it as a garb for the pursuit of self-interest.

Ethnicity in Ghana 5

Not surprisingly, the constructionist-primordialist debate is to be found lurking behind much of the work on ethnicity in Africa.7 Much of the colonial literature assumed that all Africans ultimately belonged to tribes and hence it was largely a question of deciding where to draw the lines of demarcation. During the 1950s, during the closing stages of empire, however, the ethnographic and historical literature began to present a dualistic picture. Studies of tribalism in the urban setting observed that ethnic membership was situational, flexible and manipula ble. The same references to malleability and creativity can be found in accounts of the political uses of ethnicity around the time of independ ence. However, the literature scarcely questioned the existence of clearly and permanently distinguishable rural tribes, even if debates were joined over whether labour migration and modernisation would eventually weaken the bonds of tribal solidarity (and thereby assist national integra tion) or foster greater cohesion along ethnic lines (Watson, 1 958). Whether the stress was on political aspects - 'each tribe is an organised political unit with a complex internal structure' (Gluckman, 1960: 65) or on cultural homogeneity, scholars do not seem to have doubted that the rural population was organised in historically rooted 'tribes'. Without wishing to downplay the importance of the earlier West African contributions, it is above all the historians of Southern and Central Africa who have taken a fresh look at rural ethnicity and devel oped the thesis that 'tribes' were colonial constructs which were not rooted in a timeless past (for example, Lonsdale, 1977; Iliffe, 1979; Ranger, 1983). Before colonisation, so the argument goes, Africans belonged simultaneously to a bewildering variety of social networks nuclear and extended families, lineages, age sets, secret societies, village communities, diasporas, chiefdoms, states and empires. Loyalties and identities were complex, flexible and relatively amorphous, and cer tainly did not add up to clearly demarcated tribes living in well-defined and bounded territories. These multiple identities, it is noted, continued into the colonial period. At the same time, new identities proliferated with the introduction of Christianity, schooling and industrialisation. Under a policy of indirect rule (which was unevenly applied), the British introduced a new political topography which often ran counter to existing networks, but the irony was that the 'tribes' being demar cated were legitimated with reference to tradition. It has frequently been noted, however, that the 'invention of tribes' was not merely an administrative act on the part of the British. It was nourished by the active participation of African actors who moulded political and cultural traditions in accordance with their own self-interest.

6

Ethnicity in Ghana

As some historians and social scientists have begun to point out, however, there is a real danger of over-estimating the ease with which ethnic histories can be manufactured (for example Peel, 1 989). Ranger (1 993) has conceded in a self-critical vein that the term 'invention' exag gerates the mechanical, authorial aspects of the creation as well as the fictionality and rigidity of the end-product. He suggests that the term 'imagination' might do more justice to the creation of new identities and the reconfiguration of older ones, processes which inevitably involve many actors with diverse intentions and interpretations. It is our con tention that the reappraisal of the historical record probably needs to go much further. The literature on southeastern Africa places considerable emphasis upon the role of colonial agency. The contributions to this volume do, however, suggest that this insight requires some modification in order to make sense of the Ghanaian historical experience. They suggest that, at least in some cases, colonial 'tribes' were the outgrowth of older 'we'-group processes. If the ethnicities of the twentieth century were not simply hangovers from a pre-colonial past, nor were they simply plucked from the air. Whereas colonialism may have altered some of the parameters, it clearly did not fashion the world anew. Indeed, there is good evidence to suggest that colonial administrators borrowed from African conceptions of political space as much as they reshaped it. Ethnicity is indeed above all a problem that has to be approached his torically, but through history of a particular kind, namely an approach that breaks through the epistemological barrier between the pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial periods. A properly historical starting point can avoid the primordialist error of assuming that ethnic boundaries, cultural boundaries and institutions must be timeless and immutable merely because they are depicted as such by the actors concerned. On the other hand, such a perspective can guard against the most simplistic application of the instrumentalist approach. By shedding light on the ways in which ethnicities relate to older idioms of collective identity, we can investigate the scope as well as the limits of cultural and political creativity. This is where the Ghanaian case studies contained in this volume have something new to add to the wider debate. The concept of 'tribe' in colonial discourses in the Gold Coast

Our initial contention that ethnicity did not loom very large in studies of Ghana now requires greater amplification and a measure of qualification. The writings of European travellers and administrators, as well as of


African intellectuals of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, embody two more or less distinct traditions. The first treats the various polities of the Gold Coast Colony and Ashanti, while the second deals with their peripheries and the protectorate of the Northern Territories. Rather than presenting the political and cultural landscape as an aggregation of distinct 'tribes', the first type of literature engaged in a detailed and often quite sophisticated discussion of the political history of these polities. The term 'tribe' is often conspicuously absent from these descriptions, or applied only in a heuristic fashion, as an equivalent for 'group of people' - that is without the evolutionist con notations and the implications of shared origins, language, culture and territory inherent in much of the colonial literature on stateless soci eties (although this is by no means universal). The British had acquired an appreciation of the complexities of Gold Coast realities through sus tained contact, including their own direct involvement in local politi cal intrigues, from the mid-seventeenth century onwards. But official perceptions were also greatly influenced by a corpus of work generated by Gold Coast intellectuals themselves - most notably the writings of Carl Reindorf, John Mensah Sarbah, J. E. Casely-Hayford, J. C. De Graft johnson and Dr J. B. Danquah Oenkins, 1990). Many of these writers pointed in two directions at once. On the one side, they were powerful spokesmen for the particular characteristics of specific Gold Coast peoples. A close reading of their texts might therefore be impressed by the points of divergence between them.8 But at the same time, their writings also pointed to the points of commonality between Gold Coast societies, especially amongst the Akan. It is the latter aspect which is of most concern to us here. These indigenous authorities effectively undercut the discourse of 'tribe' from two different directions. On the one hand, they were quick to point out that the myriad polities on the Gold Coast could not be seen as distinct 'tribes' because they shared a language and culture in common. Sarbah (1968) and others often insisted that the Ashanti and the Fanti enjoyed common membership of an 'Akan tribe'. On the other hand, these same writers recognis�p that the intense rivalry between the subgroupings meant that there was no operative Akan community. The circle could, however, be squared by emphasising the fact that all the Akan polities were constructed on essentially the same building blocks - notably the family, and above that the clan, the village and the 'native state'. The concept of 'tribe' sat awkwardly alongside these renditions of Akan social organisation. Although being Akan meant that people

8

Ethnicity in Ghana

shared certain cultural attributes, the fact that this was not an opera tive focus of identification meant that the category had little of the practical application that was attached to the concept of 'tribe' else where. At the same time, the highly localised patterns of group identification could not really be depicted as 'tribal' either. It is worth noting that the Gold Coast writers approached their subject with an awareness of the different layers of identity long before social scientists turned this into a theoretical discovery in its own right. The complexity of allegiance and identity amongst the Akan was something which the British administrators themselves learned to come to terms with. In general, British officials in the Colony seemed to have been aware that the European concept of 'tribe' was ill-suited to capturing the intricacies of local politics. To be sure, stereotypes abounded - for example, the Fanti continued to be seen as 'cowardly' and 'untrustworthy' by comparison with the more 'honourable' Ashanti (see Killingray in this volume). But much more practical atten tion was focused on units which were not necessarily ethnic at all namely the chiefdom in which the relationship between stools and lin eages was regarded as all important. It was not necessarily the case that the subjects of a stool shared a common language and culture - as the cases of Akuapem (Gilbert, 1997) and Buem (see Nugent in this volume) clearly demonstrate - and even less likely that peoples who were 'ethnically' similar would belong to the same stool. 'Tribes' and 'native states' were not therefore the same thing. Be that as it may, some Africans came to appreciate that there was some mileage in acting as if they were. By the inter-war period there was a tendency for the discourse of 'tribe' to attach itself to the structures of chieftaincy with important implications for those who found themselves on the margins. We will have cause to return to this theme below. In the urban areas the putative relationship between the 'native state' and the 'tribe' tended to develop in a rather different manner. People who chose to relocate to the cities were often weakening, whether con sciously or not, the ties that bound them to their own 'native states'. When they were integrated into the urban political structure, it was often as nominal members of a 'tribe' which had little to do with rural identity. At the same time, the coastal communities who woke up to the fact that the city was literally growing around them developed a consciousness of themselves which owed much to the perceived need to defend their physical space and their rights as indigenes. Much of the urban politics of the inter-war period was therefore couched in terms of a struggle to define the proper relationship between strangers


and indigenes. At the same time, one should not forget the efforts of certain urban intellectuals, for example within the National Congress of British West Africa, to forge an identity which spanned the British colonies (Kimble, 1963). By contrast with the experience of the Gold Coast and Ashanti, 'tribe' became an all-pervasive category in the second body of literature which dealt with the peripheries and with the stateless societies of the Northern Territories. Indeed the notion of 'tribe' first seems to have been introduced as a residual category for people not firmly incorpor ated into a larger chiefdom. On his missions to the 'Hinterland of the Gold Coast' in 1892 and 1894, the Fanti representative of the British Crown, George Ekem Ferguson, distinguished between 'countries with organised government' - such as Wa, Dagomba, Gonja and Mamprusi - and 'wild tribes, naked living in independent family communities', among whom Ferguson counted the Lobi, Grunshi, !sale, Dagarti, Kusasi and others.9 The mental maps, tribal nomenclature and ethno graphy of Ferguson and later British officials owed much to their inter preters, who were usually drawn from among the (Muslim) educated elites of the various states. Thus one could say that here too, as in the literature referred to above, an indigenous discourse informed European perceptions of the world around them. But it was a discourse not about oneself, but about the less civilised 'other', and therefore seems to have offered little resistance to the application of the rather simplistic European concept of 'tribe'. And while Ferguson and his con temporaries still emphasised the multiple links between 'tribes' and 'states', later colonial officials tended to view the whole of the Northern Territories as an agglomeration of distinct and more or less isolated 'tribes' - now including even multi-cultural chiefdoms under mono-ethnic labels such as 'the Wala' or 'the Dagomba'. Of course, the more perceptive District Commissioners, and Government Anthropologist R. S. Rattray, were well aware that the term 'tribe' did not really capture the reality of physical mobility, over lapping networks and multiple group membership. They knew that the boundaries of language, territory and descent hardly ever coincided. But the colonial policy of forming chiefdoms amongst formerly state less societies had led to the adoption of 'tribe' as the important norma tive category. Chiefs were to rule over their 'tribes' in accordance with their respective 'native laws and customs' (see Lentz in this volume). In fact, the British laid the foundation for today's ethnic identities by imposing a number of 'native states' which they imagined corre sponded with established tribal boundaries. Any doubts which were


raised as to whether the said 'tribes' really existed, were cast aside or explained away with the notion that 'tribes' had previously existed, but had disintegrated as a result of the incursions of Babatu, Samori and local freebooters in the latter part of the nineteenth century. The linkage of 'tribes' to the 'native states', with all the associated ambigu ities has been the distinguishing feature of the ethnic experience in twentieth-century Ghana. Post-colonial discourses: the state and academic research

The implosion of the ideology of indirect rule after the war and the replacement of 'native authorities' by elected local councils meant that the concept of 'tribe' was gradually depoliticised. The shift in official discourse took a linguistic turn: 'tribes' were not regarded (in areas where they once had been) as the natural foundations of a given com munity, but the term was now used as a shorthand for groups speaking different languages and bearing different cultural traditions. Since the 1 960s, the place of 'tribes' in official language has been replaced by that of 'ethnic groups' or simply 'cultures'. While ethnicity is not expected to play an overt political role (and indeed is frowned on as a basis for political action), it has often received implicit support in the development arena: cultural traditions are to be harnessed to develop ment, while appreciation of the diversity of those traditions is held to promote nation-building. The latter shift has, however, effected little change in the ethnic classifications established in parts of the country over the previous decades. This is strikingly apparent in the 1 960 census, which was the last to enumerate the ethnic make-up of the country. The introduction to the special report on Tribes in Ghana takes great care to emphasise the apolitical and purely academic nature of the exercise. Criticising the tribal classification of the 1 948 census as 'too vaguely defined or not defined at all', the 1 960 census set out to establish a 'multicriteria classification', privileging 'language, traditional or historical classification and geographic affinity or origin'. 10 But on the ground the census became thoroughly entangled in the ambiguities of territorial as against ethnic names ('confusing the concept of tribe with names of areas').U In the south this often meant that the chiefdoms served as a surrogate for ethnicity, while in the north the census simply relied on the accustomed colonial nomenclature. The census organisers produced a tribal map (see Figure 1 .2) with clear-cut boundaries, which implied univocal ethnic membership and a congruence of territory, language and culture.

Ethnicity in Ghana

11

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I

Figure 1.2

0

o

Tribes in Ghana Source: 1960 Population Census of Ghana, Special Report

E.

20

Km

&0 MII

.


The question of why 'tribes' have remained a pervasive category in Ghanaian public discourse is explored in some of the contributions to this book. But it is also worth considering why 'tribes' continue to dominate the ethnographic universe of so many scholars and the reading public. After all, anthropologists undertaking serious empirical research could not fail to notice that the groups they were studying were by no means organised in neatly demarcated 'tribes'. Scholars such as Fortes (1 945), Goody (1956) and Tait (1961), who studied state less societies in northern Ghana, were well aware of that fact. However, the processes of attributing ethnic identity to oneself and to others in a situational context were not subjected to much scrutiny. Commonly, the authors paid lip service (often in the introductions to their works) to the problems of delimiting and naming the unit under investiga tion, only to use terms like 'the LoDagaa', 'the Tallensi' or 'the Konkomba' for the purpose of cultural comparison and ethnographic coverage. Elizabeth Tonkin's observation that the functionalist para digm which informed much of classical West African ethnography tended to reify 'ethnic groups' seems to be true of Ghana too, even until quite recently. In her words: [t]ribes tended to emerge inside the green covers ... through the stan dard constitutive categories of kinship, political structure, traditions of origin and the like which imply and get their meaning from the assumption that there are bounded social units. ...The ethnographic tradition of West Africa, then, has been partly constituted by a concern to 'write (non-racist) ethnos' and ... [t]he urge to 'cover' ... an artefact of a need to account for 'our' diverse populations. (1 990: 141-2) The need seems to have been carried over into the post-colonial period. Collections of folk tales, proverbs and songs, and the literature on the diversity of Ghanaian cultural traditions, which plays a part in government's informal education programmes, generally take the accustomed ethnic boundaries and the nomenclature for granted.12 A handful of studies did address ethnicity explicitly, as a flexible and contested idiom through which communities were constructed. In Ghana, as in other African countries, the first steps in this direction were taken in the context of research on migration and urbanisation. Jean Rouch ( 1 956) was perhaps the first scholar to analyse the re inforcement of tribalism (or 'super-tribalisation') among labour migrants in the Gold Coast. Keith Hart's seminal article on 'Migration and tribal

Ethnicity in Ghana 1 3

identity among the Frafras of Ghana' (1971) examined how British administrators and labour migrants contributed to the emergence of a new ethnic category, 'the Frafra', and how this new category became effective through the constant ciculation of people between their homes and the city. The most substantial work on the relationship between migration and ethnicity, namely Enid Schildkrout's study ( 1 978) of Mossi migrants in Kumasi, has dealt with the importance of notions of common origin for the creation of networks of solidarity away from home, and discusses ethnicity as a political resource. Curiously, relatively little has been published on migration and eth nicity in Ghana since the publication of Schildkrout's monograph. The literature has focused much more upon ethnicity - and on a larger scale, regionalism - as a factor in the competition of political elites for power and resources. 13 Much of the writing has dealt with the north-south divide, which is itself affected by uneven colonial devel opment. Some studies, such as those of Smock and Smock (1975) and Ladouceur (1979) posited a direct connection between objective regional (or local) disparities in development and the emergence of (ethno-)regionalist consciousness, which expresses itself in claims against the state in the language of ethnic particularism. However, as David Brown (1982, 1983) has noted, the north-south divide has so far had a surprisingly limited influence upon Ghanaian politics. Rather, it is the perceived competition between Ewe and Ashanti political elites, whose constituencies are not noticeably different in terms of access to education and amenities, which have stirred up the issue of ethnicity. Brown insists that the popular image of Ewe tribalism and nepotism has been deliberately propagated by various governments. Straddling the frontier with Toga, the Ewe have served as the ideal scapegoats for embattled governments in Accra. Although Brown has discussed the manipulation of ethnic stereo types in an informative fashion, he is less concerned with the origins of the ethnic categories themselves. Like many political scientists he uses terms such as 'the Ewe' and 'the Ashanti' as unproblematic con cepts. In this he is joined by D. E. K. Amenumey, a historian, whose otherwise path-breaking study of the Ewe unification movement takes Ewe identity as a given: that is, because 'the Ewe' are seen to be divided by an artificial frontier, it is only natural that they should seek to be reunited once again (1989). jean Allman's study of the National Liberation Movement, which deals with the same period of Ghanaian history, does address the issue of categories more directly ( 1 993). However, the focus of her book is on the political manoeuvring of


different sections within the movement and does not deal with the processes by which Asante identity was produced (however, this is a theme which she takes up in her contribution to this volume). Nevertheless, there is a venerable tradition of studying Ghana in terms of localised political space. Although the contributions do not always address the issue of ethnicity very explicitly, studies like those of Owusu (1970) and Dunn and Robertson (1973) offer a rich insight into the making of communal identities. Borrowing perhaps from the insights of the Gold Coast scholars of an earlier generation, they demonstrate the tremendous importance attached to local institutions and practices - and especially to chieftaincy. They also show how these localised communities have been incorporated into the larger struc tures of the colonial and post-colonial states. It is difficult to know quite where the 'local' ends and the 'ethnic' starts - or, for that matter, where the 'ethnic' ends and the 'national' starts. The reason is that actors commonly deploy a repertoire spanning different registers. The enduring contribution of this earlier body of research lies in drawing our attention to the interplay of these levels. Ghana: a framework for analysis and comparison

There remains one further issue to dispose of: that of why Ghana itself is a meaningful unit of analysis. Would it not make more sense to focus, say, on the Akan peoples, the West African savannah or the forest zone? No doubt there is much that could be said in favour of alternative units of analysis. However, it is our contention that modern ethnicities have developed within the boundaries that were eventually bequeathed to Ghana. One might also point out that in pre-colonial times, Asante imperialism - variegated as it undoubtedly was - pro vided an overarching commonality of historical experience. Most of what later became the Gold Coast Colony and Protectorate had once been part of the Asante empire, or at least maintained a tributary asso ciation with it (Wilks, 1975). The modern perception that the Ewe and the Ashanti have always been at odds, for example, ignores the fact that Anlo was allied with Asante throughout the nineteenth century (Kea, 1969). Similarly, the prevailing mutual stereotypes of the north and south of the country date back, at least in part, to pre-colonial times. Of course, the relevant pre-colonial regional systems of identity also transcended actual state boundaries. There is no doubt, for example, that the stateless societies of the northwest were much more closely integrated with their counterparts across the Black Volta than


with the Dagomba and Gonja states to the southeast of them. Nevertheless, it is important to recognise that many of the foundations of knowledge and power were laid before the twentieth century. The elements of continuity should not be ignored, but neither should the fact that the continuities were selective in character. The British created an administrative triad of Colony, Ashanti and the Northern Territories which exerted its own influence on the trajectory of commu nal identities from around the turn of the century. It is within this frame work that the relationships between existing polities were redefined and the classification of 'tribes' amongst stateless societies took place. The Gold Coast was generally conceived by the British as constituting a feder ation of 'native states'. As an administrative model this necessitated the remoulding of many existing polities and the incorporation of formerly stateless peoples into the various 'native states'. This had somewhat con tradictory consequences. At one level the boundaries between communi ties became more one-dimensional as overlapping networks of identity and intercourse lost much of their meaning. But at the same time, the tendency towards closure at the local level was counteracted by the incor poration of all communities into a more extensive political space. The remaking of political space was enacted and ritualised on occa sions such as the Agricultural Show which was held in Kumasi in 1 908. Besides a large number of local dignitaries from the Colony and Ashanti, more than eighty chiefs from the Northern Territories attended the occasion, accompanied by a retinue of more than one thousand persons bearing numerous exhibits of local agricultural prod ucts. While putting the newly created northern 'native states' on the mental map of their southern counterparts, the show also provided the first opportunity for many of the representatives of previously stateless societies to acquaint themselves with the chiefdoms of the south. These contacts influenced the way in which new 'traditions' were created. Much of the paraphernalia of the newly installed chiefs in the north, for example, was borrowed both from neighbouring states in the north and from the south. At the same time, durbars and chiefs' conferences became an arena for the exhibition of communal identi ties at the regional level. At the durbar, a given community was able to parade its own culture and to demonstrate its own importance in the greater scheme of things (vindicated by the attendance of British officialdom). The authorities, on the other hand, were seen to demon strate their concern for the well-being of the community by their very presence at the durbar grounds. The mystique of colonial power was perhaps all the greater for being understated on such occasions.

16

Ethnicity in Ghana

Since independence this mode of interaction has, if anything, acquired greater currency. The full panoply of cultural festivals has been enumerated, collated and codified by central authority. It has become customary for the head of government and the Regional Ministers to attend the most important festivals on a regular cycle. It is at the durbars that the most important speeches are delivered, from where they are relayed to the country at large by means of radio, television and the newspapers. In a sense, therefore, the Ghanaian state enacts itself at these cultural festivals. The festival also functions as a forum at which a community can make its own demands known to central authority. Inevitably, therefore, these great public occasions are loaded in both a cultural and a political sense. The state may be said to play a part in the elaboration of community identities in other ways as well. A semi-articulated policy of multi-cul turalism operates according to which elements of 'traditional' culture from different parts of the country are plucked and then incorporated into a canon of 'national' tradition. The most visible example of this is the way in President Rawlings, even more than his predecessors, alter nates between suits, kente cloths and northern smocks on public occa sions. Similarly, there is a conscious effort to ensure that radio and television programmes are broadcast in all the major languages which by definition means that others are left out (see Bemile in this volume). Again, institutions such as the Ghana Dance Ensemble seek to incorporate songs and dances from the major ethnic groups in the country - similarly institutionalising certain traditions rather than others. In all these ways the Ghanaian state plays an active role in the enactment of ethnicity on a national stage. On the other hand, com munities who play the game (as most do) also help to legitimise state authority. There is no greater folly than to imagine that the state and society are somehow divorced from one another in the Ghanaian setting, as has sometimes been implied. They are in reality mutually constituting. Thematic content

The chapters that have been selected to appear in this volume bear on one or more of the issues that have been dealt with above. It remains to make some more explicit connections between the individual chap ters as well as to signpost some of the respects in which they develop fresh insights.

Ethnicity in Ghana 17 'Natives' and 'strangers': some pre-coloniallinkages

If ethnicity involves the construction of ideological and social bound aries of inclusion and exclusion, then there is good reason for breaking through the barrier that has been erected between pre-colonial, col onial and post-colonial history. Igor Kopytoff (1987) has offered a stimulating interpretation of the foundations of African political culture which is of some assistance in making sense of the Ghanaian material. According to Kopytoff, the history of much of Africa in the pre-colonial period was characterised by a recurrent cycle of fission and fusion, in which communities were constantly rescrambled and the relations between their constituent parts restructured. Those who ruled, frequently legitimised their authority over others by claiming to be the descendants of the first settlers. Alternatively, if the ruling groups were comparative newcomers, they might validate their polit ical authority by claiming to have introduced the first meaningful political dispensation. It is striking how often each of these modes of legitimisation is encountered in the Ghanaian context. In general, pre-colonial polities were well disposed towards the influx of new settlers. In the case of Mamprugu, Schlottner shows how Mamprusi identity was constructed in highly inclusive terms. The Mamprusi rulers appear to have conquered and partially absorbed existing autochthonous communities. Thereafter, fresh waves of set tlers were considered as desirable imports largely because of the skills they brought with them. Schlottner suggests that obedience to a common political and spiritual authority was essential, but in other respects there was considerable latitude for difference. This conforms to a common pattern whereby pre-colonial states consisted of networks of power relations rather than being territorially or even culturally defined. 14 Amongst the stateless societies of the northwest, Lentz observes that the relationship between peoples was expressed in terms of first-corners, who controlled the earth shrines, and those who were classed as late-comers. However, she notes that the boundary between them might be eclipsed over time, particularly if subsequent groups of settlers arrived in the area vis-iz-vis whom the earlier 'late-comers' now acted as hosts. As against the inclusivist leanings of pre-colonial Mamprugu, Sandra Greene demonstrates how the Anlo erected cultural tariff barriers against problematic outsiders. Their problem arose as a result of the influx of refugees in the later seventeenth century who threatened the access of Anlo families to scarce arable land. Greene shows how,

18

Ethnicity in Ghana

through the creation of an elaborate system of clanship and a system of clan endogamy, outsiders were prevented from acquiring full rights to land. The point here is not that twentieth-century ethnic identities were a mere hangover from modes of self-identification from the pre colonial period. As Greene herself shows, the development of Ewe nationalism in the twentieth century was an entirely new departure.15 However, it is not possible to understand the boundaries that were constructed in the twentieth century without appreciating that others had existed before, and had to be shifted in order to accommodate new realities. Colonial chieftaincy and ethnic identity

During the colonial period itself, much of the impetus for the redefinition of ethnic alignments came with the codification of chief taincy structures. The British sought to implement a system of indirect rule, making use of so-called 'traditional' authorities. Various contribu tions to this volume highlight the long-term impact of these policies in specific localities. In Ashanti, the rationalisation of chieftaincy initially involved dissolution of the hierarchies associated with the Asante kingdom. The principal amanhere were recognised as Paramount Chiefs in their own right, while the control of Kumasi was formally ended, as Wilks shows. The deposed Asantehene was not allowed to return from exile in the Seychelles until 1924, and then only as Mr Edward Prempeh (McCaskie, 1990). However, this revisionist policy was abandoned in the 1930s, first with the recognition of Prempeh as 'Kumasihene' in 1926, followed by the 'restoration' of the Asante con federacy in 1935. In the case of British Southern Togoland, as Nugent demonstrates, the British sought to amalgamate a mass of 'petty chief dams' in the 1930s in order to create what were regarded as more viable 'native authorities'. And in the Northern Territories, the British authorities attached acephalous communities, such as the Konkomba, to existing states such as Dagomba, with problematic consequences in the recent past, as Bogner shows. In the process of tinkering with rural power structures, the colonial administration inevitably rewarded some constituencies and offended the sensibilities of others. The winners and the losers sought means of cementing or altering their respective positions. This often involved recourse to history in which separate origins and experiences were pro claimed. As the contestants stressed the supposedly ancient pedigree of their claims, stool and skin politics acquired a sharper ethnic flavour.


I n some cases new identities crystallised around the structures of chief taincy that had been implanted. As Lentz reveals in her chapter, new ethnonyms became associated with chieftaincy in the northwest: Lobi Dagarti in Nandom, Lobi in Lawra, Dagarti in Jirapa and Sisala in Lambussie. Economic developments in the colonial period also connected the contest for chiefly office with the struggle for control of strategic resources. Land, in particular, acquired an enhanced economic value in the forest regions of the south. In parts of the Colony where diamonds or gold were located, or where the land was suitable for cocoa cultiva tion, stools came to exercise control over potentially valuable assets. Once again, rival claims were expressed in terms of first settlement in a given area which legitimised the claims of particular stools. Whether an individual was classified as a 'native' or a 'stranger' had an impor tant bearing on the terms on which he might receive access to land. The freezing of group boundaries also had other implications. As Allman suggests, identities ceased to be reproduced as part of a cultural process: one was Ashanti or one was not. Similarly, in the north, though individual ethnic 'conversion' remained possible, it was no longer as easy for whole groups to change their linguistic and cultural identity as in pre-colonial times when the flexible assimilation of 'new comers' was the rule rather than the exception. One consequence of the exclusion of strangers from acquiring land rights - and hence from becoming full citizens - was that migrants tended to protect their own links with home. The language of belonging through descent was thereby reinforced on the other end of the chain. The colonial state, missionaries and cultural brokers

Much of the literature on African ethnicity highlights the agency of European administrators, missionaries and employers. It is undoubt edly the case that Europeans filtered much of what they saw through 'tribal' lenses. In the present volume, Killingray reveals how the 'martial races' theory (first developed in India) was applied to the Gold Coast. The British actively recruited for their police and armed forces along ethnic lines, even if ethnonyms such as 'Hausa' were applied in a highly anachronistic fashion. The emphasis was upon finding recruits who would not merely be solid under fire, but who could also be counted on to carry out orders faithfully. There was a preference for northerners and for personnel drawn from neighbouring French terri tory. Amongst southerners, the Fanti had acquired a reputation for


being cowardly during the course of the nineteenth century, an image which was not easily shifted. The Ashanti, on the other hand, had blotted their copybook in the 1900 uprising. They were also seen as having gone soft through the lure of money. Missionaries and mine employees had their own perceptions and preferences. However, as much of the recent literature has demon strated, Africans were nothing if not active participants in the shaping of their own identities. The products of mission schools were able to look on the world in a quite different way. Bemile notes the role of Catholic missionaries in promoting the central dialect of Dagara as the principal language of communication in that part of the northwest, and draws attention to a bitter, ongoing struggle between defenders of the central Dagara dialect, on the one hand, and promoters of alterna tive dialects on the other. Lentz reinforces this analysis, noting that a common Dagara identity has tended to be operative only in certain contexts - such as on the mines, where people from the northwest have felt the need to stick together. Where some of the chapters in this book strike a different note from the prevailing wisdom, is in exposing ways in which Europeans borrowed from the world-view of Africans. This theme is pursued in the chapter by Ivor Wilks, who shows how successive Chief Commissioners behaved as if the Asante kingdom was still in business even when the Asantehene was physically in exile. So captivated did they become, according to Wilks, that the Commissioners even started to assume the role of surrogate Asantehene. This paved the way for the eventual reconstitution of the Ashanti confederacy. Also in relation to Asante, Jean Allman points to the way in which the image of a European missionary such as Sister Persis Beer might be crafted to suit an Ashanti audience. And as has already been noted, the British constructed much of their mental map of the Northern Territories by talking to (and through) other Africans, with long-lasting con sequences. In a sense, none of this should actually cause too much sur prise, given the limited acquaintance of many Europeans with the nuances of African social organisation and history. However, it is worth emphasising because, in their determination to distance modern ethnicities from supposedly pre-existing 'tribes', Africanists have also tended to exaggerate the agency of Europeans. Many of the chapters in this book address the role of cultural brokers - that is, the often quite small number of individuals who have helped to forge the mental frameworks within which others can see themselves in relation to their neighbours. In some cases the


brokers have been chiefs and their closest advisors. I n others they have been the so-called 'youth associations' (as amongst the Konkomba). And in many instances the two have worked closely together. In almost every instance these brokers have sought to define a cultural core and have posited a common historical experi ence to reinforce their claims. Because the number of possible permu tations is virtually endless, this is bound to result in fierce debates. Bitter wrangling over the correct form of the Dagara language, or, as Nugent shows, where the Likpe people really migrated from, exem plify the difficulties of reconciling the myth of an unproblematic ethnic essence with the reality of multiple layers of identity, interest and cultural practice. Gender and ethnicity

The literature on ethnicity - and the same could be said here of nation alism - has been slow to pick up on the fact that identities tend to be articulated in a gendered fashion. Two contributions to this volume do, however, advance the debate by placing gender at the forefront of their analysis. Allman demonstrates how ordinary women were essen tial to the reproduction of Asante society through the perpetuation of the matrilineages. Furthermore, she highlights the importance of the Asante queenmothers in linking these lineages to the Asante state. In a similar fashion, Greene notes the importance of Anlo women in the socialisation of successive generations. She also shows how women developed some room for manoeuvre through marriage and how, when that was restricted, they exploited other opportunities in the reli gious sphere. In both cases the authors note that women were marginalised during the colonial period and after, but the authors come to different conclu sions about the significance thereof for the expression of ethnic iden tity. Allman contends that Ashanti women retained their importance in the reproduction of lineages, but forfeited their role in the reproduc tion of Ashanti identity at the level of the state. Once 'Ashanti-ness' had been rendered static, there was less room for the queenmothers to perform their mediating function. In the case of Anlo, on the other hand, Greene points to the economic marginalisation of women, which summoned forth a direct response in the formation of female co-operatives. These, in turn, became the vectors for the dissemination of a greater Ewe ethnicity which helped to transcend the historic divide within the Ewe-speaking peoples.

22 Ethnicity in Ghana Politicised ethnicity and the national question

Since the Second World War the importance of ethnicity at the political level has tended to wax and wane to a remarkable degree. At certain times ethnic tensions have manifested themselves overtly, only to be followed by long periods when the importance of ethnicity has been denied virtu ally on all sides. Around the time of independence in 1957, for example, ethnic and regional demands were vocally expressed in Ashanti, Trans Volta Togoland and in the Northern Territories (Amenumey, 1989; Allman, 1993; Ladouceur, 1979). This was followed by a period of com parative quiescence which cannot be fully explained by the repression of these demands by the Nkrumah regime. 'Tribalism' resurfaced as an issue during the Second Republic and, after a brief lull, during the early years of the Acheampong regime. Towards the end of the 1970s, however, the pendulum swung back once more, as opposition to the military crossed putative ethnic boundaries. The revolution of 1982 was particularly note worthy for the manner in which ethnic claims were subordinated to the language of class interest. When internal disputes split the ruling move ment, the protagonists were at pains to point out that it was a clash of principles rather than ethnicity which was at issue (Nugent, 1995: 78-97). There are indications that the pendulum has started to swing back again. In recent years there have been many claims to the effect that Ewe wielded a disproportionate level of influence within the Rawlings government, while the ethnic card has been played in electoral poli tics. Moreover, Ghana has witnessed a number of bloody 'ethnic' clashes and disputes across the country. When one examines the record more closely, what is striking is how often chieftaincy lies at the centre of the conflict. In many respects the colonial legacy is only now becoming fully apparent. The immediate cause of the war that erupted in the Northern Region in 1994 was alleged to have been a fight in a market over a guinea-fowl. However, the underlying cause was the attempt by certain Konkomba to separate themselves from the various 'native states' to which they had been attached in colonial times, and to create their own chiefs which would include a Paramountcy of their own. This over-riding concern with chieftaincy, which is examined in the chapter by Bogner, is the more noteworthy because the Konkomba had no chiefs before the colo nial period. Indeed, the Konkomba themselves did not exist as a distinct ethnic community. Over the course of the twentieth century, however, a sense of Konkomba identity has slowly emerged. Because there is an assumption that 'tribes' must have their own chiefs - it is, after all how


we know they are a 'tribe' - the demand for a Paramountcy has become a powerful charter for Konkomba ethnicity. In the Volta Region also, as Nugent shows, there has been a long-running tussle over chieftaincy, which is itself a legacy of British amalgamation policy. The language of ethnicity has been deployed by representatives of the Central Toga groups who seek recognition for their own Paramount Chiefs. The issue has been fudged by Government since the 1970s and does not look likely to be resolved in the near future. There is little agreement inside Ghana about where the lines of demarcation ought to run. If the boundaries of traditional areas are merely supposed to follow 'customary' patterns of political allegiance, it follows that many chiefdoms would be multi-cultural in composition - and many people might not have chiefs at all. But because the former 'native states' have increasingly been defined in ethnic terms, cultural outsiders (who may or may not be in the minority) have been embold ened to demand their own chiefs. There is also a genuine problem of what is meant by 'tradition': given that groups of people were lumped together earlier in the twentieth century, not everybody would agree that a tradition has been established. A major difficulty is that there is no-one who can be viewed as an honest broker when disputes do break out. The Nkrumah regime created a precedent when it appeared to intervene in chieftaincy affairs for politi cal advantage. When subsequent governments reversed its decisions, they were also charged with partiality. There is a real sense in which an incum bent government cannot win. Hence in the wake of the 'guinea-fowl war', the Rawlings regime was blamed by both sides - by the Dagomba and others for having incited the Konkomba, and by the latter for having done nothing to help them once the fighting was under way. There has, in fact, been a growing perception amongst the Ghanaian political elite that state intervention is only counterproductive. The Fifth Republican Constitution of 1992 actually ties the hands of central government and places the responsibility for resolving chieftaincy conflicts in the hands of the traditional authorities themselves. However, the perceived partiality of the Houses of Chiefs on matters of 'tradition' renders the successful res olution of chieftaincy disputes from that quarter extremely problematic. The legacy of the Gold Coast as a federation of 'native states' is very obvious today. At various junctures, political leaders have believed that the solution to the Ghanaian formulation of the national question lay in building an allegiance to the nation as something that would transcend other foci of allegiance. This has proved difficult to implement because virtually every symbol is potentially divisive. 16 It is not too surprising


therefore that the very name for this country was selected from an empire which was located nowhere near the present state of Ghana. As has been noted above, other national symbols are a finely balanced mixture of cultural symbols drawn from different parts of the country in this case at once removed from the 'native states'. Up to a point they make Ghana look unique on a global stage, but they represent an agglomeration of symbols rather than something original. It has some times been suggested that the cause of Ghanaian integration would be advanced by the adoption of a Ghanaian national language in place of English. However, there are difficulties in locating a candidate (Laitin, 1994). Although Twi is spoken as first language by around 44 per cent of the population, there are significant linguistic variations between Akuapem Twi, Fanti and Ashanti Twi. Moreover, a 'standard Twi' would in all likelihood be resented as an imposition by speakers of other languages, especially in the north of the country and in the Volta Region, as Bemile shows in his chapter. That being the case, English is likely to survive as a compromise solution: as the linguistic parallel to the choice of the name 'Ghana' for the country. In contemporary South Africa there has been much talk of the curious paradoxes associ ated with the 'rainbow nation' - a nation in which the national flag combines elements of existing flags and where two anthems are played back to back. Arguably, South Africans are coming late to the game. Ghana has been playing the game of cultural mix-and-match - cultural kente may be a better expression - since independence in 1957. Although chieftaincy remains acutely divisive, the performance of national culture has worked surprisingly well.

Notes The pronouncement of Victor Owusu in the Parliament of the Second Republic, to the effect that the Ewe were nepotistic, caused such a furore precisely because there was a feeling that it was un-Ghanaian to speak in such terms (Smock and Smock, 1975 : 247). 2 A companion volume h a s already been published ( D e la Gorgendere, King and Vaughan, 1996). 3 See, for instance, the collection of articles in V ail ( 1989) . 4 Here we follow standard usage in referring to the pre-colonial 'Asante', whilst using 'Ashanti' for the post-colonial period . We also refer to 'Akyem' (rather than Akim) and 'Akuapem' (as opposed to Akwapim) .

5 See, for example, Van den Berghe ( 198 1) and Geertz ( 1973).

Ethnicity in Ghana 25 6 Frederick Barth, in particular, has criticised the equation of ethnicity with a common culture, insisting that ethnic groups are only constituted through the construction of social boundaries - a s self-ascription and ascription by others ( 1969: 14-5). 7 S e e Young ( 1986), Ranger (1993) and Lentz ( 1 9 95) for overviews o f what has become a vast literature.

8 We are grateful to Richard Rathbone for helping to refine this point. 9 Ferguson in Arhin ( 1 9 74 : 99, 109, 1 1 7) . 1 0 1960 Population Census o f Ghana, Special Report 'E', Tribes i n Ghana (Accra: Census Office, 1964 : xi) . 1 1 Ibid . : xii. 12 For some typical examples see, for instance, Warren ( 1 9 73) and Kondor ( 1993) . While all of these texts regard the different 'ethnic groups' o r ' cul tures' as integral part of ' G hanaian culture', some attempt to go a step further and construct an overarching 'G hanaian culture '; see for example Daniel ( 1993). 13 For a discussion on the linkages between regional and subregional ethnic identities, see Schild krout ( 1 9 79) and Kaufert ( 1980) . For a study o f the role of particularistic loyalties i n the G h a n a i a n bureaucracy, see Price

( 1 9 75 ) . 1 4 I n t h e case o f Akuapem, for example, Michelle Gilbert ( 1997) points to a claim to political supremacy based on the introduction of an Akan model of chieftaincy, which was supposedly an improvement upon the 'priests', which the Guan communities had h itherto possessed . This, together with the Akyem settlers' claims to have defended the Guan against the Akwamu in

1 730, provided a charter for rule by the Omanhene in Akropong, which

has continued to be referred to up until the present day. In a similar fashion, Rathbone

( 1997) notes the existence of a diverse body of strangers

owing allegiance to the Akyem Abuakwa stool i n the nineteenth century. The difference from Mamprugu is that the Akyem

oman was built upon a

more clearly defined sense of territory.

15 See also G reene ( 1996: 143-55) . 16 For example, a t the time o f the revolution i t was decided t o call the Defence Committee newspaper Nsamankow, supposedly to commemorate a victory over the British imperialists. This was, however, an Asante victory, at a time when most of the Fanti polities, the Akyems and others were in alliance with the British. I ndeed it was the Asante who were regarded as the imperi alists at the time!

References Allman, jean

( 1993) The Quills of the Porcupine: Asante Nationalism in an Emergent Ghana (Madison : U n iversity of Wisconsin Press). Amenumey, D . E . K. ( 1989) The Ewe Unification Movement: A Political History (Accra : G hana U niversities Press) .

26

Ethnicity in Ghana

Arhin, Kwame (ed .) ( 1 9 74)

The Papers of George Ekem Ferguson, a Fanti Official of the Government of the Gold Coast, 1 890-1 897 ( Leiden and Cambridge: African

Studies Centre) . Barth, Frederik (ed . ) ( 1 969)

Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference (London : George Alien and Unwin).

Brown, David ( 1982) 'Who are the Tribalists? Social Pluralism and Political Ideology in Ghana',

African Affairs , 81, no. 322: pp. 3 7-69 .

Brown, David ( 1 983) 'Sieges a n d Scapegoats : The Politics o f Pluralism in Ghana and Togo',

Journal of Modern African Studies, 2 1 : pp. 43 1 -60. Ghanaians: A Sovereign People in Profile (Accra: Asempa

Daniel, Ebow ( 1993) Publishers).

Danquah, ) . B . ( 1 928) Akan Law and Customs

and the Akim Abuakwa Constitution

(London: Routledge). De la Gorgendiere, Louise, King, Kenneth and Vaughan, Sarah (eds) ( 1 996)

Ethnicity in Africa: Roots, Meanings and Implications (Edinburgh : Centre of African Studies, Un iversity of Edinburgh). Dunn, John and Robertson, A . F . ( 19 73)

Dependence and Opportunity: Political Change in Ahafo (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press) .

Elwert, Georg ( 1 989) 'Nationalism us und Ethnizitat . Ober die Bildung von Wir Gruppen',

KO/ner Zeitschrift fii r Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, 3: 440-64. The Dynamics of Clanship among the Tallensi (London:

Fortes, Meyer ( 1 94 5 )

Oxford University Press) . Geertz,

Clifford

( 1 9 7 3,

fi rst

edition

1 963)

'The

I ntegrative

Revolution :

Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in the New States', in C. Geertz (ed . ) ,

The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Harper) . G ilbert, Michelle ( 1 99 7) ' " No Condition is Permanent " : Ethnic Construction and the Use of History in Akuapem',

Africa, 67: pp. 5 0 1-3 3 .

G luckman, M a x ( 1 960) 'Tribalism in Modern British Central Africa ' ,

Cahiers d'etudes Africaines, 1 : pp. 5 5-70. Goody, jack ( 1 9 5 6) The Social Organisation of the Lo Wiili (London: H. M. Stationery Office) . G reene, Sandra E. ( 1 996)

Gender, Ethnicity and Social Change on the Upper Slave Coast: A History of the Anlo-Ewe (London: james Currey) .

Hart, Keith ( 1 9 7 1) 'M igration and Tribal Identity among the Frafras of Ghana',

Journal ofAsian and African Studies, IV: pp. 2 1 -36. Hobsbawm, Eric ( 1 983) ' Introduction: Inventing Tradition', in E. Hobsbawn and T. Ranger (eds)

The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge : Cambridge U niversity

Press) . Il iffe, John ( 1 9 79)

A Modern History of Tanganyika (Cambridge : Cambridge

University Press) . jenkins, Ray ( 1 990) ' I ntellectuals, Publication Outlets and " Past Relationships " . S o m e Observations on t h e Emergence of Early G o l d Coast/Ghanaian Historiography in the Cape-Accra-Akropong Triangle: c . 1 880- 1 9 1 7 ' , in P. H. de Moraes Farias and K . Barber (eds),

Self-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa (Birmingham : Centre of West African Studies, Birmingham University) . Kaufert, joseph ( 1 980) 'Situational Ethnic Identity in G hana: A Survey of University Students', in j. N. Paden (ed.), Values, Identities and National Integration: Empirical Research in Africa (Evanston: Northwestern University Press).

Ethnicity in Ghana 2 7 Kea, R . A . ( 1 969) 'Akwamu-Anl o Relations c . 1 7 5 0- 1 8 1 3 ',

Transactions o f the Historical Society of Ghana, X: pp. 29-6 3 . Kimble, David ( 1 963) A Political History of Ghana: The Rise of Gold Coast Nationalism, 1 850-1 928 (Oxford: Clarendon Pre s s ) . Kondor, Daniel ( 1 993) Ghanaian Culture in Perspective (Accra: Presbyterian Press).

Kopytoff, Igor ( 1 98 7 ) 'The Internal African Frontier: The Making o f African Political Culture', in I. Kopytoff (ed . ) ,

The African Frontier: The Reproduction of Traditional African Societies (Bloomington and Indianpolis: Indiana U niversity

Press). Kuklick, Henrika ( 1 9 79)

The Imperial Bureaucrat: The Colonial Administrative Service in the Gold Coast, 1 920-1 939 (Stanford: Hoover Institution) . Ladouceur, Paul A. ( 1 9 79) Chiefs and Politicians: The Politics of Regionalism in Northern Ghana (London: Longman).

Laitin, David ( 1 994) 'The Tower of Babe! as a Coordination G a m e : Political Linguistics in Ghana',

American Political Science Review, 88, no. 3 : pp. 622-34 .

Lentz, Carola ( 1 995) "'Tribalism" and Ethnicity i n Africa: A Review o f Four Decades of Anglophone Research',

Cahiers des Sciences Humaines, 3 1 , no. 2: pp. 303-28.

Lonsdale, John ( 1 9 7 7) 'When did the Gusii (or any Other Group) become a Tribe?',

Kenya Historical Review, 5, no. 1 : pp. 1 22-3 3 .

McCaskie, T. C . ( 1 990) ' I nventing Asante' , i n P . H . de Moraes Farias and K . Barber (eds), Self-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa (Birmingham: Centre of West African Studies, Birmingham University) . Nugent, Paul ( 1 995) Big Men, Small Boys and Politics in Ghana: Power, Ideology and the Burden of History (London and New York: Francis Pinter) . Owusu, Maxwell ( 1 9 70) Uses and Abuses of Political Power: A Case Study of Continuity and Change in the Politics of Ghana (Chicago: C hicago Un iversity Press ) . Peel, J . D . Y . ( 1 989) ' T h e Cultural W o r k of Yoruba Ethnogenesis', in E . Tonkin, M.

McDonald and M .

Chapman

(eds),

History and Ethnicity ( London :

Routledge). Price, Robert ( 1 9 7 5 )

Society and Bureaucracy in Contemporary Ghana (Berkeley:

U niversity of California Press) . Ranger, Terence ( 1 983) 'The I nvention of Tradition in Colonial Africa', in E . H obsbawm and T. Ranger (eds),

The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press) . Ranger, Terence ( 1 9 9 3 ) 'The Invention of Tradition Revisited : The Case of Colonial Africa', in T. Ranger and 0. Vaughan (eds),

Legitimacy and the State in

Twentieth-Century Africa (London: Macmillan) . Rathbone, R. J. A. R. ( 1 99 7) ' Defining Akyemfo: The Construction of Citizenship in Akyem Abuakwa',

Africa, 66: pp. 507-25 . Ashanti Law and Constitution (Oxford: Clarendon Press) . Rattray, Robert S. ( 1 932) The Tribes of Ashanti Hinterland (Oxford : Clarendon

Rattray, Robert S. ( 1 929) Press), 2 vols. Reindorf, C . C . ( 1 966)

The History of the Gold Coast and Asante, 2nd edn (Accra :

Ghana Universities Press) . Rouch, jean ( 1 9 5 6)

Migrations au Ghana (Paris: Societe des Africanistes) . Fanti Customary Laws, 3rd edn (London : Frank Cass) . Sarbah, John Mensah ( 1 968) Fanti National Constitu tion, 2nd edn (London: Sarbah, John Mensah ( 1 968) Frank Cass) .

28 Ethnicity in Ghana Schildkrout, En id

(1978) People of the Zongo: The Transformation of Ethnic Identity in Ghana (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Schildrout, Enid ( 1979) 'The Ideology of Regionalism in Ghana', in W. Shack and E. Skinner (eds), Strangers in African Societies (Berkeley: U niversity of California Press).

Smock, David R. and Smock, Audrey

(1975) The Politics of Pluralism: A Comparative Study of Lebanon and Ghana (New York: Elsevier) . Tait, David ( 19 6 1) The Konkomba of Northern Ghana (London: Oxford U niversity Press). Tonkin, Elisabeth (ed . ) ,

( 1990) 'West African Ethnographic Traditions', in R. Fardon Localizing Strategies. Regional Traditions of Ethnographic Writing

(Washington: Smithsonian Institute) . V ail, Leroy (ed .)

( 1989) The Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa (London:

james Currey) . Van

den

Berghe,

Pierre

( 198 1) The Ethnic Phenomenon (New York and

Amsterdam: Elsevier) . Warren, Dennis M.

( 1973) The Akan of Ghana (Accra: Pointer Ltd). ( 1958) Tribal Cohesion in a Money Economy: A Study of the Mambwe People of Northern Rhodesia (Manchester: Manchester U niversity

Watson, William Press) . Wilks, Ivor

(1975) Asante in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge

University Press) . Young, C rawford M . Retrospective',

( 1986) 'Nationalism, Ethnicity and Class in Africa: A Cahiers d'etudes Africaines, 103: pp. 42 1-95 .

Chapter

2

In the mix : women and ethnicity among the Anlo-Ewe 1 Sandra E. Greene

Studies on the role of women in the historical development of African ethnic identities tend to emphasise two separate but related approaches. The first, argued by John Lonsdale (1977, 1989) states that women in patrilineal societies were 'outsiders in the patrician' and that because of their social location they were the ones who provided the framework which gave their children the ability to move from viewing themselves as members of a localised political community during the pre-colonial period to that of a 'tribe' or member of an ethnic group during the colonial era. The second approach, stated most clearly in Leroy Vail's The Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa (1989: 15), argues that women were completely outside the historical development of contemporary ethnic identities. Although these two approaches differ in significant ways,2 both equate ethnicity with twentieth century 'tribalism'. This definition, in turn, assumes that ethnic identities in Africa appeared only after the onset of colonialism and were generated by the policies and practices of Europeans. Both approaches also define African women as an undifferentiated and mar ginalised mass who played no role at all in shaping the content (as opposed to the framework) of their own identities and that of others, if they had such identities at all. I challenge these claims by focusing on the role that both women and men - but more particularly women - played in shaping the changing ethnic identities that emerged among the Anlo-Ewe (a Ewe speaking polity located in southeastern Ghana) during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I argue, in particular, that ethnic identities defined here as notions of 'we' and 'they' based on geographical origins, as well as time of residence and kinship relations - existed well before the impact of European colonialism. I also argue that Anlo 29


women were viewed and viewed themselves as integral members of their lineages and clans. They identified fully with these groups and it was because of this fact that Anlo women - along with Anlo men throughout their history became deeply involved in both supporting and undermining the boundaries that defined 'we' and 'they' in Anlo. This was the case during the pre-colonial period when an influx of refugees and conquerors prompted the Anlo to redefine who was, indeed, an Anlo. It continued to be so during the colonial and post colonial periods when missionaries, colonial government officials, a new emergent educated Anlo elite and average Anlos began to generate in the twentieth century a new and larger ethnic identity in response to yet another set of developments. Even more significantly, the reasons why a number of Anlo women became involved in the redefinition of 'we' and 'they' had as much to do with their identification with the ethnic identity of their particular clan as it had to do with their gender. Anlo women, through their actions - whether in support of, or in opposition to, the prevailing character of gender and/or ethnic relations during a particular time period - played a central and critical role in shaping ethnic relations and identities in Anlo. Failure to take this into consideration can lead to simplistic and erroneous understandings about the nature and history of ethnic identities and relations in Africa. Pre-colonial transformations: women and ethnicity in late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Anlo

In 1679 an undetermined number of refugees flooded westward out of the lower Gold Coast in an effort to escape the advancing armies of the Akwamu state. Many travelled as far as the region that later became known as northwest Togo. Others sought and received permission to settle in Anlo, an area situated like their own former homelands on the Atlantic littoral but located just east of the Volta River. In this location they were close enough to their own homes to return if circumstances allowed, but distant enough, they thought, from the Akwamu empire to remain outside its imperial ambitions. For 23 years these refugees and many others who were to follow remained safely on the margins of the political upheavals that were engulfing the lower Gold Coast. In 1702, however, Akwamu - in its ambition to dominate the trade between the coastal polities of Accra and Anecho - conquered Anlo as well. Akwamu citizens entered the area as administrators; they force fully established themselves in the Anlo capital, Anloga, and then

Women and ethnicity among the Anlo-Ewe 3 1

assumed the right to maintain order and to muster troops for addi tional military campaigns. For those who had been resident in Anlo well before any of these developments took place, the presence of large numbers of refugees, and new residents who exercised considerable political power over the area, required and invited a response. One such response involved the earlier resident families. They grouped themselves together into new social units known as hlowo (clans) as a means of socially distinguishing themselves from others. They did so in order to protect their rights to the limited arable resources in the area. These early Anlo families took this course of action because of the geographical characteristics of the Anlo area. The total land area of Anlo in the late seventeenth century was approximately 94 square miles. Three quarters of this consisted of swamps, creeks and low-lying salt-laden, clayey soils that could support little cultivation. The areas suitable for farming, less than 20 square miles, were placed under a system of shifting cultivation that yielded one crop per year. This method necessitated that each household have land in sufficient quantity to allow portions to be fallow, while the remainder provided the food requirements of the household.3 In early Anlo even these lands were subject to periodic flooding - a situation that often forced the Anlo to obtain food from the northern side of the lagoon. One such flood occurred in 1683, four years after the first wave of refugees moved into the area from the Ga and Adangbe districts of Accra and Ladoku.4 Because of the scarcity of arable land resources, the increase in population resulting from the undetermined number of refugees entering the area in three or four successive waves between 1679 and 1702, and the development of floods in 1683, the earlier resi dents of Anlo organised themselves into clans in order to guarantee for themselves and their future generations access to the land needed for their subsistence. That the land was at the heart of the development of the clan system is indicated by the fact that the overwhelming concern of this system within Anlo by the late nineteenth century was the control and distribution of clan land for the benefit of clan members. In creating the clan system the earlier residents of Anlo not only developed a new social unit within their society, they also altered the way in which the community defined we/they relations. Anlo oral tradi tions indicate that when the first Ewe-speaking immigrants entered Anlo from the town of Notsie (presently located in south-central Togo), they encountered others already occupying the area. Numbering seven in all, this autochthonous population is said to have lived alongside the Ewe immigrants for some time. Later, however, they disappeared. In

32

Ethnicity in Ghana

recognition of the notion that the autochthones as the first inhabitants of the area had spiritual authority over the land on which the immi grants were now resident, several of the Ewe lineages deified the autochthones and took responsibility for their worship.5 These accounts - as is often true with other oral traditions - may or may not depict in precise historical detail the events described therein. They are impor tant, however, because they do indicate that the Anlo population at one time identified itself as a community composed of two groups: one group associated with a set of gods that had power over the land, and another group that had custody of those gods brought to Anlo by immi grants from the town of Notsie. The entrance after 1679 of additional immigrants into the area challenged the prevailing conception of we/they relations in Anlo. Faced with the threat of having to compete for the limited arable land resources in an area that they had occupied for some time, the earlier resident groups retained their identities as lin eages affiliated with either autochthonous or immigrant gods, but they elevated to much greater importance the notion that they were never theless all descendants of the same set of related ancestors and shared an association with a common ancestral home.6 As a group they stood as one, ethnically distinct from all others. Those who entered the area after 1679 were denied access to land and socially stigmatised as 'other'. They came late; they had different geographical and genealogical origins; they were ethnic outsiders. Clan formation also generated changes in the way in which earlier resident Anlo families managed the lives of their young. Studies of the lineage inheritance system employed by the Anlo and other Ewe-speaking groups indicate that, at one time, all practised patrilineal inheritance where daughters received, from their mothers and fathers, land which they could pass to their own children even though the latter, by descent, were members of a different patrilineage. This is said to have been the case in the 1860s and 1870s; it was also true in the early 1900s. The German missionary, J. Spieth, wrote of the Ewes in Ho that land could be inherited from both father and mother. ? In most cases the brothers of a woman who received land from her patrilineage would attempt to retrieve the land after her death or after the death of her children, so that the property was not lost to their patrilineage. Among the Anlo, however, the land given to a daughter would be left with her and her children to be absorbed into the latter's patrilineage. No mech anism existed within the Anlo lineage system of inheritance to limit the transfer of property to a different patrilineage, save through the diminu tion in the amount of land allocated to the daughter. 8


I f this same system existed i n the seventeenth century, the influx of refugees that entered and remained in Anlo after 1679 would have severely tested the provision which allowed land to pass out of the control of a particular lineage. Arable land was limited and it is almost certain that marriages occurred between local women and some of the immigrants. Traditions that discuss the particularly close relations that existed between specific stranger groups and earlier residents indicate that it was not uncommon for relations between these two to be re inforced through marriage.9 Their residential proximity to one another within the wards, and a preference for in-ward marriages that seems to have existed among all Ewe groups, facilitated such a development. The generation produced by these marriages (a generation that the Anlo defined technically as strangers) would have been in a position to compete quite effectively for the limited resources in the area. The descendants of an immigrant male and a local woman, for example, would have had three avenues of access to land: (1) they could inherit property from their fathers, who in turn might have gained access to the same because it was unclaimed land or because it had been given to them as a gift; (2) they could inherit from their mothers; or (3) like their fathers, they could claim land that had not been possessed by others. These were the same avenues open to the children born of two local parents. Given the competitive pressures that must have been created by the geographical constraints of the area, and the nature of the inheri tance system which was not structured to maintain access to land within a particular patrilineage, the Anlo developed not only a clan system to protect their interests, but also a preference for clan endogamy as a means to deal with the competition over limited resources and the inadequacy of the lineage system in coping with the problem. Thus, in his account of late nineteenth- and early twen tieth-century Anlo society, Westermann noted that 'marriage with a fellow hlo member ... is regarded as particularly refined' (1935: 144) ; and more than a half century later anthropologist, G. K. Nukunya (1969: 74) observed that this same preference continued to exist in the 1960s. Unfortunately for the young women in these earlier resident lin eages, the development of the clan system and the preference for clan endogamy came at their expense. They were increasingly forced to marry members of their clan whether they wished to or not; the previ ous system in which they were at least given a veto over their families' choices was effectively nullified.


The male head of the household was not the only person who used the bodies of young women to support clan endogamy and thus enforce the distinction between earlier residents and the immigrants. Older women did so as well, by encouraging their children, especially their female children, to acquiesce to the limitations imposed on them by the various preferences that came to govern Anlo marital relations. In his discussion of mother-child relations among the late nineteenth and early twentieth-century Anlo, Binetsch noted that 'the education of a girl is mainly her mother's duty' ( 1 906: 1 3) ; Spieth indicated the same: It is the mother who teaches ... the first pagan songs and chants to her children and teaches them the first dancing steps ... it is the mother, as well, who introduces the child to the [clan] customs [of the father] ... [I]t is the father who continues this kind of education from the seventh or eighth year onward as far as the sons are con cerned, [but] the daughter stays with the mother and remains thus throughout her older years entirely under the influence of the mother. (1889: 6) Included as part of this education was an emphasis on the desirability of marrying someone within one's own clan. Westermann ( 1 935: 1 43) noted, for example, that children whose mothers and fathers belonged to the same clan expressed great pride in that fact. Thus, older women actively supported the Anlo preferences for clan endogamy and the new social lines that redefined who could be considered a 'real' Anlo. Women in rebellion: transforming ethnic relations in the nineteenth century

Involvement by older women in the socialisation process - which saw many women encourage their daughters to accept the changed nature of ethnic relations - constituted only one of the ways in which Anlo women influenced, during the pre-colonial period, the nature of ethnic relations within their society. Some young women and their mothers objected to the fact that young women were strongly encouraged, and in some instances forced by their paternal relations (including both their father and their father's sisters), to marry an individual to whom they were no longer allowed to object. In acting on these objections, other groups of Anlo women continued to have a profound influence

Women and ethnicity among the Anlo-Ewe 35

on the character of ethnic relations in Anlo even as they defied the new social identities and norms that governed Anlo society by the mid-eighteenth century. The most significant of these defiant actions involved Elias Quist (an individual who, because of his descent from a Danish officer, was considered an ethnic outsider and a member of the Blu clan, a hlo that consisted of the most recent immigrants in Anlo) and his Yewe religious order. Histories of the Quist family indicate that, shortly after 184 7, Elias was travelling from Anexo to Accra by boat when the vessel on which he was a passenger sank. A boko (diviner) who he is said to have con sulted after this accident, attributed the near-drowning to the Yewe gods, who were said to be calling him to their service. These events set the stage for his involvement with the Yewe religious order. Heeding this call, he established a shrine and became its hubono or owner.10 In such a position he was required to support financially the activities of the members of the order, to adjudicate disputes between members and non-members, and to manage many of the ritual activities in which its members were involved.1 1 No doubt he also - as required of hubono - continued to provide assistance to, and gain adherents from, others the god had helped, but Quist did more than simply assume the expected role of a Yewe owner. He reorganised the way in which the order interacted with the community. Of interest here is how women took advantage of this reorganisation to change significantly ethnic relations in pre-colonial Anlo. As indicated above, families after 1679 had begun to place increasing emphasis on managing the affairs of their daughters. Elders strongly encouraged the young women in their families to marry not only within their residential wards, but also to marry fellow clan members. After 17 SO the desire for husbands to be matrilateral cross-cousins was added to the other two preferences. The weight given to these factors gradually eliminated the voice young women previously had within the family to influence the choice of marriage partner, and significantly curtailed their ability to divorce. During the late eigh teenth and early nineteenth centuries Anlo women responded to this situation, in part, by joining or encouraging their daughters to join the Nyigbla order. Affiliation with this god gave women the support they needed to be more active in their natal families and in their husband's households. Nyigbla's stature in Anlo declined precipitously in the early 1800s, however, because of its involvement in a number of nefar ious activitiesY It was at this time that Quist used his Yewe order to compete with Nyigbla for the support of women by offering wives as

36

Ethnicity in Ghana

well as young unmarried girls the kind of support that was unavailable to them even in the Nyigbla order. For example, Nyigbla provided no recourse for young women who would have liked to refuse the man chosen for them as a future husband by their elders. It only gave women control over their marital affairs after they were betrothed. Quist's Yewe order offered more. Accounts about this nineteenth-century religious order indicate, for example, that it gave women the opportunity to choose their own spouse, which in turn forced the parents to acquiesce to their daughter's decision. As one author noted: [so-called] reckless girls . . . insist on joining Yewe in order to be able to do everything they like. There are those . . . who are promised to a man by their parents; if they do not like this man, they join Yewe, refuse to take the man to whom their parents have promised them and marry a man whom they like on the Yewe farm. (Afelevo, 1 930: 27) Yewe also offered to a married woman a means to check the behaviour of her husband if he proved abusive and if her own family was unwill ing or unable to assist her. In both cases female Yewe members obtained advantages in such situations because of the belief that an offence given to a Yewe member was an offence to her god. If a husband, for example, quarrelled with his Yewe wife, beat her, or insulted her, she could declare herself alaga, that is someone who has gone wild, a right all Yewe members had as members of this particular religious order. The same option was available to young unmarried female members who, according to former Yewe member Stephano Kwadzo Afelevo, were instructed to 'go wild if [their] mother or father said something offensive to [them] 'Y The behaviour of the offended party has been described by a number of late nineteenth-century observers and former Yewe members. 'The person who goes wild, be it man or woman, runs at once into the offender's house, destroys the thatch of their roof, tears down the fence and cracks their pots . . . and no one dares get in the way of an alaga or ones who have gone wild' .14 The only way the parents or husband of a female alaga could rectify the offence was to pay a fine to the Yewe priest, or hubono. According to a number of accounts these fines were often so large that the offender was forced to borrow the sum or place a relative in pawn.15 No doubt this action did much to strengthen a woman's voice in her natal and her husband's household, but it also had other consequences.


By the end of the nineteenth century Elias Quist had become a major economic power and respected figure in Anlo. This was the case in large part because of the support his order received from women who sought to challenge the way in which their families handled their marital affairs. This change in Quist's status - from that of simply an ethnic outsider to one of the most prominent figures in Anlo - under mined the prevailing norms that defined ethnic identity. Added irre trievably to the definition of the Anlo 'we' was the social, economic and religious power that an individual or group was able to obtain as a long-time resident in the polity. Together these examples illustrate the fact that women as mothers and daughters played both a central and critical (although quite varied) role in reinforcing and transforming ethnic relations and iden tities in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Anlo. In the following section we see that these actions were not unique to the pre-colonial period. Anlo women continued to play this same role for similar reasons in the twentieth century. Ethnic change in colonial and post-colonial Anlo: the impact on women

In 1 8 74 Britain extended colonial control over Anlo. This event precip itated massive changes in the political, economic, social and religious culture of this polity. Of concern here is the effect these changes had on the way in which this community socially defined the individuals and groups that together constituted its resident population. By the nineteenth century, those who were defined as ethnic outsiders could achieve prominent positions within the Anlo political and military hierarchy, but in order to do so they had to make an unconditional commitment to the Anlo polity, and were more likely to have been successful if they were also financially prominent, well connected to those who held influential positions in the society, and were able to obtain support for their actions from their families. 1 6 Others who opted to maintain their linkages to their home districts, or to the Europeans with which they had been associated while still working closely with the Anlo political and religious elite, continued to be posi tioned by the Anlo on the social margins of their society.1 7 The British imposition of colonial rule began to change this by the early twentieth century. During the mid-nineteenth century, for example, one well known individual, John Tay, pursued the same approach taken by other 'strangers' . He established close relations with the Anlo political

38

Ethnicity in Ghana

and military elite, but he also maintained particularly close ties with the Europeans who operated in the area. In 1 84 7 , for example, when the Anlo military retaliated against the Danes who had murdered an Anlo citizen, by blockading and besieging the fort at Keta, John Tay 'secretly provided [his European trade partners] with corn and some fowls' in order to sustain them while they attempted to extricate them selves from their predicament (Reindorf, 1 89 5 : 1 5 9). In 1 865 Tay rein forced his ties with the political elite of Anlo by serving as translator for the Anlo army when they were negotiating with British forces and the Adas immediately before the outbreak of the Attiteti or Funu War in 1 865.18 In 1 885 the political and religious leader of Anlo, Awoamefia Amedor Kpegla, recognised the right of John Tay's son and successor to serve as the leader of the section of Dzelukofe in which he and his descendants lived, but that was the extent to which Tay as the descen dant of a stranger was allowed to exercise authority over others.19 After the British began to administer the Anlo area as a colonial pos session, they sought in 1 909 to recognise one person as the headchief of each town and village. One of the communities affected by this was the town of Dzelukofe, which had numerous chiefs (fiawo), none of whom was considered the political or religious head of the town. That position was held by Togbui Dzelu 11, the descendant of Togbui Dzelu I, the founder of Dzelukofe. Recognising, however, that the person who held this government-recognised office of dufia had to work effectively within the British colonial administrative system on behalf of the town and the Anlo polity, the awoamefia, the leaders of the Anlo military, and Togbui Dzelu 11 opted to ignore the fact that Tay and his descen dants were technically strangers, having established residence in the town only in the early nineteenth century as immigrants from Accra. They appointed C. T. Agbozo, a descendant of John Tay, to assume the headchiefship of Dzelukofe on behalf of Dzelu 11. They made this choice because Agbozo was literate and therefore presumably better able to deal with the British on behalf of the town. 20 Similar circumstances prompted the same action in the towns of Keta and KedziY Thus, in attempting to meet the challenge presented by British colo nial rule, the Anlo expanded even further the boundaries that had for merly governed the extent to which ethnically distinct individuals could operate as social, religious and political insiders within the Anlo political system. Added to the late nineteenth-century importance given to the geographical origins of one's putative ancestors, their time of arrival in Anlo, their religious power and wealth, was literacy in English.


Expansion of this boundary also involved a redefinition of the origins of groups previously defined as ethnic outsiders. In the late nineteenth century the Anlo clearly defined several clans as foreign hlowo, whom one could distinguish from the other clans in Anlo because they had different naming and funeral customs and because their ancestors were associated with non-Anlo areas. This categoris ation system has continued to inform the way in which the Anlo view those described as ethnically distinct, but sin ce the mid-twentieth century another set of traditions have emerged that have begun to counter this emphasis on difference. In these traditions a common origin is emphasised, and the differences that are still noted in funer ary and naming systems are explained away as the result of a number of historical accidents. For example, the Anlo note that while members of the Dzevi clan (who immigrated to Anlo after 1 769 from the west) have names that are identical with those found in the Ga and Adangbe areas of Ghana, they, nevertheless, can trace their origins to the town of Notsie, from which the ancestors of all those who claim to be Anlo and Ewe are said to come. The fact that their clan names are not ones associated with the Ewe or the Anlo is explained by the notion that the ancestors of the Dzevi and Wifeme simply lost their way on their west ward journey from Notsie. Instead of settling on the coast with the Anlo ancestors they crossed the Volta and lived among the Ga and Adangbe peoples where they adopted a number of Adangbe customs before they returned to their relatives in the Anlo area.22 The Anlo embraced this redefinition process because of the negative impact that British and German colonialism before 1 9 1 8, and then British and French colonialism thereafter, had on social and economic relations among the different Ewe-speaking communities in the Gold Coast and Togoland. The difficulties experienced by these communities led them to develop a new identity based on one's status as a native speaker of the Ewe language. The educated elite in Anlo encouraged the adoption of this new identity as a means to urge the Anlo citizenry to emphasise that which they shared in common with other Ewes, and more importantly with those in their midst who had previously been described as ethnic 'others'. The Anlo population accepted this new identity construct because of their own negative experiences as fisher folk and traders operating in the Akan-speaking areas of the Gold Coast.23 This change in 'we/they' relations within Anlo had a significant impact on gender relations. Ethnic outsiders - like the Quist family no longer needed or wished to establish and/or maintain alliances with


others within the society who also felt disadvantaged or marginalised. This was the case because many, with the changed political climate, were able to take advantage of the emergent orientation among the Anlo to give priority to a Ewe identity and to successfully redefine themselves socially as insiders without having to solicit the support of others in Anlo who also sought to improve their social status. At the same time that this was occurring, colonialism and the spread of Christianity undermined Anlo respect for traditional religious beliefs, the very system that some outsiders had used to forge a mutually beneficial relationship between themselves and those young women who had also wanted to defy their marginalisation. One of the conse quences of these two developments - the decline in the need for ethnic outsiders to establish and/or maintain ties with those disadvantaged by the Anlo because of their gender, and the decline in the power of tradi tional religious beliefs to influence behaviour - was that twentieth century women who sought to defy the social norms that governed their lives found themselves with fewer means of support to do so. They could still seek assistance from their mothers and their mothers' families to counterbalance the power of their patrilineages and clans, but such religious orders as Nyigbla and Yewe no longer existed as additional and powerful alternative sources of support. Weakened by the growth of Christianity and the expansion of colonial rule, tradi tional religion in general, and the Yewe and Nyigbla orders in particu lar, diminished over time in both popularity and power. This, in turn, reduced the number of potent alternatives available to young women who sought to defy those social norms that disadvantaged them. During this same period, many of the ways in which women were made to sacrifice their interests for the sake of the family also began to change. We know, for example, that by the 1 890s young women on occasion initiated their own marriage arrangements and that they did so often without seeking the approval of the elders of their families. Such actions, termed dze hia (concubinage), were increasing in fre quency throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, as German missionary accounts indicate. But we also know that parental control over marital arrangements was still the norm.24 By the 1 9 60s and 1 9 70s, however, this pattern had changed considerably. G. K. Nukunya noted in 1 9 69, for example, that 'today, young people are more and more claiming the right to choose their own spouses'. He substantiated this claim by recording the fact that SO per cent of the marriages in the Anlo towns of Woe and Alakple were established by mutual choice ( 1 969: 1 79). ]. Dickson conducted a similar though

Women and ethnicity among the A nlo-Ewe 4 1

smaller study in the town o f Anloga i n 1 9 79/80 and noted that 65 per cent of marriages in that town were by mutual choice ( 1 982: 1 6 1 ) . 25 At the same time that Anlo women regained the right to influence their own marital affairs, they also began to lose enormous ground in terms of their economic status. Prior to the late nineteenth century, Anlo women inherited land from their maternal and paternal relations. They also received land from their husbands. As usufruct owners of all these properties, women used this land to grow those crops which, when sold, provided them with an income that gave them a certain degree of economic independence. All this began to change by the late nineteenth century, however, as shifts in the Anlo economy wrought by the demise of the export trade in enslaved Africans and the rise of commercial agriculture encouraged many Anlos to engage in the latter. Faced with growing demands from family members for access to land on which to grow cash crops, and an inadequate supply of this resource, lineage elders eliminated nephews as inheritors of land acquired by their maternal uncles. They then excluded women from inheriting lineage land altogether, and encouraged the latter, instead, to derive their independent source of income - previously obtained by selling surplus agricultural produce from their farms - from trade, in which they bought goods produced by others and then offered the same for sale to potential customers. 2 6 At the same time that this was occurring, women also began to face increasing uncertainty about the support they could expect to receive from their husbands because of unpredictable developments in the commercial agriculture and fishing industries from which most men resident in Anlo obtained their incomes. This was the case, in part, because many men also succumbed to the social pressure to use what profits they had to marry another wife and/or demonstrate in some other form their social and economic status in their community. This placed increasing burdens on wives to economically sustain the household on their own, a burden that undercut wives' abilities to protect what little economic independence they were able to derive from trade. Women respond

In response to these challenges, women began to see that they had to be responsible economically for themselves. This understanding prompted many to develop and/or participate in women's economic co operatives. This development, in turn, impacted Anlo ethnic relations. When Anlo women began organising themselves into co-operatives and


work-based associations so as to counter their economic marginalis ation, they also reinforced the emerging emphasis within the larger society for the men and women of Anlo to focus less on the identity of an individual based on their ethnicity as determined by their clan affiliation and more on their identity as an Ewe. Perhaps the best illus tration of this fact comes from an analysis of the Anlo Shallot Marketing Union. When women involved in the wholesale distribu tion of shallots from the Anlo area formed this union in the 1 9 50s, to gain some control over the marketing of and profits available from the sale of this commodity, they established relations with their retail counterparts in Accra and Kumasi and then strengthened these bonds by calling each other asisiwo (market spouses) . More important for this study is the fact that the vast majority of these asisiwo are Ewe (and not necessarily Anlo) . According to Gracia Clark, this is most unusual. In her study of the ethnic and gendered character of the Kumasi central market, most coastal women (among whom the Anlo would be included) concentrate their retailing and wholesaling efforts in their own home areas. They leave the long-distance wholesale trade in locally produced goods to the Kumasi market to Asante women. The only exception are those involved in the wholesale distribution of shal lots. This activity has been dominated by Ewe women since the 1 930s. Significantly, the way in which these women have maintained that dominance entails the use of their Ewe identity to limit competition. As Clark notes, 'Ewe women traders from [the] Volta Region admitted no outsiders on their route, bringing truckloads of shallots to Kumasi from irrigated farms near Keta and Anloga to supplement seasonal sup plies from Asante villages' ( 1 994: 3 2 1 ) . The success of their efforts are noticeable to anyone who ventures into the Anloga market on market day. They can be found sitting under a well-constructed shelter rather than in the open or under trees. Market women coming from outside Anlo to buy shallots can be found consulting these women whenever they need credit, since any member of the Anlo Shallot Union is finan cially in a position to offer credit to others. Their success has also con tributed significantly to ethnic change in Anlo. By using to their great advantage the new identity construct of being 'Ewe', members of the Anlo Shallots Union, by example, have encouraged others to embrace this new identity. This fact stands in direct opposition to the notion offered by Vail, that women either had no ethnic identity or that they - in response to the character of gender relations within their societies - tended to retard rather than support the development of the larger ethnic identities that began to emerge during the colonial period.

Women and ethnicity among the An/a-Ewe 43

The formation of co-operatives based on the new Ewe identity was only one of the ways in which women have influenced ethnic relations and identities, however. I noted above that, in the late nineteenth century, Anlo women took principal responsibility for educating their offspring about their clan identity. They taught them the specific rules and ritual prohibi tions of their clans. They encouraged their children to view marriage to a fellow hlo member as particularly refined . This socialisation, in turn, contributed to a relatively high rate of clan endogamy, as well as the reinforcement of ethnic divisions within the society which defined certain clans as ethnic insiders and others as outsiders. During this same period, Anlo women gained a degree of social and ritual protection and were able to maintain their economic indepen dence by using, in part, their status as clan members to demand support from their particular hlo since this body's raison d'etre was to use the control they had over powerful gods and/or specific tracts of land for the benefit of its members. By the mid-twentieth century, however, much had changed. Many whom the Anlo had previously defined as ethnic 'others' had been redefined by the educated and political elite in Anlo as integral and central members of Anlo society. The commercialisation of agriculture created even more intense demands for the very limited agricultural lands in the area. At the same time, clan elders gradually lost authority over the landed property of the hlo, and clan affiliation as a source of identity and protection lost much of its significance. Family elders no longer auto matically bequeathed land to daughters and sisters. Husbands no longer gave a portion of their land to their wives on which to grow their own crops. These facts raise a number of questions about the nature of the social identities that Anlo women imparted to their children as they prepared them for their future roles in Anlo society. Did twentieth century Anlo women continue to encourage their children to view themselves first as members of particular clans who were defined as ethnic insiders or outsiders, identities which had, in the past, brought them either social and economic benefits or problems, but which were now less relevant because of the changing social realities in the area? Or did their experiences as women (whose families expected them to shoulder the burden of social change created by these twentieth-century changes) and as members of families (that had in the past benefited or been stigmatised by social relations) encourage them to alter the way in which they socialised their


children to view themselves? Answers to these questions can only be tentative at this stage, given the rather limited data on the subject, but the evidence that does exist suggests that many Anlo women did not cling to their past identities. Rather they actively participated in supporting the identity changes that the Anlo embraced during the colonial period and after because of the impact that the twentieth century changes in gender relations had had on their lives. This is perhaps most apparent from analyses of contemporary marital pat terns among the Anlo. We know, for example, that intra-clan mar riage has declined significantly since the late nineteenth century. Yet we also know that parents - both mothers and fathers - continue to exert considerable influence (although not control) over the marital choices of their children. In 1 9 69 Nukunya reported that 7 1 per cent of all marriages in Anlo were fomesro unions (marriages between patrilateral or matrilateral relations) because such marriages were pre ferred by all. In 1 98 2 Dickson reported that 69 per cent of all Anlo marriages were fomesro unions. In his words, 'parental influence as opposed to control is still a major factor in marital selection in Anlo as reflected in . . . the continuing frequency of fomesro marriage . . . [even] as mutual choice marriage is on the rise and parental arrange ment on the decline' ( 1 982: 1 65). The fact that so few women marry within their own clan even while parents continue to influence their choices suggests that many parents - mothers included - do not just emphasise in their socialisation of their children the value of fomesro marriage. They also de-emphasise the value of clan endogamy . It is no longer relevant for their own social or economic well-being or for that of their children or clan because of the commercialisation of agriculture, the intense competition for an insufficient supply of land, and because of the decline in the power of traditional religious beliefs. A person's clan identity no longer influences how individuals and groups will interact with that person. It no longer determines the economic assets to which one has access. In response to this change Anlo women - as mothers - no longer give priority to those bound aries that once defined certain clans as ethnic insiders and others as outsiders. Such identities are also no longer socially or economically relevant to themselves or to their children. This change on the part of Anlo women in the way they socialise their children is not a result of the fact that they have always operated structurally as outsiders within their patricians, as Lonsdale as sug gested. Rather, their own experiences as women in Anlo who were faced with very specific challenges contributed much more to this


development. When their own clan elders lost the ability to use their religious and economic assets to help women maintain their social and economic status, when their own lineages began to deprive them of their right to inherit land, many women responded to this situation by establishing non-kin-based unions and co-operatives to protect their economic interests in ways that the clan system was no longer capable of doing. It was this experience, I would suggest, that most influenced Anlo women to de-emphasise the significance of one's clan identity. Their actions, in turn, contributed significantly to the transformation of ethnic identities in twentieth-century Anlo. Today there is a more general acceptance of the notion that the identity of one's clan as ethnic insider or outsider is largely irrelevant. More important for eco nomic and political purposes is one's identity as an Anlo (no matter one's clan affiliation) or as an Ewe. Conclusion

From the data presented here it is clear that women played during the precolonial and colonial, and continue to play in the post-colonial period, a critical role in the transformation of ethnic identities and relations in Anlo. This role was neither uniform nor predictable, as sug gested by Lonsdale. During the late seventeenth and eighteenth cen turies women as mothers and aunts supported new ways of defining 'we' and 'they' in Anlo by strongly encouraging their daughters to marry within their own newly created and ethnically defined clans. During the nineteenth century some young women and their mothers challenged these ethnic definitions and social practices by supporting the religious order of the ethnic outsider, Elias Quist, propelling him into the centre of the Anlo social hierarchy, and thus altering Anlo definitions of 'we' and 'they'. During the twentieth century Anlo women have taken a major role in de-emphasising the importance of the ethnically defined clan system and have supported strongly, instead, the value of a larger Ewe identity. The particular approaches pursued by different Anlo women in the different periods in Anlo history have to do with the way in which they individually responded to the changes that were occurring in both gender and ethnic relations within their society as integral members of their social clans, and as mothers, daughters and aunts, and as business women. Their actions were neither uniform nor predictable. They did, however, have a pro found impact on the character of Anlo ethnicity throughout the pre colonial, colonial and post-colonial periods.


Notes 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16 17 18 19

20 21

22

This chapter summarises a number of the major points discussed in Greene, 1 996. Lonsdale indicates that women did have an ethnic identity which influenced the identities of their children. V ail, on the other hand, suggests that women simply had no identity. For a more detailed discussion of this see Greene, 1 98 1 . See Nicholson, 1 9 76: 1 25 . See Greene, 1 996: Introduction and Chapter 2. See Greene, 1 996: Introduction. Cited in Dickson, 1 982: 79-80. Kludze, 1 9 74 : 208; Fiawoo, 1 9 74 : 1 65 ; Kumekpor, 1 9 74: 2 1 3 ; Nukunya, 1 9 73 : 72, and 1 9 69: 43-4, 46; Verdon, 1 983 : 1 25; and Dickson, 1 982: 8 1-2 note the existence of the separate system of homogeneous transmission as applied to personally acquired, less valuable property. Greene, Field Note 1 6: Interview with Togbui Le 11, 16 August 1 9 78, Anloga. s.c. 1 4/2: 1 25-7, 1 8 7; s.c. 1 4/3 : 272. Greene, Field Note 70: Mr Kwami Kpodo, 1 2 January 1 988; Greene, Field Note 90: Interview with Togbui Amegashi Afeku IV, 18 February 1 988, Tema. Torgby, 1 9 7 7 : 24, 3 1 . See Greene, 1 996: 1 1 2- 1 3 . Cited in Seidel, 1 8 9 7 : 1 70. See Seidel, 1 89 7 : 1 7 1-4, who describes this incident and several others. Here, pawning involved the presumably temporary movement of a person (most often a relative) into the household of a lender in exchange for a monetary loan. For more on pawning in Africa, see Falola and Lovejoy, 1 994. For an example of this, see the history of Togbui Gbodzo's relationship with the Anlo polity, in Greene, 1 99 7 . See t h e relevant section on t h e history of t h e Tsiame a n d Agave clans, and Geraldo de Lima in Greene, 1 996: Chapter 4. See National Archives of Ghana, Accra (NAG), ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 66 1 : 134-6; S.C. 1 4/l: 22-5 . NAG, ADM 1 1 /l/ 1 1 1 3 , Chief C. Agbozo, Keta to C. Napier Curling, Esq. Commissioner of the Eastern Province, Keta, 14 July 1 902; and Anlo Traditional Council, Minute Book, No. 3 ( 1 4/4/60-23/7/87): 1 8 . Anlo Traditional Council Minute Book, N o . 3 ( 1 4/4/60-23/ 7/ 8 7 ) : 1 9 and 3 7 . See Anlo Traditional Council Minute Book, N o . 3 ( 1 4/4/60-23/7 /87) : 1 23 on the appointment of Acolatse as the head chief of Kedzi by the descen dants of Abofrakuma; see G reene, Field Note 8 7 : Interview with Togbui James Ocloo IV, Keta, 3 February 1 988 on the appointment of Chief james Ocloo to be head chief of Keta by Amegashie Afeku and the Anlo awoamefw, Amedor Kpegla. In both of these cases the individuals selected to hold the mentioned positions were not strangers, but they were chosen, in part, because of their long association with the Europeans with whom it was presumed they knew how to negotiate. See Greene, Field Note 8: Interview with Mr T. S. A. Togobo, 3 August 1 9 78, Anloga; Field Note 9 : Interview with M r T. S. A. Togobo, 7 August 1 9 78,


23 24 25

26

Anloga; Field Note 2 1 : I nterview with M r T . S . A. Togobo, 3 1 August 1 9 78, Anloga; and Field Note 1 5 : Interview with Togbui Le ll, 1 5 August 1 9 78, Anloga. See also Amenyah Archives, 31 June 1 9 5 6, Lette r from J . D . Amenyah to lvor G . Wilks, Tamale; and Nukunya, 1 9 6 9 : 198. For a discussion of these experiences, see G reene, 1 985; for the impact of these events on ethnicity, see Greene, 1 996, Chapter 5. See Binetsch, 1 906: 44, Nukunya, 1 969: 7 7-8, and Ellis, 1 890: 199. This same trend has been noted among other Ewe-speaking groups . M. Verdon stated in his 1 9 83 study of the Abutia-Ewe, for example, that 'parents have . . . lost the power to arrange marriages and exact services and prestations from future sons-in-law' ( 1 983 : 1 66). Parents in the Peki town of Tsito, according to J . Bukh in her 1 9 73 and 1 9 7 6 / 7 7 studies, also do not have 'much say in their children 's choice of [a] marriage partner' ( 1 9 7 9 : 4 5 ) . For examples of changing marital forms i n other African communities see Mair, 1 969: 3 5-6, 68, 1 49-50, 1 52-3 . See Greene, 1 9 9 5 .

References Afelevo, Stefano H. Kwadwo ( 1 930) ' Ein Bericht tiber den Yehwekultus der Ewe. Herausgegeben mit deutscher Obesetzung und Anmerkungen von D. Westermann', Mitteilungen des Seminars fiir Orientalische Sprachen, 33: pp. 1-5 5 . Binetsch, Gottlob ( 1 906) ' Beantwortung mehrerer Fragen tiber unser Ewe-Yolk und seine Anschauungen', Zeitschrift fii r Ethnologie, 38: pp. 34-5 1 . Bukh, Jette ( 1 9 79) The Village Woman in Ghana (Uppsala: Scandinavian Institute of African Studies). Clark, Gracia ( 1 994) Onions are My Husband: Survival and Accumulation by West African Market Women (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) . Dickson, John ( 1 982) 'Marital selection among the Anlo Ewe of Ghana: from parental to individual choice' PhD dissertation, Duke University. Ellis, A. B. ( 1 890) The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa (Chicago: Benin Press). Falola, Toyin and Lovej oy, Paul ( 1 994) Pawnship in Africa: Debt Bondage in Historical Perspective (Boulder: Westview Press) . Fiawoo, Dj igbodi Kodzo ( 1 974) ' Ewe Lineage and Kinship: Sub-Ethnic Group Variation', in C. Oppong (ed.), Legon Family Research Papers, No. 1: Domestic Rights and Duties in Southern Ghana (Legon, University of Ghana: I nstitute of African Studies) . G reene, Sandra E. ( 1 9 8 1 ) ' Land, Lineage and Clan in Early Anlo', Africa, 5 1: pp. 45 1 -64. Greene, Sandra E. ( 1 985) 'The Past and Present of an Anlo-Ewe Oral Tradition ', History in Africa, 12: pp. 73-8 7 . Greene, Sandra E. ( 1 995) 'Women, t h e Family a n d the Commercialisation of Agriculture in 1 9th and 20th Century Anlo', in M. Prah (ed.), Women's Studies with a Focus on Ghana: Selected Readings (Schriesheim: Books on African Studies).

48 Ethnicity in Ghana Greene, Sandra E. ( 1 996) Gender, Ethnicity and Social Change on the Upper Slave Coast: A History of the Anlo-Ewe (Portsmouth : Heinemann) . Greene, Sandra E. ( 1 997) 'The I ndividual as Stranger in 1 9th Century Anlo: The Politics of Identity and Social Advancement in Precolonial West Africa', in J. Hunwick, and N. Lawler (eds) , The Cloth of Many Colored Silks: Essays in Honor ofIvor Wilks (Evanston: Northwestern University Press) . Kludze, A. K. P. ( 1 9 74) ' Family Property and Inheritance Among the Northern Ewe', in C . Oppong (ed.), Legon Family Research Papers, No. 1: Domestic Rights and Duties in Southern Ghana (Legon, University of Ghana: Institute of African Studies) . Kumekpor, Tom ( 1 9 74) 'The Position of Maternal Relatives in the Kinship System of the Ewe', in C. Oppong (ed.), Legon Family Research Papers, No. 1 : Domestic Rights and Duties in Southern Ghana (Legon, University o f Ghana: Institute of African Studies) . Lonsdale, John ( 1 9 7 7 ) 'When did the Gusii (or any other group) Become a Tribe', Kenya Historical Review, 5: pp.l23-33 . Lonsdale, John ( 1 989) 'African Pasts in Africa's Future,' Canadian Journal of African Studies, 23: pp. 1 26-46. Mair, Lucy ( 1 969) African Marriage and Social Change (London: Frank Cass) . Nicholson, Sharon Elaine ( 1 9 76) 'A climatic chronology for Africa: synthesis of geological, historical and meteorological information and data', PhD dissert ation, University of Wisconsin, Madison. Nukunya, G. Kwaku ( 1 969) Kinship and Marriage Among the Anlo-Ewe (London: Athlone Press). Nukunya, G. Kwaku ( 1 9 73) ' Land Tenure, Inheritance and Social Structure Among the Anlo', Universitas, 3 : pp. 64-8 1 . Reindorf, Carl ( 1 895) History of the Gold Coast and Asante (Base!: Missionsbuchhandlung) . Seidel, H. ( 1 897) ' Der Yew'e Dienst im Togolande', Zeitschrift fii r afrikanische und oceanische Sprachen, 3: pp. 1 5 7-85 . Spieth, Jacob ( 1 889) 'Von den Evhefrauen', Quartalblatt der Norddeutschen Missionsgesellschaft, 6: pp. 1-8. Torgby, Richard Tetteh ( 1 9 7 7) 'The Origin and Organisation of the Yewe Cult', BA Long Essay, Department for the Study of Religion, University of Ghana, Legon. Vail, Leroy ( 1 989) ' Introduction: Ethnicity in Southern African History', in L. Vail (ed.), The Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa (London: James Currey) . Verdon, Michel ( 1 983) The Abutia Ewe of West Africa: A Chiefdom that Never Was (Berlin: Mouton) . Westermann, Dietrich ( 1 935) ' Die Glidyi-Ewe in Togo', Mitteilungen des Seminars fii r Orientalische Sprachen (Berlin), 38: v-332.

Chapter

3

'We stay, others come and go': identity among the Mamprusi in northern Ghana1 Michael Schlottner

Who are the Mamprusi? Where are the frontiers of Mamprugu? And how does continuity emerge when a system relies on the adoption of a political identity? These are the main questions to be considered in this chapter. Both the imagination and the perception of identity among the inhabitants of Mamprugu will be examined from different perspectives, as well as how such notions are subject to change. The Mamprusi have no concept of identity based on common origins or 'ethnogenesis' . Their diversity is due to the different origins of the seg ments of what is a very heterogeneous and fused population. However, the common identity of such segments is very apparent from their loyalty to a specific political authority. It is the authority of rulers that is expected to stay, whereas the ruled are said to be able to leave when ever they wish. The data to be examined have a number of aspects. First, to what extent does such authority constitute a source of attraction and what is the rulers' role as reflected in oral traditions and early written sources dating from pre-colonial or early colonial times? Secondly, how much does identity rely on the quality of chiefs referred to as nam, commoners having no access to political power? Thirdly, what are the strategies of the ruling minority which constitutes the core of 'Mamprusiness' in relation to the large number of immigrants who form the majority within that society? Finally, how do per spectives on the frontiers of Mamprugu differ between the heart land, the territorial periphery, and adjacent acephalous societies? The chapter concludes with a brief examination of the potential for conflict.

49


Early written sources

In his account of his Mission from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantee, Bowdich ( 1 8 1 9 ) mentions several 'tribal' names which are still used today with reference to populations north of Asante. With regard to Mamprugu, however, he relates such descriptions to the 'kings of Gambaga'.2 Two years later, in An Essay on the Geography of Northwestern Africa, Bowdich ( 1 82 1 : 7) quotes Oldendorp's data from 1 7 77, collected from slaves in the West Indies, which refer to one of the kings as 'Atabad' (that is Atabia), a sovereign who ruled a large territory and lived in the 'great town' of 'Gambaak', that is Gambaga, a former resi dence of the paramount chief of Mamprugu. 3 Again, the emphasis is not on a 'tribal' population but on a sovereign and his territory.4 A similar position is evident from the descriptions of European trav ellers and administrators dating from the late nineteenth century. Thus Northcott ( 1 899: 1 2, 1 5) considers Mamprugu to be a kingdom, while van Fran�,;ois merely draws German attention to the 'Gambaga-Gebiet' (Gambaga territory) but not to its population. 5 No less strikingly, Binger ( 1 892, Vol. 11: 3 7 8) interrelates the geographical term 'Mampoursi' with 'Gambakha' in such a way as to stress the significance of the ruler mentioned as 'Mampourga naba'. 6 Obviously, his view is influenced by the Mossi: -

Les Mossi nomment aussi Gambakha: Gambakha Natenga, 'capitale du Gambakha', quoique ce village ne soit plus depuis longtemps la residence de Mampourga Naba. (ibid . : 58) On the map included with his account, 'Gambakha' appears next to 'Mampursi' (sic) as a second geographical term.? Although Binger does not focus exclusively on this small 'etat', an impressive outline is drawn of the close association between the ruler and his territory. Ferguson, in the service of the British, obtained similar ideas about ter ritorial rulers from his visit of around 1 892, which are revealed in refer ences to the 'king of Mamprusi' and his relationship with the neighbouring Dagomba: Mamprusi does not acknowledge the feudatory relation claimed over it by Dagomba which was represented to me in 1 892. It was explained by the authorities of Mamprusi that mutual exchange of presents was sometimes made, but that, when this was about to be

The Mamprusi in Northern Ghana 5 1

considered by Dagomba as proof of the jurisdictions of Dagomba over Mamprusi, the custom was discontinued; the King of Mamprusi residing at Nalierigu, claims jurisdiction as far as Bawku. ( 1 9 7 4 : 1 30) Moreover, Arabic chronicles translated by Withers Gill ( 1 924: 9, 1 2) and Wilks et al. ( 1 986: 129-30) put emphasis on a specific territory ruled by a sovereign known as the 'king of Gambaga'. The dates of these manuscripts and accounts indicate that this close relation between rule and territory is not to be taken as a colonial invention. In sum, however, sources relating to the concept of political power and the reception of such authority by the ruled are rather poor in detail. The oral traditions of the rulers are much more precise in stress ing the role of those exercising government and dominion as represen tatives of the institutionalised quality of nam. 8 Such references, centring upon the genealogies of the rulers, include specific aspects which are fundamental in the construction of a politically defined identity.9 In ideological terms this particular identity emerged with the constitution of Mamprugu, a context in which the recitation of histor ical events is used to strengthen these long-standing structures. These features will be illustrated briefly. Oral traditions

Officially, oral traditions are recited by court musicians patronised by the chiefs. Drummers known as lunsi after the name of their hour glass-like drums - are said to recite the most extensive versions.10 In general, these recitations correspond closely with the written sources cited above with regard to the association of Mamprugu and its rulers. Thus the origin of the expression 'Mamprugu' as applied to the terri tory is explained in drum recitals as a derivation of the residence of the early paramount chief Tohugu, whereas 'Mamprusi', used for the people, is somewhat imprecisely defined as an invention of outsiders based on the geographical name. 11 In this context it is usually stressed that the people refer to themselves as 'Dagbamba', just like the neigh bouring population in the south who today are known as Dagomba. 12 While this common reference has occasionally caused confusion in ethnographic data, the extensive recordings of Iliasu ( 1 9 7 1 : 1 0 1 ) emphasise distinctions in pointing out that the name 'Dagbamba' was 'originally the Grumah name for the peoples living to the south of -

52

Ethnicity in Ghana

their territories which the ancestors of the Mamprusi and Dagomba took after they had conquered these peoples'.U Consequently, recita tions in Mamprugu open with the breakaway of Bawa (respectively Gbewa) and his mercenaries from Grumah after he failed to become chief of that territory (today part of Burkina Faso).14 As an indication of his independence, detailed accounts are given of how he later con quered another territory with Pusiga as its residence in the extreme northeastern corner of modern Ghana. This sovereign is therefore mentioned as the source of rulership known as nam and as the glorious ancestor of the ruling dynasty. In terms of identity, however, this part of the oral tradition refers to 'Dagbamba' rather than 'Mamprusi' or 'Dagomba'.15 Because of succession disputes following the death of Bawa, political authority split into different segments. Oral sources imply that Tohugu, the oldest surviving descendant, never founded a new state but moved the capital from Pusiga to another village called Mamprugu. In contrast, his younger brother Sitobu conquered a new area to the south known as Dagbon, and a generation later another segment broke off and formed the northern Mossi states.1 6 Often, territories ruled by different segments are merely distin guished in oral tradition by the titles of the local paramount chiefs. Whereas in Mamprugu Tohugu is referred to as the first nayiri, Dagbon is governed by the yana residing at Vendi. In the interrelation of these chieftancies the genealogical seniority of Mamprugu's paramount chief, based on common ancestry, is frequently stressed. In former times the privileges of the nayiri became apparent when installations of new chiefs of the Dagomba and Mossi (more precisely, of Tenkodogo) had to be confirmed ceremonially at his residence. Moreover, it was the nayiri who acted as mediator in chieftancy rivalries in neighbour ing states. In political terms these chieftancies formed a loose confederation and never engaged in open war against each other.1 7 In the context of anthropological and historical research, this confederation was for merly known as the 'Mossi-Dagomba' complex of centralised states in the Volta basin. However, Davis ( 1 98 7 : 629) has argued that 'Nakomse-Dagbamba' is more accurate due to the distinctive features of the ruling dynasties.18 The present rulers are still few in number and oral traditions indicate that the conquerors arrived in small bands. Thus the authority of the first rulers was apparently limited to a small centre. But as their power increased, relatives were sent forth to found subordinate chieftancies in

The Mamprusi in Norjthem Ghana 53

neighbouring settlements, and finally, the capital of the nayiri was transferred westwards to Gambaga.19 The success of these descendants of the mercenaries of Bawa relied largely on advanced military tactics using horses. Clashes between mounted conquerors and acephalous autochthones known as tengbiisi (descendants of the earth) or dagbamba sabila (black Dagbamba) are remembered in symbolic actions during the damba, a dance for the paramount chief.20 Nevertheless, according to oral traditions the reli gious beliefs of the autochthones are said to have been hardly changed, and sacrifices to the earth were continued either by survivors or, to a lesser extent, by representatives of the invaders. After initial conflicts were settled many versions refer to intermarriage as the reason for the symbiosis of the two groups.21 In a few parts of Mamprugu, however, small segments of the population consider themselves the descendants of the authochthones. There is some evidence that early Mamprugu was a confederation of independently acting local chiefs who accepted the authority of a para mount chief. Davis ( 1 984: 1 45 ) points out that the role of the latter was one of 'primus inter pares'. The power and influence of the nayiri was strengthened under Atabia, who, according to the Arabic chronicle Kitab Ghanja, reigned from ea. 1 690 to 1 74 1 /2.22 His reign is referred to as a golden age but also as the period of the emergence of various dis tinct identities due to the integration of several groups of immigrants. Despite the existence of early minorities such as the Kantonsi, the former identity as revealed by the official and unofficial versions of the oral tradition is characterised by a dichotomy between rulers and ruled.23 Afterwards the identity of the ruled appears to be still much the same, although it is 'segmented' in terms of origin, language, pro fession and religious belief.24 The prestige of the nayiri, however, was enforced under Atabia and his immediate successors when the economic structure improved into a system involved in the transit trade. The development of Gambaga as a trading centre might be the main reason why the residence of the paramount chief was finally shifted to Nalerigu. The ruler's official oral traditions concerning the time up to the middle of the nineteenth century refer to intensive struggles due to succession disputes which grew from skirmishes into major battles. Ferguson's account, quoted above, indicates that around 1 892 out siders considered Mamprugu rather weak. Nevertheless, such fights between candidates for the highest position did not greatly influence the strong identification of the sovereign and his territory.

54

Ethnicity in Ghana

In short, the past as revealed in the official oral traditions of the lunsi reconstructs the history of the rulers rather than that of the segments that constituted the bulk of the population. The sovereign is the centre of attention in oral data as in written sources. Furthermore, the recita tions of the drummers work towards the continuity of nam, since all events are associated with the relative chronology of the chiefs. Whatever is said in such a context is intended to strengthen the posi tion and authority of the ruling dynasty. This background, though only briefly illustrated here, raises several questions. First, what is the concept of political authority and thus the essence of 'Mamprusiness' when identity is defined in either strict or broad terms? Secondly, are the inhabitants of Mamprugu to be distin guished as 'Mamprusi' and 'non-Mamprusi', or is there a more accurate system of differentiation? Thirdly, to what extent did acceptance of the ruling authority change spatially and temporarily at different times in history? The power of nam

The institutionalised concept associated with the authority of the chiefs is based on a quality referred to as nam, which is said to be in existence since the time of Bawa. The detailed studies of Drucker Bown and Davis stress how nam is allocated from the nayiri (literally 'compound of the chief') and his elders to subordinate chiefs and finally to village chiefs. Thus Mamprugu is characterised by a centralised political structure with a paramount chief and an elaborate hierarchy of chiefdoms governed by nabiisi (descendants or sons of the paramount) . Though representing different localised segments, all chiefs are considered members of one group of kin, tracing agnatic descent from Na Bawa, the founder of nam.25 In general, those rulers who represent the inner core of 'Mamprusiness' are referred to as nadema (people of chiefs) . Apart from simple political sovereignty, based on military superior ity, the broad acceptance of nam relies on a spiritual background cover ing the main features of traditional religious beliefs. While the spatial distribution of nam from the paramount to subordinate chiefs is regarded as being within the framework of a ritualised political strat egy, the spiritual qualities embodied in the nayiri, for instance, are regarded as functioning like a second source of power, prestige and respect. Thus the interlocking of political authority and major aspects of religious belief provides a general foundation for the legitimation of the rulers. Nevertheless, this dimension is also prominent when

The Mamprusi in Northern Ghana 55

submission to authority is being indicated as a major basis of common identity among the ruled. Although nam has been translated as both 'office' and 'political authority', its spiritual background is especially apparent from sacrifices and the veneration of ancestors. In realising this association, Rattray ( 1 9 3 2: 554) argues that the complex ceremonies of installation are an 'attempt to supply the reli gious bond otherwise lacking between rulers and subjects'. Although little is revealed to the public, the ceremonies are regarded as evidence of the strong relationship between nam and tiim (supernatural power) . In the context of these beliefs, other spiritual qualities are said to be percep tible through the long line of chiefly ancestors. The nayiri traces the line of predecessors who are considered to be ancestors to a range exceeding the average of four or five generations for commoners. In a society char acterised by gerontocratic principles it is supposed that spiritual powers increase the longer the list of ancestors. Although the system of succes sion was readjusted several times in history due to changing conditions, it has always relied on agnatic descent and is therefore integrated into an all-embracing ancestor cult, that is the belief in an unbreakable relation ship between the living and the dead.26 Another aspect related to spiritual beliefs is apparent from the sharing of nam in the form of titles given without the award of politi cal privileges. This award has a political dimension, since the commit ment of those thus honoured is expected. Nevertheless, a distinction is made whenever titles are distributed. On the one hand, there are titled elders who assume specific functions for the chiefs both at court and in public. Moreover, special skills may be awarded on the basis of a patron-client relationship.U On the other hand, the acknowledgement of the specific abilities of the 'powerless' is a mere ritual. Thus com moners can be honoured without the award as elders because of spiri tual powers or social merits which distinguish them from ordinary men. Syme ( 1 932) even records several examples of individuals from adjacent acephalous societies seeking acknowledgement this way. Next to the chiefs in the hierarchy rank their elders ( na kpaamba). Though without access to political authority, such title-holders provide services for the rulers as councillors, masters of ceremonies and of rituals, guardians, warriors or court musicians reciting oral traditions. Spiritual duties are performed by both earth priests and Muslims. Frequently, an origin 'from outside' is indicated by the genealogies of the na kpaamba. Some fluidity is therefore apparent when they are referred to as either elders or tarima (commoners), despite prestigious roles at court and in society. 28


Although only a few tarima assume positions as elders, this group deserves further discussion, due to its close connection with the nadema. These 'commoners' are an outstanding example of the way identity is politically defined. Generally, a distinction is drawn as regards origin since, in contrast to the nadema, the tarima trace agnatic descent from various ancestors who were not related. While a few are regarded as the descendants of authochthones, a considerable number are remembered as the descendants of immigrants, although they have been inhabitants of Mamprugu for many generations. In the case of an origin 'from outside', the phrase 'they have become Mamprusi' indi cates their assimilation into the local culture and their loyalty to the chiefs. In order to gain such an identity, however, several criteria have to be fulfilled. First, long-term residence in Mamprugu is required, five generations counting in theory as the minimum for someone to become an elder. Secondly, Mampruli, the local language, should be spoken properly. Thirdly, local customs, especially 'how to honour a chief', should be accurately followed.29 A third group among the tarima, although tracing descent from the ruling lineages, has lost access to political power. This happens when a candidate cannot obtain the chieftancy of his father. For instance, if an applicant fails to be installed as nayiri, all his descendants are excluded from that office. They might be appointed subordinate chiefs, but the descendants of those who have been unsuccessful in obtaining such an office are no longer allowed to compete.30 In short, the group of 'commoners' embraces powerless descendants of the ruling estate, the descendants of remote immigrants, and also the descendants of so-called autochthones. Whereas the nadema form the very core of 'Mamprusiness', the tarima, constituted of both the titled and the untitled, are, as it were, the clothing on this body. 31 Despite differences in origin, most of those classified as 'commoners' rank as 'real Mamprusi' because of their loyalty to the chiefs. Although the nadema claim superiority, oral traditions confirm that they would not have been able to administer the territory properly without the support of the tarima.32 However, the strong interaction between nadema, kpaamba and untitled tarima is very apparent from their exten sive intermarriages. 33 Integration

In terms of demographic data, those popularly referred to as 'real Mamprusi' form a minority in Mamprugu. The majority is composed


of descendants of recent immigrants differentiated by various 'ethnic' names and generally known as saama (strangers, visitors). Nevertheless, there is still a difference between citizens, strangers and those who might stay for some years or a generation, but will eventually leave again. If strangers settle in Mamprugu for about two generations, they are classified as tengadema (citizens) and are therefore expected to stay. They might achieve prominent roles either through service to chiefs or through social prestige. Again, there is some fluidity: a long-time resi dent of Mamprugu may be classified either as saama or as untitled

tarima.34 In the oral data recorded by Schlottner ( 1 9 9 1 , 1 995, 1 996), various reasons are given for the continual integration of outsiders and new comers in order to outline the advantages and attractions of Mamprugu as a centralised society. As far as the remote past is con cerned, the alliance of conquerors and autochthones ranks as a promi nent example of the strategy of integration.35 As regards more recent pre-colonial times, chiefs are characterised according to their role in allocating land to immigrants and extending hospitality to visitors. The oral traditions of different segments of immigrants glorify the past by pointing out how rulers invited their ancestors to stay because of their professional abilities which covered a vast range of activities. Up to Atabia and his successors there is a clear emphasis on warriors in order to strengthen military power. But Muslims, traders, craftsmen and even court musicians were also attracted to settle in Mamprugu, where some of them obtained prestigious roles. However, the motives of recent immigrants in the twentieth century are less illustrious, known either as refugees from famine and conflict or as farmers in search of better soils. After a stranger has found permanent residence in Mamprugu he must accept the authority of the na (chief) in his village who is regarded as the deputy of the paramount chief. Recent newcomers still refer to themselves by 'tribal' names, and even tarima who originated 'from outside' might use similar references. Thus, besides the groups examined above, the citizens of Mamprugu are composed of Kusasi, Bisa, Gurensi, Nabitnam, Tampolensi, Talensi, Nankansi, Kasena, Bimoba, Konkomba, Bulsa, Gurma, Mossi, Dagomba and Gonja, as well as Muslims such as Kantonsi and Hausa. 36 These saama still enjoy greater rank than clerks of the administration and temporarily resident traders from southern Ghana or southern Nigeria, who are not consid ered part of the society. If local conditions change for the worse, every body is free to move on in search of better conditions.


Methodologically, the distinctive 'ethnic' groups among immigrants are identified by elders acting as the representatives of such units. In larger communities they are given titles as chiefs such as kusas na (chief of the local Kusasi) or nabit na (chief of the local Nabitnam), although they do not govern a territory but figure formally as the embodiment of social units. Only Muslims such as Kantonsi and Hausa refuse to undergo titling ceremonies, since Islam does not allow the ritual sacrifice of animals. Their elders, however, rank in similar social positions. Once appointed as representatives, such substitutes might act as landlords in providing fellowship and shelter for those arriving from old homelands with the intention of settling in Mamprugu. The number of immigrants from certain areas may thus increase rapidly within a few generations. In ideological terms, present-day Mamprugu is still considered a ter ritory with open frontiers; one which is, however, unified and con trolled by its rulersY In fact, genealogical and bibliographical data refer to recent immigrants, especially those from adjacent areas which are densely populated and short of resources. While the identity of the nadema is rather locally defined, as Rattray ( 1 932: 458) suggests in his reference to 'territorial rulers', the common identity of the ruled relies on a political definition based on submission to the traditional ruling authority. However, among those classified as tarima, local and supra local identities become rather indistinguishably interlocked when they refer both to their position as elders and to an origin 'from outside'. Oral sources contain striking examples of newcomers bringing influence in cultural terms. In conventional views of 'ethnic' units, this happens on the peripheries of a 'heartland', where people of one 'breed' contact neighbouring units of other 'breeds'. This perspective implies that cultural stimulation emerges at the periphery and is trans ferred to the centre.38 The present material, on the other hand, suggests that the frontiers of Mamprugu are not its geographical borders, but more generally are located within the society itself. This perception is widely reaffirmed by oral traditions relating to the origin of technolo gies, crafts and cultural habits. When accounts are given of how para mount chiefs met skilled strangers and invited them to settle in Mamprugu, three points are emphasised: ( 1 ) the mobility of newcom ers; (2) the attraction of Mamprugu; and (3) the construction of a new identity due to the acceptance of the ruler's authority. Thus the statement of Barber and de Moraes Farias ( 1 9 89: 1 ) , refer ring to the meaning of oral texts not as 'an inherent property . . . but as a function of their orientation to specific social projects', must be


supplemented. In Mamprugu, part of that project is the construction of a political identity. Cultural influences and an 'origin from outside' are not regarded as a disadvantage for the local culture in terms of inferior ity but rather as an advantage. This projection is due to the view that those introducing influences will finally end up as settlers in Mamprugu and thus increase the ruler's prestige. However, the immi grants who arrived during the last five decades did not bring much influence: they came as refugees of droughts or in search of better soils and less densely populated villages. Where is Mamprugu?

In the discussion above, the contents of identity relating not only to segments such as 'Dagbamba' and 'real Mamprusi' but also to nadema, tarima and saama have been referred to as an amalgamation of people united in their acceptance of the authority of a specific ruling dynasty. However, the borders of the territory controlled by such paramount and subordinate chiefs varied, having been the subject of political struggles and warfare, and revealing the different perspectives of those settling within or outside the nucleus of Mamprugu. Drucker Brown ( 1 9 7 5 : 24-S) has impressively pointed out the fluidity involved when only the 'heartland' of Mamprugu is defined as the area where proper Mampruli is spoken. For historians the reconstruction of borders is even more troublesome, since the centre is fully under control, whereas the fringes appear to be less so, because of open resis tance. Davis relies on a useful supplementing construction, referring to 'Mamprugu' (that is large parts of the modern South Mamprusi District), for instance, as the 'central area', as well as to 'Greater Mamprugu', where the rulers tried to transform independent farmers into loyal supporters paying tribute.39 In this context, Iliasu's (no date) map indicates an enormous ideological background in which the 'Mamprugu Kingdom' is drawn from the borders of modern Ghana and the Ivory Coast through the south of Burkina Faso far into modern Togo in the east. Although this might have been an area occasionally raided by nabiisi, there is no evidence of continuous firm control. Even among the adjacent acephalous societies of the Kusasi and 'Frafra', where small chieftancies were established, it was quite troublesome to administer 'subjects' with different customs outside the Mampruli speaking area. Such contradictory perspectives can be illustrated by a specific example. Among the Kusasi, several chieftancies were established in


pre-colonial times functioning primarily as toll posts. While Iliasu ( 1 9 7 5 : 25), himself a Mamprusi, refers to these as 'scattered outposts of Mamprusi authority', Syme ( 1 932: 9), a British official, relies on the Kusasi view in admitting that such villages were 'mere islands sur rounded by hostile Kusasi'. Nevertheless, he also left notes on single Kusasi who demanded recognition of their spiritual powers from the nayiri in pre-colonial times. 40 However, evidence for the view that the populations north of Mamprugu became subjects of the nayiri to any greater extent is slender. Political authority was less effective here, and oral traditions refer to well-remembered skirmishes when tribute and obedience were not considered permanent. The Kusasi fought for polit ical independence throughout the twentieth centuryY Finally, in the mid- 1 9 80s the administration in Accra conceded this after the repulse of Mamprusi chiefs turned once more into bloody clashes.42 Despite the distinctive local submission of 'subjects' settling outside the heartland, the segmentation of the ruling lineages was a continu ous process from the founding of Mamprugu until colonial times. North of Mamprugu, as among the Kusasi, chiefs were formally installed by the nayiri in order to pacify that area. Although continuous links existed between these local rulers and the nayiri, the population rank among those 'who do not know how to honour a chief'. 43 The tol eration of the nabiisi was therefore spatially and temporarily limited. Segmentation often followed disputed successions. The Namoo section of the Talensi has been mentioned as a striking example of what happens when relations with the paramount chief become atten uated due to acculturation and intermarriage. In Wa and Buna the establishment of 'satellites' was more successful. Nevertheless, ritual ties were severed, although some segments which gained access to local political power are regarded as 'Mamprusi' in terms of origin. There is therefore a heartland or centre where the authority of the rulers was never seriously challenged and a common identity exists based on a political definition. On the periphery, however, such authority was either less acceptable or relations were finally broken off, due to acculturation and the construction of new identities. Changes and the potential for conflict

The data examined suggest a highly segmented but fluid plural society in Mamprugu. Drucker Brown ( 1 9 7 5 ) and Davis ( 1 984, 1 9 87) have shown at some length how, under the British, traditional ruling authority was reduced to a more or less ceremonial role. The selection


process o f the nayiri has therefore been subject to change in both the colonial and the post-colonial periods. Since succession disputes were ultimately fought as civil wars, they were no longer considered con ducive to solid government.44 While in the nineteenth century the suc cession of the nayiri was determined by seers and/or earth priests, in recent times the system has changed into one of election by the council of elders. Furthermore, the British administration favoured a 'tribe' -oriented policy thus disregarding Rattray's ( 1 932) references to the complex composition of centralised societies in the 'hinterland' of the Gold Coast. Henceforth problems occurred when 'Mamprusi' or 'Mamprugu' had to be defined. The traditional rulers were aware of this strategy and the paramount chiefs searched for advantages and support from the British. Thus the archival data collected by Ladouceur ( 1 9 79 : 1 69-74) indicate the claim of the nayiri for a territory including not only the heartland of Mamprugu but also an area stretching as far as Bawku and Bolgatanga. The success of that strategy was not violated during indi rect rule. When the Mamprusi Native Authority was established in 1 933, the administration ignored the independent identities of the Kusasi and Frafra.45 Not until 1 95 8 did the Nkrumah government recognise the bokunaba (chief of Bawku) as the paramount chief of the Kusasi, for example, the Southern Mamprusi District then coming into existence without a northern counterpart.46 Nevertheless, the situation remained tense among this formerly acephalous population. Up to the 1 9 70s the installation of some local Kusasi chiefs was confirmed by the nayiri, while others were repelled by such a ritual. The 'tribe' -oriented policy inclined towards a reduction of what had formerly been fluid and thus sometimes forced and violated too, but nevertheless defined more accurately. Today even newcomers refer to themselves in colloquial language as 'Mamprusi', since they settle in the South Mamprusi District. However, this association is said to con stitute 'modernisation'. The former way of differentiating the popula tion into 'rulers', 'old inhabitants', 'old inhabitants originating from the outside' and 'newcomers' is still prominent in jurisdiction when conflicts on land rights, resources and social privileges are to be settled. Although strangers are still welcomed, the best resources are in the hands of older citizens. Hence, the ideological aspect of 'immigra tion-assimilation', mentioned frequently in oral traditions, has been the subject of change in practical terms. Local conflicts emerge most often because of the privileges of 'first corners' and the disadvantages of 'late-comers'. Demands expressed in


the idiom 'we (that is our segment) rank among the first' can be a reason for severe tension. The chiefs and their elders, as those most familiar with genealogies and oral traditions, are in positions of some power when a descendant of an improper 'first-corner' is to be convicted. However, such conflicts have an individual character and rarely involve 'ethnic' groups, though they are significant in public discussions. Although favoured by the administration, the simple dichotomy such as 'Mamprusi' and 'non-Mamprusi' is rarely made for the heartland, since the differentiation of the population continues to rely on a more complex system. Despite the use of 'ethnic' names in order to indicate an origin 'from outside', citizens of Mamprugu are categorised either by their services for chiefs, their titles or their length of residence. In contrast, a serious potential for conflicts must be taken into account among neighbouring societies due to chieftancy problems, as the Kusasi 'case' has indicated. Here, identity was not politically defined in the way as it has been examined for pre-colonial Mamprugu. Nevertheless, the data outlined in this chapter suggest an indirect political definition in the sense of a protection against the influences from centralised structures. Since indirect rule, however, it has been widely regarded as an advantage to be represented by a chief, although such representatives should rather be of the local 'ethnic' group and independent of Mamprugu's ruling dynasty. In this way the dichotomy between 'Mamprusi' and 'non Mamprusi' is maintained. In other cases in northern Ghana, similar ten sions between a centralised society and a former acephalous population have recently led to open violence, as for instance the chapter by Bogner on the Konkomba-Dagomba conflicts shows.

Appendix: Representatives in various villages of Mamprugu47 Gambaga

Gambarana (chief of Gambaga who is an earth priest representing nam); Limasim ('Imam of Gambaga', the highest representative of the Muslims); Frafra naba for the Gurensi, Nabitnam and Talensi; Bimo naba for the Bimoba; Moshi naba for the Mossi; Grunshi naba for the Kasena; Kusas naba for the Kusasi; Zongo naba for the Hausa;48 Mba Widana for the Kantonsi; a Wangara elder for a single Wangara compound.


Sakorana (chief of Sakogu = nadema) ; three naba for the Bimoba, Kusasi and Hausa and an elder to repre sent a Mossi compound. Bindi naba (chief of Bindi = nadema); two naba for the Bindi Bimoba and Konkomba. Nagbok naba (chief of Nagbok = nadema); one naba for Nagbok the Bisa and an elder as the representative of some Mossi. Gbunkpurugu Gbunkpurugu naba (the Bimoba chief); one elder as the representative of the Hausa. Gban daa naba (chief of Bang Da = nadema); the Bang Da majority of the population is represented by a Konkomba and a Kusasi naba. Latar naba (= an earth priest represents nam); only Latar Mamprusi. Predominantly Tampolensi represented by the kam Langbensi bonaba (chief of warriors) ; other segments are rep resented by four naba for the Mamprusi, Frafra (= Gurensi), Yulsi (= Kasena) and Kantonsi. Kparigu naba (chief of Kparigu = nadema) and an elder Kparigu to represent the local the Dagomba. Nasia Nasia naba (chief of Nasia = nadema) and four repre sentatives for the Dagomba, Hausa, Zaberima and Gurma. Durana (chief of Walewale = a Kantonga); further rep Walewale resentatives of the local Tampolensi, Mamprusi, Mossi, Kanjarga (= Bulsa), Hausa, Kasena, Kusasi, Frafra, Talensi, Nabit, Bimoba and Gurma. Sakogu

Notes 1

I thank Christopher Fyfe and Carola Lentz for their constructive comments on an earlier draft of this paper. 2 Most pre-colonial and early colonial sources cited here refer to such sover eigns as 'kings ' . Rattray ( 1 932: 45 7-64) uses 'territorial rulers' . In recent publications, Drucker Brown ( 1 9 75) returns to ' kings', while Davis ( 1 984) relies on indigenous terms. 3 Cf. Wilks, 1 965 : 92 fn. 34; Davis, 1 984: 64. 4 Dupuis ( 1 824: 35) refers rather vaguely to 'the tribes of Dagomba'.

64 Ethnicity in Ghana 5 V on Fran�ois, 1 888: 89, map opposite p. 1 43 . 6 Binger ( 1 892, vol . 11: 3 7-8) also gives a description o f the borders: ' Le terri toire de la rive gauche de la Volta Blanche se nomme Mampoursi. . . . Le Mampoursi est actuellement un tout petit Etat, limite au nord par le Mossi, au nord-est par le Gourma, a !'est par le Boussangsi, au sud par le Dagomba, a l'ouest par le Gourounsi.' 7 The spelling varies in the account and the map. 8 Different aspects of the oral traditions of ruled will be examined below. 9 Material has been recorded by Mackay ( 1 934), Rattray ( 1 932), lliasu (no date, 1 9 7 1 ) , Drucker Brown ( 1 9 75), Davis ( 1 984) and Schlottner ( 1 996). 10 For details and critical examinations, see Davis, 1 984, 1 994; Schlottner, 1 996. 1 1 Rattray, 1 932: 457; I liasu, 1 9 7 1 : 1 0 1 ; Davis, 1 984: 8. 1 2 Iliasu, 1 9 7 1 : 1 0 1 ; Drucker Brown, 1 9 6 7 : 79; Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 2 1 ; Davis, 1 984: 96-1 1 1 . 1 3 Some oral traditions recorded among the Mossi mention ' a Dagomba chief at Gambaga'. Cf. Iliasu, 1 9 7 1 : 1 00-2. 14 In general, the territory stretching northeast of Mamprugu to the Niger river is called Grumah. 15 Cf. Davis, 1 984: 95-105. 16 Iliasu, 1 9 7 1 : 1 02, Davis, 1 984: 1 32. 17 Drucker Brown, 1975: 1 2-3 . 1 8 Among the Mossi, the ruling dynasties are known as nakomse. 19 Rattray, 1 932: 549, 5 5 1 ; Iliasu, no date: 1 5- 1 8 . 2 0 T h i s antagonism is evident in a scene w h e n an earth priest armed w i t h a spear is confronted with a horse of the paramount chief. However, the dance immediately following is interpreted as both autochthones and chiefs developing a relationship of inseparable alliance. Cf. Goody, 1 9 7 1 : 63-4; Fortes, 1 945: 22-7; Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 95; Davis, 1 984: 1 20, 1 25-6. 21 See Davis 1 984: 1 1 2-3 1 ; Iliasu, no date: 2-3 . 22 Wilks et al., 1 986: 1 0 1 . 2 3 The ruled are constituted o f both the so-called authochthones and the i nvaders, but in ideological terms only members of a few segments of the invaders can be enskinned as rulers. 24 For the integration of Muslims, see Levtzion, 1 968: 1 24-38; Davis, 1 984: 1 59, 237; Drucker Brown, 1 986. 25 Cf. Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 28. 26 For more details see Schlottner, 1 99 1 . The official list of the lunsi includes 37 paramount chiefs. 27 A survey with reference to the elders of the nayiri is outlined in Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 3 7-72. 28 Cf. Drucker Brown, 1 9 7 5 : 28, 3 7- 7 5 . The kpanarana Mba Masu Tampuri, a Kantonga by origin, figures as a prominent example in recent ethnographic data . 29 Cf. Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 24-6. 30 For a theoretical outline see Rattray, 1 932: 552. 31 Drucker Brown ( 1 9 75 : 28) interprets this relation as a 'unit'. 32 For instance, Iliasu, no date: 3. 33 The nadema should not be considered an endogamous group. Intermarriages with ordinary people and strangers are said to go back to the constitution of


34

35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44

45 46 47 48

Mamprugu. The most important factor for eligibility is the position of the father. A commoner is said always to be happy if a na marries one of his daughters, since his grandchildren might become eligible as chiefs. For details of the kpaamba, see Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 44-75, 1981b: 1 1 9-20. According to the census of 1 960 only 44.5 per cent of the inhabitants counted as Mamprusi. Cf. Drucker Brown, 1 9 75 : 1 1 , 2 1 -2; Davis, 1 984: 7. H owever, such data have a rather ambiguous character, since 'strangers' m ight claim to be Mamprusi. It is emphasised that only chiefs and elders know exactly 'who is who'. Because of the complex composition of the population, Rattray ( 1 932: 549) refers to Mamprugu in the same way as to the adjacent acephalous societies as an 'amalgamation'. Cf. Iliasu, no date: 3. The Appendix at the end of the chapter gives the classification for different villages. This multi-ethnic composition was first outlined by Binger ( 1 892, vol. 11: 1-5 7). See Drucker Brown, 1 9 7 5 : 7-8. The practical aspects will be examined below. Cf. Kopytoff, 1 98 7 : 3-84. Davis, 1 984: 7-8, 1 42. Syme, 1 932: 1 9 . Cf. Ladouceur, 1 9 79 : 1 7 4 . The circumstances differ from area t o area. Among t h e Bimoba of Bindi, for example, the installation of a local Mamprusi chief was accepted in the second half of the nineteenth century. The ruler of Nakpanduri, close to the Mamprugu heartland, is installed by the nayiri. In contrast, the installation of Bimoba chiefs in Gbunkpurugu reflects rather colonial rule. Cf. Davis, 1 984: 1 4 . Drucker Brown, 1 98 1 b : 1 28. Both Drucker Brown ( 1 98 1 b : 1 2 1 ) and Davis ( 1 984: 300; 1987: 63 1 , 635, 644-5) have pointed out in detail that the tension involved in finding the most able successor reaffirmed the value of nam. See Iliasu, 1 9 75 : 24. Cf. Davis, 1 984: 302-3 . Data recorded during fieldwork (May to August 1 992) among the lunsi of Gambaga and Nalerigu . A s a Muslim this representative is not ritually installed. Thus h e i s not titled as Zangberi naba (chief of Hausa).

References Barber, Karin and de Moraes Farias, P. F. (eds) ( 1 989) Discourse and its Disguises: The Interpretation of African Oral Texts. Birmingham University African Studies Series 1 (Birmingham: Centre of West African Studies) . Binger, Capitaine ( 1 892) Du Niger au Golfe de Guinee, 2 vols (Paris: Hachette) . Bowdich, T. E. ( 1 8 1 9) Mission from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantee. Reprint with notes and an introduction by W. E. F. Ward (London: Frank Cass, 1 9 66) .

66 Ethnicity in Ghana Bowdich, T. E. ( 1 82 1 ) An Essay on the Geography of Northwestern Africa (London 1 966). Davis, David C . ( 1 984) 'Continuity and Change in Mamprugu: a Study of Tradition as Ideology', PhD thesis, Northwestern University. Davis, David C. ( 1 987) 'Then the White Man Came with his Whitish Ideas', International Journal ofAfrican Historical Studies, 20: pp. 628-46. Davis, David C . ( 1 994) "'They Sing our Origins " : A Study of the Lungsi Drummers of Mamprugu', African Music, 7 : pp. 58-7 1 . Drucker Brown, Susan ( 1 967) 'Colloque sur les Cultures Voltalques', Recherches Voltai'ques, 8: pp. 79- 1 00. Drucker Brown, Susan ( 1 9 75) Ritual Aspects of the Mamprusi Kingship (Cambridge: African Studies Centre) . Drucker Brown, Susan ( 1 98 1 a) 'The Authority of Ancestors', Man, N . S . 1 6 : pp. 4 75-6. Drucker Brown, Susan ( 1 9 8 1 b) 'The Structure of the Mamprusi Kingdom and the Cult of Naam', in H. J. M . Claessen, and H. P. Skalnik (eds), The Study of the State. New Babylon Studies in the Social Science, vol . 35 (The Hague: Mouton), pp. 1 1 7- 3 1 Drucker Brown, Susan ( 1 986) 'The Story o f Magazi Akushi: The Origin of the Gambaga, Mamprusi Muslims, Northern Region, Ghana', Cambridge Anthropology, 1 1 : pp. 79-83. Dupuis, j . ( 1 824) Journal of a Residence in Ashantee (London) . Ferguson, George Ekem ( 1 9 74) The Papers o f George Ekem Ferguson: A Fanti Official of the Government of the Gold Coast, 1 890-1 897, edited by Kwame Arhin (Cambridge: African Studies Centre) . Fortes, Meyer ( 1 945) The Dynamics of Clanship among the Tallensi (London: Oxford University Press). Fran\ois, C. von ( 1 888) 'Aus dem Schutzgebiete Togo: Expedition C . von Fran\ois', Mitteilungen von Forschungsreisenden und Gelehrten aus den Deutschen Schutzgebieten, 1 . Goody, jack ( 1 9 7 1 ) Technology, Tradition and the State in Africa (London : Oxford University Press) . I liasu, A. A. (no date) Mamprugu: The Oral Traditions of its Peoples, vol. 1 (Legon: Department of History) I liasu, A. A. ( 1 9 7 1 ) : 'The Origins of the Mossi-Dagomba States', Research Review (University of Ghana), 7: pp. 95-1 1 3 . Iliasu, A . A. ( 1 9 7 5 ) 'The Establishment of British Administration in Mamprugu, 1 898- 1 9 3 7', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 1 6 : pp. 1-28. Kopytoff, Igor ( 1 987) 'The I nternal African Frontier: The Making of African Political Culture', in I. Kopytoff (ed.), The African Frontier: The Reproduction of Traditional African Societies (Bloomington: Indiana University Press), pp. 3-84. Ladouceur, Paul Andre ( 1 9 79) Chiefs and Politicians: The Politics of Regionalism in Northern Ghana (London: Longman) . Levtzion, Nehemia ( 1 9 68) Muslims and Chiefs in West Africa (Oxford: Clarendon Press), pp. 3- 84. Mackay, C . F. ( 1 934) A Short Essay on the History and Customs of the Mamprusi Tribe, GNA (Tamale), ace. no. 1 5 2 1 . Northcott, H . P . ( 1 899) Report o n the Northern Territories o f the Gold Coast (London: War Office) .

The Mamprusi in Northern Ghana 6 7 Oldendorp, Christian G . A . ( 1 7 7 7) Geschichte der Mission der Evangelischen Briider auf den caraibischen Inseln St Thomas, St Croix und St fan (Leipzig) . Rattray, Robert S. ( 1 932) The Tribes of the Ashanti Hinterland, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press) . Schlottner, M ichael ( 1 9 9 1 ) ' H errschaft und Religion bei den Mamprusi und Kusasi im Nordosten von Ghana', Paideuma, 37: pp. 1 4 1 -5 9 . Schlottner, Michael ( 1 995) ' W i r waren d i e Ersten! Z u Raum- und Zeitangaben i m zentralen Volta-Gebiet (Westafrika)', Berichte des Sonderforschungsbereichs 268 (Frankfurt am Main: Johann Wolfgang Goethe Universitat) 5: pp. 25 1-8. Schlottner, M ichael ( 1 996) Sehen, Horen, Verstehen: Musikinstrumente und Schallgeriite bei den Kusasi und Mamprusi in Nordost-Ghana. Kulturen im Wandel, 6 (Pfaffenweiler: Centaurus). Syme, ] . K. G. ( 1 932) The Kusasis: A Short History (Typescript). Wilks, lvor ( 1 9 6 1 ) The Northern Factor in Ashanti History (Legon: Institute of African Studies) . Wilks, Ivor ( 1 965) 'A Note on the Early Spread of Islam in Dagomba', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 8: pp. 8 7-98. Wilks, Ivor, Levtzion, Nehemia and Haight, Bruce ( 1 986) Chronicles from Gonja (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Withers, Gill ( 1 924) The Moshi Tribe: A Short History (Accra: Government Press) .

Chapter

4

Asante nationhood and colonial administrators , 1 89 6- 1 9 3 5 Ivor Wilks

This study has to do with Asante nationhood in the colonial period.1 Asante was declared a British Crown Colony, by right of conquest, by an Order of the King in Council of 26 September 190U It was to be adminis tered by a chief commissioner, responsible to the Crown through the governor of the Gold Coast Colony, but it was not to be annexed to that colony. From 1 902 to 1 9 5 7, when Britain's Gold Coast became Nkrumah's Ghana, thirteen men had served as 'Chief Commissioners, Ashanti' (henceforth CCAs), or, after redesignation in 1 952, as 'Chief Regional Officers' (CROs). From time to time they came into conflict, and sometimes acute conflict, with the governors. This was not only a matter of bailiwicks, of ill-defined jurisdictions. There was a moral dimension to it all, for the particular interests of Asante were frequently at issue. I shall argue here that CCAs played a quite critical role in fostering conditions necessary if not sufficient - such that a sense of Asante nationality sur vived the traumatic loss of political independence in 1901. To explore this theme I draw on the careers of three CCAs, F. C. Fuller, C. H. Harper and H. S. Newlands, and take 1935, the year of what was known as the 'Restoration of the Ashanti Confederacy', as a somewhat arbitrary cut-off date. I must, however, make brief reference here to the last to hold the position, A. C. Russell, whose advocacy of Asante rights was a cause of his removal from office by Kwame Nkrumah in 1 9 5 7. In conversations with him, and from his letters and reports, I have learned much about the landscape of colonial Asante, and my debt to him is great.3

1 896 and all that: a 'new order' in Asante The Asante civil wars of 1 884 to 1 888 left the Asanteman severely weak ened, yet it was able to achieve an impressive measure of reconstruction 68

Asante nationhood and colonial administrators 69

over the next few years under the regime of Asantehemaa (or 'queen mother') Yaa Kyaa and her young son, Asantehene Agyeman Prempeh. Several offers of British protection were rejected. By 1 894, however, the writing on the wall was all too clear. In April 1 895 Asante ambassadors arrived in London, empowered to negotiate the terms on which their country would become a protectorate. The Colonial Office played for time, among other things querying the embassy's credentials. On 1 7 October it became public knowledge that a military invasion of Asante was being planned. Hoping to avert it, the ambassadors sped up their work. On 2 1 October they signed an agreement setting up a British Chartered Company to undertake the development of Asante's resources. Little less than a month later they drew up a document expressing the Asantehene's readiness to accept a British Resident in Kumase, to live in 'alliance of friendship' with Queen Victoria, and to open up his country to British commerce. Regarding their business as completed as possible, the ambassadors returned home. They found that a British expeditionary force had already commenced its march on Kumase. There was great alarm in the Asante capital, but after lengthy debate the councillors decided that the British would not be so perfidious as to attack a country that had just signalled its willingness to accept protectorate status. The decision was taken to welcome its entry into Kumase.4 It was one of the more momentous miscalculations in Asante history. Francis Scott, the British commander-in-chief, entered Kumase on 1 7 January 1 896, and Governor of the Gold Coast William E. Maxwell arrived the following day. What happened next is best described as a coup d'etat. On the 20th Maxwell seized the Asantehene, Asantehemaa, and key figures in the government, and sent them under escort to the Gold Coast Colony. The Asante were shocked. So, too, was ]oseph Chamberlain at the Colonial Office in London, who had not author ised any such usurpation of power. 5 As he neatly put it, the Asante 'were called upon to suffer the consequences of defeat without having been defeated'. He had, however, been presented with a fait accompli, and was obliged to recognise the 'new order' in Asante. But what was the nature of that new order to be? There was a commercial lobby in Britain that advocated the annexation of Asante to the Gold Coast Colony. Maxwell argued strongly against this course of action, urging that the 'sharp traders' of the Gold Coast would exploit their opposite numbers in Asante! This was, surely, a blind. Asante was still regarded as a hostile country, and to amalgamate it with the Colony risked restoring a measure of Asante influence in what had once been its


southern possessions. Whatever the case, Chamberlain agreed with Maxwell, that Asante had to be kept isolated from the Colony, and under separate administration. Later in 1 896 the Colonial Office noted, 'We do not hold Ashanti either by conquest or cession - both terms imply annexation and we are there only in exercise of H.M.'s jurisdiction in a foreign country'. 6 Asante was, in other words, under military occupation and no more. Maxwell, however, had ideas of his own. He talked of 'the destruction of the central power of Kumasi' ( 1 896: 46), and named a Resident who was to be directly responsible to him as Governor. This was Donald Stewart who had joined the Gold Coast Colony Civil Service in 1 886 and, as a Travelling Commissioner, acquired a considerable knowledge of Asante affairs. Maxwell, charging him with 'administering justice on ordinary principles of equity and common-sen se', instructed him to treat each division of Asante as autonomous - so terminating the right of Kumase to intervene in its affairs. 7 It was a classic instance of divide and rule. To attempt to impose direct rule over a notional protectorate that was in truth a foreign country was, to say the least, ambitious. Maxwell soon realised that the Resident had to obtain some sort of Asante involvement in the 'new order'. Less than a month after the coup d'etat, Maxwell issued a Letter of Appointment setting up a three-member 'Native Committee of Administration' to advise the Resident on the conduct 'of local affairs according to native custom'. 8 It was recruited from Kumase notables who had escaped deportation. The Committee, however, regarding itself as deputising for the abducted Asantehene, set about working to restore the independence of Asante. It remains unclear whether the members, before 1 900, thought that this could be achieved peacefully, or only by armed struggle. Maxwell's model for Asante was the Malay States, where he had served for thirty years. 9 We do not know, however, how his adminis tration might have developed, for he died, only SO years of age, late in 1 89 7 . He was succeeded by F. M. Hodgson, an altogether lesser man. The new Governor persuaded himself that the way to gain sovereignty over Asante was to take possession of the Golden Stool, symbol of its nationhood. But, inconveniently, the stool had been hidden. Having financed several unsuccessful attempts to find it, Hodgson appeared in Kumase in person. He had the dignitaries assembled. He carefully explained to them that the 'paramount authority of Ashanti' was now the Queen of England whose representative he was, but that he in turn had appointed a Resident in Kumase 'who exercises the powers of King

Asante nationhood and colonial administrators 7 1

paramount'. He then announced the imposition of a new tax and pro ceeded to ask, 'Where is the golden stool? Why am I not sitting on the golden stool at this moment? ... Why did you not take the opportunity of my coming to Kumasi to bring the golden stool and give it to me to sit upon? t1° This was on 28 March 1 900. Within a few hours the last Anglo-Asante war had started. Hodgson found himself besieged in Kumase fort. He was relieved only after a hard-fought campaign. For the mandarins in the Colonial Office, pleasure in the British victory had more to do with judicial than military concerns. Asante could now, finally, be said to have been 'conquered'. The Order in Council of 26 September 1 90 1 was promulgated. By its provisions, Resident Stewart was appointed first CCA, but his position was one fraught with ambiguities. To what extent should the governor act, in matters relating to Asante, on the advice of the CCA? In 1 907 the Secretary of State in London ruled that 'the Chief Commissioner of Ashanti is a Lieutenant-Governor in all but name, but that scarcely resolved the question'.11 As Kirk-Greene has commented: the Lieutenant-Governors of Nigeria and the Chief Commissioners in Nigeria and the Gold Coast ... did not rate gubernatorial recogni tion: the acid test was whether they corresponded directly with the Secretary of State for the Colonies or only through another official in the territory. The post of Lieutenant-Governor was superior to that of Chief Commissioner in that the latter received his commis sion not from the Crown but only from the Governor. ( 1 980: 1 3) The anomalies in the situation were to cause grave problems. Francis Charles Fuller, 1 905- 1 9

F . C . Fuller began his career in the Colonial Service i n 1 884, a s a cadet in Fiji. In 1 892 he was transferred to Nigeria, where he rose to become Resident in Ibadan. In 1 902 he was made Assistant Secretary to the Governor of Malta and, such are the ways of the Colonial Office, was appointed CCA with effect from 12 March 1 905_12 He arrived in Kumase on 1 8 March 1 90 5 . A. W. Norris of the Gold Coast Regiment provided a guard of honour at the railway station. 'He is a big man with a black beard', Norris noted, 'and looks as if he has a will of his own' ( 1 928: 226). He had.

72

Ethnicity in Ghana

Within a matter of weeks after his arrival, Fuller took steps to revive the Council of Kumase. This body, the effective central government of independent Asante, 13 had ceased to function in 1 896 when Governor Maxwell abducted and exiled most of its members. 'I convened the Chiefs', Fuller wrote, 'explained to them my object and asked the prin cipal men to nominate all those who had formerly ranked as Councillors of the King.' There were days of discussion. Finally fifteen, shortly to be increased to eighteen, stools - in this context, 'seats' were identified: those of the Kumase Konti, Akwamu, Adonten, Gyaasewa, Oyoko, and so forth. Exercising the prerogatives of an Asantehene, Fuller took steps to ensure that these positions were held by those in his view the most competent and worthy of trust, and had them acknowledge their loyalty to him by taking oaths of allegiance in the traditional manner.1 4 Regular meetings of the Council were sched uled on the old Asante calendar of a 42-day month, 1 5 and Fuller nor mally presided, as had the Asantehenes in the past, over these sessions. There is no reason for thinking that Fuller disagreed with the central tenet of Maxwell's policy, that there should be no central government in Asante. He faced the problem, however, that the exile of the king, while promoting this end, had at the same time deprived the powerful and populous Kumase Division of any structure of authority. It was, he later explained, 'not unlike a Division with several Amanhin [that is, "paramounts"] . . . . Each Chief came and told and told me the story he wished me to believe and I had to draw conclusions as best I could'.1 6 The revival of the Council was something of a gamble. It turned out to be a successful one. Fuller was fortunate that the Governor of the Gold Coast at the time, J . P. Rodger, was disinclined to intervene in Asante affairs. Roger was, in any case, on leave from May to November 1 905, and Acting Governor H. Bryan put his seal of approval on Fuller's ini tiative by visiting Kumase formally to open the revived Council on 8 August 1 905. Bryan was highly impressed by all he saw. 'The Coomassie Council of Chiefs', he wrote in his Annual Report for 1 906, inaugurated in August, 1 905 held 1 8 sittings, and proved of genuine assistance to the Chief Commissioner in the administration of the Coomassie District. The Council numbers 1 8 (exclusive of the Chief Commissioner) - all chiefs who, according to tradition, would have formed the Advisory Board of the late dynasty. Membership implies a recognised status of which the fortunate few are proud, and the many, envious. It also carries with it sundry privileges, such as an extra supply of gunpowder and a right to private audience, but -


perhaps the predominant sentiment actuating this pride of office is one of vanity; for the sittings of the Council are held with closed doors, and matters are discussed with the secrecy so dear to the heart of the Ashanti.1 7 Bryan recognised that Fuller's action was highly popular at least with the Kumase notables, for only five years after the last war against the British they saw one of their most important institutions revived. The Council's jurisdiction was, it is true, confined to the Kumase Division, but its deliberations were presided over by the CCA whose jurisdiction did extend to the whole of Asante.18 Indeed, as the highest functioning authority in the land, Fuller came to be regarded as a surrogate Asantehene. It was a perception of his role that he encouraged. Early in 1 906 three amanhene came into Kumase for a 'palaver' with Fuller. They assembled in state at the meeting ground - the old Dwaberem and took up positions under their umbrellas, surrounded by their sub ordinate chiefs and various attendants. Shortly afterwards Fuller, Provincial Commissioner C. H. Armitage, Cantonment Magistrate T. A. Pamplin Green, and various attendants, emerged from the fort. They, too, took up positions under a splendid umbrella. It was distin guished from those of the amanhene only in that its fabric was a Union Jack. De�ima Moore, wife of the future Governor Guggisberg, witnessed the scene. It was, she wrote, 'so novel and impressive that I had to pinch myself to make sure that I was really awake and not dreaming'.19 That Kumase should have no right of interference in the affairs of the other divisions of Asante was the theory. The practice was differ ent. Responsible for all the Asante divisions, Fuller unquestionably sought the advice of members of the Council of Kumase on other than Kumase affairs. No particular problems seem to have arisen under Governors J. P. Roger ( 1 904- 1 0) and J. ]. Thorburn ( 1 9 1 0- 1 2 ) . Then, when Fuller had served as CCA for almost eight years, Hugh Clifford was promoted from Colonial Secretary of Ceylon to Governor of the Gold Coast.2° Clifford paid his first visit to Kumase the following April, and attended a meeting of what he erroneously, but significantly, called 'the Council of Ashanti Chiefs'. The debate was particularly lively, having to do with the repatriation of three Asante political pris oners held in the Gold Coast Colony since 1 900. Clifford listened with amazement as Kumase Atipinhene Kwaku Dua argued against the release of the prisoners on the grounds that this 'was to be regarded as being analogous to the resurrection of the dead - an embarrassing and inconvenient, because unnatural event'.21


Clifford was quite obviously astonished by all he saw and heard: Kumase dignitaries meeting under the presidency of a British Chief Commissioner, and concerning themselves with affairs that could, by no stretch of the imagination, be regarded as local ones. He returned to Accra with a deep sense of unease. This he made known to Fuller four months later, in August 1 9 1 3 . The Governor, wrote Acting Colonial Secretary W. C. Robertson, complains of the 'scanty nature of the information which, in the ordinary course, reaches him concerning the affairs of Ashanti', and notes 'that while residing in Accra he remains almost as completely cut off from detailed information concerning Ashanti as if he had continued to reside in England'. The Governor's solution was to require the CCA to send him monthly an 'informal official diary'. Fuller had little choice but to obey, though the brief and uninformative nature of the notes he turned in were not at all to Clifford's liking.22 Clifford was a man of great intellect and of considerable literary skills. He was also a man of irascible temper and developing mental instability. He became obsessed by the belief that Fuller was bent on accumulating personal power in Asante. 23 In the event, troubles in the Kumawu Division provided the opportunity for a showdown. In early 1 9 1 5 there were moves to destool Kumawuhene Kwame Afram on charges, among other things, of embezzlement, most outrageously, of sums contributed to the Imperial War Fund. On 1 8 May Kumawu District Commissioner Norris (he who had welcomed Fuller to Kumase in 1 905) found the charges proved, and ordered Kwame Affram not only to refund the sums involved but to contribute a further £300 to the War Fund. He refused, however, to countenance the Kumawuhene's destoolment, and indeed arrested a number of the 'youngmen' (nkwankwa) who were demanding it. Norris' actions only exacerbated the tension. Appeals were sent to Fuller, who dispatched a member of the Council of Kumase, Domakwaihene Kwasi Nuama, to restore peace. The councillor was unsuccessful, and Fuller himself visited Kumawu. He persuaded Kwame Affram to abdicate, and forced through the installation of Kwaku Boaten as successor against consider able opposition. There was rioting in January 1 9 1 6.24 Governor Clifford had proceeded on leave in May 1 9 1 5, and he did not return until November. He apparently heard nothing of the Kumawu disturbances until he toured the Eastern Province of Asante in April 1 9 1 6 . He was, accordingly, amazed to receive a petition from Kumawu chiefs and 'youngmen' detailing their grievances against Fuller's administration and requesting his, the Governor's, intervention.


The timing could not have been more opportune for Clifford, since Fuller had proceeded on leave the previous December. The Acting CCA was A. J. Philbrick. He was required to submit a full account of Kumawu affairs, and did so by letter of 1 2 June 1 9 1 6. The Governor found it 'precisely the sort of statement' he wanted, providing him with the material he needed to launch a vigorous attack on Fuller's adminis tration. The Acting Colonial Secretary in Accra, C. H. Harper - himself to become CCA four years later - had the gruelling task of undertaking the paperwork. The opening shots were fired on 22 June 1 9 1 6, when Harper wrote to Philbrick expressing the Governor's misgivings about the very existence of the Council of Kumase: The Kumasi Chiefs - who, His Excellency understands, are the sur vivors of the War Chiefs and chosen Councillors, whom the Ashanti King was accustomed to gather around him, - constitute in them selves something resembling an extra-constitutional Body; and the governor is doubtful how far it is advisable to continue to place over much authority, power or influence in their hands . . . and he would be glad to be furnished, at your convenience, with a Memorandum explaining in detail the precise position filled, and the part taken by the Kumasie Council in the Administration of Ashanti, both in the past, under native rule and at the present time; and especially with regard to the position which its members occupy vis-a-vis the various Amahin in the Dependency.25 Reference was also made to a note in Philbrick's diary for May, which had to do with the succession of Yaw Berku to the Bantama Stool. It was to the effect that various members of the Council of Kumase ('your principal native advisors') had been offered money ('had been bribed') to support one candidate or another. This, Harper wrote, 'has impressed the Governor very unfavourably'. But Clifford was most seri ously perturbed that the services of Councillor Kwasi Nuama had been used in adjudicating the Kumawu dispute, for he regarded this as violating long-standing Colonial Office policy. Philbrick wisely decided to let the matter of the Council of Kumase await Fuller's return. He probably did not know that Clifford had also asked his Secretary for Native Affairs in Accra to submit a memoran dum on the Council, an action that could only have been regarded by the Asante Administration as a deliberate slight. The Secretary, F. G. Crowther, had no first-hand experience of Asante affairs, and was


obliged to gather information from Asante political prisoners held in the Gold Coast Colony. So much for 22 June. The next day the unfortunate Philbrick received a sixteen-page letter in which the Governor's observations on the Kumawu affair were laid out. Events, it read: have proved beyond dispute the unfortunate aspects which the action of the Government of Ashanti, in this matter, assumed in the sight of the people of Kumawu . . . and His Excellency is wholly at a loss to understand, in the light of the information so far furnished to him, on what grounds of principle or policy the Government of Ashanti persisted in regarding and treating the agitation of the Kumawu people for the removal of a Chief, who had forfeited their confidence by reason of his gross misconduct, an action that was reprehensible or even criminal. It is revealing of Clifford's state of mind that he proceeded, surely immoderately for one in his position, to excuse the rioters: [T]hat a riot ever took place in Kumawu in January last must, in the Governor's considered opinion, be ascribed, not to the innate turbu lence of the people of Kumawu, but to the unfortunate action of the Ashanti Administration in persistently ignoring their constitutional rights, and in refusing to assist them to secure them in a legitimate manner. Fuller had not, the letter continued, kept the Governor 'regularly and completely informed concerning the course of events in the Dependency', and it was 'with the utmost regret that the Governor has found himself compelled to express such deep dissatisfaction with the attitude assumed by the Government of Ashanti towards native ques tions, as that attitude is revealed by an examination of its dealings with the people of Kumawu'.26 Fuller returned from leave in August 1 9 1 6 . He dealt first with the matter of the Council of Kumase. A curt note, dated 28 August, pref aced a brief (five-page) memorandum. Fuller explained the principles he had followed in reconstituting the Council. He carefully pointed out that he had proceeded in consultation with the 'principal men' of Kumase; that the venture had the approval of then Governor Roger of the Gold Coast; and that Acting Governor Bryan had formally opened the Council in 1 905 . As for the matter of the Bantama succession,


added Fuller, 'as long a s Stools exist, s o long will bribery and corrup tion occur on questions of succession. It is part and parcel of the game and as long as a majority is in favour of the elected candidate, not much harm results.' But Fuller knew that Clifford's strongest card had to do with Kwasi Nuama. 'His Excellency', he noted, surely tongue in cheek, 'might also have had Chief Inuama's interference in Kumawu matters in his mind.' It was, he assured Clifford, 'in full accordance with native custom and my verbal approval', for Kwasi Nuama was not acting as a member of the Council of Kumase but 'merely as an influential man who was anxious to patch up a feud between people towards whom he felt friendliness and sympathy'Y Clifford took some time to reply to Fuller. When he did so it was in a conciliatory mood. He accepted Fuller's 'frank statement in the spirit in which it was written', and was prepared 'to regard the matter as one which is closed, so far as all personal questions raised thereby are involved'. He did not, he said, intend to bring the issues to the attention of the Secretary of State for the Colonies in London, being confident that 'all grounds for further misunderstanding between the Colonial Government and the Administration of which you [Fuller] are the Head have now been finally and successfully removed'. Nevertheless, Clifford reiterated his demand that the Chief Commissioner's informal diaries should be fuller (no pun intended), and that matters of importance should be the subject of separate and detailed reports. He was not, he said, 'being kept fully informed of what was going on in the Dependency'.28 A week later a further communication reached Fuller. The Governor agreed that 'the Council [of Kumase] is an instrument which can be effectively used by Government for the administration of local affairs'. He enclosed a copy of Crowther's memorandum - four times the length of Fuller's - and asked the CCA ('at your leisure') for comments on it29 • Fuller did not reply until 1 9 March 1 9 1 7, and then laconically. 'I generally agree with Mr. Crowther's conclusions', he wrote, 'especially paragraph 30 thereof'.30 The paragraph in question read, It is particularly interesting to note that the Coomassie council of today contains all the essential elements of its forerunner which was, I suppose, the well known 'Kotoku' or porcupine council. But, more than this, it is a matter of great political value to have secured the co operation of such a body, and thus to have obtained a measure of con tinuity in the native administration, while I think that it is a matter of great political importance to endeavour to ensure as far as possible the purity of its constitutional representationY


In the event Clifford left the Gold Coast to become Governor of Nigeria in March 1 9 1 9, and Fuller left Asante, on retirement, in October of the same year. Had it all been a storm in a teacup? I think not. Fundamental constitutional issues were involved. Throughout his governorship Clifford had constantly referred to Asante as a Dependency of the Gold Coast Colony. 32 But it was in fact a Dependency of the Crown. The misrepresentation was scarcely likely to improve relations between the Governor and a CCA who regarded the Crown Colony of Asante as his bailiwick, and who was thought of as exercising the rights and responsibilities of an Asantehene. The highest-ranking Kumase chief, Bantamahene Kwame Kyem, made it clear that the respect formerly due to the Asantehene was now due to the Chief Commissioner. 'I beg your honour sir', he wrote to Fuller, in phraseology redolent of the courtly forms of earlier times, 'that what ever you tell me to do I ought to do it as I know that I am your dog sir, if you tell me to rise I must do same and if you tell me to sleep I must do same'.33 In 1 930 Fuller was remembered as 'the Great Father of Ashantees'.34 It is pleasing to know that he reciprocated the respect felt for him. In his retirement he wrote of his former subjects as 'a valiant, clever, and lovable people', remarking that 'the staunch loyalty of the Ashantis towards the British Government and their many fine qualities have gained them the respect and admiration of all who have been fortu nate enough to labour with and for them' ( 1 92 1 : 229). Charles Henry Harper, 1 920-- 3

C. H. Harper joined the Gold Coast Colonial Service as a cadet in 1 900 and was immediately attached to the Field Force in Asante. Over the next few years he worked in the Colonial Secretariat in Accra. Granted leave in 1 907, he passed the bar and was admitted to the Inner Temple. He was briefly Cantonment Magistrate in Kumase in 1 908, but was not to return there until 1 9 20. In the interim he served in the Togoland political service; then again in the Secretariat as, inter alia, Acting Colonial Secretary; and next as Deputy Commissioner of the Western province of the Gold Coast Colony. In May 1 920 he was appointed Chief Commissioner of Asante, presumably on the recommendation of Clifford's successor, F. G. Guggisberg, who had become Governor of the Gold Coast the previous October.35 Harper took up his new post on 4 May 1 920. The Asante, as custom required, put on a magnificent reception for Fuller's successor. Over a


hundred 'umbrellas' - that is, senior chiefs - gathered to welcome him. He found Kumase changed out of all recognition since he had last been there, twelve years before. He held his first meeting with the Council of Kumase on 1 3 May. Its members, and this was also custom, asked him to make them gifts (aseda) on the occasion of his elevation. The matter of the nkwankwa, or 'youngmen', was dis cussed, and the councillors expressed opposition to recognising an Nkwankwahene for Kumase. Bantamahene Kwame Kyem requested permission to bring his own sub-chiefs to swear allegiance to the new CCA, 36 and the same day addressed a letter to Harper to make clear the eminent position of Bantama within the Kumase hierarchy. 'My stool', he wrote, is next to the King of Ashanti, when the time Komfu Anokyi made the Stool for the King of Ashanti named Osei Tutu the first King, Bantuma [sic] Stool was next ... my stool is senior to the stools of Coomassie and head over them, with the exception of the stool of the King of Ashanti who is now no more. When the British Government taken hold of the whole Ashantis and have become their absolute masters my rank as chief of Bantama was not reduced and it was made to understand that my Stool is next to the Chief Comm [issione]r of Coomassie. The rank which Chief Commissioner Mr. Fuller offered me as Chief of Bantuma [sic] was not through by mistake, for when the King of Ashanti was in supreme power - when finding that part of his important place is getting spoilt he could choose any one who is trust worthy to place him in that Town as chief in order to manage and amend the place and this was the same done by His Honour the Chief Comm[ission]er Mr. Fuller in placing me as chief on Bantuma [sic] .3 7 Harper came to rely quite heavily on Kwame Kyem ('who strikes me as an honest fellow'). 38 Harper, like Fuller, took seriously the role of surrogate Asantehene. Early in 1 922 he learned that the Asantehemaa or 'queenmother' of Asante had died. 'The Chiefs', he reported, sent to me suggesting that as the Chief Commissioner now ruled Ashanti and took the place of the Ashanti Kings, I should give them some [gun]powder. ... I decided to do the handsome thing and give £50 towards the funeral expenses.39


'The handsome thing' was, of course, what was expected of one who held highest office in the land, and in donating such a considerable sum Harper had responded very appropriately. Harper seems to have been a man of more eclectic vision than Fuller, concerned as much with culture as with politics. He evinced a strong interest in anthropology and in 1 906 had made a respectable con tribution, on Akan family structure, to the Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. He used his first full Annual Report, that for 1 9 2 1 , to express his regard for traditional value systems and his reser vations about current directions of change in Asante. 'In certain parts of Ashanti', he wrote, something in the nature of a 'mass movement' towards Christianity has set in. It may be, and Missionaries are alive to this fact, that such a movement has attendant dangers. Possibly set native habits of morality and the valuable and, it may be the inspired elements in native religion will be cast aside in an access of momentary enthusi asm without anything lasting or substantial to take their place.40 It was not only the unregulated spread of Christianity that worried Harper, but also the more general impact of European ways. 'Face to face', Harper continued, with a material progress and civilisation which seems overwhelming and all devouring there must be a strong temptation for the young Ashanti to cut himself adrift from his past and to become depend ent for all moral as well as material needs upon the European. But anthropological research will shew that there is much in native reli gion and custom which is worth a secure place in modern progress and which will tend to preserve the genius of the people and give to their civilisation something racy of the earth out of which according to their tradition they came forthY With Governor Guggisberg's approval, Harper created an Anthro pological Department, and in July 1 9 2 1 R. S. Rattray was appointed to head it. Rattray, whose career in the Gold Coast Civil Service began in the Customs Department in 1 907, had subsequently transferred to the Political Service. He spent an extended leave reading anthropology at Oxford, and had already published several works of a broadly ethno graphic kind.42 In a statement of his aims, Rattray expressed his view that the 'ideal' of the Asante should be,


not t o become pseudo-Europeans, but t o aim a t progress for their race which is based on what is best in their own institutions, reli gion, manners and customs; that they will become better and finer men by remaining true Ashantis and retaining a pride in their past, and that a greater hope lies in their future if they will follow and build upon lines with which the national sunsum or soul has been familiar since first they were a people.43 It is not commonly realised that Rattray's Ashanti, published by Oxford University Press in 1 923, was in fact his first Annual Report as head of the new department. The Press voted £200 towards the cost of publica tion, and supplied the Gold Coast Government with fifty free copies.44 Rattray's work became of much practical relevance when the news broke, in September 1 9 2 1 , that the Golden Stool had been desecrated. Asante was thrown into turmoil. With the advice of Rattray, Harper decided to allow the fourteen offenders to be tried by members of the Council of Kumase and various divisional amanhene. The death penalty was recommended in six cases, but Harper commuted the sentences to exile abroad.45 He then informed the Council of Kumase in rather guarded language, 'that it would be possible they need not bury or hide the Golden Stool but keep it in safe custody where and how they liked'. However, continued Harper, 'they must give an assurance that it would not become a bad fetish or its influence used against the Government'.46 This was a bold move on the Chief Commissioner's part, for less than two years earlier Guggisberg had visited Kumase, addressed the Council, and reiterated the old demand for the stool's surrender. 47 An army engineer by profession, Guggisberg had first served in the Gold Coast in 1 902. On coming to the governorship in 1 9 1 9 , he had immediately presented a £25 million. Ten-Year Development Plan to the Gold Coast Legislative Council. The projected developments were all located in the Gold Coast Colony, specifically Takoradi Harbour and associated railway extensions, Korle Bu Hospital, and Achimota College. What, then, of Asante? Its interests, Guggisberg thought, were best served by amalgamation with the Colony.48 Harper's views on this matter were initially ambivalent. 'We have in Ashanti', he wrote to the Governor in 1 920, 'the nearest approach to a nation on the Gold Coast'. Nevertheless, he thought that the Development Plan would necessitate amalgamation which, he predicted, 'will soon become an issue of practical politics'.49 It did so. In November 1 922 Harper sent Guggisberg a memorandum. He had come to accept that change was


inevitable and assumed that when Asante ceased to be a separate Crown Colony the position of CCA would necessarily be abolished. Despite being faced with so uncertain a personal future, Harper never therless carefully drafted a 'Native Jurisdiction Ordinance' that was, in part at least, designed to safeguard distinctly Asante interests within the projected 'union'. Each division of Asante was to retain its auton omy, for such was (by then) hallowed colonial policy, but Harper envisaged the creation of a body, not unlike the old Asantemanhyiamu (or Asanteman Council), to represent their common interests. There is, he wrote of the draft Ordinance, provision for summoning a congress of Head Chiefs to deal with matters of general interest to the Stools and people of Ashanti, but whether the seeds are there of a purified form of the Ashanti Federation or of a restored Ashanti kingship under British Government it is difficult to say. 50 On the face of it, the Governor enjoyed the cooperation of the Chief Commissioner, but Harper knew full well that the Development Plan benefited the Colony quite disproportionately. He designed a plan of his own for Asante. He devoted an extraordinary amount of energy to setting up municipal government in Kumase. A body known as the Public Health Board was to oversee the development of the town, and Harper recommended that its ten members should include Bantamahene and Adontenhene from the Council of Kumase, the Sarkin Zongo who was head of the immigrant Muslims, and one other non-Asante resident of KumaseY New markets, public latrines, water supplies - such matters were of constant concern to him. Education, however, figured even more prominently. Despite his misgivings about the impact of missionaries, Harper worked closely with the Wesleyans to develop a phased programme of school building. A Teacher Training Institute should be set up immediately and, Harper speculated, 'possi bly hereafter the Institute might develop into a University'. The Kumase Tafohene, upon whose land the Institute was to be built, thought the project had 'a great national purpose'.52 These were exciting ideas. Their implementation, however, required a level of funding that was not available to the CCA. It was not the shortage of money as such that perturbed him, but rather his percep tion of the inequitable distribution of revenues between the Gold Coast Colony and Asante. Thus in the former roads were built by the Public Works Department, which was financed from taxes raised in the


Colony and Asante, whereas in Asante similar roads had to be built by local chiefs using local labour, with the help at best of small grants from the limited funds available to district commissioners.53 Under Guggisberg the situation worsened. To finance his Development Plan the Governor had to raise loans, but was obliged by Whitehall to service the costs of these from local resources. Major budgetary cuts were required from the administrations of both Colony and Asante. Harper might have tolerated these, but then he learned that the Finance Committee of the Legislative Council of the Gold Coast Colony was involving itself in matters of expenditure in Asante. He wrote an irate letter to the Colonial Secretary on 29 September 1 922: I desire to record a protest against this procedure as unconstitu tional. Ashanti is a Colony distinct from the Gold Coast Colony and neither the Legislative Council of the Gold Coast Colony nor any Committee of that Council has any power or jurisdiction in Ashanti. I hope I shall not be misunderstood if I point out that no unofficial member of that Finance Committee is in any way qualified to speak for the Administration or for the Chiefs and People of Ashanti. Perturbed by the tone of Harper's missive, Guggisberg noted on the file, 'treat all letters on this and similar subjects as "Secret"'. 54 Harper was, of course, basically correct. As the Colonial Secretary was to make clear a few years later, 'the constitution of Ashanti is as separate and distinct from that of the Gold Coast Colony as is, say, the constitution of Sierra Leone'.55 Over the next few months relations between Chief Commissioner and Governor deteriorated rapidly. On 3 March 1 923 Harper sent the Colonial Secretary a letter which, unusually, he requested should be brought to the attention of the Secretary of State in London. The letter dealt with what Harper regarded as infringements on his jurisdiction, and detailed the ways in which he thought progress in the Colony was being financed at the expense of Asante.56 Guggisberg took the unusual step of personally replying to Harper's charges. He declined to involve the Secretary of State in the matter, and commented, 'I know Mr. Harper has not enjoyed good health this tour. I admire the way in which he has carried on when subject to distressing attacks of asthma, but I feel that these attacks and his general state of health have caused him to take an exaggerated view of his so-called grievances'. 57 Harper was furious at Guggisberg's attempt to dismiss his complaints as a


result of illness, and replied in like vein: 'I know you have had a worry ing and anxious time this tour, and I do not wish to join the chorus of the pack that have been barking at your heels'.58 Harper's letter is a distraught one, but there is no mistaking its general thrust. 'I must stand up', he wrote, for Ashanti and the C . C . [Chief Commissioner] in regard to the status given to them in the constitution of Ashanti (that is, in the King's Instructions and Letters Patent) . . . . Theoretically the Legislative Council and the Executive Council of the Gold Coast Colony have no more power and jurisdiction in Ashanti than for instance the Legislative Council of Sierra Leone or the House of Assembly at Barbados. He turned to the related matter of the Commissionership: Now for the position of the Chief Commissioner, I don't consider I am worthy of any job unless I stand up for him as I try to for Ashanti. The Secretary of State in a confidential W.A.F.F. Despatch dated February 1 5, 1 907 laid down that the Chief Commissioner of Ashanti is a Lieutenant-Governor in all but name. Now I think there is as much general ignorance of his position as there is of the status of Ashanti. Matters of finance, which had given Harper 'a large hump' (as he put it), were taken up. 'The position of Ashanti is strong', he assured the Governor, Ashanti is a good deal more than self-supporting. It has for some years I should say been making a handsome contribution for pur poses outside Ashanti, for example towards subsidies for Town Councils on [sic] the Gold Coast Colony, towards roads and water supplies in the Gold Coast Colony. Making all allowances for contri butions to public debt, for share of loan expenses and general over head charges, there is a surplus in Ashanti of revenue over expenditure. The Gold Coast Colony cannot therefore say that they are entitled to a voice in Ashanti affairs, because they put money up for development in Ashanti. The boot is on the other leg. He became more specific. The draft estimates for Asante had been dras tically reduced in order to help finance Takoradi Harbour. But then he


had learned that £350,000 in taxation had been remitted towards the costs of development, about £ 1 50,000 of which, on his estimates, had come from Asante. With that, he said, I could have done a great deal. I would not have pared our estimates to the bone, and into the bone for the benefit of cocoa farmers or shareholders of the Combine (Both classes did well out of the war). The Combine for instance spent close on three quarters of a million on offices in London, and how much of the money taken from the Coast had been spent by them in Messpot and in the East? Takoradi was one thing, but all this is quite on a different plane. 59 Harper enclosed an undated letter 'asking for permission to retire'. It was accepted - or granted - and his tenure as CCA ended on 22 July 1 923. It was an abrupt termination to his career in Asante. He was not to receive a further appointment until 1 924, and then as Governor of the remote volcanic island of St Helena where he was to preside over the destinies of its fewer than 4000 people. Harry Scott Newlands, 1 9 30-2

Harry Scott Newlands was born in 1 88 4 . He was educated at the Edinburgh Academy and Edinburgh University, becoming a Writer to the Signet. He joined the Gold Coast Administrative Service in 1 9 1 0 . Between that year and 1 930, with the exception o f a brief three-month spell in 1 926 as Commissioner of the Eastern Province of Asante, his postings were all in the Gold Coast Colony (and, during World War I, in Togo) . 60 His long association with the Colony ended in 1 930. On 1 1 February of that year he was appointed Asante's Acting Deputy Chief Commissioner, and became Chief Commissioner on 2 1 August in succession to John Maxwell. Maxwell, who had succeeded Harper in 1 924, was a man of legendary meanness. 61 His period in office saw no major departures from the policies of his predecessor. He put through the enactment of the 'Ashanti Native Jurisdiction Ordinance' in 1 924, describing it as 'the "Magna Charta" of the chiefs and the people of Ashanti'. He agreed to the return of Nana Agyeman Prempeh to Kumase later in 1 924, albeit as a private citizen; approved his membership of the Kumase Public Health Board in 1 925, envisaging the possibility of his one day be coming Mayor of the city; and recommended his installation as 'Kumasihene' in 1 926. Maxwell saw his Administration as co-partner of

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Ethnicity in Ghana

the Asante people, working 'for the welfare of the country' ( 1 928: 29-3 3). Newlands took over quite unprepared for what he was to find. He underwent a conversion. 'To one like myself', he wrote, who has come to Ashanti after living for nineteen years in the Gold Coast Colony, during which time I naturally acquired the 'Colony' view of the Ashantis (that is that they are indistinguish able from the Colony native), it came as something of a revelation to find how entirely different in their political outlook the Ashantis are from the Colony peoples, how proud they are of the great historical position they held on the Gold Coast, and how strong is their feeling that the time will come when they will again be a united nation.62 In 1 9 3 1 the future of Asante was in the balance. Agyeman Prempeh died in May, and Osei Agyeman Prempeh 11 succeeded him as Kumasihene. Governor Sir A. Ransford Slater had set up a Committee of the Gold Coast Colony Legislative Council - the Further Retrenchment Committee - to consider ways of achieving financial reform, and its report of November 1 9 3 1 urged that: the time has arrived for the Colony, Ashanti and the Northern Territories to be administered as a single entity subdivided into the necessary number of Provinces and Districts in place of the present tripartite system under which Ashanti and the Northern Territories are administered under Chief Commissioners.63 The Committee had powerful support for its view. C. M. Barton had joined the Gold Coast Judicial Department only in April 1 929. He was appointed Circuit Judge for Asante in the Chief Commissioner's court. In October 1 93 1 , however, apparently setting protocol aside, he wrote directly to the Governor arguing that Asante should be brought under the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court of the Gold Coast. 'I go further', he stated, and consider that Ashanti and the Gold Coast should form one Colony. Owing to the fact that Ashanti and the Gold Coast are now separate Colonies, whenever a person in the Gold Coast is 'wanted' for an offence committed in Ashanti and vice versa, the provisions of part 11 of the Fugitive Offenders Act 1 8 8 1 have to be applied, a procedure which, in my opinion, should be quite unnecessary.64


The Governor communicated Barton's views i n a confidential letter to Newlands on 4 November. Newlands did not reply for four months. The report of the Further Retrenchment Committee, however, was a different matter. As a public document, it was released to the press and created much indignation in Asante. Osei Agyeman Prempeh 11 addressed the Council of Kumase, and a letter of protest was drawn up. It was sent to the senior amanhene for their endorsement, and then despatched to the Governor. The signatories pointed out that Asante was not represented on the Committee, and declared the proposed changes unacceptable. They expressed opposition to the abolition of the office of Chief Commissioner on the grounds, inter alia, that it was 'the pride and honour of Ashanti as a Nation'. 65 In a strongly worded letter to the Governor, Newlands drew atten tion to what he saw as an administrative blunder in the presentation of the Retrenchment Committee's recommendations: The Report in question is signed by the Colonial Secretary alone and not, as has hitherto usually been the case whenever a number of persons have been appointed by the Governor to consider and report on some matter, by every member of the body so appointed. It is well-known that the Colonial Secretary is the mouth-piece of the Governor - the man-in-the-street sees his name every day on Public Notices in Post Offices, and so on - the bulk of the Chiefs and people accordingly jumped to the conclusion that what they now saw for the first time was the announcement of a decision which had already been come to. 66 But Newlands in fact took more radical action. He circulated copies of the section of the Retrenchment Committee's report dealing with amalgamation to chiefs throughout Asante, and instructed his field officers to solicit their views on it. It was an impressive exercise in taking the pulse of Asante. Twenty-three chiefs met with their councils, and conveyed their findings to Newlands. Then, on 22 March 1 9 3 2, Newlands reported to Governor Slater. The eight most important 'Head Chiefs', those of Kumase, Mampon, Dwaben, Bekwae, Kokofu, Nsuta, Domaa and Adanse, he wrote, 'strongly oppose unification with the Gold Coast Colony'. He summarised their views: 'running all through them is a feeling of resentment against what is regarded as an attempt to undermine and destroy the proud Ashanti claim that they are a nation. This is usually given as the first and (to their minds) conclusive objection to unification with the Colony.' Eight 'less important Head


Chiefs', those of Kumawu, Bompata, Obogu, Berekum, Ahafo, Wenchi, Denyiase, and Mo, expressed similar sentiments. 'Again', New lands commented, 'the national feeling finds expression.' Seven others, Manso Nkwanta, Takyiman, Nkoransa, Drobo, Banda, Abease, and Atebubu, were ambivalent, being prepared to accept amalgamation if 'Government' thought it in their interests. Four of them specifically urged that the position of Chief Commissioner should be retained, Manso Nkwanta because 'we have taken him to be the only Mother of all of us', and Atebubu because, 'in brief that Chief Commissioner Ashanti play the most essential parts of Ashanti administration'. Following the comments of his Eastern and Western Provincial Commissioners, Newlands argued that the seven ambivalent responses resulted from a failure to understand fully the implications of the Retrenchment Committee's report, and from a reluctance to oppose what was assumed to be already decided.67 Newlands felt that the Chiefs and Elders of Asante had given him a mandate to oppose amalgamation. He did so, producing a quite remarkable statement of Asante national aspirations for the Governor's perusal. He put together a lengthy summary of the constitutional status of Asante as it had evolved since 1 896 and, in considerable detail, showed that Asante compared favourably, in terms of its econ omic and human resources, with 4 1 other crown colonies, protec torates and mandates within Britain's far-flung Empire. He deplored Britain's attempt to dismantle the very fabric of the Asante nation. 'Yet', he wrote, in spite of such a systematic policy of disintegration, the Ashantis have not been reconciled to a future in which they would appear, like their neighbours in the Colony, as a mosaic of mutually inde pendent Head Chiefs and they still cling to the idea that they form a single entity imbued with common ideals . . . . The issue, in brief, is as follows: Shall Ashanti again be a large state comparable with an Emirate in Northern Nigeria - far larger than any ten states in the Gold Coast Colony put together - or shall Government, ignoring one of the basic principles of indirect rule and in disregard of the desire for unity manifest among the Ashantis, perpetuate the state of disruption of Ashanti native insti tutions which it has forced on Ashanti in an unsuccessful attempt to disunite its peoples? . . . It is seen at once that in Ashanti we have before us a people who have a common faith, a common past and a common thought;


whereas in the Gold Coast Colony we are dealing with a congeries of peoples who possess inter se but mutually antagonistic rivalries, high-sounding pretensions and intolerant parochialisms. I think it is clear that the claim of the Ashantis that they form a distinct nation, leading a life apart from the Colony peoples, must be admitted to be a genuine one.68 In all of this Newlands never lost sight of what his predecessors had stressed, that the Chief Commissioner was the highest authority in Asante. He used this to make a special case for retention of the posi tion. Owing to the fact that there was no Asantehene, he wrote, the Chief Commissioner occupies in the eyes of the Chiefs and people a totally different position from that of a Provincial Commissioner. He is regarded as the embodiment of the authority and power of the government as well as of that formerly wielded by the Asantehene. If he were to be taken away, in addition to the Asantehene, the Ashantis would regard themselves as leaderless and they would look upon this as but another attempt to destroy their dreams for the future of their country. 69 Newlands had obtained a decisive mandate from the chiefs for the maintenance of Asante's status quo as a Crown Colony under a Chief Commissioner. Although he did not at this time raise the matter of the restoration of the monarchy, he contemplated the revival of the old Asantemanyhiamu refashioned as a counterpart to the Gold Coast Colony's Legislative Council. Thus Newlands recommended that an 'Advisory Council of Head Chiefs' should be set up at an early date, and that it should be empowered, inter alia, to consider any bills affect ing Asante before they were passed into law. None of this could be ignored by the Governor, nor for that matter by the Colonial Office in London. In April Governor Slater appointed Newlands a Special Commissioner, and instructed him to ascertain Asante views on the restoration of the monarchy. 70 Having been out manoeuvred by Newlands on the matter of amalgamation, Slater appears to have hoped to turn the tables on him in that of the restoration - for it was widely believed that most Asante chiefs were only too happy to enjoy the higher status that resulted from the absence of an overlord. Playing for time, Slater was apparently press ing the Colonial Office to have Newlands transferred. Newlands, in turn, seems to have been decidedly non-co-operative. An officer


serving in the Asante Administration at the time remembers him announcing that if the Governor wanted to see him, he would have to come to Kumase.71 Newlands instructed his field officers to test opinion on restoration, and on 27 September he summarised the results of the twenty reports then in. Sixteen chiefs favoured restoration, three were opposed, and one declined to comment.72 Newlands did not have the time to await further responses. By then he had been informed that his position as CCA would terminate with effect from 30 September. He was promoted to the higher - but scarcely so demanding - governorship of Barbados. The Colonial Office was, however even-handed. Slater was moved, laterally, to Jamaica. Newlands died in Barbados on 12 March 1 933. He had at least the sat isfaction of knowing that Asante was to remain a separate Colony, for the Gold Coast Legislative Council had been so informed in September 1 932. He could scarcely have dreamt, however, that in less than two years Asante would once more be united under the leadership of an Asantehene. The 'Ashanti Confederacy' came into existence on 3 1 January 1 935. On 2 February a decorative fountain in the grounds of the Asantehene's palace was ceremonially turned on. It was dedicated to the memory of Harry Scott Newlands. Four days later Asantehene Osei Agyeman Prempeh 11 addressed a letter of appreciation to the new Governor, Sir Arnold Hodson. He thanked the British Government and its representatives on the Gold Coast for agreeing to restore Asante's 'ancestral rights'. A special tribute was, however, reserved for Newlands. 'We also thank', he wrote, 'our most lamented friend, Mr. Newlands, who was the father and mother of the idea which has culminated in the great ceremony we witnessed on Thursday.m Reflections

In 1 90 1 the historic nation that was Asante appeared no longer to exist. Between 1 905 and 1 935, however, although the monarchy had long remained in abeyance, many of the structures of the pre- 1 896 independent state were reconstituted, and it is patently clear that the 'Ashanti Confederacy' of 1 9 3 5 was the direct descendant of the old Asanteman. That this was so owes much to those who headed the Crown Colony's administration, to those such as Fuller, Harper and Newlands who believed that good government in Asante meant gov ernment in accordance, so far as was possible, with traditional precepts and practices. There was, however, another side to the story.


The officers of the Asante administration were all too conscious of the division in Asante society between 'Chiefs and Elders' on the one hand, and 'youngmen' on the other; that is, between nananom who had power and authority and nkwankwa who aspired to it. The rise of the latter as a radical political force can be traced back at least to the early 1 8 70s, when that excellent observer of the Asante scene, ].-M. Bonnat became convinced of the progress, slow but sure, of the new ideas that had found an entry into Ashanti, and which were mining it and pen etrating it throughout. Liberty, the security of property as well as of person, which exited under the Protectorate [that is, the Gold Coast Colony] made the Ashantees feel the burthen of the despotism which weighed upon them, and of the expeditions which impover ished them. The people longed for a change in the condition of public affairs/4 The movement towards kwasa(oman - the connotation of the word is 'republic' or 'democracy' - has yet to be fully studied.75 By the turn of the nineteenth century there were ultra-radicals who called for 'the Civilization and Christianization and Evangelization' of their country. They were uncompromising in their rejection of traditional ways. 'We do not want', they wrote, 'to hear the names of these down trodden degraded native African Kings and Chiefs. ... Down with native drums, native umbrellas, native swords and elephant tails: useless and good for nothing.176 Before 1 896 British policy inclined towards treating the radicals as potential allies in the struggle to destroy the power of the Asanteman. Conversely, they saw colonialism as offering a means of liberation from the trammels of the traditional state. 'I thank God', wrote Kofi Nti, a son of Asantehene Kofi Kakari, 'that now Ashantee has been turned into British Protectorate and civilisation will I believe probably be introduced there that the light of God may inhabit there.177 This was in June 1 896, five months after British troops had marched into Kumase. The war of 1 900, however, occasioned a drastic redirection of British policy. This was no struggle of Asante commoners against their rulers, but a war of national liberation against the British. It left the victors convinced that in order effectively to govern Asante it was nec essary to obtain the collaboration of those they called 'Chiefs and Elders'. Fuller reconstituted the Council of Kumase, yet was remarkably sensitive to the aspirations of the radicals. 'With the spread of western

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Ethnicity in Ghana

civilisation and more liberal ideas', Fuller wrote in 1 909, 'the inevitable conflict between youth and authority has already commenced. ' It was, he thought, 'but natural that the younger members of the community should wish to throw off an irksome and restraining, if legitimate, authority' . 78 We have remarked that it was Harper who made the preservation of 'traditional' culture the keystone of his policy. Unofficial organisations opposed the partnership of colonial admin istrators on the one hand, and 'Chiefs and Elders' on the other. The Asante Kotoko Society claimed to speak for the 'educated' (that is, edu cated in English) element in society. Urging that Asante should seek representation on the Legislative Council of the Gold Coast as a step towards amalgamation, its members thereby aligned itself with the governors in Accra rather than the chief commissioners in Kumase. 79 To one acting CCA, they were 'young Bolsheviks. ' 80 The more extreme Friends of Ashanti Freedom Society, many of whom were in fact resi dents of the Colony, resolutely opposed all moves towards the restora tion of the Asante monarchy and, in a cable to the Colonial Office, maintained that the 'Confederacy movement solely work Ashanti Political Officers' . 81 It was predictable, perhaps, that one of the early enactments of the Ashanti Confederacy Council was to withdraw official recognition from leaders of the 'youngmen . . . in view of the fact that they are the cause of political troubles throughout Ashanti.'82 Marginalisation of the radicals, however, had no long-term future: in 1 949 many of them rallied to Nkrumah's Convention Peoples' Party, and Krobo Edusei was to emerge as an old style nkwankwahene in the guise of a modern populist leader. 83 But this is another story.

Notes 1

An early version of this study, 'The British Chief Commissioner as Asante Nationalist', was presented to the African History Seminar, SOAS, London, 15 February 1 9 9 5 . The present version is abstracted from a fuller study of colonial Asante now in preparation. I have benefited greatly from Richard Rathbone's comments, though on many issues we remain in cordial disagreement. 2 'Ashanti: Order of His Maj esty the King in Council', 26 September 1 9 0 1 , Gold Coast Government Gazette, 1 January 1 902. 3 And see Russell ( 1 996) . 4 For these events see, for example, Tordoff ( 1 9 6 5 : 5 1-7); Wilks ( 1 9 75a: 63 7-60); Lewin ( 1 9 78: 1 83-206).


6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13

14 15

16 17 18

19 20 21 22 23

24

25 26 27 28

Chamberlain had indicated to Maxwell that possible courses of action might involve seizing the Golden Stool, securing the Dwabenhene's neutrality by bribes, deporting Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa, and replacing Agyeman Prempeh as king by Atwereboanna. Public Record Office, London (PRO), Confidential Print, African (West) 500: Chamberlain to Maxwell, 12 December 1895. PRO, CO 96/2 7 7 : Minute by J . Bramston, 14 December 1 896, cited in Kimble, 1963: 3 1 6. PRO, CO 96/270: Instructions, Maxwell to Stewart dated 10 February, in Maxwell to Chamberlain, 22 February 1 896. National Archives of Ghana (NAG) Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 50 1 , Letter of Appoint ment, 1 1 February 1 896; PRO, CO 96/270: Maxwell to Chamberlain, 20 February 1 896. Hamilton, 1 9 79 . PRO, C O 96/359, Notes taken a t a Public Palaver o f Native Kings a n d Chiefs at Kumasi, 28 March 1 900, in Hodgson to Chamberlain, 7 April 1 900. On this matter see NAG Accra, ADM 1 2/5 / 1 1 5 : mi nute headed 'Ashanti Problems', incomplete but CCA Harper to Governor Guggisberg, 1 923. Gold Coast Civil Service List, 1 909: 380- 1 . I t was constitutionally subordinate t o the Asantemanhyiamu. This council, however, was normally convened only once a year, and the Council of Kumase, which met on an almost daily basis, carried the main burden of government. See Wilks, 1 9 75a: 387-4 1 3; Lewin, 1 9 78: 32-5 . NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 3 1 3 : Fuller to Colonial Secretary, Accra, 28 August 1 9 1 6. Regular monthly meetings on the western calendar were introduced later, presumably as a result of the increase in business coming before the Council. See note 1 4 . Colonial Reports - A nnual Ashanti Report for 1 906 (London: HMSO), 1 90 7 : 8. See Rhodes House, Oxford, MSS.afr.s.593, Governor to CCA, Accra, 12 February 1 925, for the view that the Council of Kumase advised Fuller on affairs throughout Asante. Moore and Guggisberg, 1 909: 1 78-9 . For Clifford's background, see Clifford, 1 98 7 : 1 9 1-4 . NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 /624: Clifford t o Secretary o f State, 2 3 March 1 9 1 4. NAG Kumase, 648: Ag. Colonial Secretary to CCA, 1 8 August 1 9 1 3 . Clifford engaged i n a comparable showdown with C . H . Armitage, Chief Commissioner of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, for which see Gailey, 1 982: 98-105. An account of these events is to be found in the interesting (and, I hope, forthcoming) study of Kumawu politics by Phyllis Boanes. I am grateful to her for giving me access to her drafts, and to her notes from NAG Kumase, uncatalogued documents, Ag. Col. Sec. to Ag. CCA, 23 June 1 9 1 6, and Col. Sec. to CCA, 1 2 October 1 9 1 6 . NAG Kumase D 1 02: Ag. Col. Sec. to Ag. CCA, 22 June 1 9 1 6 . NAG Kumase, uncatalogued document: Ag. Col. Sec. to Ag. CCA, 23 June 1 9 1 6. NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 3 1 3 : CCA to Col. Sec., 28 August 1 9 1 6. NAG Kumase, uncatalogued document: Col. Sec. to CCA, 12 October 1 9 1 6.

94 Ethnicity in Ghana 29 NAG Kumase, D 102: Col. Sec. to CCA, 20 October 1 9 1 6. 30 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 3 1 3 : CCA to Col. Sec., 1 9 March 1 9 1 7 . 3 1 NAG Kumase, D 1 02: Succession to Coomassie Stools, Memorandum by F. Crowther. 32 See, for example, Gold Coast Colony: Legislative Council Debates, 28 October 1 9 1 8. Clifford repeated this error in more accessible sources, see his article in United Empire, August 1 9 1 5 . 33 NAG Kumase, 207 5 : Kwame Kyem t o CCA, 1 3 May 1 9 1 9 . 3 4 NAG Kumase, 1 1 3/ 1 908: Loyal Subjects and Tax-Payers t o CCA, dated Kumase, 1 1 October 1 930. See Arhin, 1 9 74: 7 7-8. 35 Gold Coast Civil Service List 1 909: 386-7. 3 6 Rhodes House, Oxford, Colonial Records Project, MSS Brit. Emp. s344, Papers of Sir Charles Harper: diary entries, 4, 12 and 1 3 May 1 920. 37 NAG Kumase, 20 75: Kwame Kyem to CCA, 13 May 1 920. 38 See, for example, NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 902: Confidential Diary, CCA, 4 October 1 902. 39 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 902: Confidential Diary, CCA, 6 February 1 922. 40 Colonial Reports - Annual Ashanti Report for 1 92 1 (London : HMSO, 1 922), pp. 1 5- 1 6 . 4 1 Ibid . : 1 7 . 42 Of which the most relevant was probably Ashanti Proverbs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 9 1 6) . 43 Colonial Reports - Annual Ashanti Report for 1 92 1 : 1 8 . 4 4 Report o n Ashanti for 1 922-23 (Gold Coast: Government Press, 1 923): 2 2 . See further Rattray, 1 929: v-xiii. 45 For the official account of this episode see Colonial Reports - Annual Ashanti Report for 1 92 1 : 2 1 -9. See further, Tordoff, 1 965: 1 79-8 1 . 4 6 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 902: Chief Commissioner's Confidential Diary, entry for 1 6 February 1 922. 47 Meeting between Guggisberg and the Council of Kumase, 27 April 1 920, in Guggisberg to Milner, 15 February 1 9 2 1 ; see Kimble, 1 963: 483 . 48 For the governorship, see Wraith, 1 9 6 7 . 4 9 Harper t o Guggisberg, enclosed in Guggisberg t o Sec. o f State M ilner, 1 November 1 920, cited in Kimble, 1963: 457n., 530. 50 PRO, CO 96/643 : Report on the Draft Ashanti Native Jurisdiction Ordinance, (Accra Government Press, 1 923), see especially clause 1 6; Rhodes House, Oxford, MSS Brit. Emp. s/344, Harper to Governor, 14 November 1 922: Memorandum on the Amalgamation of Ashanti and the Gold Coast Colony. 51 PRO, CO 96/638: Harper, 'The Town Administration of Coomassie', 17 January 1 923, in Governor to Devonshire, 29 March 1 923. 52 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 902: CCA's Confidential Diaries, 2 February, 8 April 1 922. The idea of a university in Kumase had been mooted by ] . E. Casely Hayford ( 1 9 1 1 : 1 94). 53 In early 1 923, £42, 780 was made available for roads in the Colony, and under £5000 for those in Asante, NAG Accra, ADM 1 2/5/ 1 1 4 : Harper to Col. Sec., 3 March 1 923 . 54 NAG Accra, ADM 1 2/S/ 1 1 3 : Harper to Ag. Col. Sec., 29 September 1 922. SS Gold Coast Colony: Legislative Council Debates, 15 February 1 929.

Asante nationhood and colonial administrators 95 5 6 NAG Accra, ADM 1 2/5/ 1 1 4 : Harper to Col. Sec., 3 March 1 923. 5 7 NAG Accra, ADM 1 2/5/ 1 1 4 : Memorandum by the Governor on the Chief Commissioner's Letter of 3 March 1 923, dated 1 0 March 1 923. 58 NAG Accra, ADM 2/5/ 1 1 5 : 'Ashanti Problems', 1 923. Somewhere along the line the document seems to have been deliberately emasculated, presum ably in the interest of secrecy: the covering letter, showing by whom it was written and to whom it was addressed, has been removed, and so has or have the last page or pages. There can be no doubt, however, about the identity of both writer and recipient. 59 'Messpot' is, of course, Mesopotamia. The identity of Harper's 'Combine' is, however, elusive . Was it perhaps the C. D. Syndicate of 1 0 7/8 Moorgate Station Chambers, London, that had undetermined interests in gold and diamond mining in Asante and the Colony in the period? 60 Gold Coast Colony Civil Service List, 1 930: 1 8. 61 See, for example, Ponder, 1 945: 1 2 1 -2 (who calls him 'John Burns Mcldol'); Gray, 1 928: 1 38. 62 PRO, CO 96/706/ 735 1 : Newlands to Colonial Secretary, 22 March 1 932: 12. 63 Gold Coast Sessional Paper X, 'The Further Retrenchment Committee, 1 93 1 . Report and Recommendations'. 64 PRO, CO 96/706/735 1 : Newlands to Colonial Secretary, 22 March 1 932. 65 Newlands to Colonial Secretary, 22 March 1 932: 13. See also Tordoff, 1965: 303-4, 420, citing Office of the DC Kumasi: 'Abolition of the Office of Chief Commissioner of Ashanti', Case No. 1 /32: Petition of Ashanti Amanhene against abolition and unification with the Gold Coast Colony, January 1 932. 66 Newlands to Colonial Secretary, 22 March 1 932: 10. 6 7 Ibid . : 1 1- 1 2, 1 6- 1 8 . 68 Ibid . : 6, 8, 1 4 . 69 Ibid . : 2 3 . 7 0 PRO, C O 96/706/735 1 : Colonial Secretary t o Newlands, 2 April 1 932. 7 1 A C. Russell, 8 July 1 995, see I . Wilks, 'Conversations about the Past, mainly from Ghana', Africana Library, Northwestern University. 72 PRO, CO 96/ 706/735 1 : Newlands to Colonial Secretary, 27 September 1 932. 73 Wallace-Johnson, 1 93 5 : 36-7. 74 The African Times, 1 60, 30 October 1 8 74: XIV. 75 See some provisional comments in Wilks 1 9 7Sa: 504-9, 534-43; Wilks, 1 9 7Sb; Wilks, 1 996 and Wilks, forthcoming. 76 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 48 3 : letter to Brandford Griffith, Cape Coast, IS December 1 894. 7 7 NAG Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 / 1 50 1 : Kofi Nti to Sir R. H . Meade, 1 2 June 1 896. 78 Colonial Reports - Annual Ashanti Report for 1 909 (London: HMSO, 1 9 1 0): 22. 79 See: Tordoff, 1 965: 3 1 0- 1 3 . 8 0 Rhodes House, Oxford, MSS.afr . s . S 9 3 : Secret report b y Ag. CCA, dated Kumase, 28 July 1 925. 8 1 Tordoff, 1 965: 3 4 7 . 82 Minutes of the Second Session of the Ashanti Confederacy Council held at Kumasi from January 23, to February 6, 1 936 (Accra: West African Graphic Co., 1 954): 8. 83 See Allman, 1 99 3 : esp. 28-36.

96 Ethnicity in Ghana References Allman, jean M. ( 1 993) The Quills of the Porcupine: Asante Nationalism in an Emergent Ghana (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press). Arhin, Kwame ( 1 9 74) 'Some Asante Views of Colonial Rule as Seen in the Controversy relating to Death Duties', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 1 5 : pp. 63-84. Clifford, Hugh ( 1 987) The House of Clifford from before the Conquest (Chichester: Phillimore) . Fuller, Francis C. ( 1 92 1 ) A Vanished Dynasty: Ashanti (London: Murray) . Gailey, H. A. ( 1 982) Clifford: Imperial Proconsul (London : Collings). Gray, F. ( 1 928) My Two African Journeys (London: Methuen) . Hamilton, Ruth E. ( 1 9 79) 'Asante, 1 895-1 900: Prelude to War', PhD disserta tion, Northwestern University. Harper, Charles H. ( 1 906) 'The Families of the Gold Coast', Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 36: pp. 1 78-85. Hayford, ] . E. Casely ( 1 9 1 1 ) Ethiopia Unbound (London: Phillips) . Kimble, David ( 1 963) A Political History of Ghana: The Rise of Gold Coast Nationalism 1 850-1 928 (Oxford: Oxford University Press) . Kirk-Greene, A. H . M. ( 1 980) A Biographical Dictionary of the British Colonial Governor, vol. 1 : Africa (Hoover: Hoover Institution Press) . Lewin, T. ]. ( 1 9 78) Asante before the British: The Prempean Years, 1 8 75-1 900 (Kansas: Regents Press of Kansas). Maxwell, John ( 1 928) 'Ashanti', Journal of the African Society, 27: pp. 2 1 9-33 . Maxwell, W. ( 1 896) 'The Results o f t h e Ashanti Expedition, 1 895-96', Journal of the Manchester Geographical Society, 1 2 : pp. 3 7-5 4. Moore, Decima and Guggisberg, F. G . ( 1 909) We Two in West Africa (London : William Heinemann) . Norris, A. W. ( 1 928) 'Three Tours on the West Coast of Africa', Gold Coast Review, 4: 204-3 1 . Ponder, S . E . G . ( 1 945) A Wanderer i n Khaki (London: Stanley Paul). Rattray, Robert Sutherland ( 1 929) Ashanti Law and Constitution (Oxford: Oxford University Press) . Russell, A. C. ( 1 996) Gold Coast to Ghana: A Happy Life in West Africa (Durha m : Pentland Press) . Tordoff, William ( 1 965) Ashanti under the Prempehs, 1 888-1 935 (Oxford: Oxford University Press) . Wallace-Johnson, I. T. A. ( 1 93 5 ) Restoration of the Ashanti Confederacy January 3 1 -February 4 (Accra: Government Printer) . Wilks, Ivor ( 1 9 75a) Asante in the Nineteenth Century: The Structure and Evolution of a Political Order (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Wilks, Ivor ( 1 9 75b) 'Dissidence in Asante Politics: Two Tracts from the Late Nineteenth Century', in I. Abu-Lughod (ed.) African Themes (Evanston : Northwestern University Press), pp. 4 7- 63. Wilks, Ivor ( 1 996) One Nation, Many Histories: Ghana Past and Present (Accra: Ghana Universities Press) . Wilks, Ivor (forthcoming) : Unity and Progress: Asante Politics Revisited. Wraith, R. E. ( 1 967) Guggisberg (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

Chapter

5

Be (com) ing Asante, be (com) ing Akan : thoughts on gender, identity and the colonial encounter Jean A llman

Prelude in two photographs The issues tentatively explored in this chapter1 - gender, identity and the colonial encounter i n Asante - can be fra med by two extraordinary, though very different, p h otograp h s , taken a pproximately forty years apart. The first (Figure

5.1)

i s of the king of Asante, Asantehene Agyeman

Prempe I , and the Qu eenmother, Asantehemaa Yaa Kya a, seated with a

Figure 5 . 1

T h e Asantehene Agye m a n l're m p e a n d t h e A s a n tefremaa Y a a K y a a ,

( 1 896). So11rce: f r o m P a u l S t e i n e r, Dark and Stormy Days a t K11111assi ( 1 90 1 ) . t a k e n by E l m i n a

97

98

Ethnicity in Ghana

Figure 5 . 2

Persis Beer, M m ofraturo S c h o o l , K u m a s i , n o d a t e ( 1 9 3 0s)

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 99

small group of retainers. The picture was taken in Elmina shortly after their arrest in Kumasi by British forces early in 1 896. It is one of the few photographs we have in which the (in)famous Asantehemaa appears. Reviled by her eventual captors as 'influential and unscrupulous', 'wicked but astute', Yaa Kyaa opposed any accommodation to British interests in the years preceding her arrest. The photograph in question, which has been republished numerous times, signifies in very dramatic, gendered ways the British colonial 'capture' of Asante.2 The second photograph (Figure 5 . 2) is far less familiar. I have seen only one copy and it hangs today in the headmistress' office at Mmofraturo School in Kumasi. It is a portrait of Sister Persis Beer, the Wesleyan Methodist missionary who founded the school in 1 928 and served as its head until she rather mysteriously disappeared from the his torical record (both in Ghana and in Great Britain) in the early 1940s. In the portrait, Sister Persis is dressed in local cloth (ntama) and is seated on a carved stool (akonnwa) . The portrait is remarkable not so much because of Sister Persis' attire in the photograph (though I have not come across many similar depictions of agents of the so-called 'civilising mission'), but because of its location. In that attire, on her stool, Sister Persis' por trait has been given a place in the 'realm of the memorable'. The photo graph, for all who enter that room, captures Mmofraturo's first headmistress 'Asante-ized', for Asante eyes. Just as the photograph of the arrested Asantehene and Asantehemaa symbolises the British 'capture' of the Asante state in 1 89 6 and the beginnings of colonial politics, the portrait of Sister Persis, hanging prominently at Mmofraturo, serves as a significant representation of Asante's colonial encounter. Both photographs certainly have much to tell us about colonialism and Asante identity. They also provide important clues to the very different ways that gender constructed 'Asanteness' and 'Asanteness' constructed gender in the pre-colonial and colonial periods. Introduction

The argument that I seek to introduce here draws from a variety of sec ondary sources on Asante's pre-colonial and colonial past and from my own work on Asante nationalism in the 1 950s and, more recently, on gender and social change during the colonial period.3 In some ways the argument represents an initial effort to bring together a good many of my (sometimes contradictory and disjointed) thoughts about Asante's past - from undergraduate 'diggings' on Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa ( 1 883-96) to my current efforts to understand the gendered dynamics of the

1 00 Ethnicity in Ghana

colonial encounter. Before the occasion of the Edinburgh conference on ethnicity I was fairly comfortable with the fact that my work in Asante history seemed to fall into two quite discreet, virtually self-contained categories - dissertation work on Asante nationalism, followed by sub sequent research on women, social constructions of gender and the col onial encounter.4 In thinking about what to prepare for the conference, I became increasingly uncomfortable with this bifurcation. Were there no connections I could draw - theoretical or material - between gender, the colonial encounter and social constructions of 'Asanteness'? If not, why not? If so, what were they and why have they been so elusive? Private musings and personal agendas notwithstanding, this chapter represents at its core a preliminary effort to bring gender to the discus sion of 'Asanteness'.5 Why has gender been conspicuously absent from most of those discussions (and I include in that observation my own work on the National Liberation Movement) ?6 Certainly this lacuna is not unique to Asante; seldom are those who write of 'nation' or of 'eth nicity' in the African context writing about women. 7 What I intend to argue here is that women have not had a place in most of the scholarly investigations of Asante identity because British colonialism in Asante (and much of the post-colonial academic discourse with which we have been engaged) has profoundly circumscribed the very ways we can think about 'being Asante'. It has, I will argue, essentialised 'Asanteness' as a static category, transformed it from an historically constructed and re-enacted process of be(com)ing into an ascribed attribute, something that you are or are not. 8 And one of the main results of that colonial essentialising and ascription is that 'Asanteness' has been gendered quite specifically male. In the colonial world of Asante, the 'ethnic', the 'tribal', or the 'national' world are masculine worlds - despite (or perhaps because of?) the strong collective senti ments that were and are evoked by the powerful images of women like Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa and Edwesohemaa Yaa Asantewa.9 Be (com)ing Asante in the nineteenth century: a brief consideration of the secondary literature

But what did 'Asanteness' mean in the nineteenth century? Can we speak about people having an identity that was self-consciously 'Asante'? Although the nineteenth-century Asante sources are quite rich compared to those for other areas of the African continent, they are still limited and problematic when it comes to issues of conscious ness. Getting at 'Asanteness' for the pre-colonial period has proven

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 1 0 1

exceedingly difficult. Moreover, the effort, particularly i n recent years, has been accompanied by rather fierce debates which have highlighted methodological and theoretical differences, while underplaying, if not obscuring, areas of agreement and complementarity. 1 0 The substance of those rather contentious exchanges is well known to most scholars of Ghana's past and needs no rehashing here. What may be useful, however, is to take a moment to look at some 'common ground' emerging within this literature. At the interstices of recent discussions of political order and ideology, I would argue, of state and society, of Kumasi and Greater Asante and of Kumasefo and nkurasefo, 1 1 exists a rather cohesive, rich, and multidimensional understanding of 'being Asante' in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and it is to that understanding I would like to now turn. The recent literature portrays an 'Asanteness' rooted, first and fore most, in the cultural and social particularities of the more broadly defined Akan people (Akanfo) of the forest zone. As Wilks has written, the term 'Akan' is best rendered as 'first and foremost' and seems to have had 'the connotation of "us", the true people, as opposed to the derisory apotofo, "them", the foreign people' ( 1 99 3 : 9 1 ). The Akan were probably the first inhabitants of the forest zone and were certainly the ones responsible there for the development of sedentary agriculture and of matrilineal social organisation. By the fifteenth century, as Wilks has shown, the Akan could be distinguished and defined by their sedentary agriculture, matriclans and matrilineages, 'states' (or aman) and bonds of 'language, religion and a common sense of shared iden tity' (ibid.: 94). With the emergence of Asante at the end of the seven teenth century, Akan identity (within Asante) began to be shaped by the specific dynamics of the developing Asante state. 12 The works of Kwame Arhin, Tom C. McCaskie and Ivor Wilks have been especially effective in capturing the ways in which a fluid and organic identity was mediated by the Asante state and was constructed on various over lapping sites ranging across time (from the ancestors, to the living, to those yet unborn) and space (both social and political) . For Wilks, fluidity was at the very core of the Asanteman (Asante state) , of the political order and people's understanding of it. 'It is arguable that the union, the Asanteman', he writes, 'has survived pre cisely because different (and even conflicting) concepts of its nature have always been possible.' Indeed, there is no agreement as to which five Akan states constituted the initial union after the war of indepen dence against Denkyira . As one elderly Asante explained to Wilks over thirty years ago, even the notion of the original Asante Aman Nnum


(Five Asante States) should not be taken literally: 'If there were eight or nine we would say there were ten, but if there were six or seven we would say there were five' (Wilks, 1 9 9 3 : 1 1 2-1 4). In other words, the very boundaries of the original Asanteman (and, thereby, people's cor porate membership within them) were temporally and spatially impre cise for reasons that were absolutely key to the successful production and reproduction of the political order. For much of the nineteenth century, according to Wilks, that political order reflected values 'congruent with those of the village communities and of the dispersed mmusua' ( 1 9 75 : 669).13 But what was the nature of this congruent relationship? What can we make of the relationship between state and society, between political power and social identity, hegemony and consciousness? Much of McCaskie's work in recent years has focused on these questions and for him, as for Wilks, fluidity remains central to the precolonial Asanteman and to our understanding of corporate membership in it. For McCaskie, however, the analytic focus, by necessity, shifts from political order to social order. He views the state as fostering and mediating Asante's organic fluidity, or 'flexible subtlety' ( 1 990: 5 7). 'All of the imperatives, norms and values of Asante historical experience', he writes, '- of self-conscious social knowledge flowed together in and through the ideological mediations of the state and thence back into their origins in cultural definition' ( 1 99 5 : 1 0 1 ). Indeed, fluidity for McCaskie defines the very nature of the dialectical relationship between state and society for most of Asante's nineteenth century. 'Full citizenship rights in Asante society', he has recently argued, 'were exclusively vested in and defined by membership of an abusua [lineage] and, more broadly, an abusua kesee.' He continues: This was the foundational premiss of social and cultural order, and to alter the definition and construction of jural corporateness in any way would have been tantamount to tearing up the charter of Asante society ... the state not only preserved but sedulously re inforced the authoritative integrity of this pre-existing systemic monopoly over the definition of who and what constituted an Asante citizen. (Ibid.: 88) If Wilks' and McCaskie's works provide evidence of the ways in which 'Asanteness' was enacted and re-enacted along the elusive boundaries of the political order, of how it was invented and reinvented by the dialectical relationship between state and society, by oman and abusua,

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 1 03

Kwame Arhin has contributed an important spatial dimension to our understanding of nineteenth-century Asante identity. Arhin, most notably in his study 'Peasants in Nineteenth Century Asante', under scores the centripetal pull of Kumasi in the making of 'Asanteness'. 'Be(com)ing Asante', particularly in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, his work suggests, was also a process of be(com)ing urban and worldly, of being pulled toward the centre: [T] he culture of Kumasi, which was becoming increasingly urbanised, was seen as drawing within its orbit the peoples of Asante in degrees determined by their spatial distance from Kumasi. In Asante, then, there was an awareness of a Kumasi culture, moulded out of courtly practices, the intermingling of various ethnic groups, and encounters with representatives of foreign cul tures, that differed from the purely indigenous culture but progress ively influenced it. ( 1 983 : 475) Taken together, I would argue, Arhin, McCaskie and Wilks provide ample evidence, on multiple levels, for characterising 'Asanteness' in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as a fluid process, mediated by the state. In short, 'being' Asante was something you did, over time and across space. It was not something you flatly were or were not. 'Asanteness' as a process of 'be(com)ing' is perhaps best evidenced in the annual Odwira - a festival highlighted in the arguments of all three scholars, but particularly central to McCaskie's project. 1 4 Mistakenly portrayed by nineteenth-century European observers as a yam custom or harvest festival, Odwira was, in all its drama and complexity, a per formance of 'Asanteness' at 'every level. The unity of the Asanteman was re-enacted;15 allegiance to the golden stool was affirmed; 1 6 the cen trality of Kumasi was reinforced; and the 'seamless unity of dead, living and unborn' was remembered. Power, moreover, was reconstituted and reaffirmed. As McCaskie has recently argued,

odwira came to serve as an annual forum for the mandatory affirmation and renewal of personal allegiance by subjugated or otherwise constituent officeholders. Tributaries were expected to furnish quotas of slaves, goods and/or produce; they might be called upon to offer a symbolic artefact . . . that denoted fealty and subordination, in the way of the wife to the husband. ( 1 995: 1 45-6)

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That McCaskie has chosen to characterise the enactment of power and subordination at Odwira in conjugal terms does not reflect mere selec tion of a convenient metaphor. His choice is telling; for the perform ance of 'Asanteness' was, at one and the same time, a performance of gender. While our sources on this are admittedly slim, it is not insignificant that the relationship between the Asantehene and a subor dinate might be 'solemnised' by what was considered a 'marriage' between the Asantehene and a 'wife' (oyere) (ibid. : 1 4 6). The events on the nineteenth day of Odwira (nwonakwasie) are even more revealing. Drawing from Bowdich's account, McCaskie writes: At this time, moreover, there occurred the most intimately direct overturning of received social (and gender) roles, for 'each sex aban dons itself to its passions, and adultery is sanctioned' - a mode of behaviour that was normally actionable by law. However, at bottom all of this was a species of licensed or contained anarchy that was at once sanctioned and arbitrated by the state . ... [T]hese reversals of received order constituted a form of ritualized rebellion. .. . Its promiscuous reformulations were the simulation rather than the creation of a new order. (ibid.: 2 1 6)1 7 That political power and subordination were articulated in gendered terms at Odwira, and that gender roles were abandoned and then care fully reconstituted through the mediation of the state, has important implications for my argument. It suggests, in explicit and dramatic ways, that gender, that social constructions of 'maleness' and of 'femaleness', were absolutely central to the annual performance of 'Asanteness'. Gender and 'Asanteness', in other words, were inex tricably linked, one being crucial to the fluid reproduction and re enactment of the other. But how do we fit women explicitly into this process when, with the exception of the queenmother (ohemaa), their roles in the political order were so circumscribed? The 'ritualised rebellion' that was sanc tioned on Odwira nwonakwasie, I would argue, must be seen as acknowledging the power and centrality of women, especially as repro ducers of their lineages (mmusua), even as it affirmed women's subordi nation. As most scholars of twentieth-century Asante from Rattray on have recognised, Asante women, like all Akan women, wielded consid erable social power and that power was rooted in the matrilineage. Rattray's well-known ruminations on this topic bear some repetition

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 1 05

here. 'The most obvious result of [matrilineal] social organization', he wrote, 'is to raise immediately the status of women.' He continues, a proverb, that may be heard as often as the question is put to an Ashanti man or woman why a woman should be of such account, runs as follows: Oba na owo obarima, 'A woman gave birth to a man'. ... [I] n Ashanti no woman stands alone, for behind the woman stands a united family, bound by the tie of blood, which has here a power and a meaning we can hardly grasp. ... The whole con ception of 'mother-right' affords the woman a protection and a status that is more than an adequate safeguard against the ill treatment by any male or group of males. ( 1 923: 78 9) 1 8 -

While one might challenge the extent to which Rattray carries the notion of women's power in Asante, few would dispute his insistence that it was largely derived from and vested in the reproduction of the lineage. Even the lives of major political actors like Akyaawa Yikwan, whose extraordinary diplomatic career has been documented by Wilks, do not undercut this premise. 'The fundamental role of the Asante woman', Wilks concludes, 'was to see to the reproduction, not only in a biological but also in a social and economic sense, of her lineage' ( 1 99 3 : 353). Nor did the power of Asante's queenmothers (ahemaa), those women who exercised quite visible political authority, depart dramatically from this pattern.19 The queenmother, as Arhin writes, 'was officially the foremost authority on the genealogy of the royal matrilineage, and hence, the first and final arbiter on who was qualified by blood to be a male ruler' ( 1 99 3 : 94). In fact, according to Aidoo, it is difficult to sep arate politics from lineage in the careers of queenmothers. 'Many queen mothers', she writes, 'have left impressive records, ... but their political goals were defined and generalized from concrete lineage or family interests. Their political fields were the arenas of state and lineage' ( 1 98 1 : 76; emphasis mine). Indeed, one might argue for the nineteenth century that women's centrality to the process of 'be(com)ing' Asante can be located both in women's central and salient role as mothers (reproducers of the Akan matrilineage) and in the ohemaa 's specific role as arbiter between the arenas of lineage and political order, between state and society. It was through women that the Akan lineage flowed, that the myths, symbols, values and memories of Akan social process passed. And it

1 06

Ethnicity in Ghana

was the ohemaa, 'custodian of "custom" ' (Arhin, 1 9 9 3 : 94), who embodied the vital link between lineage and political order, who presided over the fluid dialectics of state and society. This is not to suggest that women were merely the repositories of some sort of pri mordial, timeless Akan identity. It is, however, to locate them at pivotal points in the making of pre-colonial 'Asanteness'. It is to argue that women were prime manufacturers of what one theoretician has termed the ethnie - the 'collective cultural unit'. This unit, in Anthony Smith's view, is both 'mutable and durable', 'fluctuating and recurrent in history', comprising the 'complex of myths, symbols, memories and values that are handed down the generations of collectivities' ( 1 986: 2 1 1 ) . We might argue in the specific case of Asante that women, as reproducers of the Akan matrilineage, were the prime man ufacturers of an ongoing 'Akan-ness' or Akan ethnic identity - an identity shared by Adanse, Akyem and the other 'first' peoples of the forest zone. During much of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the Asante state interacted, in a dialectical relationship, with this Akan social base, manufacturing, in turn, a hegemonic ideology that more than one histo rian has described as 'Asante nationalism'. 20 The issues to which we now must turn involve the fate of this identity during the final tumultous two decades of the nineteenth century and the first years of colonial rule. The 1 880s saw Asante rocked by civil war. By 1 896 the British had moved in, capturing and exiling key leaders of the Asanteman, including the powerful Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa.21 How would 'Asanteness' fare during this extended crisis? With the pre-colonial state torn from within and, shortly thereafter, dismantled from without, what, if anything, would it mean to be(come) Asante? 'Asanteness' in mosaic

Few would dispute McCaskie's contention that the civil war of the 1 880s fractured 'Asanteness' into a multitude of sometimes competing identities. 'The sedulously nurtured construct of Asante national culture shattered', he argues, a mosaic of localised allegiances (family, lineage, village, oman) came to the fore, and secession took place on a considerable scale. Localisation and secession - centrifugal tendencies - were always implicit, if mostly latent, in the period up to the middle of the nine teenth century . . . . . But now, in the 1 880s, with the advantages of

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing A kan 1 0 7

'belonging' definitely gone, underlying patterns of allegiance, loyalty and protection re-emerged. 22 ( 1 990: 58) And these patterns would not simply evaporate with the cessation of hostilities. The election of Prempe I to the Golden Stool in 1 888 saw an effective end to Asante's civil war, but the Asanteman could devote little time in the immediate aftermath to reconstituting a shattered national culture. From 1 888 to 1 89 6, the nature of relations with Britain completely dominated debates within Asante's political order. Despite the ensuing attempts at 'rapid modernisation' aimed at safe guarding Asante's autonomy, the 'continued existence of Asante as a sovereign power', as Wilks has written, 'was incompatible with the imperial design' ( 1 9 75 : 665). British forces occupied Asante in 1 896. In the colonial aftermath, efforts to forge or to rein vent 'Asanteness' would be carried out in an entirely different political landscape. The evolution of British rule in Asante and the development of colo nial institutions aimed at constituting a viable political order in the twentieth century are treated in numerous sources. 23 What has received far less attention is what it meant, in self-conscious ways, to be Asante during these rather enigmatic colonial years. The secondary literature has certainly relied on some sort of notion of 'Asanteness' for the twentieth century. Scholars have sketched the outlines of some kind of continuous corporate identity that they see manifest in par ticular and quite notable historical events - for example, in the Yaa Asantewa rising of 1 900; in the efforts, successful until 1 92 1 , to keep the Golden Stool hidden from British authorities; in the deep horror and outrage provoked by the desecration of the Golden Stool; and in Asante Kotoko Society efforts aimed at the repatriation of the Asantehene. 24 But was the shattered national mosaic reassembled by such actions? Was the organic fluidity of 'Asanteness' reconstituted by these events? In other words, did 'be(com)ing Asante' in the colonial period come to mean very much the same thing as in the nineteenth century? A closer look at our sources suggests that it did not. During the first decades of colonial rule, before the establishment of the Asante Confederacy Council in 1 935, Britain ruled Asante as a con stellation of states and made every effort to treat Kumasi as one among a group of comparable polities or aman. This political fragmentation tends to obscure, for the historian, the meaning of 'Asanteness' in the first years of colonial rule. As a social identity it appears ephemeral. Where it surfaces in the historical record it is difficult to capture, much


less to characterise. In the case of the Kotoko Society, 'Asanteness' appears almost as class ideology, a language for articulating the aspira tions of many of Asante's newly educated elite. 25 By contrast, in the case of the 1 9 2 1 desecration of the golden stool (and the nkurasefo's reaction to that desecration} , 'Asanteness' appears to completely defy class, ideology or politics; it appears rooted in culture, in some sort of a 'collective cultural unit.'26 This duality, I would argue, reflected the ways in which colonialism fractured Asante identity. Once the Asante state was seized and dismantled by Britain at the turn of the century, the fluid process of be(com)ing Asante ended. What remained was an Akan social/cultural base which during fleeting moments (like those provoked by the desecration of the Golden Stool) found political and historical expression. It could adapt to, accommo date and survive the political disruptions of the 1 880s through the 1920s, as it had similar upheavals since the emergence of the first Akan forest states. However, in the twentieth century, that Akan social base would lack any organic connection to the state, much less to the set of historical actors - both British and Asante - who would go about the business of inventing Asante after 1 900. These men (and, as will become clear below, I use that term intentionally) - from Kotoko Society members to the Asantehene, from Chief Commissioners to District Officers, from businessmen to cocoa farmers - would, in turn, elaborate a politics and ideology of 'Asanteness' that was essentialised, static and ahistorical. To be 'Asante' in the colonial period would be something you were or were not, not something you created and recreated. The invention of a twentieth-century political order for colonial Asante and its ideological complement, a one-dimensional and ascrib able 'Asanteness', is evidenced in a number of ways, although histori ans have only begun to scratch the surface of this enigmatic process of political and ideological construction. Certainly, the Asante Confederacy Council, established by the British in 1 93 5 , was one of the most obvious manifestations. As McCaskie has argued, the entire notion of a confederal Asante only makes sense if 'breathtaking assumptions' are made, 'either that Asante history "began" in the 1 880s, or that political and cultural conditions visible from that decade onward represented an organic continuity of the preceding century and a half of Asante history'. That history, he writes, was the most 'prominent casualty' in the construction or invention of 'the colonial hybrid that the British called the Ashanti confederacy' ( 1 990: 6 1 -2). Further evidence is clearly embedded in two of Asante's most mysteri ous and rather fugitive twentieth-century texts - The History of Ashanti

Be(cum)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 1 09

Kings and the Whole Country Itself, by Prempeh I, and The History of Ashanti, by Prempeh 11 and a committee of 'traditional authorities' (ea. 1 9 40s). I have viewed neither of these texts first-hand but, from what I have been able to glean, they probably tell us as much, if not more, about the ideological construction of colonial Asante, about the politics of 'Asanteness' in the colonial period, as about the origins and pre-colonial history of Asante, the themes with which they were ostensibly concerned (McCaskie, 1 990: 6 1 ff.). Additional pieces of the colonial puzzle can certainly be found in the influential works of anthropologists such as Rattray and Fortes, 27 and Wilks' current project on Asante's Chief Commissioners promises to illuminate the ambigu ous, conflicting, roles of British officials in constructing an 'Asanteness' with which they could increasingly identify.28 Yet this written documentation is not the only evidence available for getting at twentieth-century 'Asanteness', for understanding the ways in which, as an ideology, it was essentialised and rendered ahistorical, or for explaining how it was constructed in virtual isolation from Akan social processes. Embedded in the silences, in cultural voids and in social marginality, I would argue, is some of the very strongest evi dence of all. For if performance and gender were absolutely integral to the fluid reproduction of Akan identity and to the process of be(com)ing Asante in the pre-colonial period, then the absence of Odwira in the colonial period and the government's complete disregard for the critical role of the ohemaa must represent more than unfortu nate voids or random omissions in colonial practice. They must have had far-reaching social repercussions. That the very performance of 'Asanteness', Odwira, 'languished in total abeyance between 1 896 and 1 985' (McCaskie, 1 9 9 5 : 1 5 1 ), is indicative, I would argue, of Asante identity no longer being dialecti cally or organically generated. There was, in short, nothing to be per formed. 'Asanteness' had become an ascribable attribute. When Odwira was resurrected in 1 985, it was as an ideological and decidedly ahistor ical expression of 'cultural nationalism'. 'There were no attempts', as McCaskie writes, 'to restore and to reaffirm the full range of eigh teenth- and nineteenth-century meanings. This latter objective would be otiose, for the autonomous state to which so many of those mean ings attached no longer exists' (ibid.).29 A complementary argument can be made concerning the role of queenmothers. Despite Rattray's ( 1 92 3 : 8 1 -5) admonitions to the colonial government regarding the marginalisation of queenmothers, Asante's ahemaa did not receive official recognition by the State. 'Women', writes Arhin, 'were not

1 1 0 Ethnicity in Ghana

recognised on the colonial chief-list, as members of the Native Authority councils and courts. They had no officially recognised shares in the stool treasuries' ( 1 99 3 : 9 7 ) . Granted, many of the courts of ahemaa continued to function throughout the colonial period; lack of official recognition did not spell collapse and, indeed, being on the margins, as Geiger ( 1 990: 1 2 7) has argued, is not always such a bad place to be! Yet at the same time, we must recognise that rigid colonial structures limited a queenmother's participation in the formulation of the colonial political order and excluded her from the key forums in which colonial Asante was being constructed ideologically. In this regard the marginalisation of Asante's ahemaa, like the disappearance of Odwira, is indicative of fundamental changes in what it could mean to be Asante. Both were causal and symptomatic of a colonial politics that essentialised Asante identity (as ideology) and gendered it quite specifically male.30 That colonial identity would remain severed from its Akan social base - from lineage, from community and from culture. The colonial period thus witnessed the sidelining of Asante ahemaa (and of women more broadly) from the hammering out, by collaborating chiefs and British officials, of political process and from the production of ideology. They were not, however, rendered marginal to lineage or to community. There they continued in their salient roles as mothers and sisters, as reproducers of the Akan lineage. And it is here, I would argue, at this level, that we can locate the strong undercurrents of historical conti nuity between Asante's pre-colonial and colonial past. At the level of the state and of politics, of indirect rule and of ideology, women were now conspicuously absent and 'Asanteness' was no longer something that had to be performed; it only had to be believed. But at the social base, in women's roles as mothers of the lineage, in the values and symbols and rhythms that marked Akan communities, there remained for Asante a 'seamless unity' between an Akan past and an Akan present. Of gender, community and a missionary named Persis Beer

This brings me (in an admittedly not very graceful way) back to the second picture framing this chapter - the portrait of Wesleyan mission ary Sister Persis Beer, the founder and first headmistress of Mmofraturo School. While Sister Persis remains somewhat of a mystery, 3 1 I am con vinced that what we have left, especially as captured in this wonderful portrait, provides rich insight into Asante identity and the colonial encounter. Here I speak not of colonial politics, of 'restored' Councils, or of an ideology of 'Asanteness' articulated through the hybridity of

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing A kan 1 1 1

indirect rule, but of a vibrant cultural identity wrapped around com munities and through lineages, durable, yet mutable, and just as cer tainly not primordial. 32 At the social level of Akan community and lineage, a process, an organic 'be( com)ing' still took place, 33 and, one might argue, 'Akan-ness' continued to be performed at Adae cere monies and at the range of events marking birth, puberty and death. Persis Beer, wittingly or not, was emblematic of that process as she became a participant in the very performance of 'Akan-ness'. At some point, I suspect, her original missionary agenda in Asante underwent substantial change and may even have been subordinated to this process of be(com)ing. We can only ponder the connections, if any, to her disappearance from the mission scene. The process I outline here is not, I believe, unique to Asante, nor to the Akan more broadly speaking. Unfortunately, most of the literature that probes gender, identity and colonialism focuses on the contradictions among the colonisers and the ways in which gendered and racialised colonial boundaries and violations of those boundaries constructed mul tiple identities among the colonisers.34 Little of this recent work centres on the specific ways by which Africans, especially African women, were agents in the production of European colonial identies, and I mean here not simply agents by the fact of their presence, but agents as active con structors, on multiple levels, of those identities. Certainly we could locate and explain Persis Beer's photograph via a host of European pathologies psychological, economic, or social. But that would tell us nothing about Asante. And from my perspective, the most fascinating parts of the col onial puzzle are about what ordinary Asante made of Persis Beer, how they 'invented' her and what, in turn, that can tell us about 'be(com)ing Asante' or 'be(com)ing Akan' in the twentieth century. Sarah Deutsch's work on missionaries in the Anglo-Hispanic frontier of the American Southwest explores similar questions and posits some conclusions relevant to the Asante material ( 1 9 8 7 : 82-6). Deutsch explores the processes by which women missionaries sought to 'turn Hispanics into " Americans" . What she discovered at work was an incorporative process by which Hispanic villagers, particularly women, pulled missionary women into their groups, slotted them into 'tradi tional Hispanic roles', and 'interpreted their message and actions through the prism of their own female world'. Whose culture 'had been absorbed by whom', therefore, became a central problematic: Just as the role of social control and cultural bearer was allotted to the women missionaries, that of social integrator and cultural and


community maintainer was the role adopted by the women vil lagers. Intercultural relations in the village thus took the form of a struggle, largely female, to integrate two peoples, each of whom tried to control and dominate the union, to bring it closer to their own culture. But the women missionaries had come so far, so alone, to reach the villages that they had little chance. ( 1 9 8 7 : 85-6) The parallels with Persis Beer's experiences in Tafo are striking. We will never know, of course, to what extent Sister Persis internalised the 'Akan ness' that was in the eyes of her beholders, but this is not really the issue. Her portrait and the process that it captures are important because they demonstrate both the complexity and the historicity of identity construc tion in Asante. As importantly, they underscore the continued centrality of Asante women, in the colonial period, to the reproduction of an Akan cultural and social base despite women's complete marginalisation from the making, politically and ideologically, of a colonial Asante.35 Concluding questions

My thoughts in this chapter derive largely from a reconsideration of sec ondary source material on Asante and are aimed not so much at spawn ing conclusions as at generating new sorts of questions about gender, identity and the colonial encounter. I conclude, therefore, with a set of questions for future consideration: Of what importance is it to disentan gle an Akan 'ethnic' base (socially and historically generated over several centuries) from the ideological and political constructs of 'Asanteness' in the colonial period or even in the nineteenth century? Certainly, by locating the continuity between Asante's pre-colonial and colonial past in the realm of politics, in the historical documents generated by Prempe I and Prempe 11, or even in the nationalist pleas of groups such as the Asante's National Liberation Movement ( 1 9 5 4-8), have we not circum scribed the very ways we can think about or understand 'being Asante'? Have we not then rendered gender irrelevant to discussions of 'Asanteness' and eliminated women completely from our understanding of how it was manufactured - in ways that seem to defy the nineteenth century evidence? What have been the long-term implications for modern Ghana of a colonising process that has so explicitly marginalised women from political and ideological production? And, finally, for the late twentieth century, can we distinguish, in any meaningful ways, an Asante identity from an Akan identity more generally defined? These are


academic questions, historical questions. Perhaps some of the difficulty we have had in addressing them stems from the fact that they are also profoundly political questions.

Notes

2

3 4

5

6 7

This chapter draws from a broader study of gender and social change in colonial Asante that has been supported by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Fulbright-Hays Faculty Research Programme, the Social Science Research Council, the University of Missouri Research Council and the Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana. I gratefully acknowl edge this support and also thank the Methodist Church Overseas Division for its assistance in locating information about Sister Persis Beer. Comments by Richard Rathbone, lvor Wilks, Susan Porter Benson and David Roediger, as well as the editors of this volume, were instrumental in helping me to conceptualise the issues addressed here, although they bear no responsibil ity for the content. I owe special thanks to Richard Rathbone for encourag ing me not to jump head first into a post-modernist investigation of ethnicity, coloniality and a missionary named Persis Beer - a paper for which I was not particularly well-prepared. The photograph appears, for example, in Steiner, 1 9 0 1 . It is reprinted in Wilks, 1 9 75, plate 3. For general descriptions of the arrest, see Wilks, 1 9 75 : 654-65, and Tordoff, 1 9 6 5 : 38-9. A profile o f Asantehemaa Yaa Kyaa's career can be found in Allman, 1 9 79 : 1 8-29 . On Asante nationalism, see Allman, 1 990b: 263-79; 1 99 1 : 333-8; 1 993; on gender and colonialism, see Allman, 1 990a: 76-89; 1 996a; 1 996b. I n fact, on at least two job interviews in 1 994, I was asked if there were any relationship between my work on the NLM and my current project. In both cases, I replied with confidence, 'No - except that they are both about Asante'. Now, I am not so sure. At this point I will avoid the knotty problem of distinguishing ' national' from 'ethnic' in the Asante case. The subject is briefly explored below; see also Allman, 1 993: 9-1 5 . Women's roles in the NLM movement are discussed briefly in Allman, 1 99 3 : 1 02-4. This seems to be especially true for West Africa. For southern and eastern Africa there have been numerous studies that explore gender, ethnicity and/or nationalism, especially in the colonial settler states. The focus of much of this work, however, is the colonial invention of African 'tribal' identities. See, for example, the essays assembled in Vail, 1 989. Other work, largely by feminist historians, examines gender within the context of broad nationalist movements struggling for independence from colonial rule. See, for example, White, 1 990: 1-27; Presley, 1 992; Geiger, 1 9 8 7 : 1-26. Elizabeth Eldredge's recent work on nineteenth-century Lesotho demonstrates the value of incorporating gender into analyses of pre-colonial polities, though

114

8

9

10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23

24 25 26 27

Ethnicity in Ghana Eldredge does not deal specifically with issues of identity, national or ethnic; see Eldredge, 1 993, esp. 1 26-46 and 1 82-94. Several historians, including myself, have argued with regard to marriage in Asante that the early years of colonial rule witnessed a discernible (and con tested) shift from marriage-as-fluid-and-renegotiated-process to marriage-as state-of-being. A preliminary version of Richard Rathbone's paper on Akyem Abuakwa for the Edinburgh conference convinced me that a similar shift or ' petrification' recast corporate identities; see Rathbone, 1 99 7; also Rathbone, 1 993, esp. 1-20 and 54-6 7 . Edwesohemaa Yaa Asantewa l e d t h e Asante rising against British rule i n 1 900-1 . For a brief summary see Tordoff, 1 965: 98-109. Yaa Kyaa's career i s outlined in Allman, 1 9 79 . See, for example, McCaskie, 1 992: 467-76; Wilks, 1 993, xvi, fn .3; McCaskie, 1 995, esp. 1 2-23 . Kumasefo is literally 'people of Kumasi' - the city and capital; nkurasefo is literally 'people of the village' or rural folk. The 'cradles' of the Akan were Adanse, Akyem, Asante, Assin and Denkyira. See Wilks, 1 99 3 : 9 1 . Mmusua i s the plural o f abusua, meaning matrilineage. See, for example, Arhin, 1 983: 475; Wilks, 1993: 1 1 4-1 7; Wilks, 1 9 75 : 75-9, 1 1 2; McCaskie, 1 9 9 5 : 1 4 1 -242. While McCaskie associates Odwira with the founding of the Asante state, Wilks argues that Odwira predates the found ing of the state and that the incorporation of the suman (charm) Apafram into this older Odwira 'signalled the creation of the Asanteman'; see McCaskie, 1 99 5 : 1 46, and Wilks, 1 9 7 5 : 1 1 5-1b. Wilks, 1 993: 1 1 6. McCaskie, 1 983a: 29-32. For further discussions of adultery, see Rattray, 1 9 2 7 : 86-9 3, and 1 929: 304-23; McCaskie, 1 98 1 : 4 7 7-94; Allman, 1 996a. Fortes echoes these sentiments ( 1 950: 256-7). For useful overviews of the role of the Asantehemaa, see Aidoo, 1 98 1 : 65-77, and Arhin, 1 99 3 : 90-8. See Wilks, 1 9 7 5 : 6 7 1 -3, and 1 993: 324; McCaskie, 1 9 9 5 : 226-7, and 1 986b: 1 6-1 7; Allman, 1 99 3 : 9-1 1 . For brief accounts see Wilks, 1 9 7 5 : 654-65, and Tordoff, 1 965 : 39ff. For a detailed account of the political disorder see Wilks, 1 9 75 : 549-88. For briefer considerations see McCaskie 1 990: 58, or 1 983: 38-9 . It is interesting that Smith ( 1 986: 1 8) uses the same term - 'mosaic' - to describe ethnic pat terns in nation-formation. See, for example, Arhin, 1 9 72: 107-14; Boaten, 1 9 73 : 5 7-63; Busia, 1 9 5 1 ; Crook, 1 9 73 : 2-2 7; Hailey, 1 9 5 1 ; Tordoff, 1 9 65; Triulzi, 1 9 72 : 98-1 1 1 . While this literature is rich i n political detail it is not as successful at un covering the social and cultural meanings of the colonial encounter. See, for example, Tordoff, 1 965: 78, 1 05, 99, 1 0 1 , 1 75ff. Tordoff, 1 965: 1 75-6; see also Appiah 1 992: 274-6, and McCaskie, 1 990: 6 1 . McCaskie, 1 986a: 1 6 . McCaskie writes that for the nkurasefo, the Golden Stool was 'the symbol of Asante-ness'. On the ways in which Rattray and Meyer Fortes have shaped our notions of Asante history and identity, see McCaskie, 1 986b: 326-9 and 1 983b:


28 29 30

31

32

33

34

35

1 8 7-206. Obviously, much more critical work needs to be done on the ways in which European travellers, colonial officials and early anthropologists such as Rattray have circumscribed our understanding of Asante's past. See Wilks, in this volume. See also McCaskie, 1 990: 66. Cooper ( 1 994: 1 523) writes of African nationalism in the 1 9 50s that it 'explicitly constructed itself in masculine . . . terms'. The Asante material suggests that the roots of that process of 'masculinisation ' may extend into the early colonial period. For a fuller discussion see Allman, 1 994: 34-43. I have not yet had a chance to explore local records in Britain regarding Persis Beer's life after she departed from Mmofraturo, so I am uncertain when she died. Inquiries to the Overseas Division of the Methodist Church have turned up little information. Apparently Persis Beer disappears from their internal records by 1 945. The mission archivist reports that a brief reference to Sister Persis in a correspon dence file suggests that she had some sort of 'serious mental breakdown. This is frequently the case when records stop suddenly and missionaries disap pear'; personal correspondence from M. J. Fox, Archivist, Overseas Division of the Methodist Missionary Society, London, 20 October 1 992. See Young, 1 986: 4 2 1 -95 for a discussion of the impact of Geertz's ( 1 963) notion of primordialism on Africanist scholarship. I critique the applicabil ity of 'primordial' to Asante nationalism (Allman, 1 99 3 : 3-1 1 ) . I t might b e interesting t o compare the social and political meanings o f Sister Persis' portrait with Wilks' description (in this volume) of Asante Chief Commissioner Fuller positioned under a large state umbrella (kyinie) during his audience with a number of Asante's Amanhene. How are the processes they capture different? How are they similar, or at least complementary? See, for example, Cooper and Stoler, 1 989: 609-2 1 ; Stoler, 1 989: 1 34-6; Jayawardena, 1 9 9 5 . For a useful overview of the new 'dialogue' between anthropology and literary criticism as it relates to a 'new colonial history' of Africa, see Cooper, 1 994: esp. 1 5 26-9. Indeed, Ranger concludes his discussion ( 1 983: 262) of invented tradition in colonial Africa with the reminder that social continuity and cultural innovation endured beneath the petrified political and ideological struc tures of indirect rule.

References Aidoo, A. A. ( 1 9 8 1 ) 'Asante Queen Mothers in Government and Politics in the Nineteenth Century', in F. C Steady (ed .), The Black Woman Cross-Culturally (Cambridge, MA: Schenkman). Allman, Jean ( 1 9 79) 'Yaa Kyaa: Career Sheet', Asantesem, 1 1 : pp. 1 8-29 . Allman, Jean ( 1 990a) 'Of "Spinsters ", "Concubines" and " Wicked Women " : Reflections o n Gender a n d Social Change in Colonial Asante', Gender and History, 3 : pp. 1 76-89.

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Allman, jean ( 1 990b) 'The Youngmen and the Porcupine: Class, Nationalism and Asante's Struggle for Self-Determination', Journal of African History, 3 1 : pp. 263-79. Allman, jean ( 1 99 1 ) 'Discussion (with Richard Rathbone) : "The Youngmen and the Porcupine", Journal ofAfrican History, 32: pp. 333-8 . Allman, jean ( 1 993) The Quills of the Porcupine: Asante Nationalism in an Emergent Ghana, 1 954- 1 95 7 (Madison : University of Wisconsin Press) . Allman, jean ( 1 994) 'Making Mothers: M issionaries, Medical Officers and Women's Work in Colonial Asante, 1 9 24-45', History Workshop Journal, 38: pp. 25-48. Allman, jean ( 1 996a) 'Adultery and the State in Asante: Reflections on Gender, Class and Power from 1 800 to 1 9 50', in j. 0 . Hunwick, and N. Lawler (eds) The Cloth of Many Colored Silks: Papers on History and Society (Evanston: Northwestern University Press) . Allman, jean ( 1 99 6b) ' Rounding up Spinsters: Unmarried Women and Gender Chaos in Colonial Asante', Journal ofAfrican History, 3 7 : pp. 1 95-2 1 4 . Appiah, Kwame ( 1 992) I n m y Father's House: Africa in the Philosophy o f Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press) . Arhin, Kwame ( 1 9 72) 'A Note on an Aspect of Indirect Rule in Ashanti: The Appam', Universitas 2 : pp. 1 07-1 4 . Arhin, Kwane ( 1 983) ' Peasants in Nineteenth Century Asante', Current Anthropology, 24: pp. 4 7 1-9. Arhin, Kwane ( 1 993) 'The Political and Military Roles of Akan Women', in C . Oppong (ed.), Female and Male in West Africa (London : Alien and Unwin). Boaten, K. ( 1 9 73) 'Asante and Colonial Rule, 1 902- 1 9 3 5 ' , Universitas, 3 : p p . 5 7-63 . Busia, K. ( 1 9 5 1 ) The Position of the Chief in the Modern Political System of Ashanti (Oxford: International African Institute) . Cooper, F. ( 1 994) 'Conflict and Connection: Rethinking Colonial African History', American Historical Review, 99: pp. 1 5 1 6-45 . Cooper, F. and Stoler, A. ( 1 989) 'Tensions o f Empire: Colonial Control and Visions of Rule', American Ethnologist, 16: pp. 609-2 1 . Crook, Richard ( 1 9 73) 'Colonial Rule and Political Culture i n Colonial Ashanti', Journal of Commonwealth Political Studies, 1 1 : pp. 2-2 7 . Deutsch, Sarah ( 1 987) No Separate Refuge: Culture, Class and Gender on an A nglo Hispanic Frontier in the American Southwest, 1 880- 1 940 (Oxford : Oxford University Press). Eldredge, Elizabeth ( 1 993) A South African Kingdom: The Pursuit of Security in Nineteenth Century Lesotho (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Fortes, Meyer ( 1 950) ' Kinship and Marriage among the Ashanti', in A. R. Radcliffe-Brown and D . Forde (eds), African Systems of Kinship and Marriage (London: Oxford University Press) . Geertz, Clifford ( 1 963) 'The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in the New States', in C. Geertz (ed.), Old Societies and New States: The Quest for Modernity in Africa and Asia (New York: Free Press) . Geiger, Susan ( 1 987) 'Women in Nationalist Struggle: TANU Activists in Oar es Salaam', International Journal ofAfrican Historical Studies, 20: pp. 1-26. Geiger, Susan ( 1 990) 'What's so Feminist about Women's Oral History', Journal of Women's History, 2 : pp. 1 69-82.

Be(com)ing Asante, be(com)ing Akan 1 1 7 Hailey, M . ( 1 9 5 1 ) Native Administration in the British African Territories, lii (London: HMSO) . Jayawardena, K. ( 1 995) The White Woman 's Other Burden: Western Women and South Asia During Colonial Rule (New York: Routledge) . McCaskie, Tom C. ( 1 9 8 1 ) 'State and Society, Marriage and Adultery: Some Considerations Towards a Social H istory of Pre-Colonial Asante', Journal of African History, 22: pp. 4 7 7-94 . McCaskie, Tom C. ( 1 983a) 'Accumulation, Wealth a n d Belief in Asante History: I . To the Close of the Nineteenth Century', Africa, 53: pp. 23-4 3 . McCaskie, Tom C. ( 1 983b) 'R. S. Rattray a n d t h e Construction of Asante History: An Appraisal', History in Africa, 10: pp. 1 8 7-206. McCaskie, Tom C. ( 1 986a) 'Accumulation, Weath and Belief in Asante History: 11. The Twentieth Century', Africa, 56: pp. 3-23. McCaskie, Tom C . ( 1 986b) ' Komfo Anokye of Asante : Meaning, H i story and Philosophy i n an African Society', Journal of African History, 2 7 : p p . 3 1 5-39 . McCaskie, Tom C . ( 1 990) ' Inventing Asante', in P. F . d e Moraes Farias, and K . Barber (eds), Self-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in Wes t A frica (Birmingham: Centre of West African Studies, Birmingham University) . McCaskie, Tom C. ( 1 992) ' Empire State: Asante and the H istorians', Journal of African History, 33: pp. 467-76. McCaskie, Tom C . ( 1 995) State and Society in Pre-Colonial Asante (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Presley, C . A., ( 1 992) Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion and Social Change in Kenya (Boulder: Westview) . Ranger, Terence ( 1 983) 'The Invention of Tradition in Colonial Africa', in E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger (eds) The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Rathbone, Richard ( 1 993) Murder and Politics in Colonial Ghana (New Haven: Yale University Press) . Rathbone, Richard ( 1 99 7 ) ' Defining Akyemfo: The Construction of Citizenship in Akyem Abuakwa', Africa, 66: 507-25. Rattray, R. S. ( 1 923) Ashanti (Oxford: Clarendon Press) . Rattary, R. S. ( 1 927) Religion and Art in Ashanti (Oxford: Clarendon Press) . Rattary, R. S. ( 1 929) Ashanti Law and Constitution (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Smith, Anthony D. ( 1 986) The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford: Blackwell). Steiner, P. ( 1 90 1 ) Dark and Stormy Days a t Kumassi, 1 900 (London: S . W . Partridge) . Stoler, Ann ( 1 989) ' Rethinking Colonial Categories: European Communities and the Boundaries of Rule', Comparative Studies in Society and History, 32: pp. 1 34-6 1 . Tordoff, William ( 1 965) Ashanti under the Prempehs, 1 888-1 935 (Oxford: Oxford University Press) . Triulzi, Alessandro ( 1 9 72) 'The Asantehene-in-Council: Ashanti Politics under Colonial Rule, 1 9 3 5- 1 950', Africa, 42: pp. 98-1 1 1 . Vail, LeRoy (ed.), ( 1 989) The Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa ( London: james Currey) .

1 1 8 Ethnicity in Ghana White, Louise ( 1 990) 'Separating the Men From the Boys: Constructions of Gender, Sexuality and Terrorism in Central Kenya, 1 939-1 959', /ntemational Journal ofAfrican Historical Studies, 23: pp. 1-27. Wilks, Jvor ( 1 9 75) Asante in the Nineteenth Century: The Structure and Evolution of a Political Order (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Wilks, Ivor ( 1 993) Forests of Gold: Essays on the Akan and the Kingdom of Asante (Athens: Ohio University Press). Young, Crawford ( 1 986) 'Nationalism, Ethnicity and Class in Africa: A Retrospective', Cahiers d'Etudes Africaines, 103: pp. 421-95 .

Chapter

6

Imagined martial communities : recruiting for the military and police in colonial Ghana, 1 8 60- 1 9 60 David Killingray

The current debate on ethnicity in northern Ghana provides relatively little insight into the mental maps of the people, largely non-literate, who inhabited that region in the mid- and late nineteenth century. Contemporary constructs by local intellectuals, and stories of origin, may say more about current contentions than about once-perceived notions of identity (Lentz, 1 99 4a,b) . Ideas of identity vary and most societies have a variety of 'imagined communities', often with chang ing, competing and overlapping loyalties. In northern Ghana the ethnic picture is confused not only by the diversity of peoples but by our lack of knowledge of how groups identified themselves in the past, how different such identities were from the way in which people now identify themselves, by the superimposition upon them by European outsiders of 'tribal' identities, and the changes brought about by colo nialism and modernity. This chapter deals with the latter category - the ways in which the colonial rulers viewed the peoples of the north and sought to cate gorise them so that they satisfied and served their official interests as soldiers and policemen. From the mid-nineteenth century Hausa and other peoples of the northern interior of Nigeria and the Gold Coast were identified by the colonial rulers as possessing martial qualities and were thus sought as recruits for the colonial military and security forces. From these early stereotypes developed official patterns of ethnic recruiting and enlistment which continued throughout the colonial period and beyond. In the mid- and late nineteenth century, British perceptions of what constituted ethnic identities were imposed on African and non-European peoples. Those characteristics believed to distinguish ethnic identity language, laws, modes of dress, customs, personal appearance - were 119


reported on by European directed officials travelling in northern Ghana from the 1 8 80s.1 In Asante a legacy of political dominance and the regular receipt by Kumase since the eighteenth century of slaves as tribute from the acephalous polities of the northern savanna region, already signified the foreignness of these culturally diverse non-Twi speaking peoples. Their separate identity was often marked by cicatrices and distinctive dress and their servile status labelled them as nnonkofo. 2 Asante also employed regiments of northern soldiers, and Muslim traders and scribes from the north were a familiar sight in nineteenth-century Kumase. Traders from the far hinterland also came down to the towns of the Gold Coast Colony in increasing numbers following the defeat of Asante in 1 8 7 4, and in the zongo settlements of the south a distinctive sense of ethnic identity was maintained and evolved which was largely Muslim and Hausa-speaking (Schildkrout, 1 9 78). With the establish ment of formal rule over the Gold Coast Colony the British began to recruit northerners for the newly created paramilitary Gold Coast Constabulary. These men were identified as possessing martial qualities, and their enlistment as soldiers and policemen determined the ethnic shape of the coercive forces of the Gold Coast throughout the whole colonial period and beyond into the post-independence years. It is with this process and pattern of recruitment, from the imagined martial com munities of the north, that this chapter is principally concerned. Colonial ethnic armies

Colonial armies, those forces raised and employed by colonial rulers to secure and extend their imperial possessions and which in some cases also served in overseas campaigns, were invariably ethnic armies com posed of men recruited from among specific groups of people in a colony, or from those living in regions peripheral to the colony (Enloe, 1 980; Adekson, 1 9 79; Kirk-Greene, 1 980; Mazrui, 1 9 7 5 , 1 9 7 7) . The appellation of 'martial races' became attached by European officials to many of these ethnic groups or peoples, sometimes in recognition of a martial tradition but frequently without any justification. The martial identity was a construct largely of European minds and reflected popu larly held views of ethnology and racial hierarchies Oeffreys, 1 907). All modern colonial rulers appear to have identified preferred 'martial' peoples or ethnicities and in the same process to have identified other peoples and ethnicities as unsuited for military employment. For the British the pattern was well established in India and helped to inform later processes in Africa. 3 Thus the Kalenjin, Lango, Acholi, Kamba and

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121

Kakwa were recruited into the King's African Rifles, the Susu and Bambara for the Tirailleurs Senegalaise, and Somalis and Eritreans for the Italian colonial forces. In military campaigns in West Africa in the early and mid-nineteenth century the British authorities employed whatever troops were readily available. Disease mortality and cost ruled out extensive use of European troops and by mid-century considerations of economics and efficiency determined that locally recruited Africans should replace sol diers of the West India Regiment. 4 This was first done in Lagos in the early 1 860s when runaway slaves were recruited into a local constabu lary which became known as the Armed Hausa Police Force. Only some of these men were Hausa-speaking or from the north, but Hausa was used as the language of command and increasingly northerners were identified as 'martial'. Hausa troops from Lagos (popularly referred to as 'Glover's Forty Thieves') were added to the garrison of the Gold Coast in 1 8 72. Glover enlisted further Hausa soldiers from northern slaves bought in Accra at £5 per head, a practice not approved by the Colonial Office.5 Hausa troops were used during the Ashanti campaign of 1 8 73-74 and thereafter were increasingly identified as the archetypal martial race - men who were sturdy, amenable to discipline, steady in battle, and also able to march great distances with relatively few provi sions. Glover referred to them as the 'Sikhs of West Africa' ( 1 8 74: 3 30), while a correspondent writing to the London Times described them as 'all pure-blooded negroes, and, as a rule ... fine, tall, and soldierly looking men. Like all other Mohammedan tribes on the coast they walk with a good deal of swagger.'6 A substantial part of Glover's force in the Gold Coast was composed of ex-slaves drawn from Lagos, Ilorin, Bida and the eastern Volta district, and this became the nucleus of the Gold Coast Constabulary formed in 1 8 79. At the same time the Asante state was also recruiting 'Hausas' into its army and creating a body closely modelled on the Constabulary (Wilks, 1 9 7 5 : 6 1 7-2 1 ). By the late 1 8 70s the Gold Coast Government was making determined efforts to recruit Hausas from the northern hinterland and also from the lower Niger region. So also were other European powers - the Germans in Kamerun, the French and the Congo Free State.7 As Lonsdale, on a recruiting expedition to the north in 1 880, explained to chiefs in the Salaga region: 'The Government has so high an opinion of the natives of the Houssa country that it employs a military force recruited entirely from peoples of that district.'8 By the mid-nineteenth century European ethnographic writers had advanced the notion that the Hausa were superior to the peoples of the


Guinea coast. For example, J. C. Prichard in his Natural History of Man placed the 'acute, intelligent and industrious' Hausa north of an imagin ary geographical line that bisected Africa and its 'races' ( 1 85 5 : 324). Prichard thus implied, as Mary Hamer suggests, 'that an intelligent viewer could tell just by looking at the man from Haussa [sic] that under his black skin lay a bone structure and a moral development that was much closer to the European than a man would have if he had been born further to the south' ( 1 996: 59) . Within a relatively short time the term 'Hausa' came to be applied to the peoples of the northern interior of West Africa, although identification was often imprecise as a senior military officer emphasized: It is very difficult to tell a true Hausa from the Hausa States, as men who have never been east of Salaga, and those whose mothers were NT [Northern Territories] pagans, bear the true Hausa marks, and there is only the man's word and his account to judge by.9 In Nigeria also definitions of the 'Hausa' varied. Adamu writes that 'it is impossible to give a simple definition of a Hausa person because differ ent criteria were, and still are, used by different people at different times and places to define who was or should be regarded as a Hausa'. Later he adds that many migrants to the south who were classified as Hausa 'were not members of the same ethnic group and many of them took Hausa ethnicity only while away from their homes' ( 1 9 78 : 3 , 1 5, 26). The Colonial Office in 1 896 defined 'pure Hausa' country as that part of northern Nigeria between latitude 8°N to 1 4°N and longitude 4°E to 1 1 °E. Officials in the Gold Coast recognised this but also talked of ' Hausa country' as that region 'north of the Volta'. Ten years later the Annual Report on Ashanti said that Hausa was 'a generic term used to refer to all up-country traders', and this was the way the term was generally used in the Gold Coast over the next twenty to thirty years. Images of ethnic martial prowess in northern Ghana

From the late 1 8 70s onwards the pattern of recruiting for the Gold Coast Constabulary (police and military) was directed primarily at securing people who were referred to as Hausa. They were sought in the Niger valley, until 1 896, and also in the hinterland of the Gold Coast. As with Glover's ' Hausa' force in the 1 8 70s, many of those enlisted by recruiting expeditions were other than Hausa, indeed often without a knowledge of the language. For example, in 1 900 the Chief

Imagined martial communities 1 23

Commissioner of the Northern Territories, Morris, reported that the Hausa of the region were excellent 'as fighting material', but his refer ence was to Kanjarga, Mossi, Grunshi and Dagomba, who by then con stituted the largest ethnic groups in the Gold Coast Constabulary.10 The Zabarima were also identified as martial, and with some justification following Babatu's depredations in the Wa region in the late 1 8 80s-1 890s; in 1 8 9 7 Stewart attempted without success to recruit Babatu's raiders into the Constabulary, even to the extent of offering the rank of Native Officer to Babatu himself. 1 1 Judgements by Europeans about martial worth, loyalty and disloyalty, and whether one group rather than another was amenable to discipline, were often subjective and superficial.1 2 Various theories were formulated to explain relative martial usefulness and valour in West Africa. Inevitably the Indian paradigm had a considerable influence. Martial qualities were explained as the result of race and religion. terrain and climate, forms of diet, of pastoral activity against cultivation. Wolseley wrote of pastoralists as brave and accustomed to war, and noted that Muslims made better fighting men than 'idolaters'. Lugard was of the opinion that 'the nilotic tribes - known as " Sudanese" and " Blacks" - though not intelligent . . . [were] more dependable' (Wolseley, 1 888: 699-700; Lugard, 1 922: 5 74). Opinions varied on the value of Muslims as soldiers. Governor Ussher, in 1 880, argued that the efficiency of the Gold Coast Constabulary rested upon its 'distinctive character of Mohammadanism' with Hausas who were 'faithful and well behaved . . . fierce and intractable in warfare and [who] look with contempt on pagans'P A few years later the Acting Inspector General emphasised that 'the Mohammedan faith is the forma tion of the military character of the force', and he deprecated the policy of recruiting 'heathens' from Salaga who were 'inferior both morally and from a military point of view to the Hausa' .14 Similar sentiments were echoed a few years later by Wolseley in his autobiography, while Lugard warned at over-dependence upon Muslim troops who might be suscept ible to religious propaganda. Nevertheless, the authorities in the Gold Coast built mosques for retired soldiers in the zongos of the south, hoping thus to encourage a regular source of 'alien' recruits within the Colony itself. In fact, relatively few people in the Northern Territories were Muslims, an area in which such beliefs had taken root only thinly; and within the Gold Coast Constabulary/Regiment, and the police force, there were ever only a handful of Muslims. Racial theories about martial qualities became an accepted part of the official colonial military mind. Colonel Haywood, in his report on the


recruiting campaign of 1 9 1 7, talked about 'fighting tribes' and 'tribes who are cowardly by nature and totally unfitted to become soldiers'. As Inspector General in 1 923 he divided West African peoples into 'recruitable' and 'non-recruitable' tribes, arguing that 'the fighting spirit is weak among people of the forest belt' .15 As late as 1 943 a mili tary officer was describing the 'Hausa' of the 8 1 st Division as people who live in a healthy but poor country and the principle of the survival of the fittest has resulted in making them a remarkably tough race. Furthermore they are cleaner than the coastal people, more intelli gent and are accustomed to think for themselves. In consequence they . . . are more adapted to 'modern warfare'.16 Clearly these were perceptions largely based on myths. As Charles Harper, the Chief Assistant to the Colonial Secretary, commented during the recruiting campaigns of the First World War, the 'tribes' of the Northern Territories 'have no fighting traditions behind them, they have been periodically overrun and enslaved, and indeed they are known today as " Donkos" . The Coast native has some fighting tradi tion behind him'Y As far as proven martial qualities were concerned these were possessed by the Asante, but with few exceptions most mili tary and political officials suspected their loyalty and opposed recruit ing them for either the colonial army or the police.18 Views about military ethnic hierarchies appear to reflect the experi ences of individual European officers. Northcott strongly criticised sea soned Hausa soldiers under his command in the Northern Territories as 'very poor and prone to become unmanageable'; Armitage and Montanaro described some of the Hausa troops in the Ashanti relief column as 'demoralised' and the Yoruba as of greater intelligence and more brave. During the same campaign Willcocks rated the Yoruba more highly as troops 'and any misgivings as to their abilities which may hitherto have been felt by those who only believed in the Hausas are vanished' [sic] .19 At a meeting of a subcommittee at the Colonial Office, chaired by Lugard in March 1 899, there was no real agreement as to which group or groups of people in West Africa provided the best recruits, although Hausa were held in high although not universal regard.20 Although Fante, and also some Yoruba and a few Asante, were recruited for the Gold Coast Constabulary (some southerners pre tended to be northerners in order to join up), most European army officers disparaged southerners and coastal peoples as 'cowardly', 'lazy',


and useless as soldiers. This was a prejudice fashioned over a long time. One or two voices praised the martial qualities of certain coastal peoples, but for the most part observers, from Brackenbury to Haywood, regarded the Fante as tainted by a thin veneer of 'civilis ation', 'trousered apes' and 'savvy boys' who were devoid of martial qualities.21 Asante recruits were only enlisted during the desperate search for manpower during the First World War and their poor response was explained by Haywood in 1 9 1 7 as due to their martial spirit being sapped by commerce and cocoa ( 1 926: 202-3) . 22 Thus the Northern Territories represented the only area within the Gold Coast that would provide acceptable recruits, and northern martial qualities became a largely unquestioned orthodoxy for the next forty or more years. But even there people were arranged in a martial hierarchy, with the Kanjarga, Mossi, Grunshi and Zabarima heading the list.23 The martial ideal was very much an idea in the minds of European recruiters rather than an innate quality of the men they recruited. Such views were taken up by some early anthropologists and even Evans-Pritchard, writing on the Nuer of the upper Sudan, fostered the notion of their martial qualities Oohnson, 1 980). European officers had a very clear idea of the kind of men that they wished to recruit into the peacetime regular colonial army and the police force, and they projected that martial image on those whom they thought met that standard. Again and again officers emphasised that the ideal recruit was a man who was loyal and amenable to discipline. The best sources were societies untouched by modern ideas of government or com merce, providing non-literate men who would be a clean slate upon which could be written new military codes of discipline and obedience. As one former military officer wrote: just as in a British Regiment the ignorant country yokel is usually a more welcome recruit than the sharp youngster of the city, the reputation of the Grunshi or Dagarti (for example) as a useful and reliable soldier appears to be due not so much to his undoubted intelligence, as to his superiority over the native of the coast or forest in physique and simplicity of character. (Cookson, 1 9 1 5 : 307) This emphasis on simplicity was regularly mentioned in official reports (a 'dog-like devotion to his leaders', as General Stockwell put it in 1 945), as was physical appearance. 'The blacker the face, the huskier their voice, the thicker their neck, the darker their skin and the more


remote parts of Africa they come from - the better soldier they made', argued one British officer serving with the King's African Rifles in 1 940.24 So also was the idea of remoteness. In 1 923 Haywood wrote that 'it is probable that the wilder men from the extreme North such as the Fra-Fra and Grunshi are better than those from tribes further South, such as the Dagombas'.25 Even the recording of ethnic names of recruits was suspect according to Cardinal!, who wrote, rather clumsily, that the three words Grunshi, Fra-Fra and Kanjarga are always used to distinguish the tribal names of recruits, either military or police. Recruits did not usually present themselves direct to the white man, but were introduced by native soldiers, who thus perpetuated the inaccuracy, and since it is almost the invariable custom for a man when changing his life to such an extent as to become a soldier to alter his name, the recruit made no effort to correct the fallacy. (Cardinal!, 1 9 2 1 : viii) With all that, soldiers still had to be made. Quality of leadership was regarded by Europeans as important, more so in that it was believed (indeed, there is considerable evidence to show it was so) that recruits transferred their loyalty from traditional rulers to army officers and to some extent to the institution of the army itself. Certainly that idea was encouraged and believed to be so by many white officers. Perhaps, as Mazrui suggests, men from acephalous societies were more able to make the transfer of loyalty to a body such as the army ( 1 9 7 5 : 35). Indigenous political structures, so European officials believed, were important considerations when selecting soldiers. In the First World War Governor Clifford argued that the political institutions of the Twi-speaking people ... are of a markedly democratic type ... the individuals comprising these races are accordingly disposed by temperament to be at once masterful and masterless. . .. [These] peculiarities of character .. . are much less pronounced in the mass of the tribes of the interior from whom the men of the Gold Coast Regiment have normally been drawn in times of peace.26 As late as 1 9 4 7 it was argued in West African Command that 'the tradi tional tribal discipline of the North made them [northerners] at present better regimental soldiers and leaders'. 27 It was also generally accepted


127

that military service improved a man, i n health and physique, mental alertness, gave him a sense of purpose, introduced him to elements of modernisation such as the cash economy, sanitary ideas, and notions of industrial time. To Migeod, army service and discipline helped arrest the process of degeneration ( 1 9 1 1 : 8). Race, ethnicity and recruiting in northern Ghana

The necessity of recruiting non-northerners for the Gold Coast Regiment during the First World War confirmed many officers in the belief that 'recruitable tribes' were only in the north. The war, in fact, reinforced the martial image. Haywood's report of 1 923 said that the best recruits for the military came from among the Grunshi, Fra-Fra, Kanjarga, Dagomba, Dagarti, and Mamprussi located north of l OoS in the North West and North East Provinces and east of the White Volta River in the Southern Province. 28 A large number of the men who joined the Gold Coast Regiment in the Northern Territories came from across the border from neighbouring French colonies, a pattern that was maintained throughout the whole of the colonial period. For example, a rough estimate is that by 1 9 1 4 nearly 60 per cent of recruits were from outside the Gold Coast, although this figure fell drastically to 5 per cent by 1 9 1 8 as a result of French recruiting campaigns, particu larly in Upper Volta (Thomas, 1 9 7 5 : 5 9-6 1 ) . Most of these men came from ethnic groups that either straddled the border or were just within French territory, but a few came from much further afield, even as far as the bend of the Niger. In 1 928 around 30 per cent of the Regiment were men from ethnic groups totally outside the Gold Coast. 29 No attempt was made to record separately soldiers who came from the French colonies until the Second World War when the GCR included not only recruits from across the border but also several hundred French African soldiers opposed to the Vichy regime. A summary of African other ranks in 1 942-3 shows that just over 1 9 per cent of the GCR were originally from the French colonies. 3 0 Only in 1 9 6 1 did Ghana legislate that all recruits for the army had to be nationals. Throughout the colonial period the GCR was a polyglot mercenary force. Hausa had been adopted as the language of command for the Constabulary in the 1 870s and this was used in the West African Frontier Force until 1 9 3 7 when English was steadily introducedY However, by the late 1 890s recruits were increasingly being drawn from non-Hausa speaking peoples, from the northern hinterland of the Gold Coast but also from the Yoruba and Nupe, so that the language of command


became a problem. In 1 896 a separate Yoruba company was created, and during the next 20 years race, or class, companies were formed. In 1 903 the GCR had separate companies for Wangara, Hausa, Fulani, Mossi, Grunshi, Mende, Temne, and two for Yoruba. Official opinion about race companies was divided. Lugard generally opposed them as liable to lead to quarrels in barracks. On the other hand he thought that they might be a 'wise precaution' in an alien area. 32 General Sir ]ames Willcocks' view was that they aided drill and encouraged esprit de corps, an opinion shared by Governor Nathan. At the same time care had to be taken in the use of race companies. It was not 'judicious or even safe . . . to entrust the guardianship of these [newly conquered territories] entirely to men of the same race and creed as the vanquished', and Kemball saw such an organisation as likely to increase 'undetected sedi tion'.33 But it was language diversity that caused the system to be adopted, although the ethnic returns show that race companies were at best arbitrary divisions of the rank and file. The system came to an end in the First World War. But the GCR remained a polyglot force - over 2 1 ethnic groups from the Northern Territories alone were listed for the Great War years,34 although the increasing use of Hausa as a language of command undoubtedly helped to give a sense of distinctiveness if not of unity to the men of the GCR. A northern and alien recruited army could not be viewed with other than hostility by the peoples of central and southern Ghana. This was less so with the main branch of the police, which was a Fante force, although the Escort police (so-called 'khaki police') composed of ex soldiers was intensely disliked and feared. A uniform was used as a licence to loot and extort, and in Ashanti in particular the army was viewed as 'an alien and hated body of men'.35 To a certain extent the rapid expansion of the GCR during the Second World War changed not only the balance of the ethnic composition of the army but also south ern attitudes to it. By 1945 nearly 70,000 men had served in the army, a growing number being literate men recruited from the Colony, the Togoland Mandated Territory and Ashanti, although by early 1 943 northerners still formed 62 per cent of the force (Killingray, 1 982). At the end of the war the idea of the 'martial races' as traditionally applied to the north came to be regarded as inappropriate. Nevertheless, official reports continued to speak of a hierarchy of 'infantry tribes'. The post war army largely reverted to the well-established patterns of recruiting and when the Gold Coast became independent in 1 9 5 7 over 60 per cent of manpower was drawn from the traditional recruiting grounds of the north (Staniland, 1 9 72) .


The reason for the continued northern ethnic shape of the military is not hard to find. In peacetime in particular, southerners despised the uniformed body of non-literate aliens who policed their areas. The expanding economy of the 1 9 50s provided wage and career opportuni ties that put military service near the bottom of the list. And in the heightened tension of the nationalist struggle the army was seen even more as a coercive institution of colonialism. A small number of south erners gained commissions and became NCOs in the painfully slow process of africanisation, but the rank and file of the GCR remained overwhelmingly northern. To change the pattern of recruiting, and thus the structure of the GCR, in the short term was not possible. But there was an added reason, which fluctuated in significance as official minds responded to political developments and served to act as a brake on too rapid change, and that was the need to maintain a northern recruited force in order to safeguard colonial security. General Brocas Burrows, the C-in-C West Africa, took a pessimistic view of possible post-war political developments in the area, which were largely fostered by the demise of British power in India. Writing to Ismay in 1 945 he said: The fighting tribes of the North are almost on a par with the best that INDIA can produce, and military training will lead them on the road to education and advanced civilization; this will put them on a higher category than the over-educated coast boy who is likely to become as dangerous an element as the coNGREss supporter in INDIA.36 Seven years later, when Nkrumah headed an administration under a dyarchic system, these fears continued with the Central Security Council arguing that the best way to keep the GCR free of 'left-wing influences' was to continue to recruit northerners to the army and the policeY The military in the Gold Coast emerged out of the paramilitary Constabulary created in 1 8 79. The Constabulary, originally composed of Hausa, by the 1 880s had also recruited Fante rank and file. This bi ethnic structure (although it was much more complex than that) deter mined roles: the Hausa element served in the interior as an armed gendarmerie while the Fante assumed more and more a civil function in the coastal towns. This civil-military structure ended in the mid1 890s with the creation of separate civil police and military police. By then the majority of the constables in both wings were northerners. The military wing, in 1 90 1 , became the Gold Coast Regiment of the

1 30

Ethnicity in Ghana

quasi-federal West African Frontier Force. Meanwhile the civil police developed new armed units dedicated to the railways, mines, and escort duties. Most recruits to all the police forces, as well as to the 250strong Preventive Service charged to combat smuggling, were former soldiers. In 1 90 7 a Northern Territories Constabulary was created, an armed force that policed the Northern Territories. This was a paramili tary body, initially composed entirely of time-served men from the Gold Coast Regiment whose functions it assumed, and thereafter it enlisted ex-soldiers until it was disbanded in 1 929. In many respects all branches of the police, both the General branch that worked in the southern towns and the armed units, were similar to the GCR: north ern, alien, and regarded with fear and loathing by all sections of the population (Killingray, 1 99 1 : 106-2 5 ) . Clifford, in 1 9 1 3, reluctantly acknowledged that the police was little short of being what he called 'Hausarised'.38 Over the next 40 years the General police force slowly recruited more non-northerners, although not to the Escort branch, which remained exclusively a northern preserve and largely formed from ex-soldiers. In 1 95 6 a survey of the ethnic origin of the police showed that 45 per cent were from either the Northern Territories or the adjoining French colonies.39 It has been argued, for territories other than the Gold Coast, that military service helped to encourage a sense of African and 'national' identity. Applied to the Gold Coast, so the argument would go, service in the GCR gave men an increased awareness of belonging to one terri tory which overrode ethnic affiliation. And service alongside African troops from other territories also helped to develop a pan-African senti ment. It is unlikely that either of these arguments carries much weight when applied to the Gold Coast. Certainly service in the Regiment pro vided an element of 'bonding', what Rouch has described as the devel opment of a 'supertribalisation' ( 1 956: 1 0), but this has to be balanced against the deep ties of ethnic and northern affinity about which rela tively little is known. The ideal of a military-induced brotherliness is belied by the actual relationship between soldiers of different back grounds within the Regiment and also with those who were foreigners. There was a marked antipathy by southerners and Asante to northern ers, and also hostility between different groups of northerners, for example the Dagomba and Konkomba (Schildkrout, 1 9 79; Tait, 1 9 6 1 : 9-10). There is clear evidence of hostility by Gold Coast soldiers towards Nigerian troops stationed in the colony during the Second World War, although this may have been as a result of common male group rivalries, for example competition over women. Thus, it could be


131

argued that military service had an opposite effect; a s a result of contact or close association with soldiers of different ethnic origins men became more, not less, aware of cultural and ethnic differences. Conclusion

British policies of indirect rule in northern Ghana helped to further a sense of ethnic and political consciousness within the Gold Coast, but it is unlikely that men recruited from those areas into the army and police were touched by those ideas. Recruits to the army came from such a wide area, and in peacetime numbered a mere handful of the total population of the Northern Territories, that it is difficult to see military service helping to shape a specific ethnic identity. Many more northerners came south as migrant labourers to the mines and the cocoa farms than those who joined any of the colonial forces and that experience, if any, would have had greater influence in emphasising a sense of northern/ethnic difference from the Asante, Fante, Ga and Ewe. That was a difference also rooted in the history of the past nearly two hundred years, particularly relations with Asante. The early identification by colonial rulers of the northern interior as a source of military recruits, the development of the image of those disparate peoples as possessing martial qualities, set a pattern of recruiting for the colonial military and police in the Gold Coast that lasted well beyond the colonial period. The colonial rulers created a northern enlisted army and police force that served primarily in the south of the country. Northern recruits from within the borders of the colony and from without proved reliable servants of the colonial rulers. They were in every way 'loyal aliens'. Martial ethnic stereotyping undoubtedly helped give to the small number of self-selected peacetime recruits to the coercive colonial forces an added sense of their own martial worth. Status, uniform, and a gun all helped to confirm this. In wartime exhortations by chiefs stressed the martial qualities of men sent to join the forces. However, there is little evidence that men recruited from the north as soldiers and policemen came with, or as a result of their service developed, a strong sense of ethnic identity, although they worked within a colonial institution which was ethnically shaped. When the Northern People's Party was formed in early 1 9 5 4 its leaders were drawn from traditional elements and educated men, from the very group to which the new Party hoped to appeal in order to protect northern interests in a disadvantaged region. All the available evidence indicates that northern soldiers, and ex-soldiers, were


untouched by the politics of the 1 950s and 1 9 60s. Although there were a large number of northerners in the army and police in the 1 9 60s this 'was not turned into a political resource' (Ladouceur, 1 9 79 : 268). At the time of the February 1 966 coup which toppled Nkrumah, the majority of the rank and file of both the army and the police were drawn from the north. However, the traditional pattern of recruiting established by the British, and the relative economic and social neglect of the Northern Territories during the colonial period, meant that there were few northern officers in the army. The commander of the Ghana Armed Forces, Lt-Gen. Barwah, was a northerner, but he remained loyal to Nkrumah and was killed in the coup. In Ghana, unlike neigh bouring Benin or Nigeria, the northern elements in the army and police played little part in national politics, and certainly neither pro vided kings nor played the role of king-makers.

Notes

2 3 4

5

6 7 8 9 10 11

See the terminology used in the various reports by George Ekem Ferguson and also British officers on the people of northern Ghana in the 1 880s and 1 890s; Arhin, 1 9 74; on ethnic definitions compare the letter from Bernard, first Norman Bishop of St David's, to the Pope c. 1 1 40, and the Statutes of Kilkenny, 1 366, in Davies, 1 994: 1 0-1 1 . McCaskie, 1 99 5 : 95-1 0 1 . There is a substantial literature o n the supposed martial races o f India; the best critical recent study is by David Omissi ( 1 995). Public Record Office (PRO), CO 1 4 7 / 1 , Freeman to Newcastle, 9 October 1 862. See also Royal Commonwealth Society Collection, Cambridge University Library. Glover Papers, Folder 1 . Glover to Newcastle, 10 June 1 863. Most colonial armies in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were composed of ex-slaves. The Dutch, for example, recruited slaves from Kumase for use in their East Indian Army; see Yarak, 1 990. The Times, 3 September 1 8 7 3 : 4. F. Flament ( 1 9 5 2 : 5 1 0) states that 5585 Hausas were employed in the Force Publique between 1 883 and 1 90 1 . Quoted from Marion Johnson (n.d.). Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, Nathan M s . 3 1 1 , Wilkinson to Nathan, 29 June 1 90 1 . PRO, C O 96/364/42 1 24, Low t o Chamberlain, 4 December 1 900, enclosing Northern Territories Report for 1 899, dated 1 0 March 1 900. PRO, CO 96/29 1 /9569, Maxwell to Chamberlain, conf. , 8 April 1 8 9 7 ; CO 96/292/ 1 1 538, Maxwell to Chamberlain, conf. , 5 May 1 897, encl. 1, Stewart to Colonial Secretary, 27 March 1 8 9 7 . See also Holden, 1 96 5 : 60-86.

Imagined martial communities 1 3 3 1 2 For example, the views about the peoples o f Dagomba, Mamprussi, W a and Daboya by Capt. D. Mackworth and H. J . C. Leland in PRO, CO 96/330/ 1 1 646, Directorate of Military Intelligence, War Office to Under-Secretary of State Colonial Office, encl. Report on Dagomba, 23 May 1 898. Also CO 96/330/ 1 2 1 1 2, 30 May 1 898, and CO 96/330/ 1 1 943, 30 May 1 898. 13 PRO, CO 96/ 1 3 1 /65 1 4, Ussher to Hicks Beach. Annual Report of Gold Coast Constabulary, 23 March 1 880. 14 PRO, CO 96/203/ 1 4 735, Griffith to Knutsford, 9 July 1 889, enclosing report by Acting Inspector General Forbes to Colonial Secretary, 9 July 1 889. 15 PRO, CO 445/42/2 7 1 00, Haywood to Adj utant General, War Office, 2 May 1 9 1 7; CO 53 7/954/33394, Memorandum on 'Manpower: Native Race of Africa', by Colonel Haywood to Devonshire, secret, 3 July 1 923. 16 Indian Office Library and Records, London, L/WS/ 1 / 1 328, 'Notes on 8 1 st Division', by Lt Col. Cantlie, War Office Liaison Officer, 3 1 May 1 943. 17 PRO, CO 445/39/ 1 1 226, Clifford to Long, conf., 29 May 1 9 1 7, with minute by Harper, 3 1 May 1 9 1 7 . 1 8 General James Willcocks ( 1 904: 383) argued for a cautious recruitment of Asantes: 'It would, indeed, be good policy to treat the Ashantis so as to gain their loyalty, and having done that, to enlist them if possible in our Forces, when I do not believe they would be surpassed by any West African natives . . . . I believe they are made of the right stuff for soldiers'. 1 9 PRO, CO 96/330/ 1 4397, Directorate of Military Intelligence, War Office, to Under Secretary of State at Colonial Office, 27 June 1 898, enclosing Northcott to Altham, dated Gambaga, 15 April 1 898; Armitage and Montanaro 1 901 : 80, 2 1 8 . CO 879/62/62 1 , no. 302, Willcocks to Chamberlain, tel., 23 July 1 900; Willcocks, 1 904: 1 78-80. Claude MacDonald, reporting on the men of the Royal Niger Company Constabulary, in 1 889, observed that five-eighths of the force were ' Fantees', one-quarter Hausas, and the rest Yoruba: 'The fighting quality of these three people [is] . . . good, the Hausas are bold and plucky but in bush fighting are apt to get out of hand and think too much of loot . . . the Fan tees are far sturdier in the bush than the Hausas but lack individual pluck, they however fight well in a body . ' 2 0 PRO, CO 879/5 7/5 77, Proceedings o f a Sub-Committee o n Military Forces i n W e s t Africa, 1 0 March 1 89 9 . I n t h e popular ethnological survey edited by Hutchinson, Gregory and Lydekker ( 1 90 1 : 392), the Hausa are described as 'cowardly' and to 'lack in courage'. This statement, say the authors, 'may be regarded as inconsistent with the reputation for valour of our West African Haussa police, but the men of that force are not Haussa, but only Haussa speaking Negroes. When some real Haussa were once by m istake engaged for service in the Congo Free State, their natural timidity was only too well illlustrated. ' 2 1 Such views a r e commonly expressed in much of t h e literature a n d official reports from the 1 8 70s to the 1 9 30s; e.g. Brackenbury ( 1 8 7 4 : eh. 2); PRO, CO 5 3 7/954/33394, Memorandum on 'Manpower: Native Races of Africa', by Col. A. Haywood to Devonshire, secret, 3 July 1 923. 22 The first commander of the 7th Battalion Gold Coast Regiment, an Asante battalion formed in 1 9 4 1 , wrote: 'The Ashanti was in the main a poor soldier. He did not have any martial qualities. He was lazy, disloyal and in


23

24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37

38 39

the main had very little inclination for soldiering. ' Letter to author from Lt. Col. W. Ponting, February 1 980. This was commonly expressed throughout the colonial period by European officials. Major Frederick Wyatt in 'Some Notes on the NT Soldiers of the Gold Coast Regiment', unpubl. ms., 1 949, intended for British officers and NCOs j oining the Regiment, listed northerners by martial qualities; copy with author. Quoted by Warner, 1 985: 5 7 . PRO, CO 5 3 7/954/33394, Memorandum on 'Manpower: Native Races o f Africa', b y Haywood t o Devonshire, 3 July 1 923. PRO, CO 445/39/3 1 5 5 1 , Clifford to Long, conf., 2 1 May 1 9 1 7 . PRO, WO 269/ 1 4 1 , HQ West African Command, Quarterly History, Report, Top secret, 26 July 1 9 4 7 . PRO, CO 53 7/954, Haywood t o Amery, secret, 3 July 1 923. National Archives of Ghana (NAG), Cape Coast, ADM 23/1 /568, Lt Col. Wilson to Colonial Secretary, dated Kumasi, 7 May 1 928, enclosing racial returns for the Gold Coast Regiment, 1 92 7-8. PRO, WO 1 73/ 709, War Diaries, Gold Coast Area, 1 943, secret. The Gold Coast Constabulary was divided into a civil and paramilitary police force in 1 89 5 , the latter becoming the Gold Coast Regiment within the federal West African Frontier Force in 1 90 1 . The West African Frontier Force gained the prefix Royal in 1 928. PRO, CO 445/3 1 / 1 4 1 44, W . Reeve, OC GCR, report on the GCR, 6 March 1 9 1 1 ; Lugard, 1 922: 5 7 7 . Willcocks ( 1 904: 1 79 ) . PRO, CO 96/436/ 1 7492. Kemball memorandum to Antrobus, 20 May 1 905. NAG (Cape Coast) . ADM 23/ 1 /568. Colonial Secretary to Acting Commissioner Central Province, 5 October 1 920. Chief Commissioner Ashanti, Diary entry, 29 January 1 9 1 7, quoted by Schildkrout, 1 9 78: 7 1 . Liddell Hart Military Archive, Kings College, London. lsmay papers, IV /BUR/8, Burrows to Ismay, top secret and personal, 13 April 1 94 5 . PRO, CO 968/400, Central Security Council meeting, secret, 29 August 1 9 52. At that time northerners constituted 85 per cent of the infantry battalions of the GCR and SO per cent of the police force. PRO, CO 96/532/2305 7, Clifford to Harcourt, l 3 June 1 9 1 3 . PRO, CO 1 03 7/ 4 7 , ' Organisation o f t h e Police in t h e Gold Coast, 1 9 5 4-5 6 ' .

References Adamu, Mahdi ( 1 9 78) The Hausa Factor in West African History (Zaria: Ahmadu Bello University Press). Adekson, J . Bayo ( 1 9 79) ' Ethnicity and Army Recruitment in Colonial Plural Societies', Ethnic and Racial Studies, 2 : pp. 1 5 1 -65 .

Imagined martial communities 1 35 Arhin, Kwame (ed .) ( 1 9 74) The Papers of George Ekem Ferguson: A Fanti Official of the Government of the Gold Coast, 1 890- 1 897 (Leide n : African Studies Centre ) . Armitage, C. H . a n d Montanaro, A. ( 1 90 1 ) The Ashanti Campaign of 1 90 1 (London: Sands) . Brackenbury, H . ( 1 8 74) The Ashanti War: A Narrative Prepared from the Official Documents (Edinburgh and London : Blackwood). Cardinall, A . W. ( 1 92 1 ) The Natives of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast (London : Routledge). Cookson, C . E. ( 1 9 1 5) 'The Gold Coast Hinterland and the Negroid Races', Journal of The Royal African Society, 19: pp. 298-307. Davies, R. R. ( 1 994) 'The Peoples of Britain and Ireland 1 1 00-1 400: 1. Identities', Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6: pp. 1 0-1 1 . Enloe, Cynthia H . ( 1 980) Ethnic Soldiers: State Security i n a Divided Society (Harmondsworth: Penguin) . Flament, F. ( 1 952) La Force Publique de sa Naissance il 1 9 1 4 (Brussels: Institute Royal Colonial Beige). Glover, John ( 1 874) 'The Volta Expedition during the Late Ashantee Campaign', Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, 18: pp. 330-7. Hamer, Mary ( 1 996) 'Black and White? Viewing Cleopatra in 1 862', in W. Shearer (ed.), The Victorians and Race (London: Scolar Press) . Haywood, A. H. W. ( 1 926) Sport and Soldiering in Africa (London: Seeley Service) . Holden, j. j. ( 1 965) 'The Zabarima Conquest of North West Ghana', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 8: pp. 60-86. Hutchinson, H . N . , Gregory, j . W. and Lydekker, R. ( 1 90 1 ) The Living Races of Mankind (London : Hutchinson) . jeffreys, H . B. ( 1 907) 'The Native Races of South Africa from a Military Point of View', Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, 5 1 : pp. 1 1 07-23 . johnson, Douglas H. ( 1 980) 'The Fighting Nuer: Primary Sources and the Origins of a Stereotype', Africa, 5 1 : pp. 508-27 . johnson, Marion (ed.) ( n o date) The Salaga Papers, vol . 2 (Legon: Institute o f African Studies). Killingray, David ( 1 982) 'Military and Labour Recruitment in the Gold Coast during the Second World War', Journal ofAfrican History, 23: pp. 83-9 5 . Killingray, David ( 1 9 9 1 ) 'Guarding t h e Extending Frontier: Policing t h e Gold ,Coast, 1 865-1 9 1 3', in D . M . Anderson and D . Killingray (eds), Policing the Empire (Manchester: Manchester University Press) . Kirk-Greene, A. H. M. ( 1 980) "' Damnosa hereditas": Ethnic Ranking and Martial Race Imperative in Africa', Ethnic and Racial Studies, 3: pp. 393-4 1 4. Ladouceur, Paul And re ( 1 9 79) Chiefs and Politicians: The Politics of Regionalism in Northern Ghana (London : Longman) . Lentz, Carola ( 1 994a) 'A Dagara Rebellion against Dagomba Rule? Contested Stories of Origin in North-western Ghana', Journal of African History, 35 : pp. 45 7-92. Lentz, Carola ( 1 994b) "'They must be Dagaba First and Any Other Thing Second . . . " : The Colonial and Post-colonial Creation of Ethnic Identities in North-western Ghana', African Studies, 5 3 : pp. 5 7-9 1 . Lugard, F . D . ( 1 922) The Dual Mandate i n British Tropical Africa (London : Blackwood).

1 3 6 Ethnicity in Ghana Mazrui, Ali A . ( 1 9 75) Soldiers and Kinsmen in Uganda: The Making of a Military Ethnocracy (Beverly Hills: Sage). Mazrui, Ali A. ( 1 9 7 7) The Warrior Tradition in Modem Africa (Leiden: Brill) . McCaskie, T. C. ( 1 995) State and Society in Pre-Colonial Asante (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Migeod, F. W . H . ( 1 9 1 1 ) The Languages of West Africa, Vol. 1 (London: K. Paul, Trench, Tubner) . Omissi, David ( 1 995) The Sepoy and the Raj: The Indian A rmy, 1 860- 1 940 (London: Macmillan) . Prichard, j . C. ( 1 85 5 ) The Natural History of Man Comprising Inquiries into the

Modifying Influence of Physical and Moral Agencies on the Different Tribes of the Human Family (London : H . Bailli e re) . Rouch, jean ( 1 9 5 6) 'Migration au Ghana, 1 9 5 3-5', Journal de la Societe des Africanistes, 26: 33-164. Schildkrout, Enid ( 1 9 78) People of the Zongo: The Transformation of Ethnic Identities in Ghana (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Schildkrout, Enid ( 1 9 79) 'The Ideology of Regionalism in Ghana' in W. A. Shack and E. P. Skinner (eds) Strangers in African Societies (Berkeley: University of California Press) . Staniland, Martin ( 1 9 72) 'The Ethnic Composition of the Ghana Army: a Census Note', Research Review. Tait, David ( 1 9 6 1 ) The Konkomba of Northern Ghana (London: I nternational African Institute) . Thomas, Roger G . ( 1 9 75) 'Military Recruitment in the Gold Coast during the First World War', Cahiers d'Etudes A(ricaines, 57: pp. 5 7-83 . Warner, jennifer M . ( 1 985) ' Recruitment and Service in the King's African Rifles During the Second World War' Unpublished M Litt thesis, University of Bristol. Wilks, Ivor ( 1 9 75) Asante in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Willcocks, james ( 1 904) From Kabul to Kumasi (London: John Murray) . Wolseley, Garnet ( 1 888) 'The Negro as Soldier', Fortnightly Review, December: 699-700. Yarak, Larry W. ( 1 990) Asante and the Dutch 1 744- 1 8 73 (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

Chapter

7

Contested identities : the history of ethnicity in northwestern Ghana Carola Len tz

My case study of northwestern Ghana analyses how ethnic categories, boundaries and institutions were created and continually defined anew by colonial officials, missionaries, anthropologists, chiefs, migrant workers and educated elites in a region which in the pre-colonial period was neither politically centralised nor knew distinct 'tribes'.1 The effec tiveness of ethnic discourses is based on the fact that they transfer the emotional power of categories such as 'family', 'village' and 'home' on to larger communities. By claiming to be primordial and non-negotiable, because defined through birth, an ethnic identity creates bindedness, permanence and thus security. But it also excludes, producing need and insecurity. Yet the exact boundaries of this quasi-natural community, and the specific properties and practices with which an ethnic identity is connoted, are extraordinarily malleable according to interests and context, though certainly only within the framework of historically available 'materials'. In the research underlying this chapter the concern above all is with the history of the different interpretations of ethnic boundaries and contents, and the political conflicts bound up with them. I am concentrating especially on the linkages of ethnic with other collective identities and the relations of tension between territorial and linguistic-cultural definitions of ethnic boundaries.2 The history of ethnic categories and discourses

The group names and ways of drawing boundaries prevailing in the Volta region in the pre-colonial period cannot be reconstructed with certainty from the available sources. However, there is good reason to assume that no local ideology, let alone the social and political reality, corresponded to what British colonial officials understood ideal-typically as a tribe, 137


namely a population group linked by descent, with a common lan guage and culture, living on a particular territory and usually being ruled by a chief. In this British model, each man belonged to one and only one tribe; women were not counted in their own right, but tacitly allocated to the tribe of the man, even when they had married in from another tribe. One graphic representation of this situation would be, for example, that of a map with a mosaic of tribal names, in which each tessera represents a tribe. 3 The second picture which shaped the thoughts of British colonial officials is that of a family tree, which brings in a temporal dimension implying notions of migration and increasing differentiation. Both pictures, the mosaic and the family tree, greatly hinder our understanding of the pre-colonial realities of the Volta region. One must think rather in terms of networks and clusters, centres and peripheries, in order to do justice to its characteristics - mobility, over lapping networks, multiple membership of groups and the context dependent drawing of boundaries. Moreover, these characteristics did not disappear with the colonial transformation of the political geogra phy and the introduction of ethnic categories but were only overlain and modified. Yir, which according to context can be interpreted as house, local kinship group or patrician, and tengan, earth shrine parish, were the two central building blocks of the local societies and are still significant today.4 The first principle - which is perhaps most compara ble with a European ideology of descent, though still open to the acceptance of non-kin-related 'outsiders' - constitutes a potentially supralocal community. The second is based on the ritually affirmed neighbourhood, marking out a relatively pacified internal space. Boundaries between 'us' and 'others' were (and on the local level still are) drawn initially within the framework of these two forms of belonging. Language and culture play no central role here. Yir and tengan can integrate people of different dialects and languages, and require only a minimum core of cultural commonness (recognition of the earth deity, the rights of first settlers, and so on) . However, since the northwest was never isolated from the larger political developments of the Volta-Niger bend, other types of bound ary formation existed above local community ideologies, ones which came closer to constituting an 'ethnic' map. Included here was the dif ference between Wala and Dagaba, which marked a religious and polit ical boundary between Wa as the centre of Islamic learning and state power, and the 'heathen', acephalous population of the surrounding area.5 At the end of the nineteenth century, Babatu and his military

The history of ethnicity in northwestern Ghana

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commanders took over such names and added others, for example Grunshi (Gourounsi), which referred as much to the much-raided area on both sides of the present-day border between Ghana and Burkina Faso as to the Sisala-, and Kasena- and perhaps also to the Dagara speaking groups living there (see Figure 7 . 1 ) . 6 In addition, on their expeditions to the goldfields of the Black Volta, Mande-Dioula traders (and later the military commander Samori) may have sketched a mental map differentiating, for example, between peaceable and less peaceable, or linguistically related and unrelated groups. In this context supposedly arose the label Lobi and perhaps also Dagara and Dagaba (probably 'the stammerers, the incomprehensible') . 7 It is unlikely, however, that such foreign labelling corresponded to an inter nal group name and awareness. When the British (and French) incorporated the Volta region into their colonial empires and made their first tours through it, they took up this nomenclature, not least under the influence of their interpreters and local guides (mostly Wala Muslims accompanying the British, and Mande the French) . What is especially fascinating here is the tenacity of these ethnic categories. The ethnic map containing the tribes of the Wala, Dagarti, Lobi and Isala, which the British sketched on the first tours in 1 903 and 1 905 through what was to become Lawra District, shaped the colonial view of this area into the 1 950s and still endures today, including in the minds of many local actors (see Figure 7.2). Colonial officials, of course, were convinced that they were not inventing these tribes but only discovering them. However, it becomes clear, particularly in the category of the British Lobi, to what extent the ethnic map was constructed out of the perspective of the administra tive centre and polity of Wa. While the French insisted that from the linguistic point of view the British Lobi were actually not Lobi at all but Dagari, in the eyes of the British they were certainly Lobi, because they were more difficult than the Dagarti to pacify and in general seemed as uncivilised as the Lobi proper to the west of the Volta. Ethnic categories were always devised 'in the plural', as a system of differences, and the British colonial masters defined such differences with reference to their military, strategic, administrative and technical needs. As a result the stereotypes changed over time, while the categorical framework con tinued to exist: the British Lobi, for example, were first considered espe cially anarchic and dangerous, later being seen as hospitable, closely tied to their home and hard-working. The Dagarti, on the other hand were first considered more civilised than the Lobi, but later as more sullen and reserved, and as less progressive.

141


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The territorial anchoring of ethnic groups also changed in the course of the colonial period. The British found it extraordinarily difficult to define ethnic boundaries precisely, and especially on the borders of tribes the classification of villages would change, often many times. Thus in the 1 920s the category Lobi experienced an enormous expan sion, not only Lawra but also Nandom and even Jirapa being subsumed under it. Later, the trend towards 'Dagabafication', one which had already prevailed among migrant workers and chiefs for a long time because they wanted to distance themselves from the stigma of primi tiveness which stuck to the Lobi, even entered British documents. Despite this, the Lobi never entirely disappeared from the ethnic maps of the British (see Map 1 .2). Residual categories such as Lobi-Dagarti contributed to the stability of the categorical framework even when distinctions became ever more questionable in detail. The fact that tribes played no role in political realities at the local level did not remain hidden from the colonial authorities. Many of the British supposed that the old tribal order had broken down only because of the political confusion of the nineteenth century.8 Others were convinced that, with the exception of Wa, the institutions of chieftaincy and of politically united tribes had never existed in the northwest. However, in both views the tribe counted as a model of political order representing a step in natural political evolution towards being a civilised nation. Chiefdoms and districts should therefore take tribal boundaries into account. The tribe was the natural political com munity. It was precisely because of this function in terms of political order that the tribal model was held to so stubbornly, despite all con tradictory evidence. Yet certainly the British discourse on tribes was not in any way monolithic. The settlement history of the region was as intensively debated as the question of the pre-colonial political order. Especially in the run-up to the administrative reforms of the 1 9 30s (the introduc tion of 'native authorities'), voices were raised to the effect that not tribes, but clans and earth shrine parishes, counted as the actually rele vant indigenous forms of organisation. Lawra District Commissioner Eyre-Smith ( 1 9 33), for example, idealised the tengani organisation as the centuries-old system of an original democracy, which could further be added to. The original tribal associations, in Eyre-Smith's convic tion, had long since become dissolved through many voluntary and involuntary migrations, and could therefore no longer form the basis of the political community. Even R. S. Rattray, the first professional anthropologist, who carried out ethnographic studies in the northwest

The history o( ethnicity in northwestern Ghana 1 43

in 1 928-9 , regarded the current ethnic categorical framework as erro neous, since many tribes were combinations of clans of different origins. However, this did not prevent him from drawing up his ethnography according to precisely these categories and handing down an anthropological foundation for the usual distinction between Lobi and Dagarti, namely that the first has strong 'matrilineal' tendencies and is thus on a lower evolutionary level than the latter, which is purely 'patrilineal'.9 Yet, regardless of the refining of ethnographic knowledge of local societies, for most colonial officials in the inter-war period the united tribe under a strong chief remained the guiding model to which political reform should orient itself, even when this model could never be fully transformed into practice. The tribes lost their functions in respect of political order in the administrative reforms of the 1950s. Yet the established categories sur vived the cultural-linguistic shift in ethnic discourse which became established throughout the country. At least when it came to bounding units for research purposes, the old categories retained their relevance as before, and out of 'tribes' came 'ethnic groups' or 'cultures'. Thus Jack Goody's works on the northwest convincingly showed that it was not tribes that shaped local societies, but a flexible, context-dependent system of group formation with variable, directional actors' and observers' names.10 However, in his search for anthropologically rele vant research units, Goody returned to the old colonial boundaries between Lobi and Dagarti with his distinction between the LoDagaa with 'dual descent' and the patrilineal Dagaba (see Map 7.3). It is precisely this boundary which occupies the centre of the most recent debates among local intellectuals writing on the history and ethnography of their region. Some retain the separation of the Dagaba from the supposedly primitive Lobi and stress instead the closeness of the Wala and Dagaba. Others, conversely, propagate a more compre hensive concept of a Dagaba/Dagara community which dissolves the category Lobi entirelyY Moreover, this second concept also shaped the ethnic map of the Catholic mission which, starting out from the criterion of language, from the outset drew no boundaries between the British Lobi of Lawra and Nandom, and the Dagarti of Jirapa and Kaleo. It adopted the popular trend towards 'Dagabafication' which prevailed among migrant workers and students when, far from their home region, they attached themselves to a community and desired to define themselves in opposition to other Ghanaian ethnic groups. The debates among local intellectuals have a political dimen sion, like, formerly, those among colonial officials. Their definition of


ethnic boundaries imply claims to community, internal solidarity and external recognition. The colonial transformation of the political landscape

Certainly, ethnic thinking soon won political relevance too. I will come back to this later with the example of the boundary between 'natives' and 'settlers'. However, the 'tribes' as defined by the British have not developed into political communities. The transformation of the political landscape was shaped rather by the introduction of chief dams, which - conceived as territorial political units - from the outset stood in a certain relation of tension to the ethnic criteria of group belonging. The British were trying to make chiefdoms and 'tribes' con gruent into the 1 9 30s: all Isala and Dagarti were to be united under their respective chiefs and then made subject to the King of Wa as the supreme ruler of the whole northwest. Yet such plans failed because of the contrary interests of the smaller chiefs, who saw themselves robbed of their influence. It was therefore a matter not of 'tribes' organised into chiefdoms but of chiefdoms, whose borders were determined by factors quite different from ethnic ones, being provided with a post facto ethnic label. As with the ethnic categories, here too the great inertia of the polit ical order which had already been established by British administrators during their first tours is conspicuous. By 1 907 the Commissioner of the North Western Province had divided the Lawra District into ten 'native states', of which some covered up to thirty settlements, while others only had two or three, each native state being subject to a head chief. The four largest of these ten native states, Lawra, Jirapa, Nandom and Lambussie, still exist and still constitute the decisive forum in local politics. The smaller ones were allocated to the larger units as subdivi sions at the beginning of the 1 930s. The Lawra Confederacy which was created in this way survived the administrative reforms of the 1 9 50s, and up until today has marked out the framework within which local political alliances and enmities are sealed and the setting up of new districts and constituencies is disputed.12 The pre-colonial structures to which the new native states attached themselves differed from case to case. This question was also debated extremely controversially on the spot, because chiefs as well as their competitors and opponents sought to undermine political claims with pre-colonial traditions and with the history of the election and setting up of the first chiefs by the British. 13 However, a typical model appears


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Ethnicity in Ghana

to be the recruitment of the first chiefs among local 'strong men'. This is indicated by the chiefly titles naa (Dagara) and kuoro (Sisala), which can also be translated, in a broader sense, as 'rich, strong men'. Influential, much-travelled men with a command of several languages were appointed head chiefs, as for example traders (Nandom Naa Kyiir) or soldiers who had fought in Babatu's armies (Lambussie Kuoro Gbelifiu) . Among the first chiefs, however, are also to be found fighters who had defended their settlements against Babatu (Lawra Naa Nale and Jirapa Naa Ganaa), as well as rich farmers with a large house, who were able to help out the needy in times of hunger (and as a result obtained many house slaves) and offer protection to their neighbours during an attack (Nandom Naa Danye) . The first chiefs were in many places - though not everywhere - descended from the patrilineage of the earth priest, but even where they belonged to the same patrician, the offices of earth priest and chief were separate from the beginning. The extent of the new native states was therefore defined not accord ing to the borders of the tengan area, but according to the size of the friendship, kinship and clientele networks that the first head chiefs were able to mobilise. Thereafter, the recruitment of loyal sub-chiefs and village headmen helped them gradually to consolidate their rule. In this they were certainly supported by the British, sometimes even through the application of physical force, but a certain degree of 'vol untary' recognition of their power by their sub-chiefs and local elders was also necessary, otherwise they would be replaced by a more suit able office-holder. The establishment of the boundaries of the native states and the choice of chiefs was a sort of process of trial and error in which existing local power structures on the one hand, and the British model of small territorial states with an inheritable kingdom on the other, were gradually made to correspond. The successful introduction of rituals and symbols of rule (chiefly medallions, uniformed messengers, conferences of chiefs, dancing competitions, durbars and so on) on the one hand, and the solid and lasting transformation of the physical infrastructure on the other, con tributed to the durability of the new political structure. The building of roads, resthouses, new markets, courthouses and later also schools turned the residences of the head chiefs into 'central places' and erected the material framework of the new order of rule. Conversely, the erection of this infrastructure was a central lever in its definition and establishment. Head chiefs and sub-chiefs had to decide which set tlements were subject to them and which were to be recruited for building roads or resthouses. Neighbouring chiefs had to agree who


14 7

was responsible up to where for road maintenance. The internal hierar chy and boundaries between the new native states had to be tested and made more precise. If the British model of native states was targeted towards the erection of small territorial states, chiefly rule in the first decades of the colonial regime was nonetheless de facto personal. The head chiefs controlled personal networks but no territory. Their 'area' of rule was defined through lists of the sub-chiefs and villages subordi nate to them, meaning those who owed them tribute in the form of work, money or goods. However, how much power a chief could actu ally exercise strongly depended on his person and on the quality of his networks. Only in the 1 9 30s was a stronger territorialisation of rule and politi cal belonging established, when a poll tax was introduced and a central treasury for the Lawra Confederacy set up (later supplemented by sub treasuries in the four divisions) , into which flowed all income from markets, courts and taxes, and out of which the chiefs received a salary, and finance for part of the infrastructure was provided. Only then, in order to draw up taxation lists, did the membership of all men to a compound, all compounds to a village and all villages to a division have to be clearly fixed. With the introduction of a poll tax, the links between local revenue, investments, services and the legitimacy of the native authorities were made much closer than before, and at least among the local political elites a certain 'local patriotism' developed, as the British called the new identification with the interests of the divi sions. At the same time, however, a new potential for conflict arose, for the model of a clear territorial-political allocation of all compounds, including their farmlands, to a division cut across the local practice of mobility and multilocality. From the 1 930s there were ever-increasing conflicts, which, especially in 'border' areas, were sparked off by the question of to which division particular compounds owed political allegiance, and to whom farmers who lived in one division but who had the major part of their farm elsewhere owed taxes. Basically, however, the competition among divisional chiefs con cerning taxes and other resources has in no way brought the new polit ical geography of the Lawra Confederacy into question. Quite the reverse: these conflicts strengthened 'local patriotism' and thus anchored the new structures all the deeper in the minds of the local political elite. Even when the party-political conflicts of the early 1 9 60s resulted in the temporary suspension of the Lawra Confederacy Traditional Council, the Confederacy was ex negativo still the arena for all demands for independence. This goes also for the period since the


end of the 1 980s, when the Lawra Confederacy Traditional Council was de facto abolished and replaced by four Traditional Councils inde pendent of one another. Within the old Confederacy, the networks of alliances and enmities are still much more thickly woven than in respect of neighbours such as Tumu or Nadawli. Of course, the cohesion of the Lawra Confederacy was promoted not only through conflicts, but also through the friendships and marriage alliances of different chiefly houses. Here, a central role was played by the Lawra Confederacy Native Authority School, opened in 1 9 35, in which above all the sons of chiefs were trained. Here, and in the sec ondary school in Tamale, the future political elite were thoroughly socialised into the new political geography. Many graduates of this school worked later as teachers and council clerks (and ultimately as new divisional chiefs) in the Lawra Confederacy, which they rep resented in the Northern Territories Council and the Legislative Assembly in Accra. Alternative networks: the Catholic Mission

Another no less effective and identity-founding geography developed across the political geography of the native states from the 1 9 3 0s, namely that of the Catholic Church. The Mission of the White Fathers, which was set up in Jirapa in 1 929 and within a few years converted thousands of men and women to Catholicism, built its own infrastruc ture of churches and chapels, hospitals, schools, credit associations and farming projects, partly using other 'central places' than those of the native states. The linguistic missionising principle of the White Fathers - 'un poste, une langue' - provided a very wide definition of the group to be missionised.14 The Catholic 'pays Dagari' (Paternot, 1 949) tran scended all colonial borders, including in its early years the neighbour ing French colony, until the setting up of mission stations across the border reduced the stream of converts from Upper Volta to Jirapa. The great community of Catholic Dagara/Dagaare speakers became a lived reality not only through the material infrastructure of the Church but also through the new social networks. In principle, catechists were appointed to other villages than their home village, Christian mar riages were often concluded beyond dialect and political boundaries, and Dagara and Dagaba from the entire northwest came together at large masses, retreats and not least in Catholic educational institutions. Neither in the earliest years of the mission nor today, when the diocese of Wa is divided into many parishes, are the boundaries of


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Figure 7.4 The new districts of the Upper West Region, 1 989 Source: Town and Country P l anni ng Department, Wa.

' \ I

REGION


parishes and chiefdoms congruent. This has provided material for conflict in various ways, especially in Nandom, where Catholicism has put down much stronger roots than in Lambussie and Lawra, and where the bulk of the educated elite is a product of the mission schools. To the parish of Nandom, set up in 1 93 3 , belonged - apart from the chiefdom of Nandom - some villages of the Lawra Division, the whole of Lambussie Division and even a corner of Zini Division, controlled by Tumu. And although parts of this large parish have been separate for a long time, the old Catholic Nandom still lives on in the minds of many Nandome. It is presented as an ethnic rather than a ter ritorial community and includes Dagara who, because of land shortage, have settled on Sisala land. As long as this notion of a 'greater Nandom' is expressed only through feelings of religious and cultural solidarity, it is not conflict laden. However, as soon as it is interpreted in a secular-political fashion it reveals considerable material for conflict. When the Nandom Youth and Development Association (NYDA), founded in 1 9 79, defined a 'Nandom' along the old Catholic border, it quickly came into conflict with the Lambussie Kuoro and sections of the Lambussie Sisala political elite, who took this extensive definition of association mem bership as an attack on their political sovereignty. 1 5 And when the NYDA then pushed the idea of a common Nandom-Lambussie District in place of the proposed division into a jirapa-Lambussie District and a Lawra-Nandom District, leading Lambussie-ites feared that the Nandome would marginalise them in such a district and perhaps even seek to dispute their land rights in the longer term. The new boundary between natives and settlers

The conflict just sketched between Nandom and Lambussie, whose roots reach back into the 1 9 40s, can be properly understood only by turning to the complicated relationship between ethnicity, land rights and chiefdoms which developed in the course of the colonial period. All accounts by lineage elders of the settlement history of the region in the pre-colonial period emphasise a clear distinction between first corners and late-comers (Horton, 1 9 7 1 ) . The first-corners erected the first earth shrine, have the right to provide the earth priest, and decide the allocation of land to later settlers. Certainly there is sometimes a dispute as to who may legitimately be characterised as a first-corner (the first hunter or the first farmer) and what rights the earth priest still retains over land given to other kin groups. But, in each case, first-corners and

The history of ethnicity in northwestern Ghana 1 5 1

late-comers form a ritual community sacrificing to a single earth shrine. Moreover, the boundary between first-corners and late-comers must be understood as a legitimating construct rather than a portrayal of the his torical process of settlement, for it can shift in course of time. Late comers themselves appear as first-corners in opposition to newcomers when they become entitled to their own earth shrine in the course of extending a settlement. It is not known whether, in the pre-colonial period, there was a status which approached that of the present-day cat egory of settlers, of those who do not belong to the ritual community. However, settlement histories suggest that land rights and the political constitution aimed not at exclusion but at the integration and assimila tion of newcomers. Frequently, here, relations of kinship between the late-comers and older inhabitants (typically defined as mother's broth ers) are indicated. However, neither non-kinship nor cultural or linguis tic differences represented a fundamental barrier to the integration of new settlers. Accounts of migration are full of episodes which report the adoption of a new language and new customs in the course of adjusting to a new habitat. In the course of the colonial period the distinction between first corners and late-comers changed into a much more rigid boundary between 'natives' and 'settlers', which tended to be aimed at exclusion. Put simply, the relationships regarding land rights of the turn of the century were ideologically frozen and the cultural-cum-political assim ilation of migrants made more difficult, if not prevented entirely. The kin groups which had settled in a habitat before the implementation of the Pax Britannica, and which were already members of the ritual com munity of an earth shrine parish with full entitlement, were counted as natives. Those who came later tend to be regarded as settlers, whose rights are restricted to the land 'lent' to them by the natives and who do not sacrifice at the earth shrine: in other words, who are not full members of the local community and who can hardly become so in the future. The less the amount of free land available, and the more its economic value rises, for example for purposes of commercial agricul ture, the more rigidly drawn is the boundary between natives and set tlers. As a rule the settlers must then pay a substantial rent to the landowners, one which goes beyond the merely symbolic recognition of the ownership rights of the natives. The boundary just sketched out between natives (or in more modern terms 'indigenes') and settlers (or 'tenant farmers') shapes, for example, the relationship of Sisala landowners with Dagara farmers, who have settled in the Lambussie Division since the 1 920s. The boundary was

I 52

Ethnicity in Ghana

secured through a particular marriage policy. Sisala men regularly married Dagara women, but only very seldom the other way round. In this way a route to integration into the ritual community of the Sisala natives which is theoretically open for the Dagara sons of Sisala mothers on the basis of their close relationships with their mothers' brothers is closed.1 6 The boundary between natives and settlers not only depends on set tlement history but also connotes ethnic difference. When landowners and new settlers belong to the same ethnic group, the latter usually do not count as settlers but are integrated into the community of natives (or receive their own shrine stone). What infuriated the NYDA in the recent conflicts over land was precisely that newly arrived Sisala who ask a Sisala landowner for land are obviously not being excluded as Dagara settlers had been, some of whom had already lived in Lambussie for sixty years. However, the same is also true where Dagara regard themselves as natives: a Wala merchant who has acquired land in Nandom to build a shop does not have the same rights as a Dagara from a neighbouring village who wants to settle in Nandom. In this way ethnicity functions like an extended principle of kinship: those who can most easily acquire rights in land are direct kin, followed by fellow patrician members, and finally members of the same ethnic group. However, the concept 'native' is used not only concerning land rights in respect of earth shrine parishes but also - and for the most part even in the first instance - as a political category indicating citi zenship rights in a chiefdom or 'native state', as it was called, not by chance, in colonial jargon. But before I go into the political dimen sions of the category 'native', let us look briefly at the relationship between chiefdoms and earth shrine parishes. As already mentioned, the colonial native states were established not according to the boundaries of the tengan areas, but according to the power networks of the first chiefs. In many places there admittedly took place a certain adjustment of the tengan areas to the new political boundaries. In Hamile, for example, the Sisala earth priests living beyond the border with Upper Volta delegated their functions, as far as British Hamile was concerned, to the earth priests of Happa on the British side of the border. Hamile is also one of the few examples of a change in political membership: belonging first to the Nandom Division, in 1 952 it was finally subordinated to Lambussie, following prolonged conflicts in which the Lambussie Kuoro insisted amongst other things that Hamile lands belonged to the earth shrine of Happa


1 53

and that therefore Hamile politically must follow Happa (and thus also Lambussie) . In opposition to this, the Nandom Naa and other chiefs of the Lawra Confederacy insisted that claims to rule could not be derived automatically from control over land, because political boundaries in the northwest would then have to be revised in many places and innu merable conflicts would be programmed in. Actually, the Hamile case remained unique. If at all, the tengan boundaries were made to fit the political boundaries, not the other way round. Yet still today there are settlements whose political membership does not correspond with membership of an earth shrine parish. The category 'native' goes beyond such fine distinctions, as it has anyway drastically simplified the complex pre-colonial strategies of social belonging. Whoever defines himself as a native is making a claim to full citizenship and political participation in a chiefdom. For this it is not sufficient to live in a chiefdom for several generations, at least not when one can still validate citizenship rights elsewhere. Conversely, groups settled elsewhere for a long period can still obtain recognition as natives in their old home. For the natives it can be advantageous to exclude particular groups as 'strangers' from full citi zenship rights. On the other hand, the status of outsider, too, could and can perfectly well have advantages; for example, a lesser obligation for communal work or for the redistribution of income. Because double membership and mobility were not actually foreseen in the British model of the native state, the process mentioned above requires to be mutual: the more difficult it is for one to become a native elsewhere, the stronger is one inclined to retain one's status as a native in one's community of origin, and the more the significance of the category shifts from a territorial community to a descent community. Thus in this context too, the category 'native' acquires an ethnic connotation, which seems to simplify the complex relationship of spa tially and temporally defined forms of membership. Natives must belong to the tribe which predominates in the native state, as in the image still prevailing today. As a result, only Lobi-Dagarti could be natives of the Nandom Division, and natives of Lambussie had to be Sisala. Nandom Lobi-Dagarti could not become Lambussie natives. Even when they owe support as settlers to the Lambussie Kuoro, they do not have the same rights to participate in local affairs as the Sisala natives. This is the ideological model to which first the British and then local political actors appealed, for example, in the conflicts over district boundaries in the 1 9 60s and more recently. However, the reality was and is more complex, not least exactly because political and tribal


boundaries are in no way congruent. Therefore exactly what these cat egories mean, as well as the duties of loyalty and rights of participation implied by them, is always contested. Incorporation in the colonial and post-colonial state

The reason that the colonial introduction of chiefdoms and tribes was granted such lasting success was not least the incorporation of local societies in a larger political and economic context - the Northern Territories and the Gold Coast, later the Ghanaian state. Admittedly, the northwest was not at all isolated in the pre-colonial period: espe cially, hunters and smiths were extremely mobile; famous cults could draw people from far afield; many young men joined Babatu's armies; and although there were no firm trade routes through what was later to become Lawra District, individual foreign traders did enter the region. However, under the colonial regime the scale of these networks changed, striking deeper into local political organisation and everyday life. On the one hand, the many scattered settlements were incorpor ated into a hierarchically ordered administration, which had the con sequence that decisions made in London concerning colonial policies could be felt also in the Northern Territories, Lawra District, the Nandom Division and Kokoligu, for example. On the other hand, mass labour migration, which was beginning in the 1 9 1 0s and 1 920s, pro vided an important economic network linking the northwest with the cocoa production and gold-mining industry of the south. For labour migrants the embeddedness of their local world in a larger context was quite obviously something experienced. The same was true to an even greater extent for educational migrants. Some resistance aside, the institution of the chiefdom was accepted by local actors and shaped by them, because it represented the only effective intermediary between individual compounds and the colonial rulers. The patrician and earth shrine parish were too diffuse or too exclusive and small in scale to be able to play this role successfully. Above all, however, such alternative networks would not have been compatible with the political structures of neighbouring societies, which were already constituted as states in the pre-colonial period. The adoption of the institution of chieftaincy allowed the acephalous - or rather: multicephalous - societies of the northwest to make progress in the colonial context. Whereas earlier they had been stigmatised as uncivilised and anarchic, and were seen as the booty of slave-raiders, they were now integrated as, in principle, equals among the native


1 SS

states of the Northern Territories. Thus the new political structures, rituals and discourses were attractive not only to the chiefs themselves, but also for migrant workers and the early-educated elite, who wished to claim equality with colleagues and fellow pupils from pre-colonial kingdoms. The Catholic Church, too, was no less successful in the northwest, because it gave access to a world religion and to modern education and thus allowed both individual and collective advance ment - and this even while maintaining a distance from neighbouring Islamic native states. Yet even though Catholic networks might be emotionally more important than the chiefdom for many converts, the Church in no way might, could or wished to replace the secular 'native states'. The pride in the democratic potential of stateless societies, as formulated today by certain local intellectuals, seems to be a relatively recent phenomenon. The incorporation in a larger political, economic and cultural context reacted and still reacts on local discourses and forms of organi sation. The supralocal models of the native state and the tribe are claimed to be the framework in which local peculiarities ought to be given expression, at least vis-a-vis a non-local public. Examples are the different attempts to integrate the heterogeneous accounts of the migrations of different patrilineages into a single tribal history and the popular cultural festivals dating from the 1 9 70sY Migrant workers and the educated elite, who are certainly most directly confronted with the supralocal field, have taken an especially intensive part in the shaping of a new ethnic discourse. Away from home, they are forced into a sol idarity which transcends the clan or village, more so, at any rate, than local farmers. Also, they need tribes in order to be able to identify themselves in relation to others. However, incorporation in the colonial and post-colonial state has in no way contributed to the redefinition and strengthening of 'local patriotism' alone. It has also produced new local factions and conflicts of interest, for example, different competing factions of chiefly houses, and conflicts between earth priests and chiefs, and between natives and settlers. In addition, the political integration of the Northern Territories in the Ghanaian state created party-political rifts. Nowhere has a native state, and certainly not any tribe, unanimously supported a party; instead, everywhere, right down to village level, local conflicts have been made party-political and in this way have often become deeper. For this reason youth associations seek to present themselves as representing interests transcending not only the clan and village, but also party lines, developing ethnic-cultural discourses, symbols and


rituals intended to strengthen the unity of the communities they represent. *

*

*

Thus what does 'ethnicity' mean in northwestern Ghana today, and how is it interpreted in discourse and in practice? Ethnic identities con structed in the course of the last hundred years were and are, despite all the rigidity of their fa�ades, varied, ambiguous and changeable. The interweaving of pre-colonial and colonial models of community forma tion has created a complex network of different possibilities - of bound aries to draw, memberships to define and common actions to justify. Communities are 'ethnic', so long as they appeal to descent and mem bership defined through rights by birth. However, 'ethnic' communi ties, as defined by the local actors, are differentially inclusive and not constructed on the same principles. Territory/native state, language/culture and kinship/patrician are the three basic principles of construction according to which 'ethnic' communities are formed in the northwest. These three principles resonate in all apparently unam biguous ethnic categories, each drawing a somewhat different bound ary. It is precisely this ambiguity which makes 'ethnicity' a successful idiom in community formation. I would like briefly to clarify this in what follows. At first sight the question of which 'ethnic identity' will be mobilised seems to depend only on the respective field of action and the position of the person doing the defining, in accordance with the principle: the closer one gets to one's original home, the more narrowly will the boundaries be drawn. A member of the Kusiele patrician from the village of Kokoligu, for instance, would identify himself in Germany as an African or Ghanaian, in Accra as a 'northerner', in Tamale as an 'upper westerner', in Wa as a Dagara or Nandome, in Nandom as a Kusiele or Kokoligule, and in Kokoligu as someone, for example, from the Zogpiele section and the house of Kuunyaa. It is, however, already clear from this account that the ever more exclusive identities, which appear to be layered like an onion, stress now territories, now lan guages, now clans as criteria of boundedness. In some of the modes of belonging listed, closeness to one of the three criteria is evident. In others, however, ambiguity prevails, and precisely in those who are most frequently connoted as a tribe or ethnic group, namely 'Dagara' and 'Nandom'. As regards 'Nandom', for example, it can be thought of as a group of patricians which have marked out a certain migration route in


157

common - from the tengkor, 'the old country', near Babile, u p to the region of Nandom, Kokoligu and Ouessa - and which, after many decades of intermarriage and neighbourhood, are also ritually closely interwoven with one another. Secondly, 'Nandom' can be explained linguistically as the community of those who speak the 'Nandom' dialect. Cultural characteristics are often also thought of here. And thirdly, 'Nandom' can be interpreted politically or territorially, with reference to the Nandom Traditional Area. If one were also to associate the first two possibilities of interpretation with space, then this space would extend far over the border of the Nandom Traditional Area. Conversely, in no way need everyone in the Nandom Traditional Area feel themselves to be 'Nandome': villages on the periphery may prefer to characterise themselves more generally as 'Dagara' and criticise the Nandom-centredness of the political elite. Similar ambiguities apply also to 'Dagara' and other categories. Which interpretation of ethnicity resonates in any concrete situation is influenced on the one hand by who it is who is speaking (or acting) : farmers, migrant workers, educated elite, chiefs, politicians and admin istrative officials define ethnic boundaries and the 'contents' of ethnic identities differently. On the other hand, the interpretation depends on the context of action. Thus for all migrants, regardless of their level of education, ethnicity is an idiom of 'home ties' and 'cultural roots', which should ultimately find their ritual attestation in a dignified burial in their original home. Migrants often translate 'home' into Dagara as saakum-yir, 'the house of the grandfathers', and 'ethnicity' is interpreted as the extension of kinship. Clan associations of migrants often integrate allied and related clans, because a patrician represents a supra-local but relatively exclusive criterion for community formation. In Bobo-Dioulasso, for example, this extension of the clan principle in the direction of ethnicity was even explicitly formulated in an associ ation of Kpiele and Kusiele migrants: the patricians were regarded as 'sous-nationalites', which together form the 'nationalite' of the Dagara. However, many migrant associations organise themselves according to the representation of a common territorial origin ('upper westerners', Lawra Confederacy, and so on) . Secondly, ethnicity becomes an idiom of a moral community which claims to bridge the growing social inequality between the educated elite and poorer rural kin. Even sceptical local intellectuals, who char acterise themselves self-ironically as 'detribalised', admit that ethnic discourses are emotionally effective and an 'impediment' to the cre ation of classes. In this way, not only is the claimed community cited


by the educated as legitimation for a political claim to educate and rep resent their 'less fortunate' tribesmen and tribeswomen, but poor migrants and farmers also appeal to it in order to demand protection and redistribution. Here too, however, the boundaries of the commu nity of solidarity can be drawn differently: for example, the educated elite may prefer a wider definition of 'Dagara', because claims to redis tribution through it are rather diffuse, while for the poorer farmers common membership of the patrician or village can constitute a firm argument for claims to support. Finally, ethnicity may become an idiom of political mobilisation and of demands on the state, 'in order to get a bigger share of the national cake', as activists in the youth associations often express it. Territorial interpretations dominate in this field, though an ethnic-linguistic definition of the community can become an argument in demanding a new arrangement of political boundaries. 1 8 None of these aspects of ethnicity can be entirely effective without the others. Politically instrumental ethnicity needs the cultural con struction of an ethnic community and links up with discourses on identity and solidarity. Ethnic discourses are effective to the extent that they link these different fields - personal identity, moral com munity and political interest groups - together and are in a position to wed the emotionally laden concept of 'home' (saakum-yir) to an administrative territory such as a traditional area and to political demands. The educated elite has better chances here than other actors to define ethnic identity through boundaries, names, histories or a canon of cultural practices. On the other hand, however, their influence as ethnic entrepreneurs and their room for manipulating and 'inventing' identities is restricted by the necessity to anchor symbols, constructions of history and rituals in the experiential world of all participants. In this world of experience, however, including that of the educated themselves, ethnicity is an important idiom of collective identity, but by no means the only one, and often not even the predominant one. The old elements of social belonging such as yir and tengan are still significant. Membership in different groups, networks and organisa tions, as for example the Catholic Church, freemasons and other lodges, associations of graduates of particular secondary schools ('old boys' and 'old girls'), political parties, occupational associations and unions, is for most people as important in the management of their daily lives as their identities as 'northerner' or 'upper westerner', Dagara, Dagaba or Sisala, Nandome, Lambussiele, Jirbaale or Losaale. It

The history of ethnicity in northwestern Ghana 1 59

may also be that ethnic memberships in northwest Ghana have been so flexible and ambiguous up to now precisely because they do not dominate the shaping of daily life and because until now they have largely developed in the absence of violence. In the wars in the Northern Region in the 1 9 80s and 1 990s, unambiguous ethnic ascrip tions became matters of life and death.19 Up till now, northwestern Ghana and the former Lawra District have been spared this fate. Knowledge of the tragedies being played out in the closest vicinity altered discourses concerning ethnic identity and interests, and mobilised anxiety. In recent conflicts over the new division into dis tricts, however, this knowledge has intensified the search for peaceful solutions and convinced the leading political actors of the need to avoid polarising discourses and actions.

Notes

2 3 4 5 6

7

This chapter summarises a research project which I carried out in Lawra District, Upper West Region, between 1 988 and 1 996 with financial support from the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft. I thank the Institute of African Studies, and especially its former Director, Nana Kwame Arhin Birempon, for kind support during my numerous periods of fieldwork in Ghana. Thanks are also due to Nandom Naa Dr C. P. Imoro and the other members of the Nandom chiefly family, the late Lambussie Kuoro K. Y. Baloro, Lawra Naa Abayifaa Karbo and the late Jirapa Naa Bapenyiri Yelpoe, and numer ous other chiefs, earth priests, politicians and intellectuals for their patience and readiness to impart information. Cornelius Debpuur and Isidor Lobnibe helped me with translations with much perseverance and initiative. And last but not least I thank Dr Sebastian Bemile and his family as well as standing for many others - Aloysius Denkabe, Dr E. N. Gyader and Alexis Nakaar for their hospitality and many stimulating discussions. The English translation is by Robert Parkin . Given t h e limits of this chapter, I must desist here from giving detailed documentation and sources, for which I refer the reader to Lentz, 1 998. See, for example, Figure 1 . 1 in this volume. On this, see also Goody, 1 956, 1 9 5 7 . On this, see Wilks, 1 989: 1 6ff. On the Zaberma commanders see Holden, 1 965; on the nomenclature see Binger, 1 892, vol. 11: pp. 34-5 and the map of G. E. Ferguson, Public Record Office, London (PRO), CO 700, Gold Coast, as well as Ferguson in Arhin, 1 9 74: 74-6, 99-1 00, 1 1 7 . I thank Volker Linz for drawing my attention to this possibility.

1 60 8 9 10 11

12

13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Ethnicity in Ghana See, for example, Watherston, 1 907-8: 3 5 7 . On this, see t h e introduction in Rattray, 1 9 32, also ibid . : 425ff. See Goody, 1 954; 1 956: 1 6-26. On this, see the sources quoted in Lentz, 1 994a, b. The question whether the Dagara- (or Dagaare-)speaking population of northwest Ghana and southwest Burkina Faso should be called ' Dagara' or ' Dagaba' is particularly controversial among local intellectuals today. See Bemile in this volume on the respective linguistic controversies. On the history of the introduction of the chiefdoms, see also Bening, 1 9 75; Lentz, 1 993. Admittedly the Lambussie Division was subject to the Nandom Naa from 1 935 to 1 947, but the local anchoring of the division introduced by the British can be read exactly from the obstinacy with which most chiefs of Lambussie strove to re-create the independence of their division. On the associated controversies over local political history see Lentz, 1 9 9 3 . On t h e history of t h e White Fathers in t h e northwest see McCoy, 1 988; Der, 1 9 74; Naameh, 1 986. On the NYDA and other youth associations of the Upper West Region see Lentz, 1 99 5 . On this see also Tengan, 1 99 1 : 1 1 9-23, 2 1 8- 1 9 . On t h e Kobine festival of Lawra a n d t h e Kakube Festival o f Nandom see Lentz, 1 994c. On this distinction between ' moral ethnicity' and 'political tribalism', see Lonsdale, 1 992. See Bogner in this volume.

References Arhin, Kwame (ed.) ( 1 9 74) The Papers of George Ekem Ferguson, a Fanti Official of the Government of the Gold Coast, 1 890-- 1 897 (Leiden: African Studies Centre) . Bening, Raymond ( 1 9 75) ' Foundations of the Modern Native States of Northern Ghana', Universitas, 5: pp. 1 1 6-38. Singer, Le Capitaine ( 1 892) Du Niger au Golfe de Guinee (Paris: Librairie Hachette). Der, Benedict ( 1 9 74) 'Church-State Relations in Northern Ghana 1 906-1 940', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 1 5 : pp. 4 1 -6 1 . Eyre-Smith, R . St John ( 1 933) A Brief Review of the History and Social Organisation of the Peoples of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast (Accra : Government Printer) . Goody, Jack ( 1 954) The Ethnography of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, West of the White Volta (London: Colonial Office) . Goody, Jack ( 1 956) The Social Organisation of the LoWiili (London : H. M. Stationery Office). Goody, Jack ( 1 95 7) 'Fields of Social Control among the LoDagaba', Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 87: pp. 75-104. Holden, J . ] . ( 1 965) 'The Zaberima Conquest of North-West Ghana', Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 8: pp. 60-86


161

Horton, Robin, ( 1 9 7 1 ) 'Stateless Societies i n the History o f West Africa', in: ]. F . A. Ajayi and M. Crowder (eds) History of West Africa, vol. I (New York: Longman), pp. 87-128. Lentz, Carola ( 1 993) 'Histories and Political Conflict: A Case Study of Chieftaincy in Nandom, Northwestern Ghana', Paideuma, 39: pp. 1 7 7-2 1 5 . Lentz, Carola ( 1 994a) 'A Dagara Rebellion against Dagomba Rule? Contested Stories of Origin in Northwestern Ghana', Journal of African History, 3 5 : p p . 45 7-92. Lentz, Carola ( 1 994b) ' " They Must Be Dagaba and Any Other Thing Second' : T h e Colonial a n d Post-Colonial Creation of Ethnic Identities in North Western Ghana', African Studies, 53: pp. 5 7-9 1 . Lentz, Carola ( 1 994c) 'Staatlich verordneter "self-help spirit " versus lokale " self reliance " : Regionale Kulturfestivals in Ghana als politische Arenen , ' in M . Bollig and F . Klees (eds) Oberlebensstrategien in Afrika (Koln: Heinrich Barth-Institut), pp. 293-3 1 6. Lentz, Carola ( 1 995) "' Unity for Development " : Youth Associations in North Western Ghana', Africa, 65: pp. 395-429. Lentz, Carola ( 1 998) Die Konstruktion von Ethnizitiit: Eine politische Geschichte Nord- West Ghanas, 1 870-1 990 (KOln: Koppe). Lonsdale, John ( 1 992) 'The Moral Economy of Mau Mau', in B . Berman and j . Lonsdale, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa (London : james Curry), pp. 3 1 5-504. McCoy, Remigius F. ( 1 988) Great Things Happen: A Personal Memoir of the First

Christian Missionary among the Dagaabas and Sissalas of Northwest Ghana (Montreal: Society of the Missionaries of Africa) . Naameh, Philip ( 1 986) The Christianisation of the Dagara within the Horizon of the West European Experience. PhD thesis, Universitat Munster. Paternot, Marcel ( 1 949) Lumiere sur la Volta: chez les Dagari (Lyon: Editions de la Plus Grande France). Rattray, Robert S. ( 1 932) The Tribes of Ashanti Hinterland (Oxford: Clarendon Press) . Tengan, Edward ( 1 9 9 1 ) The Land as Being and Cosmos: The Institution of the Earth Cult among the Sisala of Northwestern Ghana (Frankfurt a. M . : Peter Lang) . Watherston, A. E. G . ( 1 90 7-8) 'The Northern Territories of the Gold Coast', Journal of the African Society, 7: pp. 344-73. Wilks, Ivor ( 1 989) Wa and the Wala: Islam and Polity in Northwestern Ghana (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

Chapter

8

'A few lesser peoples': the Central Toga minorities and their Ewe neighbours Paul Nugen t

Introduction 1

The public debate surrounding the outbreak of ethnic conflict in northern Ghana in 1 994 was intriguing, not least because it high lighted just how patchy the knowledge of southerners was when it came to the complexities of politics north of the Volta. Although most southerners would probably claim greater familiarity with the Volta Region, the inaccuracy of popular perceptions is in this case even more surprising. One commonly encounters the blanket assertion that the region is populated by Ewe or, according to a slightly more sophisti cated version, that it is made up of Akan communities in the north and Ewe in the south. However, these apparently straightforward cate gories prove, on closer inspection, to be highly problematic. Equally, the existence of the so-called 'Central Togo minorities' (itself a prob lematic term) is scarcely ever recognised by those who do not hail from the region. The 1 9 60 census was the last to include a detailed breakdown of population by ethnic group. Although the criteria for categorisation are open to question, the census does suggest a level of diversity within the region which is not always recognised. The census enumerated 64, 3 80 members of Central Togo minorities (here I am including the Nkonya, who are actually classified as Guan), at a time when the total population of the Volta Region numbered 7 7 7, 280.2 By comparison, the census report listed 5 7 1 ,000 Ewe, 22, 5 1 0 Guan (excluding the Nkonya) and 1 9, 300 Akan. The Central Togo figures were, however, made up of 1 4 different groups, some of whom were very small indeed. This is one obvious reason why they have been overlooked. Another is that the minorities do bear certain similarities to their Ewe-speaking 1 62

'A few lesser peoples ' 1 63

neighbours: they are patrilineal, their systems of chieftaincy are cognate, and they mostly belong to the same mainstream churches (Catholic or Evangelical Presbyterian). The minorities have also imbibed certain influences from their neighbours, most notably a facil ity with the Ewe language. Be that as it may, while an outsider might not perceive any marked differences, the spokesmen for the Central Togo groups have repeatedly insisted upon points of difference. Since ethnicity exists above all in the eyes of the protagonists, this insistence demands to be taken seriously. Within this chapter I seek to demonstrate that the very factors which have led to the Central Togo minorities being overlooked are also those which have influenced the particular expressions of ethnicity (Table 8. 1 ). By means of a historical survey of the last seventy years, I aim to show how the minorities have been forced to deal with the tricky issue of self-definition. While they have often been inclined to insist on their cultural uniqueness, political expediency has frequently dictated that they assimilate themselves to larger partners. The latter is what I call 'ethnicity by approximation'. The bulk of my analysis will centre on one group, the Likpe (or Bakpele), but the general gist of the argument could equally well apply to the others: namely, the Akpafu, Avatime, Bowiri, Buem, Logba, Lolobi, Nyangbo, Santrokofi and Tafi.

Table 8. 1

The Central Togo minorities in Ghana

Group

Language

Numbers in 1 960

Akpafu Avatime Bowiri Buem Likpe Logba Lolobi Nyangbo Santrokofi Tafi Nkonya Adele

Siwui Siyase Siwuri Lelemi Sekpele Sekpana Siwu Tutrugbu Se le Tegbo Nkonya Sed ere

5270 6 7 70 3 1 20 3500 7060 1 060 2840 1 920 3210 1 330 1 0, 1 70 2400

Sources:

1 960 Population Census of Ghana: Special Report 'E' - Tribes of Ghana; Kropp-Dakubu and Ford ( 1 988).


The stuff of ethnicity: symbols, ammunition and prizes

Since the decline of primordialist approaches to the study of ethnicity, it has become customary to regard the latter as above all situational: it is seen as less of a reflex than a project. Such an understanding inevitably leads one to consider not just the operative context (politi cal, social and/or economic), but also the vocabulary through which interests are articulated and defended. In the Ghanaian case there are three registers in which ethnic claims are customarily made: namely linguistic uniformity, shared myths/histories, and control of political space. In the case of the Central Toga minorities these three registers have not carried equal weight. The minorities certainly speak languages which are unique to them selves. With the exception of Nkonya, which was classed as Guan, Westermann and Bryan depicted the Central Toga languages as sepa rate from the Kwa sub-group ( 1 952: 95- 1 0 1 ) . 3 They deployed the term 'Toga Remnant' which was supposed to express the element of linguis tic singularity. This was itself linked to the notion that the minorities were autochthonous to the area. Over the course of the twentieth century, Ewe has made linguistic inroads through the combined opera tions of the market, the church and the school. The smaller southerly groups which are interspersed amongst Ewe-speaking communities the Logba, the Nyangbo and Tafi - have retained their spoken lan guages, but have also achieved a high degree of fluency in Ewe. By con trast, their larger Avatime neighbours are reported to be less proficient in Ewe (Kropp-Dakubu and Ford, 1 98 8 : 1 2 5 ) . The most northerly groups have tended to have come under the weakest Ewe influence. Hence in Nkonya and Buem the second language is more likely to be Twi than Ewe. On the northern fringes of Eweland, in the vicinity of Hohoe, however, the position is different again. According to Kropp Dakubu and Ford, '[Ewe] is thought to be spoken by around 75 per cent among each of the Bowiri, Siwu, Sele and Likpe speaking com munities with the Likpe speaking it best' ( 1 988: 1 24). The overall pattern is one of bilingualism or multi-lingualism rather than linguistic displacement. Hence, contrary to what Kropp Dakubu and Ford seem to imply, the Ewe language is of secondary importance on a day-to-day basis in Likpe. Retention of these languages is a matter of some pride, but they are ill-suited as vehicles for ethnic mobilisation because of their limited scale. The partial exception to the rule is Buem, which embraces both Twi- and Lelemi-speakers. Although the centre of political gravity has historically rested with the Lefana section, the


Akan have tended to hold the linguistic upper-hand. In the schools and the churches, Lelemi-speakers have been confronted with the alternatives of using Twi and Ewe because their own language has never been recognised by higher authorities. This was the basis of a local rift within the Presbyterian Church after the Second World War (Debrunner, 1 96 5 : 1 3 5). In recent years there has been strong local support for the development of religious materials in Lelemi, most notably a Bible translation. The more ambitious champions of a Buem identity have imagined a potential spillover into the schools and other arenas of life. By contrast, it is difficult to imagine an expanded theatre of operations for the other Central Togo languages. As Kropp Dakubu and Ford observe, these languages have no standard orthographies and, with the exception of small amounts of religious material, no real liter ature exists ( 1 98 8 : 1 23). It would always be possible to borrow from Ewe orthography, and thus to print materials in local languages, but there are simply too few speakers to make such a proposition attractive. The Central Togo languages seem doomed, therefore, to remain spoken languages: the privileges of the print language look set to remain reserved for others. Historical traditions are not without their problems either. As has already been noted, there is a theory that the minorities represent autochthonous communities who were later joined by their Ewe- and Twi-speaking neighbours. Although such a thesis might appear to resolve certain difficulties of linguistic classification, it is problematic as history (Nugent, 1 99 7). The fact of the matter is that a number of the minorities claim to have originated from elsewhere. Most of the Avatime claim to have migrated from the Ahanta area and to have met the Baya people (now a sub-unit) in their present location (Brydon, 1 98 1 : 6 70). Equally, the Nkonya claim to have originated at Nyenyam between Accra and Cape Coast. They recall that they subjugated a pre existing population, although the identity of the latter is hotly dis puted (Lilley, 1 925 : 1 1 0- 1 9). According to M. B. K. Darkoh a similar claim is made in Bowiri ( 1 9 70: 1 1 ). In Likpe the dominant tradition tells of how a migrant group merged with the original inhabitants, who are the antecedents of the people of Todome and Bakwa. The latter claim to have come out of the ground at their present location, which is an intriguing tradition in itself. At one level it could be seen as a fairly standard manifesto on the part of those who insist they are autochthonous, but it is also very close to the Ashanti myths of origin and might therefore represent a borrowing. The terms of the 'Likpe constitution' are hotly disputed: whereas the


chiefs of Todome and Bakwa have claimed certain prerogatives as the owners of the land, such as the right to nominate a new Likpehene, the other villages have generally insisted that power rightfully rests with the Paramount stool in Mate. A couple of the villages also contain clans which assert that they are unrelated to either of the two dom inant groups in Likpe. The historical traditions of most Central Togo groups do not extend much beyond the nineteenth century. Moreover, they are frequently contradictory. Each of the sub-units tends to preserve its own version of the past, which may conflict with the versions favoured by the dom inant group. In the case of Likpe, there is very little consensus. about what it means to be Bakpele, aside from speaking one language and living within the boundaries of Likpe Traditional Area. The annual Lekoryi festival is supposed to celebrate the historic act of union of the two major components of the Likpe polity, but it has frequently been boycotted by one or more villages. Dissident voices contest the his toricity of the events the festival is supposed to commemorate. In Todome and Bakwa, for example, it has been claimed that the incom ers originally usurped political power from the indigenes and invented a supposedly voluntary amalgamation as a post-hoc rationalisation (the similarity with the Akuapem case is striking here). A basic lack of agree ment over the fundamentals of the past inevitably poses problems for ethnic brokers seeking to recount a glorious, linear history. But the advantage is that the stock of historical traditions is richly diverse and can easily be massaged to suit the concerns of the day. In that sense they represent political ammunition, which is far more effective than the fact of speaking a distinctive language. Finally, there is the political space itself. Throughout the twentieth century, chieftaincy politics have dominated the affairs of the region (Nugent, 1 996). This is curious in the sense that chiefly office has con ferred few material benefits on incumbents. The cocoa boom of the inter-war period opened up many new opportunities, but the chiefs were not in a position to benefit unduly. Like their Ewe neighbours, the Central Togo groups generally do not have land attached to their stools. Land is controlled by individuals by virtue of membership of a kin group. Chieftaincy is regarded as important, however, because it purports to rank individuals and whole communities in hierarchical relationships. Stools may be seen as the prizes over which the politics of the region is fought out on a year-to-year basis. There is always a temptation to use the language of ethnicity to strengthen a particular argument, but the minorities have been torn between claiming that

'A few lesser peoples ' 1 6 7

they are completely unique and linking themselves t o larger ethnic blocs. From time to time, larger political issues have also intervened to further force their hand. As I aim to demontrate below, in relation to Likpe, the vicissitudes of politics have produced some curious twists over time. Amalgamation policy and ethnic politics

At the time of the first colonial partition the Central Togo minorities were placed under German jurisdiction. The re-partition which followed the First World War led to most of them being enclosed within the boundaries of British Mandated Togoland. It is significant that some British officials, notably Captain Lilley, argued in favour of a demarca tion which would follow ethnic boundaries explicitly. Although this was not accomplished in every case, most communities were placed on one or the other side of the dividing line. The Ewe were, of course, divided by the frontier. But then, as Lilley and his colleagues were fond of pointing out, the Ewe did not constitute a single 'tribe'. Because British Mandated Togoland was administered as an integral part of the Gold Coast, there was pressure to bring existing practice into line with what pertained west of the Volta. One of the complaints of the British authorities was that the Germans had fragmented existing politi cal units such as Buem and left � mass of petty chiefdoms, each with its own array of native tribunals. The aim was, therefore, to rationalise the native authority system by amalgamating 68 small divisions into a number of more compact states. In line with the theory of 'indirect rule', it was proposed that these states would function as 'native authorities' with powers to raise local taxes. These would be paid into native trea suries and be used to support local development activity. Whereas the divisional chiefs would sit on the state councils (whose task was to adju dicate customary disputes) and would maintain their own native courts, the tribunals of the sub-divisional chiefs were to be closed down. The amalgamation policy raised the ticklish question of who was to head the new states and what their powers were to be. The original policy state ment purported to create a system which was consensual. On the one hand, it was declared that the decision to join a state had to be un animous amongst all parts of a division. On the other, it was stated that the heads were not to be regarded as substantive Paramount Chiefs (although the title was used), but merely as 'first amongst equals'. Officials urged divisional chiefs to amalgamate under others of their number with whom they enjoyed historical connections.


authority, which in turn meant that they could not operate their own courts or raise local levies. Moreover, whatever development funds were allocated from the centre were withheld as a form of punishment. The pressure from colonial officials was such that the Likpe chiefs con sidered joining an amalgamated state at various junctures. At one point it seemed that Likpe might join Akpini. However, such a move was opposed by three of the sub-chiefs and was finally thwarted by Lilley himself. The latter actually objected to this arrangement on ethnic grounds. In his mistaken opinion, Likpe was a 'Twi-speaking division which originally came from Ashanti'. 5 Instead, he encouraged the Likpe headchief to join up with Buem. When he retired in 1 9 3 8 his successors kept up the pressure in this direction. Hence in 1 9 4 4 it was categorically stated that 'most of the Likpes are of Ashanti origin and speak Twi as well as Likpe, and it could be natural for the division to join Buem'.6 The assertion of an Ashanti origin goes back to the tradi tions compiled by R. S. Rattray after the First World War. Rattray cate gorically stated that the Likpe people came from Atebubu, but left after refusing to pay tribute to the Ashanti. 7 The Buem option was blocked by the chiefs of Bakwa and Todome who argued, as the autochthones, that Likpe had always been quite distinct from its more powerful neighbour to the north. The fact that the Buem headchief repeatedly claimed that the Bakpele had been his vassals in pre-colonial times did little to help matters. The stalemate continued into the 1 940s when the Likpe headchief, Togbui B. K. Akototse Ill, revived an earlier plan for linking up with Gbi, which had itself continued to resist British overtures. In 1 9 4 7 battle was joined when the chief of Likpe-Avedzeme, Nana Agya Mensah, spoke out against any union with Gbi on the grounds that the latter was an ancient enemy of Likpe. Agya Mensah played upon a more recent mis trust of Hohoe, the centre of Gbi division, which had become a pros perous commercial town on the back of the cocoa economy. His preference was for a union with Buem with which, he argued, the Bakpele had always enjoyed close historical ties. On the other hand, Akototse was prepared to place a more positive construction on the relationship between Gbi and Likpe. As far as he was concerned, Likpe was tied to Hohoe whether his opponents liked it or not. And contrary to the official view, he insisted that there were in fact close links with Ewe peoples. He asserted that whereas Twi was spoken by only a minority of the Bakpele, Ewe was well entrenched. The rest of Likpe was forced to decide between the very different positions of the two chiefs - as was the administration. The District


In spite of the riders attached to the policy, Lilley cajoled chiefs to join particular states, and in some cases sought to scupper arrange ments which the chiefs themselves had brokered. In the first few years the rate of success was impressive. Between 1 929 and 1 9 3 1 Lilley suc ceeded in amalgamating 47 of the 68 independent divisions into four new states: namely Akpini (centred on the Kpandu headchief) ; Awatime (centred on the Avatime headchief); Buem (centred on the headchief at Borada); and Asogli (centred on the Ho headchief). Two of the new states, Awatime and Buem, were therefore headed by chiefs belonging to the Central Toga minorities. The Akpafu, Bowiri and Lolobi were attached to Buem, as they had been for part of the German period. On the other hand, the Logba, Nyangbo and Tafi were placed beneath the Kpandu headchief rather than in the Awatime State which might have been considered a more natural home. Lilley and his successors succeeded in wearing down the resistance of most of the chiefs who had resisted the first round of amalgamations. However, by 1 943 ten divisions still remained unattached to a state and, on the basis of the evidence before them, apparently saw no reason to abandon their opposition. Resistance was normally expressed in terms of the defence of a historically independent status. The group of ten recalcitrants actually included a majority of Ewe divisions: namely, Abutia, Adaklu, Anfoega, Gbi, Goviefe, Tsrukpe and Ve. Anfoega was the most obdurate in that it held out right until the moment when the native authority system was abandoned. In their joint petition to Governor Hodson in January 1 9 4 1 , and in a subse quent petition to Burns in 1 9 45, the independent divisions expressed their reluctance to swear oaths of allegience to chiefs who they regarded as being of an equivalent status to themselves.4 At one level this had nothing to do with ethnicity as such. But for the minorities, the claim to have been historically autonomous was linked to the notion that they were somehow ethnically distinct. The Nkonya chiefs, for example, refused to play ball on the grounds that they were really G:uan, who had nothing in common with either the Buem or the Ewe. In Santrokofi and Likpe, no such Guan heritage was claimed at this time. Nevertheless, there was a strong body of opinion within these divisions which asserted that their cultural uniqueness was good enough grounds for maintaining a separate status. Within Likpe, the amalgamation policy precipitated a heated debate over history and culture (Nugent, 1 99 1 : eh. 3 ) . To remain independent involved certain disadvantages, at least from the perspective of the chiefs. It meant that they did not belong to a duly constituted native


Commissioner felt that on balance the evidence probably favoured the Agya Mensah position. On this occasion he put forward a slightly more nuanced version of Likpe history: The original Likpes came from Atebubu, Gold Coast, crossed to Nuatje [sic] and returned to their present area. Association with the Buems has been long and intimate. It is clear that the Likpes have much greater affinities racially, and linguistically with the Buems than the Gbis.8 His superiors, on the other hand, felt that the weight of numbers favoured Akototse. Whereas the authorites had hitherto insisted that the independent divisions had to accept the amalgamation policy as it stood, there was a greater preparedness to compromise on the issue by 1 949. This arose out of a feeling that the programme pursued by Lilley had deviated from the original set of guidelines. It was also acknowl edged that the heads of the four states were acting as if they were full paramount chiefs, so that the independents had a legitimate concern. Having previously rejected proposals for a looser 'federal' arrange ment, the British now consented to the coming together of Likpe, Ve and Gbi in a new Atando Native Authority. At around the same time, Nkonya and Santrokofi were allowed to federate in a Ayonkodo Native Authority. This arrangement enabled Akototse to gain some of the advantages of participation in the native administration system. But the fact that a rotating chairmanship substituted for the position of Paramount Chief also enabled him to argue that he had not aban doned the principle of Bakpele independence. However, his opponents did not see things in quite the same way. Shortly after the inaugura tion of the Atando Native Authority in 1 949, Nana Agya Mensah set up a Likpe Grand Council to co-ordinate opposition to the new arrange ment. Part of his strategy was to destool pro-Atando chiefs and to enstool others who would support withdrawal from the native author ity. He also encouraged the Bakpele to withhold the payment of taxes in an attempt to strangle it at birth. More interesting for our purposes was his invocation of the language of ethnicity. The crux of his thesis was, firstly, that the Bakpele were part of a greater Akan diaspora. In support of his thesis he referred to the works of Bosman, Bowdich and Ellis, in which he claimed there were explicit references to the Likpe people. At the same time he argued that the Bakpele were historically distinct from the Ewe, with whom past rela tionships had been conflictual:

'A (ew lesser peoples ' 1 7 1

The people of Likpe are from time immemorial traditionally and historically an Akan tribe which was once part and parcel of the Ashanti kingdom and still retains intact customs, tradition, chief taincy, constitutional practices, languages etc. of the Akans of Ashanti to this day and which are inimically and diametrically opposed to those of the Ewes . . . . This submission can be judged when it is taken into consideration of a power backed by a law placed in the hands of a backward people to [be applied] against people [against] whom they have a hereditary gruge [sic] and deep sitted [sic] time immemmorial [sic] bitterest enmity and hatred. 9 A great deal o f emphasis was placed upon fundamental cultural differ ences, skirting over the even more obvious differences with the Akan, such as the patrilineal basis of Likpe society. To quote from the same document: That conflict is bound to be sharp when it must be borne in mind that among Africa tribes however primitive they may be there are different peculiar customs which are so respected that these tribes or nations have guarded them so jealously that cases have been known when even liberty itself has been risked for their preservation; for example, the Ewes like the Jews practise circumcission [sic] . [The] Likpes abhor it to such an intensific [sic] degree that even if a man is the lawful successor to a kingship and it is discovered that he is cir cumcised he [is] constitutionally deprived from the family. The circumcision issue recurred in the destoolment charges which were brought against the headchief and the chiefs of Agbozome and Bakwa. In these cases it was asserted that the chiefs had defiled the Likpe stools by allowing un�ircumcised Gbi linguists to pour libations to them. The final flourish poured scorn on the kind of claims which Nana Akototse was advancing: Among the people of Likpe [and] the Ewes the only Uniformity that exists is the accident of colour. The dissimilarity is as great as that which exists between a Greek and a Swede or a Bulgarian to a Dutchman or an Ashanti to a Hawsa [sic] or a Fanti to Ewe man. The debate as to whether the Bakpele were more like the Akan or the Ewe is intriguing in itself, since none of the protagonists apparently found it helpful to define themselves as a people apart.


The struggle to situate the Bakpele was pursued at many different levels. The two sides peddled conflicting versions of history in their various petitions and verbal representations to colonial officialdom. Akototse was inclined towards a version of the past in which the Likpe people, with the exception of the peoples of Bakwa and Todome, had supposedly lived at Notsie along with the Ewe and migrated with them from that place. The Notsie episode, it should be noted, is the great binding myth of the Ewe people (Gayibor, 1 989) . The attempt to asso ciate with it might, therefore, be construed as an attempt not j ust to find a historical niche for the Bakpele, but to play up their links with the Ewe people. The Agya Mensah version, on the other hand, did not refer to the Notsie episode. Instead, it concentrated on a migration from Ashanti via Atebubu. Agya Mensah claimed that the Bakpele had reached their settlement long before the Gbi and other Ewe peoples. His account laid emphasis upon the struggle by the Bakpele to hold onto what was theirs in the face of more recent Ewe arrivals. This version of the past enabled Agya Mensah to have his cake and eat it, in the sense that the Bakpele were described as Akan by origin, but also first-corners in their place of settlement. The contest between the two chiefs was also played out in other, more symbolic, ways. For example, the headchief always used the Ewe title of Togbui, while Agya Mensah insisted upon the Akan designation of Nana . Within Likpe, the tide seemed to turn in favour of Agya Mensah. By early 1 9 50 the chiefs of Agbozome and Bakwa had been forced to flee their villages, while the chief of Todome was precariously balanced. An attempt to forcibly destool the headchief was foiled, but only through the intervention of a police detachment. Having initially refused to actively support Akototse, the authorities placed Agya Mensah on trial for undermining the lawful standing of the native authority. But to their intense embarassment his case was later dismissed before the West African Court of Appeal. Akototse sought to bail himself out of his predicament by rekindling links with non-Ewe divisions to the north. In 1950 the Atando Native Authority expressed a preference for joining Buem, Krachi, Nkonya and Santrokofi in a proposed new Northern District Council. This proposal apparently enjoyed the support of Gbi division, but not of Ve. However, the Buem, Nkonya and Santrokofi chiefs petitioned against such an arrangement on the grounds that they were quite distinct from the Ewe: We have no grudge whatsoever against the Ewes as a race . We, however, feel correctly that our identity as an ethnic group should


ever be preserved and not confused. We deplore that paragraph in the Joint Anglo-French Memorandum . . . which described us as 'a few lesser peoples (the Buems, Likpes, Santrokofis, Akpafus, Bowiris and Nkonyas of British Togoland and Akpossos of French Togoland) who are not Ewes but whose interests are so confused with those of the latter that they cannot be excluded from consideration from the Ewe problem'. This statement clearly denies our identity as a race and this loss of identity has cost us dearly in matters of educational Scholarship, where because we are regarded as Ewes, whatever Scholarship is granted to Ewes is assumed to benefit us equally. 1 0 B y this time the language o f ethnicity had been activated across the middle belt of Southern Togoland. While macro-political events had a large part to play in this, British efforts to restructure chieftaincy had actually set the ball rolling. The latter had heightened the sensitivity of certain of the Central Togo minorities, notably the Nkonyas, the Santrokofis and the Bakpele, to their position in relation to their more numerous Ewe neighbours. In Buem the situation was more complex because the Paramountcy and the wing chiefs were derived from the Lefana section of the state. The Twi-speaking section and the Ewe migrant farmers fought their own long-running battle to achieve a say within local power structures. The Twi-speakers complained that their areas produced most of the cocoa and paid a disproportionate share of the taxes, and yet they were politically excluded. Similarly the Ewe migrant farmers complained that the cocoa economy rested primarily upon their efforts and yet they were treated with scant respect by the Buem chiefly hierarchy. The aggrieved sections tended to express themselves in the vocabulary of ethnicity. The politics of Ewe/Togoland unification revisited

The debate about the future of the two Togolands, which gathered pace in the early 1 9 50s, followed many of the furrows which had already been ploughed in the inter-war period. The saga of the unification movement, which sought the rectification of colonial fron tiers after the Second World War, has been recounted many times before, and there is no need to repeat it in detail here (Welch, 1 9 66; Amenumey, 1 989; Greene, 1 996: 1 36-S S ) . There are, however, two fea tures of unification/integration politics that are worth noting. The first is that the Ewe unification movement was a fairly spectacular failure in terms of mobilising its chosen constituency. The All-Ewe Conference,


which was formed by Gold Coast Ewe intellectuals in 1 94 6, initially made inroads into British Togoland. But it was quickly rolled back by the Togoland Union whose aim was reunification of the two Togolands, specifically excluding the Gold Coast Ewe. Togoland Ewe intellectuals, such as Gerald Awuma, used the most intemperate lan guage to complain about the domination of the church and business by Gold Coast Ewe. Although Awuma's own statements exuded a strong whiff of paranoia, they were grounded in the reality of closer economic and social integration with the Gold Coast, which seemed to benefit southerners most of all. The second feature is that the debate over the future of Togoland fol lowed the lines of fracture that had emerged during the amalgamation debates. Although the Togoland Union derived much of its support from the northern Ewe, the minorities were also an important source of support. As early as 1 94 8 the signatures of chiefs from Avatime, Buem, Likpe and Santrokofi were appearing on its documents. When the Union transformed itself into a political party in 1 950, the 'Natural Rulers' who appended their signatures to the first Togoland Congress (TC) resolutions included a chief from Avatime, the Regent of Buem and Togbui Akototse from Likpe (who also seems to have served briefly as Chairman of the party). The Secretary of the TC and its prime mover was S. G. Antor, who is normally described as an Ewe, but actually hailed from Logba.11 Given the close co-operation between Ewe and minority politicians, it is perhaps appropriate that the headquarters of the party was located in Hohoe. The latter was located on the cusp between Eweland and the minority areas to the north, east and west. It was also the headquarters of the multi-ethnic Atando Native Authority. The principal rival to the TC was the Convention People's Party (CPP) which sought the incorporation of the Trust Territory into the Gold Coast. Although the CPP was a Gold Coast party, it claimed to have hit upon its own strategy for achieving unification: that is, once British Togoland was absorbed into the Gold Coast, the CPP would endeavour to broker a union with French Togoland, thereby uniting the Togolands and the Ewe people in one fell swoop. The CPP conse quently received the backing of the southern Ewe who had fronted the All-Ewe Conference. Surprisingly, it also managed to secure the defec tion of some early leaders of the Togoland Union such as Kofi Dumoga, Gerald Awuma and F. Y. Asare (from Buem). The pattern of political alignments during the 1 9 50s is ripe for reappraisal. In his analysis of the 1 9 5 6 plebiscite J. S. Coleman argued that local issues exercised a predominant influence over the result


( 1 9 5 6 : 76-80). If the suggestion is that people voted purely according to factional alignments that were unrelated to larger political issues, it is positively misleading. The fact of the matter is that local factional ism owed a great deal to the working-through of two factors men tioned above: namely, the uneven spread of the benefits from cocoa and the fallout from the amalgamation policy. The areas which had been most resistant to the latter policy, voted overwhelmingly for the CPP during the 1 9 50s. The areas of CPP dominance were Anfoega, Nkonya, Santrokofi and the Twi-speaking section of Buem. Anfoega had been penalised by the colonial state, while in the cocoa-growing areas there was a perception that the wealthiest parts of the region were the least advantaged in terms of the provision of roads and schools. Because the CPP was promising a substantial injection of development expenditure in return for votes, it made many local friends. By contrast, the TC performed best in areas where the amalga mation policy had been successfully implemented. This included most of the Ewe-speaking divisions, Avatime, Logba, Nyangbo, Tafi, Lolobi, Akpafu and the Lefana section of Buem. In Likpe there was a predictable schism. Opponents of the Atando Native Authority lined up behind the CPP, while its supporters rallied to the TC. During the tenure of the Native Authority, Akototse had worked closely with the Gbi headchief, Togbe Gabusu IV, who was in turn under the influence of S. G. Antor and A. K. Senoo (a native of Hohoe). The vice-chairman of the TC was Nana j. Q. Sekyere, the chief of Likpe-Agbozome who had allied himself to the headchief during the Atando dispute. When he was forced to flee his village he took up resi dence in Hohoe and married a daughter of Togbe Gabusu. Hence there was an organic link between the affiliations of the late 1 9 40s and the political alliances of the first half of the 1 950s. The continuities between Atando and unification politics did not go unnoticed at the time. The manner in which British officialdom sought to dismiss Antor is significant in this context: 'Mr Antor represents nothing but a handful of political adventurers in the town of Borada and the Atando Native Authority Area'.12 The villages of Mate and Bala were regarded as safe Ablode strong holds. On the other hand the CPP controlled the villages which had harboured the greatest resistance to Atando: namely Avedzeme, Bakwa, Kukurantumi and Agbozome. Moreover, the leading activist was none other than Agya Mensah, who embodied all the characteristics that are commonly associated with the CPP. One District Commissioner was clearly rather impressed by the figure which he cut, remarking: 'This


individual is an educated young man and frequent visitor to Accra, who quoted at length from the Coussey Report and Abraham Lincoln'.13 For someone with ambition, like Agya Mensah, the Gold Coast was a land of opportunity whereas the other half of Togoland was viewed as somewhat backward. It was also francophone, which was bound to place English-speakers at a disadvantage in the future market for jobs. By contrast, the so-called 'German scholars', who looked back to the days of a united Togoland, were more likely to lean towards the TC. Nourished by the earlier debates over amalgamation, ethnicity played a direct role in determining political allegiances. The 1 9 5 6 plebiscite required voters t o choose between union with the Gold Coast and separation from it pending a final decision about the future of the two Togolands (Table 8.2). In the northern sector of Southern Togoland the CPP repeated the contention that the Twi-speaking com munities had more in common, historically and culturally, with other Akan peoples west of the Volta. In the southern sector the TC reminded voters of their links with the Ewe of French Togoland. The minorities, as usual, faced a dilemma. Recognition of their singularity offered no answer to the unification-versus-integration question. Hence local political actors sought a space for their communities within larger ethnic blocs by means of a conscious process of approx imation. The issue was whether they were more like the Akan or the Ewe, reopening a debate that had been going since the 1 930s. In Likpe

Table 8.2

Voting by the Central Togo minorities in the plebiscite of 1 9 5 6

Union Akpafu Avatime Bowiri Buem Likpe Logba Lolobi Nyangbo Santrokofi Tafi Nkonya Total

Source:

Separation

270 924 1 226 3 1 27 910 193 117 4 714 27 35 1 1

1 227 1315 606 43 1 5 1 206 68 7 908 558 1 24 373 591

1 1 ,023

1 1,810

United Nations, Plebiscite Commissioner's Report, pp. 1 84-96.

'A few lesser peoples ' 1 7 7

the CPP used the alleged Akan origins of the Bakpele as an argument for integration with the Gold Coast. On the other hand, TC supporters stressed the historic bonds which linked the Bakpele with their Ewe neighbours to the east. The debate about high politics was inevitably, therefore, a dispute about history. Minority identity since independence

There is not the space to follow up the aftermath of the plebiscite here. Suffice it to note that a majority in Southern British Togoland voted for separation from the Gold Coast, but were outvoted by the north. Although TC leaders warned darkly of the consequences of over-riding the wishes of the Ewe and minority peoples of the south, the unification movement quickly imploded after Ghanaian indepen dence. Moreover, despite the re-emergence of the spectre of secession ism in the early 1 9 70s, the outcome was yet again the failure of the Ewe (and the minorities) to rally to the unificationist banner (Brown, 1 9 83). Part of the reason is that the 'German scholars', who had fronted the TC at the village level, literally started to die out during the 1 960s. Those who came to occupy vacant stools and to lead com munity opinion were the 'youngmen' who had advanced the cause of the CPP in the 1 950s. Another reason is that the peoples of former British Togoland adapted rather successfully to the realities of integration - and none more so than the minorities. The 1 960 Population Census revealed that the Central Togo groups (here the Nkonya are excluded) had the highest levels of educational attainment in the country as a whole. Whereas 50.2 per cent of Akan t:nen and 50.6 per cent of those classifed as Ga Adangbe had been to school, the figure stood at 7 1 .2 per cent in the case of men from the Central Togo minorities. Moreover, the 46.2 per cent of Ewe men who had been to school was almost matched by the 44.8 per cent of Central Togo women who had done so. Again, the average rate of literacy in English was a mere 1 6.2 per cent, but for the Central Togo groups it stood at 33.7 per cent.14 Amongst certain of the minorities, such as the Avatime and the Akpafu, the profound inter est in schooling went back to German times. In other cases, like that of Likpe, a sound education came to be viewed in more recent times as a means of getting ahead. It provided a possible ticket to employment within the public service and in the cities more generally. Although it is difficult to come by the relevant statistics, members of the minorities appear to be over-represented within the state bureaucracy, the Armed

1 78

Ethnicity in Ghana

Forces and the universities. This is belied by their lack of a profile in the public consciousness. Their command of the Ewe language frequently marks them out as Ewe, and yet their names often sound more Akan. In an urban environment, members of the minorities may pass for either, depending on the context. They also retain their own associations which remind them of the fact they are neither. Whereas there has been a long history of migration towards the Gold Coast, the cities of Toga never exerted the same attraction. Apart from the fact that the Togolese developed a different way of doing things, the choice of national lan guage became a serious barrier after 1 9 20. Although Toga became a home for political exiles, it was never a first choice of settlement. Although unification politics withered on the vine, the machina tions surrounding chieftaincy politics gave rise to new expressions of ethnicity after independence. Part of the stimulus came from west of the Volta, especially in Akuapem, where self-proclaimed autochthones began to demand their separation from Akan chiefs.15 As a by-product of these struggles a conscious effort was made to construct a pan-Guan cultural movement, spanning the Volta, from the 1 9 70s. Out of a list of 28 separate Guan peoples compiled around 1 9 80, no less than 1 4 were from the Volta Region. This included not just the Nkonya, but the Lolobi, Akpafu, Likpe, Santrokofi, Bowiri, Logba, Nyangbo, Tafi and Buem - although for some reason the Avatime were excluded from the list.1 6 This classification was a radical innovation in the sense that nobody had previously thought to label the so-called 'Togo remnants' as Guan. However, certain intellectuals and chiefs from the region started to attend meetings of the Guan Congress during the early 1 980s. Following an established tradition, Nkonya people appear to have been in the vanguard. The Guan movement gained adherents in the region on account of a reopening of the amalgamation debate. In 1 9 5 6 the Van Lare Commission had recommended the recognition of a number of Paramountcies in the region. The working definition of a Paramount Chief was the occupant of a stool which was not subordinate to any other stool. Hence the heads of the old amalgamated states - namely the chiefs of Avatime, Kpandu, Ho and Buem - were confirmed in their Paramount status. On the other hand, the divisional chiefs who had sworn oaths of allegiance to them were held to have damaged their claims to independence. That left the divisions which had refused to join the amalgamated states: namely Anfoega, Gbi, Likpe, Ve, Nkonya and Santrokofi. Because they had not sworn oaths of allegiance they were accorded the status of Paramount Chiefs. But after the overthrow


of Nkrumah, the National Liberation Council passed Decree No. 1 1 2 of 1 9 66 which aimed to downgrade stools which had wrongfully been elevated. As a result the former rebel divisions were stripped of their status. The waters were further muddied by a Legislative Instrument of 1 9 74, which permitted them to become full members of the Regional House of Chiefs without restoring their titles. In the mid- 1 9 70s the Acheampong regime sought to resolve the issue by establishing a Committee of Enquiry into the Volta Region chief taincy affairs. In a revisitation of the amalgamation debate the spokes men for the erstwhile rebel divisions insisted that their claims should be recognised because their stools had always been autonomous. The minority representatives amongst them once again resorted to argu ments grounded on ethnicity, but on this occasion they shifted their ground considerably. They no longer claimed that they were akin to the Akan or the Ewe, but insisted that they were really Guan. Their sensitivity is exemplified by the Santrokofi witness before the Committee who observed that he was speaking in Ewe not because his people were related to the Ewe, but because he had attended school in a part of the region where that language was used.1 7 He did, however, commit the cardinal error of admitting that there was a difference of opinion between those who believed that the Santrokofi had migrated westwards from Notsie along with the Ewe and others who thought that they had come eastwards with the other Guan. In his testimony Nana Soglo Allo Ill of Likpe made no such error. He omitted any refer ence to a migration from Notsie, except to record that the Bakpele had ultimately encountered Ewe peoples once they had left that place. He was adamant that the Bakpele were really Guan by origin.u1 The Guan hypothesis was called upon in order to score a specific political point. But it also had its limitations which may help to explain why it has failed to establish its complete dominance amongst the Central Togo minorities. First of all, the purveyors of a putative Guan tradition elsewhere have emphasised the differences in political culture between their own people and later Akan arrivals. Putting the case simply, it is said that whereas the Guan once had priests, the Akan introduced chiefs. Some of the historical traditions which were col lected from Likpe in the 1 9 30s actually bore an affinity with the Guan model. The first leaders were described as guardians of a fetish, while the stool was reputedly a later innovation (Nugent, 1 99 7). But the sug gestion that the ancestors of the present Likpe chiefs were originally fetish priests was not the most convincing basis on which to stake a claim to a Paramountcy. During the Committee hearings, therefore,


Nana Soglo was forced to blur the issues as much as possible. During my field research in the mid- 1 9 80s it appeared that enthusiasm for the pan-Guan movement had dissipated across most of Likpe. At the time of writing, certain political actors are seeking to rework traditions so as to forge an altogether new synthesis, but alas this is beyond the scope of this chapter. Conclusion

This chapter has explored the ways in which the Central Togo minor ities have defined themselves in relation to their more numerous neigh bours - as a response firstly to the British policy of amalgamation, then to the Ewe/Togoland unification question and more recently still to the Volta Region chieftaincy debate. Time and again the shapers of minor ity opinion have sought to ally themselves with larger ethnic blocs by a conscious process of approximation. At different times the targets for emulation have been Ewe, Akan and Guan. On the surface of things these might appear to represent fundamentally incompatible foci of identity. But it is testimony to the creativity of local ethnic brokers that they have managed to render even the most implausible claims credible to at least part of their audience. It is no less impressive that they have managed to shift their ground without incurring the charge of being thoroughly inconsistent. Such is the mercurial stuff of ethnic politics.

Notes 1

2

3 4 5

I acknowledge financial assistance for the research that went into this chapter from the Nuffield Foundation, the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland and the Travel and Research Committee of the University of Edinburgh. Thanks are due to Carola Lentz for comments on the first draft of the chapter. The Nkonya numbered 1 0 1 70. See 1 960 Population Census of Ghana: Special Report 'E' - Tribes of Ghana (Accra, 1 994): C6. On the other hand, Greenberg ( 1 96 3 : 8) included these languages as a sub group of the Kwa languages. G hana National Archives, Accra (GNAA), ADM 39/ 1 /93, Petition to Sir Arnold Hodson, 14 January 1 94 1 . Ghana National Archives, H o (GNAH), DA/078, Handing Over Report by Captain Lilley.

'A few lesser peoples ' 1 8 1 6 GNAA A D M 3 9 / 1 /545, Memorandum o n amalgamation in British Togoland, 1 944. 7 GNAH RAO/C. 1 0273, Togoland: A History of the Tribal Divisions of the District of Misahuhe and of the Sub-Districts of Ho and Kpandu, compiled by R. S. Rattray. 8 GNAH DA/0. 1 33, J. Green, ADC, Kpandu, to Senior DC, Ho, 1 October 1 94 7 . 9 GNAH DA/D. 1 33, 'A further declaration of Likpe Grand Council', 1 2 August 1 95 1 . 1 0 GNAH DA/240, ' Resolution of the Buem State, Santrokofi and Nkonya Divisions Scholars Union', 1 0 June 1 9 50. 1 1 Welch ( 1 966: 88) is one of those who refers to Antor as an Ewe. 12 GNAH RAO/C. 705/TA . 24, 'Commentary on Mr Antor's statement to the Trusteeship Council'. 1 3 GNAH DA/D. 1 33, Palmer to Chief Commissioner, 1 9 July 1 950. 1 4 1 960 Population Census of Ghana: Special Report E: lviii, lxvi. 15 The politics of ethnicity in Akuapem were dealt with by Michelle Gilbert in a fascinating paper at the Edinburgh conference; see Gilbert, 1 9 9 7 . 1 6 See 'The Ci rcumferential Distribution of Guan-speaking Communities i n Ghana', Journal o f the Guan Historical Society, 1 , p. 1 , a n d 2 : p. 24. 17 Committee of Enquiry (Volta Region), 1 26th sitting, 29 January 1 9 76 : 25. 1 8 Ibid . : 3.

References Amenumey, D. E. K. ( 1 989) The Ewe Unification Movement: A Political History (Accra: Ghana Universities Press) . Brown, Datrid ( 1 983) 'Sieges and Scapegoats: The Politics of Pluralism in Ghana and Togo', Journal of Modern African Studies, 2 1 : pp. 4 3 1 -60. Brydon, Lynne ( 1 9 8 1 ) ' Rice, Yams and Chiefs in Avatime: Speculations on the Development of a Social Order', Africa, 5 1 : pp. 659-77. Coleman, J . S. ( 1 956) 'Togoland', International Conciliation, 509: 3-9 1 . Darkoh, M . B . K . ( 1 9 70) ' A Note o n the Peopling o f the Forest Hills o f the Volta Region of Ghana', Ghana Notes and Queries, 1 1 : pp. 9-1 3 . Debrunner, Hans ( 1 965) A Church Between Colonial Powers: A Study o f the Church in Toga (London: Lutterworth Press) . Gayibor, N. L. ( 1 989) ' Le Remodelage des Traditions Historiques: La Legende d'Agokorli Roi de Notse', in C . - H . Perrot (ed.), Sources Orales de l'Histoire de l'Afrique (Paris : CNRS) . Gilbert, Michelle ( 1 99 7 ) "' No Condition is Permanen t " : Ethnic Construction and the Use of History in Akuapem', Africa, 67: pp. 501-33. Greenberg, Joseph ( 1 963) The Languages of Africa (Bioomington : Indiana University Press) . Greene, Sandra E. ( 1 996) Gender, Ethnicity and Social Change on the Upper Slave Coast: A History of the Anlo-Ewe (London: James Currey) .

1 82 Ethnicity in Ghana Kopytoff, Igor ( 1 987) 'The I nternal African Frontier: The Making of African Political Culture', in I . Kopytoff (ed.), The African Frontier: The Reproduction of Traditional African Societies (Bioomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press). Kropp-Dakubu, Mary E. and Ford, K. C . ( 1 988) 'The Centrai-Togo Languages', in M . E. Kropp-Dakubu (ed. ) , The Languages of Ghana (London : Kegan Paul International). Lilley, C. C. ( 1 925) 'A Short History of the Nkonya Division in the Ho District', Gold Coast Review, 1: pp. 1 08-26. Nugent, Paul ( 1 9 9 1 ) 'National Integration and the Vicissitudes of State Power in Ghana: The Political Incorporation of Likpe, a Border Community, 1 945-1 986', PhD thesis, London University. Nugent, Paul ( 1 996) 'An Abandoned Project? The Nuances of Chieftaincy, Development and H istory in Ghana's Volta Region', Journal of Legal Pluralism, 3 7-8: pp. 203-2 5 . Nugent, Paul ( 1 997) 'Myths of Origin a n d t h e Origin of Myth: Local Politics and the Uses of H istory in Ghana's Volta Region', Working Papers on African Societies, 22 (Berlin: Das Arabische Buch). Welch, Claude ( 1 966) Dream of Unity: Pan-Africanism and Political Unification in West Africa (Ithaca: Cornell University Press) . Westermann, Dietrich and Bryan, M. A. ( 1 9 5 2) The Languages of West Africa (London : Oxford University Press) .

Chapter

9

The 1 9 9 4 civil war in northern Ghana: the genesis and escalation of a 'tribal' conflict 1 A rtur Bogner

Since 1 9 8 1 the region around the Oti river, on the border of Ghana and Togo, has been the scene of five ethnic conflicts - the bloodiest clashes in Ghana since its founding. These conflicts (one of them on Togolese territory) can be seen as a series. Although up to 1 99 4 they each occurred i n a different place with different opponents, they all involved members of one ethnic group in particular, the Konkomba.2 The conflict of 1 994

In 1 9 8 1 groups made up of Konkomba fought against Nanumba in the Nanumba District (capital: Bimbilla); in 1 985, 1 9 8 6 and again in 1 989 Konkomba fought with B'moba in the East Mamprusi District (capital: Gambaga), in 1 9 9 1 with Mossi in the area around Guerin Kouka (Republic of Togo), and in 1 992 with Gonja in the East Gonja District (capital: Salaga) . In the last conflict they fought alongside a smaller group, the Nawuri. In February 1 99 4 this series3 culminated in a war covering most of the Northern Region and neighbouring parts of other regions. It was fought between the Nanumba, Dagomba and Gonja on one side, and on the other the Konkomba and, according to unverified reports, members of the Nawuri, the Basare and Nchumuru (or Nanjuro) . Furthermore, according to press reports, in the first days of fighting other persons, probably warriors from the Mamprusi, set up road blocks in the Mamprusi Districts and searched vehicles for Konkomba. Reports were quickly circulated in the media which claimed that the fighting had broken out over the sale of a guinea-fowl, and that Konkomba had been the aggressors. Attention was later drawn to other 183


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The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 185

factors which had led to the conflict, first of all the dissent over a petition from Konkomba spokesmen, in which they called for autonomy within the Ghanaian system of 'traditional' representation. The government declared a state of emergency in seven districts, lasting until August 1 994, when the situation was calm enough to allow for the replacement of the army troops by special units of the police. As in 1 9 8 1 , fighting broke out first in the Nanumba area, but this time it quickly spread to areas ruled by Dagomba and Gonja. Press reports estimated the number of deaths from this armed conflict at 2000; according to official sources more than 300 villages were destroyed and 1 7 8,000 people were displaced. Already 2000 people or more had been killed in the war of 1 9 8 1 ; given that the fighting in 1 99 4 was of a much larger scale, the estimated figure of 2000 deaths seems unrealistic. Two days after the beginning of the war there were violent attacks by outraged youths on Konkomba in Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region; about 5000 Konkomba living as a minority in the town and its surroundings were forced to flee. In the town, members of ethnic groups not involved in the war, and soldiers, were also attacked by youths, and an unknown number were murdered in broad daylight. In one case, with which I am personally familiar, a white person was also physically attacked in Tamale. Many road blocks were erected along the road from Tamale to Buipe, most of them in the West Gonja District which includes almost the whole of this important trunk road. It is probable that most of the Konkomba victims were killed there. Although in this district, too, a consider able number of villages was destroyed, it was not among the seven districts put under a state of emergency. Today it is usually not counted among the districts affected by the war (for example Bacho et al., 1 996). Meanwhile the losses of the Dagomba, Nanumba and Gonja were greatest in the Oti region, particularly outside of the dis trict capitals, which were protected by security forces. Almost all of their settlements along the road between Bimbilla and Yendi were burnt.4 This pattern reflects the reputed superiority of the Konkomba in the methods of bush warfare, which has often been noted by observers in the past (Anderson, 1 9 4 7 ; Tait, 1 9 6 1 ), and also points to the settlement patterns of the groups concerned - the Konkomba live primarily in the easternmost districts of the Northern Region, which have few developed transport facilities, and particularly in inaccess ible bush areas, while their adversaries often prefer to settle close to the roads and larger settlements.


One dimension of the conflict which is difficult to evaluate is the several attacks on religious buildings and mosques. There were voices who partly attributed the escalation of violence to the differing reli gious preferences among the social elites of the warring groups Christianity among educated Konkomba, Islam within the aristocratic upper classes of their opponents. All groups accused the security forces of discrimination; however, it was only spokesmen of the Konkomba and their allies that reported actual attacks by the army on their villages. 5 On the other hand, their enemies complained that the disarmament of the warring factions was only being carried out and controlled effectively in the bigger settle ments, where they were in the majority. Under the supervision of the government, and clearly also under considerable pressure from it, the conflicting parties signed treaties for ceasefire and peace. They also held public peace ceremonies in a 'tradi tional' style - between Konkomba and Dagomba in December 1 994, between Konkomba and Gonja in May 1 996, and between Konkomba and Nanumba in October 1 996. Following the first peace ceremony there was public controversy as to whether the reconciliation amounted to an explicit admission of guilt on the part of the Konkomba leaders. The peace ceremony with the Gonja came about only after the first attempt (in front of television cameras and a duped head of state) had failed; the Konkomba did not turn up at the cere mony, their leaders claiming that they had received notification of the arrangement only one or two days beforehand. 6 In March and April 1 99 5 renewed fighting broke out on a local level in the Nanumba District and in the area around Kpatinga (Gushiegu Karaga District). The government responded with attacks from the security forces on Konkomba villages which had been singled out as being responsible for the destruction of Kpatinga. This was the first time that the government-controlled press reported unambiguously, and with a supportive tone, of an offensive action by the security forces against one of the warring parties. It was the general view of on the-spot sources that, as late as June 1 99 7, it would not have been pos sible for Konkomba to visit, without risking their lives, the capital of the Northern Region, Tamale, which is inhabited principally by Dagomba. 7 In contrast, in Yendi, the seat of the king of the Dagomba surrounded by Konkomba settlements, the situation already nor malised to some extent by September 1 995. This was attributed to the fact that the traders living in Yendi had strong interests in trading with the rural Konkomba. 8

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 1 8 7 Some basic conditions o f the conflict

One issue is now almost generally recognised as the most important

proximate cause of the 1 9 9 4 war: the question as to whether the most prominent chief among the Konkomba, the Chief of Saboba, is entitled to the status of an independent 'Paramount Chief' with autonomous land rights, or whether he remains hierarchically subordinate to the Dagomba king, the Ya Na. The latter lays claim to the highest tradi tional authority and ownership of all land in the 'homeland' of the Ghanaian Konkomba. This term refers to their older settlement area around Saboba which, according to the available sources, included a territory roughly corresponding to the triangle formed by Zabzugu, Chereponi and Sunson. 9 The Konkomba have inhabited this territory since at least 1 89 7, but probably very much longer. Owing to pressure on the land, however, there has been considerable migration out of this area in a southward direction, for at least seventy years. Many Konkomba have now settled in areas much further south. The Konkomba have been classified as a 'chiefless' group, in contrast to their opponents. Even today they have no ruling nobility above the village level. Compared to their neighbours they are reputed to have an unbroken tradition of an agricultural way of life, a lower standard of education and higher birth-rates (Skalnik, 1 986; Frimpong, 1 994). The changing demographic ratio between the Konkomba and their neigh bours seems to be an underlying factor of the recent conflicts. This is particularly so in Nanumba and East Gonja, where the low social status of the Konkomba as settlers strongly contrasts with their numerical strength and with their relative affluence as yam producers. In 1 9 7 8 the Konkomba represented the largest ethnic group in the Nanumba District with an estimated 46 per cent of the population. In East Gonja they represented the second largest group, with an estimated 29 per cent.10 Prior to the war these districts, which had earlier been scarcely populated and are known for their fertile soils, had become the most important centres of yam cultivation in Ghana. In 1 992 and 1 99 3 the two districts alone produced almost a fifth of the entire national yam crop.U It is assumed that the Konkomba contribute in an overpropor tional manner to this production. There had already been tensions between the Konkomba and the so called 'majority tribes' (Dagomba, Nanumba, Gonja and Mamprusi) before 1 99 4, particularly because of the earlier conflicts. When taken separately the last three groups each has a smaller population than the Konkomba. What gives them their special status is their alliance with


the largest group, the Dagomba, and the fact that, since the time of the British protectorate, a formalised and theoretically comprehensive system of recognised chiefs existed, with the noble families of these four groups at the head of the hierarchy. Very few positions within the hierarchy are open to members of other ethnic groups, and until 1 993 these were only of a lower order. According to the prevalent interpreta tion of the Ghanaian constitutions of 1 9 79 and 1 992, the kings of the four 'majority tribes' are regarded as the owners (as trustees for their subjects) of all lands in the Northern Region. The creation of an autonomous chiefdom for the Konkomba, as demanded in a petition of their spokesmen in June 1 993, would chal lenge this monopoly, and would mean a radical change in the official hierarchy, since the Konkomba have remained on the lowest level of the social scale, in terms of both the number and status of their chiefs and of their social prestige as a group. The lead-up to the war

It is certainly striking that the fighting began first in the Nanumba area, and not within the sovereign territory of the Dagomba king, who was directly involved in the issue. However, the petition from the Konkomba leaders also criticised the privileges of the other 'majority tribes'. Moreover, the Dagomba and Nanumba are very closely connected - both groups, and also the Mamprusi, speak prac tically the same language, and often identify themselves as members of one collective group. However, the Nanumba had lived in a con stant state of tension with the numerous Konkomba settlers in their area since 1 9 8 1 . The 1 9 8 1 Nanumba-Konkomba war

The first war was caused by several clashes over the rights of the Nanumba chiefs, over their claims to homage and tributes, and above all over the question whether it was permissible for the Konkomba to settle their disputes among themselves, rather than turning to the Nanumba chiefs for mediation. There is a close interconnection between these tensions and the cre ation of the Konkomba Youth Association as an ethno-political organ isation which was formally inaugurated in 1 9 7 7 (Skalnik, 1 983, 1 9 86; Barker, 1 9 86) . This youth association was the first form of supralocal organisation and cross-group representation among the Konkomba. However, it is not easy to say what came first - the attempts of the

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 1 89

Konkomba in this and other areas to organise themselves, or their dis agreements with the chiefs of the 'majority tribes'. The Nanumba chiefs accused several prominent Konkomba of assuming chiefly rights in acting as judges in disputes among the set tlers. The settling of disputes out of court is one of the most important sources of income for northern chiefs, if not the most important. Although no-one is obliged by law to do so, it is customary to bring disputes before the chiefs first, who receive court fees and fine pay ments in cash or in kind. The Nanumba chiefs ordered the accused Konkomba leaders to leave the region. Ali Kamashiegu, a Konkomba in the district capital Bimbilla, was abducted by force and 'deported' from the district. 12 The Nanumba king distanced himself from this action and Kamashiegu was allowed to return to Bimbilla. The Konkomba Youth Association turned to the courts, in order to clarify whether the Konkomba had the right as citizens of Ghana to settle in the district. The then-President, Limann, declared in a visit to Bimbilla that 'nobody is alien in Ghana'. This public statement in favour of the Konkomba settlers caused controversy and dissatisfaction among the Nanumba.1 3 The situation came t o a climax o n 23 April 1 9 8 1 , a good year after the kidnapping of Kamashiegu, with a physical fight between a son of the Nanumba king and a son of the kidnapped man. In this fight the Nanumba prince was injured with a knife. In the general mayhem during the search for Kamashiegu's son a Nanumba man was shot dead, supposedly by a Konkomba. The suspect fled to the police station, where he was taken into custody. During the night the police men released the suspect - perhaps hoping to avoid a clash with the outraged Nanumba. A well-informed interviewee expressed the opinion that it was this man who actually caused the war, in that he fled and spread a rumour that war had broken out.1 4 According to this source, fighting began the following day in Bimbilla and a little later in the area around Damanku, where the man suspected of the shooting had sought refuge. In contrast to this account, according to the reports by the anthropologist Skalnik, Nanumba warriors had been the first to attack and destroy a settlement, the Konkomba village Kabuliya. However, large-scale fighting started two months later, when the Nanumba attacked the Konkomba in the Chichagi area.1 5 After the war, which ended i n a heavy defeat for the Nanumba, their representatives demanded of the government that the many 'self proclaimed chiefs' of the Konkomba be removed from the area - a demand that was not, and could not be, carried out in accordance with


modern laws. Memories of this situation were reawakened by the recent Konkomba petition. It was feared that if the Konkomba were successful in getting the status of an autonomous Paramount Chief for their most prominent chief in Saboba, their local headmen in the Nanumba area would also sooner or later obtain official recognition. The 1 99 1-2 conflict in East Gonja

The tensions between the Konkomba and their neighbours were steadily increasing in 1 993 due, among other factors, to the equally unresolved conflict in East Gonja. Starting as a conflict between Gonja and Nawuri about land rights and, again, the recognition of the rights of chiefs, the tension had escalated into a local war in 1 99 1 . The Gonja's rights of ownership and political sovereignty were questioned by the Nawuri, who claimed to have independent chiefs and to be the legitimate landowners of the area around Kpandai (east of Salaga). The situation became problematic when the Gonjaland Youth Association, a political organisation of the Gonja, made plans to hold a meeting at Kpandai.1 6 The Nawuri interpreted this a s a conscious affront o n the part o f the Gonja. As a reaction to this the authorities forbade all meetings of youth associations. The last stage of the escalation was initiated by a dispute over a plot which the Catholic Church had acquired from the Gonja chief in Kpandai, in order to build an agricultural station. Proof of their ownership was later presented to the Committee of Inquiry set up to investigate the conflict. The leaders of the Nawuri who belonged to the church supported the claim. According to the Gonja, however, the chief had transferred ownership of this piece of land to another Gonja. Armed fighting broke out over this in April 1 9 9 1 in Kpandai. In the first phase of fighting the Gonja succeeded in driving the Nawuri away from the town. In the second phase, in June, the Nawuri recap tured Kpandai. In the third phase, in May 1 992, the numerous Konkomba and Basare settlers in this area intervened on behalf of the Nawuri. They claimed that the reason for their armed intervention was the killing of some Konkomba and Basare by Gonja warriors when they attacked Kpandai againY The Gonja had suffered a second defeat in this clash, which ended in a massacre of their warriors. The Gonja blamed their defeat on the intervention of the Konkomba. On top of that, the report of the Committee of Inquiry, set up after the second phase, disputed the sovereignty and ownership rights of the Gonja in this area, and recommended that the govern ment submit to the demands of the Nawuri for autonomy and for the creation of an independent district. In the light of this the situation of

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 1 9 1

the Gonja in this conflict seemed hopeless a s long a s the Konkomba were military allies of the Nawuri. Circumstances surrounding the outbreak of the 1 994 war

Throughout 1 993 there were constant rumours in the Northern Region of an imminent renewed attack on Kpandai by the Gonja. Leaflets were circulated in Tamale denouncing the Konkomba as the enemy of the Dagomba, Nanumba, Mamprusi, Gonja and Chakosi, who was prepar ing to attack and rob these 'tribes' of their territories. One such leaflet, clearly a forged letter, discussed arms supplies and secret meetings, preparations for the conquest of Kpandai and later Yendi and a planned integration of the ethno-political organisations of the Konkomba, Nawuri and Basare as well as arms training for the Nawuri; there were also references made to the neighbouring state of Togo and to the earlier Liberation Movement for Western Togoland which had been supported by the Togolese government, a movement in which also some Konkomba from Ghana had been involved.18 In these circumstances the Konkomba leaders' demand for an inde pendent Paramount status for the Chief of Saboba exploded like a grenade. It was raised in a petition to the president of the National House of Chiefs in June 1 993 - circumventing the Dagomba king, the Ya Na, who would be directly affected by it, and who, according to the rules of protocol, would have been the first one to be addressed. In the petition it was inter alia asserted that the Konkomba inhabited the whole Oti basin as early as the seventeenth century - thereby calling into question their status as immigrants in Nanumba and East Gonja, where their actual presence today is mainly due to relatively recent waves of migration. In some passages the privileged position of the 'majority tribes' was described as an artifact of colonial rule. The peti tion was written in a polemic style, and the last paragraphs in a belligerent tone, in a manner characteristic of modern protest move ments. It is easy to understand why the chiefs of the four groups reacted with shock to it. The Dagomba king demanded of the authors that they re-formulate the petition in a more reserved way before sub mitting it again, this time directly to him. This request was only for mally fulfilled . The Ya Na's reply in October, in the form of a letter to the National House of Chiefs, was a clear refusal. In it he claimed that the Konkomba living in Ghana were immigrants from 'French Togoland' (that is present-day Togo) . This contention which provoked the Konkomba was brought up again several times after the outbreak of the war. After the war the Ya Na explained his argument more precisely


in a document submitted to the government-appointed negotiation team; he claimed that the Konkomba had been driven out of what is now Ghana by the Dagomba, who conquered them 'some 600 years ago', but the Konkomba 'have over the years been sneaking into Dagbon in trickles' - that is into the land under his sovereignty.19 In October 1 99 3 rumours of an imminent ethnic conflict were rife and many sources expressed the fear that a war was on the horizon. The Ghanaian Chronicle published these rumours on 3 1 October, and warned of a blood bath. The Konkomba Youth Association expressed their views on the rumours and the pamphlets in a press release. 20 At the beginning of November I learned from a trusted on-the-spot source (a Nanumba) that the police station in Bimbilla, the capital of the Nanumba District, had been broken into. According to my informant very few weapons had actually been stolen from the armoury - the many weapons that had been confiscated after the 1 9 8 1 war had already almost all disappeared. He expressed the view that the police had sold these back to those they had confiscated them from.21 During the following weeks a delegation of government representatives visited the region twice, in an attempt to mediate in the dispute. According to the first reports in the media, which cited the leader of the district administration, the violence started on 3 1 January 1 994 when a Konkomba and a Nanumba got into a brawl over the sale of a guinea-fowl at the Nakpayili market near Bimbilla. In line with these reports the 'regent' of Nakpayili and other inhabitants described what happened as follows: the next day the Konkomba went to the Nanumba's field and shot several Nanumba there; later the same day the Nanumba in Nakpayili were attacked by Konkomba.22 This was partly confirmed by a 'Position Paper' of the Konkomba delegation to the official peace negotiations, and by the headman of the Konkomba section of Nakpayili.23 The report contained in the 'Position Paper' makes reference to an eyewitness who related that, during the initial dispute at the market, the Nanumba concerned (and later others) brought up the subject of an imminent war. In the physical fight that followed, the Nanumba bit off one of the Konkomba's fingers and taunted him with it. Another behaved in such a way as to challenge his opponents to a physical fight. The son of the injured Konkomba, who lived at another settlement nearby, killed this man in an individual action on the next day. According to the Konkomba 'Position Paper', the village headman of the culprit ordered him to wait for the police to arrive. Before this could happen, however, this settlement as well as other Konkomba locations were attacked by Nanumba. Each of these

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 193

contradictory accounts is plausible to some extent. The recent past had seen several cases in which both groups had opted not to retaliate, or at least not to retaliate collectively, on such occasions, on account of the tension in the area since 1 9 8 1 . O n 3 February the conflict spread t o Dagomba localities. I n Tamale, Konkomba and members of other ethnic groups were attacked by youths, and a hotel was burnt down. A village inhabited mainly by Dagomba, Nakpachie, near Yendi, was attacked by Konkomba the same day.24 Rioting against the Konkomba and their buildings broke out the same day in Yendi. The buildings of the Catholic mission in the town were attacked and partly destroyed. However, at this time, fighting between Nanumba and Konkomba had already gone on for two days and, as mentioned above, Dagomba and Nanumba often identify themselves as belonging to the same we-group. It should be noted that, in the week before the war broke out, members of the Nanumba had attacked the police station in Bimbilla, injured some policemen, damaged a police building and burnt one of their vehicles. This happened after the police had intercepted a trans port of ammunition and confiscated it. According to some press reports the attackers stole the confiscated ammunition from the station, along with much of arms and equipment that had been seized in the 1 9 8 1 war.zs M. A. Adam, the principal of the Teacher Training College in Bimbilla and a former member of the national parliament, explained that the clash between the police and the locals stemmed from a dispute between some smugglers and certain police officials who had co-operated with them in the past, and could thus be seen as a dispute between 'business partners'. The tensions increased when, after a few policemen had been injured, a police reinforcement arrived from the neighbour ing district. In an apparent attempt at intimidating the townspeople the members of this reinforcement brandished their guns, fired warning shots at will and indiscriminately arrested people in the centre of the town. According to my informant these actions incensed the townspeople as much as they were pointless. 26 When things got too hot for them the reinforcement left Bimbilla hurriedly, leaving their colleagues in the town in an even more precarious situation. This event was followed by the assault on, and looting of, the police station. Units of the security forces were deployed to restore the peace, and among them were soldiers. Their immediate intervention was pre vented by some prominent politicians from the ruling party - among others the Deputy Foreign Minister and Deputy Speaker of Parliament,


Ibn Chambas, a Nanumba. He later publicly defended his actions, claiming he wanted to avoid further escalation of the violence between the townspeople and the security forces. 27 According to M. A. Adam, the soldiers, some of whom later arrived at Bimbilla, were not in a posi tion to intervene in the ethnic conflict that broke out a few days later, since they had been given no orders to that effect. Adam painted the security forces as having acted erratically - up to the point when a war could no longer be avoided. The committee investigating the previous conflict in East Gonja had also attributed partial responsibility for the escalation to the security forces. Although they had been put on alert, and had in advance erected several road blocks on the way to Kpandai, they did not, or could not, prevent the Gonja warriors in trucks from advancing on Kpandai during the first and second phase of fighting in 1 99 1 : It would appear that the laxity and lackadaisical attitude taken by the Security agents in the whole matter probably resulted from the fact that the head of the Regional Security Committee (REGSEC), that is the PNDC Regional Secretary in charge of the Region, and the head of DISEC, that is the PNDC District Secretary of Salaga in the area of conflict, were both Gonjas. (Committee of Inquiry, 1 992: § 25 1 ) The article which appeared in the Ghanaian Chronicle three months before the war broke out also accused the government of neither pub lishing, nor reacting in any way to, the report of the committee. 28 In the controversy surrounding the 'self-proclaimed Konkomba chiefs' in the Nanumba area, the Rawlings government, operating under the specific conditions of a military dictatorship from 1 982 to 1 992, did not manage to resolve the dispute during the same period. Attempts at explanation

Two explanations for the conflicts dominate public debate in Ghana. The first goes back to the widely accepted stereotype of the Konkomba as an 'uncivilised and warlike' people. One version of this interpreta tion was presented in the shape of a historical study by H. B . Martinson, entitled The Hidden History of Konkomba Wars i n Northern Ghana, published in 1 994. On closer inspection, however, his book makes few references to the recent conflicts but deals mainly with conflicts during the British mandate.


The second explanation blames the conflict on the quasi-feudalis tic, and at times discriminatory, relations between the chiefs of the majority tribes and the rural Konkomba. On account of their lack of a supralocal organisation, in the centuries before the colonial period the Konkomba became the object of a weak form of hegemonic or military control, and of slave hunting, on the part of their neigh bours, above all the Dagomba. The British authorities placed the Konkomba in their 'homeland' under the authority of the Dagomba chiefs, even though their officials were aware that rule by chiefs had no historical roots among the Konkomba and that this group, or a large part of it, had remained independent of the effective control of the Dagomba. 29 This was, and is, the basis for persistent social inequalities and tensions, among others with regard to the control of land rights. Clearly, neither explanation is sufficient to explain the increase in inter-ethnic violence in the recent past, since they point to factors which were already present prior to 1 9 80, and to conditions which are unusual neither in Africa nor elsewhere in the world. Disputes over land rights are a standing feature in many places - without always implying a violent escalation. It cannot be denied that the Konkomba are in a typical position of a marginal group within the Northern Region, which is itself a disadvan taged province according to all infrastructural criteria. According to the 1 984 census, in the Northern Region the then Local Council Saboba Zabzugu, which corresponded closely to the reputed 'homeland' of the Konkomba, had the highest percentage of farmers and hunters in the active population and the lowest proportion of traders and of persons employed in transport. Many factors have contributed to this situation; not least of these is the unfavourable position of the area at the inter national border - a historical result of the colonial period. Another factor is the visible impoverishment of the soil in the area around Saboba over several decades - consequence of the traditional method of shifting cultivation (implying extensive utilisation of the land) com bined with a growth in population.30 It would be inappropriate to connect all consequences of its marginal position to the fact that this area was put under the sovereignty of the Dagomba king in the system of 'indirect rule', and that it had been administered from Yendi, the seat of the king, for most of the time since 1 920. Rather, this shows one aspect of the situation which impinges particularly on the collec tive self-image of the Konkomba, a majority of whom have never accepted Dagomba rule (Tait, 1 9 6 1 : 9-1 0).


A most important dimension of the conflicts is the fact that, over seven decades or more, Konkomba farmers have migrated to areas south of their Ghanaian 'homeland'. To the disadvantages arising from the status of a chiefless group were thus added the disadvantages resulting from their status as migrants. Almost the whole conflict area belonged to the part of the former German colony Toga that became 'Togoland Under UK Trusteeship' after the First World War. In 1 9 5 7, when Ghana was created, this territory was united with the other areas under British administration to form one national territory. Since the older Konkomba settlement area was divided by the border since 1920, an unknown percentage of these migratory movements were also cross border migrations. Partly because of this, and partly because of the complicated history of the border, many Ghanaians believe the Konkomba to be immigrants 'from Toga'. However, it is unlikely that Konkomba from French Togoland (or modern Toga) were more than a considerable fraction of the migrants. In 1 9 4 7 the British administra tion estimated that the population of the then Konkomba Sub-District around Saboba had fallen from about 40, 000 or 50,000 to 1 5,000 during the previous twenty years, as a result of migration to 'Gonja and Krachi' _31 In contrast, it is undisputed among academic experts that the Konkomba are one of the oldest settlement groups in the Northern Region, and were living in the region around modern Yendi prior to the time (c. 1 700) when the Dagomba kings moved their capital to this area. 32 The census of the German administration 1 909- 1 0 and earlier reports indicate a large Konkomba population in this territory which much later became a part of Ghana.33 Skalnik ( 1 983) and Drucker-Brown ( 1 995) have argued that the polit ical culture of the chiefless groups is not as different from that of the chief-led groups as the older anthropological literature would suggest. It is true that, since the institution of chiefship has been introduced to the Konkomba, the (few) newly created chiefs among them have tried, with moderate success, to imitate the chiefs of their neighbours. Also their educated spokesmen have assimilated themselves to some extent to the Ghanaian system of 'traditional' representation and to its rhetoric. And of course, when comparing the power of the modern state with the powers of 'traditional' leaders, it may appear that there is little difference between a clan head, or the present chief of Saboba, and, for example, the Nanumba king. However, with regard to their level of supralocal organisation both groups have differed greatly, and still differ in a significant manner. Most importantly, among the


acephalous groups a local officiant, the so-called 'earth priest' or 'custo dian of the earth' (the tendaana or otindaa) usually controlled the allo cation and utilisation of land as a kind of trustee on behalf of the local community. Unlike the chiefs the earth priests had primarily ritual, or 'religious', and not primarily 'political' functions. In contrast, among those groups with an aristocracy founded by warriors - typically a supralocal aristocracy - their ruling leaders, the chiefs, have also obtained, in addition to a purely 'political' control, to a larger or smaller degree, control of the land in terms of its economic utilisation. Among them the earth priest tended to be, or has become, a subordi nate official at the chief's court. There is one reason why this difference between the two political cultures did not often manifest itself as important until recently, and why this has changed. Until some decades ago, land was not regarded as a scarce resource in northern Ghana, and therefore the sovereignty of the chiefs did not have significant consequences for the allocation of land. It seems that, for long periods of their history, the world of the chiefs did not interfere much with the world of the earth priests.34 This has now changed because productive land has become scarce, given the current population growth and the increasing commercial use of agricultural land. On a more general level it is not plausible to assume that conflicts between groups with similar political cultures would be less profound than those among groups with different political cultures. On a more concrete level it does not make it easier for the Konkomba farmers to accept the 'traditional' rule of the Dagomba chiefs whose effective control over the Konkomba had always been weak. An observation of the most prominent of Nanumba politicians, Ibn Chambas,35 probably hit the nail on the head when he said that, precisely because the Konkomba and Nanumba are culturally similar, the Konkomba measure the chiefs of the Nanumba according to the standards of their own culture - something they would not do easily in other places. Therefore, in accordance with their own traditional 'laws', the Konkomba reject the control of land rights by chiefs while this control has become accepted as traditional among their neighbours, and today is backed by the dominant legal and political discourse. The question as to how the traditional sovereignty of the chiefs is to be interpreted and translated into modern legal terms has, in this manner, become a key issue which can easily become a catalyst also for other tensions and cleavages. As was shown in the first Konkomba-Nanumba war, an extensive interpretation of the chief's


authority leads to demands which cannot be reconciled with either the traditional 'law' of the Konkomba or with the modern legal concept of citizenship. These matters have become power issues - and the Konkomba have realised that their numerical strength and their superi ority as warriors, to which today is often added the physical superiority of the farmer over the town dweller, are power factors which carry weight in the present situation of the nation state. This brings us to the second explanation for the war, one which, for reasons of political correctness, has now been played down in the public arena, but which nevertheless shapes the perception of many Ghanaians. This is shown, for example, in the headlines of the govern ment-controlled Ghanaian Times on 29 April 1 995, which reported a massive punishment attack by the army under the title: 'Konkombas taste their own medicine'. The Konkomba, as mentioned above, were a classic example of a 'tribe without rulers'. All over the world, groups of this type have been labelled 'aggressive' or 'warlike', since clashes between sub-groups are common, when there is no superior political authority (Gellner, 1 988). This says more about the relationships between the sub-groups within these ethnic communities than whether violent killings occur more often in these groups than in cen trally organised kingdoms or states; however, it is easy to see why they would be perceived by outsiders as being warlike. In the case of the Konkomba, particular historical factors also play a part: it is well known that, in the nineteenth century, they constantly had to take up arms to defend themselves against their slave-hunting neighbours, primarily the Dagomba and Chakosi (Tait, 1 9 6 1 ). Up to the present day, however, violent crimes among the Konkomba are caused mainly by a tradition specific to their group, namely the custom of betrothing grown males to infant or baby girls. It happens fre quently that the betrothed girl runs away, or is 'kidnapped' by another man - either before or after marriage. Such an event is almost always an economic and personal catastrophe for the older betrothed man, because for many years he has been carrying out various services for his future parents-in-law - and he must go through it all again, and wait again for many years, to marry another wife (Skalnik, 1 983). The preferred settlement patterns far from the roads, and the difficulties of police control in a typical border region, also contribute to the occur rence of violence. The source of conflict discussed above does not directly apply to the relations with other ethnic groups, since these do not practice the betrothal of infant girls. Nevertheless, this issue played an important role in sparking off the war in 1 9 8 1 , because mediation


in marriage disputes had become a major source of income for the Nanumba chiefs (Skalnik, 1 983). This idea is confirmed by the fact that, with one sole exception, there are no records in the files of the British administration of violent clashes between the Konkomba and any other ethnic group. The 'Konkomba Wars' in colonial times, described by Martinson, were, with this one exception, 'internal' conflicts. 36 The exception referred to, the riot of a Konkomba village against a chief of the Dagomba in Zegbeli (Dzagberi) in 1 9 40, does offer some information but points towards the other possible explanation. At that time the leaders of the colonial administration came to the conclusion (after the culprits had been punished) that the chief had most probably provoked his own murder, in that he repeatedly had attempted to illegally exploit the Konkomba farmers who later killed him. 37 The files show that other Dagomba chiefs at the time behaved in a similar manner towards the Konkomba. 38 Both prejudices clearly contain an element of truth and, at the same time, both should be taken with a pinch of salt. The propensity to respond to an individual attack with collective retaliation played a role in all of the recent conflicts - however, this propensity is not one sided, as the escalation of violence in the Nanumba District both in 1 980-1 and in the period before the outbreak of war in 1 994 shows. In this respect there is little difference between the groups in conflict in northern Ghana - both amongst themselves and when compared with parties involved in other civil wars around the world.

Notes An earlier version of this chapter appeared in German (Bogner, 1 996). For reasons of space limitations this revised version does not include all refer ences and footnotes of the earlier one. I thank the publishers of Afrika spec trum for permission to use the same material again. The translation is by Valerie Heffernan. I especially thanks the following persons: Kirsten Andersen, Nana Kwame Arhin, Moses Muligna Bakar, Salifu Bawa Dy-Yakah (t), G ideon Alabani Kayil, Mary Kenney, John and Denice Klein Douwel, Dirk Kohnert, Helmut Kuzmics, Carola Lentz, Anthony Mananyi, Amir Moghaddass Esfehani, Steve Tonah, Cas Wouters and Kenneth Wujangi. 2 I did research on these conflicts in 1 992-3 as a fellow of the G raduate School of Social Anthropology and Development Sociology at the University of Bielefeld, and in 1 994-7 as assistant of the Interdisciplinary


3 4

5

6 7 8 9

10

11 12 13 14 IS 16 17

Working Group 'The Challenge of Otherness' of the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences . The Institute of African Studies of the University of Ghana provided institutional assistance. Interviews and field research took place January-May and August-November 1 993, August-September 1 995, July-August 1 99 6 and June 1 99 7 . For a more comprehensive report see Bogner, 1 998a. Taped interviews and unpublished documents will be made available to the public in suitable form at a later date. I am grateful to the above-mentioned institutions and to all who supported my work, including Nana Kwame Arhin and Salifu Bawa Dy-Yakah (t). For a full bibliography see Bogner 1 998a,b. In the conflicts, modern mil itary rifles were used on a small scale; however, the extent of this use is unclear. It is probable that the weapons used were predominantly locally made hunting guns, bows and poisoned arrows. The traditional Konkomba methods of war were particularly emphasised in the press. During the war a foreign eyewitness heard how a leading army officer in Yendi gave the order to soldiers to carry out attacks against Konkomba set tlements (my interview on 29 August 1 99 5 ) . I n a submission to the Ghanaian Commissioner for Human Rights and Administrative Justice, signed by representatives of four ethnic groups, the names of 3 6 villages are given which were attacked and burnt by the army. Cf. also Daily Graphic, 25 February 1 99 5 ; Ghanaian Chronicle, 28 February-2 March 1 994; Ghanaian Times, 18 March 1 994. Daily Graphic, 16 September 1 99 5 . See also Ghanaian Chronicle, 20-1 August and 22-3 October 1 9 9 7 . Interview with M . S. Mahami, Yendi, 1 2 September 1 99 5 . Cf. t h e map in Anderson, 1 9 4 7 . The German 'Map o f Togo' o f 1 907 a n d the two most important ethnographers of the Konkomba mark this territory as part of their older settlement area; see Mitteilungen aus den deutschen Schutzgebieten, 21 ( 1 908), Map 8, sheet B 1 ; Froelich, 1 9 5 4 : 32; Tait, 1 9 6 1 : 1 ; Pogucki, 1 9 5 5 . In t h e whole o f t h e population o f t h e Northern Region t h e Konkomba have an estimated share between 14 and 20 per cent. See Bartle, 1 982; NORRIP Technical Unit, 1 983; Barker, 1 986. As a result of a lack of recent data all estimates are uncertain. It is possible that the actual Konkomba population is much larger. Cf. Anonymous (undated) and, for Nanumba, Skalnik, 1 983, 1 986. Cf. production estimates of the Ministry of Food and Agriculture, August 1 996. Interview with Alhassan Ibrahim Chambas, Bimbilla, 7 November 1 993; Skalnik, 1983: 21; 1 986: 99-100. I nterview with Kenneth Wujangi, Tamale, 25 March 1 993; with Ali Kamashiegu, Saboba, 22 March 1 993; Skalnik, 1 983: 23; 1 986. Interview with Alhassan Ibrahim Chambas, ibid. Skalnik, 1 983: 2 1 -2, 25; 1 996: 1 0 1 -2. On this subject and what follows, cf. Committee of Inquiry, 1 992 (particu larly §§ 1 5 5-7); Drucker-Brown, 1 995; Fentiman, 1 99 5 . Interview with t h e Konkomba chief o f Kpandai, Kpandai, 2 March 1 993; cf. Yankah, 1 996: 79-83.

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 201 18 Cf. Daily Graphic, 9 November 1 993; ' Press Statement of the Konkomba Youth Association, 6 November 1 99 3 ' . The letter, dated 6 June 1 989 and ' re-printed' in the leaflet, is signed by the General Secretary and addressed to the Executive Secretary of the National Liberation Movement of Western Togoland. 19 ' Reply of the Ya-Na and Dagbon Youth Association to Konkomba Position and Supplementary Papers', Tamale, 4 August 1 994, addressed to The Chairman, Permanent Negotiation Team. 20 See note 1 8 . 2 1 I n my interview of 1 9 November 1 993 t h e Regional Minister mentioned a break-in into the police station of another district capital, Walewale, but denied any knowledge of a similar event in Bimbilla. 22 I nterview at Nakpayili, 9 September 1 9 9 5 . Cf. e.g. Ghanaian Chronicle, 1 1- 1 3 February 1 994. 23 I nterview with Kudjo U jun, at Baduli, 28 June 1997; ' Konkomba Position Paper, July 1 994 to the Permanent Negotiation Team into Conflicts in the Northern Region in Ghana'. 24 'Memorandum of the Ya-Na and Dagbon Youth Association to the Negotiation Team on the Northern Conflict', Tamale, 29 June 1 994; inter view with the Chief of Nakpachie, 1 2 September 1 99 5 . 25 Ghanaian Chronicle, 7-9 February 1 994; Ghanaian Voice, 1 4- 1 6 February 1 994. This information concerning the whereabouts of these arms contra dicted the information supplied to me before these events. 26 Interview with M. A. Adam, 8 September 1 9 9 5 . 2 7 C f . Daily Graphic, 29 January a n d 1 7 February 1 994; ' Konkomba Position Paper .. . ', ibid. 28 The report was never officially released but its main section was published in The Ghanaian Democrat. If it had been published at the proper time the report would have had the legal status of a court judgement. 29 Cf. Anderson 1 94 7 : 5-6; Davies, 1 94 7 : 1 69; Tait, 1 96 1 : 9- 1 2; Staniland, 1 9 75 : 4; Skalnik, 1 986: 9 7 . 30 Anderson, 1 9 4 7 : § 4, H e r Majesty's Government; 1 95 3 : 6; ' Extracts from letter No. N.T. 0053/8 1 dated 1 9 June 1 947, addressed to The Honourable Colonial Secretary . . . '. In: ' Konkomba Sub-District', Regional Archives Tamale, RAT 1 /759; cf. Froelich, 1 9 5 4 : 253, 32. 31 See note 30. 32 Zech, 1 904: 1 22; Tamakloe, 1 93 1 : 252; Froelich, 1 9 5 4 : 32-3; Tait, 1 9 6 1 : 4; Benzing, 1 9 7 1 : 1 3 7-40; Ferguson, 1 9 72: 1 7, 1 3 , 34-7, 1 44-5; Staniland, 1 9 75 : 4-5; 'Conference of Dagbamba (Dagomba) Chiefs, held at Yendi from 21 to 29 November, 1 930, to Enquire into and Record the Constitution of the State of Dagbon', 3, 1 0, 3 1 , 44; Anderson, 1 94 7 : § 1 7; Her Majesty's Government, 1 95 3 : 5-6. For the chronology see Ferguson, 1 9 72. 33 Cf. Zech, 1 904; Sebald, 1 988: 1 9 5-8, 200-3; Anonymous (undated); Appendix to ' Erlauteru ngsbericht zum Eisenbahnprojekt D jabodaure Sokode - Bassari ', 7 February 1 9 1 4, Archives Nationales du Togo, Lome, FA 1 / 2 7 1 : 25. 34 Cf. Goody, 1 9 7 1 : 30- 1 ; Staniland, 1975: 1 6; Skalnik, 1 986: 9 7; Katanga, 1 994; Anonymous (undated : 1 1-3); Frimpong, 1 99 4 : 590; and Justice J . N. K. Taylor, in Ghanaian Chronicle, 8-1 0 August 1 994.

202 Ethnicity in Ghana 35 Interview with Chambas in Africa Report, May-]une 1 994: 5 6-7. 36 Martinson is wrong when he describes the so-called 'War of Sambuli' in May 1 94 6 as a war between Konkomba and Dagomba (Martinson, 1 994: 62-3 ) . It is clear from the source quoted by him that this was a dispute between two Konkomba villages - with two or three deaths. 3 7 Cf. Geo. E. London to G . H . Gibbs, 19 September 1 9 4 1 ; G . H . Gibbs to Geo. E. London, 28 September 1 9 4 1 ; and the letters by the Director of Veterinary Services, National Archives of Ghana, Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 80 1 . 3 8 Cf. the report b y A . Fulton included in Director o f Veterinary Services to Chief Commissioner N.Ts . , 18 March 1 9 4 1 , ibid . ; and Davies, 1 9 4 7 : 1 70, authored by the then District Commissioner Dagomba.

References Anderson, ]. C. ( 1 947) Memorandum on Konkomba Policy (Regional Archives Tamale: RAT 1 / 759). Anonymous (undated) An Historical and Ethnographic Commentary on the Northern Conflict (typescript, n.p.). Bacho, Francis Z. L. et al., ( 1 996) Report on the Assessment of Rehabilitation Needs of Victims in the Conflict A rea of the Northern Region. Prepared for the I nter NGO Consortium, November 1996 (typescript, n.p.). Barker, Peter ( 1 986) Peoples, Languages, and Religion in Northern Ghana (Ghana Evangelism Committee/Asempa Publishers, n.p.). Bartle, P. F. W. ( 1 982) NORRIP Sectoral Report: Cultural and Ethnic Variation in the Northern Region (Ghana, n.p.). Benzing, Brigitta ( 1 9 7 1 ) Geschichte und Herrschaftssystem der Dagomba (Meisenheim: Hain) . Bogner, Artur ( 1 996) 'Der Bi.irgerkrieg in Nordghana 1 994', Afrika Spectrum, 3 1 : 1 6 1 -83 . Bogner, Artur ( 1 998a) 'Gewaltkonflikte und der Wandel sozialer Fremdheit in Nordghana', in H . Mi.inkler (ed .), Die Herausforderung durch das Fremdes (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag), pp. 20 1 -304. Bogner, Artur ( 1 998b) 'Violent Escalation and Ethnogenesis: Northern Ghana 1 98 1 - 1 994', in G . Elwert et al. (eds), The Dynamics of Violence (Berlin: Duncker und Humblot). Committee of Inquiry ( 1 992) Report of the Committee of Inquiry into the Gonjas, Nawuris and Nanjuros Dispute, 1 99 1 (Accra, typescript) . Davies, A. W. ( 1 94 7 ) 'The Opening of the Saboba Sub-station, 1 8th February 1 947', National Archives of Ghana, Accra, ADM 1 1 / 1 801 : 1 69-72. Drucker-Brown, Susan ( 1 995) 'Communal Violence in Northern Ghana: Unaccepted Wars', in R. A . Hinde, and H. E. Watson (eds) War: A Cruel Necessity? (London: I. B. Tauris), pp. 3 7-5 3 . Fentiman, Alicia ( 1 995) 'Tribes Without Rulers or Rulers Without Tribes? Political Conflict in Northern Ghana, 1 9 9 1 - 1 994'. Paper presented at the conference 'Ethnicity in Ghana', Edinburgh University, 25-26 May.

The 1 994 civil war in northern Ghana 203 Ferguson, Phyllis ( 1 9 72) I slamization in Dagbon : A Study of the Alfanema of Yendi. PhD dissertation University of Cambridge. Frimpong, Alfred Owusu ( 1 994) 'The Konkomba Factor', West Africa, 4-1 0 April

1 994: 590-1 . Froelich, jean-Claude ( 1 954) La tribu Konkomba du Nord Togo (Dakar: !FAN) . Gellner, Ernest, ( 1 988) Plough, Sword and Book (London: Collins Harvill). Goody, jack ( 1 9 7 1 ) Technology, Tradition and the State (London : IAI/Oxford University Press). Her Majesty's Government ( 1 953) Report by Her Majesty's Government in the

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the General Assembly of the United Nations on the Administration of Togoland under United Kingdom Trusteeship for the Year 1 952 (London : H . M . Stationery Office). Katanga, justice ( 1 994) 'A New Look at the Konkombas - Stereotypes and the Road to Reconciliation in Northern Ghana', Uhuru, 6: 1 9-22. Maayang, Lazarus Dempsey ( 1 994) 'The Konkomba of Northern Ghana A Historical Insight', Uhuru, 2: 24-5 . Martinson, H. B. ( 1 994) The Hidden History ofKonkomba Wars in Northern Ghana, (n.p.). NORRIP Technical Unit ( 1 983) The Northern Region, Ghana, vol . 1: A Descriptive Overview (n.p.). Pogucki, R. ] . H . (1 955) Gold Coast Land Tenure, vol. I : A Survey ofLand Tenure in Customary Law of the Protectorate of the Northern Territories (Accra: Gold Coast Government, Lands Department) . Sebald, Peter ( 1 988) Togo 1 884-1 914: Eine Geschichte der deutschen 'Musterkolonie' auf der Grundlage amtlicher Quellen (Berlin: Akademie Verlag) . Skalnik, Peter ( 1 983): 'Questioning the Concept of the State in Indigenous Africa', Social Dynamics, 9: 1 1-28. Skalnik, Peter ( 1 986) 'Nanumba Chieftaincy Facing the Ghanaian State and Konkomba "Tribesmen " : An I nterpretation of the Nanumba-Konkomba War of 1 9 8 1 ', in W. van Binsbergen et al. (eds) State and Local Community in Africa: (Brussels: CEDAF/ASDOC), pp. 89-109. Staniland, Martin ( 1 9 75) The Lions ofDagbon: Political Change in Northern Ghana, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) . Tait, David ( 1 9 6 1 ) The Konkomba of Northern Ghana (London: Oxford University Press). Tamakloe, E. F., ( 1 9 3 1 ) 'Mythical and Traditional History of Dagomba', reprinted in A. W Cardinall (ed.) ( 1 9 70) Tales Told in Togoland (London: Oxford University Press) . Yankah, Kwesi ( 1 996) Woes of a Kwatriot: Beloved Let Us Laugh (Accra : Anansesem). Zech, Graf von ( 1 904) ' Land und Leute an der Nordwestgrenze von Togo',

Mitteilungen von Forschungsreisenden und Gelehrten aus den Deutschen Schutzgebieten, 1 7 : 107-35 .

Chapter

10

Promotion of Ghanaian languages and its impact on national unity : the Dagara language case Sebastian K. Bemile

Ghana is a multicultural country with more than sixty indigenous languages. 1 Most Ghanaians are at least bilingual, many are multilin guaF and interact freely in more than two languages. On the one hand, multilingualism and multiculturalism may be viewed negatively, as such a pluralistic situation could retard development by breeding disunity and conflict. This may be because language 'is an aspect of the soul and a constructive self-identification' (Fishman, 1 9 72: 44-S) and the most effective means of maintaining ethnic identity. On the other hand, 'lan guage barriers need not necessarily engender antagonism' (Amonoo, 1 989: 36): language can also promote unity in cultural diversity. This chapter firstly examines the policies which have hitherto been formu lated to promote Ghanaian languages and whether this promotion has had, or can have, an impact on national unity and development. Secondly, it presents a case study of the achievements and conflicts sur rounding these language policies with respect to the Dagara language. Contribution of missionaries to the promotion of Ghanaian languages

The first attempts to promote literacy in Ghanaian languages were made by European missionaries, and their Ghanaian church members, whose policy it was to learn and teach Ghanaian languages. They devoted much time to reducing to writing the local languages of the areas in which they worked, and developed reading material of reli gious and secular nature ranging from texts in catechism to school textbooks, for example Bible texts, church songs, arithmetic books, history books, geography books, primers, graded readers, grammars and dictionaries. 204

The promotion of Ghanaian languages 205

With regard to Akan, for instance, the German missionary, Rev. W. J. Muller, wrote as early as 1 6 7 3 a geographical and social appraisal of the Fante area and people, and listed five hundred words of Fante (Aggrey, 1 9 76 : 1 ) . In 1 8 3 7 the Wesleyan Rev. George Wriggley translated cate chisms and other religious texts into Fante. Rev. Johann Gottlieb Christaller wrote between 1 8S 9 and 1 8 74 several books in Akan, including the translation of the gospels, of other parts of the New Testament, of the Psalms and Proverbs, a collection of secular proverbs, a grammar book and a dictionary of Twi and Fante (Baiden, 1 9 76 : 6; Amonoo, 1 989: 49, S S ) . The greatest contributions made by the Bremen missionaries to the development and standardisation of the Ewe language were those by Rev. Diedrich Westermann. He not only continued the task of developing the Ewe orthography, but also attained a sustainable standardisation of the language through his works (for example Westermann, 1 928) . As far as Ga was concerned the German Base! missionary, Johannes A. Zimmermann, provided the most extensive written material, from 1 8S S to 1 866, in the form of translations of the whole Bible and of Martin Luther's Wiirttemberg Confirmation Book, a Ga hymn book and some linguistic works. In northern Ghana the Catholic White Fathers learned Kasem (in Navrongo) and Dagaare (see below). In recent times other missionaries forming the Ghana Institute of Linguistics, Literacy and Bible Translation (GILLBT) developed religious and educational works in almost all the languages of the Northern, Upper West and Upper East Regions. Nevertheless, as Awoniyi comments, in Ghana as well as in other African countries, 'the pioneer missionaries, who were usually practical men of decided initiative, did not allow the subtleties of philological exactitude ... to impede the production of vernacular written literature - and their Bible translations' ( 1 9 76 : 3 6) . The linguistic activities and successes of the missionaries were motivated by religious intentions. Most of the early missionaries concentrated their efforts on the dialect of the area of their settlement or a dialect of their own convenience. Indeed, much of the Ewe vocabulary and other linguistic elements used by the Bremen missionaries were made up of the Keta dialect (Anlo) . The Base! missionaries also based their linguistic works on the Akuapem dialect of Akan, which was the dialect spoken in the area where they mainly worked and which they believed was central to the Akan speakers (Baiden, 1 9 76 : S-6) . The missionaries who settled in Fanteland wrote the Fante dialect of Akan. The Catholic missionaries who settled in Jirapa learned and wrote the dialect spoken in and


around Jirapa (see below) . These preferred dialects gained greater popu larity, recognition and prestige over the other dialects of the same lan guage, for they were often adopted unilaterally and allotted a sectoral use first of all as the language/dialect of religion and later on for secular purposes (Pardon and Furniss, 1 994: 1 3- 1 4 ; Amonoo, 1 9 89: 49) . They were therefore used, willy-nilly, by all other dialect speakers in the church and, eventually, particularly for primary education in the mission schools. In some cases conflicts arose between privileged dialect speakers and the speakers of the neglected dialects (see below) . Nevertheless, the literary material provided by the missionaries has at least served as a springboard for further development of the written languages. The missionary activities also compelled the colonial and post-colonial governments to formulate concrete policies with regard to the teaching of the Ghanaian indigenous languages. It is important to note, however, that the missionaries could not have committed Ghanaian languages to writing without the co-operation of their native converts. Ghanaians have ever since that time co-operated as infor mants, evangelists, pastors or priests and writers to promote the writing of Ghanaian languages. 3 Ghana has now produced many lin guists, who have analysed various aspects of their languages and estab lished many institutions to study and teach these languages. Colonial policies on literacy in Ghanaian languages

The British colonial governments were initially not committed to the promotion of indigenous languages. Indeed, the efforts of the early missionaries to promote Ghanaian languages were at first treated with antagonism and contempt, later with an 'attitude of benevolent toler ance, without any systematic planning' (Awoniyi, 1 9 76 : 3 6 ) . Some of the early colonial educational policies for Ghana and other colonies were the 1 882 Education Ordinance and Code for Lagos and the Gold Coast, the 1 926 Education Ordinance and Code and the 1 943-60 memoranda on 'Languages in African Education' (Emenanjo, in Cyffer et al. , 1 99 1 : 1 60) . From these ordinances it is evident that the colonial government at first insisted on the teaching of English, and on English as the language of instruction. The negative attitude of the colonial government was unsatisfactory to the missionaries, who decided to fight and draft petitions (Awoniyi, 1 9 7 6 : 3 7) . In the Gold Coast, specifically, the Basel missionaries 'cam paigned strongly for the use of the vernacular as a medium of instruc tion at the Primary level and English in the middle school' (Baiden,


1 9 76: 6). However, it was not until the colonial officials began to face problems of communication between themselves and the Africans that the colonial government reversed its policy and initiated a language examination scheme 'requiring all Europeans to be conversant with one or more local mother tongues' (Awoniyi, 1 9 76: 3 7). From then on, further policies of promoting the local languages were formulated and implemented. A few of them may be mentioned here. The Phelps-Stokes Fund of 1 9 20 financed two commissions which pointed out the negative consequences of neglecting the mother tongues, tantamount to 'crippling and destroying the pupil's produc tive powers' (Boadi, 1 9 7 6 : 8 8 ) . The Ghanaian languages became the media of instruction, at least at the early stages of the children's edu cation. Also, with effect from 1 92 7, 'teachers who were already in Government Services had to sit and pass an examination in one Ghanaian language' (Atapka, in Aggrey, 1 992: 1 5 ). Between 1 930 and 1 9 3 5 Ghanaian languages became examination subjects at the Cambridge Local Examination Syndicate (Baiden, 1 9 7 6 : 9). This policy allowed for the study and development of Ghanaian lan guages, such as Ga and Ewe, and the Akan dialects such as Fante, Asante and Akuapem. Until well into the 1 950s the future of the local languages was bright, as many secondary schools and training col leges introduced the study of Ghanaian languages, and as linguists and language-teaching methodologists teamed up to do intensive work on the Ghanaian languages for education (Boadi, 1 9 7 6 : 9 1 ). However, practical problems of implementing government language policies, such as the multiple-language situation in multi-ethnic urban areas and the lack of written material, cropped up without being adequately addressed. There was also a conflict of interests between the protagonists of the promotion of only English at all levels of education and the proponents of the introduction of Ghanaian languages as the media of instruction. But these problems were not peculiar to the pre-independence era. They continued to exist during the post-independence period. Post-colonial policies and their impact

One would have expected that after Ghana's independence in 1 9 5 7 there would have been a n even greater concentration of efforts on the development of Ghanaian languages and cultures to form a solid basis for national identity and development. For the so-called Accelerated Development Plan for Education (ADPE), introduced in 1 9 5 7, sought


'to provide a sound foundation for citizenship with permanent literacy in both English and the vernacular' (ADPE, in Boadi, 1 9 7 6 : 92). However, the ADPE reversed the colonial recommendations favouring the use of Ghanaian languages as media of instruction and instead laid new emphasis on English. Probably the most salient reason for stress ing a 'neutral' colonial language, English, was to foster national unity, to suppress tribalism and to enhance rapid socio-economic and politi cal development in the country. This move was, however, contradic tory to the national aspirations and development of a national culture and was rejected by future governments. At any rate, one soon witnessed the establishment of the Vernacular Literature Bureau (later called the Bureau of Ghana Languages) ( 1 9 5 1 ) , the Institute o f African Studies ( 1 9 6 1 ), the Association o f Teachers of Ghanaian Languages ( 1 9 70) and several Language Committees, all of which sought to promote Ghanaian languages and other cultural aspects. Nevertheless, until the 1 9 70s there was no clearly stated gov ernment policy on the study of Ghanaian languages in the educational system. The incumbent government of Kofi A. Busia reintroduced the local languages as the media for instruction in the first three years of primary school. Under the military regime of I. K. Acheampong the School of Ghana Languages at Ajumako ( 1 9 73/4), the Department of Ghanaian Languages of the University of Cape Coast and the Ghanaian Language Unit ( 1 9 70) of the Language Centre, University of Ghana, were set up to produce, among other duties, teachers with a high professional standard to teach Ghanaian languages and other aspects of culture in pre-tertiary and tertiary institutions. In 1 9 7 4 the Ministry of Education (MOE) published the New Structure and Content of Education for Ghana, in which it placed renewed emphasis on the study of indigenous Ghanaian languages and enjoined that 'every teacher in training shall learn one other Ghanaian language in addition to his own' (MOE, 1 9 74 : 8). Owing to the fact that the general education system had sunk very low by 1 983, the then Provisional National Defence Council ( PNDC) government set up its Education Reform Programme in 1 9 8 7 to improve all spheres of education in Ghana. With regard to the Ghanaian languages, the government stated that the pupil shall learn his own language and another Ghanaian Language in addition. The local Ghanaian Language shall be the medium of instruction for the first three years of primary school. English shall be learnt as a subject from the first year at school and


shall gradually become the medium of instruction as from primary class four. The study of Ghanaian Languages shall continue to be compulsory up to Senior Secondary School. (MOE, no date: 6) More agencies were established in the early 1 9 90s to cater for the pro motion of Ghanaian languages, for example the Functional Literacy Programme and the Non-Formal Education Division (NFED) of the Ministry of Education. The Institute of Adult Education also made efforts to alphabetise adults through their literacy programmes. International donor agencies and voluntary and grassroots organis ations have been making efforts to promote Ghanaian languages and, in concert with the government agencies, to eradicate illiteracy. But how successful and effective were these policies, which had the aim not only of promoting the languages but also of enhancing the socio-economic development of the language groups? The implemen tation of the language policies has been 'uneven and desultory' (Boadi, 1 9 7 6 : 9 4-5). Among the many acute difficulties are economic con straints, demands of external and internal financing agencies, social challenges, political exigencies and ethnic conflicts which the scope of this chapter will not permit me to discuss thoroughly; hence only a few remarks. From the establishment of the School of Ghana Languages to the inception of the Functional Literacy Programme the study and teach ing of twelve Ghanaian languages and dialects, that is Akuapem, Asante, Dagaare, Dagbani, Dangme, Ewe, Fante, Ga, Gonja, Gurune, Kasem, and Nzema, were highly encouraged by governments (Bemile, 1 994b: 42; Kropp Dakubu, 1 9 9 5 : 6f.) ; in 1 990 Kusaal, Sisaali and Buli were added to this list. Some of the reasons for the choice of these lan guages have been that they are considered as major languages in the regions in which they are spoken; also, there have not been enough funds to sponsor all the languages in Ghana. However, not only are major languages favoured but also major dialects. For instance, Akan consists of many dialects, but three of them (Akuapem, Asante and Fante) are now being developed officially for literacy purposes. This is done to the detriment not only of other Akan dialects but also of Guan and several other languages. This policy of neglecting certain dialects or languages no doubt leaves their speakers with the feeling of being slighted and refused a share of the 'national cake' (Boadi, 1 9 76: 85, 95). Given the current 'distressed' economy, however, it will not be possible to sponsor all the major languages, much less all major dialects and


minority languages. In addition, international funding agencies are wont to set deadlines for the realisation of certain plans and projects that they sponsor. Literacy facilitators and textbook writers have, therefore, always been kept on their toes. The result is that, in order to quicken all processes and procedures, certain languages and dialects have to be selected without thorough research and consideration of the consequences. Apart from that, materials produced sometimes lack the high standard required of them. The policy of sponsoring, without general consensus, the teaching of only a few languages risks jeopardising a harmonious co-existence between ethnic groups who are linguistically very distant but, never theless, live together. This is especially the experience of certain lan guage groups that seem to be considered as minor and insignificant for national development and are therefore relegated to the background. For instance, imposing a so-called major language on a group, which for demographic reasons happens to be smaller than another group, is considered by 85 per cent of 1 1 0 Ghanaian language teachers and stu dents whom I interviewed in 1 99 3 and 1 994 as tantamount to alienat ing the minority group, sidelining it in national affairs and decision-making, discriminating against it and putting it in perpetual fear of being eventually dominated by the major group. My informants gave a few instances of actual or potential conflict areas: •

•

•

•

•

•

•

The Guan minority groups living in predominantly Akuapem areas, for example Abiriw, Adukrom and Dawu (Okere) and Larteh are forced to learn Akuapem to their dislike (Baiden, 1 9 7 6: 32f.; Guan Congress, 1 99 1 : 5-1 5). The Efutu and Awutu speakers living in predominantly Guan speaking towns, located nonetheless in Fanteland, are forced to learn Fante. The Mo (Deg), Ligbi and Nafaana people in the Brong Ahafo Region have to learn Asante at school. The speakers of Guan dialects/languages such as Siwu, Sele, Avatime and Nyangbo in the Ewe-speaking areas (Guan Congress, 1 99 1 : 1 4-22) are required to learn Ewe. Asante is taught in the Bono-Ahafo-, Kwahu- and Akyem-speaking areas, much to the disadvantage of the other dialects. Fante is taught in the Ahanta- and Wasa-speaking areas of Agona (Takoradi) and Daboase. The children of the Sisaala and Lobi in the Upper West Region are forced to learn Dagaare at school. The member of parliament for

The promotion of Ghanaian languages 21 1

•

•

•

the Sisaala District, for instance, regretted that most of the Sisaala pupils usually failed badly in their Dagaare examinations owing to lack of proper tuition, of trained teachers in Dagaare and of proper motivation. The Vagla and the Safalaba who are neighbours of the Gonja are compelled to learn Gonja at school. The Konkomba, the Mamprusi, the Nchumuru, the Nanumba and the Chokosi in the Northern Region are required to learn Dagbani. Most pupils living in multi-ethnic urban areas are compelled to learn the language spoken and taught in the said areas to the detriment of their own mother tongues.

It is true that most of the ethnic conflicts that Ghana has experienced so far have emanated from disputes other than linguistic ones. But iso lated linguistic disputes do manifest themselves openly from time to time. In 1 9 7 1 , for instance, as a former Ghanaian language teacher explained in a recent discussion in Winneba over the difficulties of teaching Ghanaian languages, 'teachers were driven away from Daboase because they said Wasa was not written and therefore was not to be taught in schools.' Similar instances occurred in other parts of the country as I will show below. The Dagara language case

The above-mentioned policies of missionaries, governments and inter national and national agencies in regard to the promotion of literacy in the mother tongue in Ghana also affected the situation of the lan guages of the many different ethnic groups in the now Northern, Upper East and Upper West Regions of Ghana which speak about two thirds of the approximately sixty indigenous languages of Ghana. The early missionaries who were sent to the north endeavoured to write down the native languages and dialects that were spoken by their faith ful. Thus, for instance, Dagbani, Kasem, Gurune, Buli, Dagaare, Waali and Sisaali were learned, written and taught with varying degrees of importance. The colonial government, however, neglected education and development in the north and consequently the promotion of lit eracy in the northern languages (Songsore and Denkabe, 1 9 9 5 : 5). It was not until the inception of the Bureau of Ghana Languages in 1 95 1 that Dagbani and Dagaare - the latter being the most widespread language in the Upper West - were selected and sponsored by the gov ernment as two of eleven local languages and dialects being used as the


media of instruction. Post-independence governments still neglected most of the northern languages, but the creation of the Non-Formal Education Division of the Ministry of Education in the early 1 990s finally supported a resurgence of interest in Ghanaian languages. Now, the government also sponsors Gurune, Buli and Sisaali in its adult liter acy programmes.4 It is within this framework that I will analyse the case of the Dagara language in the Upper West Region (Figure 10. 1 ) . In Ghana, many speakers and non-speakers of Dagara refer to the people as Dagaaba (singular Dagao) and to their language as Dagaare (McCoy, 1 988: 3 5-8; Dery, 1 9 8 7 : l ff. ) . The terms Dagati, Dagarti (and seldom Dangati) are also sometimes used, but they are considered as pejorative by the people referred to. Dagari was often used in the colonial period in the then Upper Volta and Cote d'Ivoire where the term Dagara has now superseded it. It is interesting to observe that when native speakers in Ghana are speaking in their language they always say Dagara or Dagaar and not Dagaare. Perhaps the elision of the 'e' is due to slovenly speech or some historical sound shift. Nevertheless, the terms Dagaare and Dagaaba are now used officially only in Ghana for the language and its speakers respectively. My reason for suggesting Dagara here stems simply from the fact that I am considering the language not only from the Ghanaian perspective but also from that of Burkina Faso and the Cote d'Ivoire, and from the spread of the term in the language area. Research on the origins of the Dagara and their dialects is still at an embryonic stage. At any rate, we have to make do with the present research data. 5 Dagara is a Gur or Voltaic (Manessy, 1 9 79) language and is therefore related to other Gur languages, for example Gurune, Lobi, Sisaali, Vagli, Safalba and Moore (Kropp Dakubu, 1 9 88) . 6 There are many varieties of Dagara. The main ones may be described as Waali (spoken in and around Wa, and Dorimon) / Manlaali (spoken in and around Kaleo and partly Nadawli) and Gyirbaalu (spoken in and around Jirapa, Tizza, Sabuli, Domwini and Han) . 8 Others are Birfuor (spoken from Diebougou through Nako, Gaoua and Malba to Batie, Birifor and Lawra), Lobri (spoken in and around Nandom, Fielmuo, Ko, Hamile, Dissin, and so on) / Wule (Wiile) (spoken in and around Dano and along the Black Volta), and finally Dagara-Dyula (spoken in parts of Diebougou) . Many scholars in Ghana prefer to use geographical terms to describe the language varieties, that is southern dialect (par tially for Manlaali), central dialect (for Gyirbaalu), northern dialect (for Lobri and Wule) and western dialect (for Birfuor) . 1 0 In recent years Dagara have migrated and settled in Vagla, Gonja, Mo (Deg) and

The promotion of Ghanaian languages 2 1 3

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Ethnicity in Ghana: the limits of invention

The Invention of Ethnicity

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The Invention of Saintliness

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The Invention of Love

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Historical dictionary of Ghana

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The Politics of Ethnicity in Central Europe

The Limits of Physicalism

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Ethnicity in Ghana: the limits of invention

The Invention of Ethnicity

Making Men in Ghana

The Invention of Morel

The Invention of Saintliness

The Invention of Morel

The Invention of Morel

The Sociology of Ethnicity

The Invention of Telepathy

The Age of Invention

The Invention of Solitude

The Invention of Argentina

The Invention of Solitude

The Invention of Love

The Invention of Capitalism

Historical dictionary of Ghana

The Invention of Tradition

The Invention of Solitude

The Invention of Morel

The Invention of Morel

The Invention

The Politics of Ethnicity in Central Europe

The Limits of Physicalism

The Limits of Nationalism

The Limits of Morality

The Limits of Nationalism

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