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Issues in African Education

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Issues in African Education S OCIOLOGICAL P ERSPECTIVES

Edited by

Ali A. Abdi and Ailie Cleghorn

ISSUES IN AFRICAN EDUCATION

© Ali A. Abdi and Ailie Cleghorn, 2005. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. First published in 2005 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN™ 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 and Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, England RG21 6XS Companies and representatives throughout the world. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 1–4039–7069–6 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Issues in African education : sociological perspectives / edited by Ali A. Abdi, Ailie Cleghorn. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–7069–6 1. Education—Social aspects—Africa. I. Abdi, Ali A., 1955– II. Cleghorn, Ailie, 1940– LC191.8.A4I77 2005 306.43⬘096—dc22 Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: November 2005 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

List of Tables and Figures

vii

List of Contributors

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Preface

xiii

Acknowledgments

xv Part I

Theoretical Foundations

1. Sociology of Education: Theoretical and Conceptual Perspectives Ali A. Abdi and Ailie Cleghorn 2. African Philosophies of Education: Counter-Colonial Criticisms Ali A. Abdi 3. National “Development” and African Universities: A Theoretical and Sociopolitical Analysis Korbla P. Puplampu Part II

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Culture, Language, and the Curriculum

4. Reclaiming Our Memories: The Education Dilemma in Postcolonial African School Curricula Edward Shizha 5. Surveying Indigenous Knowledge, the Curriculum, and Development in Africa: A Critical African Viewpoint Nkosinathi Mkosi 6. Language Issues in African School Settings: Problems and Prospects in Attaining Education For All Ailie Cleghorn 7. Cultural Perspectives on Science and Technology Education Meshach B.Ogunniyi

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85

101 123

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Contents

Part III

Gender and Equity Issues in Education

8. Women’s Education and Social Development in Africa Benedicta Egbo 9. Achieving Gender Equity in Africa’s Institutions of Tertiary Education: Beyond Access and Representation Philomina Okeke-Ihejirika 10. Gender and Education in Sub-Saharan Africa: The Women in Development (WID) Approach and its Alternatives Codou Diaw 11. Quandaries, Prospects, and Challenges of Nomadic Educational Policy for Girls in Sub-Saharan–Africa Lantana Usman 12. Narratives from Ghana: Exploring Issues of Difference and Diversity in Education George J. Sefa Dei and Alireza Asgharzadeh Part IV

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175

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Education and Change

13. Democratizing Education in Zambia: Sociohistorical Analyses Edward Shizha and Ali A. Abdi 14. At the Mercy of Informal Learning: Education and Development in Stateless Somalia Ali A. Abdi 15. Social Organization of Teacher Education in Africa: A Kenyan Case Study Njoki Wane 16. The Role of the School in Africa in the Twenty-First Century: Coping with Forces of Change Okwach Abagi Index

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241

259

275

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List of Tables and Figures Tables 8.1 Gross enrollment ratio (%) at the primary, secondary, and tertiary levels of education in selected countries in Africa 9.1 Tertiary gross enrollment ratios (%) in selected African countries, 1998–2001 9.2 Female academic staff in Africa’s tertiary institutions, 2000–2002 11.1 Nomadic Fulani girls’ economic mainstay 11.2 Enrollment of nomadic primary school students by gender, 1990–1999 11.3 Existing types of nomadic classroom structures 11.4 Effect of herding on children’s schooling 11.5 Time children attend school 13.1 Admission to grade 1, 1990–1996 15.1 Number of primary teachers by qualification and sex for the selected years, 1997–1999 16.1 HIV/AIDS statistics and features by region, December 1999

142 165 167 195 200 201 201 202 249 284 302

Figures 6.1 9.1

“Whose culture, whose literacy?” Rates of female enrollment in tertiary education, 1980–1996

116 164



Okwach Abagi obtained his PhD from McGill University, his B.Ed. and M.A. from the University of Nairobi. He is the Director of OWN and Associates Center for Research and Development in Nairobi which has offered technical assistance in Eastern and Southern African regions for various organizations including UNIFEM, UNESCO, UNICEF, UNDP, CARE—Kenya, Action AID, CARE—Sudan/Somalia, InterUniversity Council of East Africa (IUCEA) and the Commonwealth Secretariat. Ali A. Abdi is Associate Professor in the Department of Educational Policy Studies at the University of Alberta, Canada. He received his PhD from McGill University. His teaching areas include comparative and international education, sociology of education, and cultural studies in education. He is currently conducting a major research project on citizenship education and social development in sub-Saharan Africa with a focus on Zambia. His articles have appeared in such journals as Comparative Education, Journal of Postcolonial Education, International Education Journal, Horn of Africa Journal, and Western Journal of Black Studies. He is also the author of Culture, Education and Development in South Africa, and coauthor (with Ratna Ghosh) of Education and the Politics of Difference. Alireza Asgharzadeh is a PhD candidate in the Department of Sociology and Equity Studies, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education of the University of Toronto. His areas of concentration and research include: sociolinguistics, social inequality, and sociology of education. Ailie Cleghorn is Associate Professor in the Department of Education at Concordia University in Montreal. Her PhD from McGill University is in the Comparative Sociology of Education. Her qualitative studies in East and southern African primary schools have focused on language issues in the teaching of science and mathematics. Lately her research has included teachers’ conceptions of early childhood in societies undergoing social change. Her articles appear in such journals as the

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International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, the Comparative Education Review and Early Childhood Research. Previous books include Sociology of Education: An Introductory View from Canada (with Joyce Barakett) and Missing the Meaning (with Alan Peacock). George J. Sefa Dei is Professor and Chair of the Department of Sociology and Equity Studies at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education of the University of Toronto. His work and teaching areas are in: anticolonial thought, antiracism and minority schooling issues, international development, and indigenous knowledges. His books include Anti-Racism Education: Theory and Practice, and Indigenous Knowledges in Global Contexts: Multiple Readings of Our World. Codou Diaw holds a PhD from the interdisciplinary program in Language, Literacy, and Culture at the University of Maryland. She is a consultant in international educational development. Her current research interests are in gender theory and education policy, especially girls’ education and women’s literacy. She also explores issues of political economy of education, cultural considerations in education program design, language policy and teaching in sub-Saharan Africa. Benedicta Egbo is an Associate Professor of Education at the University of Windsor, Windsor, Canada. Her research interests and publications are in the areas of literacy, gender and development, gender and education, comparative education, educational policy, and social justice. She is the author of Gender, Literacy and Life Chances in Sub-Saharan Africa (Multilingual Matters, 2000), which explores the links between African women’s access to literacy, and their sociopsychological and economic well-being in their respective societies. Nkosinathi Mkosi lectures at the University of Fort Hare, South Africa in history of education and language teaching methods. He is also an associate researcher attached to the university’s Education Policy Unit. He obtained his professional qualifications at the University of Fort Hare and the University of Alberta. His research interests include education and development, and the impact of South Africa’s educational policies on school governance, administration, and leadership. Meshach Ogunniyi is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin and is currently a Senior Professor of Science Education, University of the Western Cape. His research has focused on science and technology education from a sociocultural perspective. He has founded two journals and published over 100 articles in refereed journals and books.


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Philomina Okeke-Ihejirika is Associate Professor in the Women’s Studies Program at the University of Alberta. Her research and teaching focus on gender and development in Africa (including women in politics and public decision-making), the social dynamics of race, class, and gender in North American communities, and gender issues in the globalization process. Her publications include Negotiating Power and Privilege: Igbo Career Women in South-eastern Nigeria. Korbla P. Puplampu is with the Department of Social Sciences, Grant MacEwan College, Edmonton, Canada. His research interests include the politics of knowledge production, and the role of the state in social change. His articles appear in journals such as, Teaching in Higher Education, African Studies Review, the Review of African Political Economy, and the Canadian Journal of Development Studies. He is coeditor of Critical Perspectives on Politics and Socio-Economic Development in Ghana (with W.J. Tettey and B.J. Berman). Edward Shizha, a lecturer at the University of Zimbabwe; recently completed his PhD at the University of Alberta in the Department of Educational Policy Studies. His dissertation was on indigenous knowledge and languages in the teaching and learning of primary science in rural Zimbabwe. His research interests also include postcolonial theory and education, globalization and education, sociology of knowledge, gender studies, and citizenship and human rights education. Lantana Usman is currently Assistant Professor at the University of Northern British Columbia, Prince George, Canada. She obtained her PhD from University of Alberta. She has been a sessional professor and university facilitator for students’ field experience. She was a lecturer and researcher for over ten years with the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, Nigeria. Njoki Wane is Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and Equity Studies, at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education at the University of Toronto. She teaches in both the graduate school and the pre-service areas. Her research includes teacher education, cultural knowledges, Black Canadian feminist theorizing, and African spirituality. Her publications include: Equity in School and Society (coeditor), Back to the Drawing Board: African Canadian Feminisms (coauthor).


Preface

T

his book is intended as a comprehensive introduction to major sociological issues in African education. It presents a thoroughly African worldview within a sociology of education framework. While most of the current theory in sociology of education was generated in the West, this book will allow the reader to see where that theory is relevant to the African context and where it is not. We hope that this will lead to more efforts to build on that theory so that it becomes much more international in its scope and application. The sixteen chapters are written primarily for those who work in the field of education, as professors, teacher educators, researchers, teachers, consultants, policy makers, and others. The book aims to provide a sociological understanding of the educational issues, debates, processes, and practices as these take place in a non-Western social context. This being said, the book will also be of interest internationally, to those who are studying or teaching in comparative and international education, and development studies, as well as to those who are working in nongovernmental and government projects in various parts of the world. We believe that the time is right for a text that speaks with an African voice, one that brings the viewpoints of several African scholars together in a collection that would be relevant to the lives of college and university students in African countries as well as others in both the minority and majority worlds. The aim is to disseminate knowledge that will contribute (1) to the development of a critical perspective on the issues that the book presents, and (2) to efforts to indigenize curricula while also keeping an eye on global trends in education. It is important that educators develop the critical skills that are needed in order to respond with good judgment to the constant pressures from within and from abroad to introduce change into their education systems. The reader will find in these pages information about a broad range of issues relating, for example, to the ways in which the formal and informal aspects of the educational system are connected to the political, economic, legal, religious, and other sectors of society. We

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Preface

hope that the book will act as a bridge to understanding local education and society issues in the larger global context. The chapters that have been written mostly by African scholars, do not however, pretend to represent all of Africa, but draw examples mainly from sub-Saharan African settings, both rural and urban. As the title suggests, an African perspective is presented in each of the contributors’ chapters. This is important for several reasons. First, it is important to realize that every society is diverse, linguistically, culturally, and in many other ways, either from long ago or from the recent migration of refugees and immigrants from one region to another. Secondly, it is important for educators to think through their taken-for-granted understandings of how the education system ought to be organized, since the reality may increasingly fall short of this; there may be very local ways of looking upon ethnic, linguistic, racial, and other differences, ways that may no longer work well in the face of the actual diversity just mentioned. These attitudes then, may influence the way we think about the teaching of other languages, for example, or about the need to know a metropolitan language, or about what constitutes an appropriate curriculum in today’s world. Such attitudes may also influence the negotiation of understanding across the social boundaries that define difference. Since people tend to take for granted the way in which they were taught in primary and secondary school, it is sometimes difficult to see the elements of their own education practices clearly; many of the particulars have been internalized through years spent in schools and classrooms since the age of five or six. Another of the aims of this book then, is to assist the reader to stand outside their own experience, to take an objective stance, and to sense that this book is about and for them. There is no current text that we know of which attempts to present a sociological analysis of the controversial issues that affect education in African countries, in the context of a rapidly changing world. It is now essential to be able to attend simultaneously to local and global trends in order to adapt to and teach in situations where the school structures, rules, and expectations and student populations may be very unfamiliar. Thus we hope that this book reflects the theoretical perspectives which illuminate not only the range of ideologies that affect education in Africa but ways in which educators can prepare for future educational, social, and technological change.

Acknowledgments

A

book like this does not come into being without a lot of collaboration and cooperation from many people. We began to think about this book several years ago after Ali finished his doctorate at McGill University and was teaching for a year in Concordia University’s Department of Education. E-mail communications helped to continue the discussion when Ali joined the faculty in the Department of Educational Policy Studies at the University of Alberta. Somehow the plan became a reality and we contacted our chapter authors, to whom we owe the greatest debt. The publisher’s interest in the book soon followed and we have been working closely since then with Gabriella Pearce at Palgrave MacMillan in New York. We thank Gabriella for her diligence and professionalism. Busy academics do not only write or edit books. They teach undergraduate and graduate courses, they supervise graduate student theses, they direct research projects, they are involved in student exchange programs, they sit on various department and university committees, they write articles for publication, and they present papers at conferences. In all of this, their daily lives are a buzz of interaction especially with their graduate students who not only offer technical help, but also stimulate us with new ways of thinking and looking at “old” ideas. It is in this vein that Ali would like to thank Edward Shizha, his former doctoral student and now a colleague, for his editing of a number of the chapters as well as for his chapter contributions to the book. Ali is also thankful for the continuing support of his family, and would like to reminisce, via the “Africanity” of this work, of the exemplary lives of his parents, Ahmed A. Ibrahim and Johorad Warsame, in Somalia. In Ailie’s case, she is grateful to Reem Ben Giaber, a Master’s student in Educational Studies at Concordia, who cross-checked hundreds of items, located missing references, read many of the chapters, put commas back where they belonged, and generally helped to keep the chapters organized. While all this was going on, Caroline Chwojka provided Ailie with some time to work on the book by taking on the job of

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Acknowledgments

teaching assistant for the undergraduate Comparative Education course. It was Caroline who gave extra time to students who were having difficulty and the grading of student papers would never have been finished without her. Finally and again, we extend a special gratitude to our colleagues, the contributors, who have graciously accepted our invitation, and who have produced a book that we hope will reignite discussions and debates about the critical global and local intersections of society and education in the still promising sub-Saharan African context.

Part 1

Theoretical Foundations


1

Sociology of E ducation: Theoretical and Conceptual Perspectives Ali A. Abdi and Ailie Cleghorn

T

he objective of this first chapter is to provide an understanding of the ways in which educational systems, structures, and processes connect with various aspects of society, including dominant values, political goals, and ideologies. Key terms, major concepts, and theories in sociology of education will be introduced so that the reader is equipped to reflect on, contextualize, and understand the content of the subsequent chapters from both an insider’s (emic) as well as outsider’s (etic) perspective. In the first section of this chapter we give a definition of sociology; many of the terms and concepts in sociology of education come directly from sociology. The main part of the chapter then provides a general outline of the functions of schooling, several of which lie outside our taken-for-granted assumptions about the purposes of education. Next comes a discussion of the ways in which education systems vary worldwide. Finally, the reader will find a thumbnail sketch of the dominant theories in sociology of education.1 The chapter presents a standard version of educational sociology as that field has developed in Europe and North America. It does not attempt to interpret the terms, concepts or theories for the African context. It is intented that the reader will use this chapter to reflect on the content of the subsequent chapters, coming in due course to an understanding of the strengths and shortcomings of the ideas contained herein with regard to educational issues in Africa. To further this understanding the reader is referred to the African educational, social, and political writings of Julius Nyerere, Frantz Fanon, Walter Rodney, Ali

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Mazrui and Claude Ake as well as novels by Chinua Achebe, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Wole Soyinka and others. As Achebe (2000) would say, these are exemplary efforts to rewrite the narratives of the social and educational sciences so as to recast the world of Africa that has been, willy nilly, distorted by the harsh realities of colonial writing.

Sociology Sociology is a social science discipline that developed first in nineteenthcentury Europe from the social-philosophical writings of Karl Marx, Max Weber, Emile Durkheim, and others. Sociology explores and offers explanations for the organization and functioning of society. It is a field of study that looks at the social groups (social classes, ethnic, linguistic, and racial groups) and institutions which make up a particular society. The term institution is an abstraction to refer to the family, the economy, the legal, the religious, and the political systems that make up every society, although with huge variation from one place to another. Sociology is also concerned with the relations between the groups as well as the position or status of the individual within the group, groups or institutions that he or she belongs to. The field of sociology concerns itself with the ideologies that underlie the functioning of society’s institutions—the values, norms, and beliefs associated with a society’s dominant group. A society’s relations with the rest of the world are also of interest because every society exists within a larger global context. Matters relating to the economics and power relations between the minority and majority worlds2 are a critical part of understanding the functioning of an institution such as education.

Sociology of Education Sociology of education focuses on the relationship of schooling processes, practices, and outcomes to the organization of society as a whole. At the level of the school system and within the school itself, it focuses on the social groups and the relations between them. These groups include the teachers, students, parents, school administrators, officers of the ministry of education, school inspectors, community representatives, and others. Sociology of education is also concerned with the academic as well as social results of in-school processes. These include the manner in which students come to abide by the norms and values of society at large, and the role that the educational process plays in recreating or changing the social structure as this relates in particular to a society’s system of social stratification and hierarchy of power.

Sociology of E ducation

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Three kinds of education can be identified. Informal education normally takes place within the family, starting at birth, and is to be distinguished from formal education. Children learn many things from parents, siblings, and community members—for example, the home language and behavioral norms. Formal education refers to the set of organized activities that take place in schools that are intended to transmit skills, knowledge, and values. Non-formal education refers to organized instruction that takes place outside of school settings (e.g., girl guides, boy scouts, and sports groups). Education is sociological because it is part of a network of interrelated societal institutions, because it is a social process and because of its functions, both intended and unintended. That is, education takes place within an established institutional structure (a school system) which is connected to other systems—the economy, the political system, the legal system, the family, as well as the belief or religious system. The dominant norms and values of the society are reflected in all these institutions. Education is also a sociological process at another level: it involves human beings and requires them to interact in order for the intended knowledge, skills, and values to be transmitted. The main participants in this process—the teachers and the students—bring to the teaching–learning situation their prior life experiences, their language background, their racial origins, their beliefs about education, their understanding of how to interact with elders (e.g., teachers), and the like. What goes on in classrooms is greatly influenced by these factors or variables, or, more accurately, by the social meaning which people attach to such matters as language, ethnicity, race, and gender. Many education settings are now diversely populated due to large numbers of immigrants and refugees moving from one place to another. This diversity means that teachers need to be prepared for mixed student groups with a range of prior experiences stemming from varied social class, language, and cultural backgrounds. By culture, we are referring to the ways of seeing, thinking, speaking, believing, and behaving that characterize the members of a social or ethnic group (Geertz, 1973). Culture can affect students’ preferred ways of learning, thus it is not only the social context of teaching and learning that is important but the context as represented by the experience that the learner brings to the setting. To contextualize instruction is to attend to both of these aspects of the culture of schooling. In diverse education settings, the culture that is transmitted in school reflects the values and attitudes of the so-called dominant members of the society; this includes those who make educational policy decisions. Sometimes the dominant group’s culture differs from the

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home culture of students. Thus schools not only play a socialization role from one generation to the next but also a role in the acculturation of the children of newcomers (immigrants) or those who are members of minority groups to the norms and values of the dominant society. Acculturation refers to the changes that occur within a group through culture contact and through the process of adapting to and taking on the values, attitudes, and ways of behaving of the dominant (majority) group. Integration refers to the extent that interaction occurs between members of different groups within a society’s institutions including education.

The Functions of Formal Schooling Intended Functions The functions of schooling can be looked upon as intended or manifest and unintended or latent, though there is considerable overlap between the two (Thomas, 1990). The intended functions refer to those aspects of education that come immediately to mind when we ask ourselves what it is that schools do. Through the formal or official curriculum, schools transmit both generalised as well as specialized knowledge. They transmit skills and values and they develop mental abilities. Schools also transmit the existing culture to the next generation and to new members of the society as well as new knowledge that is produced in universities and in industry; cultural transmission also involves cultural diffusion. For example, Western culture, values, and schooling practices, including curricula, have been spread or diffused to the indigenous communities living in many parts of the majority world through colonization and its aftermath. Cultural diffusion may be increasing globally through the textbook industry that tends to be controlled by Western capitalist interests (Apple and Christian-Smith, 1991; McEneaney, 2003). Cultural production refers to the role that higher education institutions play in producing new knowledge in technology, science, the social sciences, the humanities, business, art, and other areas. In fact, one of the functions of higher education is to research the social and technological changes that are taking place in the world and to consider how these changes affect the educational process at all levels. Through a complex decision-making and implementation process, new knowledge is incorporated into school curricula. In due course it is passed on to the next generation and to new members of the society (Ghosh and Ray, 1987). The formal (official) curriculum refers to the planned learning activities as contained in textbooks and other learning materials as well


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as the learning objectives as represented by what is required to be known for important national and local examinations. While the curriculum first may seem like a straightforward matter, we see that it too is complex when we ask whose knowledge is taught in school, who decided what is to be taught at what level, to whom? This is a topic that will arise in one way or another in several chapters in this book. Schools teach children to read, write, and to calculate, that is, to be functionally literate, providing them with the general knowledge they will need to take part in society, to work, and to learn other things. They are also taught facts in subjects such as history, geography, and literature as well as procedures in subjects like science and mathematics. Some are taught computer and other skills that will be useful in specific jobs. Although official statements about educational purposes may refer to the teaching of critical thinking skills, this may be a myth; critical thinking rarely occurs before university (Freire, 1968, 1985; Norris and Phillips, 1990). It is thus important for educators to think about why it is that critical thinking is so rarely encouraged during the earlier stages of schooling. The custodial function refers to the fact that schools are places for children to be looked after, with the school having a legal responsibility to act as substitute parents (in loco parentis) at least for the duration of the school day. While schools may be held responsible for the safety of children, it is of note that they are not held responsible for academic failure; failure is located with the learner and/or his or her parents. In contrast to primary schools, the custodial function of secondary schools is not so clear; in fact secondary schools can be dangerous places due to the presence of drugs, violence, and truancy as well as unscrupulous male teachers who sometimes take advantage of female students. Unintended Functions The unintended functions are sometimes referred to as the hidden curriculum, a term coined by Jackson (1968). The hidden curriculum refers to the implicit messages students receive about such matters as punctuality, neatness, achievement, deference toward teachers (authority relations), and the like. It also includes the subtle ways in which schooling inculcates in students the values of the society’s dominant group. The term dominant group refers to the group that holds the important and powerful positions in the society’s institutions (including the school system). Often this is the group that has lived in the society the longest, or is the largest group. The culture of the dominant group is usually that which is transmitted through the schools. Schools thus play

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an important role in establishing loyalty and consensus over what the society most values (i.e., a sense of national identity or citizenship) since they bring together young people from varied backgrounds in their formative years. However, this does not mean that access to dominant group membership is easily attained. In fact, the hidden curriculum is largely responsible for controlling social mobility. Social mobility refers to the upward (or downward) movement of individuals or groups within the established social structure (the way in which a society’s institutions and groups are organized in patterns or networks that are more or less stable over time). Societies differ greatly in the extent to which social mobility is possible and especially the extent to which acquiring an education permits an individual to move up the social ladder. People everywhere tend to believe that an education will bring upward social mobility. From a functional theoretical (consensus) perspective, society may be compared to a living organism; temporary stresses may move the parts of the social structure away from equilibrium but this tends to be short term, with stability being returned to quite “naturally.” According to this view, inequality between individuals and between different groups (such as between men and women) is considered inevitable if not “natural” and thus “functional” overall for the society as a whole. In contrast, a conflict theoretical perspective focuses on the evident disequilibrium between the parts of the social structure and on inequality between individuals and groups. Inequalities are then considered dysfunctional for the society as a whole, as something imposed by those in positions of power through institutional processes that may well be considered the way things are. Social stratification is an important concept. Every society, including the smallest and most simply organized is stratified or has a system of social stratification—an organized hierarchy of strata based on the value that a society attaches to particular ascribed (inborn) or achieved (acquired) attributes (e.g., ethnic group membership, race, religion, years of schooling, profession). When a person possesses or achieves whatever a society values most highly, that person is likely to be accorded high social status and may also have access to a position of power. A system of stratification is considered to be open when movement up through the strata from the lowest to the highest on the basis of achievement is theoretically possible. However, the extent to which such social mobility is actually possible is still limited by ascription (characteristics obtained at birth—e.g., gender, religion, race). A system of stratification is said to be closed when mobility is virtually impossible. This was the case in India when the caste system was still fully in place.


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Thus there are limits on the extent to which achievement in education can compensate for ascribed characteristics on a group basis. A society’s system of stratification is related to its division of labor, the differential distribution of jobs to be done in order for the society to maintain itself economically. Every society has unwritten rules as well as formal criteria (credentials) that determine who performs which tasks. The unwritten rules are generally based on such matters as gender, age, ethnicity, family background, and the like. And every society has some tasks that are considered more desirable than others and pay accordingly. Since the number of qualified people is usually much greater than the number of desirable positions, a selection process exists that tends to result in academic achievement being distributed unevenly (patterned). There also has to be a way for people to accept their lot, otherwise the unattractive jobs would never get done. How is it that people “accept their place” and agree to perform even the most menial of tasks? How is the system of social stratification perpetuated? In the Western world there is a belief in the equality of educational opportunity (equal access to schooling, equal treatment within schools, and the potential of equal results). This is more of a myth than a reality. If educational opportunity were truly equal for all, academic achievement would be distributed evenly from one social class to another, from one racial and ethnic group to another, and between the sexes. While not all individuals are equally able to achieve well in school, there is no biological or genetic reason to explain why one group (race, sex, ethnicity) or another should be over-represented among those who succeed or among those who fail (Ogbu, 1991; Slavin, 1991). In the majority world there is an equivalent belief—that there will be equality of educational opportunity when a country’s economy develops, or if the industrialized countries would share their wealth more generously. Another belief or myth is that education for all will bring about economic development, however, there is more evidence to suggest that it is economic development which brings more education for more people (Arnove and Torres, 1999). Another set of myths states that those who achieve well in school have done so through hard work and by being evaluated according to objective and “fair” examination procedures. The system is therefore believed to be meritocratic, that is, individual effort and ability lead to higher achievement in school and therefore to higher social status. However, there are now many school and classroom-based studies that show how individuals who are members of the lower classes or disparaged minorities may encounter discrimination by teachers and peers at school, with the result that they are excluded from learning in subtle

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ways (Aronowitz and Giroux, 1993; Gibson and Ogbu, 1991). The same set of myths also “explain” why some students fail in school, take up menial jobs, and do not move up the social ladder. If girls, for example, fall behind boys in mathematics, there must be a “good” reason for it. These kinds of commonsense understandings or beliefs justify or legitimize the way things are, and thereby support the status quo. The process of selecting some individuals to perform desirable jobs and of persuading others to perform low status jobs is part of the selection and allocation function of schooling. Although manifest and intended at one level, the selection-allocation function of schooling is difficult for many to see since we have all been socialized to believe that the system is fair and just. It is for this very reason, however, that it is extremely important for teachers and other educators to know about this function of schooling. It is one of the main concerns of the field of sociology of education. Young people learn about the occupational structure of society through the process of schooling. They are introduced, both directly and indirectly, to many occupations as well as to the types of positions and roles within them. They learn early about the hierarchy of power when serious infractions (both behavioral and academic) get referred by the teacher to the head teacher or principal. Similarly, children learn that there are complex rules associated with competition, cooperation and achievement; sometimes chatting in groups in the classroom is cooperative learning, other times chatting in class is considered disruptive behavior. In such ways children slowly come to be very familiar with the norms or “rules” for getting ahead, with what constitutes fair competition, with what “counts” toward academic achievement and what does not. It is through such mechanisms that children also come to accept the results of examinations that are said to be objective, and therefore fair. The belief that testing procedures are unbiased and fair is an important precursor to later acceptance of the fact that the rewards of society are distributed unevenly—some people get ahead and “deserve” to get rewarded while those who do not can only blame themselves. This is known as the ideology of legitimation (Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977). Social control is another unintended function of schooling. Social control is about the definition and imposition of what the expected behaviors are of boys, girls, and members of different racial, ethnic, and linguistic groups, depending on the particular society and setting. Social control refers to the unwritten rules that define who is expected to get ahead and who is not. These are the “rules” that lead some girls to lose interest in science or mathematics around the time of puberty,


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and other students to rebel against the system in ways that conform to popular racial or ethnic stereotypes (Dei, 1996; Ogbu, 1991).

How do Education Systems Differ from One Country to Another? Educational systems vary worldwide in many ways. Some of the more obvious ones relate to structure, governance, goals, and historical influences. The reader is referred to a number of comparative education texts for a more complete treatment of this topic than space permits here, including Kubow and Fossum (2003) and Thomas (1990). Structure refers to the formal organization of schooling: the number of years allocated for primary education as well as the number of years for secondary education. For example, Kenya’s 8–4–4 system refers to 8 years of primary schooling, 4 years at the secondary level, and 4 years of university. Japan’s 6–3–3 system is made up of 6 years of primary, 3 years of middle school, and 3 years of secondary school. In addition, most school systems in the West include a voluntary or mandatory preschool year of kindergarten, housed in regular schools. In the developing countries, preschools are proliferating but are usually not incorporated into the formal system. Governance refers to the way an education system is operated. Education systems vary in the degree to which control of such matters as curriculum and teacher education is centralized (in the nation’s capital, for example) or decentralized (in states or local communities, for example). The degree of centralization of control sometimes corresponds to the promotion of nationalism in the schools through “civics” education, China being one example. The centralized–decentralized dimension is subject to change with political circumstances. South Africa, for example, has moved in the last few years from a relatively centralized system that determined who could go to what kind of school and where, to one that has nine administrative units that respond to and correspond to regional requirements. Most countries today are moving toward mandatory school attendance to about the age of 16. However, the reality is that in the majority world many young people must drop out because they are needed to contribute to their family’s livelihood. Access to schooling may also be affected by lack of roads, distance to be traveled, insufficient number of trained teachers, inappropriate and irrelevant curricula (left over from colonial days), teacher absenteeism due to such matters as family health problems (such as AIDS), and so on. Nevertheless, there is no lack of demand for formal schooling throughout the world. Parents

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everywhere want their children educated; however, when faced with economic constraints parents tend to educate their sons far longer than their daughters (Gordon, 1997; Lindsay, 1990; UNICEF, 1994). Gender in education is an important issue that is raised in several of the following chapters. Length of the school year varies greatly. In China it is reported to be 251 days while in Portugal it is 172. Cross-national studies of educational achievement suggest that the number of days in the school year is less important than how things are done in classrooms (Orpwood and Garden, 1998; Stigler and Stevenson, 1998/99). Factors affecting achievement thus constitute a complex issue, one that many education researchers are exploring. Societies do not vary greatly in terms of their stated general education goals but they do vary with regard to specific desired educational outcomes. General educational goals often refer to such matters as producing good people who are faithful citizens with the ability to contribute to the nation’s development. Specific goals are most often tied to the society’s economic conditions and needs. Educational goals are also influenced by historical events such as wars and by the sequel to natural events, such as the discovery of oil in the Middle East, or drought and famine that have occurred in parts of Africa. Educational goals also vary depending on which institutions in the society are responsible for defining the goals (e.g., the state, a religious body or the community). They sometimes shift with regard to which learners may pursue which goals. For example, before the system of apartheid was dismantled in South Africa in 1995, Black students were not permitted access to certain schools and universities. What was offered in the schools designated for Blacks virtually excluded them from a quality education, from certain occupations, and from participation in the society as a whole. Specific educational goals may reflect different views of the learner. In most of the West, the stated goals tend to emphasize teaching children how to learn and how to think. Elsewhere, the emphasis is on the memorization of large amounts of factual material due to the importance of national examinations. National examinations at the end of the primary cycle may literally determine an individual’s chance for further education. When there is a shortage of space at the next level of schooling, a national examination system allows the system to select the number of students for whom there are spaces at the next level and to eliminate the rest. It is important to note that the number of available spaces at the next level determines the “failure” point. Thus the definition of failure has little to do with what has been learned; it selects “objectively” the few who can be absorbed into the next level of the


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system. One consequence of this situation is that there are huge numbers of people in some countries who must live with an artificially defined and externally imposed sense of failure, simply because the education system needs expansion. The foregoing suggests that a seemingly straightforward matter such as educational goals quickly raises a number of issues connecting an education system to economics, politics, and the dominant values of the society in which the system is rooted. More importantly, there is no country in the world that succeeds in providing the same educational opportunities for everyone.

Theory in Sociology of Education Earlier it was mentioned that sociology of education stems from the economic and social philosophical nineteenth-century writings of well-known thinkers such as Karl Marx, Max Weber, Emile Durkheim, Charles Cooley, and George Herbert Mead. More recently, new theories have emerged in response to post–World War II events such as massive migration, the independence of African nations, and the social turmoil of the 1960s in the West. In this section, we give thumbnail sketches in order to define briefly the following theories: functional, conflict, interaction, neo-Marxism, postmodern, critical, and feminist. A full understanding of these theories can only come from a much more thorough reading of the suggested readings at the end of this chapter. Karl Marx’s (1864–1920) political ideas have shaped history and influenced how we think about society. He was deeply affected by the living conditions of workers in nineteenth-century Europe. He sought to explain capitalism theoretically and fight it politically. He believed that the economic organization of a society affects the class structure, institutions, cultural values, and beliefs of that society. For Marx, socialism (ownership by workers of their society’s factories, land, and other productive assets) would follow capitalism (private ownership of the means of production) as the final stage in the evolution of history and politics. This would occur only after a social revolution. Marx’s most famous work is Das Kapital, the first volume of which was published in 1867. Emile Durkheim (1858–1917) focused his studies on social order and used statistics and empirical methods to explain the forces that he believed made social events regular and predictable. Throughout his work Durkheim analyzes the function of the moral base underlying society, which according to him, makes order possible. Durkheim’s most famous writings include The division of labour in society and suicide: A study in sociology, first published in 1893 and 1897 respectively.

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Max Weber (1864–1920) wrote on many subjects—religion, economics, politics, authority, bureaucracy, class and caste, and the city. Like Marx he was interested in explaining the rise of capitalism. However, he believed that systems of ideas, including religions, influence economic behavior, not the reverse. One of Weber’s famous works was The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism translated by Talcott Parsons and published in English in 1930. Charles H. Cooley’s (1864–1929) theory focused on the place of the individual within the larger social context. His theory on the origin of the “self,” that is, a person’s sense of self-identity, centered on the notion of the “looking glass effect,” a metaphor that explains how individuals, through interaction with parents, peers, and teachers (significant others), come to see themselves as they imagine others see them. Cooley’s ideas contributed to George Herbert Mead’s (1863–1931) conceptualization of what came to be known as the symbolic interaction perspective. Mead stated that self-development and self-awareness require the capacity to use language and interact symbolically. He argued that to interact with others the individual must take the role of the other in order to imagine how this “other” views him or herself and to know what this other expects of him or her. Mead believed that individuals act and react to one another according to these mental interpretations. Mead’s conception of the self includes the “Me,” a representation of internalized societal attitudes and expectations and the “I,” a unique and emancipated facet that produces spontaneity and individuality. These societal and individual aspects of the self operate together within the individual and highlight the interactive quality of the interaction perspective. Various sociologists, in their search for basic knowledge about schooling and their desire to explain the common assumptions about what schools actually do, drew on many of the concepts put forth by these groundbreaking social philosophers and early thinkers in the field of sociology. The following section describes the sociological perspectives that subsequently developed to explain the educational process. Again, it is to be noted that these theories developed mainly in the West and have been assumed by many social scientists to have universal saliency, a point with which we do not agree. They do, however, provide a starting point for thinking about their strengths and shortcomings with regard to our understanding of the issues that the chapters in this book discuss. We are sure that the readers will find several examples in those chapters of African scholars, who have built on, extended, or modified the theories in ways that render them suitable to the settings under consideration.


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Functional Perspective The functionalist view developed and prevailed in the 1950s to offer an explanation and justification for the role of schools in maintaining society in a kind of equilibrium in the face of technological advances, a large influx of immigrants, and movement of people from the rural to urban areas. These social changes dramatically affected the occupational structure. Thus, the need to maintain social order was linked to a deep-seated commitment to capitalism. Schools were seen as important because they teach the necessary skills and norms to participate in society, and because they sort, select, and train people to fill positions in the workplace. From this stance, achievement, assessed through “objective” tests, is a rational and morally justifiable way of sorting the student population for various occupations and social status. The functional perspective is reflected in the works of Talcott Parsons (1967), James Coleman (1966), and Robert Dreeben (1968). They viewed the classroom as a social system, socializing, and allocating individuals on the basis of the criteria assigned to it by the larger society. The school’s function is seen as dictated by the economy and occupational structure of a developing modern industrial society. From this perspective, education expansion offers greater opportunities for attaining higher social status. In sum and to put it simply, a state of equilibrium was needed for capitalistic reasons and supported by a system which convinced people that the selection-allocation process was fair.

Conflict and Neo-Marxist Perspectives In the 1970s, a debate developed about talent/intelligence and school achievement on the one hand and the relationship between schooling and the future status of individuals on the other. Collins (1977) cited by Barakett and Cleghorn (2000) argued against the basic assumptions of the functionalists. He refutes the notions that job skill requirements have increased due to technological advances, and that formal education provides the training necessary for upgrading job skills. He states that the main contribution of education to economic productivity occurs at the level of transition to mass literacy; better educated individuals are not necessarily more productive and furthermore, most skilled manual laborers learn their skills on the job. Collins suggests that schools teach status culture—a particular lifestyle. Consequently, education becomes a means of cultural selection. Collins notes that a conflict theory of education must focus on the struggle between status culture groups and how status culture is learned in school.

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Bourdieu and Passeron (1977) add another dimension to status culture. They view education as a significant social and political force in reproducing the class structure of society, that the language and texts used in schools reflect the interests, values, and tastes of the dominant social class. In this way a link is created between class, power, and education. The children of the elite acquire style and forms of language through “ascription.” Higher status groups transform their cultural capital into academic capital. Children from the lower class do not possess the cultural traits of the elite. They have different linguistic abilities than those prescribed by the school leading to a deficit view of them rather than a full recognition of difference. Due to the embedded assumptions about their educational needs, it then appears “natural” to sort them into lower streams and offer them a different curriculum. This has led to the organization of different schools or streams within schools distinguished by the type of capital they demand of their students. Basil Bernstein (1973) focused on the process of socialization within the family, particularly in the link between social class and the child’s development of language—elaborated (middle class) codes give universal meanings to situations, objects, or events and restricted (working class) codes provide context specific meanings. Since schools operate within the elaborated code, children from higher social classes have an advantage. Bernstein’s work must however be understood to apply to the case of Britain where there is much social class meaning attached to accent, with accent identifying the region or social class that a person is from. Several researchers in applied linguistics have found that the supposedly restricted code of working class children is, upon close study, not restricted at all, just different from the speech of the elite. In the mid-1970s another debate developed about the links between intelligence, school achievement, and the future status of individuals. Bowles and Gintis (1976) argued that IQ scores, occupational status, and income are positively correlated. However, when socioeconomic status is controlled, IQ does not have a significant effect on the individual’s future earnings or occupational status. Bowles and Gintis focus on the ways in which what goes on in schools mirrors the structure of the society at large, reproducing the class system (inequality), and extending the capitalist mode of production. They refer to this process as the correspondence principle. Indeed, for them the root of inequality is the capitalist economy, not education. Schools reproduce and legitimize inequality by perpetuating and reinforcing (1) the meritocratic ideology of allocating individuals in the occupational hierarchy; (2) rewarding personal characteristics that are compatible with the relationships of dominance and subordinance; and, (3) by serving the


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interests of the dominant groups through the training of an elite group in the skills of domination (Bowles and Gintis, 1976, 11–13). Symbolic Interaction, Interpretive/Phenomenological Perspectives Beginning with social structural realities of wealth, power, and status, symbolic interactionists have attempted to link these with interactional patterns. The interest was in how structural variables become incorporated into the individual’s interpretations of everyday life and how the individual acts on such a base. Caroline Persell (1977) presents a theoretical paradigm which deals with four levels of analysis—the societal, institutional, interpersonal, and intra-psychic. She draws on Marx as well as Weber to point out the interdependence of structures of dominance and their associated ideologies. The educational system is shaped by the structurally derived ideologies. This system, in turn, supports the existing structures of dominance. The institutional level (the structure of the educational system), then, is shaped by the polity and economy. The schooling process—achievement testing, ability grouping and tracking—reflect the structural needs of society. By drawing on symbolic interaction theory Persell then goes on to explain the interpersonal and intra-psychic levels. Here the focus is on the origins and consequences of teacher expectations. Teachers develop expectations and respond to pupils on the basis of widely accepted criteria of judgment of school performance. Differential expectations of teachers serve to limit educational attainment of minority and lowerclass students. Thus Persell relates teachers’ expectations to institutional and societal structures. Social interaction between teachers and students in the classroom affect broader decision-making processes, such as tracking of students into educational paths that have their parallel in the social structure of the society. Some theorists have turned to Alfred Schutz’ (1973) phenomenological sociology to explain inequality in educational opportunity. This theory focuses on the social construction of knowledge, the common sense world (of everyday life), and the intersubjective world consisting of common experiences which individuals share but take for granted. As participants in a social world people give meaning to actions and situations. As with Cooley and Mead, they grasp the intentions of others through understanding what the world looks like from the “other’s” perspective. These theorists, often referred to as the new sociologists of education or interpretive sociologists, are criticized for not explaining how individuals are controlled and shaped by material as well as ideological

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forces and for omitting reference to the role that institutions have in effecting oppressive social conditions. Critical Theory, Feminist Theory and Pedagogy, Postmodernism Critical theory is derived from the recognition that experience and knowledge are politically charged and interrelated. Knowledge is to be used as a tool for change to transform nature and politics and to alleviate oppression. Social phenomena contain dialectical opposing forces which, when analyzed, permit insight into the objectives, activities, and practical interests of individuals in different groups. In critical theory, everyday life is the theoretical and practical sphere for investigation and the struggle for liberation which is based on human needs and not simply economic ones. Critical theory takes the position that human behavior is more than a reaction to capitalism and that shared meanings of a subjective nature are an important aspect of social reality. With few exceptions, critical educational theorists focus on the libratory works of Freire (1968, 1985), Giroux (1992), Giroux and McLaren (1994), McLaren (1998), Shor (1992), and Simon (1987). The libratory/emancipatory aim of critical educational theory and critical pedagogy became of interest to feminist educational theorists and feminist pedagogists. For the critical educational feminist theorist, the centrality of subjectivity in constructing a synthesis between feminist and critical theory lies in the political dimension of the relationship between knowledge and experience. Emphasis is placed on the relation between domination, knowledge, and experience and liberation from this domination. This position rests on the view that the existing society is exploitative and oppressive due to a dominant patriarchal ideology. Like critical pedagogy, feminist pedagogy is based on the assumptions of the power of consciousness raising in ending oppression and working toward a vision of social change and social transformation (Gore, 1993). Feminist pedagogy has two strands. One emphasizes the instructional aspects of pedagogy through women’s studies programs; the other emphasizes feminism(s) and theory in schools of education. The major difference between the two is that the former focuses on what constitutes feminist pedagogy while the latter focuses on how gendered knowledge and experience are produced. Their criticism of critical pedagogy is that it is patriarchal. Both strands are concerned with democratizing schools and society. A gender inclusive curriculum is essential, one that will prove difficult to realize in some Islamic settings, for example, due to what are sometimes extreme constraints on the lives of women.


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Postmodernism represents a major shift in theoretical approach to social phenomena and to the nature of reality. It argues for subjectivism and micro-sociological analysis. Postmodern theorists have argued against positivism.3 They also argue for the existence of a multiplicity of theoretical standpoints, addressing the relationship of the individual to the phenomenon, rather than trying to place either into a broader schema. In this way, postmodern thought emphasizes the need for micro-theory dealing with the nature of “difference,” rather than holistic macro-theory.

Organization of the Book From an African and, by extension, Africanist point of view, the conventional sociology of education elaborated did not represent either the worldview or the culturally induced educational needs of the populace. The fact that this was the case in colonial times (Nyerere, 1968; Rodney, 1982) would not have been a surprise, as the colonial project itself was using European sociology of education to rationalize the imposition of imperial systems of instruction and teaching that did a lot to stunt overall African education and concomitant social advancement possibilities. Post political independence, African learning systems did not speak with any tangible measure of indigenous voice. Hence, the timely focus of this book. The four thematic parts besides this introductory chapter contain 15 chapters that descriptively, analytically, and critically deal with issues including: a recasting of the philosophical foundations of African education; a reexamination of higher education systems; discussion of cultural and linguistic issues and women’s education. All of these are complemented by a number of country case studies that look at selected problems and prospects of education and development in particular social contexts. Chapter 2 of this section (Theoretical Foundations) by Ali A. Abdi looks at the problematique of imposed Western philosophies of learning, how these have underdeveloped African societies, and the urgent need to advance a type of education that illuminates African knowledge systems and ways of knowing. Then Korbla Puplampu analyzes the role that current African institutions of higher education should play in the contemporary development of African societies, relative to the prevailing trends of globalization and emerging information technologies. In part II (Culture, Language, and Curriculum), Edward Shizha examines the postcolonial educational dilemmas located within school curricula, which are by and large, learning remnants of colonial education, and discusses new ways of making the curriculum more inclusive

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and more responsive to the needs of African students. In chapter 5, Nkosinathi Mkosi undertakes a conceptual and theoretical treatment of indigenous knowledge systems. In chapter 6, Ailie Cleghorn explores some main themes that pertain to the use of language in classroom settings, and how the situation could be ameliorated so that the outcomes are conducive to the desired pedagogical and development intentions. In chapter 7, the last chapter of this section, M.B. Ogunniyi looks at how culture and cultural realities would be situated within science and technology (S & T) education. In part III (Gender and Equity Issues) Benedicta Egbo first focuses on the role of education in African women’s development, with the overall understanding that women are still both educationally and socioeconomically highly disenfranchised vis-à-vis men in all zones of the continent. Philomina Okeke-Ihejirika then speaks in chapter 9 about the need for some critical interventions to achieve gender equity in the continent’s institutions of higher education with particular regard to increasing access and representation. In chapter 10, Codou Diaw examines and critiques the triumphalist beginnings of the Women-InDevelopment (WID) project, and how, in real terms, it did not live up to its promise for the overwhelming majority of African women. In chapter 11, Lantana Usman discusses the role of human agency through education so as to ameliorate the situation for nomadic girls in Nigeria. Finally, George Dei and Alireza Asgharzadeh present the results of focus group discussions on university and pre-tertiary education in Ghana. The intention of their study was to find out how that education can become, via its teaching, learning, and administrative capacities, sustainably inclusive and therefore, more conducive to the development needs of the population. Finally, in part IV the last part, Edward Shizha and Ali A. Abdi take a sociohistorical perspective at how education has or has not been democratized (i.e., available to all) in the recent case of Zambia, which although successful in many ways, still has a long way to go. In chapter 14, Ali A. Abdi discusses the serious lack of formal education systems in post–state Somalia, with special analysis of the difficulties posed by non-constructive regimes of informal learning situations since 1991. In the next chapter, Njoki Wane recounts a case study of how primary and secondary teacher education is organized in Kenya. She assumes a historical focus while emphasizing the need to indigenize certain components and contents of teacher education in Kenya and elsewhere. In the last chapter, Okwach Abagi presents what might be seen as a topical conclusion to the educational problems and prospects discussed in the preceding chapters. In a nutshell, Abagi notes that in order to make


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education responsive to Africa’s development needs schools must be reconceptualized by Africans. With this call for a more inclusive and prospectively “Africanized” sociology of education, we hope this book enlivens the debate on the greatly needed ameliorative categories that should be injected, le plus tôt que possible, into the continent’s learning and social development spaces.

Notes 1. We are indebted to Joyce Barakett for the parts of this chapter which have been adapted from Barakett and Cleghorn, 2000. 2. The term minority world refers to the industrialized countries whose populations are a numerical minority worldwide. Majority world refers to the less industrialized or still developing countries whose populations are the numerical majority. 3. Belief that natural science, based on observation, comprises the whole of human knowledge. Positivists reject as meaningless the claims of theology and metaphysics. The most influential twentieth-century version is logical positivism, an example being the theory of probability.

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Cooley, C.H. (1956). Human nature and the social order. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Dei, G. (1996). Black/African-Canadian student’s perspectives on school racism. In M.I. Alladin, Racism in Canadian schools (pp. 42–57). Toronto: Harcourt Brace. Dowling, P. and Brown, A. (1996). Pedagogy and community in three South African schools. Paper presented at Research into Social Perspectives in Mathematics Education. Dreeben, R. (1968). On what is learned in school. Reading, MA: AddisonWesley. Durkheim, E. (1951). Suicide: A study in sociology. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Durkheim, E. (1956). Education and sociology. New York: Free Press. Durkheim, E. (1974). Moral education. Paris: University of Paris Press. Durkheim, E. (1984) Division of labour in society. London: Macmillan. Freire, P. (1968). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Seabury Press. Freire, P. (1985). The politics of education: Culture, power and liberation. Boston: Bergin & Garvey. Geertz, C. (Ed.) (1973). The interpretation of cultures. New York: Basic Books. Ghosh, R. and Ray, D. (1987). Social change and education in Canada. Toronto: Harcourt Brace. Gibson, M.A. and Ogbu, J.U. (1991). Minority status and schooling. New York: Garland. Giroux, H. (1992). Border crossings. New York: Routledge. Giroux, H. and McLaren, P. (1994). Between borders. New York: Routledge. Gordon, R. (1997). Structural adjustment and women in Zimbabwe: Effects and prospects. Canadian Journal of Development Studies, XVIII (2), 263–278. Gore, J. (1993). The struggle for pedagogies. New York: Routledge. Jackson, P. (1968). Life in classrooms. New York: Holt, Rinehardt & Winston. Kubow, P.K. and Fossum, P.R. (2003). Comparative education: Exploring issues in international context. New Jersey: Merrill-Prentice Hall. LeVine, R. (2003). Childhood socialization: Comparative studies of parenting, learning and educational change. Comparative Education Research Centre, University of Hong Kong: Hong Kong. Lindsay, B. (1990). Educational equity in cross-national settings. In M. Thomas (Ed.). International comparative education: Practices, issues, and prospects. New York: Pergamon. Marx, K. (1967) [1867]. Das Kapital. New York: International Publishers. McEneaney, E. (2003). The worldwide cachet of scientific literacy. Comparative Education Review, 47 (2), 217–237. McLaren, P. (1998). Life in schools: An introduction to critical pedagogy in the foundations of education. Don Mills: Langerman. Mead, G.H. (1934). Mind, self and society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mifflen, F.J. and Mifflen, S.C. (1982). The sociology of education: Canada and beyond. Calgary: Detselig. Norris, S.P. and Phillips, L.M. (1990). Foundations of literacy policy in Canada. Calgary: Detselig.


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Nunn, E.J. and Boyatzis, C.J. (1998/99). Child growth and development. Guilford, Connecticut: McGraw-Hill. Nyerere, J. (1968). Freedom and socialism: A selection from writing and speeches 1965–67. London: Oxford University Press. Ogbu, J.U. (1991). Low school performance as an adaptation: The case of Blacks in Stockton, California. In M.A. Gibson and J.U. Ogbu (Eds.), Minority status and schooling (pp. 249–286). New York: Garland publishing. Orpwood, G. and Garden, R.A. (Eds.) (1998). Assessing mathematics and science literacy. TIMMS Monograph Series #4. Vancouver: Pacific Educational Press. Parsons, T. (1967). The school class as a social system. In P. Rose (Ed.), The study of society (pp. 647–665). New York: Random House. Persell, C.H. (1977). Education and inequality. New York: The Free Press. Rodney, W. (1982). How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press. Schutz, A. (1973). Collected papers: The problem of social reality. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Shor, I. (1992). Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Simon, R. (1987). Empowerment as a pedagogy of possibility. Language Arts, 64 (4), 370–382. Slavin, R.E. (1991). Educational psychology: Theory into practice. Engelwood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Stigler, J.W. and Stevenson, H.W. (1998/99). How Asian teachers polish each lesson to perfection. In E.J. Nunn and C.J. Boyatzis, Child growth and development. Guilford, CT: McGraw-Hill. Thomas, R.M. (Ed.) (1990). International comparative education: Practices, issues and prospects. New York: Pergamon. UNICEF (1994). Children and women in Zimbabwe: A situation analysis. Harare. Weber, M. (1930). The protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism. London: Allen and Unwin. Weber, M. (1947). The theory of social and economic organisation. New York: The Free Press.


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African P hilosophies of Education: Counter-C olonial Criticisms Ali A. Abdi

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n important objective of the discipline and, by extension, the possible practice of philosophy is to inquire critically about almost all aspects of our lives relative to the social and physical environments that surround us. Related to this overall understanding of the issue is how the central questions of the philosophy of education would systematically, or as formally as possible, examine questions that can analyze and situate the main reasons people should be educated, how they should be educated, and why should individuals or groups be educated in the first place. As Ozmon and Craver (1998, p. 2) have noted, therefore, “philosophy of education is the application of the fundamental principles of philosophy to the theory and work of education.” In the global configuration of realities and power contours, those who have developed “textualized” and comprehensive bodies of philosophy, that is, Western countries and their “knowledge managers,” have assumed that theirs are the most viable, if not the only meaningful, philosophies and, especially those of education. It is in that problematic plateau of understanding that Cahn (1997, p. 3), tells us that “all work in philosophy of education should be measured against the standard of excellence [Plato] established.” At another time, it was Alfred North Whitehead who forwarded the well known and quasi-presumptive line throughout human history, that we should accept, without any qualifications, that all the formations of philosophical conceptualizations, arguments, and treatises would be a footnote to the idealist philosopher, Plato. Indeed, this caption advances a desired understanding, among all of us, that this Greek thinker was

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and remains to be the quintessential philosopher of humankind. Needless to add that from the perspective of the still dominant European Canon, a possible temperance in the case may be the occasional bestowal of this top recognition on none other than Aristotle, the other philosopher from classical Greece and Plato’s pupil. The latter should generally get the votes of those who are located more in the realist streams of the philosophical imagination and would, therefore, have some fundamental problems with the nonscientific assumptions of idealism. Expectedly, the preceding pointers could not bode well for the people of Africa. It was, indeed, the case that prominent European philosophers and philosophers of education did not only promote their knowledge systems vis-à-vis the learning and epistemological realities of the old continent, but went so far as to deny Africa of viable philosophical systems or even meaningful and organized learning programs that could effect concretizable notions of cultural development. This was, of course, a component of Europe’s colonial onslaught, which beyond the physical subjugation it wrought on the African people, was also educationally and ontologically oriented. In that vein, Africa was fundamentally an “ahistorical” huge landmass that was supposedly being rescued from itself (p’Bitek, 1972). Based on that, European philosophers, who greatly shaped the theoretical justifications of the colonial project, were at the forefront of creating an image of Africa that was empty of any so-called civilized or rational beings, and was, thus, fit to be colonized and exploited as much as possible. Here, even the so-called French philosophers of freedom and liberty such as Voltaire (1826) and Montesquieu (1975) were on board, and the intellectual project of dehumanizing the persona Africana and willfully attempting to erase and/or comprehensively devalue his or her accomplishments, overall life systems, and attached systematic bodies of thought or philosophies was, without exceptions, well articulated and expansively referenced, albeit all falsely, in the emerging European metropolises. Among the most vociferous proponents of seeing and treating Africa as a place inhabited by a degenerative concoction of races was the German, G. Hegel. Hegel (1965) was, somehow, sure that “Africa was not interesting from the point of view of its own history. . . . Africa [and Africans] were in a state of barbarism and savagery which was preventing them from being an integral part of civilization” (p. 247). For his part, Montesquieu (1975) also told us that “the greatest part of the people on the coast of Africa are savages and barbarians” (p.332). The analytically interesting point, at least for us, of attributing savagery and barbarism to the continent was generally intended to achieve two important objectives for colonialism: (1) to justify the diabolic

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onslaught to the European people and (2) to damage, actually destroy as much as possible, the psycho-cultural being of Africans. Actually, this is what, among many others, Achebe (1958, 2000), Fanon (1968, 1967), and wa Thiong’o (1986), with different emphasis and from diverse angles, so effectively and eloquently wrote about. In all the ensuing colonial encounters among the two groups, one constant issue was the way Europeans portrayed African traditional education and systems of thought as either nonexistent, basically nontenable, and/or non-coherent primitive noises that the native population was to be cleansed of. With these introductory notes on the overall situation, let me submit that precolonial African philosophies and systems of education were, in the context in which they were being undertaken, as practical as any that existed in other parts of the world. In that temper, while our knowledge formations and epistemologies were not necessarily as formalized as those in Europe, African know-how and ways of knowing were situationally responsive to the historical, cultural, and environmental needs of the African people. To support these and similar counter-colonial and counter-hegemonic projects, I focus, in the following pages, on select perspectives that should recast the viability as well as the strength of precolonial, African traditional systems of learning, complemented in the latter sections of the chapter, by some discussions on the possible revival of indigenous knowledge systems for inclusive and sustainable possibilities of educational and social development. Here, the centrality of these and similar arguments for emerging (or emergent) African sociologies of education should be clear: without understanding, critiquing, and reconstructing the philosophical foundations of learning, the interplay between society and education will be problematic and would not affect the achievement of locally inclusive socioeconomic, political, and cultural advancements.

African Traditional Systems of Education It is still the case that different learning and socialization processes across the globe generally take place within organized, classroom situations (formal education), via random interactions with one’s social and physical environment (informal education), or through short-term training programs that are designed to enhance the skills of workers (nonformal education). There may still be other possibilities of learning in select places and communities of the world, but for the most part, these would represent the most widely used components of learning interactions that one would encounter in contemporary socioeconomic and

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political situations. It is also the case that “after-the-fact” of colonialism, almost all the countries of the world have adopted, in their formal schooling contexts, the Western tradition of learning style, objectives and, for the most part, even subjects/lesson structures and contents. It should go without saying, therefore, that within the current and dominant programs of education across the globe, a given philosophy of education will dominate both the formulation, the evaluation and, of course, the long-term implementation of both learning and teaching methodologies and epistemologies. That being as it may, the fact, not at all the rhetoric, should still remain that pre-colonial, African traditional systems of education were informed and characterized, albeit mainly (though not exclusively) informally, by advanced constructions of learning and concomitant achievement and expectations that were in place many years before the advent of European conquest, which could be officially dated from late sixteenth to mid-twentieth century (Diop, 1990, 1974; Jackson, 1970; van Sertima, 1991;). Here, while the general informality of these education systems were attacked by the colonizers as not effectively organized and, therefore, instructionally weak, the contrary should be true for us. That is, if different education systems in various epochs and locations of human history would emphasize diverse modes and structures of learning that are mainly determined by the specificities of a given people and continents, Africans should also have a right, not only to formulate their own systems of education, but also, and as importantly, to bestow legitimacy upon those systems. In that case, the late philosopher-statesman and President of Tanzania, Julius Nyerere (1968), in his highly referenced book Freedom and Socialism, makes a very important point: The educational systems in different kinds of societies in the world have been, and are, very different in organization and content. They are different because the societies providing the education are different, and because education, whether it be formal or informal, has a purpose. That purpose is to transmit from one generation to the next the accumulated wisdom and knowledge of society, and to prepare the young people for their future membership of the society and their active participation in its maintenance and development. (p. 268)

Nyerere’s anticolonial perspectives are important in also explaining the situational effectiveness of these programs, and how they were able to address specialized life realities that people were confronting in their environments. As such, Walter Rodney (1982), in his excellent book How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, refers to the overall and practical


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advantages of these programs of education: The following features of indigenous African education can be considered outstanding: its close links with social life, both in a material and spiritual sense; its collective nature; its many-sidedness, and its progressive development in conformity with successive stages of physical, emotional and mental development of the child. There was no separation of education and the productive activity. Altogether, through mainly informal means, pre-colonial African education matched the realities of pre-colonial African society and produced well-rounded personalities to fit into that society. (p. 239)

In select zones of the continent, therefore, the example and the values of presettler and precolonial notions of learning, speak about how they were essential in reflecting the social and cultural needs and expectations of the community. That is to say, African informal systems of learning were designed and undertaken under the rubric of select African philosophies of education that were not alien to, but were components of the earthly and related cosmological horizons and connectivities, and within the time-and-space determinants and elasticities, of the vita Africana. Keto (1990), speaking especially about the South African situation, writes that “African societies had invariably created their own institutions and processes of socialization and education before the Dutch settlers arrived in 1652” (pp. 19–20). He adds that “the processes of education began with learning by young from family members [complemented by the] young being trained in manners, roles, responsibilities, and history, the importance of fighting and military skills.” With those realities in place, the tenacity as well as the overwhelming presence of the dominant European ideology could still be adamant in dismissing these structures and philosophies of education as fundamentally disorganized relationships of learning that would be void of any rigor and system. Such hasty observations need not disturb at all, though, for one must fully know that in places where formal classroom education is not common, these programs of inter-generational transfer of information and skills become minimally semi-formalized via the quasipermanency of the contents and learner–instructor relationships, and would be contextually formalized. More precisely, the way communities manage their resources, set up their programs of defense against foreign invaders, and undertake the overall mechanisms of their political and economic systems would all be determined over time—tested (in terms of their effectiveness) informal programs of education. Needless to add that just calling upon these structures of teaching whenever

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the need arises will not and cannot meet the needs of the people in societies, as those in precolonial Africa, where situations and relationships were complex, intricate and, undoubtedly, responsive to the social and physical demands and requirements imposed by the surrounding or far away environments. As such, no one, as far as I can understand, should be suggesting that “the at-the-moment” things that people talk about wherever they gather were philosophically based systems of learning that would have met the practical as well as the aspirational needs of the community. It was more the case than otherwise, therefore, that the more educated among peoples, in most cases, the oldest members of the community, continually engaged in nonformal and non-school buildingconfined philosophical treatises about the best ways to teach youngsters, complemented by experience-induced improvements that were constantly applied to the actual knowledge and learning formations that would be specific to diverse areas of study and analysis. As such, it should not have been uncommon to different segments of society, to see learners, generally grouped on the basis of age, gathering in select zones of the community, often at the homestead of village chiefs/elders who, again contrary to popular belief, were both men and women, and other localities that would hold the highest number of peoples for a given instructional or educationally oriented consultative processes. These processes should have been, without exceptions, deliberately formulated and undertaken to either advance the knowledge base of the area, or seek novel methodical clusters to address emergent issues, including environmental disasters, crop failure, livestock diseases, and possible social and political upheavals. It would be silly to assume, therefore, that in contexts where so many people had to define and find solutions for their complex and over-millennia developed life situations, the learning systems were simply non-rigorous, selectively non-speculative, perpetually less conscientized, to deploy a Freirean perspective (Freire, 2000 [1970]), and at the mercy of changing climates, relationships, and structures. Hence, the observational strength of Semali’s points confirms how traditional indigenous systems of learning were not only effectively developed and philosophically coherent, but also scientifically and technologically connected. Semali (1999) elaborates on these realities when he writes how African traditional systems of knowledge were “comprehensive bodies of knowledge that, beyond the historical, philosophical and literary components, also address such issues as fishing techniques . . . post-harvest pest control programs . . . [the science and] use of different herbs and plants to manage diseases . . . [and] methods of food preservation and preserving” (p. 308).


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It should be clear by now that as African general philosophies of life and philosophies of education were formulated and applied to the given situations they were located in, one fundamental difference they might have with European thought systems was the vocationalism-based branching out. Some would undoubtedly call this a disciplinary fragmentation of the latter into multiple subareas that have been advanced by new platoons of idealist, realist, analytic, behaviorist, and existentialist philosophers, among other philosophers of education. Needless to add that all these new professional philosophers were advocating that their approach was the best approach to explain and achieve desired projects of educational and social development. In the African context though, I would suggest that the most practical approximation African philosophies of education could share with any of these, is that the latter were pragmatic thought systems and ideas that were developed to function well and lead to the desired results of a given learning and related social advancement platforms. As such, in current analysis, traditional African philosophies of education would be closer, though not identical, to Deweyan (Dewey, 1969, 1963) and Freirean (Freire, 2002 [1974], 2000 [1970]) thoughts and perspectives on understanding and helping the learner, via the creation of curricular and “schooling” environments that are relevant, inclusive and selectively workable and productive. African philosophies of education, therefore, were focused on transforming societies for the best possible ways that would not be counter-community and damaging to environmental cohesiveness and integrity. In that sense, these philosophies were uncompromisingly centered, not on the notions of winning an argument, but on the needs of African life which, before Eurocentricity became the only center (Dei, 1996), was located in, and responsive to the pragmatic realities of our polycentric existences. Designing and operationalizing, as much as possible, philosophies of life and education for the ongoing and always dynamic interests of the community was so fundamental to traditional African systems of learning that the paramount expectation was only modifiable as to the level of responsiveness that these philosophies were supposed to meet. Equally important in those precolonial settings was the reality that as these programs were not imposed from outside the continent, learning projects were almost always responsive to the effective evaluation and implementation of not only the programs themselves, but also the socioeconomic and scientific advancements they effected, which were at pace with the experiences, current needs, and practical (even utopian) desires of the people concerned. That is why I am highlighting the pragmatic (probably mixed with a small dose of existentialism) that

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African philosophies of education would subsume into their theoretical and experimental spheres.

The Reign of Colonial Philosophies of Education It was with multicentric indigenous philosophies and systems of education relatively speaking intact, and with life for traditional African societies, technically speaking, “friendly,” that European powers decided, for their economic and racist interests, to invade and colonize what was termed the dark and civilizationally closed continent. I do not deem it necessary to engage in any expansive discourses in the WHYs and HOWs of colonialism, especially its false and selfishly concocted anthropological, religious, and philosophical claims that would attempt to justify Europe’s so-called mission civilsatrice. Those issues have been effectively and comprehensively treated by a number of African scholars whose historical works and contemporary criticisms have led to the achievement of many books and articles in the last 50 years. To see some of the most outstanding results in this endeavor, especially those that aim for the historical and sociocultural recasting of Africa’s philosophical and overall ontological realms and dimensions, one could consult, among many others, Achebe (2000, 1958), wa Thiong’o (1993, 1986, 1964), van Sertima (1991), Diop (1990, 1974), Rodney (1982), Nyerere (1974, 1968), Fanon (1968, 1967). As I have done on a number of occasions, though, I would still like to relay this solitary snapshot from van Sertima (1991), which, for me at least, effectively captures the most concise and, at the same time, most complete meaning of the colonization of Africa. No other disaster with the exception of the Flood (if that Biblical legend is true) can equal in dimension of its destructiveness, the cataclysm that shook Africa . . . Vast populations were uprooted and displaced, whole generations disappeared, European diseases descended like the plague decimating both cattle and people, cities and towns were abandoned, family networks disintegrated, kingdoms crumbled, the threads of cultural and historical continuity were so savagely torn asunder that henceforward, one would only have to talk of two Africas: the one before and the one after the Holocaust. (p. 8)

To add to this, and again, from an educational and concomitant social development viewpoint, we know that the arrival of colonialism led to the perforce imposition of European worldview, which was greatly responsible for, as Rodney (1982), Nyerere (1968), and Achebe (1958), in different foci and emphases, explicated many years back, the

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deliberate distortion, not only of the traditional projects of education already in place, but also of the indigenously based and comprehensive programs of development that were achieved and put into place over hundreds of years. These realities and historical exegeses should annul, once and for all, the false and ridiculous claim that colonialism developed Africa. In fact, the contrary was true. However, perhaps where colonization had its most destructive impact should not be, as was believed once, the direct physical subjugation and the merciless exploitation of the human and natural resources of Africa and Africans. Reading wa Thiong’o (1986, 1993), Cesaire (1972), and Fanon (1967) should help us understand how the measurable program and effects of colonialism would pale in comparison with the more psycho-social and educational as well as the cultural enduring scars it imprints upon the psyches of what Fanon (1968) called the Wretched of the Earth. It has, indeed, been possible to see people all over the world achieving physical liberation from European colonizers, but the meta-corporeal effects of the case will remain intergenerational and will shape the mental dispositions and as importantly, the self and group confidence of the colonized. As Memmi (1991[1957]) so cogently discussed, even before the end of political colonialism, the colonized were already collaborating with their oppressors on the overall project of their subjugation. As one component of the general practice of colonialism, colonial education supplanted traditional education and was so greatly entrenched it maximally serves the interests of colonialism (Abdi, 2002, 1998). European historians and philosophers of education who were now located in the colonies, situated themselves at the forefront of the theorizing excursions that were previously initiated to justify and strengthen the invasion and the following conquest of the African continent. As Kallaway (1984) points out in the South African situation, for example, education itself and the work of educators were some of the most important tools used to hasten and complete the colonial project. Here it should be useful to hear the opinion of one colonial historian of education who describes the character of the uneducated Bantu and what should/could be done about it. As one should see, Pells (1970 [1930]) accords himself a carte blanche in talking about his victims and, somehow, gets his reductio ad absurdum descriptions accepted as real scholarship. This, indeed, brings to mind Karl Marx’s remark that the ideas of the dominant group are always the right ideas. Pells (1970 [1930]) wrote: The lives of the vast majority of the Bantu are regulated by superstition and witchcraft. They are deficient in the higher ethical sanctions and

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Ali A. Abdi moral standards associated with civilized religions. . . . Even supposing the rank and vile can appreciate the value of education, which they don’t, their poverty will make it impossible for them to provide the necessary funds to equip and maintain schools and pay teachers’ salaries. Everything depends, therefore, on the willingness and the financial capacity of the dominant white race to provide the necessary education facilities. (p. 149)

While Pells’s points are, ipso facto, devoid of any real meaning, they were still accepted and acknowledged (read Marx again) among the important historical and philosophical treatments of educational and social development in the colonial African context. For the sake of our analysis here though, I could be tempted to show the reader the high number of the on-the-surface errors (nothing hidden and analytically camouflaged) Pells commits in this short caption. Based on the pointers hitherto covered in this chapter, though, I refrain from doing that. Instead, I just mention that, perhaps, the historian’s statements would have made some sense if he had at least reminded us that one main trouble with the lives of the natives is that the same people (who Pells calls the dominant white race) who were, in the first place, responsible for robbing them of their resources, were now expected, via the twisted logic of colonizer-colonized relationships, to “humanely” come to the rescue of disenfranchised indigenous populations. Beyond the general demeaning and destruction of African philosophies and psycho-cultural realities of education, colonially imposed systems of learning were also deliberately built on a myriad of marginalizing and exclusionist policies that greatly limited the programs as well as the levels indigenous populations could aspire to. And if a select number of learners were able to go beyond the primary years, almost all were denied any further education. A good example would be that of the Congo where Belgium, as the colonial power “felt that higher levels of training for indigenous populations was bad policy, and thus when the Congo gained independence in 1960, there were only a handful of college graduates” (Altbach, 1994, p. 453). In the following section, I speak about new possibilities for African philosophies of education, but before I do that, let me insert an important qualification: while I have to be exacting, as much as possible, in holding colonialism and colonial education responsible for all the damage they have done to African philosophies and methodologies of learning, and by extension, to African overall livelihood situations, I must also state clearly that I am not calling for the shelving of current systems of learning and/or a total return to precolonial arrangements of knowledge dispensation.


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It is the case that we are now engaged in ex post facto discussions and analyses where, because the world of colonialism has irretrievably permeated that of indigenous population across the globe and current levels of interdependence are so intertwined and complex, a total separation of the two, even if it was desired, will be, for the time being, impractical, if not completely impossible. The new education systems I desire to see for the long-term and inclusive development of Africa and its peoples would actually combine so much that is excellent and still relevant from indigenous knowledge clusters with the au courant, mainly Western-oriented learning programs so as to harness the most effective outcomes for all.

African Philosophies of Education: Revival and Reconstitution Following the discussion on the very active space between European and African philosophies, let us now look at the situation relative to the postcolonial revivals and survivals of African philosophies of education. As should be expected, the total devaluations and attendant disenfranchisement of African philosophies and philosophies of education by the colonizers could not continue unchallenged forever. With the anticolonial struggles that shook colonialism to its foundations in Africa at the beginning of the second half of the twentieth century, therefore, it was also clear that the intellectual counterattack was intensifying in the new and emerging spaces of the anticolonial perspective. Among the pioneering African thinkers to engage the continuities of colonialism primarily in the language and culture theater, which are inextricably linked with education and development, was the Kenyan writer Ngugi wa Thiong’o who produced successive critical works that continued into the 1990s (see Ngugi wa Thiong’o, 1993, 1986, 1964). By combining his educational experiences in colonial Kenya with the actual unchallenged dominance, in all spheres of life, of European languages in post-political independent Africa, Ngugi wa Thiong’o immediately saw the triumph of Europe’s long-term linguistic, cultural, and educational projects. For Ngugi, critically defining and understanding how culture constructs language, and how, in turn, language defines culture was paramount in recasting new educational existentialities for the African people. Critically understanding these issues would immediately highlight, according to him, the urgent need to educate the African people in their mother tongues. For him, for example, language was more than a medium of expression, and meant so much to its native speakers.

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wa Thiong’o (1993) writes: [Our] language, through images and symbols, gave us a [unique] view of the world. . . . Then I went to primary school and the bond was broken. The language of my education was no longer the language of my culture—it was a foreign language of domination, alienation and disenfranchisement. (p. 13)

Reading Ngugi wa Thiong’o should imprint upon one’s intellectual and psychological imagination the need for a world where all peoples, cultures, languages and learning systems would be perpetually placed at the center. Even as I write this chapter, though, the power/knowledge nexus which is still greatly eschewed in favor of the European worldview is continually marginalizing the cosmos of the African people. So real is the case here that whatever literary and philosophical works are produced about African life and experiences by Africans, would not carry much weight globally if it were not published in the West, and may only be accepted in the extra-Africa sense, if its qualitative attributes were “authenticated” by an expert from the European metropolis. So problematic is this issue that Chinua Achebe (1989) had this to say about it: “Would it be truly invalid for a Nigerian writer seeing dissatisfaction in his society to write about it? I am being told, for Christ’s sake, that before I write about a problem I must verify whether they have it too in New York, London and Paris” (p. 96). The very important answer to Achebe’s question may have to be, and unfortunately so, in the affirmative. Hence, the premium we have to place on his recent call (Achebe, 2000) for a comprehensive project of rewriting and retelling of all the stories written by colonialism’s agents about Africa and its people. That would minimally recast the narrative damage done by the colonial project, thus helping Africans disentangle themselves from the web of a false, ontological wonderland that Fanon (1967) describes in Black skin, white masks, and restitute a bearable measure of self and psyche for the after-colonialism peoples of the old continent. Fanon’s project, as Ngugi wa Thiong’os, involves the prescription and dispensation of heavy doses of psycho-neurological anticolonial therapies and medications for decolonizing the mind, which becomes the sine qua non for the meaningful and long-term liberation of colonized populations. As Ashis Nandy (1997) reminds us, colonialism colonizes minds in addition to bodies and it releases forces within the colonized societies to alter their cultural priorities once and for all. In the process, it helps generalize the concept of the modern West


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from a geographical and temporal entity to a psychological category. The West is now everywhere, within the West and outside the West. (p. 170)

In addition to the descriptive and analytical recasting of African philosophies and epistemologies so they, at least, partially represent and define African systems of learning and possibilities of development, a parallel project that would also be counter-hegemonic in both its discursive and practical formation should be the revival of African indigenous knowledge systems. In fact, the reconstitution of African philosophies of education will not be complete without creating spaces and platforms of learning that are conducive to the promulgation of indigenous epistemes, with all critically important, for the long awaited but still elusive, possibilities of socioculturally inclusive development (see Ake, 1996). One academic who persistently and, I must say, convincingly calls for a concerted and long-term campaign to achieve these paramount intersections of African philosophical, cultural and indigenous-based projects of educational and social development is George Dei. In several critical interventions Dei (2000, 1998, 1996) prospectively reveals the urgent need for new platforms that situate indigenous knowledge on all the contours of Africa’s ongoing physical and mental decolonization. I like the way Dei elaborates on some of these points, so I want to quote him at some length (Dei, 2000): I argue for an approach to African development that is anchored in a retrieval, revitalization and restoration of the indigenous African sense of shared, sustainable, and just social values. I contend that African peoples must re-appropriate their cultural resource knowledge if they are to benefit from the power of collective responsibility for social development. Indigenousness may be defined as knowledge consciousness arising locally and in association with the long-term occupancy of a place. Indigenousness refers to the traditional norms, social values and mental constructs that guide, organize and regulate African ways of living in and making sense of the world. Indigenous knowledges differ from conventional knowledges in their absence of imperial and colonial imposition. The notion of indigenousness highlights the power of dynamics embedded in the production, interrogation, validation and dissemination of global knowledge about “international development.” It also recognizes the multiple and collective origins and collaborative dimensions of knowledge, and underscores that the interpretation or analysis of social reality is subject to different and sometimes oppositional perspectives. (p. 72)

The need to concretize the space between African educational and development systems is also emphasized by those who urge people to

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reexamine the need to re-culture African education so that it achieves the urgently needed development prospects for all. Again, the cultural components of African education and development would always remain components of the African people’s worldview and philosophies, and thus, will contribute to the new revivals of reawakening the continent’s excellent, precolonial (and to some extent, current) tradition of philosophical positions. It would also be the case that the reestablishment of Africa-oriented social and technological developments comprises a shift, not only in the concrete measurable aspects of the case, but as well, in the mindset of the African people who are not to be continuously relegated to the scrap heap of human progress. In that sense, we should welcome Kwasi Wiredu’s points (2000) when he writes: The quest for knowledge [and development] of any type is a characteristically human endeavor. In the changes and chances of human history some people may come to be ahead of others at some particular time in some particular area of investigation, but there is nothing to indicate that such situations must be permanent, and there is also no reason why any form of genuine knowledge should be attributed to any peoples in a proprietary sense. And what warrant is there for the pessimism that would permanently debar our imagination from foreseeing Africa as an eventual theatre of state-of-the-art science and technology, yielding ground to none in the advancement of scientific knowledge for the promotion of human well being? (pp. 181–182)

With precolonial, traditional African education having been so effectively endowed both philosophically and epistemologically, and the overall Africa project now surviving on the margins of educational and definitional systems that are more marginalizing than otherwise, it is high time that we reconstitute new platforms and intersections of learning and attach development possibilities that once again center the philosophies, cultures, as well as the methodologies of the continent. To achieve that, I would hasten to add, we should develop a new sense of postcolonial thinking and programs that recognize, accept, and operationalize so much that can be harvested from the use of these philosophies of education, which, as mentioned earlier, should not be isolationists, but combine the worldview, value systems, and ways of knowing that emanate from Africa with the best from modern systems of learning. Needless to add that in the new, quasi-hybrid educational and knowledge formations, African epistemes and philosophies of learning should be recognized as being at par if not more advanced in relation to their effectiveness in explaining the current problems of African

African P hilosophies of E ducation

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development, and, by extension, in prescribing reliable ways of achieving better livelihood prospects for the people.

Conclusion My focus in this chapter has been to inform about, and equally problematize, the place of African education and philosophies of education in relation to the project of colonial and postcolonial marginalization that the continent and its people have experienced in the last 200 years. I have stated the fact that precolonial, traditional Africa has had highly developed and effective learning programs and attached philosophies of education that have contextually situated and explained the realities, needs, as well as the aspirations of the African people in different epochs of their history. As discussed earlier, these projects of educational and social development have been destroyed by colonizing Europe, with the main objective of diminishing the value of African ways of life so as to ontologically damage people’s overall existentialities, and, in the process, achieve an unhindered, maximally exploiting colonial march that assures the theoretically concocted superiority of everything that represented the colonizer. The results of these diabolic programs are still with us, and the case of an Africa that is highly underdeveloped vis-à-vis the rest of the world is not a natural accident, but entirely a historic project that has been highly efficient. It is to counter and reverse the current, expansive trends of marginalization that I am calling for the urgent need to revive African educational and philosophical systems, without which, a project of horizontal social development may not be achieved.

References Abdi, A. (1998). Education in Somalia: History, destruction, and calls for reconstruction. Comparative Education, 34 (3), 327–340. Abdi, A. (2002). Culture, education and development in South Africa: Historical and contemporary perspectives. Westport, CT & London: Bergin & Garvey. Achebe, C. (1958). Things fall apart. London: Heinemann. Achebe, C. (1989). Hopes and impediments: Selected essays. New York: Doubleday. Achebe, C. (2000). Home and exile. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ake, C. (1996). Democracy and development in Africa. Washington, D.C.: The Brookings Institution. Altbach, P. (1994). Education and neocolonialism. In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths and H. Tiffin (Eds.), The post-colonial studies reader (pp. 452–456). New York: Routledge.

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Cahn, S. (1997). Classic and contemporary readings in the philosophy of education. Toronto: McGraw-Hill. Cesaire, A. (1972). Discourse on colonialism. New York: Monthly Review Press. Dei, G. (1996). Anti-racism education: Theory and practice. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Dei, G. (1998). Local knowledges and educational reforms in Ghana. Canadian and International Education, 29 (1), 37–51. Dei, G. (2000). “African development: The relevance and implications of ‘indigenousness.’ ” In G. Dei, B. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. 70–88). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Dewey, J. (1963). Experience and education. New York: Collier Books. Dewey, J. (1969). School and society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Diop, C.A. (1974). African origins of civilization: Myth or reality. Brooklyn, NY: Lawrence Hill Books. Diop, C.A. (1990). Civilization or barbarism: An authentic anthropology. Brooklyn, NY: Lawrence Hill Books. Fanon, F. (1967). Black skin, white masks. New York: Grove Press. Fanon, F. (1968). The wretched of the earth. New York: Grove Press. Freire, P. (2000 [1970]). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. (2002 [1974]). Education for critical consciousness. New York: Continuum. Hegel, G.W.F. (1965). La raison dans L’ histoire. Paris: U.G.E. Jackson, J. (1970). Introduction to African civilizations. Secaucus, NJ: The Citadel Press. Kallaway, P. (1984). An introduction to the study of education of blacks in South Africa. In P. Kallaway (Ed.), Apartheid and education: The education of Black South Africans (pp. 2–3). Braamfontein: Ravan Press. Keto, T. (1990). Pre-industrial education policies and practices in South Africa. In M. Nkomo (Ed.), Pedagogy of domination: Toward democratic education in South Africa (pp. 19–42). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Memmi, A. (1991). The colonizer and the colonized. Boston: Beacon Press. Montesquieu, B. (1975). The spirit of the laws. New York: Hafner Press. Nandy, A. (1997). The decolonization of the mind. In M. Rahnema and V. Bowtree (Eds.), The post-development reader (pp. 168–177). London: Zed Books. Nyerere, J. (1968). Freedom and socialism: A selection from writing and speeches, 1965–67. London: Oxford University Press. Nyerere, J. (1974). Man and development. New York: Oxford University Press. Ozmon, H. and Craver, S. (1998). Philosophical foundations of education. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. p’Bitek, O. (1972). Reflect, reject, recreate. East Africa Journal, IX (4), 28–31. Pells, E.G. (1970 [1930]). 300 years of South African education. Westport: Greenwood Press.


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Rodney, W. (1982). How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press. Semali, L. (1999). Community as classroom: Dilemmas of valuing African indigenous literacy in education. International Review of Education, 45 (3/4), 305–319. van Sertima, I. (1991). The lost sciences of Africa. In V. Sertima (Ed.), Blacks in science: Ancient and modern (pp. 7–26). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Voltaire (1826). Essai sur les Moeurs. Paris: S.N. wa Thiong’o, N. (1964). Weep not, child. London: Heinemann. wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. London: James Curry. wa Thiong’o, N. (1993). Moving the center: The struggle for cultural freedoms. London: James Curry. Wiredu, K. (2000). Our problem of knowledge: Brief reflections on knowledge and development in Africa. In I. Karp and D. Masolo (Eds.), African philosophy as cultural inquiry (pp. 181–186). Bloomington: Indiana University Press.


3

National “Development ” and African U niversities: A Theoretical and Sociopolitical Analysis Korbla P. Puplampu

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he national “development” question continues to draw attention in several African countries. The attention stems from the failure of policies to address the political, economic, and social malaise of Africa. Politically, even though some countries are on the road to political stability, several are still grappling with problems of political succession and uncertainty. The region’s economic fortunes are still tied to prices in the international commodities markets while industrial output has to contend with new tariff regimes in several European countries, their major trading partners. The implications of the political and economic difficulties can be seen in the continuing worsening social conditions—the images of the emaciated children and adults—in the region. Given the prevailing conditions, it is not surprising that several African countries are located at the lower end of the United Nations Development Program’s (UNDP) annual Human Development Index (see UNDP, 2003). However, governments in the region continue to fight the battle for improving national development, sometimes with the help of their foreign counterparts, international public, private, for-profit and nonprofit institutions, by forging new policy initiatives to shore up the work of several important institutions. Institutions of higher education, specifically universities and colleges have been at the center of attention in the task of national development. Universities, among other things, create and disseminate the skills and values required for successful participation

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in the economy. They also provide the context for the transmission of culture from one generation to the other. International financial and development institutions like the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and the World Bank have been at the forefront in initiating worldwide policies for higher education, and in some cases, specifically for African countries (UNESCO, 1992, 1994, 2003; World Bank, 1988a, 1988b, 1994, 2000). In addition to these external documents, African authorities, sometimes in cooperation with external institutions, have also generated a number of policy documents to guide the restructuring of higher education. Of particular importance is the Association of African Universities’ 2001 Nairobi Declaration on the African University in the Third Millennium (Association of African Universities [AAU], 2001). The policy focus on institutions of higher education, specifically universities, is due to historical and contemporary reasons. From the historical context, development theorists and practitioners presented universities as major players in ensuring that the logic of the nation-state also became one of national development. Indeed, when modernization theories in the 1950s and 1960s equated national development to industrialization and urbanization, among other processes, the explicit and implicit mandate of national universities was to produce the human capital required for the development effort. The more graduates national universities turned out, the better the chances of the nation attaining the goals of development. That, at least, was the assumption. University graduates, with their unique and specialized training, were therefore critical in the modernizing effort of colonized societies and occupied an important space in the national development program. Universities, in discharging their role in national development, were also tied to the nation-state. Modernization theory that also went hand in hand with the Keynesian model that dominated development theory in the 1950s and 1960s, favored a strong centralized state in economic development (Galli, 1992, p. 5; Hettne, 1991, pp. 49–50). Thus the state funded universities in the name of national development. Analysts also privileged the role of the state in universities because of the free rider nature of education.1 To further demonstrate the intricate relationship between the state and universities and the implications for national development, several governments attached the name of the nation-state to their universities (e.g., University of Malawi, University of Nigeria, and the University of Zambia). In the contemporary context, there is an interest in higher education for two major reasons. First, many African universities continue to

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depend on the state for their financial support, in some cases to the tune of 90 percent of their funding requirements (Amonoo-Neizer, 1998, p. 301). The declining capacity of the African state, particularly since the 1980s, therefore has implications for the financial needs of African universities. The second reason is the theoretical implications of globalization for the restructuring of African universities, particularly the differentiation of academic institutions and laborers, and the growing importance of knowledge production for national development. Since universities are knowledge-producing centers, the question for African universities is not whether they should produce knowledge for national development, but whether they have the capacity to produce that knowledge in an era of globalization (Hoppers, 2003; Okolie, 2003; Teferra and Altbach, 2004, 2003; World Bank, 2002; Zeleza, 2003). This study focuses on African universities in the contemporary context. The emerging analysis of the growing literature provides a litany of problems facing African universities (see African Studies Association, 2002; Bollag, 2002; Masinda, 2003; Nyamnjoh and Jua, 2002; Samoff and Carrol, 2004; Sawyerr, 2004, 1996; Teferra and Altbach, 2004, 2003; Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). The problems include access to higher education, the emergence of private universities, lack of funding, and the implications for physical and human resources as well as the knowledge-producing capabilities. Other problems include the unpleasant battle academics and students have been waging with their governments, confrontations that sometimes affect their physical safety. Despite the growing literature on the fate of African universities in an era of global restructuring, the literature is yet to confront the changing conditions of academic laborers and institutional differentiation, and the implications for the undergraduate teaching mandate of African universities.2 In what follows, the literature on the contemporary state of African universities is briefly examined and situated in a broader global context. The subsequent section offers a theoretical analysis of the changing conditions of academic laborers in the midst of the restructuring and differentiation of universities. The final section will focus on the politics of academic restructuring and undergraduate teaching, and offer some policy suggestions to improve the work of African universities.

African Universities and Globalization: An Overview Globalization is marked by several factors due to and stemming from the dramatic improvements in communications technologies which have given rise to the compression of time and space (see Giddens,

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1990). The compression of time and space has led to significant changes in political, economic and sociocultural relationships among nation-states (see Burbules and Torres, 2000a; Hoogvelt, 2001; Schuurman, 2001). The political aspects of globalization include a minimal involvement of the state in the economic and social spheres and, with that, “at least the erosion of national autonomy” (Burbules and Torres, 2000b, p. 14), and the rise of powerful non-state actors or forprofit nongovernmental organizations within and beyond national boundaries. The economic aspects of the process can be seen in the increased emphasis on market transactions, an internationalized system of production aided by the enhanced mobility of financial capital due to the dramatic improvements in computerization and telecommunications. Cultural globalization aims at the harmonization of standards and the homogenization of tastes, supposedly, with the emergence of a global culture. Of great significance to this study are the implications of globalization for African universities. Analysts within the Euro-American and Australasia contexts have examined the relationship between globalization and education in general and higher education in particular (Barrow, Didou-Aupetit and Mallea, 2003; Burbules and Torres, 2000a; Currie and Newson, 1998; Currie et al., 2003; Slaughter and Leslie, 1997; White and Hauck, 2000). Morrow and Torres (2000), identify two aspects of globalization for education significant to the current study: “the changed role of the state . . . ” and, the “pressures to develop educational policies that attempt to restructure postsecondary educational systems along entrepreneurial lines in order to provide flexible educational responses to the new model of industrial production” (Morrow & Torres, 2000, p. 35). Slaughter and Leslie (1997, p. 31) also point to the fact that the changes under globalization “are putting pressure on national higher education policy makers to change the way tertiary education does business.” The authors also identify an increasing reliance on technoscience and those areas of study closely aligned with the market; a tightening of the relationship between multinational corporations and state agencies concerned with research, development, and innovation; and multinationals and their quest to secure global intellectual property rights (pp. 36–37). The profound shifts in the power and profit orientations within institutions of higher learning constitute the hallmarks of what Slaughter and Leslie (1997) call “academic capitalism” (see also Press and Washburn, 2000; Slaughter and Leslie, 2000). Beyond the Euro-American and Australasia contexts, the literature on the restructuring of African universities in an era of globalization is


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also growing (Mkandawire, 1997; Samoff, 1999; Samoff and Carrol, 2004; Sawyerr, 2004; Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). Schugurensky (1999) examines the international trends in the higher educational systems in developing countries and acknowledges the fact that every developing nation, just as the developed ones, will have a unique set of political, economic, historical, sociocultural forces that will impact higher education. However, Schugurensky identifies a number of processes common to the restructuring of higher education in developing nations. These include “commodification of knowledge,” the “redefinition of the relationship between the university, the state and the market, and a drastic reduction in institutional autonomy” (Schugurensky, 1999, p. 283). As far as education in Africa is concerned, the World Bank has emphasized the rate of return on education (RORE) (World Bank, 2000, p. 39; see also Psacharopoulos, 1991). The RORE represents an attempt to use a market-compatible rationale of state expenditures on education. The World Bank has concluded that the social RORE on primary, secondary, and tertiary education are 24 percent, 18 percent, and 11 percent respectively (Mkandawire and Soludo, 1999, p. 46). Since higher education offers a lower RORE, the argument is that it is not worth supporting. This conclusion, in part, explains the World Bank’s current emphasis on basic education and the “neglect of secondary and tertiary education in many, [African and other] developing countries” (World Bank, 2000, p. 16). Meanwhile, the World Bank’s analysis of RORE has been questioned (Banya, 2001). Ndoye (1997) highlights the following features of global education in Africa: economism, privatization, and loss of identity. The argument for economism and privatization is premised on the declining role of the state and the associated economic difficulties, hence the view “that the solution is to privatize education” (Ndoye, 1997, p. 80). With respect to the loss of identity, Ndoye (1997) demonstrates the hegemonic dimensions of the culture transmitted by the international media. Since educational institutions are also producing culture, the difficulties in sustaining education in Africa suggest that other institutions, and in this context, the international media, would play a vital role. The international media, as Ndoye (1997) further shows and correctly so, are not international in their depiction of culture. Rather, they transmit local issues on a global basis, hence the hegemonic aspect of the cultural aspect of the media explosion. The hegemonic aspects of knowledge construction in general, and the role of African intellectuals and universities in particular, have also been addressed by

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several analysts (see e.g., Emeagwali, 2002; Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). Against the global context, higher education in Africa has to deal with three major related features: chronic funding problems, significant increases in student enrolment, and declines in the quality of teaching and research. Even though funding for higher education, compared to other sectors in the African economy, has been relatively low, the situation has been worsened by the current neoliberal argument for reductions in government subsidies to higher education (Atteh, 1996; Morna, 1995; Saint, 1992; UNESCO, 2003). Overall, the percentage of allocation of public expenditure on higher education has declined in many sub-Saharan African countries. According to the World Bank and UNESCO, the decreases have been $6,300, to $1,500 and $1,241 for 1980, 1988, and 1995 respectively (cited in UNESCO, 2003:6). For example, in Malawi, the educational budget for the University of Malawi, which was 25 percent between 1972 and 1979, declined to 16.4 percent by 1988 (cited in Kerr and Mapanje, 2002, p. 85). The Government of Ghana, at the beginning of the 1990s, decided to limit higher education’s share of the budget to 17 percent in order to increase cost recovery (Eisemon and Holm-Nielsen, 1995). Between 1990 and 1991, the University of Zambia received 79 percent of its funding request, while the University of Ghana and Makerere University received 53 percent and 34 percent of their funding requests respectively (Saint, 1992, p. 36). The funding situation did not show any improvement, even in the latter part of the 1990s. For example, in 1994–1995 and 1998–1999, Makerere University “got only 49.8 percent of proposed recurrent and 6.7 percent of capital budgets” (Kasozi, 2002, p. 127). At the time of reductions in state funding, enrolments in African universities have increased due, in part, to government pressure to admit more students and the growing demand for and realization by society at large about the importance of higher education. Enrolment in African universities as a whole increased from 417,000 in 1980 to 1.4 million in 1995 (UNESCO, 1998, p. 41). For example, the University of Yaoundé, Cameroon had 500 in 1960, but by 1992 had 45,000 students with the facilities that were planned for 5,000 (Morna, 1995, p. 31). In Ghana, for example, university students were about 11,000 in the early 1990s, representing an increase from between 8,000 and 8,500 in the 1980s (Peil, 1996, p. 52). The ultimate impact of the above features is the mass exodus of academic staff, the trying conditions under which those remaining have to work and decline in the quality of teaching and research in many African universities


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(Eisemon and Davis, 1991; Land, 1994; Tettey, 2002; Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). The changing nature of public universities in Africa has given rise to the emergence of private universities. Private universities have a long history in other parts of the world, for example, the United States and Latin American subregions. In the case of Africa, their origins can be attributed to or are a response to the dire economic circumstances since the 1970s, a weakening state, and globalization (Ekhaguere, 2000, p. 376). Religious institutions are the key players in the establishment of private universities in Africa. The United Methodist Church established the African University in Zimbabwe, while Protestant, Catholic, and Islamic affiliated universities can be found in Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, and Zaire (Banya, 2001; Kasozi, 2002, pp. 125–127; World Bank, 2000, pp. 29–31). Two privately owned Seminaries are also providing university education in Ghana (Sawyerr, 1994, p. 25). In total, nine private universities have been established in Uganda since 1998 (Kasozi, 2002, p. 128). Several issues can be identified from the emerging theoretical literature on higher education and globalization. These include the role of the state and non-state actions in the production, distribution, and consumption of public and private education; the role of labor in the production process; the importance of market and nonmarket transactions. The above processes have critical implications for the future of higher education in Africa. For example, declining state expenditure on higher education as mentioned earlier, are occurring against the backdrop of government officials stressing the need to create and have a knowledgeable community and acknowledging the role of universities in that process. The increases in enrolment also attest to the argument that university education is a key prerequisite for effective participation in the global economy. If universities provide the requisite training for most jobs, then, it can be argued that they present a vital link in the process of creating that knowledgeable community needed for effective participation in the global economy. The increases in enrolment have to be reconciled with the financial uncertainties of the diminishing capacity of the state. This has given rise to the state deregulating higher education and the growing desire by many African universities to explore “the diversification of sources of funding, including cost-sharing initiatives” (AAU, 2001, p. 8). This is the context for the introduction of tuition fees in many, if not all, African universities (Woodhall, 1995). The next section offers a theoretical discussion of the differentiation of universities and the changing conditions of academic laborers.

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The Differentiation of Institutions and Academic Laborers: A Theoretical Analysis Academic laborers and learners are the main actors in the teaching of undergraduate learners and the nature of their relationship is essential to learning outcomes. A critical requirement for the successful operation of any institution is resource flows and how those resources, in turn, are utilized to meet the goals of the organization. The availability and conditions of access to resources would influence the quantity and quality of knowledge that is produced and its relevance to the needs of the wider community. The restructuring of universities has led to the emergence of “new type of institutions . . . and new providers” (World Bank, 2000, p. 16) and changes in “who the faculty are, how they behave, the way they are organized, and the way they work and are compensated” (World Bank, 1988b, p. 22). At issue are the emergence of private universities alongside the public ones and the changing nature of academic labor and laborers. The logic behind the emergence of private universities is both ideological and pragmatic. On the former plane, a major argument of the restructuring exercise is to reduce the role of state institutions, because apart from their monopolistic position, political considerations influence the allocation and reward for goods and services. Furthermore, the diminishing capacity of the state and its commitment to funding higher education, calls for other actors to replace the reducing influence and commitment of the state in higher education. Thus on a pragmatic level, Eisemon contends that private higher education “in African countries can help to accommodate some of the social demand for higher education and to diversify university systems and, thus, merits encouragement by governments” (cited in Woodhall, 1995, p. 21). Private universities, Banya (2001, p. 162) argues, also “can deflect student demand away from public institutions under growing financial pressures, while perhaps saving money for other social services” (Banya, 2001, p. 162). The above propositions, it seems are assumed rather than empirically demonstrated. Theoretically, the flurry of private universities at the time when state capacity is on the decline suggests the inability of the state to offer a policy framework that would regulate their activities, let alone enforce existing policies. Since private universities emerged within the market logic, the added question is whether the market alone, without the state policy framework, can guarantee the quality of university education. Kasozi (2002, p. 124) therefore argues that the “state government


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should not leave the operation of the private university system entirely to market forces but must regulate key areas in order to strengthen the higher education system for the good of society.” It is obvious that while private universities can fill the void in public universities, their market underpinnings also means they are likely to sacrifice quality for profit and the larger society would be the eventual loser. Furthermore, the market logic of private universities in particular, and the restructuring exercise in general, within the metaphor of learners as “clients” or “consumers” in friendly market situations and making rational choices raises some questions. How would the implied “but not always stated . . . presumption that in higher education as in any other purchasing transaction, the customer is always right” (Banya, 2001, p. 170) be reconciled with the nature of knowledge and the quality of higher education? Put differently, if the market assumption that customers are always right is taken to its logical conclusion, how would that affect the relationship between academic laborers as knowledge producers and learners as consumers of knowledge? Knowledge is a contested phenomenon and the value of knowledge has implications for power relations. For the market argument that customers are always right to be valid in the restructured universities, it means learners can contest and always win battles over how they are evaluated. While the process appears liberating for learners, it can also, in some extreme cases, become constraining. Chomsky (in White, 2000, p. 450) recounts the case of an undergraduate student [who] refused to answer a question on an exam in [a] computer science department and when he was asked why, he said that he was under a condition set by a professor with whom he was working. He knew the answer, he said, but the answer was worked out in some project on which he was working under some professor who was intending to begin a startup company which would use the research they were doing and didn’t want anybody to know about it. (see also Berman, 1998; Press and Washburn, 2000)

In such an environment, inter-faculty sharing of ideas would be kept to the minimum and so also would be faculty–student dialogue. The ultimate effect is that the knowledge pool that could emerge through vigorous dialogue would become poorer. For society at large, the social good, for instance, that universities serve would be in serious jeopardy. The “subversive character” (Chomsky in White, 2000, p. 442) of universities is more likely to be undermined if the value of knowledge is predicated entirely on this market value.

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This is because a successful market commodity does not necessarily mean a quality product. But more importantly, once universities cease being “subversive,” there is the possibility that the knowledge they produce cannot be interrogated and its critical edge cannot be realized and that would likely give rise to a docile, compliant, and uncritical citizenry (see Aronowitz, 2000). The implied powerlessness of academic laborers, reduced to clerks selling knowledge, would also damage the integrity of universities as institutions of higher learning. The establishment of a private university does not amount to a complete termination of state financial support. Even in other jurisdictions, for example, in the United States of America where some of the leading universities are private, the government continues to fund some research activities. The situation is not different in other countries, even if at a diminishing rate (World Bank, 1994). The continued role of the state in financing university education, however, raises some questions. What would the funding of private universities mean for the public ones? What areas of training are the state likely to fund in either public or private universities and why? The underlying issue is the extent to which the university, as an institution would provide the needed resources for academic laborers to produce the knowledge relevant to the needs of learners and the society at large. Two related problems can be identified. These are the low salaries and deteriorating conditions of service for academic laborers and the paucity of academic laborers. For example, between 1986 and 1992, wages had not risen for faculty in Nigerian universities, despite a 95 percent devaluation of the national currency and over 100 percent inflation (Atteh, 1996, p. 37). Land (1994, pp. 1–2) portrays the situation in many universities in Africa as one in which “[d]windling education budgets have sharply eroded staff salaries, making it hard for universities to compete in national and regional labour markets . . . cutbacks in library purchases, equipment and building maintenance, forcing many members to leave. Educational quality is dropping.” This state of affairs has led to institutional instabilities, most noticeable in the frequent and often prolonged closure of African universities. For instance, the “entire Nigerian university was closed for most of 1992 and 1996 as faculty members” (Bollag, 2002, p. A39) waged battles with government over working conditions. In such an environment, academic pursuits take a second seat as academics engage in other economic activities. Those who cannot function in such an environment vote with their feet, hence the worsening mass exodus of academics in many African universities (AAU, 2001, p. 7; Tettey, 2002). Thus, academic laborers are in short supply in the


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continent, making it increasingly difficult for the plethora of private universities to recruit and retain the requisite staff (Banya, 2001; Jua and Nyamnjoh, 2002). The impact of the working conditions, mass exodus of academic staff, and the scarcity of personnel “has seen a reduced and increasingly unequal access to education, and a decline in educational quality” (McGinn, 1997, p. 43). Decline in the quality of higher education when the need for knowledge for development is immense calls for an analysis of the potential and the nature of the knowledge production capabilities of African universities. Underlying such an analysis is the politics of knowledge production, propagation, and commodification. To a large extent, knowledge has always being commodified. However, under the current regime there is a conscious attempt by the academy to forge “much closer links with industry and, as a consequence, a move to more applied research agendas with the accompanying loss in curiousity driven research” (Currie, 1998, p. 4). It is therefore not surprising that African universities have decided to “strengthen their linkages with the productive sector, private and public, . . . in order to increase the relevance of their work and to ensure its easy infusion into production for the benefit of society and the economy” (AAU, 2001, p. 8). The issue here is the emergence of private actors (both nonprofit and for-profit) institutions to fill the vacuum left by the state and contribute to knowledge production and propagation. One implication of the closer link between academy and industry is that the emphasis will be placed on business, science, and technology. Technology, for example, is being touted as the panacea for enhancing the knowledge production capacities and responding to increasing university enrolments. To be sure, a number of African universities now have access to the new information technologies, such as the internet, even if access is limited and the systems are unreliable. The African Virtual University (AVU), for example, is one such effort spearheaded by the World Bank (Ekhaguere, 2000; World Bank, 1998). The aim is to equip African universities with computers to enhance the training of students. What is remarkable about the AVU is the areas of training being emphasized— engineers, business managers, and health care providers (World Bank, 1998, p. 2). The intention is not to minimize the significance of the study areas being emphasized. However, it can also be argued those areas emphasized provide tangible expressions of relevance in terms of contributions to society and are also easily commodified. Such thinking partially accounts for the establishment of a new university in Northern Malawi “mostly geared to commercial and tourism studies” (Kerr and Mapanje, 2002, p. 87).

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What is missing is an attempt to draw any linkages between the social and natural sciences. The social sciences, either justifiable or unjustifiable have not been able to command a lot of clout as far as social relevance is concerned (Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). It is correct to note “that science and technology professionals are a key ingredient in . . . economic rejuvenation. They cannot, however, achieve that objective without any input from their counterparts in the social sciences and humanities whose expertise is particularly necessary for the creation of the enabling environment within which technological and economic progress for all can take place” (Tettey, 2002). A serious study of the human condition in any part of the world should demand an adequate understanding of sociocultural processes (Verhelst, 1990). By paying little attention to the social sciences in the restructuring process, there is an omission that would have serious implications for crafting policies that address the nuances of sociocultural processes and thus offer a better chance of making a meaningful impact. The preceding discussion underscores the fact that many universities in Africa are operating at varying levels of differentiation. The result is that the local knowledge production capacity has been undermined. Consequently, knowledge produced from external sources is more likely to assume a prominent place. Although knowledge production about a society is not a monopoly of local experts, the continuation of a situation in which local knowledge producers are not able to produce the requisite knowledge suggests an increasing reliance on external sources of knowledge. It is no wonder that consultancy by foreign experts is a big business in Africa, with $10 billion being spent on about forty thousand foreign experts in 1997 (Mkandawire, 1997, p. 17). The problem with such a trend is, on one hand whether external sources of knowledge would be adequately anchored in the nuances of the local culture and thus be socially relevant (Dei, 1995; Hountondji, 1995; Verhelst, 1990). On the other hand, relevance of eternal knowledge, mediated by the market, would be premised on the ability to pay for a given knowledge. The widespread poverty in several African countries would affect the ability to pay, hence the access to any useful knowledge. The issue is not the inability of local African experts to produce knowledge. Some Western social scientists have acknowledged the significant contributions of African scholars to studies on imperialism, economic restructuring, and regime transitions (see also Hettne, 1991; cited in Jua and Nyamnjoh, 2002, p. 51). Rather, it is the implications of globalization for the dynamics of knowledge production at the local (national or regional) and global levels. Two contradictory forces are at


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play in the ongoing process. The breaking down of national boundaries implicit within globalization engenders the theoretical possibility that knowledge production would assume a universal posture and relevance. However, in view of the hierarchization of knowledge at the global level, it would be naïve to expect that knowledge production sites in the North, when producing knowledge, would have as their focus issues or problems in a remote community in the South. The reality is that under globalization, commodification of knowledge and the consequent emphasis on profit are the prime features of the knowledge industry. There is an ongoing hierarchization of knowledge production at the global level in which certain brands of knowledge, especially those produced in the North, are ascribed as dominant relative to that produced in the South (Dei, 1998; Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). If local universities were not able to produce sufficient and quality knowledge because of shortage of human capital and other resources, the hierarchy and marginalization would be further reinforced. In the new dispensation, the emerging actors in the knowledge industry are multinational corporations (MNC) and the increasing importance of global institutions like World Trade Organization (WTO) (Altbach, 2001).

Academic Restructuring: The Politics of the New Pedagogy With higher institutions starved of cash, the extent to which public and private universities, their academic laborers and learners working together would improve the quality of undergraduate teaching depends on the allocation and conditions of access to available resources. The major issue here is how the interaction between the state, the historical guardian of the public good, and non-state actors would affect the future direction of higher education. The reality is that with declining state (public) funding, universities and colleges do not hesitate to solicit funds from non-state actors (private), some of which are for-profit organizations. While the academy and industry need one another, the interaction has to contend with significant problems, due largely to differences in their mandate (Tettey and Puplampu, 2000). The increases in enrolment in African universities establish not only the importance of university education to individuals, but to society as a whole. However, given the declining rate of funding, enrolment increases, and the exodus of academic laborers, it is important to analyze the implications of global restructuring for higher education in Africa. At the national level (the local), the increases in higher education in several African universities attest to the power of social forces

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on political authorities. Social forces have pressured their political authorities to expand access to higher education and the authorities, in turn, have simply asked the universities to increase their intake, but without the commensurate increases in resources. The predictable result has been the myriad problems that African universities have to contend with. The private universities, as nascent institutions in the region, are yet to make any meaningful impact on the educational aspirations of potential university students. This is because private universities, like the public ones, have to compete for the same shrinking pool of available academic laborers. The reality of unlimited resources for both public and private universities suggests differences also in outcomes for their learners. The relationship between educators and learners and its social relevance deserve greater scrutiny, in the context of restructuring, if learning is to offer any measure of critical education (Giroux and McLaren, 1989; McLaren, 1998; Morrow and Torres, 1995). The need for critical education in a time of restructuring stems from the belief that it is “[i]rrevocably committed to the side of the oppressed . . . [along with the belief that] liberation is an authentic goal, and a radically different world can be brought into being” (McLaren, 1998, p. 164). For the restructuring of African universities to be of any relevance to educators and learners and the society at large, it should have the potential to speak to the present, everyday lived experiences as well as fairness in the relationship between the university and the larger society. That calls for a certain direction in the restructuring program. Educators would have to vary their teaching methods, move away from the notion of having monopoly over knowledge and power, since their knowledge is legitimized by the political (read the state) and sociocultural arrangements of the day. It is important to stress that the state, in an age of globalization, may seem “to be losing its power, although, and this is essential, not its influence” (Castells, 1997, p. 243). This suggests that political considerations would continue to shape the nature of the African academy, sometimes, with devastating consequences for knowledge production (see Jua and Nyamnjoh, 2002). It is also possible that with the state losing its power, in a relative sense, to legitimize the knowledge and power of educators, the market would become the decisive factor in the legitimization process. In that scenario, it would be easy for educators to dismiss the experiences of the learners, more so, if those experiences do not enhance the market value of the knowledge the educator seeks to create. If the sale of knowledge is predicated on the authoritative voice or knowledge of the educator, then it might be difficult for learners to raise


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questions that might be seen as undermining the market value of the educator’s work. There is already a constant battle between educators and learners, especially when it comes to deriving meaning from, giving voice to as well as acknowledging the varied experiences of learners. The willingness and ability of educators to change the structure and form of the learning process is key in the reconstruction of a mutually beneficial relationship. That relationship, if properly managed can produce critically minded learners, who are able to propose alternate visions of society. Globalization of higher education is exposing African universities to international students, especially from North American universities where study abroad programs in Africa are being encouraged (Pires, Marajh and Metzler, 2000). With a different learning style, a faculty member in an African university “indicated that American students bring to the university classroom a healthy ‘disrespect’ for the dominant ‘culture of silence’ [thus encouraging] African students to be less ‘passive’ and intellectually accepting” (Metzler, 2000, p. 16). If such interactions between African and American students would bring about positive changes not only in learning, but also in attitudes and perceptions about Africa abroad, then it is a development that needs to be cherished and nurtured. However, if the study in Africa programs stem from the desire to address the financial shortfalls in African universities, then a critical opportunity for genuine intercultural understanding would have been sacrificed at the altar of the market god.

Conclusion This study examined the restructuring of higher education in Africa. The chapter discussed the emergence of differential institutions and trends toward the commodification of and politics of knowledge propagation. With regard to the new relationship between educators and learners, the paper argues that such a relationship, grounded on market imperatives, would be without the edge that is necessary for the creation of critical knowledge communities. The findings of this study provide some insights into policy and other theoretical questions concerning the restructuring of African universities. Differentiated institutions would lead to different levels of commitment to the academic enterprise. With worsening economic conditions, the restructuring is bringing to the fore the issue of quality of university education in Africa. If the quality of university education is eroded, the long-term implication would be the growth of the consultancy industry in which Northern-based intellectuals would assume monopoly over

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the knowledge industry. Such knowledge, however, can be expensive and, as the paper argues, cannot be nuanced enough for addressing the local conditions. The need to share knowledge is critical, the terms of that sharing amidst the hierarchization of knowledge and power differences in the global arena are issues that need to be addressed. The structural location of Africa in the global political economy suggests that the restructuring of higher education would have a differential impact on African countries. Consequently, educational policy analysts need to sharpen their tools in order to address the intricacies of market policies, and to pay attention to context and structure and outcomes. The issue, as indicated earlier, is not the inability of African universities to produce knowledge. It is rather the assumption that they have to produce marketable knowledge, even though a successful market commodity tells us nothing about the social relevance of the product. Since education remains an integral part of the development process in any nation and if “education is a political economic and socio-cultural act, then all facets of the academic establishment and the wider society need to get involved” (Puplampu, 2004, 181) in the restructuring program. Indeed, the nature of the changes in university education could well provide us with the contours of humanity in our current globalized and increasingly commodified twenty-first-century society.

Notes 1. Developed by Olson (1965), the free-rider problem explains individual rational behavior in relationship to the benefits of public goods that are available to everyone, irrespective of their level of contribution. The theoretical problem here is the limits of human rationality. 2. For some international studies on the differentiation of academic institutions and laborers see Puplampu (2004), Pocklington and Tupper (2002), and Rajagopal (2002).

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Part II

Culture, Language, and the Curriculum


4

Recl aiming Our Memories: The Education Dilemma in Postcolonial African S chool Curricul a Edward Shizha

T

he case for African school curricula is a contentious phenomenon, especially when the definition of “African curricula” has to be considered and understood within the context of contemporary and multiethnic Africa. The contention is how to define and validate knowledge, particularly the official curriculum in the face of globalization, and the internationalization of knowledge. Even more problematic is the concept and definition of “African” itself. Who is the African in contemporary African society? Profound cultural diversity and interconnectedness has taken place since and after colonialism so much that the African identity has become elusive and evasive. The observed considerable cultural, ethnic, and racial diversity within Africa tends to obscure an African identity. Hall (1996) argues that modern nations are all cultural hybrids. However, this hybridity is loosely observed in African societies as some cultural and ethnic distinctions still persist. Appiah (1992) rejects any theory that seeks to homogenize Africans when he states: Now I am confident in rejecting any homogenizing portrait of African intellectual life, because the ethnographies and the travel literature and novels of parts of Africa other than my home are replete with examples of ways of life and of thought that strike me as thoroughly pretheoretically different from life in Asante, where I grew up. (p. 25)

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Thus, Africa can be described, as a salad bowl of black Africans, white Africans, Arabic Africans, and Asian Africans. These people do not share a common culture that can be described as the African culture for curricula content. Amongst African cultural groups are black African subcultures, white African subcultures, and Asian African subcultures whose cultural differences are based on ethnicity, class, ideology, gender, and religion. Cultural pluralism in modern Africa leads to an elusive definition of the African and the African knowledge that can be institutionalized for the official curriculum.

What Knowledge and Whose Knowledge? Education is not limited to accumulating knowledge and skills; it involves acquiring ways of interpreting and giving meaning to concepts, forming links, and understanding ideas. Knowledge entails ways that individuals look at and give meaning to experiences as characterized by their cultural and social worldview. Thus, the questions that may be considered when defining knowledge in the African school curricula are: 1. What is considered and passed as valid/official knowledge and non-valid knowledge? 2. Who defines and selects curriculum knowledge in a multicultural and multiethnic African society? 3. Who is in control of what and for whom? 4. What is the distribution of sociocultural knowledge in school curricula? According to Eggleston (1977) “differences in thought processes and differences in perception of events and worldviews lead to differences in the store of knowledge possessed by each society and by each group” (p. 1). The stores of knowledge are temporal and spatial as experience and history affect them. Hence, what counts as knowledge in one society or cultural group at a particular time in history may not be considered as knowledge or valid knowledge at a different period. For example, knowledge that was perceived as valid and legitimate during colonial Africa, may be discounted as invalid and irrelevant in contemporary Africa. The significance of the school curricula to the sociocultural worldview of the African student, in both orientation and content, is of great concern to African sociologists. Sociologists in Africa argue that postcolonial school knowledge continues to mirror that of colonial education

E ducation Dilemma in Africa

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(Baba, 1990). Academic and often irrelevant ways of learning are emphasized even though most African states have localized their examination systems. Localization of examinations has not transformed the knowledge systems that are still largely embedded in colonial constructs. Knowledge constructs, both in content and pedagogy, are highly colonial and teach students a foreign culture and worldview. Andreas Huyssen, cited in Rust (1991) postulates that colonial knowledge is associated with both “inner and outer imperialism”(p. 617). Consequently, the need to redefine and reconstruct school curricula in Africa and de-legitimize Western defined knowledge cannot be overemphasized. Schooling reflects Huyssen’s forms of imperialism in cultural tastes and psychological behavior adopted by students and indigenous African elite that emulate Western lifestyle and popular culture. Perpetuating cultural imperialism in Africa’s education systems is a negation of “narrative of the nation(s), as told and retold in national histories, literatures, and popular culture” (Hall, 1996, p. 614). The narratives provide a set of stories, images, historical events, national symbols, and rituals which stand for, and represent, the shared experiences that give meaning to the African society. While education systems that are embedded in colonialism lead to psychological and cultural alienation and cultural domination (Mazrui, 1993), they no longer go unchallenged. The challenge is to deconstruct and redefine the structures and systems of knowledge. Both inner imperialism, which Habermas calls “inner colonization” (Rust, 1991, p. 617), and the outer imperialism are a threat to the identity and self-perception of the African student. Thus, a redefined African education system should aim at reclaiming the African cultural histories and memories. Schools should be cultural spaces and centers that provide strategies to reclaim African indigeneity and overcome threats from cultural alienation. Schools should empower students to define their own destiny and cultural selves.

Toward a Deconstructive and Reconstructive Discourse Colonial school curricula constituted the voice of the dominant group in society, which defined status, privilege, power, and control in terms of racial differences. The school curricula, as defined by the colonizer, were used to constitute the enclaves of hegemonic discourse and practices that dehumanized the indigenous people. Indigenous Africans were defined as inferior to Europeans and were erroneously taught to internalize the racial stereotypes of the colonizer (Mazrui, 1993). Thus, schooling led to the loss of the indigenous people’s self-identity and

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self-confidence. Through schooling and its cultural hegemony, Africans became willing accomplices and co-constructors of Western cultural imperialism. Education and schooling are the alienating processes that postcolonial Africa needs to transform through the deconstruction and reconstruction processes. To deconstruct colonial curricula is “to displace them into the fabric of historicity out of which they have been shaped . . . it is to become involved in ‘the unmaking of a construct.’ Deconstruction is another strategy by which to ‘read texts,’ though one with a decidedly different self-consciousness and consequences . . .” (Outlaw, 1987, p. 11). Deconstruction of colonial curricula requires rupturing the hegemonic structures of Western defined knowledge. From this perspective, knowledge takes a new form and dimension that celebrates differences without portraying itself as “the culture of reference” (see Jacques Derrida in Lemert, 1999). Opening up new forays of defining and explaining knowledge is a moment when Western knowledge constructs of the so-called modern, but colonial era, are redefined and reexamined using different African perspectives. However, the transformation should be as value-free as possible without prejudicing other ways of perceiving historical, social, and cultural phenomena. Pedagogy should be approached from diverse perspectives that allow the pedagogical process to be culturally sensitive accepting cultural variations that may exist within the classroom. Classroom life should reflect the social and cultural contexts that relate to students’ experiences. At the same time, classroom experiences should also focus on the need to meet the current societal needs. This means that although pedagogy should be culturally sensitive, it should not ignore aspects of Western knowledge constructs that have benefited society for the past century under colonialism. Pedagogical practices that integrate history are conducive to reconstructed curricula that incorporate reality as perceived from different cultural and social backgrounds. Learning, in this context, becomes a meaningful and fulfilling experience that helps students to be useful participants in their society. The new form of curriculum discourse allows the production of knowledge and social relations that were ignored and denigrated by the colonial education system. The discourse prepares what Abdi (2002, p. 9) describes as “new educational possibilities . . . [that attempt] to assure the sustainability of a new and analytically interesting form . . . identified as multicultural education with the inviolable premises of ‘own’ education and ‘common’ education.” West (1999) argues that this new curriculum change is a historical moment for African education systems. It is a moment to acknowledge the discontinuity and disruption from previous forms of cultural hegemony.


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Colonial Curricula—The Subjugation of Indigenous Voices and Stories Citing Hume and Hegel, Outlaw (1987, p. 16) posits that in colonial Africa, “African peoples were explicitly denied the status of rational and historical beings.” European invasion and the subjugation of blacks served to validate the colonial characterization of the European invention of Africa and Africans. Racism and ethnocentrism were used to justify the rationalization and legitimization of European imperialism. Through cultural imperialism, Europe managed to disseminate its values and beliefs as the cornerstone for colonial curricula which was incorporated in formal schooling as the cultural capital to be pursued by African indigenous students. The system used nonindigenous knowledge to silence the voices of the black African student. According to Giroux (1996), the colonial education system led to the separation of individuals from their existential conditions and experiences, from their cultures and individuality. wa Thiong’o (1986) asserts that the process of colonial education annihilated people’s beliefs in their names, their languages, in their environment, in their heritage of struggle, in their unity, in their capacities, and ultimately in themselves. Even in postcolonial Africa, the Eurocentric orientation in African education has attained an even greater domination and control of African school curricula. Rust (1991, p. 619), citing Foucault, argues that such curricula were used in colonial times as “a system of control,” controlling the social, moral, and economic conditions of Africans. Rodney (1982) observes that: The educated (black) Africans were the most alienated Africans on the continent. At each further stage of education, they were battered and succumbed to the white capitalist, and after being given salaries, they could then afford to sustain a style of life imported from outside . . . That further transformed their mentality. (p. 275)

Colonial education did more than corrupt the thinking and sensibilities of the Africans; it filled their minds with abnormal complexes, which de-Africanized and alienated them from the needs of their sociocultural milieu. wa Thiong’o (1986) observes that the lack of congruency between colonial education and African reality created people abstracted from their reality. Africans were denied the right to cultural development and self-expression. By denying indigenous people their self-expression and historical memories, colonialism simultaneously denied them their cultural process. Educators, curriculum developers, and textbook writers ignored the voices of the Others, destroying their sense of hope,

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belonging, existence, and social reality. Cultural imperialism and domination dispossessed the Africans of their “tools of self-definition” (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p. 16). Learning, which according to Giroux (1996, p. 121) was “the mechanical memorization of the profile of a concept” alienated the owners of local knowledge from their social and cultural identity. In colonial Africa, schools were centers for cultural hegemony, centers for discrediting and disengaging the culture of the indigenous Africans. Colonial schools were the vehicles through which European “enlightenment” and “civilization” were forced on to the African and where colonization and exploitation were rationalized. Schools became institutionally created and privileged sites for the production of hegemonic knowledge. Indigenous knowledge, which is intergenerational and intra-generational, and embedded in the customs, habits, rituals, and social institutions of the community, was regarded as “ignorant knowledge.” That is how cultural knowledge was victimized and marginalized from school curricula. Fanon (1967) reports that Africans were thrown into a state of total cultural disorientation as the education system was based on images and perceptions of reality that were masked and perverted. The absence of indigenous realities in school curricula was also masked from the local people. Schooling bore no relation to any reality relevant to indigenous social experiences. The education system was used as an institution that colors all individual identities, directly or indirectly (Bhola, 2002). For Africans, it was pure simulation portrayed in curricula reflecting European colonial reality. In relation to this form of education, Kallaway (1984) says about Bantu Education in apartheid South Africa: There is [was] no place for him [the native] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour . . . For this reason it is of no avail for him to receive training which has its aim as absorption in the European community, where he cannot be absorbed. Until now he has been subjected to a school system which drew him away from his community and misled him by showing him the green pastures of European society in which he was not allowed to graze. (p. 173)

The form of education described by Kallaway was a cultural bomb, which was unleashed to annihilate indigenous cultures as European culture was used as an extreme form of standardization, requiring blind conformity and masked rationalization. On colonialism, Fanon (1967) argues that colonial schooling affected both the indigenous culture and the people’s intimate sense of selfhood


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and created a hatred of their culture and their Africanness. Schooling was designed to impose the white man’s “mythical racial superiority” (Offiong, 1982, p. 112). Whatever Africans were taught, it was designed to enable them to internalize their “inferiority” and to recognize the white man as their “savior.” The ultimate goal of colonial education might be deduced from Thomas B. Macaulay’s (1994) statement describing the British imposed colonial education in India when he stated, “We must at present do our best to form a class of who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect” (p. 430). The aim of colonial education was to leave those who were colonized with a lack of identity and a limited sense of their past.

A Legacy of Despair Postcolonial philosophical foundations and constructions of knowledge have not significantly changed from the colonial discourses. In many African schools, European education continues to distort, misappropriate, and misrepresent African realities, their lives, experiences, and thoughts. Since independence, there has been little significant shift from Eurocentric definitions of official knowledge and school pedagogy. Much of African education systems inherited from colonial regimes are not in touch with contemporary Africa. The content of school curriculum, and the language of instruction, notably in secondary schools, continues to mirror those of the metropolitan powers of the West or North. It still perpetuates psychological colonization by making Africans emulate Europeans. However, despite all the desperate maneuvering to become Europeanized, Africans can never attain the European identity, as they are never accepted as full participants in European societies. They are always marginalized and considered as outsiders. Giroux (1996) postulates that postcolonial education “rewrites the relationship between the margin and the center by reproducing the colonialist and imperialist ideologies” (p. 27) that structure Western knowledge, text, and social practices. In this context, the repressed stories and the social memories of the formerly colonized continue to be repressed. Indigenous voices and thoughts are to a large extent silenced and dominated while Western knowledge is continuously rendered visible in schools and society. African indigenous episteme and ways of knowing are embalmed from historical and institutional structures that validate and legitimize knowledge. The “cultural mummification [of indigenous knowledge] leads to a mummification of individual thinking”

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(Fanon, 1969, p. 34). African school curricula promote and give privilege to alien cultures while excluding particular readings, voices, aesthetics, and representations of African reality. Colonial residuals and postcolonial discourses are reported in Young (1990, p. 119) as “deeply implicated in each other” and perpetuate a culture of silence among the marginalized. Colonial residuals continue to imprison the actions, feelings, attitudes, beliefs, and the conceptual capabilities of indigenous people. wa Thiong’o (1986) observes that: Education, far from giving people the confidence in their reality and capacities to overcome obstacles . . . tends to make them feel their inadequacies, their weakness and their capacities in the face of reality; and their inability to do anything about the conditions governing their lives. (p. 56)

Europeanized education, in other words, is a means of mystifying knowledge and reality, an alienating and dehumanizing process that continues to this day. Schanack (1994) concludes that in postcolonial Africa “. . . the formal system of the classroom education looks like a foreign cyst in the social body, a malignant tumour” (p. 52). Schooling reflects foreign cultural symbols that are maintained through curriculum dependency and educational neocolonialism.

Indigenous Knowledge and Cultural Globalization If curriculum is what Lawton (1977) describes as a selection from the culture of society, and culture is a way of life of a people, including its body of accumulated knowledge and understanding (Thaman, 1993), then, whose culture is selected for curricula content in Africa? Cultural pluralism makes the definition of indigenous African culture very fluid and elusive. However, it is important to acknowledge that indigenous people have what Dei (1994, p. 6) portrays as “underlining commonalities and affinities in their thought systems,” which were historically repressed through colonial education. However, these indigenous thought systems are being continuously challenged by Euro-American so-called New World Order of globalization which is reinventing colonization. Globalization is consistent with colonization or neocolonization in that it seeks to “universalize” and “internationalize” the Western concept of knowledge and science, thus continuing the marginalization of non-Western knowledge systems. “Global” technologies have condensed time and space to create a postmodernist consciousness that has


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accelerated Euro-American political, economic, social, and cultural processes at the expense of other cultures. African indigenousness is being weakened by the cultural onslaught from global processes that reify and mystify Western cultural realities. According to Dei (2002), “knowledge resides in the body and cultural memory; however, it is the Eurocentric gaze that has influenced and shaped what to see and not to see, what is [in]valid and [il]legitimate” (p. 167). Globalization has tended to universalize, validate, and legitimate Western knowledge while trivializing indigenous knowledge systems. Universalizing knowledge leads to its “homogenization” and hegemonization. The “homogenized knowledge,” which is being erroneously described as “global knowledge and global culture” (Benson, 1996, p. 64), happens to be Euro-American knowledge that excludes African worldviews. Globalization of Euro-American culture perpetuates cultural imperialism and results in “cultural amnesia” as African scholars pretend to be westernized. How and why then should we expect the African youths to behave and believe in indigenous lifestyles and thinking when all they see and hear on television and the internet is Western ways of life? Globalization is distorting and disfiguring African mental dispositions.

Africanizing School Curricula Deconstruction of colonial ways of perceiving knowledge offers an alternative and desirable form of critical pedagogy that takes history into account. It attempts to keep track of the complex dynamics of institutional and other related power structures in order to offer options and alternatives for transformative praxis. The politics of difference in transformative praxis empowers Africans to reclaim their social and cultural positions and provides school curricula and pedagogical practices with possibilities for a wide range of realities. Since “different local status groups appropriate and create their own versions of mediated cultural forms” (Foley, 1990, p. 193), expanded and diverse school curricula are enriched with the possibility of simultaneously incorporating the past into the present, the distant into the local. In this simultaneity is “a new freedom, a cultural liberation” (Rust, 1991, p. 624) incorporating the best ideas and practices from diverse African cultures. In the process, knowledge breaks out the artificial boundaries created by colonial discourse, thus becoming an echo of resonating multivoices. A reconstructed school curriculum is a tool of liberation based not on a reversal of values accorded to European versus African culture, but

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on incorporating “disalienation” that seeks to pose new terms of reference (Mazrui, 1993), which Abdi (2002) describes as “relative” Africanization. Abdi (2002) and Dei (1998) propose Africanizing schooling as a means of countering Euro-American objectification and ideological domination in African curricula and learning. The Africanization process involves making schools and curricula culturally sensitive and responsive to the needs and aspirations of the African people. The process entails bringing various African realities into the school life. Describing “relative Africanization of knowledge,” Abdi (2002, p. 21) says, “central to [it] is to assume, exceptionally and when necessary, a tendency to indigenise both the production and use of knowledge so [that] these fit African needs, beliefs systems, and expectations for community development.” Dei (1998) describes Africanization of curriculum as leading to a transformative African education in which: [The community] must find ways to tap the cultural resource knowledge of local peoples. Such knowledge was the hallmark of traditional indigenous African education. Rather than tapping such local skills and knowledge, colonial education chose to devalue and neglect home, family and community instruction strategies and practices. These strategies constitute an untapped resource that educational reformers could adapt to advance learning and teaching in schools. (p. 512)

Throughout colonial history in Africa, what counted as school knowledge was shaped by the beliefs, customs, and perceptions that were based on racial definitions and social and cultural segregation. School knowledge was dominated by colonial experiences that trivialized indigenous ways of knowing and explaining social reality. Curricula were constructed within the white middle-class mainstream explanations of what constituted scientific phenomena while indigenous perceptions were demeaned as commonsense. However, today, indigenous and Western forms of knowledge should not be seen as opposites. Throughout the postcolonial years there has been unquantifiable and endless interactions between Western and indigenous knowledge, thus creating a new way of perceiving knowledge. What may be deemed African knowledge has crossed cultural and social barriers that were erected by colonialism. Bray, Clarke and Stephens (1986) argue that apparent knowledge “differences” are in fact often differences in languages, which are used primarily as a means of representing reality. Reality, that is shared experience, is represented in the language used by people. Therefore, by utilizing both indigenous and Western languages, indigenous and Western ways of knowing and thinking can supplement each other in


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Africanizing school curriculum. The solution to Africanization does not lie in abandoning one form of education for another. A formal education system that integrates indigenous and Western ways of knowing and thinking is likely to benefit society more than one that seeks to pursue a separatist perspective. An integrated Africanized system is likely to meet the cultural, social, moral, intellectual, as well as political, and economic needs of Africa. Soon after political independence, the attention of most African states was focused on expanding educational provision and financing educational expansion. In the pressure for quantity, questions about the nature and relevance of education were pushed into the background. In countries where indigenization or Africanization of school curricula was attempted (Tanzania, Zambia, and Zimbabwe) it was met with resistance from Western educated indigenous elite, teachers, and parents. Africanization was despised for lowering educational “standards” that had been set by colonial policy makers. Teachers were not familiar with what indigenization entailed since there were no materials that explained and gave direction to what was to be taught and how it was to be taught. They also did not see how the new expectations could fit within the present school curricula that were examination-oriented. The majority of teachers also lacked and still lack pedagogical skills required to embark on Africanizing curriculum. The colonial model of imparting knowledge and apportioning meaning to ideas as “truths” and “facts” has not shifted in any way to accommodate alternative ways of explaining reality. The absence of other cultural ways of knowing and explaining reality was internalized by African teachers who in turn internalized the Eurocentric values, beliefs and practices that were embedded in colonial school curricula. Most teachers relied [rely] on methods and materials with which they were taught, and it seemed naive on their part to do otherwise. Apart from the pedagogical expectations and change that Africanization entails, indigenization of African education also takes account of the presence of the community in which the school is located. The local people are the vital source of indigenous knowledge and their contribution cannot be overemphasized. The school and the community are cultural circles, which should engage in constant dialogue to promote indigenous ways of explaining what students experience and what schools should promote as relevant ways of explaining community problems. The community provides alternative ways of explaining social phenomenon and this is critical in fostering understanding among students. Community participation transforms and challenges dominant power relations in schools and offers the possibility for

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producing constructive knowledge appropriate to African modes of thinking. The school-community encounter provides opportunities for educators, learners, parents, and other community members to engage in social experiences and social practices that are meaningful and shared to produce dialogue. Dialogue is central to becoming social, historical, and cultural agents that create knowledge that is relevant and sustainable to African needs. Paulo Freire says: is the encounter between men (sic), mediated by the world, in order to name the world. Hence, dialogue cannot occur between those who want to name the world and those who do not want this naming—between those who deny other men [sic] to speak their word and those whose right to speak has been denied them. If it is in speaking their word that men (sic) transform the world by naming it, dialogue imposes itself as the way in which men (sic) achieve significance as men [sic]. Dialogue is thus an existential necessity. (Peters and Lankshear, 1994, p. 179)

Through dialogue teachers, students, parents, and members of the community interested in Africanizing knowledge, simultaneously attain critical thinking and achieve liberation. Teachers are liberated from being dominant sources of knowledge, while students are liberated from being passive recipients of “knowledge.” Teaching and learning become participatory activities in which students go back to their communities to elicit cultural knowledge from elders, conduct research and take back to the community knowledge “refined” by the school. Parents also get involved in classroom activities by contributing to learning as resource persons. Knowledge becomes the product of both the school and the community, at the same time, it finds place in the social and economic activities of the local people. Schooling becomes a cultural activity with teachers and parents acting as cultural brokers in a dialogical fashion that benefits students. Dialogue becomes possible, if students and parents are given voices to participate and be considered as equal participants in the schooling process. It also provides conditions for students and parents to speak so that their narratives and those of their communities can be affirmed and engaged in school practices. As hooks (1989) points out, giving voice means: Moving from silence into speech as a revolutionary gesture . . . the idea of finding one’s voice or having a voice assumes a primacy in talk discourse, writing, and action. . . . Only as subjects can we speak. As objects, we remain voiceless—our beings defined and interpreted by others . . . Awareness of the need to speak, to give voice to the varied dimensions of our lives, is one way [to begin] the process of education for critical consciousness. (p. 12)


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Giving voice to students can be achieved by employing border pedagogy (Giroux, 1992); a process that involves a multiplicity of voices that typify the cultural dynamics that exist in classrooms. Recognizing “voices” empowers students to express themselves in defining what knowledge is and how it should be presented and learned, thus dislocating cultural and political boundaries and social margins that give privilege to some and exclusion to others. Border pedagogy informs curricula by “giving everyday culture back to its owners” (Willis, 1990, p. 129) using cultural knowledge to offer possibilities for alternative symbolization of the cultural experiences of different students. Knowledge construction through cultural pedagogy expresses selfrepresentations and social representations, which are vital for curriculum deconstruction and reconstruction. Giroux (1992, p. 136) notes that crossing borders of differences can be “remapped . . . in ways that allow students to draw upon their own experiences as real knowledge.” Crossing borders enhances dialogue and the formation and enactment of social and cultural identities in which social equality and cultural diversity coexist with participatory democracy, thus, creating an inclusive community of learners. Dialogue empowers students and frees them from alienating school experiences. It brings the home, family, and community into the school arena and classroom practice. Teachers should realize that Africanization of school curricula develops and enhances critical consciousness. It is a process that moves away from the Eurocentric method of teaching and learning. Whereas colonial teaching methods encouraged passivity and the acceptance of predefined knowledge, an Africanized system offers opportunity for critical teaching approaches and alternative ways of explaining learning material. Pedagogy becomes a collaborative process rather than a teacher-centered approach (Freire, 1985). Teachers develop critical pedagogy and critical thinking; a process that is multi-perspectival.

A Multicultural Perspective to Schooling The diversity of social and cultural groups in African schools indicates that individual scholars view sociocultural realities differently. Each scholar has a voice that contributes toward school culture and social reality. Reality is not a simple objective datum, the concrete fact; it is also the individual’s perception of it (Freire, 1985). To achieve Africanization, educationists and academics in Africa should accept multiple ways of knowing that are characterized by the presence, in our schools, of learners from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds.

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Learners come to school with different worldviews and ways of perceiving the world around them. Their ways of knowing are influenced by family and community socialization. They grow up in families and communities that have their unique ways of understanding and explaining the social, spiritual, economic, and political world that is part of their life. Perhaps, as Dei (2002) informs us, curricula planners and designers, including teachers should “work with the idea that the different bodies [cultures], particularly those to be found within contemporary classrooms and central to the larger educational project, bring multiple ways of knowing” (p. 170). Therefore, a multicultural approach to teaching and learning is envisaged to look at the curriculum in a different way and to re-conceptualize the way knowledge has historically been organized. Multicultural schooling practices attempt to give voice to all students and replace the postcolonial hegemonic school practices that continue to permeate African educational systems. A system that recognizes and allows for multiple ways of learning and explaining reality liberates and transforms classroom life. Multicultural education allows for the heterogeneous social structures of African society to be represented in the schooling process. It infuses the entire school curriculum with the lives, experiences, works, practices, attributes, and dreams of the traditionally left out. Multiculturalism offers an emancipatory and liberatory education that frees both the formerly dominated and the former oppressor. Banks (1994, p. 1) describes it as “education for freedom that is essential in today’s ethnically polarized and troubled world.” Multicultural education validates a body of knowledge that deals with the social world and social experiences of the contemporary African student and teacher. It offers experiential realities that are multiples of cultural values, traditions, and histories of various subcultures with different worldviews. These worldviews have to find expressive voices or else they remain subordinated. Freire (1985, p. 72) suggests that, “[the] culture of silence, a result of power structural relationships between the dominated and the dominators” has to be replaced by a culture of voice to legitimize knowledge. Knowledge within the multicultural perspective is non-exclusionary and non-hegemonic; it involves the negotiation and sharing of power (Banks, 1994). In that spirit, schooling leads to the total liberation of the mind and the transformation of learning. Inclusive multicultural schooling is likely to contribute significantly to social, political, economic, cultural transformations, and human understanding. Curricula that are embedded in multivoices incorporate the best ideas and practices of multiple cultures without bias, prejudice or discrimination, ensuring that the local cultural contexts of teaching


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and learning remain pivotal to pedagogical practices (Rodwell, 1998). Multicultural knowledge is capable of transforming educators and students to “think critically, struggle against social injustices, and develop relations of community based on the principles of equality, freedom and justice” (Giroux, 1992, p. 200).

The Language Problem in African Schools The language of instruction in African schools is the major obstacle in students’ cognitive development and learning outcomes. Today, African schools teach already codified texts, written more often than not in a Western language and projecting “unfamiliar Western epistemologies and Western ideologies” (Bhola, 2002, p.13). Knowledge is embedded in language and African students must undertake dual translation to make sense of what they learn. They have to translate what is taught in a foreign language to their mother tongue and then retranslate it to the same foreign language in order to communicate ideas to the teacher. There is an intimate connection between language, meaning making, and practice. Learning in English or French violates the freedom of African students to learn in a language that is familiar and meaningful to them. Cleghorn and Rollnick (2002) report that the foreign content of learning also violates indigenous norms, values, and beliefs. Arguably, curricula presented in a foreign language supports acculturation, if not assimilation, into another set of societal norms. The effect of this acculturation is a disjuncture between the culture of the home and the culture and language of the school. To overcome the language problem in the classroom, sometimes teachers and students resort to code switching, that is switching from English to the mother tongue in order to clarify concepts and meanings. Although teachers often seem to hold negative attitudes toward code switching, there is considerable evidence that code switching can offer a natural, economical, and effective resource for establishing meaning in classrooms (see Adendorff, 1996 and Eastman, 1992, in Cleghorn and Rollnick, 2002). Code switching enables the teacher and the students to communicate in the same home language. Dei (2002, p. 175) supports the use of both languages (colonial language and home language), which he calls “language integration” and “an educational inclusive practice.” Because meaning belongs to culture rather than simply to language, code switching can facilitate the establishment of meaning by providing a linguistic and cultural bridge to understanding.

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One’s language is vital in understanding the cultural reality that surrounds one’s life. Fisherman (1996), quoted in Kirkness (1998), says about the relationship and importance of language and culture: Most of culture is in the language and is expressed in the language. Language is best able to express most easily, most accurately and most richly, the values, customs and overall interests of the culture. If you take language away from culture, you take away its greetings, its curses, its praises, its laws, its literature, its songs, its riddles, its proverbs, its cures, its wisdom, its prayers. You are losing those things that essentially are the way of life, the way of thought, the way of valuing, and a particular human reality . . . It is our unique gift from the Creator; therefore it is the mind, the spirit and the soul of people. Language is important because it is what ties us together, as in a family. (pp. 10–11)

What Kirkness says about the connectedness of aboriginal language and culture equally applies to African languages and culture. You can neither break away African languages from their cultures nor disconnect culture from language. The two have a dialectical relationship that gives meaning to the lives of Africans. Therefore, using foreign languages only as the languages of instruction deviates from the African indigenous cultures and knowledge and virtually ignores the indigenous values and beliefs that should enhance and assist students’ understanding. Indigenous languages used simultaneously with European languages act as languages of possibility and languages of liberation (Freire, 1996; Giroux, 1992) for deconstructing colonial misrepresentations of African knowledge. The languages that students are familiar with create cultural spaces and spheres for creating knowledge and not for knowledge transference, but places where knowledge is produced, not simply presented to or imposed on the learners. Students are presented with what Lankshear, Peters and Knobel (1996, p. 151) call “democratic and humanising alternatives,” which are symbolic resources of their culture.

Conclusion Democratizing school curricula within an African sociocultural milieu challenges the false-consciousness created by Eurocentric realities for African students. Democratizing curricula offers cultural diversity and cultural sensitivity that permits students to cross borders of meaning and knowledge, and establish social relations based on equality in multicultural spaces. Multicultural spaces enable African educators to examine and reflect on their own biases in order to identify cultural

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aspects that will better inform and enrich current and future curriculum decisions; decisions that will reverse the historical Eurocentric school system that worked to demean and disenfranchise indigenous students. African scholars and researchers are challenged to come up with ideas and theories that promote effective cross-cultural pedagogies that are sensitive to both traditional and modern forms of learning. They need to initiate curricula that keep pace with the social, cultural, political, and economic changes; changes that recognize the inevitability of persistent multiplicity and diversity among cultures rather than the inevitability of bland homogenization. An African multicultural discourse that closes social, racial, and cultural ranks in order to build, strengthen, and nurture solid alliances and coalitions between African and non-African cultural influences, is likely to be more effective in countering cultural imperialism, educational neocolonialism, and cultural hegemony. Indigenizing the curriculum in African schools entails portraying different perspectives in the curriculum, being as inclusive as possible. However, it should be noted that total equity and equality is not attainable. The challenge is in recognizing the importance of difference and incorporating cross-cultural experiences, crossing cultural borders and rejecting cultural stereotypes.

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Dei, G.J.S. (1994). Afrocentricity: A cornerstone of pedagogy. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 25, 1–13. Dei, G.J.S. (1998). Interrogating African development and the diaspora reality. Journal of Black Studies, 29 (2), 141–153. Dei, G.J.S. (2002). Situating race and equity concerns in school effectiveness discourse. In C. Reynolds and A. Griffith (Eds.), Equity and globalization in education (pp. 165–181). Calgary: Detselig Enterprises. Eggleston, J. (1977). The Sociology of the school curriculum. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Fanon, F. (1967). A dying colonialism. New York: Grove Press. Fanon, F. (1969). Towards the African revolution. New York: Grove Press. Foley, D.E. (1990). Learning capitalist culture: Deep in the heart of Tejas. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Freire, P. (1985). The politics of education: Culture, power, and liberation. South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey. Freire, P. (1996). Letters to Christina: Reflections on my life and work. New York: Routledge. Giroux, H. (1992). Border crossings: Cultural workers and the politics of education. New York: Routledge. Giroux, H. (1996). Is there a place for cultural studies in colleges of education? In H.A. Giroux, C. Lankshear, P. McLaren and M. Peters (Eds.), Counternarratives: Cultural studies and critical pedagogies in postmodern spaces (pp. 27–49). New York: Routledge. Hall, S. (1996). The global, the local, and the return of ethnicity. In S. Hall, D. Hubert and K. Thompson (Eds.), Modernity: An introduction to modern societies (pp. 613–619). Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. hooks, b. (1989). Talking back. Boston: South End Press. Kallaway, P. (Ed.), Apartheid and education: The education of black South Africans. Bloomfontein: Ravan Press. Kirkness, V.J. (1998). Our peoples’ education: Cut the shackles; Cut the crap; Cut the mustard. Canadian Journal of Native Education, 22 (1), 10–15. Lankshear, C., Peters, M. and Knobel, M. (1996). Critical pedagogy and cyberspace. In H.A. Giroux, C. Lankshear, P. McLaren and M. Peters (Eds.), Counternarratives: Cultural studies and critical pedagogies in postmodern spaces (pp. 139–157). New York: Routledge. Lawton, D. (1977). Class, culture and the curriculum. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Lemert, C. (Ed.) (1999). Social theory: The multicultural and classic readings. Oxford: Westview Press. Macaulay, R. (1994). Minute on Indian education. Postcolonial studies reader (pp. 428–430). New York: Routledge. Mazrui, A. (1993). Language and the quest for liberation in Africa: The legacy of Franz Fanon. Third World Quarterly, 14 (2), 348–365. Offiong, D. (1982). Imperialism and dependency: Obstacles to African development. Washington: Harvard University Press.


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Outlaw, L. (1987). African “philosophy”: Deconstruction and reconstructive challenges. Contemporary Philosophy: A New Survey, 5, 1–19. Peters, M. and Lankshear, C. (1994). Education and hermeneutics: A Freirean interpretation. In P.L. McLaren and C. Lankshear (Eds.), Politics of liberation: Paths from Freire (pp. 173–192). New York: Routledge. Rodney, W. (1982). How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Washington, D.C.: Harvard University Press. Rodwell, S. (1998). Internationalization or indigenization of educational management development? Some issues of cross-cultural transfer. Comparative Education, 34 (1), 36–53. Rust, V.D. (1991). Postmodernism and its comparative education implications. Comparative Education, 35 (4), 613–627. Schanack, K. (1994). Export of curriculum and educational ideas. Copenhagen: DLH. Thaman, K.H. (1993). Culture and the curriculum in South Pacific. Comparative Education, 29 (3), 244–259. wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonizing the mind: The politics of language in African literature. Portsmouth: Heinemann. West, C. (1999). The new cultural politics of difference. In C. Lemert, C. (Ed.), Social theory: The multicultural and classic readings. Oxford: Westview Press. Willis, P. (1990). Common culture. London: Oxford University Press. Young, R. (1990). White mythologies: Writing history and the West. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.


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Surveying Indigenous Knowledge, the Curriculum, and D evelopment in Africa: A Critical A frican V iewpoint Nkosinathi Mkosi

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his chapter is not meant to provide answers to the varied perceived problems identified and proffered by scholars and academicians pertinent to indigenous knowledge, nor is it intended to cause rapture in the indigenous knowledge discourses. Having said this, I have to note that I do make attempts at providing suggestions as to how some of the problems could be tackled. As well, what I do here is to add a critical voice to the calls for the acknowledgment of the possibilities of indigenous knowledge to ameliorate the woes experienced by the poor marginalized African communities. The principle agenda of this chapter is to gain vital insights in and exposure on indigenous knowledge as a discursive practice. Subsumed are the objectives to critically analyze the construct indigenous knowledge, and to explore its limitations as well as its possibilities and implications for education and development with particular reference to Africa. To realize these goals, I first provide a synoptic historico-descriptive analysis of indigenous knowledge. Then will follow an investigation of the epistemological foundations and processes perceived to distinguish indigenous knowledge from Western knowledge. A critique of indigenous knowledge will then precede an advancement of arguments for a case for indigenous knowledge in education and development in Africa. The concluding section contains commentaries informed by notions gleaned from the literature on indigenous knowledge.

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Indigenous Knowledge: An Historico-Descriptive Analysis Since the 1990s, indigenous knowledge appears to have suddenly been catapulted into the limelight, becoming the focus of a number of academic formations. Organizations like the Inter-institutional Consortium for Indigenous Knowledge (ICIK) domiciled at Pennsylvania State University and founded in 1995, The International Center for Indigenous Knowledge for Agriculture and Rural Development (ICIKARD) housed at Iowa State University and two Netherlands centers have been interrogating the construct of indigenous knowledge. Conferences have also been held on a variety of issues pertaining to indigenous knowledge including epistemological and practical questions related to its discursive practice, and how indigenous knowledge is valued and used. In short, and as a result of these initiatives, a field of study has emerged with its own publication, The Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor (Semali and Kincheloe, 1999). It appears that most authors have similar conceptions of the term indigenous, however, as Dei, Hall and Rosenberg (2000) claim, it is problematic to define indigenous knowledges, and equally difficult to demarcate the parameters for purposes of scrutiny. Williams and Muchena (1991) seem to concur when asserting that various definitions and fragmented theoretical conceptions of indigenous knowledge exist, and thus, they conclude, while citing Ette, that indigenous knowledge has a plethora of terminologies referring to it: “indigenous knowledge systems, indigenous technical knowledge, ethnoscience, local science, traditional science, people’s science, and village science” (p. 52). To these authors, these terminologies have negative connotations such as static, conservative, or backward (p. 52), an assumption that will be examined later. Mwadime (1999) states that the term indigenous began to be used around 1980. Maurial (1999) posits that indigenous “reflect ideological connotations, and, contemporarily, connotes plurality instead of otherness” (p. 64). Semali and Kincheloe (1999) note that because the term indigenous has been reduced to mean the primitive, the wild, and the natural, indigenous knowledge has also been accorded similar meanings. To millions of indigenous peoples of Africa and other parts of the globe indigenous knowledge is a significant tool used to exist meaningfully and harmoniously with their environment. To the indigenous communities IK reflects the dynamic way in which the residents of an area have come to understand themselves in relationship to their natural environment

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and how they organize that folk knowledge to flora and fauna, cultural beliefs, and history to enhance their lives. (Semali and Kincheloe, 1999, p. 3)

George (1999) suggests that the terms indigenous knowledge, traditional, lay beliefs, and common sense beliefs, refer to knowledge generated by a people in a particular societal context, and, commonly, indigenous knowledge is associated with people in non-Western, nonindustrialized, and traditional locales. The following excerpt seems to capture succinctly some foundational imperatives that undergird indigenous knowledge: We conceptualize an “indigenous knowledge” as a body of knowledge associated with the long-term occupancy of a certain place. This knowledge refers to traditional norms and social values, as well as to mental constructs that guide, organize, and regulate the people’s way of living experience and knowledge of a given social group, and forms the basis of decision making in the faces of challenges both familiar and unfamiliar. (Dei, Hall, and Rosenberg, 1999, p. 6)

If we pause momentarily to analyze this conception of indigenous knowledge, the problem of the parameters of indigenous knowledge becomes discernible. Let me use a crude illustration to enhance my proposition. In the case of South Africa, would the knowledge of the European settlers and colonizers who have been occupying South Africa for more than three hundred years be considered indigenous knowledge, or would it be considered foreign Western knowledge? When it appears that long-term occupancy of a certain place is a salient criterion for adjudicating a peculiar knowledge, indigenous or not, I would therefore presuppose an unambiguous definition of what longterm occupancy would mean in the context. It seems appropriate, therefore, that a comparison be made between indigenous knowledge and Western knowledge to facilitate better conceptualization, and to further identify epistemological underpinnings of indigenous knowledge.

Indigenous Knowledge and Western Knowledge: A Comparative Exercise I share Maurial’s (1999) view that constructing a bipolar model of indigenous knowledge versus Western knowledge is instrumental to the understanding of indigenous knowledge. She claims that indigenous knowledge differs from Western knowledge in that it is not found

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in archives or laboratories but it forms part of the daily lives of people (p. 63). Sillitoe (2000) seems to echo the preceding claim when he asserts that indigenous knowledge is not found in a “grand repository” (p. 2). George (1999) expresses the idea that indigenous knowledge is distinct from school knowledge in that it is not produced by following certain prescriptive rules or procedures, but is generated by people when attempting to find solutions for day-to-day problematic scenarios. Indigenous knowledge is not found in school curricula, except in rare cases, and the space of knowledge in the curricula is occupied and reserved for academic knowledge. One characteristic that appears to emerge consistently regarding indigenous knowledge is that it is orally transmitted from preceding generations (Castellano, 2000; Sillitoe, 2000). Apfell-Maglin (cited in Prakash, 1999), a point also supported by Quiroz (1999), observes that in an indigenous knowledge system, the people and their environment are not separate entities, mainly because indigenous knowledge is holistic and connected to nature. In addition, Mosha’s (1999) point that indigenous peoples experience life holistically appears to concur with the previous assertions. Furthermore, indigenous knowledge is “idiographic” that is, it is a knowledge of substantive content; while Western knowledge is “nomothetic” constituted by generalized kinds of knowledge (Nagel cited in Parrish, 1999, p. 269). Jegede (1999) indicates, for example, that Western scientific knowledge promotes rational thought, and the opposite could be true regarding indigenous knowledge. Similarly Shiva (2000) observes that indigenous knowledge has been defined as being unscientific because the epistemological foundations of Western knowledge were imposed on indigenous knowledge systems. I would concur here, but would add that this assumption has been one of the major reasons that have led to the devaluation, and the relegation of indigenous knowledge to a second-class status. Claims of a dichotomous relationship between the two concepts seem to abound; nonetheless similarities are identified. Dei (2000) argues that because indigenous knowledge exhibits an attribute— which is the accumulative nature of knowledge—common to knowledge, indigenous knowledge could be seen as dynamic as Western knowledge. Additionally, it possesses moral and cognitive conceptions about the environment and societal structures. This makes it compatible with Western scientific knowledge. Agrawal (1995) alleges that like any other knowledge, Western knowledge cannot be divorced from the day-to-day existence of people. This is also applicable to indigenous knowledge.


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Critiquing Indigenous Knowledge: Shortcomings, Significance, and Implications Indigenous knowledge seems to have potential as a solution to some problems of great magnitude experienced in Southern countries. While advocates of indigenous knowledge, whom Agrawal (1995) terms the neo-indigenistas, exalt the utilitarian value of indigenous knowledge (pp. 415–416), other authors identify some problem areas associated with its fundamental conceptual foundations and processes. Mwadime (1999) offers a noteworthy counsel when he asserts that it would be a folly and unwise to present indigenous knowledge as devoid of any shortcomings. Indigenous knowledge, he cautions, is not always correct and functional and, thus, has to be modified and adapted so it can effectively function within the contemporary practices and social reality. Along similar arguments, the IK Notes (2000) claim that indigenous knowledge practices in, for instance, West African schools tend not to be vigorously pursued. This is because of several constraints: human resource, financial, and political. For example, teachers having minimal training and previous education, local funds are scarce, and there are hegemonic roadblocks to implementation of curriculum innovations at primary and secondary levels. This preceding stance is given credence by George (1999). He posits that indigenous knowledge is not included in most school curricula, that there are no ready school materials to teach it, and that educators are not trained to “handle” it in classrooms. The implication of this statement could be that educators would have to be ingenious and creative if indigenous knowledge was to be hastily implemented, and the cost of producing teaching-learning and educator training materials might be a financial conundrum for some already impoverished Southern countries. Similarly, Semali (1999) contends that the process of implementing and integrating indigenous knowledge with the dominating school curriculum might prove difficult. A question that may have some relevance could be how nation-states that are ravaged by political, economical, social, and cultural problems of gigantic proportions, would afford and manage the implementation of indigenous knowledge? Serrano (cited in George, 1999) adds another dimension when noting that indigenous knowledge has to exist in Western settings if it has to be viable and if it is to be useful. Further, it is implied that although indigenous knowledge’s traditional methods of inquiry might add value to the existing research approach, they might not be able to produce knowledge that is generalizable or

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that can advance disciplinary knowledge (Abdullah and Stringer, 1999). Another concern regarding indigenous knowledge pertains to how it is to be collected, documented, preserved, disseminated, and, who will control the activities. Mwadime (1999) postulates that it is not clear how indigenous knowledge is to be recorded and utilized in policy, planning, and programming situations. Moreover, he raises awareness to the fact that indigenous knowledge might not be beneficial to the economically and politically underprivileged, especially when presented as a specialization discursive practice dominated by those already entrenched in educational and political hegemonic positions. Furthermore, he claims that indigenous knowledge might be less effective for the longterm planning due to its vulnerability to changes, and, its advocates and their related institutions might have to contend with a powerful lobby of more financially strong institutions, bilateral agencies and international transnational companies. Reynar (1999), on the other hand, notes that indigenous knowledge might only be beneficial for development if it is regarded as useful for the markets. Reynar adds that indigenous knowledge, to an extent, has been isolated from market forces and exposure to these forces might prelude its demise and, indigenous peoples might be shortchanged because financial compensation for knowledge among indigenous cultures is an incongruent practice to their belief systems. This factor might have serious repercussions for indigenous knowledge in particular and indigenous communities in general. The communities might be denied the opportunity to gain financially, if nothing else, from the knowledge they generate, and indigenous knowledge might be vulnerable and susceptible to exploitation and subsequent destruction. At this point, I deem it appropriate to present unanswered concerns posed by authors like Shiva (2000) and Kawell (2002) that are related to the epistemology and practices of indigenous knowledge, that is, who will decide what counts as knowledge? Who will count as the expert or innovator of indigenous knowledge? Who will have the right to control the circulation of knowledge and who will have the right to benefit from it? Dei, Hall and Rosenberg ask similar pertinent questions: How do we make sense of cognitive processes/categories of local people? How do we deal with questions of access, control, and ownership of knowledge? How do we protect local knowledges from systematization and commodification, and from being swallowed up by corporate material interests? How do we preserve indigenous knowledges? . . . (2000, p. 6)


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It would appear reasonable to state that for indigenous knowledges to occupy a meaningful position as vibrant fields of study in the academy, and, as possible instruments to alleviate the hardships of the poor and the marginalized, the preceding concerns be seriously interrogated for possible solutions. That being as it may, is it possible that indigenous knowledges could offer some respite from the hardships experienced by the disenfranchised in Africa? To address the question as much as possible, I argue that because indigenous knowledge has generated such tremendous interest in a wide spectrum of constituencies, ranging from the academy to governmental and quasi-governmental agencies, it could achieve a good number of possibilities. Indigenous knowledge is also apparently permeating all spheres of human endeavor, and shall have the potential for enhancing and ameliorating various situations that characterizes the daily existence of the globally excluded. Semali and Kincheloe (1999) emphasize the potential indigenous knowledge has for a multiplicity of societal aspects in variegated establishments, and these societal aspects could be construed to include curriculum related issues. The IK Notes (2000), claims that the educational reforms that have been taking place in Africa have generally created space for new curricula, and, as such, an “ ‘indigenous curricula’ ” might come to utilize this space. To avoid ambiguity, let me quickly digress to synoptically explicate how I operationalize the construct curriculum in this discourse. I shall use curriculum relatively in a broad sense. Curriculum shall be used to mean the decision on and planning of what is to be taught, the practice of the what that has been decided on, and planned to be taught. Additionally, it shall include the experience of those who are exposed to what is taught in all educational levels, ranging from kindergarten to high school, and extending to include institutions of higher learning and other sites where different forms of education are practiced. Also, I have deemed the following extracts worthy of reproducing here because they aptly and succinctly reflect the sentiment I harbor pertaining to curriculum: [C]urriculum studies of indigenous knowledge involves epistemological questions relating to both the production and consumption of knowledge, the relationship between culture and what is defined as successful learning, the contestation of all forms of knowledge production and the purposes of education itself. (Mosha, 2000, p. xiii) The curriculum is socially and historically located, and culturally determined. Curriculum does not develop in a vacuum but proceeds on the basis of beliefs—seldom made explicit—about how people learn,

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Nkosinathi Mkosi what human beings should be like, what society is. (Hooper cited in Forrest, 2000, p. 1)

The IK Notes suggest that the drive to promote African languages instruction, the gradual shifting of control toward local actors through decentralization of power, and the employment prospects of school leavers, have eroded the hegemony of the single standard Western curriculum and opened space for different and complementary approaches. Furthermore, I could infer from the Notes that innovative indigenous methods of community schooling could be applied within a formal educational framework. The list of dimensions of indigenous knowledge given by Williams and Muchena (1991) that may enrich curricula serves as a testimony to the potential of indigenous knowledge. The list contains the following as possible curricula areas that indigenous knowledge could enrich: physical sciences and related technologies (agriculture, ethnobotany, ethnoecology, medicine, climatology, engineering, irrigation), social sciences (politics, the military, economics, sociology, and ethnology), and humanities (communications, arts and crafts). The authors claim that the list is not even exhaustive of the possibilities of indigenous knowledge for curricula, and that it only serves as an illustration. From the list, it could be concluded that the potential indigenous knowledge has for enriching the curricula of educational disciplines is almost limitless. The Alaska Native Knowledge Network (http://www.ankn.uaf.edu.591/ cbcr.html) provides a “Curriculum Spiral Chart” cataloguing resources that illustrate ways that indigenous knowledge and Western knowledge might be combined in schools in a balanced, comprehensive, and culturally aligned curriculum framework that is possible to adapt to any local circumstances. African curricula designers could learn from this experience. Furthermore, Williams and Muchena (1991) claim that academics, development planners, and contributors to alternative development approaches have not efficiently analyzed the question of how indigenous knowledge systems might contribute to the discipline of agricultural education. They insist that indigenous knowledge systems could contribute to sustainable agriculture through agricultural education. These authors note that the combination of Western agricultural systems and indigenous knowledge systems might lead to an “emic-etic approach” to agricultural education, which might lead to a confluent curriculum (p. 54). Lovelace (cited in Williams and Muchena, 1991) describes an emic analysis of behavior or phenomenon as based on internal structural or functional elements of a particular cultural system,


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and an etic analysis based on predetermined general concepts external to that cultural system. My interpretation is that notions, constructs, epistemologies, and practices of an “alien” culture that fall outside a particular indigenous culture, could be utilized in the indigenous culture to effect enhancement and to ensure an interface between the cultures. I would like to note that in Williams and Muchena’s scheme of things caution should be taken to be vigilant against the hegemony of one culture. On another forum, it may be informative to explore the question of how the dominance of one cultural system could be checked. Similar to Williams and Muchena, Mwadime (1999) seems to see something in the application of indigenous agricultural systems and traditional food processing methods. These indigenous agricultural systems and food processing methods could be incorporated into the agricultural curricula of all levels of education in South and North countries to, if nothing else, present learners with a multidimensional view of agricultural systems. Another significant implication of indigenous knowledge for educational research is the possibility of enriching these processes. Indigenous methods of enquiry may add a new viable dimension to the dominating Western methods and research tools used (Abdullah and Stringer, 1999). In that vein, indigenous knowledge could have profound potential for educational and social development that would also broaden the relevance of the dominant Western knowledges and epistemologies. In terms of the related issues of indigenous epistemologies, Archie Mafeje, who recently delivered the third annual ZK Matthews Memorial Lecture at the University of Fort Hare, South Africa, had some interesting points to say about the importance of indigenous ways of knowing (Thomas, 2004). Mafeje maintained that there is a need for new research protocols, a need to deconstruct the “received systems of knowledge [and ways of knowing]” (cited in Thomas, p. 1). It is then that there should be reconstruction. Furthermore, Mafeje cautioned South African universities about how they are still highly Eurocentric in their approach to education and knowledge formations, and that they do not strive enough for the “indigenization of knowledge— an approach encompassing, but broader than, the African Renaissance and Afro-centrism, and transcending disciplinary boundaries, while also incorporating indigenous methods and knowledge” (cited in Thomas, 2004, p. 1). I contend that these assumptions speak to all of Africa’s universities. Moreover, the implementation of indigenous knowledge might facilitate the elucidation of aspects rendered cloudy to indigenous students mainly due to a one-dimensional and culturally detached curriculum, and such implementation might counteract epistemicide, that is,

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the “destruction of the knowledge of a given social group” (Krijnik, 1999, p. 187). Mule (1999) and Quiroz (1999) also advance arguments that appear to concur with the preceding one. They claim that the inclusion of indigenous knowledge could make many curricula relevant to students, and might equip them with a cultural tool to make sense of the world in which they live. In addition, indigenous music education, as Abrokwaa (1999) observes, which comprises music history, practice, and repertoire, can also enrich school and university curricula. Additionally, African universities curricula could introduce—with rigor—programs that contain elements of indigenous knowledge systems (Barnhardt, 1991). Mwadime (1999) adds an interesting proposition to the equation when he contends that urbanized indigenous populations could be the focus of studies to establish what indigenous strategies they use to cope, and how they generate new knowledge or initiatives to address social problems. It might be a worthwhile activity to inquire about how indigenous knowledge could facilitate the survival of indigenous peoples in the Diaspora. It is on the basis of the preceding discussions and perspectives, therefore, that I see a great possibility for indigenous knowledge to contribute to the lessening of development problems that negatively impact upon the lives of the poor and the marginalized in, among other places, sub-Saharan Africa. By using indigenous knowledge systems, with other systems, in the educational situations in the continent, it may not be impossible to finally create culturally and socially viable spaces of learning, which could all be deployed to usher novel realities of sustainable social development. Again, since development appears to be a subject of contestation, I must state my conception of development in this discussion. I certainly do not subscribe to the inherent belief of the modernization paradigm that purports that “[t]o be ‘developed’ is to become like a rich-world society, especially the western variant” (Toh, 1988, p. 123). Rather, I would align myself with people-centered approaches, such as bottom-up development initiatives that are not focused on economic growth and top-down diffusion of growth impulses (Telfer, 2002). The development approach that I would subscribe to, therefore, is the one that has indigenousness as its primary focus, which should mean that it is community centered, locally conceived and controlled and, as Hashimoto (2002) notes fits the overall indigenous locality. Development not only means targeting socioeconomic, political, and educational problems of the African countries but also the deliberate targeting of the spiritual and cultural rejuvenation of African societies. The agenda of this development


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ought to be set by the African people themselves, and the meanings attached to constructs associated with the development discourse ought to be people-generated and should not be imperatives and impositions originating from powerful external structures. One aspect of the positive development contributions that indigenous knowledge systems could make is in the area of environmental sustainability. George (1999) notes that indigenous knowledge could play a worthwhile role in environmental management, and might sensitize the exploiters of natural resources in Southern countries to the destruction and possible depletion of the environment. Indigenous knowledge could also educate them how the environmental integrity, in both the local and global situations, should be respected, honored, and valued. In this regard, Wane (2000) illustrates, to a degree, how indigenous knowledge could be beneficial in ecological settings. Wane observes that Kenyan women lament the destruction of medicinal flora owing to “modern farming practices” (pp. 62–63). Dei (2000) adds that incorporating indigenous knowledge holds significant possibilities for social and ecological sustainability. For example, findings by the Medical Research Council of South Africa on five South African plants that are used as traditional medicine, and that could be used to bring relief to those inflicted with HIV/AIDS, give credence to arguments in support of indigenous knowledge (Davids, 2003). One more significant contribution indigenous knowledge could make, is for cultural revaluing, as Semali (1999) notes, among indigenous peoples. I am reasonably convinced that the curriculum might contribute significantly in this regard. It appears axiomatic, therefore, that the introduction of the hegemonic Western knowledge through various historical and economical processes like colonization and globalization led to the invalidation and marginalization of indigenous cultures. I reiterate the thesis that the inclusion and revival of “indigenousness” in curricula and policies and practices of societal institutions might have profound effects on the spirituality of the poor. Williams and Muchena’s (1991) assertions that “there is a great need for a cultural system in the teaching-learning process, given the top-down approach and the assumed superiority of the technological transfer model in developing countries,” also appears relevant here (p. 54). That culture is a crucial feature in the formation of a peoples’ common identity should also be axiomatic, and that language, which mirrors culture because “it is self part of a culture” (Mufwene, 2001, p. 25), is “central to a people’s definition of themselves” (Ngugi wa Thiong’o cited in Mule, 1999, p. 235), is, indeed, a reasonable claim. Indigenous knowledge might provide the cultural link between schools, university,

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and community. I deem this link salient because, for the most part, African indigenous learners are subjected to culturally alienating institutions that prioritize Western traditions, norms, and customs (Barnhardt, 1991). Indigenous knowledge—understood to be intimately linked to a people’s culture—could, therefore facilitate the spiritual rebirth, or a new project of “a cultural renaissance” (Davis and Partridge, 2001, p. 5) for marginalized African peoples to become self-actualizing communities and individuals with positive self-identities, partially achieved through the curriculum. Equally significant is the issue of underachieving students in schooling, an issue normally attributed to “cultural gaps” between the expectations of the school curriculum and those of the cultures in which the student is socialized (Thaman, 2000).

Conclusions It appears as if what is reflected and is not incorporated in the curriculum is symptomatic of the hegemonic struggles pertaining to knowledge, and therefore, indigenous knowledge might possibly be affected, positively or negatively, by these power struggles. Thus, an appeal could be made to those who are possessors of intellectual capital and power, and those in which political power is invested, to acknowledge the prospects of indigenous knowledge. To Wangoola (2000, p. 275), as explicated in his Mpambo (or African multiversity) project, it is the right time “to articulate a new synthesis between . . . indigenous knowledges and other knowledges.” Again, skeptics may cite economic factors as possible deterrents and roadblocks to the practical application of indigenous knowledge, as if indigenous knowledge and its inherent potential possibilities are newly discovered phenomena. They seem to postulate that the application of indigenous knowledge will require enormous and extraordinary financial and logistical resources to be effectively implemented, which may be viable at this point in time, but efforts should be made to achieve this important educational and development objective. Most of the resources are already in place, as had been indicated. In sum, there is so much that should be gained, indeed, harnessed, from indigenous peoples and their knowledges, and it is high time to reconcile these with conventional knowledges so as to serve the interests of humanity more effectively, and, undoubtedly, more inclusively.

References Abdullah, J. and Stringer, E. (1999). Indigenous knowledge, indigenous learning, indigenous research. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.),


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What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 143–155). New York: Falmer Press. Abrokwaa, C.K. (1999). Indigenous music education in Africa. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 191–207). New York: Falmer Press. Agrawal, A. (1995). Dismantling the divide between indigenous and scientific knowledge. Development and Change, 26, 413–439. Alaska Native Knowledge Network. Welcome to culturally-based curriculum resources. Alaska Native Knowledge Network. Retrieved June 6, 2003 from http://www.ankn.uaf.edu/:591/cbcr3.html Barnhardt, R. (1991). Higher education in the fourth world: Indigenous people take control. Canadian Journal of Native Education, 18 (2): 1–20. Retrieved on June 18, 2003, from http://www.ankn.uaf.edu/winhec/ FourthWorld.html Castellano, M.B. (2000). Updating aboriginal traditions of knowledge. In G.J. Dei, B.L. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. 21–35). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Davids, N. (March 30, 2003). Traditional cures hold seeds of hope. The Sunday Times, p. 1. Retrieved March 30, 2003, from http://sundaytimes.co.za/ 2003/03/30/news35.asp Davis, S. and Partridge, W. (2001). Promoting the development of indigenous peoples in Latin America. The World Bank Group, 1–5. Retrieved June 18, 2003 from http://wbln0018.worldbank.org/essd/essd.nsf/0/ 03f1bda268d0989d852567cc0077f60a? Dei, G.J. (2000). African development: The relevance and Implications of “Indigenousness.” In G.J.S. Dei, D.L. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. 70–86). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Dei, G.J., Hall, D.L. and Rosenberg, D.G. (2000) (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Forrest, S. (April 3–7, 2000). Indigenous knowledge and its representation within Western Australia’s new curriculum Framework. [Refereed paper presented at the Australia Indigenous Education Conference, Fremantle]. Retrieved June 18, 2003 from http://www.kk.ecu.edu.au/sub/schoola/ research/confs/aiec/papers/sforrest02.htm George, J.M. (1999). Indigenous knowledge as a component of the school curriculum. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge?: Voices from the academy (pp. 79–94). New York: Falmer Press. Hashimoto, A. (2002). Tourism and socio-cultural development issues. In R. Sharpley and D. Tefler (Eds.), Tourism and development: Concepts and issues (pp. 202–230). Tonawanda, New York: Channel View Publications. IK Notes (2000, July). Indigenous knowledge goes to school: Potential and perils of community education in the Western Sahel. IK Notes, No. 2. Retrieved June 18, 2003, from www.worldbank.org/afr/ik/iknt22.pdf

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Jegede, O.J. (1999). Science education in nonwestern cultures: Towards a theory of collateral learning. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 119–142). New York: Falmer Press. Kawell, J. (2002, March/April). Who owns knowledge? NACLA Report on the Americas, 35 (1): 1–4. Retrieved January 28, 2003, from Academic Premier Search databases. Available at the University of Alberta web site. Krijnik, G. (1999). Indigenous knowledge and ethnomathematics in the Brazilian landless people Education. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 179–189). New York: Falmer Press. Maurial, M. (1999). Indigenous knowledge and schooling: A continuum between conflict and dialogue. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 59–77). New York: Falmer Press. Mosha, R.S. (1999). The inseparable link between intellectual and spiritual formation of indigenous knowledge and education: A case study in Tanzania. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge?: Voices from the academy (pp. 209–223). New York: Falmer Press. Mosha, R.S. (2000). The heartbeat of indigenous Africa: A study of the Chagga educational system. New York & London: Garland Publishing. Mufwene, S.S. (2001). Colonization, globalization, and the future of languages in the twenty-first century. 1–53. Retrieved February 7, 2003 from http:// www.humanities.uchicago.edu/faculty/mufwene/mufw_colonization.html Mule, L. (1999). Indigenous languages in the school curriculum: What happened to Kiswahili in Kenya? In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 227–242). New York: Falmer Press. Mwadime, R.K. (1999). Indigenous knowledge systems for an alternative culture in science: The role of nutritionists in Africa. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 243–267). New York: Falmer Press. Parrish, A.M. (1999) Agricultural extension education and the transfer of knowledge in an Egyptian oasis. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 269–283). New York: Falmer Press. Prakash, M.S. (1999). Indigenous knowledge systems-ecological literacy through initiation into people’s science. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 157–178). New York: Falmer Press. Quiroz, C. (1999). Local knowledge systems and vocational education in developing countries. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 269–283). New York: Falmer Press. Reynar, R. (1999). Indigenous people’s knowledge and education: A tool for development. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous


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knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 269–283). New York: Falmer Press. Semali, L.M. (1999). Community as classroom: (Re)valuing indigenous literacy. In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 95–118). New York: Falmer Press. Semali, L.M., and Kincheloe, J.L. (1999). Introduction: What is indigenous knowledge and why should we study it? In L.M. Semali and J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? : Voices from the academy (pp. 3–57). New York: Falmer Press. Shiva, N. (2000). Foreword: Cultural diversity and the politics of knowledge. In G.J. Dei, B.L. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. vii–x). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Sillitoe, P. (December, 2000). Let them eat cake: Indigenous knowledge, science and the “Poorest of the poor.” Anthropology Today, 1–8. Retrieved January 28, 2003, from Academic Premier Search databases. Available at the University of Alberta web site. Telfer, D. (2002). The evolution of tourism and development theory. In R. Sharpley and D. Tefler (Eds.), Tourism and development: Concepts and issues (pp. 35–80). Tonawanda, New York: Channel View Publications. Thaman, K.H. (2000). Interfacing global and indigenous knowledge for improved learning. [Paper presented at the UNESCO-APEID International Conference on Education]. Retrieved June 18, 2003 from http:// unescobkk.org/education/aceid/Conference/Panel/_2/Thaman.doc Thomas, C. (January 20, 2004). Mafeje confronts higher education. Fort Hare Today, 1–3. Retrieved March 10, 2004, from http://www.ufh.ac.za/ news_view.asp?newsref⫽133 Toh, S. (1988). Justice and development. In D. Hicks (Ed.), Education for peace (pp. 119–135). London, UK: Routledge. Wane, N.N. (2000). Indigenous knowledge: Lessons from the elders—A Kenyan case study. In G.J. Dei, B.L. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. 54–67). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Wangoola, P. (2000). Mpambo, the African multiversity: A philosophy to rekindle the African spirit. In G.J. Dei, B.L. Hall and D.G. Rosenberg (Eds.), Indigenous knowledges in global contexts: Multiple readings of our world (pp. 265–277). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Williams, D.L. and Muchena, O.N. (1991). Utilizing indigenous knowledge systems in agricultural education to promote sustainable agriculture. Journal of Agricultural education, 32 (4): 52–56.


6

Language I ssues in African S chool Set tings: Problems and Prospects in At taining E ducation For All Ailie Cleghorn

This chapter explores some key issues relating to the language-in-

education debate, with special reference to sub-Saharan anglophone Africa.1 The issues to be discussed are pedagogical, economic, and political in nature; they are looked at in terms of the problems that language can pose for teachers and learners as well as in terms of some possible solutions.

Background: The Language-in-Education Debate The language-in-education debate touches on economic, political, and pedagogical factors in complex ways. In countries where many different home languages are spoken, the debate tends to center on the choice of language for initial instruction.2 The trend until recently has been to select the former colonial language, especially when classes are made up of learners from several language backgrounds, and, when there are few if any text materials available in local languages.3 English has thus been the language of choice in most Eastern and Southern African countries, French the language of choice in many of the former colonies of West Africa, and Portuguese the language of choice in Mozambique and Angola. Some politicians have argued in favor of the former colonial language due to the perceived risk of rivalry between the different

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ethnic groups should one language be chosen over another. Critical theorists counter this point as evidence that the hegemony of the West persists through the minds of the Ministry and other policy makers (see chapter 10 by Diaw and chapter 8 by Egbo in this volume). Regardless, when a former colonial language such as English is used as the language of instruction (LOI), especially in a “submersion” manner, difficult pedagogical, social, and teacher education problems arise. The particular purpose of this chapter is to highlight the critical role that language serves to play in bringing about Education for All (EFA) (UNESCO, 2000). EFA requires that language be used effectively to bring about understanding of subject content as well as providing learners with access to whatever language of wider communication is needed for higher education and/or global participation. In the absence of a wellthought-out and effective bilingual program (Benson, 2004), this may mean using the learner’s home language (L1) from the first grade until the end of the primary cycle, at least. At other times it may mean grouping students in the classroom according to the language they know best so that those who understand what has been taught via the LOI can explain the meaning to their peers. It may mean that the teacher uses code-switching so that those whose knowledge of the instructional language is limited, have a chance to hear the ideas reformulated or translated in their own language. Thus, the position taken here is that there are various strategies that can be employed to create meaningful learning contexts. When learning is meaningful, motivation to stay in school to learn more is fostered (Wells, 1999). One of the aims of EFA is to increase the number of years that young people stay in school; schooling takes on added meaning if the learner’s own language (L1) is not only used at school but is an important part of the curriculum from the earliest primary grades, in a climate that promotes literacy in the L1 and L2. It is via the use of the local (L1) as well the official instructional language (LOI/L2) that access to both local and global knowledge may be provided. The sociocultural/linguistic contexts of schooling in most African countries vary along a number of dimensions, according to such matters as whether or not a school is located in a rural, urban, or semi-urban area. The language environment of the school in each type of locale varies accordingly, for example in terms of the amount of out-of-school exposure to spoken or written forms of the LOI. In addition, there is a sharp economic and lifestyle gradient between urban and rural life in most parts of Africa. Thus, in anglophone African urban school settings, English may be considered a second language because of its use in the immediate environment for business and commerce as well as for

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communication between the speakers of different African languages who populate the cities. Under these circumstances there may be relatively frequent exposure to English and increasingly through the media and the internet, providing learners with evident reasons to acquire English as an L2. In contrast, in rural areas English may be considered a foreign language since it is not often used in the local community; then, out-of-school exposure to spoken or written forms of English is likely to be rare. While the second language/foreign language distinction may be too sharp, it is important for understanding the range of learners’ language experiences, and for thinking about language-ineducation policies as these relate in particular to the training of regular teachers as well as teachers of English-as-a-second-language (Cleghorn and Rollnick, 2002; Johnson and Swain, 1997). The role of culture in language learning deserves more than a brief mention. The point to establish here is when learners move from L1 situations (home community) to L2 situations (school), much more than language changes: often the content of available books is foreign, and many of the concepts taught in school are foreign, sometimes lacking familiar equivalents in the local language and culture. In addition, there may be a gap between the home-based norms governing interaction between children and adults and the normative expectations for behavior at school (Shumba, 1999a and b). Economic Considerations Numerous studies of instruction in African schools give evidence of patterns of instruction that can be attributed indirectly to persistent poverty (Cleghorn, 1992; Cleghorn, Merritt and Abagi, 1989; Dube and Cleghorn, 1999; Fuller and Snyder, 1991; Prophet and Rowell, 1990; Rubagumya, 1994; Shumba, 1999b). In Kenya, Zimbabwe, and Botswana, for example, the demand for schooling over the last 20 years has far outstripped the ability of governments to train sufficient number of teachers and to provide enough space at the secondary level to allow EFA to be realized (UNESCO, 2000). As a result, primary level classes may contain as many as 90 pupils; to meet the demand teachers must sometimes be deployed before they are trained at all. The proliferation of in-service and distance teacher certification courses in several countries is attempting to fill the training gap without taking teachers out of the classrooms. As yet however, it is rare to find language learning or other subject specialists at the primary level, where one could argue they are most needed.

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Economic factors interact with language issues as well as with established ways of evaluating student achievement. End-of-primary national examinations, for example, tend to act as the main selection device for the number of primary school graduates for whom there are secondary school seats (World Bank, 1997). In some countries, this means that up to 70 percent of primary school students must “fail” because the examination pass mark is set to include only the number for whom there are available spaces. The result is that there are a large number of students whose schooling terminates at the primary level, virtually cutting off the full development of literacy and numeracy skills as well as the eventual chance for decently paid work in the formal sector, possibly affecting their self-esteem and hope for the future (Hewlett, 1995). These students add to the dropout rate but should actually be considered push-outs.4 The meaning attached to school-dropout/push-out is enormous; life chances come to an end. This is reflected in the fierce competition that arises within and between schools in some countries due to the publication of examination results by region and by school, with further competition ensuing to gain entry to the top ranking schools. Teachers also are evaluated by this ranking, thus teaching is sometimes overly oriented to examinations, with old examinations taking the place of lesson plans, teacher creativity, and curriculum innovation. Since the LOI-only examinations are often multiple choice in format requiring short, fixed answers, instruction tends to emphasize rote question and answer routines requiring single word answers so that students are prepared to recognize the key (English) words in the examination.5 Although much more could be said about patterns of classroom discourse (see Arthur, 1994, 1996; Fuller and Snyder, 1991; Hornberger and Chick, 2001; Wright, 2001) there is ample evidence to suggest that the focus on examinations tends to reinforce less than effective instructional patterns (Cleghorn, 2003; Mbatha, 2003). Political Considerations The language-in-education debate is also heavily political, not only in Africa but in other parts of the world such as the United States where speakers of different languages come together and the language or languages to be used in school are not fully agreed upon (Beykont, 2000; Cummins and Corson, 1997). What is deemed best by politicians for the society as a whole is often at odds with what researchers consider best for individual learners; educators, teachers, parents, and learners get caught in the middle. Complicating the matter further is the pressure imposed by the widespread status of English as well as a popular


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misconception that the use of the L1 in school will impede children’s learning. For example, one set of studies carried out in Zimbabwe found that rural parents, school heads, and teachers favored the use of English as early as preschool even though the L1, Shona, was shared by all concerned and could have been used exclusively or bilingually along with English (Alexander, 1992; Cleghorn and Prochner, 2003; Prochner, 2002). An earlier study in Kenya found that the constant presence of school inspectors in an urban area reinforced teachers’ inclination to “stick to English” even where Kiswahili might just as easily have been used as an L1/LOI (Cleghorn, Merritt and Abagi, 1989). The “push” for English as early as possible is not based on sound evidence but on a faulty understanding of what is required for social mobility (to “get ahead”). In fact, there is ample research evidence that bilingually taught children perform better, both in subject matter learning, and in learning the L2 (Benson, 2004; Bunyi, 1999; Cummins, 1996; Durgunoglu and Verhoeven, 1998; Genesee, 1987 and 1993; Hovens, 2002; Johnson and Swain, 1997; Lightbown and Spada, 1999; Rollnick, 2000; Stroud, 2002). The pressure to teach exclusively via English in some African countries may be related to postcolonial matters of elitism, reflecting the wish of some policy makers to be associated with the power of English. This may be why the voices of politicians, researchers, teachers, and parents tend to fall on each others’ deaf ears. There is however, an urgent need for open dialogue and mutual understanding so that both individual and societal requirements are addressed. Two suggestions for language policy makers follow. First, consideration should be given to decentralizing languagein-education policy to allow for rural–urban diversity in school populations and the varied language environments of schools. That is, schooling might be more effective for all if school communities (including parents) were to determine which language or languages would best meet the learners’ needs. Second, knowledge of subject matter needs to be disentangled from the language of examinations. Subject matter knowledge could be tested via the language that students know best (orally if necessary), while understanding, speaking, reading, and writing abilities in the L2/LOI could be tested independently, as a subject. In this regard, it is important for the reader to understand that knowledge among second language learners is not directly tied to the language it has been taught in, but rather becomes integrated within the context of the L1 (Cummins and Corson, 1997). Hence, what is known is more easily expressed via the language with which a person is most comfortable.

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Pedagogical Considerations: Language and Culture Meet in the Classroom Studies on the teaching of science and mathematics via English in African classrooms (Adler, 1998; Clark and Ramahlape, 1999; Cleghorn et al., 1998; Sanders, 1997; Shumba, 1999 a and b) provide insight into the complex manner in which language and culture meet in the classroom, requiring teachers and learners to “travel” between languages and cultures in a process that has been referred to as border crossing (Aikenhead and Jegede, 1999; Cobern, 1998; Giroux, 1992; Heath, 1983). Border crossing refers to the ability to shift cognitively as well as culturally from one worldview to another. Worldview refers to the taken-for-granted understandings that each cultural group holds about the natural world; it refers to a fundamental organization of the mind, a way of looking, and of understanding (Cobern, 1998).The difference between the worldview represented by the school and the worldview that stems from the home community may be inconsequential if children have been exposed through the media or in preschool about what to expect in school. Where this exposure has not been available, as in some rural African communities, the difference between the home and school worldviews may be great, creating an hazardous if not impossible journey from one to the other, greatly exacerbated by instruction in a not yet mastered L2. When the concept of border crossing is applied to teaching situations in which essentially foreign curricula are taught via a former colonial L2, it is necessary for the learner to cross linguistic, cultural, and cognitive borders in order to understand what is taught. Teaching thus becomes a form of cultural transmission and learning a form of acculturation, culture here being defined in terms of a system of meaning and symbols, including ways of thinking and views of the nature of phenomena (Aikenhead, 1996; Geertz, 1973; Ogawa, 1998; Waldrip and Taylor, 1999). Some would argue that this process is akin to oppression coming through the globalization of Western-style schooling (Diaw, 2002; wa Thiong’o, 1987; see also Abagi, chapter 16 this book). The foregoing comments bring us to Vygotsky’s (1978, 1986) position that the role of the teacher is to guide the learner beyond what he/she knows or could learn on his or her own (the zone of proximal development—ZPD). Teaching and learning thus link social action (interaction) with cognition. The principal goal then is to provide “an environment in which students, however diverse their backgrounds, engage collaboratively in productive, purposeful activities which enable them to take over the culture’s tool-kit of skills, knowledge and values


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(my emphasis) so that they are able to participate effectively in the practices of the larger society” (Wells, 1999, p. 335). This well accepted theory which evolved out of monocultural/lingual school conditions in the West, is thrown into question when education comes via an L2 and the content of the curriculum represents a culture that is foreign to the learner. We then need to ask whose tool-kit of skills, knowledge and values is to be learned? Shumba (1999b) adds to our understanding of the intimate relation between language, culture, and cognition. He notes the ways in which Zimbabwean behavioral norms influence what is taught in school. Normal behaviour [of Zimbabwean children] requires observing and respecting the linear hierarchy in which younger members . . . have lesser privilege to quer y, criticise, and contribute to decision making. . . .Children who are inquisitive are often chided for being too clever. . . . (Shumba, 1999b: 336)

Shumba further observes that traditional African norms governing interaction between children and adults may affect the inclination of learners to ask why things happen the way they do; such questions might challenge the authority of adults as well as traditional explanations of cause and effect (worldview), for example. Thus, as Serpell (1993) also notes, societal norms are likely to affect teachers’ instructional styles as well as teacher–student relations in the classroom, again for reasons relating to traditional authority relations and the preservation of important values and beliefs. The manner in which cultural border crossing intersects with classroom language use is also shown by Clark and Ramahlape (1999) in a study which drew on South African students’ traditional beliefs about the causes of lightning to entertain alternative explanations as rooted in Western science. When students were permitted to use their L1 in class to discuss their beliefs about lightning and to speculate about its causes, the discussion became lively. The students were actively engaged, an unlikely occurrence had they been required to “stick to English,” the LOI which was not well enough mastered to use for purposes other than the ritualized question/single-word-answer/response pattern that has been reported in many developing country classrooms. To quote: they were given the chance to talk about something that genuinely interested them. . . . many of them were going “minds on” during the lesson . . . being able to express themselves in the mother tongue . . . students felt freer to venture an opinion about something which is located in their everyday experiences . . . by holding such a

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discussion in science served to value students’ traditional beliefs . . . (Clark and Ramahlape, 1999: 17)

This account is important for several reasons. First of all, we see how use of the learners’ L1 provides a vehicle for the kind of border crossing that allows for learning to take place. Second, it shows that “bilingual” instruction allows teachers to move away from what Hornberger and Chick (2001) call “safe talk”—the ritualized question–answer routines that may allow teachers and students to avoid expressing themselves in the LOI. Third, the account also shows that there can be cultural consistency in “bilingual” classrooms, as Benson (2004) reports from her work in Mozambique. Finally, the example demonstrates that social constructivist teaching approaches can be used in school settings where students are accustomed to rote learning within an hierarchical, authoritarian system (Shumba, 1999b). Social constructivism points to the importance of culture and context in understanding what occurs in society and constructing knowledge based on this understanding. For example, when students’ prior knowledge is rooted in traditional knowledge and if that knowledge is not brought into classroom lessons, a form of collateral learning can be expected to take place. Collateral learning (Jegede, 1995) refers to the extent to which learners may compartmentalize new knowledge alongside knowledge that stems from prior experience, rather than integrating the new with prior knowledge. Cobern (1998) referred to this as cognitive apartheid. While some students are adept at compartmentalizing and thus perform well on examinations that test for recall of disconnected facts, these may be the very students who experience difficulty once they enter university. They have not had the chance to develop academic literacy skills and may therefore not be well prepared to analyze text and to think independently (Hewlett, 1995; Moyo, 1993; Rollnick and Manyatsi, 1997; Street, 2001a). Setati and Adler (2000) add a cognitive/theoretical dimension to this discussion from their study of mathematics teaching in South Africa. They found that teachers expected all written work to be in English for two reasons. First, official policy required that teaching be in English, thus written work was particularly susceptible to scrutiny by school inspectors. Second, written work in schools everywhere is often considered the only “real” work and a necessary preparation for formal examinations. However, Setati and Adler found that the students used their L1 first to discuss concepts informally among themselves, then switched to English for formal conceptual discourse. This was interpreted to mean that learning may be taking place at the interface of the two languages,


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again supporting the idea that the L1 needs official status in the classroom in order to promote learning. The foregoing suggests that English as the LOI supports acculturation, if not assimilation, into another culture’s way of looking (worldview) and another set of societal norms. This is because what is taught in school reflects a Western form of culture that is associated with English speakers and, the content of the curriculum often violates indigenous norms, values, and beliefs. Stated differently, a disjunction between the culture and language of the home and the culture and language of the school occurs which requires the learner to literally cross borders in going from one to the other. In this, the schoolbag can be seen as a kind of metaphorical transitional object, rarely opened once inside a rural African home since there are often many chores to be completed before nightfall and there may be no artificial light under which to study. Although schooling everywhere requires a kind of border crossing, from not knowing to knowing at the very least, it is important to think about the nature of the kinds of borders that need to be crossed by many African students in the transition from home community to school.

Code-Switching and Code-Mixing Several studies suggest that code-switching and code-mixing may help teachers to convey the meaning of what is being taught, thus helping students to cross linguistic, cultural, and cognitive borders (Bailey and Nunan, 1996; Brock-Utne, 2003; Cleghorn, 1992; Dube and Cleghorn, 1999; Eastman, 1992; Myers-Scotton, 1993). Code-switching refers to a switch in language that takes place between sentences, from L1 to L2 or vice versa. Code-mixing takes place within the same sentence where the alteration occurs for single words or phrases. Code-switching can be systematic and helpful, for example when a teacher notices that students do not understand, the information can be translated or explained in the L1. Code-mixing may be used when the teacher’s spontaneous command of the LOI is limited as well as to “slot in” formal terms for which there is no immediate L1 translation. This of course depends on the teacher’s facility with the learners’ L1. A mixture of code-switching and code-mixing was observed in a lively lesson on soil erosion in a grade 7 class in rural Kenya (Cleghorn, 1992, 2003). The lesson was taught by a young female teacher who was not yet formally trained. The students sat on the mud floor of the parent-constructed classroom; there were no desks, blackboard, or books. Outside the classroom was a large, eroded field that the teacher

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gestured to frequently as she spoke. The lesson captured the attention of the students. Single words and definitions that students would need to know for the examination were emphasized by being spoken in English, yet they were contextualized within the students’ L1. The lesson flowed easily, with key terms such as soil erosion, humus, subsoil, clearly defined with everyday equivalent expressions such as bare land added to insure that meaning was established. The pitfalls of language were illustrated in a grade 3 science lesson in Kenya (Abagi and Cleghorn, 1990). Here the task was to clarify the meaning of the word air.6 However, there was sound confusion between the English word gas and the Luo word ngas which means “ladder.” One of the children thought that the lesson was about the use of a ladder. In turn, the teacher’s apparent hesitation to switch to Luo resulted in no clarification of the linguistic confusion; the chance for a quick lesson in language was lost when the student’s answer to the teacher’s question, “What is gas?” was simply regarded as incorrect. Had the teacher not felt constrained to “stick to English” the potential of code-switching in such circumstances might have been realized. Code-switching can clarify linguistically based confusion, render the culturally unfamiliar familiar, make the implicit explicit, and provide the English vocabulary required for examination purposes, thus raising the learners’ meta-linguistic awareness. More importantly, use of the learners’ L1 in the classroom points to its importance, with as yet to be calculated effects for the learners’ personal identity, self-esteem, and inclination to stay in school. Teachers in linguistically diverse school settings thus need explicit knowledge about how languages are learned by different age groups of learners. Teaching and learning of the L2/LOI may best be thought of as a separate issue from subject matter teaching, with explicit attention being given to teaching the L2 in ways that are in accord with the language learning abilities of the age group in question (Genesee, 1987; Lightbown and Spada, 1999; Swain and Cummins, 1979). Whether or not the teaching of subject matter content and language learning can be integrated in the (bilingual) classroom depends on a number of policy and other situational supports as well as teacher education and a high level of linguistic security among teachers (Stroud, 2002).

Language Use and Text Materials Text books and other written materials are not only in short supply in many African classrooms but those that are present are often imported from the West, thus the content may not only be unfamiliar to the


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African student but inappropriate. In addition, the developers of text materials frequently write as if the learners are L1 speakers of the language that the text is written in (LOT). Text publishers need to be made aware of second language issues as well as the pitfalls of unquestioningly exporting not only the format of text materials but also the ways in which they are expected to be used, as outlined in teacher manuals, for instance (Peacock and Cleghorn, 2004). The role that the teacher plays in mediating text may therefore be unduly complicated: it depends on their content knowledge, their understanding of the learners’ abilities, and prior knowledge, their ideas of how interaction in the classroom should occur, and their ability to use the language that the text is written in. As Peacock (1995) has observed in school settings in Africa, Asia, and the UK, teachers sometimes make oversimplified worksheets from texts in their effort to adapt the text to their perceptions of the learners’ needs. To counter this tendency, Peacock et al. (2004) suggests that teacher education should include information about how to systematically assess a text’s level of difficulty for a particular group of students, possibly using an instrument such as the Index of Text Difficulty (ITD) currently being developed. In addition to the foregoing, learners often have difficulty with illustrations because their conventions tend to be rooted in an assumed understanding of Western symbols. However, as Clark (1997) found with the use of science texts in South Africa, visual symbols and the unfamiliarity of certain technical terms were only part of the problem; nonscientific English words such as describe and observe also caused confusion. These problems may be increasing with the globalization of the textbook industry, with an increase in internet-like visual formats and an assumed culturally free subjectivity of the reader (Kress, 1996; McEneaney, 2000; Peacock and Cleghorn, 2004). Teachers thus need to be attuned to the cultural aspects of visual literacy, both global and local, in order to mediate effectively the texts that are available. The inappropriateness of many of the available text materials adds an extraordinary burden to teachers who need to know how to interpret such texts to the learners, requiring them to engage in a process of “triple translation”—linguistic, visual, and cultural. Recently, Cleghorn (2003) revisited her observations of science and mathematics classrooms in Zimbabwe and Kenya from the point of view of teachers’ language use when text materials were present, when a written representation of an idea was absent and when there was an alternative, non-textual representation of the idea being taught (e.g., photograph or actual object). The language choices available to teachers under these circumstances were: (1) English only in compliance

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with official policy, or in accord with what the teacher believed was the best way to teach; (2) use of the learners’ L1, either because the concept was too difficult to explain in English or because the teacher believed that use of the L1 would promote understanding; (3) use of both languages through code-switching and code-mixing. Code-switching/ mixing proved to be a handy device for helping students understand. One could thus argue that such a “natural” bilingual strategy helps to make sense of the linguistic and cultural nonsense that the oft-imported text materials so often present to learners. The just-mentioned research concluded that an expanded definition of text is needed that includes alternatives to printed text materials. The reader will recall the lesson cited earlier in which the teacher referred to the landscape outside the classroom as an example of soil erosion. In doing so the landscape took the place of a book, allowing the teacher to link the learners’ out-of-school knowledge with in-school learning. The use of such alternative “texts” and the creative use of language thus need to be encouraged at the level of teacher education, in order to counter the fact that impoverishment (e.g., paucity of appropriate texts and other materials) perpetuates the local and global marginalization of individuals and societies by restricting the development of literacy for so many (Bamgbose, 1984; Bunyi, 1999; Street, 2001 a and b).

The Bilingual Education Debate The debate continues in African countries and elsewhere about if or when a language of wider communication should be introduced as the LOI. One way to proceed in diverse school settings is to introduce learning via the L2 after basic literacy skills are well established in the L1; henceforth a balanced bilingual/bi-literacy program for the duration of the school years seems to be most effective for individuals and for society as a whole. Another way to proceed is to use the L1 as the LOI throughout the primary level at least, while effectively teaching whatever language of wider communication is required, as a subject. For this to succeed, specialized training of language teachers is necessary. Bilingual education can be cognitively as well as socially subtractive or additive. When it is additive it can help the learner to see different representations of the same idea and it can give the learner the skills to function in higher education as well as in a range of social contexts. Learning an L2 does not require losing the L1 (Genesee, 1987, 1993; Lightbown and Spada, 1999; Peal and Lambert, 1972; Swain and Cummins, 1979; Wong-Fillmore, 1991). There is general agreement


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that the situation is subtractive when learners are submerged in a foreign L2 as the LOI. Similarly, if there is a too early or too rapid shift from learning via the L1 to the L2 and no further teaching via the L1, the results are often subtractive. Bunyi’s (1999) study in Kenya reinforces the position that wherever possible the L1 needs to be developed in school. She found that when the use of English dominated for instruction in science, students were not able to apply what they had learned to practical situations at home (the L1 context), documenting the subtractive nature of English-only instruction both for individuals and for society as a whole. Evidence that L1 instruction with the later introduction of the L2 brings additive results also comes from Mozambique, Bolivia, Malawi, Zambia, and Ginnea-Bissau (Benson, 2004; Hovens, 2002; Williams, 1998). These studies confirm the earlier findings of a longitudinal study in Nigeria (Bamgbose, 1984) which found that children taught in the L1 performed significantly better than a control group in all subjects including English, the L2. A smaller study carried out in Ghana (Collison, 1975) found that children made higher cognitive level statements in the L1 than in the L2, English. Elsewhere and recently there has been a move away from early instruction in English, to a main or national language such as Amharic, as in the case of Ethiopia (Pillai, 2002). Unfortunately, what is ideal for the learner—a bilingual approach— is often not seen by those in decision-making positions as economically or otherwise feasible. In the absence of support for bilingual education, other strategies need to be considered. For example, in many parts of Africa there is a high value placed on oral language skills; oral skills are fundamental to and part and parcel of literacy (Gee, 1986; Street, 2001a). Thus an emphasis during the early years of schooling on the further development of L1 oral skills for organizing what is already known and expressing what has been learned, may be an excellent precursor to later reading and writing, in the L1 as well as in the L2. The problems associated with implementing a pedagogically sound bilingual program in both rural and urban African school settings cannot be overstated. Studies carried out in Botswana, South Africa, Kenya, Ethiopia, Zimbabwe, and elsewhere (Fuller and Snyder, 1991; Hewlett, 1995; Swilla, 1992) show that when a foreign L2 such as English is used for instruction in a rote fashion to deliver disconnected facts, without meaningful contextualization, the development of the L2 remains superficial. In fact, by the end of secondary school students are not prepared for the language demands of college and university because academic literacy—the ability to take notes, synthesize, write term papers, participate in class discussions, deal with abstract

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ideas—has not begun to be established. Little knowledge has been acquired and the input for second language learning too “thin,” so neither the individual nor the society are adequately served. The resulting high dropout (push-out) rates (UNESCO, 2000) of students who have come through such an education document how both global and local inequality is constructed and perpetuated through schooling (Tollefson, 1991). In sum, there is ample evidence to reinforce the rationale for in-school support of the L1 in order to foster a two-way transfer of literacy skills between the L1 and the L2, to protect African identities and to establish more equitable conditions with regard to Education for All (CAL/ Dutcher, 2001; Hovens, 2002; Phillipson, 1992; Roller, 1988; Street, 2001b; Swain, Lapkin, Rowen and Hart, 1990; UNESCO, 2004). In addition to the suggested emphasis in the early years of schooling on the development of L1 oral skills, L1 text materials need to be developed. The argument that this would be too costly falls away when one considers the extreme lack of text materials in any language in so many African classrooms: what goes on the blackboard and then copied into notebooks is often the only text. That this text invariably appears in the LOI/L2 needs to be examined critically since the majority of local languages have written forms, as witnessed by the availability of local language bibles. It would not be impossible to transfer L1 stories, parables, and the like in written form to the blackboard. That teachers can take a hand in this process was successfully shown during the establishment of a bachelor of education program in early childhood education in Zimbabwe. With an eye to addressing the shortage of children’s storybooks, student teachers were encouraged to record the traditional fables, myths, and other stories that they had been told as young children. The student teachers were pleased to have it acknowledged that these stories could be beneficial for children in today’s schools (Cleghorn and Bourdillon, 1997). The notion of border crossing needs to be made explicit for teachers so that they can expand their mediating roles to include that of “cultural broker.” Wherever different cultures and languages come together in the classroom, teacher education needs to incorporate a cross-cultural perspective to enable teachers to add cultural brokering skills to their repertoire of skills. The concept of border crossing joins the cognitive with the social, illuminating the importance of understanding the possible conflict between worldviews that the learner, as well as the teacher, may experience as they move from home to school and back again. Although teachers may quite readily come to understand


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their role in the classroom as one of guiding learners to an understanding that they could not achieve on their own, so too a similar intervention is needed to guide learners to a cultural awareness that they could not achieve on their own. This kind of intervention would help learners to acquire an understanding of the culture of the school while maintaining the integrity of the traditional culture (Alexander, 2000; Bruner, 1996), to understand which aspects of the “tool-kit” belong to their own culture and which aspects come from afar. It has to be appreciated, however, that to succeed academically and go further in education, high levels of competence in formal language, be it the L1, the country’s official language, or an international language, are required. It may be in our work as academic researchers that we fail to communicate our findings to those who establish language-in-education policies as well as to those who decide what it is that needs to be taught in teacher education programs. It is possible however, that we are looking for research-based solutions to political problems. It is easy to forget that language policy is part of a system of knowledge, beliefs, and practices, and that the research–policy–practice connection is a loose one and may always be thus (Myers, 1975). The flow of communication is not only from education researchers to policy makers but needs to be cross-sectoral (Clark-Okah, 2003). Perhaps policy and research will be better connected through more effective pre-service and in-service education of teachers about these very matters. Underlying this chapter is a concern about the prospects for developing so-called functional literacy for all in keeping with the commitment of the Dakar 2000 EFA conference. Functional literacy here includes oral, reading, and writing proficiency as well as numeracy that is sufficiently developed to allow students to learn without significant assistance at the secondary level and beyond. The chapter has pointed to the persistent tension between developing skills in the LOI/L2 and teaching for understanding of subject content, showing how intimately the two are connected (Mbatha, 2003). Nevertheless, more fundamental, critical questions relating to such matters as whose literacy is being developed, for whom, for use in what context, in which culture, have not been adequately addressed. The sign reproduced below (see figure 6.1) is from a public park in a southern African city, which suggests that what needs to be taught and learned in school is not only the ability to decipher words but to deconstruct them for their cultural meanings as well. That would be evidence of a functional form of literacy fitting for today’s world.

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Figure 6.1 “Whose culture, whose literacy?”

Notes 1. I am indebted to Marissa Rollnick, University of Witwatersrand. Much of the thinking that has gone into this chapter got its start in Cleghorn and Rollnick (2002), TESOL Quarterly, 36 (3), 347–372. I also wish to thank Carol Benson, Centre for Research on Bilingualism, Stockholm University who provided helpful feedback on an earlier draft of this chapter. 2. L1 refers to the first language, home language, local language, mother tongue, or familiar lingua franca, such as Swahili in Tanzania and parts of Kenya. L2 refers to the second language or foreign language, often a country’s official language and language of instruction (LOI). LOT refers to the language in which a text is written. 3. See Benson’s work with reference to Mozambique and Bolivia. See also recent experimentation with bilingual education for indigenous minorities in Mexico (the Montreal Gazette, May 16, 2004). 4. The push-out rate has been shown to have increased markedly and especially for girls since the imposition of economic structural adjustment policies in countries such as Zimbabwe (Gordon and Cleghorn, 1999). 5. Such question-answer routines are found in many developing country classrooms. In the settings I am familiar with they may also be a function of teachers’ limited knowledge of English, the LOI, and, minimal teacher education. These comments are not intended to disparage teachers but to point to the extremely difficult conditions under which they are expected to teach.


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6. This example was first reported in Abagi and Cleghorn (1990) and later in Cleghorn (2003).

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Mbatha, T. (2003). The dilemma of teaching history in isiXhosa and assessing it in English in a grade 6 classroom in a township primary school in Cape Town. Paper presented at International Workshop on African Languages and Education, June 4, Stockholm University. McEneaney, E. (2000). Models of science, experts and nature: A view from primary school textbooks. Paper presented at the Comparative and International Education Society conference, San Antonio, March 12–16. Merritt, M., Cleghorn, A. and Abagi, J.O. (1988). Dual translation and cultural congruence: Some exemplary practices of Kenyan primary school teachers. In K. Ferrara, B. Brown, K. Walters and J. Baugh (Eds.), Linguistic change and contact. Texas Linguistic Forum, 30, 232–239. Moyo, H.J. (1993). Coping with lectures at university level: Way forward for first year economics students at the University of Zimbabwe. Department of Linguistics Communications Skills Centre, University of Zimbabwe. Myers, R.G. (1975). A skeptical note on the relationship between educational research and policy. Unpublished paper presented at Ford Foundation. Myers-Scotton, C. (1993). Dueling languages: Grammatical structure in code-switching. Oxford: Claredon Press. Ogawa, M. (1998). A cultural history of science education in Japan: An epic description. In W. Cobern, (Ed.), Socio-cultural perspectives on science education (pp. 139–162). London: Kluwer. Peacock, A. (1995) An agenda for research on text material in primary science for second language learners of English in developing countries. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 16 (5), 389–401. Peacock, A. and Cleghorn, A. (2004). Missing the meaning: The development and use of print and non-print text materials in diverse school settings. New York: Palgrave. Peacock, A., Cleghorn, A. and Mikkilä-Erdmann, M. (2004). Multiple perspectives on the teacher-learner-text relationship in primary school science. In A. Peacock and A. Cleghorn, Missing the meaning: The development and use of print and non-print text materials in diverse school settings (pp. 181–197), New York: Palgrave. Peal, E. and Lambert. W. (1972). The relation of bilingualism to intelligence. Psychological monographs, 76. Phillipson, R. (1992). Linguistic imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pillai, S. (2002). Science education in Sub-Saharan Africa: The case of Ethiopia. Unpublished masters thesis, Educational Studies, Concordia University, Montreal. Prochner, L. (2002) Preschool and playway in India. Childhood, 9(4) 435–453. Prophet, R. and Rowell, P. (1990). The curriculum observed. In C. Snyder and P. Ramatsui (Eds.), Curriculum in the classroom: Context of change in Botswana’s junior secondary school programme (pp. 1–56), Gabarone: Macmillan. Roller, C. (1988). Transfer of cognitive and academic competence and L2 reading in a rural Zimbabwean school. TESOL Quarterly, 2 (2), 303–318.


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7

Cultural P erspectives on Science and Technology Education Meshach B. Ogunniyi

Many reasons have been adduced as to why a society should be

scientifically and technologically literate. Among others, it is believed that a scientifically/technologically literate society would be able to: (1) compete successfully in a world that is dominated by science and technology; (2) formulate rational policies and make informed decisions on local, national, and international issues requiring some knowledge of science and technology; (3) use their scientific/technological knowledge and skills to solve practical social problems as well as improve the quality of life of that society; (4) cope with, or adapt to rapid changes brought about by science and technology and (5) appreciate the role of science and technology not only as a vehicle for socioeconomic development but also as a means to achieve cultural revolution. In its introductory remarks, the Presidential Forum (attended by presidents from various African countries, policy makers, scientists, technologists, science/technology educators, and other stakeholders) in Gaborone, Botswana asserted that: Science and technology is now seen as the best instrument to drive the African continent to economic, political, social and cultural success. It has been argued that probably the only way to foster the technology base of Africa is by incorporating the scientific community to the forefront of social and economic path . . . many countries in Africa developed modern scientific and technological institutions but failed to establish indigenous scientific base. As a result, the contributions of the institutions have almost always been below expectations in terms of enhancing the social

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and economic development. This has forced African countries to rely on the importation of turnkey industrial projects that are based on technologies that are ill suited to the local conditions. (Mwamadzingo, 1993: 3–4)

Scientific and Technological Literacy Amidst the controversies surrounding Scientific and Technological (S and T) literacy the questions that often arise include among others the following: 1. Why should one not be literate in every field or why should all be S/T literate? 2. Whose views of S/T literacy are being propagated: the scientists’, technologists’, students’, or the public’s? 3. How comprehensive and valid are the views about S/T literacy being propagated? 4. Who decides what the public should know about S and T? 5. S/T literacy for whom? 6. Is public understanding of S and T the same as S/T literacy? 7. How is the public’s interest in S and T compatible with its understanding and commitment to S and T? 8. Is S and T awareness the same as S/T literacy? 9. In view of the explosion of S and T knowledge, who can really be S/T literate? 10. When is an individual so S/T literate as to think, act, and react scientifically and technologically all the time? 11. How do we resolve the diverse issues surrounding determinism, freedom, and ethical responsibility in a scientifically/technologically dominated world in which we live? We can go on and on, but in view of the dilemma posed by these questions, Barad (2000) has suggested that scientific (and technological) literacy should be construed in terms of agential realism in the sense that it provides an understanding of the nature of scientific practices that recognizes that objectivity and agency are bound up with issues of responsibility and accountability. She contends further that: Public trust in science will not be gained by wowing the masses with impressive scientific facts or by continuing to insist on the value-free nature of scientific inquiry. In today’s world, public trust in science must be gained by making science more accountable and by setting the standards

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for literacy on the basis of understanding what it means to do responsible science . . . Agential realism is not about representations of an independent reality but about the real consequences, interventions, creative possibilities of intra-acting within the world. Hence according to agential realism, scientific literacy becomes a matter of agential literacy-of learning how to intra-act responsibly within the world. (pp. 229–237)

Maybe our focus in science/technology education should be directed more to agential literacy, namely, helping students to cope with various challenges particularly those posed by S and T in dealing with the practical problems that confront them in their daily lives. The issue of accountability and moral responsibility with respect to the scientific/ technological enterprise is a perspective that distances itself from the objectivism debate that characterized the scientific discourse since the modern era to the first half of the twentieth century. For the most part of the first half of the twentieth century, the philosophical and scientific literature was largely dominated by empiricism and logical positivism. However, in the latter part of the twentieth century, the grip of positivism had begun to wane as scholars sought for alternative or more acceptable ways (including a cultural perspective) of presenting the scientific/technological enterprise to students and the nonscientifically/ technologically inclined general public. Worthy in this regard are significant contributions made by a number of philosophers, historians, and sociologists of science on the one hand and linguists and science/ technology educators on the other. Although there is no clear-cut agreement about how the public can be made more aware of S and T activities there is a strong belief among scholars that the school, particularly the science/technology teacher is the best agent to bring this about. But this implies that he/she has a sound understanding of the nature of S and T him/herself. In a succinct summary of instruments that have been developed to assess teachers’ and students’ understanding of the nature of science between the 1950s and the 1990s, McComas (2000) has come to the conclusion that: (1) science teachers and students seem to hold inadequate conceptions of the nature of science; (2) although the inclusion of some aspects of the history or nature of science seems to enhance teachers’ and students’ understanding of the nature of science, the overall impact is not evident in the S and T classroom; (3) the relation between teachers’ conceptions of the nature of science and their instructional practices remains unclear; (4) the emphasis seems to be on students’ attitudes toward S and T rather than on why they hold such attitudes; (5) the primary concern seems to be about “science as an institution”

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rather than the epistemological and ontological development of scientific knowledge (pp. 332–333). Whatever the case, the implications of these findings for science/technology education certainly warrant a closer consideration.

Science and Technology as an Aspect of Culture According to Ogunniyi (1995), culture is the overall lifestyle of a society and the way it deals with reality. To Ekeh (1989) culture is the vital link between the individual and society. A society perpetuates itself and its institutions, values, and ideas. Whichever way we look at it, S and T like art, music, religion, sports, and customary practices are cultural activities that help to glue members of a given society together. But how are the changes brought about by S and T influencing African cultures or vice versa and how can S and T education assist communities in Africa to cope more effectively with these changes? Amongst others, the implementation of various curriculum reforms since the independent era of the late 1950s and the 1960s has been one of the most significant ways in which African countries have attempted to find answers to these and related questions. With the advent of political independence, most African countries realized that the type of S and T being taught in their schools were neither adequate for producing the critically needed skilled human-power nor compatible with the postulates of their newly won independence (Ogunniyi, 1986).

Curriculum Reforms Before the curriculum reform era, the S and T curricula in most African countries were more or less in the form of syllabi set out primarily for examination purposes. The S and T curricula were left to grow on their own and soon became cluttered with materials that presented an inadequate view of S and T. This state of affairs did not last long. As countries gained independence they were faced with an acute shortage of skilled S and T human-power needed to run both the public and private sectors of their economies. The education sector probably experienced the worst shortage of skilled and well-trained personnel. Even with the mass recruitment of expatriate teachers at a great cost, most of the mushrooming schools did not have adequate and well-trained S and T science teachers. Curriculum reforms and teacher training became inevitable. In most cases, curriculum reforms are ways in which the education system attempts to respond to challenges faced by a given society. In


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the West, curriculum reforms after World War II were largely a response to the challenges posed by the Sputnik era. However, as indicated earlier, in Africa and many developing countries, curriculum reforms were largely galvanized by the facts of independence and the need to increase their S and T human-power needed for their socioeconomic development (Ogunniyi, 1986, 1996). It is also noteworthy that from the mid-1960s, in addition to curriculum development, a number of African countries had also taken over the responsibility of assessing their own school subjects. Others did so later, while yet others have just done so in the last five years or are in the process of doing so (e.g., Botswana, Swaziland, Lesotho, and Namibia). In the case of Namibia, several changes were made almost simultaneously. It is also worthy to note that while science is taught from K1–12, technology is restricted to K1–9 in most African countries. After independence from South Africa, the educational system, curriculum, and examination provisions underwent major changes to reflect the needs and aspirations of the Namibian people. Also, the Namibian government implemented a new education policy whereby English became the language of instruction instead of Afrikaans— imposed by the apartheid government of South Africa—starting from grade 4. In terms of assessment, the International General Certificate of Secondary Education (IGCSE) was established to replace the Cape Matriculation Examination for grades 11 and 12. The IGCSE consists of three categories of certificate examinations, namely, the core, the core plus supplement otherwise called the “extended,” and the Higher International General Certificate of Education for the below average, average, and above average students respectively (Kasanda, Njabili and Otaala, 1996). What can be said at this rather fluid state of science/technology curricula in Africa is that the chances for unintended outcomes to occur are perhaps higher now than was previously envisaged. As Rogan (2001) has rightly pointed out, “What makes the current document in South Africa a recipe for disaster is its own internal contradiction between its intentions (sections 1 and 2) and its design (section 3 to 5)” (p. 1). He has argued further that the so-called assessment standards in many instances are in fact a syllabus in disguise, and a very poor one at that. To him, the assessment standards in many instances rule out science as inquiry and reinforce memorization and what can be termed as “rhetoric of conclusions.” For instance, the assessment standards are supposed to: (1) describe the level in which learners are expected to demonstrate achievement of the Learning Outcome and (2) state clearly how deep or wide learners are to demonstrate achievement of the Learning

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Outcome. It is even amusing to note some kind of subterfuge in the manner in which technology has fallen through the cracks. Rather than being a subject in its own right, technology at the high school level now features as a form of phase organizer to be taught or reflected in every school subject. The implication, of course, in all probability, is that it will neither be taught nor reflected in the teaching-learning process. Typical of other curricular innovations in Africa, the newly implemented C2005 in South Africa has been largely inspired by political rather than technical rationality. This is not necessarily bad, considering the political history of South Africa. However, curriculum development is not an easy endeavor (see MacDonald and Walker, 1976). There are several stakeholders who should be taken into confidence right from the start. It is a fact that for one reason or the other, academics were not seriously involved until criticisms started to pour in. For instance, a notable critic Jonathan Jansen listed 10 reasons why the OBE-based C2005 would fail (Jansen, 1997). Julie (1997) believed that the curriculum would lead to the production of “happy idiots.” His agreement with Jansen is based on: (1) teachers’ non-involvement; (2) the acceptance of a simplistic relationship between school education and economic development; (3) the obscurantist language used to communicate the intent of the curriculum to potential consumers; (4) the diminishing visibility of knowledge of the discipline; (5) the simplistic manner in which the curriculum is grounded on learning at the expense of teaching; (6) the dogmatic way in which the curriculum is presented and (7) the lack of sufficient clarity of what is a Learning Outcome and whether or not this can be predetermined. Certainly, these criticisms warrant scholarly attention and indeed deserve a fuller treatment than space would allow in this chapter. One of the most successful science curriculum innovations in South Africa which seemed to thrive relatively well particularly in the rural areas, despite the erstwhile apartheid educational system, was the Science Education Project (SEP) which started in 1976 (Kahn and Rollnick, 1993). Unlike ZIMSCI and BOTSCI, but like the Namutamba Project in Uganda that commenced in 1976, SEP uses low-cost, locally manufactured equipment. However, like several other nongovernment-based projects in South Africa, SEP exists today only in a few rural areas and scarcely in the urban areas (Yoloye, 1998). Though the results emanating from the localization process have been rather mixed, it cannot be denied that spirited efforts have been made by various African countries to make their curricula and assessment protocols relevant and more accessible to the majority of the students. The nagging problems in this


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regard relate to issues such as low capacity, poor implementation, and sustainability. My evaluation of one of the most successful curriculum innovations in Africa, the Nigerian Integrated Science Program, indicated that: (1) teachers were not adequately prepared to implement the curriculum; (2) most of the teachers given the task of implementing the curriculum at the junior high school level lacked not only academic or professional preparation, but they they lacked teaching experience as a whole; (3) there were too many activities to be performed, thus making a thorough completion of the program impossible; (4) there seemed to be an overemphasis on process to almost a total exclusion of the products of science; (5) the teachers were not adequately involved in the technical, practical, and emancipatory stages of the curriculum as to gain a sense of ownership; (6) the implementation of the curriculum appears too dependent on in-service training which was not adequately provided; (7) much of the materials appear to favor average and above-average students at the expense of slow learners; (8) despite the introduction of the curriculum into the educational system, the old way of teaching and assessing science persisted—scientific facts were still treated as immutable truths and the various topics were treated separately as physics, chemistry, or biology with little or no regard to the objectives of the curriculum; and so on (Ogunniyi, 1978). The above conclusion reached over 20 years ago, unfortunately, is still as valid today as it was at that time not only for curriculum innovations in Nigeria but in most African states. Reflecting on the performance of several science curriculum innovations in Africa, Yoloye, one of the architects of African Primary Science Project (APSP) (later, Science Education Program in Africa—SEPA) in the 1960s, attributed poor implementation to the fact that: Many national projects, hurriedly implanted under pressure from governments and donors, were unable to involve teachers and other stakeholders and could not set up the necessary infrastructures such as teachers’ development programs and appropriate examinations. Zimbabwe Science (ZIMSCI) and Botswana Science (BOTSCI) are examples of such projects. (Yoloye, 1998, p. 3)

The issue of localization of the science/technology curricula and associated assessments to meet the requirements for cultural validity is by no means a simple matter considering the various factors involved. Let me digress a little to clarify this point further. For instance, depending on one’s stance, the current controversy among science educators with respect to modern realists’ and postmodern relativists’ views of the

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science/technology curricula could have significant implications for the teaching/learning process. For the former, science is based on fundamental assumptions about the reality of matter, time, and space irrespective of human experiences. The latter on the other hand, rejects the reality of matter, time, and space outside human perceptions; it sees no order in the universe, and does not subscribe to the universality of scientific assumptions, facts, or principles. From the students’ point of view, both these viewpoints are not unproblematic. For instance, how does a student whose anthropomorphic worldview conceptualizes a frictionless surface or the fact that it is the earth rotating around the sun and not vice versa? How does he/she reconcile his/her knowledge about diverse phenomena derived essentially from his/her traditional culture and belief system with that of science? Also, a science curriculum based solely on postmodern relativists’ point of view is not unproblematic either. As we all know, our common sense experience often may not only be scientifically inaccurate, they may be dangerous sometimes. My common experience tells me that the approaching car is crawling, whereas it is traveling at 150 kilometers per hour. Likewise, my commonsense experience tells me that the dark metal plate before me does not look hot, but it may be at 240 degrees centigrade or more and so on. On the other hand, as scientists, science educators, or teachers, we know that what we see daily or talk about in our daily conversations may be scientifically unacceptable (e.g., we know that the sun neither rises in the east nor sets in the west; the engine of a car neither pushes the car forward nor backward; the vacuum cleaner neither sucks dirt from the floor nor does the sun drive away the cold or heat from, or into our homes, and so on). Yet our daily conversations are inundated with such statements. In the light of these views, Good and Shymansky (2001) have argued that: Multiculturalism tries to honor and conserve local ideas and customs while science is indifferent to them. Constructivism stresses an individual’s unique outlook while science seeks consensus within the scientific community. In these ways multiculturalism and constructivism are more consistent with a postmodern/relativist worldview while science is more consistent with a modern/ realist worldview. (p. 60)

The Challenge of Culturally Valid Assessment The concept of cultural validity refers to the effectiveness with which science/technology assessments address the sociocultural factors and


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contexts (e.g., beliefs, experiences, values, instructional practices, learning styles, worldviews, interests, etc.) that influence students’ responses to items (Solano-Flores and Nelson-Barber, 2001). In this regard, an assessment cannot be considered culturally valid if it ignores the sociocultural influences and contexts that shape the minds, thoughts, and attitudes of learners toward school science/technology. Apart from the present globalization phenomenon, and concomitant mass human movement, the school population (particularly in the new South Africa) for one reason or the other, has become greatly mixed. In South Africa for instance, the abrogation of apartheid laws and opening of schools in any locality to children of all races has resulted in the present multicultural classrooms. However, teachers are not well equipped to deal with this new phenomenon. As indicated earlier, the development of a new curriculum would be a futile exercise without the development of assessments protocols that are compatible with that curriculum. Closely related to the phenomenon of multicultural classrooms is the language of instruction. Language of Instruction A plethora of studies have shown the importance of the language of instruction to student achievement in school science and technology (e.g., Aikenhead, 1996; Dyrenfurth, 1984; Gunstone and White, 2000; Jegede and Okebukola, 1991; Khan and Rollnick, 1993; Ogunniyi, 1986, 1999; Ogunniyi and Taale, 2004; Ogunniyi et al., 1995; Prophet and Rowell, 1993; Rollnick, 1998; Rollnick and Rutherford, 1996). Although virtually all countries in Africa have political independence, the texts, and the language of instruction are still largely presented in the foreign languages of the erstwhile colonial countries such as English, French, Portuguese, and Spanish. To most of the students, it is their second or third language. The number of local languages in many African countries ranges between one and several hundred. Nigeria, for instance, has over 300 languages; though less than a dozen have been accorded official recognition. At the moment, there are 11 officially recognized languages in South Africa and spirited efforts have been made, particularly at the primary school level, to translate science/technology into all these languages. However, the outcomes of these efforts are still being investigated. If anything at all, the Ife Language Project in Nigeria in which Yoruba was used as the medium of science instruction has been very successful but the project has now become extinct due to changes in education policy and lack of funds. In most African schools, the different subjects (including science and technology) are taught in

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the mother tongue of the student. After this, instruction is normally in the colonial language. The development of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction in all school subjects at all levels of education is a good pointer to the fact that with determination and sufficient resources, the use of African languages as the medium of science instruction is not impossible. Whatever shortcomings are evident in the language policies of the colonizers, it would have been economically unviable to have adopted dozens of languages for any particular country (consisting of a collocation of groups), even though the countries themselves were the creations of the colonizers. The preeminence of language in the enculturation or education process is a well-recognized fact (see Dewey, 1944). It is ironic however, that in most African countries, even the indigenous languages that were promoted during the independence era of the 1960s have become de-emphasized as the preferred medium of instruction to those introduced by the colonizers. Today, English followed by French have become the two most widely used official languages in Africa for business, education, and diverse cultural activities. The adoption of what can be termed the Europeanization phenomenon, rather than the indigenization of instruction has grave implications for science/technology education. Nonetheless, space limitation would not permit further elaboration of this all-important educational issue. Studies carried out in different parts of Africa indicate that learners encounter great difficulties in reading science/technology texts and are unable to express themselves well in the foreign languages (e.g., Ahmed, 1989; Makgothi and Lelliot, 1992; Ogunniyi, 1996, 1999; Prophet and Rowell, 1993; Rollnick, 1998; Rollnick and Rutherford, 1996). The need to find a way to improve students’ competence in the language of instruction to facilitate their study of science/technology has become a more urgent necessity. The issue of language of instruction poses a great challenge for schools throughout Africa. As Searle (1984) has argued: Understanding a language . . . involves more than just having a bunch of formal symbols. It involves having an interpretation, or a meaning attached to those symbols. . . . You understand the questions in English because they are expressed in symbols whose meanings are known to you. Similarly, when you give the answers in English you are producing symbols which are meaningful to you. (pp. 33–34)

Although the issue of lingua franca is an emotive and controversial issue in Africa, and perhaps elsewhere, there is no denying the fact that


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it is not an issue that can easily be brushed aside when it comes to the language of instruction. There is a general consensus among science educators worldwide that learning science involves understanding a large number of technical words and statements. Each scientific word carries encoded information that can only be decoded by one who has a meaningful understanding of that word. For the same reason, the language of science instruction is only understood by students with sufficient understanding of the facts, assumptions, concepts, and generalizations of science. A recent survey of about 8000 grades 7–9 South African students showed that among others, the factor of language was significantly related to the students’ understanding of 22 selected science concepts derived from the interim syllabus. The students’ linguistic problems ranged from grammatical error, inability to interpret or respond to questions correctly, lack of comprehension skills, to their inability to explain clearly and concisely what they know. Their linguistic problems seemed compounded further by the fact that a considerable number did not even understand certain common but critical English words needed to interpret the textual material given to them (Ogunniyi, 1999). Similar findings have been reported by my master’s and doctoral students from different African countries: Botswana, Cameroon, Ghana, Lesotho, Mozambique, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Kenya, South Africa, and Swaziland, and various published studies (e.g., Ogunniyi, 1995, 1996, 1999, 2000; Rollnick and Rutherford, 1996). According to Rollnick (1998) studies have shown that students’ linguistic difficulty could arise: (1) because of the nature of the second language and nothing else; (2) conceptual difficulties; (3) cultural differences; and (4) educational and economic disadvantage. In view of this list of factors, how justifiable is it to use an assessment that is insensitive to the problems that second/third language learners might encounter? How does a second/third language learner resolve the conflict created when his/her intuitive and commonsensical language clashes with the complex and specialized language of school science/technology? How does a second/third language learner perceive the hidden cultural meaning in a text? How does he/she adapt his/her personal and creative language to the impersonal language of science? How can this foreign language be made accessible to him/her so that they no longer mutter it like an incantation? How can they be helped to master this language and use it in a confident and flexible manner? How can they acquire this language in such a way that it facilitates rather than retard their thinking? The problem here is that language which is a tool for thought and a critical instrument to convey

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scientific/technological information and the process for deriving them, has not only become a barrier to their understanding but also a sort of symbolic or cultural violence to their intellectual interests and sense of identity. The poverty of African languages as the media of instruction in science and technology, like other aspects of underdevelopment, seems to be a voluntary affair. The languages are deficient in studying these subjects not because they cannot be upgraded as has been successfully done elsewhere, but because the minority elites do not want them to compete with the European languages which have not only become a status symbol but which they believe rightly or wrongly to be the best media for communicating science and technology. But as Ahmed (1989) has pointed out, several languages have only been recently developed or are in fact yet to be developed. For instance in China, the languages of Hui, She, and Manchu used among the ethnic minorities are still in their embryonic stages of development. The languages of Norway and Finland and Afrikaans in South Africa were developed for written communication only in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Also, the phenomenal development of the Hebrew language as a medium of communicating in every sphere of life since Israel became a state in 1948 is a well-known fact. The implications of this scenario are that the adoption of foreign languages as the media of instruction has contributed in no small way to alienating second/third language learners from studying science and technology.

Conclusion This chapter has used a sociocultural perspective to explore a number of critical issues relating to science and technology education. The contention throughout is that science and technology as an aspect of culture cannot be taught or learned in a meaningful way in a sociocultural vacuum. Another issue raised in the chapter is the controversy surrounding the subject of scientific/technological literacy in terms of whether or not it is an achievable objective or whether in fact our concern should not be on agential literacy, which embraces a host of other concerns. These include accountability, social, and moral responsibility of practicing scientists or technologists on the one hand, and the preparation of the young generation to meet future challenges posed by scientific/ technological activities on the other. If the latter is our ultimate goal, then we (together with those in the humanistic studies) should direct our efforts more to what we know best, namely, the enculturation process achieved best through trans-curricular endeavors and leave the

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task of scientific/technological literacy to scientists and technologists. Of course, the obvious question is, do they know how? By the same token, there is no guarantee that an agential curricular focus would be an easier goal to pursue than scientific/technological literacy. Nevertheless, such pursuit does open before us an array of possibilities and perspectives of what should or should not constitute our intellectual domain. If by scientific/technological literacy we simply mean adequate knowledge of science and technology, in terms of content and methods, then the responsibility should lie squarely on the shoulders of scientists and technologists, and to some extent science/technology teachers and educators whose primary interest is in the dissemination of such content and methods (see Barad, 2000). This does not imply that we should abandon our efforts to increase students’ understanding of science and technology, but rather that we should ensure that our curricula sufficiently reflect the ontological and epistemological frameworks of these fields of study as well as the sociocultural environment of the students. In this regard, we examined some of the challenges encountered by a number of African countries in their attempts to localize their curriculum development efforts in order to make them more relevant to the needs, interests, and aspirations of their culturally diverse peoples. This was followed by a brief discussion of issues surrounding the challenge of cultural validity of assessments of curricular innovations in Africa. Finally, this was then linked to the issue of how the language of science/technology instruction could facilitate or become the very barrier to students’ understanding of science and technology. The contention here is that the assessment of the outcomes of a given science/technology curriculum cannot be regarded culturally valid if the students’ sociocultural backgrounds or contexts are taken for granted.

References Ahmed, U.B. (1989). The cultural content in Nigerian education: The language curriculum. In P.P. Ekeh and G. Ashiwaju (Eds.), Nigeria since independence— the first 25 years (pp. 32–57) Ibadan: Heinemann. Aikenhead, G.S. (1996). Science education: Border crossing into the subculture of science. Studies in Science Education, 27, 1–52. Aikenhead, G.S. and Jegede, O.J. (1999). Cross-cultural science education: A cognitive explanation of a cultural phenomenon. Journal of Science in Research in Science Teaching, 36, 269–287. Barad, K. (2000). Recovering scientific literacy as agential literacy. In R. Reid and S. Traweek (Eds.), Doing science plus culture (pp. 211–247). New York: Routledge.

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Bude, U. and Lewin, K. (1997). Improving test design. Bonn: Education, Science and Documentation Centre (ZED). Chaytor, D.E.B. (1980). Shaping science educators in the eighties. In E.I. Alonge (Ed.), Proceedings of Inaugural Conference of All-African Association of Science Teachers (Lagos). Dewey, J. (1944). Democracy and education. New York: The Free Press. Dugger, W.E. (1968). Technology-the discipline. A paper presented to the PATT conference. Eindhoven, The Netherlands. Dyrenfurth, M.J. (1984). Literacy for a technological world. Information Series, no. 266, Columbus, Ohio. The National Center for Research in Vocational Education, Washington, D.C. Ekeh, P.P. (1989). The scope of culture in Nigeria. In P.P. Ekeh and G. Ashiwaju (Eds.), Nigeria since independence—the first 25 years (pp. 1–16) Ibadan: Heinemann. Forum of African Science Educators (1982). Report of First International FASE Conference, Harare (Zimbabwe). Foundation for Research Development (1996). Public understanding of science. In science and technological indicators chapter 6, pp. 149–169. FRD: Pretoria. Galal, E.E. (1989). Development cooperation in science and technology. Changing contexts and emerging concerns. Proceedings of the Interregional Meeting on International Cooperation in Science and Technology for Development, Feldafing, Federal Republic of Germany, 23–25. Good, R. and Shymansky, J. (2001). Nature-of-science literacy in benchmarks and standards: Post-modern/relativist or modern/realist. In F. Bevilacqua, E. Giannetto and M.R. Mathews (Eds.), Science education and culture (pp. 53–65). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Gunstone, R. and White, R. (2000). Goals, methods and achievements of research in science education. In R. Millar, J. Leach and J. Osborne (Eds.), Improving science education (pp. 293–307). Buckingham: Open University Press. Jegede, O.J. and Okebukola, P.A.O. (1991). The effect of instruction on sociocultural beliefs hindering the learning of science. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 28, 275–285. Jansen, J. (1997). Ten reasons why OBE will fail. A Monograph, Faculty of Education, University of Durban-Westville. Jansen, J. and Chritie, P. (1999). Changing curriculum: Studies on outcomesbased education in South Africa. Kenwyn: Juta. Julie, C. (1997). Sinking school OBE mathematics to save it: Mathematical literacy, mathematics and mathematical science. In M.B. Ogunniyi (Ed.), Curriculum 2005: A panacea or a pandora’s box? Seminar Series, University of the Western Cape, 1 (2), 1–10. Kasanda, C.D., Njabili, A.F. and Otaala, B. (1996). Improving student performance on the IGCSE examinations. Windhoek: University of Namibia. Khan, M. and Rollnick, M. (1993). Science education in the new South Africa: Reflections and visions. International Journal of Science Education, 15 (3), 261–272.


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MacDonald, B. and Walker, R. (1976). Changing the curriculum. London: Open Books. Makgothi, S. and Lelliot, A.D. (1992). Curriculum and teaching methods. In U. Kann and M. Nganunu (Eds.), Science education in academic secondary schools in Botswana. Paris: UNESCO. McComas, W.F. (2000). The nature of science in science education: Rationales and strategies. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Mwamadzingo, M. (1993). The interface of science and technology with industry and government of Kenya. Research and development forum for science-led development in Africa. Nairobi: Randforum Press. Prophet, R.B. and Rowell, P.M. (1993). Coping and control: Science teaching strategies in Botswana. Qualitative Studies in Education, 63 (3), 197–209. Ogunniyi, M.B. (1978). Determinants of successful implementation of the integrated science programme in Nigeria. Journal of the Science Teachers’ Association of Nigeria, 16 (2), 50–58. Ogunniyi, M.B. (1986). Two decades of science education in Africa. Science Education, 70 (2), 111–122. Ogunniyi, M.B. (1991). Scientific and technological literacy in Africa: The Nigerian experience. A research report submitted to the Ministry of Education, Lagos, Nigeria. Ogunniyi, M.B. (1995). Race, culture, evolution and traditional worldviews: Challenges for science education in Africa. Inaugural Lecture, University of the Western Cape. Series A No. 69. Ogunniyi, M.B. (1996). Science, technology and mathematics: The problem of developing critical human capital in Africa. International Journal of Science Education, 18 (3), 267–284. Ogunniyi, M.B. (Ed.) (1997). Curriculum 2005: A panacea or a pandora’s box? Seminar Series, University of the Western Cape, 1 (2), pp. 11–23. Ogunniyi, M.B. (Ed.) (1999). Assessment of grades 7–9 pupils’ knowledge and interest in science and technology. Report of the Scientific and Technological Project submitted to the National Research Foundation, South Africa. Ogunniyi, M.B. (2000). Teachers’ and pupils’ scientific and indigenous knowledge of natural phenomena. Journal of the Southern African Association for Research in Mathematics, Science & Technology Education, 4 (1), 70–77. Ogunniyi, M.B., Jegede, O.J., Ogawa, M., Yandila, C.D. and Oladele, F.K. (1995). Nature of worldview presuppositions among science teachers in Botswana, Indonesia, Japan, Nigeria, & the Philippines. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 32 (8), 817–831. Ogunniyi, M.B. and Taale, K.D. (2004). Relative effects of a remedial instruction on grade seven learners’ conceptions of heat, magnetism and electricity. African Journal of Research in Mathematics, Science and Technology Education, 8, 77–87. Rogan, J.M. (2001). Comments on the national curriculum statements. The natural sciences. On behalf of the Centre for Science, Mathematics and Technology Education, University of Pretoria.

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Rollnick, M.S. (1998). The influence of language on the second language teaching and learning. In W.W. Cobern, Socio-cultural perspectives on science education: An international dialogue. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Rollnick, M.S. and Rutherford, M. (1996). The use of mother tongue and English in the learning and expression of science concepts: A classroom based study. International Journal of Science Education, 18 (1), 91–104. Searle, J. (1984). Minds, brains and science. London: Penguin Books. Sjoberg, S. (2000). Interesting all children in “science for all.” In R. Millar, J. Leach and J. Osborne (Eds.), Improving science education (pp. 165–186). Buckingham: Open University Press. Solano-Flores, G. and Nelson-Barber, S. (2001). On the cultural validity of science assessment, Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 38 (5), 533–573. The Third International Mathematics and Science Study (TIMSS) (1996). Ware, S.A. (1992). Secondary school science in developing countries: Status and issues. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank. Yoloye, E.A. (1998). Historical perspectives and their relevance to present and future practice. In P. Naidoo and M. Savage (1998), African science and technology education into the new millennium: Practice, policy and priorities (pp. 1–22). Kenwyn: Juta.

Part III

Gender and Equity Issues in E ducation


8

Women’s E ducation and Social Development in Africa Benedicta Egbo

Much has been written about the role of education as an important

prerequisite for social development. Although there are competing claims to the contrary, there is indeed compelling evidence that mass education accelerated industrial revolution in much of the developed West. Following the same logic, postcolonial social policies in Africa and other less developed parts of the world have been premised on the assumption that there is an interdependence between education and social development. But, despite this recognition and massive educational expansions in the region over the last several decades, women’s equal access to education is at best, ideational. An analysis of UNESCO’s (2000) World Education Report, shows that while significant gains were made in school enrollments in Africa, women continue to trail behind men, with few exceptions, at all levels of education (see table 8.1). But, beyond disparities in educational enrollments and asymmetrical access to social rewards per se, women’s education is of critical value to society in very important ways. This chapter explores the intersection of education, women, and social development within the African context. In particular, the chapter argues that women’s access to educational opportunities is critical to social development, particularly the sustainable variant. In making the case here, I am cognizant of the politics of gender in patriarchal and stratified societies such as those in Africa and therefore, proceed from the theoretical assumption that women’s access to education is not a

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Table 8.1 Gross enrollment ratio (%) at the primary, secondary, and tertiary levels of education in selected countries in Africa Primary level

Secondary level

Country or territory

Total

M

F

Algeria Benin Botswana Burkina Faso Cameroon Chad Cote d’Ivoire Egypt Ethiopia Gambia Kenya Mali Morocco Niger Nigeria Sudan Swaziland Uganda Tanzania Zambia

107 78 108 40 88 57 71 101 43 77 85 49 86 29 98 51 117 74 66 89

113 98 107 48 93 76 82 108 55 87 85 58 97 36 109 55 120 81 67 91

102 57 108 31 84 39 60 94 30 67 85 40 74 23 87 47 114 68 66 86

Tertiary level

Total

M

F

Total

M

63 18 65 NA 27 9 25 75 12 25 24 13 39 7 33 21 54 12 5 27

65 26 61 NA 32 15 34 80 14 30 26 17 44 9 36 23 55 15 6 34

62 11 68 NA 22 4 16 70 10 19 22 8 34 5 30 20 54 9 5 21

12.0 3.1 5.8 0.9 NA 0.6 6.2 20.2 0.8 1.7 NA 1.4 11.1 NA NA NA 6.0 1.9 0.6 2.5

14.0 5.0 6.1 1.4 NA 1.1 9.5 24.2 1.3 2.2 NA 2.3 12.9 NA NA NA 5.9 2.6 1.0 3.6

F 9.8 1.2 5.5 0.4 NA 0.2 2.9 15.9 0.3 1.2 NA 0.6 9.3 NA NA NA 6.1 1.3 0.2 1.4

Note: NA indicates that statistics are not available. Source: UNESCO (2000).

panacea to all the social challenges, including women’s marginal status, in the region. Furthermore, I am equally aware of African feminist scholars’ critique of the postcolonial trend of transplanting Western understandings of gender as a social construct, into discourses that are related to African women’s position and role in society (Teboh, 1994; Tedla, 1995). In this chapter then, education is discussed in terms of a socially mediated artifact that should evolve from a thorough analysis of locally expedient needs, while social development is conceptualized as changes associated with increases in productive capacities, adaptation, and progress within a given society. Taking the analysis of gender and development paradigms as a starting point, the coalescing theme in the chapter is that increased levels of education among women, are key to consequential social progress in Africa for reasons that will be outlined in the following discussion.

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Framing the Discourse Interest in the interface between education and the empowerment of African women on the one hand and their participation in social development on the other, is nothing new. Debates on the issue have been ongoing since the wave of independence that swept the continent in the 1960s. In one strand of the debate commonly associated with liberal feminist thought, support for increased access to educational opportunities for women rests on the assumption that lack of education limits their ability to maximize their potential on the individual, collective, and national levels, thus leaving them at the margins of their respective societies (Ballara, 1992; Chlebowska, 1990; Ramdas, 1990; Stromquist, 1990; UNESCO, 1991). Access to education, the argument continues, would eliminate or at the very least, reduce women’s social distance from legislative and decision-making bodies thereby enabling them to influence social policies and participate fully in the development process. While this argument has some merit and is of particular relevance to the discussion here, it should be emphasized as I argue elsewhere (Egbo, 2000a), that African women have historically been active participants in social development even though the nature and extent of their participation have, until recently, been sidelined in mainstream development discourse. There is indeed some validity to the claim that African women’s limited access to social rewards (including education, productive assets, health care, etc.) and their exclusion from positions of power, is a reversal of fortune and a collateral consequence of colonial gender-biased policies (Amadiume, 1987; Mba, 1982; Sudarkasa, 1987). As these writers and countless others have noted, before colonial rule, women wielded considerable sociopolitical influence within their communities and consequently, participated actively in all aspects of social development. Moreover, because traditional educational practices in Africa were fundamental and mandatory, girls and women were not excluded from learning (Tedla, 1995). Thus, even though precolonial African societies were structurally patriarchal, women typically held complementary social positions to men. A second strand of the debate arises from the views of critics who, while conceding the importance of education, argue that both formal and informal educational institutions in Africa are steeped in male values and patriarchal ideologies and will never allow the voices of women to be heard (Odora, 1993). Because of this suppression of voice, proponents of this view contend that even educated women become indoctrinated and acculturated into prevailing male-biased systems rather than transforming them.

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Related but different from the preceding view, a third strand of the debate shifts the argument from oppressive institutional structures to one of conscientization in a Freirian sense—a critical cognizance of one’s social condition (Freire, 1970). According to this school of thought, women’s education, economic, and professional achievements thus far have not fundamentally transformed their status or what may be considered as the root of the problem—patriarchal structures and cultural norms that discriminate against and devalue their status. For example, a study conducted among urban and rural households in Southwestern Nigeria (Hollos, 1998) reports that some educated urban women were less empowered within the domestic sphere as a result of “increasing submission to their husbands and a decline in their autonomy” (p. 271) even though they were employed in the formal wage sector. Hollos attributes this limited status to the fact that although economically active, urban educated women contribute fewer resources to the household than their husbands and therefore become subsumed as dependents. For such critics, access to education is not synonymous with social advancement for women and implicitly for their societies. Given the polemic which I have only briefly sketched, the question which then emerges is whether and how women’s education is important in Africa. The answer is rather straightforward. First, women’s education is a sine qua non for social progress in the region. Second, studies have shown that while access to education may not completely eliminate deep-seated patriarchal ideologies or repressive and gendered cultural norms, it neutralizes or at least minimizes the impact, thus bringing women closer to the center from the margins, which is a necessary condition for their participation in social development (Egbo, 2000a). Moreover, the now well-documented social malaise which has plagued African nations since gaining independence from various colonial powers, suggests the need for alternative and praxis-oriented development platforms that aim to include erstwhile marginalized groups such as women, in the development process.

Linking Women, Education, and Development Among the various theories of development one theory is of particular relevance to education and the discussion here—the human capital theory which conceives of education as an investment in human resources. The idea that investment in human capital increases knowledge base and subsequent productivity which in turn, accelerates social development, was popularized by Schultz (1960) who demonstrated through


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research in the United States, that education contributes significantly to growth in national income by improving the skills and productive capabilities of the labor force. Although still relevant in understanding the dynamics of social development, a major critique against this approach is its mono-focal preoccupation with the material aspects of social development and its neglect of the amalgam of interacting variables that either accelerate or retard social progress in very fundamental ways. A second approach to analyzing development which also seems relevant here is the Human Development Index (HDI). Popularized by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) through its annual Human Development Report (HDR), the HDI is a broader framework than the human capital approach. Its focus is on measuring development on the basis of per capita GNP and other indices that show the extent to which a society provides its citizens with conditions that enable them to live a long and healthy life (Benería, 2003). These conditions which are precursory to increased life chances, include access to education, political freedom, human rights, and the like. Of particular importance, are the two gender-specific indices that are integral to the HDI—the gender-related development index (GDI) which is based on gender differences in life expectancy, earned income, literacy rates and enrollments, and the gender empowerment measure (GEM) which measures the proportion of women in formal political, administrative, and managerial positions as well as professional and technical workers (Benería, 2003). Besides the human capital theory and the HDI, three gender-specific theories deserve brief mention here because they constitute the most prevalent frameworks through which gender issues in development have been conceptualized in the last several decades. All three approaches which emerged as alternative frameworks to the male-biased mainstream theories, start off from the same premise—the need to position women at the center of development debates but, diverge in their specific assumptions and foci. The first, the Women in Development (WID) paradigm, has been a dominant framework for analyzing women’s role in development since the 1960s and as such been a catalyst for the formulation of a significant number of empowering policies and strategies that were aimed at advancing women’s participation in social development. WID’s overall emphasis is on issues related to the broader development needs of society much of which it is assumed, coheres around the redemptive role of women’s education. Closely aligned with the human capital theory, WID’s assumption is that “modernization,” whatever its contextual interpretations may be, would automatically ameliorate the

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condition of women. Although still conceptually useful, WID’s neglect of the patriarchal structures that exploit and subjugate women as well as its failure to complexify the linkages between education and development, have earned it sharp criticisms from feminist researchers (see Etta, 1994; Rathgeber, 1990). A second commonly invoked paradigm—Women and Development (WAD)—emerged from criticisms of mainstream and liberal feminist approaches like WID and begins with the view that women have always participated in development but, their participation, like that of men, has served to reify international/Western capitalist interests. Because it is also concerned with promoting women’s only micro-level development projects, WAD has been the favored approach of many Non Governmental Organizations (NGOs). A third conceptual approach is Gender and Development (GAD). With a focus on increasing women’s voices within politics and the public sphere GAD “analyzes the nature of women’s contribution in context of work done both inside and outside the household including noncommodity production, and rejects the public/private dichotomy . . .” (Rathgeber, 1990, p. 494). Its ultimate goal is the emancipation of women through challenge and agency (Dlamini & Egbo, 2004) which makes it a less favored approach among donor agencies and national governments. Despite the conceptual differences between the preceding approaches to analyzing gender and development, it is instructive that none dismisses the crucial role of education in development. Indeed, differential levels of educational achievement remains one of the measurable indices for explaining variations in socioeconomic development among countries. In a 2002 report on the role of education in combating the global scourge of HIV/AIDS, the World Bank described education as “the major engine of economic and social development” and as a force that “drives a country’s future” (p. xvii). Whether one agrees with such an analysis or not, a crucial point remains valid—education is generally considered an index of social development (Dasgupta, 1993). The international community’s vision of the purposes of education as evidenced in various treaties, is typically “development.” Sometimes the emphasis has been on individual development and at other times on development in wider society (UNESCO, 2000). Similarly, nationstates in third world countries as well as donor agencies formulate policies and programs on the premise that quantitative increases in levels of education would significantly reduce the problem of poverty and underdevelopment. While the validity of such assumptions are debatable given that so far, increased levels of education have not logically translated


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into robust economies for African countries (Samoff, 1996), it seems logical to assume, especially in a technology-bound globalized world, that access to education by all is an important starting point for social progress however defined in individual societies. An added appeal to the view that education contributes to social and economic development lies in the fact that education is positively associated with participation in the formal labor sector. The output of education (knowledge, skills, acquired dispositions etc.), unless underutilized, is a durable capital asset (Dasgupta, 1993) and, ceteris paribus, the possession of such an asset increases the chances of access to the formal labor market. Besides direct economic benefits, there is also evidence that education may influence various forms of behavior which may, in turn, accelerate social development (McCloskey, 2003). With regards to women, it has been argued that changes in maternal behavior for instance, have significant implications for fertility rates and general familial well-being which directly impacts population growth. Population Growth Although studies linking education and maternal behavior are relatively few, one important link that has been recognized by researchers is that between education and fertility (Comings, Smith and Shrestha, 1994; Kasarda, Billy, and West, 1986; LeVine, 1982; United Nations, 1987). The empirical evidence assembled suggests that education affects fertility by changing the perceived costs and benefits of having children and the ability to afford them, and by increasing the knowledge and use of contraception (Comings, Smith and Shrestha, 1994; Kasarda, Billy, and West, 1986; LeVine, 1982). The overall economic implications of reduced fertility rates are rather obvious for African countries whose population is estimated at over 492 million, with the likelihood of the figure doubling within two decades. Rapid population growth is a potential threat to the stability of the continent which is in the throes of economic stagnation. Some analysts however contend that the findings of related studies are inconclusive (Cochrane, 1979; Lankshear et al., 1995). Part of the problem stems from confusion about the nature of the influence of education on fertility; that is, whether or not the influence is direct or indirect, economic, culture-related, causal, or associational (Smock, 1981). Also, as the United Nations (2000a) points out, decline in fertility rates may not always reflect positive social environment since economic decline for example, can cause women to postpone children bearing or have fewer children.

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Notwithstanding the debates, the fact remains that contemporary demographic studies are based on the assumption that women’s education is inversely related to fertility and a woman’s desire to have many children. For demographic researchers, there is a simple logic for this positive relationship. Parenting requires a substantial amount of time and options available to women as a result of education compete with time devoted to child-rearing (LeVine, 1982). Furthermore, because of the propensity for educated women to enter the labor market, there is a shift in value that induces women to reallocate their time from regular childbearing to participation in the formal economic sector. The reduction in the number of births means that children have more access to family resources including time spent with parents, better quality of life, and ultimately, increased life chances which is in and of itself, an index of social development. But, beyond anecdotal evidence, the bulk of related studies in varying degrees, do indeed show a negative relationship between education and fertility (Cochrane, 1979; Comings, Smith and Shrestha, 1994; Kasarda, Billy, and West, 1986; LeVine, 1982; United Nations, 1987, 2000a). With regard to the inferred correlation between education and labor force participation, some researchers are rather tentative in their conclusions. For instance, an analysis of data from five developing countries by Smock (1981) revealed that the relationship between education and labor force participation, may not always be linear. Robertson (1986) makes a similar point arguing that access to only primary education which is often the terminal point of education for the majority of African women who do in fact go to school, removes them from the informal sector where they would otherwise be engaged while at the same time condemning them to the lowest levels of formal employment or none at all, thus reinforcing their marginalization in the development process. The Rural Factor An estimated 70 percent of Africa’s population lives in rural areas and a majority of rural dwellers are women as a result of persistent male migration to urban centers in search of better economic prospects. At the same time, virtually all economic activities in rural communities are tied to the agricultural sector in which women play an extensive (perhaps even dominant) role, producing between 50 percent and 70 percent of the region’s food requirements (Chlebowska, 1990). Yet most agricultural work is done using outdated and traditional tools, which means both backbreaking drudgery and reduced productivity.


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The economic consequences of this situation are far-reaching. First, in the current search for food security in Africa, not having access to, and knowledge of the use of more modern and efficient agricultural technology is a waste of valuable time and human resources. It would make economic sense to provide women access to education in order to facilitate necessary training in production-boosting mechanisms. In their analysis of the immense potential of education in development in sub-Saharan Africa, Browne and Barrett (1991) report differential rates of productivity among agricultural cooperatives led by educated women and those led by illiterate women in Gambia. Those led by educated women showed considerably higher output than the former group. Reduced output aside, entrepreneurial activities require credit and an often cited reason for excluding women from access to credit facilities such as agricultural development financial schemes, cooperatives, and bank loans, all of which could significantly increase the continent’s food supply, is women’s lack of education. The findings of a recent joint study of women entrepreneurs conducted by the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) and the United Nations Industrial Development Organization (UNIDO) in 11 African countries: Burkina Faso, Côte d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Gambia, Madagascar, Mali, Morocco, Senegal, Tanzania, Zambia, and Zimbabwe concluded that African women continue to face obstacles in the development process. These obstacles include, limited access to required capital (credit, loans, etc.) and access to appropriate technology to increase productivity (United Nations, 2000b). There is also the matter of teaching women how to conduct agricultural activities within ecologically safe environments as well as how to safeguard their interests in the distribution and management of natural resources. The 1995 Beijing Platform for Action recognizes this fact and calls for the integration of gender concerns and views in policies and programs that are geared toward sustainable development (United Nations, 2001). While ecological awareness does not necessarily depend on formal education, it is conceivable that educated women will be better positioned to influence decisions that are geared toward combating environmental degradation which affects girls and women disproportionately as a result of existing patterns of gender inequalities in social policies and wider society (Rodda, 1991; United Nations, 2001). Unfortunately, the fiscal crises that have persistently plagued African countries since gaining independence from various colonial powers, have exacerbated the problem of women’s limited access to education. For example, the remedial Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) adopted in the 1980s by many countries in the region, has slowed

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down the educational progress of the preceding decades and created a crisis situation (Reimers and Tiburcio, 1993; Babalola, Lungwangwa and Adeyinka, 1999). As a result, educational budgets have been slashed to the detriment of the girls and women. Babalola et al.’s analysis of education under SAPs in two African countries (Zambia and Nigeria) confirm previous findings of the negative impact of SAPs on education. According to these researchers, there has been a significant downward trend in female participation in education (among other indicators such as gross enrollments, completion rates, and educational expenditure) in both countries especially at the first two tiers. It would appear that even in the postcolonial era, international financial communities continue to control and shape the fiscal policies of developing countries to the detriment of those that are already at the fringes of their societies, such as girls and women.

Future Directions In practical terms, what kinds of social and educational policies are required to accelerate women’s full participation in social development in Africa? I suggest the adoption of a multi-pronged approach which is firmly grounded in the understanding that forward-looking policies must transcend tinkering with existing programs, and should be implemented at both the macro and micro levels of the socioeconomic structure. Perhaps more important, such policies should aim to protect women’s practical and strategic gender interests (Molyneux, 1985). In Molyneux’s account, women’s practical gender interests are those that are directly related to improving their everyday condition within the gender division of labor as well as ensuring their immediate needs for survival. Strategic gender interests have much to do with interrogating and transforming women’s overall social condition and status in society. Thus, while strategic interests are: derived . . . deductively . . . from the analysis of women’s subordination and from the formulation of an alternative more satisfactory sets of arrangements . . . practical gender interests are given inductively and arise from the concrete conditions of women’s positioning within the gender division of labour . . . they do not generally entail a strategic goal such as women’s emancipation or gender equality. (pp. 232–233)

In short, praxis-oriented interventions should also include a conscientizing component that serves as foundational framework for enabling women to question the ideological orthodoxies and unjust social policies


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that devalue their status and immense potential as partners in social development. Reconstituting the lived experiences, historical, and social positioning of African women requires informed agency, and agency as Freire (1970) suggests, is a socially learned phenomenon which is significantly enhanced by the knowledge acquired through education. Macro-Level Policies A key macro-level intervention involves enacting educational policies that are more girl and women friendly at all levels of the educational spectrum but, in particular, at the first two levels. Two underlying assumptions should guide the formulation of such policies. First, increasing investment in women’s education will increase their rate of participation in the development of their communities. Women make up about 51 percent of the region’s population; devaluing the tremendous potential of one segment of society in contributing to national development is inimical to social progress. Second, women’s education will empower as well as enable them to take control of their own lives and subsequently define for themselves their roles within their respective societies. An essential macro-level intervention from which other policies would ideally evolve, is gender mainstreaming which according to the United Nations, is a: strategy for making women’s as well as men’s concerns and experiences an integral dimension of the design, implementation, monitoring and evaluation of policies and programs in all political, economic, and social spheres so that women and men benefit equally and inequality is not perpetuated. (2001, p. 7)

With the ultimate goal of achieving gender equality, gender mainstreaming is a progressive idea that should, however, include checks and balances to counteract the potential of making it an instrument for addressing only issues that are of strategic interest to men under the cloak of a presumably egalitarian social policy. It is not unusual that even apparently gender neutral policies have gender-differentiated outcomes, when not effectively implemented (World Bank, 2001). Besides the hegemonizing possibility of gender mainstreaming, there is also the matter of committing resources for the effective implementation of the policy. Recognizing this to be problematic, the United Nations has emphasized that “effective mainstreaming requires strong political commitment to the development of gender equality . . . The allocation of sufficient resources for mainstreaming, including if necessary additional

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financial and human resources are important for the implementation of the strategy” ( p. 8). To address the potential flaws in gender mainstreaming, and to ensure that women’s practical and strategic interests are not compromised in the development process, I suggest the following strategies. First, it would be unfair to adopt policies that are premised on the idea of equal treatment since that presupposes that all social actors operate from a level playing field. If one follows the principles of social justice, women’s needs and concerns which are obvious and more urgent as a result of a tradition of marginalization, should be a matter of priority in social planning (Egbo, 2000a). Second, I propose adopting femanomics, a nontraditional women-specific approach that aims to empower women in very important ways (Egbo, 2000b). As a socioeconomic framework, femanomics assumes that there is an interface between education and women’s participation in national development. Femanomics also assumes that since other policy interventions have had only limited success in promoting social progress in Africa, co-opting women in any systematic way, requires innovative and nontraditional measures. As Rakowski (1995) argues: women’s potential power—be it economic, political, or personal-familial— is highest in circumstances where new, nontraditional opportunities arise . . . than in settings where women are included in or are integrated into traditional forms of production, reproduction, and politics. (pp. 290–291)

A second macro-level intervention involves implementing policies to remove the obstacles that impede women’s equal access to educational opportunities. Examples of such constraints are sociocultural biases and gender norms that relegate women to a secondary status relative to men. For instance, in many countries in the region, as the male child is considered the future head of the family and an enabling factor in the continuation of the patrilineal descent lineage along which kinship systems are predominantly organized, their education is often a major priority. As a consequence, girls’ education is more often than not, a matter of secondary importance (Etta, 1994). Not only do fewer girls receive education, those who do, receive a different kind from their male counterparts because many educational systems in the region typically convey different images of the appropriate type of education for each gender. While boys have more options to choose from (including the sciences), girls are often encouraged to follow the so-called feminine subjects that would enhance their


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homemaking skills but which inadvertently confine them to low paying jobs within the labor market as well as limit their ability to contribute to the development of their societies to their fullest potential. In effect, gender disparities in education and the resultant exclusionary effects mean that women, as valuable human resources, are being underutilized. The general socialization of girls is also implicated. Girls are socialized to uphold rigid sex-role norms that are extremely discriminatory. Unfortunately, such practices are accepted without question and are, in fact, reinforced and perpetuated by women themselves who often maintain a “culture of silence” to borrow a phrase from Freire (1970). By adopting this culture of silence, women continue to be excluded from active participation in policies that have significant impact on their lives, the well-being of their families, and on the development of their societies. Research and Eclectic Conceptual Frameworks Pathways to increasing women’s participation in social development will also depend on a critical linkage between theory and practice through research that advances our understandings of the trajectories of gender, education, and social progress, particularly in the context of the twenty-first century. Such research should, however, transcend conceptually limiting and essentialist oversimplification of a relationship that is far from straight forward. It is time to adopt analytical platforms that draw on the salient aspects of the various gender and development theories which currently inform policies and practices visà-vis social development. For example, the perspectives espoused by the five development theories discussed earlier in the chapter are not necessarily incommensurate. Each has some advantages and disadvantages. The problem is that standing on their own, each is inadequate to guide far-reaching policies that are integral to changing undesirable social practices to more desirable ones. New directions in research should tilt toward developing eclectic frameworks—a mélange of what best serves the interest of women in each theoretical approach. Micro-Level Policies At the micro level, one important intervention is the provision and improvement of infrastructural facilities particularly in rural communities. In many African countries, basic infrastructural facilities such as roads, potable water, mass public transportation, and the like are virtually nonexistent which puts additional pressure on women who, in turn, are

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forced to rely on their daughters for help in order to alleviate the burden. This translates into loss of schooling opportunities for young girls. Women as Agents of Change A second micro-level intervention which has implications for macro-level strategies, involves women themselves becoming agents of change. For example, because women are socialized to uphold rigid sex-role norms and to submerge their own interests to those of men and children, they themselves contribute significantly to the maintenance of the gender order in society. Meaningful change therefore, also depends on women intensifying their efforts as agents of change by forming coalitions, interrogating and challenging structural power and oppressive orthodoxies as well as strengthening their political voice and overall participation in development. Of course, this is not a simple matter given the complex interplay of factors like social positioning, educational status, religion and patriarchy, that affect women’s lives in the region. Additional challenges to women’s ability to act as change agents emanate from the fact that even women who are inclined toward changing the status quo, are reluctant to contravene deep-seated patriarchal ideologies for fear of severe community censure (Egbo, 2000a). A final point should be noted here. In implementing new strategies, policy makers, and other stakeholders must avoid making simplistic generalizations about women since they do not constitute a monolithic group. As Stichter and Parpart (1988) have noted, gender exploitation does not typically occur between the biological categories of male and female, that is, sex, but between the socially constructed categories of gender. In a similar vein, Bujra (1986) captures the inherent dilemma in any attempt at “homogenizing” African women arguing that: The condition of women in Africa . . . has always been culturally diverse . . . Women cannot be thought of as a single category, even though there are important and occasionally unifying struggles in which they may engage in. At the same time women cannot be simply analysed “as men”: gender is almost invariably a relevant category . . . gender differences find differential expression at different class levels—gender is qualified by the places women occupy in newly emergent classes. (p. 118)

Clearly, gender interacts with other variables to create different realities, advantages, and disadvantages for different groups intra-culturally and cross-culturally. Moreover, as Benería (2003) contends, “women’s issues cannot be isolated and separated from the socioeconomic and

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cultural contexts in which they are immersed” (p. ix). That said, in most cultural contexts, women are an oppressed group relative to men. As a practical matter, therefore, it is possible for them to seek and find common grounds certainly in matters that relate to the nature and extent of their participation in social development as well as in their own overall psychosocial advancement.

Conclusion This chapter sets out to present arguments to the effect that women’s participation in social development depends on an amalgam of variables, many of which are linked directly or indirectly to increased access to education. However, as I pointed out at the beginning of the chapter, education is not a panacea but rather, a catalyst for setting in motion praxis-oriented transformation. In practice then, meaningful education for accelerating development would be one that offers women practical skills, permits reflective analysis of their overall condition, and enables them to act on their behalf. For African countries, achieving and maintaining sustainable development requires the mobilization of all human capital, including women. Since education is inextricably linked to development, the exclusion of one section of the population can only impede progress. As Africa struggles at the margins of the world economy, its future development strategies can only benefit from prioritizing women’s education.

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Achieving Gender E quity in Africa’ s I nstitutions of Tertiary Education: Beyond Access and Representation Philomina Okeke-Ihejirika

As long as the proportion of women in African universities is less than 50 percent . . . the continent is under-utilizing a corresponding proportion of its available human talent. There seems no intrinsic reason why Africa should continue to disadvantage itself through the exclusion of women . . . [T]he building of high-quality institutions will benefit from more deliberate and sustained attention to the promotion of women as scholars and scientists, than has prevailed in the past. Court (1991, 343–344)

T

he analysis below attempts to extend the debate on African women’s participation in tertiary education beyond the persistent appeals for equal representation across the disciplines, and in the proportion of teaching and administrative staff. The analysis here focuses specifically on sub-Saharan Africa. Hence, the references and proposals made exclude the countries north of the Sahara such as Egypt, Morocco, and Algeria. The chapter begins with a brief review of the reasons advanced by those who advocate African women’s access to and representation in tertiary education. It also takes a cursory look at African women’s progress at this level, highlighting the barriers they face. The primary purpose here, however, it to explore the ideological content of African women’s training, and the various ways it might be implicated in the struggle to achieve gender equity at the tertiary level. By “ideological content” I refer to the gendered hierarchies in the administrative and

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academic structures of these institutions (which convey to students crucial information about the status quo in place), the environment in which learning takes place (which, in many ways, reflects the dynamics of social relations in the larger society), and gaps in the curriculum (which leave unanswered many questions about contradictions between the prospects of training and the traditional expectations of roles and responsibilities). What individuals learn at primary and secondary schools, but especially in tertiary education, is not limited only to the curriculum content of academic and professional programs. In fact, much of the learning experiences, which shape an individual’s worldview and fashion them into full adults, are not contained in the formal curriculum. Rather, the dynamics of institutional life, the rules of social relations, and the hierarchies they embed, prepare the individual for future challenges as full-fledged adults. Existing literature takes for granted what African men and women receive from tertiary training as merely assets that fetch economic, and especially for some men, political prizes. These prizes are assumed to be monolithic in the sense that as learning packages, they remain unchanged and therefore have very little potential to transform those who “purchase” them (Moshi, 1998; Okeke, 2003). This chapter reexamines the content of what African women learn in tertiary education, not necessarily in terms of what the curriculum offers and how available options could be expanded, but mainly with regard to the preparation women receive as a group traditionally subordinate to men. It probes the prospect for training that takes them beyond access to paid employment and the status of tokens in social governance, but also equips them with the knowledge and courage to transform society. In conclusion, the analysis highlights the role of African women researchers, teachers, and administrators in tertiary education as initiators of this change.

Reexamining the Grounds for African Women’s Participation in Tertiary Education In most of Africa, formal education was never instituted with a view to creating a learning environment where both men and women could equally pursue knowledge. In anglophone West Africa, for instance, formal education below the tertiary level developed with different agendas and, in many cases, separate facilities for boys and girls. Similarly, African institutions of tertiary education, especially universities, were designed by colonial authorities (with pressure from the indigenous male elite) to prepare African men as future leaders of their countries (Court, 1991;

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Nwauwa, 1994; UNESCO, 1993). In contrast, African women’s education was geared toward their roles as wives and mothers in the emerging elite circles, and therefore, training at the tertiary level was not considered a necessary step (Bujra, 1983). The perception of tertiary education as an instrument for African women’s social mobility was sown and sharpened only with the advent of the global women’s movement in the early 1970s. This movement gave birth to the Women’s Decade (1975–1985) sponsored by the United Nations, and subsequently unleashed an array of policy measures aimed at improving women’s lives, especially in the developing world. In Africa, especially, social debates promoted education as a crucial prerequisite for uplifting the status of women. Over time, these debates increasingly highlighted women’s educational attainment as a development issue (Kelly, 1991; Sutton, 2001). Most scholars and policy makers now share the view that education is a basic precondition for improving women’s status and positioning them as equal partners with men in nation building (Kevane, 2004; UNESCO, 2004; World Bank, 1998). Whether or not women should at present pursue formal training at the primary and the secondary levels, is no longer a matter of public debate. Lower fertility rates, healthier children, and better home management, are only a few of the established reasons why women’s access to formal education at these levels cannot be negotiated (Petrides, 1998; Schultz, 2002). Arguments for women’s access to tertiary education, however, have yet to garner comparable conviction. Tertiary education for women, so we are told, is training over and above what they need for their primary roles in the family. In addition, public expenditure on tertiary education cuts into available funding for the lower levels, which command even higher social returns. Besides, women are not likely to be as gainfully employed as men, especially with the dwindling prospects of tertiary education in the developing world (Psacharopoulos and Woodhall, 1985; World Bank, 1994). All of these reasons add up to lower returns that might not be worth the trouble providing women with the opportunity. Regardless of the concerns mentioned earlier, the case for women’s access to tertiary education is eloquently argued by ardent advocates. For one thing, they point out, the potential benefits to individual women, especially in Africa where gender-related adversities (e.g., feminization of poverty, maternal, and infant mortality) tend to be most pronounced, cannot be overemphasized. For another, research findings clearly show that compared to men, women’s improved economic well-being has a greater positive impact on their families, children specifically, and the society in general (Barrera, 1990; Bowman and Anderson, 1982).

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Beyond the personal benefits accruing to individual women, advocates argue, African women’s training provides a potential reserve of human expertise that cannot be left untapped if the continent is to build the necessary capacity for a renaissance. Tertiary institutions of learning hold the prospect for capacity building, especially in an era where advances in information technology, as torch bearers, now herald innovations for economic growth and human welfare (Dunne and Sayed, 2002; Petrides, 1998). The historical disadvantage suffered by African women in formal education and paid work created a man’s world; a patriarchal hierarchy that easily excludes women from the potential sites where the possibilities for such innovations could be explored (Petrides, 1998; Rao, 1991). If the challenge is to create a world that celebrates the diverse visions of its inhabitants, and harnesses their talents toward the task of transforming society, then African women cannot stand at the margins, watching men as they march on. African women’s full participation in tertiary education should also be designed to recognize their potential as nation builders. As noted earlier, tertiary education in most of postcolonial Africa has been the training ground for new elites who hold the reigns of public decision making, control national resources, and shape political and social practices. Although tertiary training does not necessarily guarantee any African woman a slot even in the corridors of power, it provides women with the prerequisites for entrance (Hayward, 1997). Gender equity in formal training, many scholars agree, also has a direct effect on economic growth. In a recent review of macro indicators of global trends, Paul Schultz (2002) at the Center for Economic Growth, Yale University, concludes: [Regions of the world] which have equalized their educational achievements for men and women in the last several decades have on the average grown faster . . . East Asia has increased the schooling of women much faster than that of men, closing a historically pronounced gender gap . . . Africa . . . provided schooling mainly to males, although women were heavily engaged in the subsistence and market economies, and therefore should have had as much to gain from schooling as did men. (p. 12)

Women’s participation in social governance has also been highlighted as one area where any society could reap, in large measure, the benefits of women’s education. Existing evidence suggests that, compared to men in similar positions, women who hold public office or senior positions in the civil service often channel much of their efforts toward reshaping existing policies to improve the condition of life for the


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general population. For instance, studies of trends in and the experiences of some advanced industrial countries suggest that “women prefer that social spending be . . . more oriented toward the well-being of children; more social spending on local infrastructure, schooling, and antipoverty programs is good for economic growth; thus empowering women in the political process leads to larger allocations toward growth-enhancing government expenditures” (Kevane, 2004, pp. 1–2). Such policies may be perceived as socially oriented in outlook with little capacity for producing wealth, but given their impact on the well-being of vulnerable groups within the society, experts argue, they actually promote economic growth. Women’s participation in social governance could also greatly improve the conduct of public decision making. A strongly worded World Bank publication, explains, for instance, that “greater women’s rights and more equal participation in public life by women and men are associated with cleaner business and government and better governance. Where the influence of women in public life is greater, the level of corruption is lower . . . [and] women can be an effective force for rule of law and good governance” (World Bank, 2001, pp. 12–13). As leaders and decision makers in government, women, the publication argues, are not likely to succumb to often taken-for-granted attitudes which encourage bribery and the abuse of power in office. In Africa at present, women are grossly marginalized in formal politics, with the majority often invited as cheerleaders and the tiny minority tokenized as ornaments that showcase the benevolence of regimes which are inherently patriarchal (Aubrey, 2001; Mama, 1995). African women’s pursuit of tertiary training, advocates unanimously agree, needs to be promoted not simply because of the personal benefits which accrue to recipients. Women’s full participation as “the other half,” is equally beneficial as a necessary ingredient for society overall.

African Women in Tertiary Education: Progress and Barriers Statistics on higher education in Africa must be interpreted with caution. The dearth of information, especially on gender distribution means that, in many cases, these statistics are based on a much fewer number of countries than the total (UNESCO, 2004). Based on available data, women’s enrollment in tertiary education around the globe recorded a phenomenal increase over the past three decades (1970–2000), especially in the 1980s when the impact of one decade of a global effort to mobilize women, became increasingly evident. As figure 9.1 reveals, women’s enrollment in tertiary education between 1980 and 1996

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Philomina Okeke-Ihejirika 600

537

570

353

389

169

176 138

500

Increase (1980 = 100)

400 353 300 228

200

180 147 119 108

100

140 117

136

0 1980

1985

1990

1995

1996

Year World total

Europe

Africa

Sub-Saharan Africa

Figure 9.1 Rates of female enrollment in tertiary education, 1980–1996. Source: UNESCO (1998).

almost doubled. Africa and the sub-Saharan region in particular registered the highest rates of increase, surpassing the rates for both Europe and the world total. This substantial increase was largely the result of pressure by the international community on African governments to accord tertiary education a higher priority than before (Sutton, 2001). From 1996, however, the sharp increases across the regions, including Africa began to taper off, a trend that was not unconnected with the global economic downturn which started in Africa. More recent data on male and female participation in tertiary education suggest that the impressive growth in African women’s enrollment in the 1980s and 1990s significantly narrowed the substantial gap between male and female access. Table 9.1 shows the gross enrollment ratios (GER) at the tertiary level between 1999 and 2001 in selected African countries. The GER is the proportion of individuals between 18 and 24 years of age who are enrolled in a tertiary institution. Obviously, the male and female GERs succinctly depict the tiny proportion of individuals of both sexes who make it to tertiary education. But the progress made by women at this level is also evident. The female GERs in some of the countries represented appear to closely follow the ratio of males. The general picture, however, clearly shows that men are still ahead.


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Table 9.1 Tertiary gross enrollment ratios (%) in selected African countries, 1998–2001 1998–1999 Country Botswana Burundi Ghana Kenya Swaziland Uganda Zambia

1999–2000

2000–2001

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

4 1 4 2 6 3 3

3 1 1 1 5 1 2

5 2 4 4 5 4 NA

3 1 1 2 5 2 NA

5 2 5 3 6 4 3

4 1 2 3 5 2 2

Note: NA indicates no data available. Source: Compiled from UNESCO: http://stats.uis.unesco.org.

Current data were not readily available to analyze the GERs presented in the table in terms of women’s representation in academic and professional programs. But available statistics show that African women’s participation in tertiary education is, for the most part, confined to the fields of education, arts, and humanities, with much lower representations in the science-oriented disciplines. Although women’s participation in tertiary education has grown in leaps and bounds, the general picture still indicates a well-defined line of segregation that women are yet to cross (Kelly, 1991; Sutton, 2001). Scholars and policy makers often trace the barriers to African women’s progress in tertiary education right back to their access to the lower levels. Women’s participation in tertiary education primarily depends on the numbers who enter primary education and make it to secondary education as potential candidates (Court, 1991; Hayward, 1997). Moreover, the chances of these potential candidates making it to tertiary education rest substantially on the aspirations society, and those who support their training, help them sustain. In order to nurture this aspiration, both the female children and their parents “must ultimately perceive that there are rewards for girls who persist into tertiary levels of education” (Sutton, 2001, p. 393). African female children face numerous barriers that discourage them from even taking their first steps into formal education. How far they proceed in the system, and the career ambitions they nurture, are largely determined by how well society steadies these first steps. Presently, the majority of African families still rely significantly on the services provided by young girls as siblings of male children,

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young relatives, and housemaids. Boys are perceived as future heads of households and therefore, these families are also more likely to invest in boys’ education than girls’, especially when public funding does not adequately subsidize their own budget for sponsoring both sexes. In an environment where cultural dictates and social beliefs set fundamental boundaries for the level and kind of education women should receive, economic hardship further reinforces already existing barriers to women’s progress. The learning environment women find themselves in, the curriculum content, and the quality of preparation they receive especially for careers in the sciences, could often be traced back to existing constructions of gender roles and parental attitudes toward female education (Bloch, Beoku-Betts and Tabachnick, 1998; Rathgeber, 1991). These limitations already shape women’s potential prospects in tertiary education even before they graduate from secondary school. These limitations strongly control women’s access and reinforce their segregation from men at the tertiary level. The attendant pressures increase attrition rates and dampen the aspirations of many. Often, the pressure to reconcile career aspirations with social expectations regarding women’s legitimate roles constrain both employment opportunities and prospects for professional advancement in paid work (Mama, 2003; Okeke, 2004; Petrides, 2001). The major emphasis, scholars and policy makers agree, should be placed on creating easier and expanded access that channels women into a diversity of disciplines. Although tertiary education attracts significant subsidy through public funding and, in many cases, foreign aid, individual recipients still need substantial financial layout to cover the cost of their training. Therefore, measures aimed at expanding access cannot overlook women’s already disadvantaged position. Such measures should recognize both men and women as full participants in the various programs provided with special consideration given to criteria for access, curriculum content, and course delivery. African women’s poor representation as academics, researchers, and administrators in tertiary education, advocates argue, also undermines present efforts to boost women’s participation. Presently, women constitute a small minority, kept at the lower ranks of teaching and administration and segregated in similar fashion as the female student body (Bunyi, 2004; Dunne and Sayed, 2002; Sall, 2000). Table 9.2 shows the total number of female academic staff in selected African countries between 2000 and 2002. Obviously, women are poorly represented in the teaching staff of Africa’s tertiary institutions. But the rates of participation shown in table 9.2 do not even capture the dismal proportion of women


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Table 9.2 Female academic staff in Africa’s tertiary institutions, 2000–2002

Country Burundi Eritrea Ethiopia Ghana Liberia Sierra Leone Uganda

2000–2001

2001–2002

Male/Female % Female

Male/Female % Female

507 255 3232 3501 772a 1165 4062

9 12 8 12 16a 15 19

608 255 3313 NA NA 1198a 4908a

10 12 8 NA NA 15a 18a

Notes: a UNESCO Institute of Statistics Estimates. NA: No data available. Source: UNESCO (2004).

academics in science, engineering, and the other preserves. African women’s marginal status in academia makes them vulnerable targets in a patriarchal arrangement with clearly defined hierarchies. Decline in public funding and political interventions by the state, among other factors, have created tensions between African governments and tertiary education institutions. These tensions limit academic freedom, create divisions within the staff, and also help to nurture a hostile environment for student unrest. When women work in exclusion for the most part, as academics and researchers, their own academic freedom is curtailed even further. Given their dismal representation in the senior ranks of tertiary education staff, African women are not in anyway equipped to push for policy changes that boost women’s access to and representation at this level. Moreover, female students have few role models and mentors who would provide useful advice through shared experience.

Beyond Access and Representation: The Ideological Content of Women’s Training It seems that most scholars in the field identify African women’s access to and representation across the disciplines as students, teachers, researchers, and administrators as the two major underpinning ingredients for achieving gender equity in tertiary education. But many of these scholars would agree that increased access does not necessarily guarantee a wider representation, and mere increases in number and

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representation, even if achievable, would not necessarily guarantee gender equity at this level. Equal access and representation in the academic programs and administrative cadres of tertiary education does not necessarily amount to gender equity. African institutions of tertiary education may need more than massive increases in female enrollment in order to precipitate the desired social climate which would transform their structures and programs to fully include women. Even as scholars and policy makers push for African women’s access and representation in tertiary education, it is also important to recognize that social transformation is a gradual process. But perhaps, the most challenging aspect of this process is challenging the system itself, and people within it, to reexamine the status quo. Such seemingly small, but persistent steps may be needed in order to amass the pool of much-needed supporters and channel these increases in numbers into purposive change. Scholarly debates on gender equity in tertiary education often proceed with little attention paid to the ideological content of what is learnt. Public policies that seek to improve women’s participation equally focus on ways to increase their access to tertiary institutions and spread this enrollment across a wider range of disciplines. Not much is done about the content of training that prepares men and women for life as adults, and its implications for the struggle to achieve gender equity. The challenge gender equity presents, is not simply a question of getting more women into the institutions and ensuring that they get their bites in full portions. Advocates of African women’s full participation at this level expect a dramatic change for the best with the desired enrollment increases in engineering, physics, and computer science; with women’s equal representation in the tertiary echelons of administration. But a succinct review of women’s progress in tertiary education suggests a word of caution. For much of the developing world, including Africa, Lisa Petrides (2001) observes, for instance, the entry of women into tertiary education did not produce societal transformation with regard to the changing roles of women. . . . [W]hile the numbers of women receiving tertiary education have dramatically improved, those who have argued that such education would be a panacea for the equality of women have been greatly disappointed. (p. 408)

Although Petrides and other critics argue for a wider distribution of female enrollments in tertiary education programs, they also recognize the traditional barriers that sustain a narrow access, compelling women to confine themselves to existing boundaries. Breaking these barriers requires not only deliberate action to place more women in specific


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programs, but also a change in the ideological content of this training—a social climate that enables women to challenge the status quo as part of the preparation for life after training. At present, the decision to pursue tertiary education (including the field of study to embrace and how far to spread her wings, career wise) presents a serious dilemma to even the ambitious African woman. In a preface to a recent publication on the subject, Lobi Moshi (1998), a prominent African social activist, elegantly captures this problem: There is the assumption that formal education is the ultimate liberator of women in Africa. However, we need to bear in mind that much of what is taught in formal education is like a double-edged-sword—for the most part it is foreign and sometimes has affected societal values for the worse. Although formal education can be used to raise women from the shackles of poverty and inequality, it can also make the same women victims of continuous criticism for abandoning cultural and traditional values. (p. xi)

Women all over the world confront the dilemma of fitting educational and career ambitions into social roles. But the African context presents some unique challenges because of the contradictions in the relations of gender introduced by colonization and capitalist expansion. The problem for the African woman who aspires to acquire tertiary education credentials, Moshi argues, lies in her inability to deftly manage these contradictions: So far, African women have not been able to do so, let alone define their goals for liberation through education. They allow traditional values to coexist with values acquired through formal education, despite their awareness of the contradictions that are clearly reflected in the contrast between what they say about parity and quality of women’s education and what they do that in effect reinforces stereotypical views of women’s lives. (p. xi)

It is safe to argue that the architects of tertiary education in Africa do not recognize the dilemmas Moshi identifies as crucial matters men and women must wrestle with, as part of the learning package. Administrators and teachers at this level, it seems, channel men and women into specific areas of specialization and watch them go through their programs with little attention paid to the dynamics of gender relations in which they are mired. Women, in particular, are left to wrestle with a fundamentally subordinate status. They often resign themselves to seeking out coping strategies rather than social spaces for enquiry that enables them to contest existing dictates. Achieving gender equity in Africa’s

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tertiary education institutions is not simply a matter of boosting enrollment to fill the gaping holes of women’s dismal representation. This training should transform the female recipients along with their male counterparts into agents of change in society. If African tertiary education institutions maintain their patriarchal setup, running their administrations and delivering their programs without any challenge, it is unlikely that a significant number of the graduates they produce would do more with their training than getting a good job. African women’s limited representation in tertiary education certainly impacts greatly on the life of these institutions as social spaces where learning must invite persistent inquiry that sustains ardent contestations of “the-way-it-is.” The ideological content of tertiary education in Africa at present limits individual vision, and leaves little room, even for the ambitious female student, researcher or teacher, to challenge the status quo. Succinct analysts of international education, Mairead Dunne and Yusuf Sayed (2002), argue that African women’s near exclusion in this case makes it difficult for them “to change the maledominated culture and modus operandi of the university. In such contexts, it is unlikely that any significant change to the courses and services offered . . . [would take] place” (p. 58). Without an inclusive shift in gender representation, Dunne and Sayed insist, current efforts at improving gender equity in tertiary education are merely “suggestive of a limited ‘transformation’ with minimal institutional response to new student groups who might expect limited change to the form and content of the curriculum on offer” (p. 62).

A Challenge to African Female Academics and Administrators The challenge of achieving gender equity in African institutions of tertiary education must begin with gradual steps which harness the contributions of any available hand or agency. This is not a task that should rest solely on the shoulders of one obvious social group—women. As David Court argues at the beginning of this chapter, African universities and the larger society have much to gain by including women in the task of producing knowledge. The contributions of men as scholars, researchers, community and national leaders, policy makers, and social activists, are certainly needed to move the struggle for gender equity in tertiary education forward. Moreover, the policies and financial assistance of governments, and national and international agencies are also undeniably crucial to making any progress in this struggle. With the status quo firmly set in place in Africa’s institutions of tertiary learning, women


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and men would have to collude at some point to effect fundamental change. But the challenge of transforming Africa’s tertiary institutions to embrace gender equity, daunting as it is, also needs to be nurtured by a potent female minority—teachers, researchers, and administrators within and outside the continent. This is the group best positioned to mobilize, and if necessary, co-opt other groups to join this struggle. The challenge to female academics in African institutions, in particular, does not underestimate the hostile environment they work in. Compared to African female academics in Europe and North America, they must contend more with the peculiarities of a gendered status at home. The latter poses its own challenge against any attempts to question the rules and stand out as mentors and role models who are prepared to initiate change. Female academics in Africa are usually afraid to speak out; to demand change through their scholarship. Like other highly educated women outside the institutional setting, they are, at best, prepared to accept the way-it-is, refining their coping strategies overtime to deflect any possible confrontations with the “malestream” authority. The few, who take on the challenge of making a difference, often stand alone with little room to maneuver (Mama, 2003; Sall, 2000; Tamale and Oloka-Onyango, 1997). The situation certainly calls for close working arrangements among women working in African tertiary institutions. Regardless of differences in areas of specialization, these female professionals must find ways to support one another. It is also important that female academics at “home” and those “abroad” work together to establish and nurture partnerships to sustain their scholarship and strengthen their place in academia. Indeed, the rise of Women’s Studies as a discipline and an interdisciplinary field, has drawn women, and in some cases men, into the struggle for gender equity, challenging their scholarship and personal politics. Admittedly, Women’s Studies programs and the kinds of scholarship it sponsors are yet to gain a legitimate status in most regions of the developing world, including Africa (Petrides, 2001; Sutton, 2002). But even the little presence Women’s Studies now commands, and the ground it has gained with the support of national governments, international development agencies, and foreign universities, could be effectively exploited to challenge the ideological content of tertiary training. As the renowned Nigerian scholar and social activist Ayesha Imam (1997) asserts in her introduction to Engendering African Social Sciences, the task, for those who challenge the gender biases and other social inequalities inherent in contemporary African societies, is not simply to develop knowledge, “but is also necessarily and simultaneously profoundly a political struggle over power and resources” (p. 2).

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Regardless of different locations and specialties, African female academics cannot avoid questions that may not sit well with certain groups, establishments, and powerhouses. Regardless of our area of specialty, our personal politics as role models and mentors to both male and female students should convey our stance with the existing status quo and the efforts to transform it. As Patricia McFadden (1999) points out, African female writers who adopt this stance, despite the risks involved, could make a significant difference in the struggle to transform tertiary education in Africa: When women write from a positionality that is built through solidarity and inclusiveness, they conjure up new intellectual products; treasures, which, if acknowledged and accepted become an important part of the stock of intellectual and cultural products in their respective societies . . . Their thoughts and words can become key ingredients in the transformation of the notions of democracy, equality, dignity and citizenship from the narrow, masculinist confines which have excluded women, into broadbased, more inclusive and more sustainable vehicles of social justice and fairness. . . . They break new grounds in terms of the realization of essentially different and more empowering relationships with men. (pp. i–ii)

There is a need for more of such female academics who have a strong conviction that the desire for change to occur must be matched with the zeal to pursue it—by challenging their colleagues and students (male and female alike) to reexamine the status. Both the essential content of what men and women learn in tertiary education, as well as the environment in which this learning takes place, needs to undergo some fundamental changes. The entire package of tertiary training should be designed to equip both men and women with the knowledge and courage to change society. This package should inculcate in them their responsibilities as equal partners in effecting this change. For women, in particular, this training should not merely provide them with coping strategies to protect their enviable status, but must instill in them the intellectual capacity and political fortitude to push for fundamental change. It is within such an inclusive vision that we can define tertiary education as an asset that offers women the same benefits as men.

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Gender and Education in S ub-Saharan A frica: The Women in D evelopment ( WID) Approach and its Alternatives Codou Diaw

In the decade and a half since the United Nations designated 1975 as International Women’s Year to launch the Decade for Women, research into sex differences and gender in education has expanded, developed and deepened. It has been characterized by several trends. It has become more widespread, interdisciplinary and international, almost all major countries contributing to new research paradigms. It has, at last, become respectable to the extent that it is the more rigorous and scholarly—and better funded. And gender research has led the field in being increasingly policy-oriented. Byrne (1990, p. 3)

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his quote is pertinent to this chapter in that it sets the scene for discussing the issues of education, gender, and culture in an international, rather than national perspective. It also recognizes both the key role played by international development institutions and the contribution of the academic field. Finally, it underscores the importance of using a gender framework to analyze policy issues that affect the education of girls and women. In light of international events of the past couple of decades (United Nations [UN] conferences on women in Nairobi and Beijing, Education For All (EFA) Forums in Jomtien and Dakar, etc.), one can safely say that there is a global movement for girls’ and women’s education,

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especially for African, South Asian, and Latin American countries (Byrne, 1990; Stromquist, 1998). UN agencies, international funding institutions, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), and national governments have “unanimously” pledged to formulate genderfocused educational policies. The purpose is to increase female access to education in many countries in order to boost economic development. The dominant argument is based on research that highly correlates women’s access to education with greater economic progress for women as individuals and for countries as a whole. It has been argued that female education and literacy are key factors in a country’s development and that investments in women’s education yield high social and economic returns (Floro and Wolfe, 1990; King and Hill, 1993; Pscharapoulos, 1989; Pscharapoulos and Woodhall, 1985; Schultz, 1989). Yet, girls’ and women’s educational opportunities in many countries continue to be limited, both in absolute terms and in comparison to those of boys and men. Differences in male and female enrollment as a proportion of total enrollment are striking at both the primary and secondary levels in South Asia and sub-Saharan Africa particularly. In its 2003 report entitled Gender And Education For All: The Leap To Equality, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) estimates that despite a decade of progress in sub-Saharan African countries, only 45 percent of girls were enrolled in primary school in 2000. Even though there are variations among countries, the gap widens even more at the secondary and tertiary levels in the whole region. At issue also, in most regions are girls’ higher dropout rates and thus, lower educational attainment. This situation has mobilized many actors seeking to reverse these numerical disparities. The suggested solutions to the problem are informed by various theoretical paradigms about gender, education, and culture. In this chapter, various perspectives and assumptions that inform gender-oriented educational policies are presented and critiqued. Although the general literature about these topics is referred to, illustrations will mainly focus on the sub-Saharan African region.

The Concept of Gender The concept of gender is often misunderstood, or misinterpreted as referring solely to women or to feminism (Carver, 1996). Although gender is a key concept in feminist thought, the two notions are different. Gender theory and research, like feminist theory, is complex, evolving, and shaped by a variety of academic fields, including biology, psychology, sociology, and anthropology.

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According to Oakley (1985), until the mid-nineteenth century, gender differences between males and females were attributed to biology or sex. Victorian ideology posited that women were inferior to men because nature intended it to be so. It was not until the late nineteenth century that research started to delve into the psychoanalytical dimensions of sexual differences, thanks, primarily, to Freud’s work about family dynamics and their impact on gender identification. However, even then, sex was considered as innate and static. The conventional wisdom was that male and female social behaviors are essentially determined by biology (Howard and Hollander, 1997). As feminism gained ground as a movement and as an academic discipline, scholars argued that based on “mythical assumptions” about women’s and men’s capabilities and roles in society, an andocentric Western epistemology helped devalue women’s experiences and status through its fields of study, its theories, and its research methods (Reddock, 2000). This epistemology was also ethnocentric since the erroneous assumptions about men and women continued to be held as though they were universally valid. Biological determinism was later criticized by some feminist psychologists such as Gilligan (1982), who did not necessarily reject the male/female divide as explained earlier, but who argued that the social context is responsible for gender differentiations, which are internalized during childhood (Gilligan, 1982; Oakley, 1985). Gender theory started, then, to emphasize the links between individual personality traits and the socialization of boys and girls. Researchers of this school claim that socialization heavily influences children’s perception of appropriate roles, which they later transfer into adult life (Chodorow, 1978). However, this perspective takes gender role manifestations as unproblematic since it implies that these “ossify” at an early age; it is mainly criticized on grounds of essentialism and stereotyping. By contrast, social constructionists (Kessler and McKenna, 1978) argue that it is through communication that individuals conform to the roles dictated by society. Since communication is determined by context, individuals tend to internalize and perpetuate gender inequities through daily performances. This argument implies that gender is not static but can be reshaped and adapted to a specific context, be it cultural, economic, political, or otherwise (Howard and Hollander, 1997). In considering the cultural context, anthropologists have also contributed to the examination of cultural influences on gender roles and have studied the public-private split between males and females present in many societies. They have introduced a cross-cultural dimension to the debate (Oakley, 1985).

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More recently, a political/ideological dimension has been introduced: structural and standpoint theorists argue that gender roles are impacted by the location of the individual in society, which in turn, determines whether s/he will occupy a position of power or not (Harding, 1991; Scott, 1995; Sow, 1994). This view considers gender as a social construct that systematically ascribes value to social roles according to definitions of masculinity and femininity, which are reinforced by ascriptions such as class, ethnicity, race, and religion (Harding, 1991; Scott, 1995). This approach also studies the gendered distribution of resources within institutions such as the household, the workplace, and schools (Howard and Hollander, 1997). This political and ideological dimension of gender has been embraced by many feminists, who in turn, have influenced the more refined definitions of gender that are prevalent these days. Many have built on Oakley’s (1985) categorical split between the notions of sex and gender when she declares: “ ‘sex’ is a biological term; ‘gender’ is a psychological and cultural one” (p. 158). However, El-Bushra (2000) argues that Oakley’s definition of gender, which is fundamental to the gender and development (GAD) perspective, discussed later in this chapter, is based on a cultural or contextspecific observed reality. Oakley makes an artificial distinction between the notions of sex and gender, which are clearly connected. Gender is first and foremost a sociocultural construct. From being a social ascription, gender has become an analytical category much like class, ethnicity, race or nationality, factors with which it interacts in complex ways. That is why clear-cut definitions of gender and assumptions about a universal form of women’s subordination in relation to men’s power over them are tenuous at best. Clearly, the assumption that gender and sex belong to two very different categories, and the binary distinctions between the two that some gender specialists insist upon making, seem to add to the murky understanding and application of the concept in policy-making arenas. In summary, gender can be defined as the socially constructed relations between males and females through the roles ascribed to each sex group—sex, being a biological marker for males and females and an inherent aspect of gender. The nature of the social relations and roles of males and females changes over time and varies widely within and between cultures. Gender relations are therefore historically, culturally, ideologically, and politically defined through the responsibilities and obligations to which men and women are enculturated. Thus, by their very nature, gender relations and inequities can be challenged and reshaped through policy and action.


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Given the role ascribed to education in most societies, education could be a site where such challenging and reshaping could occur. One could assume that educational policy seeking to eradicate gender disparities would use a gender analysis perspective. Thus, a gender analysis framework implies a perspective that encompasses the social, economic, political, ideological, cultural, psychological, and legal aspects of an issue to understand how the differences and relations between the sexes affect, and are affected by, policies and practices in a given cultural context. Yet, the dominant perspective for gender-oriented education policy uses mainly an economic paradigm anchored in human capital and modernization theories as well as liberal feminism, which all share universalistic assumptions about schooling and economic progress (Scott, 1995; Stromquist, 1998). Most policies for female education, nationally and internationally, have been formulated in terms of access for girls and women and in terms of closing the gender gap in enrollment for purposes of economic development (Sénégal, Ministère de l’Education Nationale, 2000; United States Agency for International Development, USAID, 1998; World Bank, 1988 and 1995). They have paid little or no regard to the very structural roots of such gaps or ways to eradicate the deep-seated mechanisms that reinforce gender disparities (Bloch, Beoku-Betts, and Tabachnick, 1998; Leach, 1998). This perspective is encapsulated in the women in development (WID) approach.

The Women in Development ( WID) Approach WID is the framework of choice for the major funding institutions and is adopted by many UN agencies, national governments, and NGOs (Goetz, 1998; Stromquist, 1998). WID advocates and practitioners share the assumptions of modernization and human capital theories that education leads to economic development. However, they argue that policies and actions for greater access must integrate women’s concerns as well. This perspective heavily relies on Western liberal feminism (Acker, 1994; Browne and Barrett, 1991; King and Hill, 1993; Rathgeber, 1989). The WID movement emerged during the 1970s when a group of female economists and development professionals demanded equality of access and opportunity for women in development programs (Boserup, 1970). Its key argument is that development planning and macro policies have not directly taken women’s perspectives, experiences, and needs into account. This, in turn, has put or maintained women at

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a disadvantage worldwide, especially in non-Western countries (Boserup, 1970; Lindsey, 1997; Rathgeber, 1989; Tinker and Bramson, 1976). According to WID, lack of access to formal education is one of the main reasons why women hold a subordinate status in society. Thus, as women’s formal qualifications increase, so will their participation in formal sectors of the economy (Razavi and Miller, 1995). WID is not necessarily concerned with the structural causes and processes of gender inequality as much as it is concerned with opening spaces for women within existing structures, which, it recognizes, are created with men in mind. Consequently, WID advocates demanded a clear inclusion of women’s concerns in economic and social policies. The focus of educational and literacy programs in the South, was then shifted from “male-centered” policies to targeting girls and women. In the WID model, literacy and educational attainment through schooling is supposed to improve women’s ability to provide better care, health, and income for their families, as well as lead to the economic development of their countries. The satisfaction of women’s practical needs is the key. It is assumed that once these needs are met, through self-help and “working within the system,” individual women will make personal gains and move up the socioeconomic ladder (Rathgeber, 1989). Progressively, then, economic inequalities based on gender will tend to disappear on their own, leading to women’s empowerment. Yet, what does empowerment mean? What Empowerment, Whose Empowerment? The very mention of the word empowerment assumes a lack of power, or less power than deemed effective by oneself or another. Empowerment can be thought of as both a process and an outcome. It cannot be bestowed upon people or communities but rather, it involves the active participation of those who are to benefit from it. The notion of agency, that is, the faculty of acting or the power to act, is central to empowerment. Though the use of the term “empowerment” is pervasive in education policy and development planning circles, there is little agreement on its meaning. For instance, adherents to the idea of “schooling for development” use it to imply that women, as individuals, can achieve equality of access and opportunity by working “within the dominant system.” From this perspective, women’s empowerment connotes participation in the formal economy and has very instrumentalist undertones and individualistic qualities (Parpart, Rai and Staudt, 2002; Stromquist, 2002).


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A radical perspective sees equity and empowerment in a more collective light, achievable only if women band together to transform the structures that make their subordination possible (Longwe, 1998). Therefore, for this group, equity and empowerment have political and ideological underpinnings. The Oxfam Handbook of Relief and Development (1995) states: “Empowerment involves challenging the forms of oppression which compel millions of people to play part in their society in terms that are inequitable or in ways which deny their human rights” (p. 2). Some feminist activists insist that empowering women does not mean swapping one group’s power (men’s) with another’s (women’s). They understand empowerment as a deconstruction of ideologies of oppression in their many forms, often regardless of gender (Oxaal and Baden, 1997). For many postmodern scholars and activists, the notion of empowerment must be anchored in a specific sociocultural context, not presumed universal notions about power and oppression. This understanding assumes the existence of spheres of power and empowerment instead of a monolithic meaning; one can be empowered in one context and fail to be in another. Thus, the notion of empowerment is rather fluid in this perspective (Parpart, Rai and Staudt, 2002). Despite variations in the interpretation of empowerment, it is safe to say that an empowered woman, man, or community of people, is one who has the awareness and ability to act against sources of power that alienate, or influence decisions in order to generate positive processes and desired outcomes for oneself and for one’s environment (Oxaal and Baden, 1997). Although the term empowerment is used pervasively in the WID discourse, clearly, the concept is more complex than the instrumental perspective which dominates educational policy making for girls and women. Many alternative frameworks to WID involve the use of gender as category of analysis instead of “women.” They usually fall within the general approach of gender and development (GAD). In the following section, I discuss the various critiques formulated against the WID approach. Critiques of the WID Approach: Gender and Development Some assert that despite decades of projects, campaigns, and interventions for girls’ and women’s education, very little has changed in this area in many regions of the world, especially in sub-Saharan Africa (Hollos, 1998; Longwe, 1998; Stromquist, 1998 and 1999). They feel that any successful framework will have to question the ideology behind existing

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institutions and their approach to gender in development issues, as well as the type and content of the education provided to girls and women. They further stress that, approaches such as WID have facilitated the co-optation of gender concerns by states and by organizations whose main goal is the advancement of capitalism. As Scott (1995) puts it: The World Bank’s shifting representation of women from one that virtually ignored the category in 1981 to a strategy that attempts to incorporate women in structural adjustment programs (by representing women as targets of state policy and as a safety net during the deepening of capitalist development) are also significant. . . . The shift should be read alongside the Bank’s focus on reducing women’s fertility and its view of women as potential contributors to what Kardam describes as “neoliberal value system,” one that stresses “capital accumulation” and “export expansion.” (pp. 129–130)

The theoretical approaches below are part and parcel of what is referred to as gender and development, commonly GAD, an umbrella under which various perspectives cohabit, most of them sharing a Marxist or neo-Marxist underpinning.

The Radical Stance Some critics have suggested that it is a “myth” that access to education and literacy leads to economic development (Graff, 1986; James, 1990). Others maintain that women’s access to education, as well as to economic and professional opportunities have thus far, not fundamentally changed their status (Hollos, 1998). They find the WID approach too concerned with issues of access, participation, and productivity in the labor market to tackle the root of the problem: patriarchal ideologies and institutions that devalue women and keep power out of their reach (Odora, 1993; Stromquist, 1990). Thus, even when women have access to education and literacy, this access fails to equalize the balance of power between genders. In Etta’s (1994) view, Scant attention is given . . . to the multidimensional and complex ways in which education affects economic development . . . WID and WIE (Women in Environment), two of the most favored conceptual platforms for addressing gender issues are insufficient to reach the desired result of gender equity. (p. 58)

As a case in point, critics also suggest that gender parity in educational access in industrialized Western nations has not systematically guaranteed women’s improved social status and political power (Leach,


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1998). In many cases, education is understood as schooling or the acquisition of skills that will enable one’s entrance in the formal labor market. But as Leach (1998) reminds us: The record of schooling as a force for change in gender relations in Northern as well as Southern countries is generally poor. While a minority of women acquire skills which equip them for paid employment, schooling has not fundamentally changed their subordinate position or challenged deep-rooted views of women’s primary role as unpaid wife and mother. (p. 10)

Furthermore, studies by Sadker and Sadker for the American Association of University Women Educational Foundation (1995 and 1999) have also found gender-bias against girls both in U.S. classrooms and in school policies; this, despite the fact that boys and girls have equal access to schooling in the United States and that the vast majority stay in school at least until the age of 16. A major finding in two of these reports is that, based on the types of subjects they are encouraged to study, an overwhelming majority of girls are still channeled into traditionally “female careers,” which are often less valued and remunerated than traditionally “male careers,” which boys enter in greater numbers. This supports the view that mere gender parity in access does not necessarily solve gender disparities. Longwe (1998) actually argues that schooling in the Zambian context (and possibly elsewhere in sub-Saharan Africa) perpetuates female subordination. She considers schools as establishments grounded in the values and rules of patriarchal social organization, a site where girls are conditioned to internalize and accept their subordination, where they are not equipped to challenge male power: Girls are taught to accept patriarchal authority, and not to ask questions or think for themselves . . . Females are schooled to accept the “naturalness” of male domination. They are schooled to accept success on male terms. The few women who reach the top are schooled to behave as “honorary” males. (Longwe, 1998, 24)

Longwe goes on to argue that women who are the product of such type of education cannot be part of the collective process necessary for women’s empowerment. In other words, many literate women tend to become indoctrinated and acculturated into prevailing male-biased systems; and they tend to buy into them rather than transform them. Radical critics of WID find that it gives no attention to issues of political power and patriarchal domination in gender relations. They stress the urgency to go beyond meeting the practical needs of women and to

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further their collective strategic interests. They have often pressured for changes in the hidden curriculum in formal schooling or pushed for legal reforms that grant women equal rights and protection under the law (Leach, 1998; Stromquist, 1998). The socialist feminist perspective also makes similar arguments that the male bias is still present in the social and public institutions. The Socialist/Neo-Marxist Perspective The proponents of the socialist perspective advocate a more critical approach that would question the economic exploitation of women, as well as male privilege and control over resources, such as land and income, both nationally (Odora, 1993; Shor, 1992) and internationally (Robertson, 1986; Scott, 1995). In their view, increasing educational access without challenging the structural mechanisms of gender inequality will not improve women’s status. This approach seeks to provide women with education, but not just any education. Its goal is to make women more aware of the underlying global ideological and political forces on which gender inequity is based (Leach, 1998; Longwe, 1998). By identifying and understanding the source of the discrimination and poverty they are subjected to, women can, then, create the conditions to change their status and advance their interests collectively, and not simply on an individual basis (Stromquist, 1989). Only through this approach, it argues, will education become a transformational tool for empowerment. In this sense, education goes beyond schooling or the acquisition of skills solely for labor-market participation and for personal advancement (Bee, 1993; Leach, 1998; Longwe, 1998). This perspective borrows greatly from critical pedagogues such as Freire and Giroux. However, because of its “confrontational” nature, it has tended to operate outside official policies, through NGOs such as OXFAM, feminist activist networks such as DAWN (Development Alternatives for a New Era), and other community organizations (Stromquist, 1998). Along the same lines, some critics have pointed out that the dominant paradigm for female education completely ignores variations among women, especially in non-Western contexts. They point out that even though women everywhere share some common concerns and struggles, class, ethnic, and regional variations have sometimes created divergent interests among women in sub-Saharan Africa. As Bujra (1986) states: The condition of African women has always been diverse . . . Women cannot be thought of as a single category, even though there are important


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and occasionally unifying struggles in which they may engage in . . . Gender differences find differential expressions at different class levels—gender is qualified by the places women occupy in newly emergent classes. (p. 118)

Similarly, Robertson (1986) underscores that there are significant differences among women’s interests. Likewise, in her research in Nigeria, Egbo (2000) has also found significant variability between literate and illiterate rural women. She found that the “degree of genderrelated oppression varies depending on further classification of women as ‘elite’ or poor” (p. 44). This strand of the debate stresses that education policy based on the analysis of social relations through gender dynamics has to be informed by the local or national socioeconomic needs and realities, not some abstract notion of “women” as a category of analysis. In contrast to the WID approach, this perspective argues that both the similarities and differences among women need to be considered by policy makers. This implies that, for any given context, it is necessary to assess the interrelation of many factors; in some cases, gender may not be the key factor of analysis—class, residence, and other factors may be as important, or more important (Egbo, 2000; Mikell, 1997). Consequently, one cannot assume that providing schooling to girls and women will automatically lead to the better positioning of women as a group within structures that are not designed to advance their varying interests. At best, some women will advance, leaving the bulk behind. Therefore, the dominant approach to women’s education that stresses access ignores the complexities of the issues involved and does not really address the problem of equity adequately. Furthermore, it has paid little attention to the type of education/literacy women receive in schools. Quality barely figures on the list of priorities. This position has been echoed by some African critics who question the appropriateness of Western feminist influence on gender-focused education policies in Africa. They seek to shift away from the three frameworks discussed and center the debate on the cultural relevance of such paradigms in the African context. The Postmodern Critique: Some Voices on Cultural Relevance Beyond class variations, many, especially Asian, Latin American, and African feminists and academics have re-centered the debate on cultural diversity among women, in sub-Saharan Africa and elsewhere (Okeke, 1996). Bujra (1986) and Mohanty (1991) point out that in

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the development rhetoric, there is a tendency to lump non-Western women into one single group—African, Third World—as if they formed a monolithic, oppressed entity. Some African feminist critics raise the issue of culture with regard to gender and education. They contend that Western feminist approaches to gender analysis are not always appropriate for African women’s experiences and realities. They argue that what may be seen as important in a Western context, may be valued differently in an African context (Kalu, 1996; Okeke, 1996; Teboh, 1995). As Egbo (2000) puts it, “an even vexing issue . . . is the transplantation of Western feminist notions of gender-related values and solutions to problems into discourses that relate to African women” (p. 9). African feminism recognizes colonial and neocolonial links among all kinds of oppression, which many Western feminists have tended to ignore (Mikell, 1997; Okeke, 1996). Yet, for many African women, gender inequity does not always take precedence over other forms of oppression, be they racial, ethnic, or class-related (hooks, 1990; Johnson-Odim, 1991; Okeke, 1996; Ong, 1988). For example, Mikell and others have argued that African women have tended to emphasize economic equity and political issues rather than sexual and reproductive issues (such as the issue of female excision, which many Africans claim must be understood and challenged within the sociocultural context in which it is practiced). In African Feminism: The Politics of Survival in Sub-Saharan Africa, Mikell (1997) maintains that while liberal and radical Western feminism seems to emphasize individual female autonomy or the politics of identity, many African women tend to emphasize culturally relevant communal forms of public participation. Western feminists have often used their cultural frame of reference to analyze gender issues in the African context and to legitimate their framework as universally applicable to all women (Johnson-Odim, 1991; Mohanty, 1991). Hence the motto “Sisterhood is Global.” On the contrary, African critics underscore that the way they experience oppression as women, should not overshadow the way they are oppressed as “Third World” people; for them, it may be a mistake to think that feminists must always privilege women’s issues over political and ideological issues (Mikell, 1997). Nevertheless, distinguishing between hierarchies of oppression might obscure the core issue of how various forms of oppression intertwine to perpetuate the deepening of poverty and exclusion from political and decision-making arenas experienced of the majority of African women. Mikell posits that: African feminism owes its origins to different dynamics than those that generated Western feminism. It has largely been shaped by African


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women’s resistance to Western hegemony and its legacy within African culture. . . . The debate in many Western countries about essentialism, the female body, and radical feminism are not characteristics of the new African feminism. Rather, the slowly emerging African Feminism is distinctly heterosexual, pro-natal, and with many bread, butter, culture, and power issues. (p. 4)

Mikell’s assertions arguably characterize a certain feminist current in Africa. However, they should not be taken as applicable across the board, as they do not translate all expressions of feminism, debates about women’s roles and status, or gender relations in Africa. Feminism in Africa is as heterogeneous as the various, and sometimes conflicting, conditions and interests of women across the continent. Nevertheless, each of the approaches examined in this chapter has brought valuable contributions to the cause of girls’ education and women’s literacy.

Conclusion The WID framework has been credited with bringing women’s issues and concerns to the forefront of development policy making. If anything, it has helped direct some resources to women in nonindustrialized countries, that they may not have gotten otherwise. However, traditionally, the WID approach has done little in challenging the status quo as far as the political economy of gender and education in developed and developing countries. Although it remains the dominant framework for national governments and international institutions, the limitations of this approach for education policy lie in its focus on access as a panacea for eliminating gender inequities, its reluctance to question hegemonic practices within the development field, and its embrace of market-oriented, technical solutions to women’s issues in society. For instance, it ignored the deleterious impact of structural adjustment on the schooling systems of African nations, which has affected both men and women, albeit in different ways. On the other hand, the GAD framework has sought to unveil and challenge the political and ideological dimension of gender inequalities through education. It views education as a “conscientization” tool that will enable women to empower themselves collectively and fight discrimination. However, despite its wide appeal to a variety of women, this approach’s assumption of universal definitions of gender is one of its limitations. The “education for empowerment” debate centers solely on economic, ideological, and political aspects and often overlooks cultural aspects. Yet, an increasing number of NGOs are using this approach for educational policy and provision for women.

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It has been suggested that an education that will truly address the various needs of African girls and women will have to take place outside the formal educational system (Stromquist, 1998 and 1999). A truly empowering education for African girls, boys, women, as well as men must be anchored in African cultural values and worldviews, not on imported ones. To that effect, many look to NGOs and women’s civil organizations to carry out such a task. Nevertheless, the role and extent of their involvement is open to debate. Policies for African women’s education cannot be based on Western feminist theories, be they liberal or radical. In the same way the WID approach is found limiting by radical/Marxist feminist advocates, many Africans consider the radical and Marxist view restrictive because its assumptions are not necessarily compatible with African realities and women’s aspirations. Both seem to assume that a Western model of education/literacy will solve Africa’s educational and economic problems. Because both WID and GAD overlook or gloss over issues of cultural context, many express reservation or skepticism as to their effectiveness in the fight for a transformative education for African societies. Africans insist that policy solutions that ignore the cultural dimension of gender and education alienate them and thus, may not be viable solutions. The hegemonic linguistic context within which African schooling is provided, along with the cultural paradox that currently exists in many education systems across sub-Saharan Africa must be addressed. Access to Western-style schools seems hardly the answer. In spite of major theoretical differences, however, the frameworks discussed overlap in their desire to address women’s issues through policy and practice. They do agree on the principle that girls and women need to be educated; that education and literacy have the potential of empowering girls and women and helping revert subordination, based on gender and economics. What they seem to disagree on are the processes, approaches to, and purposes of, such education. In the final analysis, the challenge is to successfully integrate helpful aspects of each perspective in order to achieve a common goal.

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Literacy, society and schooling: A reader (pp. 61–86). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harding, S. (1991). Whose science? Whose knowledge? Thinking from women’s lives. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Howard, J. and Hollander, J. (1997). Gendered situations, gendered selves: A gender lens on social psychology. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Hollos, M. (1998). The status of women in Southern Nigeria: Is education a help or a hindrance? In M. Bloch, J.A. Beoku-Betts, J.A., and B.R. Tabachnick (Eds.), Women and education in sub-Saharan Africa: Power, opportunity and constraints (pp. 247–276). Boulder, CO: Lynne Reinner. hooks, b. (1990). Yearning: Race, gender and cultural politics. Boston: South End Press. James, M. (1990). Demystifying literacy: Reading, writing and the struggle for liberation. Convergence, 23, 14–25. Johnson-Odim (1991). Common themes, different contexts: Third world women and feminism. In C.T. Mohanty, L. Torres, and A. Russo (Eds.), Third world women and the politics of feminism (pp. 314–327). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Kalu, A. (1996). Women and the social construction of gender in African development. Africa Today, 43, 269–288. Kessler, S. and McKenna, W. (1978). Gender: An ethnomethodological approach. New York: John Wiley. King, E. and Hill, M. (1993). Women’s education in developing countries: Barriers, benefits and policies. A World Bank Book. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Leach, F. (1998). Gender, education and training: An international perspective. Gender and Development, 6 (2), 9–18. Lindsey, L. (1997). Gender roles: A social perspective. Upper Sadle River, N.J.: Prentice Hall. Longwe, S. (1998). Education for women’s empowerment or schooling for women’s subordination? Gender and Development, 6 (2), 19–26. Mikell, G. (Ed.) (1997). African feminism: The politics of survival in subSaharan Africa. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ministère de l’Education Nationale (1995). Plan d’action du gouvernement du Sénégal 1995–2001 en faveur de l’éducation des filles. Dakar, Senegal. Mohanty, C.T. (1991). Under Western eyes: Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. In C.T. Mohanty, L. Torres and A. Russo (Eds.), Third world women and the politics of feminism (pp. 51–80). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Nduka, O. (1964). Western education and the Nigerian cultural background. Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Oakley, A. (1985). Sex, gender and society. England: Grower Publishing. Odora, C. (1993). Educating girls in a context of patriarchy and transformation: A theoretical and conceptual analysis. Institute of International Education: Stockholm University.


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Okeke, P.E. (1996). Post-modern feminism and knowledge production: The African context. Africa Today, 43 (3), 223–234. Ong, A. (1988). Colonialism and modernity: Feminist re-presentations of women in non-Western societies. Inscriptions, 3 (4), 79–93. Oxaal, Z. and Baden, S. (1997). Gender and empowerment: Definitions, approaches and implications for policy. BRIDGE Report No. 40. Brighton: Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex. Oxfam (1995). The Oxfam handbook of development and relief. Oxford: OXFAM. Parpart, J.L., Rai, S. and Staudt, K. (Eds.) (2002). Rethinking empowerment. Gender and development in a global, local world. New York: Routledge. Psacharapoulos, G. (1989). Time trends of returns to girls’ education: Cross national evidence. Economics of Education Review, 8 (3), 229–231. Psacharopoulos, G. and Woodhall, M. (1985). Education for development: An analysis of investment choices. New York: Oxford University Press. Rathgeber, E.M. (1989). Women and development: An overview. In J.L. Parpart (Ed.), Women and development in Africa: Comparative perspectives (pp. 19–32). Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Razavi, S. and Miller, C. (1995). From WID to GAD: Conceptual shifts in the women and development discourse. Occasional Paper No. 1, UN Fourth World Conference on Women. Geneva: UNRISD. Reddock, R. (2000). Why Gender? Why Development? In J.L. Papart, M.P. Connelly and V.E. Barriteau (Eds.), Theoretical perspectives on gender and development (pp. 23–50). Ottawa: International Development and Research Center. Robertson, C. (1986). Women’s education and class formation in Africa, 1950–1980. In C. Robertson and I. Berger (Eds.), Women and class in Africa. New York: Africana Publishing. Scott, C.V. (1995). Gender and development: Rethinking modernization and dependency theory. Boulder: Lynne Reinner. Schultz, T.P. (1989). Benefits of educating women. Background Paper Series. Washington, D.C.: World Bank. Sénégal—Ministère de l’Education Nationale du Sénégal (2000) Programme décennal de l’éducation et de la formation (PDEF). Initiative Spéciale du Système des Nations Unies pour l’Afrique. Dakar : Direction de la Planification et de la Réforme de l’Education. Shor, I. (1992). Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sow, F. (1994). L’analyse de genre: Une approche des sciences sociales en Afrique. Conference on Social Sciences in Post-independent Africa : Past, Present and Future. Dakar: CODESRIA. Stromquist, N.P. (1989). Determinants of educational participation and the achievement of women in the third world: A review of the evidence and a theoretical critique. Review of Educational Research, 59 (2), 143–183. Stromquist, N.P. (1990). Women and illiteracy: The interplay of gender, subordination and poverty. Comparative Education Review, 34, 95–111.

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Stromquist, N.P. (1998). Agents in women’s education: Some trends in the African context. In M. Bloch, J.A. Beoku-Betts, and B.R. Tabachnick (Eds.), Women’s education in sub-Saharan Africa: Power, opportunities and constraints (pp. 25–46). Boulder: Lynne Reinner. Stromquist, N.P. (1999). What poverty does to girls’ education: The intersection of class, gender, and ethnicity in Latin America. Keynote Speech, International Conference on Education and Development, September 9–13, Oxford. Stromquist, N.P. (2002). Education as a means of empowering women. In J.L. Parpart, S. Rai, and K. Staudt (Eds.), Rethinking empowerment: Gender and development in a global/local world. London: Routledge. Teboh, B. (1995). West African women: Some considerations. Ufahuma, 22, 50–62. Tinker, I. and Bramson, M.B. (1976). Women and development. Washington: Overseas Development Council. UNESCO (1998). World education report. Paris: UNESCO. UNESCO (2003). Gender and education for all: The leap to equality. Paris: UNESCO. UNICEF (1992). Strategies to promote girls’ education: Policies and programs that work. Education Section Division. New York: UNICEF. USAID (1998). Educating Girls: A development imperative. Conference Report, May 6–8. Washington, D.C. World Bank (1988). Education policies for sub-Saharan Africa: Adjustment, revitalization and expansion. Washington, D.C.: World Bank. World Bank (1995). Priorities and strategies for education: A World Bank review. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank.

11

Q uandaries, Prospects, and Challenges of Nomadic Educational Policy for Girls in Sub-Saharan–Africa Lantana Usman

T

here are 876 million nonliterate people around the world; two-thirds of them are women, while two-thirds of school-age children in the developing world without access to education are girls (World’s Women, 2000). Colonial legacies combine with the economic struggles of many African states to perpetuate the tendency to favor the development of education in urban areas at the expense of the rural. This practice further disadvantages the educational opportunities of rural girls due to the traditional cost-benefit attitudes that favor boys (FAWE, 2004, 2000; Kane, 1997; Rose and Tembon, 1998). With specific regard to pastoral groups, it has been reported for example that only 11 percent and 7 percent of Somali and Afar respectively were enrolled in school in 1995/96; the enrollment rate for pastoralist girls has been reported to be as low as 1 percent (World Bank, 1998). This structural imbalance to access and participation of nomads, specifically the female population in sub-Saharan Africa, has generated debates and a quest for more research in the last Pan-African UN conference, The Ouagadougou Declaration (UNESCO/UNICEF, 1993). This chapter is focused on the nomadic Fulbe/Fulani girls of Nigeria, West Africa. The purpose of the chapter is to analyze the human agency in relation to access, participation, quandaries, and perceived outcomes of their inclusion as a special needs group in an innovative Nomadic Educational Policy (NEP). Discussion of this chapter is related to research

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carried out by me during a four-month period in 2000 using a qualitative ethnographic feminist approach. The chapter concludes with some suggested policy options using FAWE (1998) Gender Educational Policy Model as a guide. The chapter aims at providing voice to this voiceless minority group (Creswell, 2002). It is my assumption that the Fulbe nomadic girls in sub-Saharan Africa share similar experiences with other nomadic groups. Since the schooling of nomadic girls is an emerging phenomenon in world debate on female education, I hope this chapter will challenge policy makers to establish more effective policies that will facilitate increase of access and participation for nomadic girls and women in particular.

The Fulbe People: Migration and Economic Activities With an area of 281,872 square miles, Northern Nigeria occupies more than three-quarters of the entire country, and contains more than half the population of Nigeria. The Fulbe sedentary/migrant traditionally have their homesteads in most parts of northern Nigeria and the federal capital territory, Abuja. Higher densities of Fulbe nomads are recorded along the Jos plateau on the slopes to the North, as well as the Mambilla highlands and Adamawa lowlands, and the high plains of Hausaland (de St. Croix, 1972; EUROPA, 1998; Stenning, 1959). The Fulbe constitute 9 percent or 5.3 million of the nation’s population (Tahir, 1998). Determining factors for the nomads’ six to eight months grazing encampment for provision of nature and nurture to the cattle are based on good topography, grassland or savannah vegetation, free tsetse fly zones, and steady supply of water (Awogbade, 1983; Diallo, 1985; Ekwensi, 1962; EUROPA, 1998; Ezeomah, 1998; Stenning, 1957). Pastoral Fulbe own and manage 83 percent of the 14 million cattle and 13 percent of the 22 million sheep and goats in Nigeria. The foci of their livestock management are milk and meat production with supplementary activities such as animal traction now taking an important place in farming systems (Federal Department of Livestock and Pest Control Services, 1992; Ismail, 2002). The nomadic economy’s main source of dung is required as raw material for biogas production. In both Biogas Digester and Solar Dryer, the agro-pastoral Fulani were postulated as having the potential of meeting these conditions because their herds and flocks are sources of dung. In addition, dry herbages as cash inflows from livestock and dairy product sales are sources of capital accumulation that could be used to acquire these technologies (Okaiyeto, 1998, p. 79).

Nomadic E ducational Policy for Girls

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The significant role of the nomads in the promotion of tourism through their arts and crafts is considered a major economic activity for a nation (Mbahu, 1999). This was emphasized by Khazanov (1994) “photographs of their colorful clothes, jewelry and tattoos are useful for promotional tourist literature” (p. 21). Hence, the contributions of the nomads to the socioeconomic growth of Nigeria are of great significance, which demands policy innovations for sustenance. Economic Mainstay of Nomadic Fulbe Girls The nomadic family system is based on social organization of labor with girls as primary contributors to all nonformal economy. Their specific job roles include herding, production, and distribution of dairy products, and commercialization of food processed products (Ismail, 2002; Junaid, 1987; Ummar, 1987; Usman, 2001b). Fulbe girls’ participation in herding can be equated with child rearing and nurturing. They are raised to treat and respect the cattle as it is their only source of livelihood for sustainability. Like other pastoral communities, the cow is often referred to as “mother” which literally is associated with the feminine gender. Hence, they are considered experts in the traditional dairy industry, making curds, butter, ghee, and butter milk (Bruijin, 1997; de St. Croix, 1972; Dupire, 1971). Table 11.1 illustrates girls’ traditional economic participation by Ezeomah (2002). The change in urban consumer attitudes of Nigerians to “natural products” has increased the proliferation of private milk industries, Fan Milk Depot as profit enterprises. The net effect is a very high demand of their milk or njokadam/pendidam as raw material (de St. Croix, 1972; Ismail, 2002). Girls are involved in food preparation for commercial purposes. Sour milk consumption in Northern Nigeria is associated mostly with a mixture Table 11.1 Nomadic Fulani girls’ economic mainstay Adamawa Animal herding Sale of milk and dairy

Bornu

Katsina

Jigawa

Niger

11

22%

9

18%

8

16%

3

6%

17

34%

9

18%

5

10%

7

14%

4

8%

12

24%

Note: N ⫽ 50. Source: Monitoring, Evaluation and Statistics Department (NCNE) Kaduna, Tahir (1999/8).

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of mashed millet dumplings called fura often sold for commercial purposes. The preparation of fura is a very tedious process; it involves pounding of millet grains to flour, which is then mixed with water to make dough, cooked, and later kneaded and rolled into balls to form dumplings. The fura can be sold separately or mixed with sour milk nono (Ummar, 1987; VerEecke, 1995). The involvement of girls in the food-processing unit is not only a means of expanding their economic activities but a source of additional income. Fulbe girls are visible urban traders. They hawk milk and fura products in local markets and major urban streets. Their visibility and mobility as traders make them eligible to pay domestic tax dues; with a permit or license to operate (de St. Croix, 1972; Usman, 2001b). Cash profits from sales of dairy products belong to the girls; the cattle owner has no title to it. Girls utilize their cash for purchase of clothes, buying family gifts, utensils, and ornaments in preparation of their wedding, and on cosmetics, that is, henna, kohl, hair extensions, and payments for tattoos for the enhancement of their beauty or general body modification (de St. Croix, 1972; Nicholaisen and Nicholaisen, 1997).

Nature and Characteristics of Nomadic Educational Policy on Girls Nigeria is considered a pioneering nation in sub-Saharan Africa with a clear educational policy specific to its nomadic population as a special need group. Nomadic education is defined as the formal and informal education provided for the nomadic peoples within their cultural context by national and international agencies. The period 1985–1995 witnessed the federal government’s intervention in the education of nomadic peoples, supported by series of research studies by the federal government and UNESCO/UNDP over a decade (1976–1988). The metamorphosis of the policy became popularized with the political propaganda slogan of “justice with dividend” as the justification of the policy to the nomads by the government. The results of research studies and pressure of stakeholders such as emirs, urban Fulbe elites, led to the framing of the Nomadic Education Policy on December 12, 1986. In the following year, such political statements were supported with a Blue Print which became legitimized as Decree 41 in (1989) under a military junta. The general objectives of the policy are related to that of the National Policy of Education, with a focus on equality of access to education for all citizens as a civic right. Specific objectives of the NEP are classified into short-term and long-term objectives. The short-term objectives


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of the policy are based on acquisition of basic functional literacy and numeracy; for the promotion of their culture and to equip them with relevant knowledge and skills to help them develop themselves and their communities (Ezeomah, 1983; FGN, 1989). These skills are expected to enable the nomads to read and write concerns that affect their civic privileges and responsibilities in relation to their occupational roles, that is, reading to acquire useful information and directions of understanding tax receipts and other government regulations that affect them. Other skills include ability to obtain instructions on human and animal health, disease treatment and prevention, and communicate with government functionaries and friends. Long-term objectives of NEP include the acquisition of knowledge and skills (1) to improve their income-earning capabilities through mixed farming, land acquisition, and the development of grazing management and modern scientific livestock breeding techniques (2) to raise healthy families and (3) to improve their general standard of living. The Nomadic Education Policy provides them with the means to adapt to a changing environment and achieve personal and professional autonomy, a key factor in the cultural, social, and economic future of nomadic populations (Tahir, 1998; FGN, 1989). The primary purpose of the policy is to increase the literacy rate of the nomads from between an estimated low 0.2 percent and 2 percent (Ezeomah, 2002, 1998, 1983, Tahir, 2000). This policy expresses Nigeria’s philosophy of education as one which seeks to socialize the individual into a sound and effective citizen through the provision of an “holistic” (functional and self-reliant) educational system at the primary, secondary, and tertiary levels, both within and outside the formal school systems. Female education has been a major concern and cited in the National Policy of Education as “to cater for all sons and daughters of Nigeria” (FGN, 1981: 14). To support this philosophy, the federal government in 1987 developed and adopted a “Blue Print on Female Education” which became adopted by all ministries of education and local government school boards in the country. Since the NEP document content is affiliated to national educational goals and strategies of capacity building, female education is not an exception. The NEP, in its decree 1989 referenced in sub-section 11:11, specified on girls’ education in the primary and literacy sections, thereby recognizing the need for female education for the nomadic population. The aim of girls’ education is referenced to the government’s beliefs, hopes/values and outcomes of girls’ education, reiterated with the slogan: “Educate a girl is educating a community and a nation” (FGN, 1987). Aside from the economic

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role of the nomadic girl child in pastoral economy, educating her is considered to accrue positive dividend to her, the family, and community in general (FAWE, 2000; FGN, 1987, 1989). Recent world educational policy declarations as EFA (2000), UNESCO/UNICEF (1993) and UNDP (1989) on girls’ education of which Nigeria is a signatory, aim at ensuring equality of access to schooling—a means of closing the gender gap and to ensure positive outcomes such as self-empowerment/reliance, and healthy reproductive care as future mothers and members of the community (FAWE, 2004, 2000; UNESCO/UNICEF, 1993; World Bank, 1998). These objectives and anticipated outcomes are reinforced as the foci of nomadic girls’ education in the NEP 1986–1989 document and the commissions Action Plan document (FGN, 1989). The underlying policy dynamics are deemed to be innovative, especially in the case of a specific target minority group, such as girls in Africa (Mushi, 2002). Despite the innovative policies, social critics and indeed human rights observers suggest that the NEP is intended to reward nomadic peoples for their economic contributions as primary producers of cattle and dairy products in high demand not only throughout Nigeria but West Africa (Bruijin, 1997; de St Croix, 1972; Dupire, 1971; Riesman, 1984). The reward of access to education is seen as a means to assimilate them into modern methods of animal husbandry and dairy management in order to increase efficiency, quality, and quantity of their products—a national capitalist oriented objective. “Holistic education” in this perspective is referenced to economic growth for self-reliance, in accordance with the aims of indigenous education of most ethnic African states (Fafunwa, 1974; World Bank Report, 1988). However, policy focus on the nomads can be compared to past colonial aims of education of the natives as providing “modern civilization.” The national stereotypes controlled by ethnocentric biases against the nomads are that they are too nomadic and unconcerned about modern processes that will provide some civility to them. The NEP, as a civil innovation by the government, is considered a structure to their assimilation, accommodation, and multi-culturalization to the mainstream Nigerian society (Junaid, 1987). State educators often labeled children of such minority groups as “educationally disadvantaged, underprivileged, culturally deprived” amongst other phrases. Fulbe nomads’ feeling of superiority complex expressed in Pulaaku, an orthodox practice, makes them very reserved, and they reject changes of any form that may lead to acculturation as eminent in western educational practices (Ezeomah, 1978; VerEecke, 1991). Hence, providing them with a distinct and culturally oriented process and policy of


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education is assumed by the government as the only way to attract them in accepting and involving their children in the benefits of formal education, especially for the girls.

Fulbe Girls’ Enrollments, and Restrictions on Access to School The federal governments’ politicized Universal Free Primary Education (UPE) introduced in the mid-1970s is considered by many critics of the program a misfired policy on mass education, resulting in the exclusion rather than inclusion of special need groups such as the nomadic children (Okeke, 1977; Ozzigi and Ocho, 1981). The spiral speed implementation of UPE had less impact to the majority rural ethnic minorities like the nomads. Additionally, the non-participation of nomadic children was attributed to poor sensitization, leading to lack of understanding of the program by their rulers and parents as heads of households. Furthermore, the modus operandi of the program, facilitated by government agencies, school boards, and school administrators were crude, unethical, and uncivilized on the nomads. For example, law enforcement agencies like the police were used to forcibly abduct kids to schools despite parental resistance—a practice similarly done to other ethnic minorities around the world, that is, the Doukhobor of the Kootney, and First Nations children of Canada (Barman, 2003; McLaren, 1995). Such a coercive government approach in the case of the Fulbe nomads triggered rage, resistance, and hostility from the heads of families, which led many of them to flee to neighboring West African states (Ezeomah, 2002, 1983). To alleviate a re-occurrence of UPE experience as well as increase enrollment rates of nomadic children, especially girls, the nomadic commission and local school boards allowed some degree of flexibility of their schooling process. These are demonstrated by adjustments made to the school timetable schedule, a more culturally promoted pedagogical and resource direction, as well as by instructing teachers to appreciate and adapt to self-initiative school structures. The primary classroom structures mentioned in the policy’s blue print include mobile schools [meant to track the highly moving group], permanent classroom buildings for the semi-migrant nomads who often return to their semipermanent settlements at certain seasons, collapsible classrooms, and shades of trees for the highly moving nomads. These structures are meant to attract and increase enrollment (Ezeomah, 1983, 2002; FGN, 1986). Despite the fanfare on diversified classroom structures to ensure delivery of the curriculum, nomadic girls are grossly under-enrolled in

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Lantana Usman Table 11.2 Enrollment of nomadic primary school students by gender, 1990–1999

Year

Male

Female

Difference

Parity rate %

1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998

3,763 25,942 33,463 38,335 42,738 56,759 63,638 71,695 89,931

5,068 10,559 16,689 15,253 19,094 35,751 40,938 47,081 65,855

8,695 15,383 16,774 23,082 23,644 21,008 22,700 24,614 24,076

54 58 67 57 62 77 78 79 85

Source: Monitoring, Evaluation and Statistics Department (NCNE) Kaduna, Tahir (1999/8).

public primary schools throughout Nigeria. From the initiation of NEP, over 1,360 nomadic primary schools have been built in the country. Since the implementation of the policy, girls’ enrollment has been lower than that of boys as evident in various statistics. In 1998, the Gender Enrollment Rate (GER) of 1,321 nomadic schools in Nigeria had a total school enrollment of 65,547 girls as compared to 92,290 boys (Tahir, 1998). In addition, the non-completion rate of girls is higher than that of boys, a common phenomenon experienced across the continent (FAWE, 2000, 1998). Statistical data showing disparity in gender enrollment in nomadic primary schools indicate girls at a disadvantage. A nine-year period on enrollment data specified numerical disparity as shown in table 11.2. The parity rate increased from 54 percent in 1990 to 85 percent in 1998. Disparity in enrollment continues to exist.

Environmental and Other Constraints on Access to School The dearth of nomadic girls’ enrollment is controlled by environmental and existing classroom structures. The policy’s Blue Print specified classroom structures such as mobile classrooms, permanent and temporary types, collapsible ones, and shades of trees. A recent survey of five states on the functioning of these structures revealed that only four are still in use. Table 11.3 illustrates the categories of existing structures. Table 11.3 reveals that mobile structures are no longer in use. Their non-function is associated with the breakdown as well as scarcity of gas


201

Table 11.3 Existing types of nomadic classroom structures Adamawa Permanent classroom Collapsible classroom Shades trees Temporary classroom

Bornu

Katsina

Jigawa

Niger

2

4%

0

0%

7

14%

2

4%

10

20%

1

2%

0

0%

1

4%

3

6%

2

4%

8

16%

8

16%

2

4%

3

6%

6

12%

2

4%

3

2%

4

6%

4

8%

4

8%

Note: N ⫽ 50. Source: Ezeomah, C. (2002).

Table 11.4 Effect of herding on children’s schooling Adamawa Yes No

10 2

19% 4%

Bornu 9 1

18% 2%

Katsina 5 2

10% 4%

Jigawa 4 1

8% 2%

Niger 16 2

32% 4%


to run them, thereby leading to their extinction (Usman, 2001b). It has, by all means, grossly affected learning continuity and fresh enrollments of girls. The four existing classroom structures currently in use have neither effectively increased learning participation nor enrollment of girls despite timetable flexibility. This is partly due to environmental and economic concerns of the girls. The operation of some of the classroom structures is affected by weather fluctuations despite timetable adjustments. Open classroom structures like the shades of trees and grass/tarpaulin types are prone to climatic challenges, especially during seasons of high precipitation and harmattan winds, commonly experienced in the north. Extreme or heavy precipitation may result to overflow of rivers and collapse of community man-made bridges that connect nomadic grazing camps with neighboring villages, often the residencies of teachers. When this happens, teachers’ visits to nomadic schools are affected which in turn affect students’ class participation (Usman, 2001b). Another constraint to girls’ enrollment and learning participation is related to their economic role of herding (Ezeomah, 2002). Statistical results of table 11.4 illustrate such concerns.

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From the data in this table, the overwhelming role of girls in herding demands special consideration with regard to school schedule. Additionally, the expected domestic role of the girl-child centered in household economy of dairy product processing/marketing and care of younger siblings, apart from herding, is overwhelming. These role performances interfere greatly with the girl-child’s participation and overall learning performance in the classroom (El-Hafiz, 2000; Usman, 2001b). As observed during my field research visits of some nomadic schools, girls’ absenteeism is a result of hard choices they make or their parents undertake on their behalf, to substitute family demand of their services. In some extreme cases, the girls or their parents simply put a hold on schooling, while a few choose to completely drop out. To alleviate such situations, some schools have adopted different timetable schedules (depending on teacher availability) like: 7 a.m.–10 a.m., 8 a.m.– 10 a.m., 9 a.m.–2 p.m., or 7 p.m.–11 p.m. In a survey of some states operating the four classroom structures, Ezeomah (2002) recorded the children’s timetable and attendance as can be seen in table 11.5. Most girls attend the early morning or evening school shifts. The choice of these schedules is to allow them to proceed to the markets or to babysit for their mothers (Usman, 2001b) who may proceed to the markets to sell dairy products. Girls participating in the evening shift experience learning attention deficit due to domestic activities happening around them (especially classes held under tree shades within the extended family compound). As observed in one of the evening-run schools, girls were learning while watching over cooking fires and paying attention to toddler siblings who simply join the class unannounced to solicit the attention of the girls (Usman, 2001b). These environmental and structural issues discussed are additional constraints on girls’ complete learning participation that may provide them better chances to completion. Further constraints on girls’ schooling are highlighted in the continuing part as quandaries of the policy implementation in relation to sociocultural and other allied factors. Table 11.5 Time children attend school Adamawa Morning Afternoon Evening

12 0 1

24% 0% 2%


Bornu 10 0 0

20% 0% 0%

Katsina

Jigawa

7 1 0

6 1 1

14% 2% 0%

Niger

12% 18 36% 2% 2 4% 2% 0 0%


203

Quandaries of Nomadic Girls’ Schooling Statistical data of girls’ access/enrollment and participation in different educational levels in sub-Saharan Africa indicate low Gross Enrolment Ratios (GER) (FAWE, 2000; UNESCO, 1993; Zewande, 2004). As stated by FAWE since its inception in 1993, major factors contributing to this phenomenon are related to tribal communities’ myopic gender misconception as a result of sociocultural practices, ineffective educational policies, defects of policy implementation strategies of curriculum policy and process, and insufficient or lack of community collaboration by policy makers for effective sensitization and mobilization on girls’ education (EFA, 2004; FAWE, 1998, 2000; Gachukia, 2004). The association challenges state policies and community perceptions for policy reforms that will open more schooling opportunities for girls in the continent. In their studies of nomadic female schooling in Ethiopia and Somalia, they identified the major causes of non-enrollment and participation of girls in schools—despite available structural and policy opportunities—to orthodox practices such as early marriage, socioreligious obligations, distance of schools, and economic factors such as cost-benefit of female schooling as compared to the boys. These are common to all nomadic ethnic tribes of the continent (FAWE, 1998; Mushi, 2002; Sutton, 1998; Tahir, 1998; Tibenderana, 1983). Within the nomadic Fulbe and indeed most pastoral ethnic communities in sub-Saharan Africa, the decision of school enrollment is made by male heads of households. The selective decision of schooling access and participation of girls amongst the Fulbe, Araf, and the Tuareg nomads is to some extent controlled by misinformed socioreligious beliefs, and practices, influenced by the Ulama or learned scholars and community leaders. Even when parents are willing to enroll their girls into western along with the Quranic schools, the incitement of some Quranic malams deters them from doing that. In a comment made by a Fulbe community leader, Ardo from Dinyangi in Bodinga Local Government in Nigeria stated, “[s]ome Qur’anic Malams used to preach that any parent who sent his or her child to western formal school is a Kaffir [an Arabic word used to describe an infidel]” (EFA/ Report, 2000, p. 10). Additionally, the cultural practice of early marriage reinforced by religious practice and tradition by nomadic parents further creates loopholes in girls’ enrollment and completion of school. Reasons why some nomadic Muslim parents in Northern Nigeria disrupt or disregard access and participation of the girl-child to western education in favor

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of early marriage is reinforced with a doctrinal practice cited in Hadith in the holy Quran. Some of them are quick at pointing to Aisha’s young age when she got married to the Prophet (Pbuh—peace be upon him) as the basis of marrying their daughters off at an early age. Religious misinterpretation by these sampled “knowledgeable” Ulama is contrary to the traditions of Islam as stated in the Hadith, with very clear instructions to parents on the education of their children as; “seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave” (Uwais, 2002, p. 12). Despite parental preference to the Quranic schooling as against the formal type, girls experience non-completion as compared to boys due to early marriage (Assie-Lumumba, 1998; Trevor, 1975). Further discriminatory practices against the schooling of the girl-child are reinforced by the leadership opinions of some community leaders. In a response to my question in an interview on his perception of the benefits of girls’ education, a community leader or Ardo commented “[t]he aim of girls’ education is to bring her up in a sound Islamic way so that she can fulfill her role in life as an ideal wife and good mother, and prepare her for life activities that suit her nature” (Usman, 2001b, p. 156). Such a parochial statement of the community leader is a general perception of most male household heads, and is considered a reinforcement of patriarchal ideologies. Additionally, even when girls have access, their participation is controlled by a selective curriculum and their age is seen as the yardstick to completing school. By implication, once those stipulated purposes are obtained as observed by the male head of households, the nomadic girl-child from age ten will immediately be withdrawn for marriage. The cultural emphasis of girls’ domestic roles and functions are further reinforced in schools which limit their scope and aspirations as well as lower their self-esteem. School distribution of student duties are reinforced by gender roles—the girls are in charge of sweeping the classrooms, while the boys water school gardens and run errands for teachers. To the community leaders and family heads, the girl-child’s education should be self-rewarding and for the fulfillment of her family roles and duties as per the expected norms and values of their communities. Another major inhibiting factor to female access and participation in rural African countries is based on the cost-benefits or returns of education for family sustainability or survival (EFA, 2003/2004; FAWE, 2001; Haddad and Hoddinott, 1994, Psacharopoulos, 1985). This factor is applicable to the nomadic Fulbe girls. Their education is considered an issue that does not benefit the growth and sustenance of their families of procreation or adoption. Because of the cultural expectations on early marriage, parents consider their training a gain for the new


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families (the in-laws), hence, they do not see the rationale for investing their resources on them beyond the Quranic school (Rose and Tembo, 1998; Trevor, 1975). The support of early marriage also has some economic gains to their families (FAWE, 2001). The payment of bride price in cattle considered as a status of wealth proliferates the practices of early marriage (de St. Croix, 1972; Dupire, 1971; Stenning, 1957). This parental attitude is a major factor controlling access and participation of nomadic girls in the western educational system. The dual sex system practices in most tribal communities of subSaharan Africa are considerable factors controlling access and participation of girls’ schooling (Moulton, 2002; Uchendu, 1995). As a cultural practice, social organizations are stratified, with the females placed at the lowest strata of the hierarchy. Such classification of the girl-child against the boy-child is based on norms and mores of the tribe, with the latter regarded as custodians of traditions, inheritors, and potential household heads, reposed with the responsibility of upholding family honor and status. Hence, family resources are directed and invested more on the boy-child in herding and ownership of cattle as well as education with the anticipation of returns to the family for sustenance. Further quandaries are associated with poor management or ineffective implementation of the commission and local school boards. The discriminatory teacher hiring policy limiting female teachers as role models in nomadic schools has an impact on girls’ learning. Data gathered from my field research illustrates that female teachers are considered by girls and even their parents as role models. Parents expressed their confidence and are assured safety of their girls in the hands of female teachers. In their response to preference of female teachers, some of the girls related their proximity to these teachers in terms of inquiry to learning content, that is, reproduction issues that may be unclear to them without facing some embarrassment (Usman, 2001b, p. 158). This concern of the girls challenges the incumbent commission and local board policies on female teacher demands. Previously, female teacher supply for primary schools rested on their successful completion of Women Teacher Colleges as Grade II teachers (Foster, 1960). With the advent of the new national policy, preference for NCE “A” level teachers (National Policy of Education, 1981), many of these colleges were closed. Lack of intensive mobilization for the nomads by the commission and local school boards to parents, community, and religious leaders on the benefits of girls’ education decreases the chances of girls’ enrollment and participation (FAWE, 2004). The nomads use radio as a way of life. They are regarded as the highest listeners of local and foreign stations in Nigeria and indeed West Africa (Ummar, 1987;

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Usman, 2000a) yet the medium is not utilized to conscientize them effectively. An additional existing gap to access and participation of nomadic girls in schools is reinforced by distance. The cancellation of mobile schools for the highly mobile nomadic children, leaves them with no choice but to attend permanent structured schools of neighboring ethnic groups, which is often at a distance from the grazing camps. Girls walking a distance from home to schools is considered unsafe by parents for fear of being sexually assaulted or abused, kidnapped or attacked by wild animals (FAWE, 2000). As a result of the distance, parents simply put a hold on girls’ participation which subsequently results in dropouts (Allen, 1972; Csapo, 1981). Most social learning environments of neighboring schools attended by nomadic girls and boys are unfriendly and unwelcoming. The ethnocentric stereotypes are reinforced by students (and teachers) of the dominant cultures, who often look down and bully nomadic students (Tahir, 1998). The discriminatory practices against them are often unchallenged by the nomadic girls. This is due to their strict observation of pulaaku, a cultural training of tolerance, of upholding one’s self-dignity without reciprocating with violence but with silence and ignoring the tormenter (de St Croix, 1972; Dupire, 1971; Junaid, 1987; VerEecke, 1991). The level of tolerance is limited with the girls’ reporting to their parents. As usual, instead of sticking up for their children, male parents, as a means of avoiding confrontation as pulaaku, simply suspend their daughters from attending school, thereby increasing their absenteeism which affects the overall performance. In some extreme cases, the parents simply withdraw the girls from attending school, resulting in dropout. Teachers’ nonintervention of the bullying against the nomadic students is partly the fault of the commission and school boards’ inadequate periodic instructional supervision of schools. Additionally, child offenders of the dominant culture are often unpunished, which does not deter other students from carrying similar threats on them (Usman, 2001b).

Prospects of NEP on Fulbe Girls Assessing the outcome of most educational policies depends on the overall program evaluation of the implementation and objectives achieved (Frohock, 1979; Soumelis, 1977). General assessment of educational programs like any other social policy are often prone to public “assessment” or expressed opinion as well as academic and nonacademic research reports based on organizational data (Nagel and Neef, 1979).


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Public assessment of the NEP has generated debates within the politics and governance of education with some in favor while others are against it. Again, such debates are not far from the norm generated and controlled by ethnic sentiments and political grudges eminent in most politics of education in sub-Saharan countries (Nwabueze, 1996; Psacharopoulous, 1990). This section examines the extent to which the NEP policy has had a major positive impact as well as the extent to which it has achieved its objectives. The discussion is analyzed based on data collected from my field experience study of the girls. Increased Enrollment Rate Based on the available statistical reports of the Commission’s monitoring and evaluation department, there has been an increase in girls’ enrollment between 1990 and 1998 from 54 percent to 85 percent (NCNE/ Report, 1998; Tahir, 1998, 2000). The enrollment rate is encouraging. However the question of how many of them subsequently graduate from primary schools and proceed to high school still remains. The commission needs to provide substantial data on this concern, which may only be obtained through supervision of absenteeism and dropout rates and their causes. The commission needs to advance some data to justify their claim in order to develop policy contingencies that will facilitate higher enrollment rates for girls. Decrease in Street Hawking The marketing target of urban centers increases the chances of acquiring more customers and thereby more sales and a higher profit by the girls (Dupire, 1971; VerEecke, 1995). These practices are still observed to date but in a cautious and minimal scale. The reasons include the lack of safety of cities as a result of high, increased rates of crimes and sexual molestation/abuse. Hence, in order to protect the girls from been manhandled, parents ensure that an adult accompanies them while some restrict them to neighboring villages only a short distance from the grazing camps. Hence, girls make up by attending school while others engage more in milk processing, herding, and care of their siblings while their mothers and grandmothers go milk hawking. Increased Self-Efficacy of Girls Acquiring or improving of one’s self-efficacy as a result of education primarily depends on improved intra- and interpersonal communication

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skills, considered as parts of multiple intelligence in education. Nomadic girls naturally are shy and closed in terms of communication with strangers, partly based on their cultural socialization process as well as their deficiency in the urban lingua franca which is English. Such a language deficiency lowers their self-esteem, as individuals, especially when confronted with urban or village customers who speak only the nation’s official language, English. They are sometimes found looking for interpreters. Their enrollment and participation in nomadic schools have relieved them from such embarrassment. Through schooling, most of them learn English as a subject, and in the case of teachers of nonFulfulde descent, such teachers use English along with colloquial Fulfulde as the medium of instruction which increases their chances of having the basic expected vocabulary of three thousand English words (Usman, 2001, p. 197). Urban stereotypes of the nomads are generally negative. They are perceived to be naive and ignorant due to their limitation in the urban medium of communication in English and the dominant culture languages. These assumptions enable urban people to insult and sometimes cheat them during transactions. However, this has changed with their involvement in the NEP program. The gains of spoken English language by the girls not only increases their self-esteem but also enables them to “save their faces” in case of intimidation or verbal abuse wherever they find themselves outside their grazing zones.

Challenges: Suggested Policy Options for the Fulbe Girl-Child Often, policy options aim at soliciting reforms from existing educational practices for policy extensions and innovation for the attainment of specific objectives (Dye, 1976; Frohock, 1979). Additionally, in the area of minority education as that of nomadic girls, there is a need for a Social Demand Approach (SDA) of educational planning for effective policy reforms (McRae, 1980; Nagel and Neef, 1979; Soumelis, 1977). This, by implication, means suggesting effective and practicable policies that meet the demands and wants of the girls’ cultural values for a progressive education. For the purpose of this chapter, suggested major policy options are advanced within the Gender Educational Policy Model of FAWE (1998). It is my anticipation that the options suggested will challenge positive discourse amongst state educational policy makers, public, and private researchers, and all other stakeholders connected to or interested in the literacy advancement of these minority nomadic girls.


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Adapt a Child-Friendly Pedagogy Approach Teachers and school principals of nomadic schools should employ the Child-Friendly Pedagogy Approach, which operates a less formal, relaxed, and welcoming classrooms for the girls (EFA, 2000; Tahir, 1998 2000). The approach demands teachers overlook classroom misbehavior, tardiness, and incompletion of homework as minor or non-misbehavior to encourage girls’ attendance. If teachers adopt the conventional school practices of using punishments, intimidation and put down as a disciplinary approach to offences mentioned, on the girls, the effect will be a decrease in enrollment, temporary, and permanent absenteeism and parental assisted withdrawal of the girls. In addition, where the nomadic girls attend mixed ethnic neighboring schools, teachers should adapt a more constructivist pedagogical approach. This approach recognizes the knowledge base of the learner within the cultural and linguistic diversity of the students in the class (Barakett and Cleghorn, 2000). Access to High School Education A major defect of the NEP is the lack of policy provision of high school education for continuity from primary schools for nomadic girls and boys. The Commission, as a matter of urgency should take advantage of the current Universal Basic Education scheme aim of “no child left behind” from elementary to junior high school to include the nomadic girls and boys (EFA, 2000; FGN, 2002). The commission must monitor and ensure enrollment and placement of girls to the closest public high schools from their grazing encampments to eliminate distance. Such high school implementation initiative will provide opportunities for the nomadic girls to challenge and increase their aspirations to future careers and professions along with their indigenous skills of dairy management. Including the girls in the UBE high school national scheme will not only facilitate an “inclusive” educational practice as a special group but will allow them enjoy their right to state support on education (Hammarberg, 2000). Effective Mobilization Strategies Specific objective of the current UBE on nomadic girls’ education stated: “Public enlightenment and community mobilization, especially; sensitizing communities on the need to enroll children in schools, especially girls” (EFA, 2000:2). The nomadic commission charged with the

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implementation responsibilities should conscientize the Muslim clerics (Adamu, 1973; Tibenderana, 1983) teachers and leaders of the nomadic settlements by promoting awareness and sensitizing them to community responsiveness on female education (Trevor, 1975). Once these key stakeholders understand the dynamics involved, there will be an increase in girl’s enrollment and completion at least in the primary school level. Other strategies of community conscientization are through intensive use of radio jingles and drama broadcast at prime time, as well as recorded on cassettes and distributed at no charge to the nomads. This will facilitate a proactive reaction to the benefits of female education by the nomadic communities (Tahir, 1998; Umar, 1987). Return of Mobile Schools For a better framework of action and capacity building, states with nomadic schools should support the commission for nomadic education with funds to ensure the return and utilization of mobile schools (Ezeomah, 2002). The use of these schools will facilitate continuity of learning, specifically with the highly moving nomads. Additionally, such schools will provide proximity of access to schools as well as serve as “friendly” learning environments for the girls as against the conventional intra-ethnic community schools, considered unfriendly by the girls (Tahir, 1998; Usman, 2001). Hence, the return of mobile school structures will facilitate enrollment and attendance of the girls which may lead to completion of the primary school level. Establish Girl-Child Model Centers Many nomadic girls are among the increasing dropouts due to family decisions on early marriage, among other reasons. This has been an overwhelming concern of educators and policy makers in most parts of the African continent (EFA, 2002; FAWE, 1998; UNESCO/ UNICEF, 1993). The Girl-Child Model Center established in Gidan Salanke in Wammako local government of Sokoto state for the Hausa tribe for the purpose of providing female dropouts with nonformal, out of school education, can also be established by the commission (EFA, 2000). The functional participation of the girls in such centers will reduce the existing enrollment and school participation gap. Adopt the Substitute Female Teacher Policy The teacher–student ratio in Nigeria’s educational public system is considered an embarrassment to policy innovations by each government


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politicizing primary and high school education (Nwabueze, 1995; Nwagu, 1976). The dearth of female teacher supply to meet the demands in specifically nomadic schools can be regulated through the retraining of girls (of nomadic Fulbe or neighboring tribes familiar with their traditions) considered as dropouts from the elementary and high school levels. These girls should be provided with intern training workshops on principles of teaching methods. On completion of training they should be certified and hired by local school boards as substitute teachers to lower grades in the elementary classrooms to teach reading and writing in Fulfude, English, and Anjami as well as basic arithmetic (Ezeomah, 1981; Usman, 2001b). The current initiative of the Department for International Development (DFID) of the United Kingdom on the training of nomadic girls from Adamawa/Taraba, that is, Jangore at the Federal College of Education, Yola is highly commendable (Tahir, 2000). The nomadic Commission should substantiate this initiative by getting involved with another zone in the training of girls, rather than leaving it all to DFID. This process will motivate other females and their parents in nomadic communities and will no doubt increase the enrollment of girls, since the benefits of schooling are visible in the service of the girls who return to serve the same community (Usman, 2001b). Provide Mobile Libraries The commission should make available mobile rural libraries along with the mobile schools (Hassan, 1991; Ogunsola, 1999). The availability of such a resource will support learning continuity as well as fill in for absentee students, who might be away for a family trip or marketing dairy products during school hours. Additionally, their presence can fill in for teacher shortage or absenteeism. It will also increase independent learning amongst the students, a highly recommended learning strategy to critical thinking and higher order thinking (Eraut, 1991).

Conclusion The nomads of Africa are considered an invisible but visible minority whose presence and activities touch the fabric of all societies in both rural and urban areas of the continent. The nomadic girls, as part producers and suppliers of major consumable dairy products should be recognized, commended, and supported with modern social policies such as education. Aside from the social impact of schooling mentioned earlier, accruing measurable economic benefits of their schooling

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increases quality and quantity of their products for the purpose of meeting the supply and demand in all the countries located in the continent (Gachukia, 2004). Hence, ministries, local school boards, commissions, and educational parastatals charged with policy implementation must reflect and include the needs of this significant special group. Only when local educational state policies take control of their responsibilities will international educational agencies be inspired to withdraw their assistance. It is my opinion that such a progressive educational innovation should be sustained by Nigeria and indeed emulated by other African states with pastoral population. The inclusive policy approach will provide them with equal access to education as their civic right, stated in the UN charter on female education.

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Narratives from Ghana: Exploring Issues of Difference and Diversity in Education George J. Sefa Dei and Alireza Asgharzadeh

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his chapter is based on focus group discussions of African and Ghanaian university students as they reflect on their university experiences on the subject of how questions of difference and diversity are broached in the teaching, learning, and administration of education in their schools and universities. The students use their personal knowledge and lived experiences to reflect on the question of how inclusivity and diversity implicate schooling in Africa. The learning objective is to examine and discuss the ways in which the school experiences of the study participants inform their shared, competing, and contested understandings of the challenges of inclusive schooling in pluralistic contexts. The advantage of using a focus group interview methodology is that this kind of research method enables us to obtain several interactive perspectives about the same topic. Notions of difference and diversity are heavily characterized by relations of power and influence. As such, a focus group interview is particularly suited to produce the most transparent information and insight emerging from interactions, discussions, and debates among the group members. Today, there is a renewed interest among critical educators on questions of equity in education that moves beyond the traditional emphasis on race, class, and gender to address other forms of difference such as the ones emanating from ethnicity, culture, disability, sexuality, language, age, and religion (Appelbaum, 2002; Aronowitz, 1992; Campbell, 2002; Iram, 2003; Nieto, 2002; Rizvi, 2000; Sánchez-Casal and MacDonald, 2002; Sandercock, 1998; Schecter and Cummins, 2003; Swiniarski and Breitborde, 2003; Thompson, 2000). This is mainly due to the

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realization that schooling outcomes are patterned along such lines. The social climate of learning that exists in schools coupled with the interactions among students, teachers, peers, and the school curriculum in general, point to the ways that difference impacts on the social relations of schooling. What this means is that in the contemporary school environment we are dealing with multidimensional and multilayered relations of power and authority. Anchored in a longitudinal field research, this chapter explores some of the ongoing debates about “inclusive schooling” as a starting base to interrogate current African education systems. For the purpose of this chapter, we focus on the case of Ghana, using a number of focus group interviews conducted in the Ghanaian universities in August 2001. The data and material in the focus group interviews serve as our primary sources here, while benefiting from the general patterns and conclusions that are emerging from a larger research project which will be presented in its entirety in a forthcoming book. We define inclusive education as the education that responds to the concerns, aspirations, and interests of a diverse body politic by drawing on the accumulated knowledge, creativity, and resourcefulness of local peoples. A school is inclusive to the extent that students are able to identify and connect with their school’s social environment, culture, population, and history. Inclusive schooling means that each and every student feels that she/he is truly and indiscriminately a part and parcel of the school environment; that she/he truly and comfortably belongs in that environment; and that that environment is doing its utmost to provide her/him with a voice equal to each and every student; with facilities to account for her/his spiritual, religious, linguistic, cultural, and other needs in proportion to those provided to the dominant groups. Theorizing equity and inclusive education requires that we pay attention to the cultural and social background of the community. It requires a critical understanding of cultural differences in terms of the rootedness of power and history in the construction of difference. It also demands that we find ways to capture, explore, and understand how schools respond to the multiple faiths in their environments and how the needs of students with physical disabilities are taken up or addressed. Cultural, linguistic, ethnic, and religious plurality is a fact of life in the increasingly globalizing contemporary world. By the same token, current local schools and learning spaces are extremely heterogeneous and in fact cosmopolitan. It is only through the realization and celebration of difference and diversity that we may be able to reach a collective consensus above and beyond singular boundaries and identities.

Narratives from Ghana

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Focus Group Research and Our Primary Data As mentioned earlier, along with in-depth individual and group interviews, focus group interviews were also conducted at various stages of our research activities in Africa. Focus group interview methodology can be used as an independent method in its own right and independently of other research methods and techniques (see also Kreuger, 1988; Race, Hotch, and Parker, 1994). As a matter of fact, focus group interviews are even more effective research tools in situations where we need to draw upon the respondents’ beliefs, feelings, attitudes, and lived experiences (Goss and Leinbach, 1996; Hoppe et al., 1995). Given the sensitive and emotionally charged nature of our research (discussing difference and diversity), this particular research method indeed proved to be very effective. The focus group interviews included youths and students from diverse ethnic, religious, economic, gender, class, and linguistic backgrounds. These interviews proved to be important for a variety of reasons. To begin with, they served to complement the other qualitative interviews through triangulation and validity checking purposes (see also Fern, 2001; Morgan, 1988; Rosaline and Kitzinger, 1999; Stewart and Shamdasani, 1992). Positioned within a group environment, the respondents were better able to interact with one another and express themselves in a way that would not be so transparent in a one on one or a simple group interview. Interaction with other group members and with the researchers helped to bring out the respondents’ understandings about and evaluations of the research questions and topics. It also helped to place the respondents in a situation where they had to explain themselves and even reevaluate their views vis-à-vis those of other group members. As a result, an environment of self-evaluation, selfexamination, and critical debate was created that was extremely helpful for our research objectives (see also Kitzinger, 1995; Lankshear, 1993; Morgan, 1988). Although we cannot easily separate the findings of our focus group interviews with those of our overall research project, it is, nonetheless, the contents of our focus group interviews that provide the primary data for this chapter. These particular interviews were conducted among university students in Ghana in early to mid-August, 2001. The participants were from different Ghanaian universities and represented a cross section of socioeconomic, class, ethnic, regional, and gender backgrounds. The interview sessions were conducted in the natural location on a university campus and each session lasted around two hours.

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Three moderators were involved in each interview. While one moderator facilitated the discussions and initiated debates, the other two took notes and checked the recording equipment.

Categories of Difference Intersect in Complex Ways to Produce and Reproduce Exclusion The research revealed interesting views about perceptions of difference and diversity from the vantage point of the respondent’s ethnic, cultural, gender, and class background. Factors such as social position, age, authority, status, occupation, and place of birth were also taken into account for the purpose of painting a larger picture of what difference and diversity meant in an African context. In general terms, concepts of difference and diversity were used to refer to different characteristics such as ethnic, racial, class, gender, linguistic, religious, and regional background of students. Additionally, factors such as dis/ability, age, place of birth, sexual orientation, accent and so on were identified as important markers of difference and diversity among student populations and general public. The discussions supported the position that the respondents’ understanding of issues of difference and diversity differed based on their socioeconomic background, gender, ethnicity, place of birth, age, sexuality, (dis)ability, and so forth.

Students’ Views About Diversity in Ghana The student narratives that we present here are the perceptions of difference and diversity in schooling as narrated in the respondents’ own voices. It should be pointed out that we attempted to the best of our ability to clearly identify the interviewees participating in focus group discussions. Although we succeeded in most cases, however, in some cases it was not possible to know the name behind the voice in the tapes when the respondents were interacting among themselves. So some of the respondents will appear here without a name, to whom we refer only as “a male” or “a female” student. Nonetheless, in order to not reveal the real identity of our respondents, pseudonyms have been chosen for all of them. Arbina, a female student from the University of Science and Technology, spoke about the diversity of student population at her university in the following way: At the university, the student population is made up of whites, Africans, and Ghanaians who are from various parts of the country. At every


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course, at every lecture, you’ll get all regions of the country represented in the class. I’d say that it is quite a number, quite a match, the student population. In fact I would say that, my university has a highly diverse population. We are talking about foreign students who’ve come here . . . As for Ghanaians, we have people coming from all over the country. (008, 2001)

Not only the local (Ghanaian) students come from diverse backgrounds, but there are also other African and “foreign students” who significantly add to the already existing rich diversity. The foreign students are the white students coming from the United States and Europe. There are also Asian students coming from such countries as China, the Koreas, and Japan. More interestingly, however, in a number of interviews it emerged that the “foreign students” category usually also includes the students coming from other African countries. Be that as it may, the existence of such a rich and complex diversity raised some interesting questions: Does diversity bring strength to the learning environment or is it a cause of tension, weakness, and conflict? What and how can we learn from our differences? How does diversity affect the learning process? What roles can the authorities, governing bodies, and education systems play to effectively and positively manage diversity? Gago is a female university student who looks at diversity in terms of its rich potential as a source of learning and understanding: I’ll learn more from the diversity of students. . . . In a diverse class you will learn many things. You will see how different people answer questions. You ask whether that was the best way. So it gives you different perspectives on different issues. (008, 2001)

When difference is not acknowledged, it brings about many negative results particularly for the excluded and marginalized. “Keeping to oneself” and not socializing with others is one of them. Dano, a male student of Akan background (one of Ghana’s larger and more dominant groups), explains this particular situation: Certain groups tend to hang out among themselves and that happens once they realize that their ways are different than the others’. So they tend to stick together. Because I had an Ewe friend and there was always some Ewes coming to him and talking to him. But we the Akans, we have this problem of individualistic behaviour. So we are not united. (008, 2001)

Compared to the Akan group, the Ewes constitute a minority in Ghanaian universities. They keep closer together and show a sense of solidarity among their group members. However, it is interesting to see

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how Dano sees this sense of group cohesion and solidarity as a somewhat problematic issue. Now is it the problem of just the Ewe group, or does it apply to all minoritized groups? Do other minority groups also hang around by themselves? This is how Rosa, a female student from Arbina’s university responds: The Northerners also stick together. Yes, they do. Let’s say if they all come in the same bus, to the same school, they come together. But the Ewes, they are so different. (008, 2001)

The Northerners are another minority group in Ghana. Like Ewes, they too tend to stick together. It seems that maintenance of such a status is practiced by the minoritized communities in order to reinforce group cohesion and solidarity. About the dominant Akan and Ashanti groups, Arbina is very informative: I would say that, the Akans are business oriented. I would say the Ashantis are similar. Because of the changes that were made so many problems came to the university. You see, some of the people don’t do well economically, then go and say “the Ashantis love money! That’s why they are rich.” But some people say there is favoritism and all that. And maybe there is that aspect too. (008, 2001)

The Akans and Ashanti constitute the dominant majority in Ghana. Arbina also belongs to the Akan group. Now, according to her, these two dominant groups are “business oriented.” And because of this orientation toward business, they are wealthy and richer compared to other groups. In other words, if the minoritized Northerners, for instance, are not wealthy and rich, it is their own problem, because they are not “business oriented,” like the Akans and the Ashanti are. However, it seems that other people do not share Abrina’s logic, they claim that “there is favoritism and all that.” What this means is that, they don’t agree with the view that sees the Akan and Ashanti groups’ relatively higher socioeconomic status as a result of their being “business oriented.” On the contrary, they point out to the existence of “favoritism and all that” in society to explain the economic affluence of certain individuals and groups along the ethnic lines. Favoritism may be practiced by the dominant group who has control over both the governing bodies as well as the essential economic structures in society. In many African countries favoritism usually manifests itself in getting prestigious employment opportunities, influential positions and well-paying jobs by the individuals affiliated in one way or another with the dominant group.


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The next questions that the respondent’s comments raised are these. How can we make best use of our diversity? How should we deal with issues of difference and diversity? According to Dano, we have to be able to respect our differences and try to work together in order to overcome a variety of obstacles blocking the path to a peaceful living. Here his awareness that the issues are global is seen. [W]e have come to a level that we have to direct ourselves to be ethnicconscious. Because, day-in and day-out the world is advancing. Now as we see, the world has become a village. So we should be able to come together as one people. We can’t live on other planet. This is where we are living and we have to be able to live together. We should be able to work together. We should be able to respect ourselves. Let us come together so no one would be left out and we become one people. Then we will be able to find the world a peaceful place to live in. (008, 2001)

Here, Dano is looking at difference not as a source of tension and problem but as a source of strength, sharing, and mutual respect. Emphasizing facilities, being ethnic-conscious, leaving no one out, being able to live together and to work together, these are the key phrases in Dano’s statement. Dano’s views are in line with those of critical educators that in order to have a peaceful, democratic country, facilities and infrastructure should be built in the country and it must be seen to it that everyone has equal access to these facilities, regardless of ethnicity, gender, class, language, religion, age, disability, and place of birth. These are very important preconditions for a peaceful and productive living condition in a pluralistic context. Anther precondition is the necessity of becoming ethnic-conscious. What this means is that people have to be aware of their differences and respect those differences. Only with the respectful acceptance of our differences may we be able to work together and to live together in peace. Social Class Intersects with Ethnicity, Gender, and Other Categories of Difference One’s socioeconomic background significantly affects not only how one views the world but also how and to what extent one can actually achieve educationally and occupationally. In this regard, this research brings interesting insight from parents, students, and community members as they struggle through the schooling system. Alongside other categories and sites of difference, class and socioeconomic issues have been recognized as being consequential for schooling outcomes to a

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considerable degree. Over the years, in local African communities increasing material poverty has exacerbated class distinctions. We note for example that in Ghana the introduction of educational reforms in the 1980s exacerbated the hardships of local parents as they accessed education for their wards. Part of the situation was the result of the state’s attempts at cost recovery that pushed much of the cost of education onto parents and local communities. While it may be said that the state continues to shoulder a greater portion of the cost of education, it should also be conceded that increasingly Ghanaians from low socioeconomic background have found it harder to provide education beyond the basic level to their children. In fact, parents would argue that they are paying more for public education at the primary/basic level despite the fact that such education is “free.” The rise in private schooling has further intensified existing socioeconomic divisions in society with private schools charging very exorbitant fees and becoming extremely restrictive. This in turn has created tensions between public and private schooling. The rise in education cost is not confined to private schools. Even within the public school system, free tuition at the basic level has been accompanied by a steep rise in incidental fees. And more problematically, among public schools there is no uniformity in school fees. This lack of uniformity also significantly adds to the already existing confusion, competition, and feelings of desperation and helplessness particularly among the poorer segments of the population. So, do the rich have it easier in terms of educational attainment and achievement? Amoako, a female student, sheds some light on this issue: The way I see it, nowadays amid all the corruption, in order to get something you have to pay your way, specially if you don’t meet the standard. . . . But in a situation where you need money to go along with it, even after getting admission, you’ll do much better if you are rich. I remember I had a friend who had admission. His name was on the list but he hadn’t got his admission letter. So he had to go to school and see why his name was there but hadn’t received a letter. He went to the college and found out that somebody’s name had been substituted for his name. Just because that person came with money. Yes, I think it is very important, the financial background. (008, 2001)

The point that Amoako is making is very clear: the wealth not only does translate into doing well in school but more importantly, it has a determining effect in terms of being able to get into school in the first place. If you cannot afford to pay the tuition fee, you won’t be able to get into university. Paying the fees is a very necessary requirement for entrance


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to the university. Once you have paid the fee and entered, then you’ll find a host of other problems such as the cost of accommodation, books, computers, transportation, food, and other expenses that you have to grapple with in order to survive in the university. Another male student’s understanding of the situation is: I can say that if you come from a rich family, that means that you are a person who could focus on learning without being interrupted by other factors. That gives you a chance to get the most out of school. But for excellence in academic fields, I think there is no telling. If you don’t have what it takes, I mean in terms of your brain, your determination to study, and so on, then you can’t be excellent. But those who are rich, they have much more opportunities, they have more resources. But you also see some students coming from poorer homes and doing very well. (008, 2001)

In fact, this student explains the situation very eloquently. Although social class background may have less to do with excellence and ability, it nonetheless greatly facilitates the level of educational attainment and achievement. In effect, it would be very unreasonable to expect “excellence” from an otherwise bright and determined student who does not know where the next meal is coming from or whether there will be a next meal at all. Kofi is a male student from a poorer socioeconomic background. Here is how he copes with the problem: So now personally I am from a poor background. I don’t have it. Now I associate with another student who can buy books, who can get information. Now I live with him, so he brings books. We learn together and both of us do well. So that is how it works out for me. (008, 2001)

As it happens, Kofi must be among a few lucky students who have managed to make friends with someone who can buy books and help him out financially. The question is, is this an ideal situation for all the students from poorer families? Is such a condition feasible and possible for everyone? Does it work out for everybody? The answer to these questions ought to be quite clear. It is of course not possible for the majority of poorer students to befriend rich students and benefit from their resources. In a country like Ghana, not only the have-nots constitute the majority in society but more importantly, as our research indicates, the affluent students generally prefer to associate with members of their own class. So Kofi’s case is unique and cannot be generalized; nor can it be applicable to other cases and situations. There is no denying that poverty does impact negatively on the processes of learning and educational aspirations of students.

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Aside from its detrimental impact on students’ performance, poverty does have negative effects on the teachers as well. If teachers are not sufficiently paid, they won’t have time for their students and the student ends up losing again. This is even more evident in the case of female teachers who in addition to long hours of work in the school and university, shoulder the housework as well. This is a very important factor that must be taken into account in the economics of schooling, bringing us to the subject of gender and gender relations in Ghana and in Africa. Gender Relations in the Education System How do female students and teachers view gender relations in Ghanaian society and within the Ghanaian education system? In Ghana, much like the rest of Africa, unequal gender relations have continued to favor the success of male students throughout the school system. This success is manifested through the sustained higher number of male students in the classrooms, particularly in universities and other institutions of higher learning such as teacher colleges and technical institutes. It is also evident in the makeup of teaching and administrative personnel, the overwhelming majority of whom are male. Although there has been a considerable increase in the number of female students of late, the overall male/female ratio is still heavily skewed toward the male population. In recent years, various governing bodies, the media, and the education system have started important awareness raising campaigns against the exclusion of females from the learning centers. Positive steps have been taken to encourage and facilitate female students’ enrollment in both primary and higher levels of schooling. There are, nevertheless, major gaps that need to be filled in terms of equal access, equal opportunity, and equal representation. The barriers for girls and women have been shown to increase, as the gap between the rich and poor in Ghana and many other African countries has widened, especially since the imposition of economic structural adjustment policies by the World Bank and other international agencies. This link is evident in several of the students’ comments that are discussed in the following paragraphs. In our discussions with respondents, interesting perspectives emerged regarding gender issues, including issues of gender-based inequality, representation, access, role modeling, and so on. The respondents explored a number of important questions such as: Is it important to have female teachers and lecturers in schools and universities? Is the


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issue of female representation important? And if so, to what extent? Abra is a female student and here is how she looks at the issue of representation: I would say that it [having a female lecturer] affects the performance of students. For example, it is not all about the lecture. You can even go to [the] teacher outside the lecture hall. As a female student, you cannot talk to a male lecturer outside. You cannot tell him that you don’t see eye to eye with him on certain issues. And so, on the long run, you will have more explanations for certain things. Even on certain points, with a female lecturer, you can go in and talk with her, you discuss with her the problem. (008, 2001)

How do the male students respond to the question of representation? Evidently, there are different and at times conflicting responses from male students to the question of female representation. Kindoh is a male student who views the female representation under a somewhat negative light: What women lecturers do is to sit back and do their work in the class. They don’t give office hours or outside time. They don’t have time to do that. Of course, there is a view that you can find they do that. But they normally push the work to teaching assistants. They think that they have a lot of house work and all that. They have to go to other places and all that. (008, 2001)

Of course here Kindoh is talking about another social problem which is the issue of females shouldering the household responsibilities in addition to the work they do in schools and universities. If females are to be responsible for all the housework, of course this may impact on the quality of their school performance, both as students and teachers. Lack of female representation impacts the learning experience in other ways as well however. Jiya, a female student points to the differential and even preferential teaching methods when it comes to comparing male and female teachers: I like to say that also partly the problem has to do with teachers. Like, when I was in JSS [Junior Secondary School], my science teacher, I was seeing that he was teaching to the guys. He would ask questions from the guys and he would encourage them a lot. So I think part of the problem comes from teachers. (008, 2001)

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Confirming what was said earlier, economic factors intersect with other aspects of difference, in this case, gender. As a male student put it: I think it can also be attributed to the financial background of the Ghanaians. You see, with all the biases in today’s culture and mentality, like if two pupils, a girl and a boy, complete JSS, and one goes to secondary school. If there is still money in the house, or if there is only money to keep up for one, it is going to the guy. So you see there are a lot of drawbacks on the way. So I think the financial background is also very important. (003, 2001)

There is indeed a strong connection between the socioeconomic factors and such variables as gender, number of siblings, birth order, and so forth. If the parents can only afford sending one child to school, it is normally the firstborn male child who gets lucky. And the solution? As Jiya suggests, better facilities would help. I think we should have more facilities. Because if we have more facilities, everybody is catered for. And because if you compare now to older days, all you had to do in those days was to study and pass. And that was it. But if we have more facilities, we can address religious, gender, and ethnic differences comfortably. (003, 2001)

The Role of Ethnicity in Ghananian Education As discussed earlier, Ghana is one of the most diversely populated multiethnic and multinational countries in Africa. Our research explored the perceptions that various ethnic groups have about each other, about themselves, and about multiethnic student populations. The respondents also talked about minority/majority relations vis-à-vis ethnicity and various ethnic groups. Further, they looked into complex ethnic relations in terms of power relations and power configurations. Does it make any difference for students if lecturers came from different ethnic backgrounds? Kwaku, a male student, believes that it does make a difference. It makes a difference because, for example, I had a lecturer who was an Ewe. And when he came to the class, he seemed to know all Ewe students in my class. He always talked to students and took them sometimes to his office. So I got a sense that he knew them. So I thought that they could easily associate with him. (008, 2001)

So the ethnic identification helps particular students to identify with their lecturers and teachers and such an identification, in turn, makes it


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easier for them to associate with one another. Now let’s look at this from the viewpoint of a student from the Northern part of the country: First of all, I am a Northerner. When I started university, I attended my first lecture and I saw this man who was also a Northerner. Then we met. And we talked and we became friends. So that is how it begins. If you are a Northerner you easily associate with a Northerner, if you are an Ewe, with other Ewe, Akans with other Akans, and so forth. There is also religious factor. If you have same religion, that also helps you to become closer together. (008, 2001)

Most students coming from the majority community—the Akan— believed that there was no discrimination or unfair treatment. To these individuals, all students were equal. For example, this is how a male student of Akan background sees it: About the Akans I do not want to make a statement. Everybody is equal. I mean, it doesn’t matter who you are. (008, 2001)

However, this student of majority background wouldn’t mind teasing students of different ethnic backgrounds and make fun of them: Sometimes, like, “I laugh!” You see, when you are an Ewe, because of your race, people are going to make some comments and it makes you laugh. You expect people to say that as a joke; but they are affecting the Ewes. These jokes affect people. You see, they are working together; they are eating together and living together. And these things affect them. (008, 2001)

So the use of racial/ethnic slurs and stereotypes about “the Other” seems to be a common practice. In order to escape these kinds of injurious and abusive practices, the minority groups tend to come closer together. In a sense, their closeness serves as a defense mechanism against the discrimination and abuse that they receive from the dominant groups. It also strengthens the political awareness and solidarity among them. And also there is this thing that the other Southerners look down on the Ewes. I don’t know why, but this happens. Maybe it is culture. But because of this, they are very united, the Ewes. . . . Yes, discrimination is a factor that unites them. You see, when they see we are not closely associating with them, they think that we might not like them. So they don’t have anybody else but each other. They have to come closer. (A female student, 003, 2001)

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Of course, regional disparity and economics of schooling are always major factors that interconnect with ethnic issues and ethnic-based differences. As Abra puts it, You see, the structure is different in southern and northern parts of Ghana. The schools, the universities in North, they are not in a good shape. The living condition there is not as good as here in South. They even have problem obtaining books and all that. So, people keep coming to the south and settle here . . . You see, we have a university whose system is based on centralization. They are trying to fit everybody, to measure everybody based on a single centralized format. And this creates problems. (008, 2001)

Religious Difference Religion, religious practices and religion-based affiliations also play a major role in the processes of identification, identity formation, and development of a sense of belonging. They also serve as powerful markers in the processes of “otherization,” inclusion, and exclusion. Religion also strongly impacts on our notions of minority and majority, on who is a minority and who belongs to the majority. Erik, a male student from the University of Science and Technology, talks about some of his experiences: In my university there was a post to be contested. There was a Moslem guy and an Akan for the job. So, because of the fact that I could see the Moslem to be fit for that position, but on the basis of the fact that he was a Moslem, he was voted against. The Akan guy was voted for. (008, 2001)

Religion-based discrimination takes place not only on the campus and in the classrooms, but also in terms of access and admission. According to a male student, When you apply to the university, you are asked to state your religion. And I think they provide the students with churches and places that they can worship. I have noted that for Moslem religion, for Islam religion, they haven’t made any provisions. . . . And for the other traditional religions there is nothing. (014, 2001)

And why are the traditionalists banned from openly practicing their religions and belief systems? To this another male student responds: [B]ecause the Moslems and Christians don’t like them, and people, the university students, most of them criticize the traditional religions, so the traditionalists don’t really want to come out with their religion. . . . You


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see, most of their customs and traditions are outdated. And having been to university and being enlightened, they [the students] think that those customs and traditions should not be encouraged in the university, specially on the university campus. (016, 2001)

Linguistic Difference In the multilingual countries of Africa, it is a real challenge to develop a fair and equitable language policy. Language issues are very important not only in the processes of identity formation, but also in the processes of learning, psychological, spiritual, mental, and cognitive developments. Language is also very central when it comes to notions of exclusion, othering, and stigmatization. The participating students, parents, and teachers in our study interacted with the language question with varying tensions. Adoh, a male student, looks at language in terms of feelings of “superiority” and “inferiority” that it engenders: You see, most of the Akans, we think our language is superior. When I want to learn Ewe, because I am in love with them, and someone who tries to learn Ewe, we tend to laugh at him. Because we think our language is the best. Even the Ashantis, they think of themselves as the best . . . I have seen one thing: that the Kubus find it easy to learn our language, I mean the Akan. So it seems most of us tend to like them. But the Ewes, they are not so good in speaking our language. They seem to lack that desire. (003, 2001)

But why don’t they know the Akan language? Why do they seem uninterested in learning a dominant language? Darko, a male student, sees the problem in the fact that the dominant Akan group shows no interest in learning any of the minority languages. It is possible that maybe we don’t like to learn their language; and so they also don’t like to learn our language. That is why. I believe because we don’t want to learn about them. They also, most of them don’t like to learn about us. (003, 2001)

What Darko is alluding to is a most common prejudice that speakers of a dominant language have against the minoritized linguistic groups. Usually it is assumed on the part of the dominant group that it is only the minorities who have to be bilingual—that is, to speak the dominant group’s language in addition to one’s own mother tongue. However, a just and equitable way of looking at this would be to realize that in a multilingual society everybody has to be bilingual, not just the minorities. The Ghanaian situation is somewhat different in that the colonial

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English language is used as the “common” and “standard” language. So everyone has to know English in addition to their own mother tongue. However, this kind of bilinguality obscures the problems and challenges of a dominant national language seeking to supplant other national/local/regional languages.

Discussion and Conclusions The education system is a major socializing institution in every society. It is also a formidable structure through which the dominant ideas, knowledge forms, social organization, norms, values, social practices, and societal relations are maintained and reproduced (Bernstein, 1996; Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977). Difference and diversity in each society are also reflected in its schools and learning centers. Social issues, problems, and concerns in the larger society are closely mirrored in schools and universities. Education has the potential to maintain and reproduce the status quo that exists in the larger society. It also has the potential to challenge the dominant order, to upset the status quo, and help bring about more equitable and just living conditions for all. Our study of inclusive schooling in Africa and Ghana revealed interesting insights and views regarding notions of difference and diversity, relations of power, and minority/majority issues along the lines of ethnicity, gender, class, language, religion, and so forth. In most cases, in terms of ethnic, racial, and tribal affiliations, the dominant Akan group was identified as the majority. The Akan language was also seen as a majority language, positioned in the second place vis-à-vis the English in terms of the number of speakers, prestige, status, size of speech area, and speech communities. Religion-wise, the Christians were identified as the majority, followed by the Moslems and the Traditionalists who were regarded as the religious minority. Gender-wise it was almost universally consented that the males constituted the majority. This was a clear case where being a numerical majority did not play a major role in reversing a minoritized status. On the other hand, having power, authority, and influence were singled out as the defining features of a majority group. In terms of class position, socioeconomic background and social status it was generally agreed that one could not draw a clear line between the individual students based on class divisions, for it was not very visible who came from which class. However, numerous allusions were made to the dominant Akan group as enjoying a higher socioeconomic status and privilege. More precisely, class issues were looked into in terms of regional disparities and inequalities rather than clear-cut


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general class divisions. The majority of those residing in the southern region were seen as enjoying a relatively privileged lifestyle which included access to an accommodating infrastructure, modern facilities such as homes with electric power, a variety of schooling choices and higher incomes. The people living in the North or the “Northerners” as they are disparagingly called, were seen as economically deprived and less fortunate. In a sense, based on the findings of our study, it may be safely argued that the Northerners constituted the minority in terms of class, language, religion, and ethnicity. Correspondingly, in terms of gender, females from the North were far less represented in the Ghanaian schools and universities than were females from the dominant group. There is much to be learned from the examination of how students, educators, parents, and communities understand difference and diversity and their relevance for schooling and education in an African context. In terms of advancement of knowledge, our research has pointed to a number of important directions. In general, the following four objectives have emerged as reoccurring themes throughout the study. First, “difference” implicates educational change and schooling in African contexts. Second, the specific educational practices pertaining to pedagogy, instruction, curriculum, texts, and discourse that address difference and the intersections of gender, ethnic, cultural, linguistic, religious, and class minority issues enhance the learning environment for all students. Third, identity must be linked with schooling and knowledge production. Fourth, difference and diversity have serious implications for schooling and for peace education and democratic citizenship participation in Ghana and by extension in Africa. Arguably, critical educational research on inclusive schooling in Africa has two challenges. First, research must interrogate existing approaches and practices that alienate minorities. At the same time, it should suggest specific creative ways for transforming conventional schooling so that it better serves the needs of diverse student bodies. Second, educational research must ensure a sustained contribution to social development, by demonstrating the possibilities through which the educational knowledge obtained in individual schools, colleges, and universities can be used effectively to contribute to the formulation of comprehensive strategies for genuine and fundamental structural changes. The present study contributes to addressing these challenges by providing significant lessons on how knowledge about these innovative practices can inform debates on educational change and guide broader policy initiatives in national and transnational settings. The appropriateness and timeliness of work such as this one is clearly evident,

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particularly in the light of the ever-increasing support of the international financial community for educational reforms in Africa and elsewhere. In order to have an effective schooling and education system that addresses local inequities, critical education in Africa today must interrogate the power of ideas in bringing about social change. Educators and learners have different and yet overlapping responsibilities. Educators must create spaces for critical questions to be asked about the absences, negations, and omissions of bodies and experiences. Learners also have the responsibility to pose critical questions and raise challenging issues. For this to be successful however, issues of power relations between instructor and students in the classroom, need to be addressed. Education can acknowledge difference and diversity while at the same time highlighting commonalities, even among peoples with conflicting interests. Ultimately, education can contribute to both national integration and social reconstruction. To meet the challenge of minority education—transformative change—existing curricular and pedagogical practices need to be deconstructed in order to reveal the discriminatory practices that tend to be deemed as “natural.” In our contemporary world, a kind of education that focuses on the social and cultural values, that addresses conflict and encourages reciprocity and peace is most likely to succeed. This means being conscious of and sensitive to the equity aspects of democracy. That is, a fair representation of all groups should be found in the visual culture, knowledge representation, and staff representation in schools. Through curricular development in life skills, vocational, and technical skills, technical drawing, social studies, and cultural studies, all with an eye to regional and other forms of diversity, the social realm and life chances of the learner may be transformed. Nevertheless, the efficacy of curricula in promoting the values of equity will have to be supported with concrete educational responses that target the questions and challenges of difference. The right for celebration of difference and diversity, for the expression through democratic means of a desire for equal treatment, proportional representation, and inclusive schooling, ought to be acknowledged as a democratic human right and entrenched in the educational policies and school curricula. As long as people are stigmatized and marginalized along the lines of ethnicity, gender, class, religion, language, and physical (dis)ability, there will be neither equality of opportunity nor equality of condition in the processes of learning and schooling. The way to overcome educational inequities is not through denying and suppressing our differences but in respecting and celebrating them. And such a respect must be ingrained as a fundamental right for selfdefinition and self-expression in the organization and management of


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any democratic learning center, particularly more so in those within pluralistic environments. As Joshua Fishman (1976), has astutely observed, “ethnicity grows stronger when denied, oppressed, or repressed, and becomes more reasonable and more tractable when recognized and liberated” (p. 118). The time for denial of difference and diversity, for ignoring ethnic, cultural, linguistic, and religious plurality in schooling and learning environments has long passed. It is high time to embrace an inclusively representative schooling system in line with principles of human rights and freedom.

References Appelbaum, P.M. (2002). Multicultural and diversity education: A reference handbook. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO. Apple, M. (1993). Official knowledge: Democratic education in a conservative age. New York: Routledge. Aronowitz, S. (1992). The politics of identity. New York: Routledge. Bernstein, B. (1996). Pedagogy, symbolic control and identity: Theory, research and critique. London: Taylor and Francis. Bourdieu, P. and Passeron, J.C. (1977). Reproduction in education, society, and culture. London and Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Campbell, J.G. (2002). The individual within multi-socio-cultural-realities: Culture analysis as a reading strategy. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Chamberlayne, P.B.J. and Wengraf, T. (Eds.) (2000). The turn to biographical methods in the social sciences: Comparative issues and examples. London: Routledge. Church, K. (1995). Forbidden narratives: Critical autobiography as social science. New York: Gordon and Breach. Dei, G.J.S. (2003a). Schooling and educational reforms in Africa: The case of Ghana. Trenton, NJ: African World Press. Dei, G.J.S. (2003b). Thinking and responding to difference: Pedagogical challenges for African education. Comparative Education Review. [manuscript under review] Dei, G.J.S. (2003c). The challenge of inclusive schooling in Africa: A Ghanaian case study. Harvard Educational Review. [manuscript under review] Fern, E.F. (2001). Advanced focus group research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Fine, M. (1994). Dis-stance and other stances: Negotiations of power inside feminist research. In A. Gitlin (Ed.), Power and method: Political activism and educational research (pp. 13–35). New York: Routledge. Fishman, J.A. (1976). Bilingual education: An international sociological perspective. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Giroux, H. (1983). Theories of reproduction and resistance in the new sociology of education: A critical analysis. Harvard Educational Review, 53, 257–293.

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Goldstein, T. (2002). Teaching and learning in a multilingual school: Choices, risks, and dilemmas. Mahwah, NJ: L. Erlbaum Associates. Goss J.D. and Leinbach, T.R. (1996). Focus groups as alternative research practice. Area, 28 (2), 115–123. Gramsci, A. (1971). The prison notebooks: Selections. New York: International Publishers. Hoppe, M.J., Wells, E.A., Morrison, D.M., Gilmore, M.R. and Wilsdon, A. (1995). Using focus groups to discuss sensitive topics with children. Evaluation Review, 19 (1), 102–114. Iram, Y. (Ed.). (2003). Education of minorities and peace education in pluralistic societies. Westport, CT: Praeger. Kitzinger, J. (1995). Introducing focus groups. British Medical Journal, 311, 299–302. Kreuger, R.A. (1988). Focus groups: A practical guide for applied research. London: Sage. Lankshear, A.J. (1993). The use of focus groups in a study of attitudes to student nurse assessment. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 18, 1986–1989. McCarthy, C. (1998). The uses of culture: Education and the limits of ethnic affiliation. New York & London: Routledge. Morgan, D.L. (1988). Focus groups as qualitative research. London: Sage. Nieto, S. (2002). Language, culture, and teaching: Critical perspectives for a new century. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Race, K.E., Hotch, D.F. and Parker, T. (1994). Rehabilitation program evaluation: Use of focus groups to empower clients. Evaluation Review, 18 (6), 730–740. Rizvi, F. (2000). International education and the production of the global imagination. In N.C. Burbules and C.A. Torres (Eds.), Globalization and education: Critical perspectives. New York & London: Routledge. Rosaline, S.B. and Kitzinger, J. (Eds.) (1999). Developing focus group research: Politics, theory and practice. Thousand Oaks, CA & London: Sage Publications. Sánchez-Casal, S. and MacDonald, A.A. (Eds.) (2002). Twenty-first-century feminist classrooms: Pedagogies of identities and difference. New York: Palgrave. Sandercock, L. (Ed.) (1998). Making the invisible visible: A multicultural planning history. Berkeley: University of California Press. Schecter, S.R. and Cummins, J. (Eds.) (2003). Multilingual education in practice: Using diversity as a resource. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Stewart, D.W. and Shamdasani, P.N. (1992). Focus groups: Theory and practice. London: Sage. Swiniarski, L.B. and Breitborde, M.-L. (2003). Educating the global village: Including the young child in the world. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Merrill/ Prentice Hall. Thompson, S. (2000). Diversity, difference and the multi-layered city. in R. Freestone (Ed.), Urban planning in a changing world: The twentieth century experience (pp. 230–248). London: E & FN Spon.

Part IV

Education and Change


13

Democratizing Education in Zambia: Sociohistorical Analyses 1 Edward Shizha and Ali A. Abdi

Education plays a vital role in social and democratic development,

especially in “developing” countries. Most African nation-states are going through a transitional period of democratization. They are moving from tyrannical and autocratic rule that was practiced by most African leaders soon after leading their countries to political independence to a multiparty and tolerant political system. Zambia is one country that is currently undergoing democratization. Zambia gained its political independence from Great Britain on October 23, 1964. From independence until October 1991, it was under the authoritarian and autocratic rule of Kenneth Kaunda and the United National Independence Party (UNIP). However, since 1991, Zambia has moved into a politically functioning, but otherwise fragile democratic arrangement under the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) which still holds political power. In terms of tangible postcolonial economic development, Zambia, as Ihonvbere (2003) observes, is one component of Africa’s failed categories, and the country’s opportunity to prosper did not improve with the processes of democratization in the last 14 years or so. Despite these not-so-encouraging realities, though, the promise of education as a strong tool for development is still intact, and should remain so in the coming years and decades. To achieve that, though, a commitment to the core principles of democracy and human rights must be highlighted and should have strong implications for the planning, administration, and provision of education. Since the Universal Declaration on Human Rights was adopted in 1948, the educational landscape has undergone significant transformation. In addition to this declaration, many governments are signatories

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to Human Rights treaties such as the Convention on the Rights of the Child of 1989 and the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women. These conventions promote the notion of education as a human right as well as democratizing access and equal opportunity. Countries that have endorsed the Jomtien Conference Declaration on Education for All (EFA) conference of 1990, followed by the 2000 Dakar Framework of Action on Education for All, have committed themselves, and appropriately so, to “the right to education” in their policy statements and constitutions. It is also the case that beyond EFA projects, in fact before 1990, as Rwomire (1998) notes, in all postcolonial Africa, including Zambia, there had been already profound transformations in achieving rising enrollments and participation in all levels of education including tertiary education. In terms of achieving the EFA targets which, quite ambitiously, included Universal Primary Education (UPE) and massive literacy programs, especially for women, for most “developing” nations the desire was there, but economic realities forced them to shelve most of those programs. In related cases of educational development, and to overcome financial obstacles, governments have encouraged greater involvement by non-governmental organizations (NGOs), community groups, and parents in decision making and in the provision of education. Zambia as a signatory to the rights conventions and treaties has attempted to fulfill some of the requirements toward democratizing and universalizing access and promoting equity in education but has, however, encountered problems in the process. The development of education in Zambia can be traced through a historical contingent starting from precolonial traditional systems of learning to the time it was driven and guided by colonialism and Christian missionary-managed education. Later the postindependence educational campaigns, as elsewhere in the continent, were aimed at expansive national development. General perception of education as the central construct and practice for Zambian development still continues in the policies as well as the rhetoric of the post-Kaunda democratic government including the current one under President Levy Mwanawasa. Needless to add, policies and legislation on education are based on the historical, political, and ideological persuasion of the ruling party at any given time. In Zambia, each government, through various educational policies, has attempted to effect educational reforms and transformation in order to democratize the system. But the Ministry of Education (2000a) reports that despite several changes that have occurred since independence, the Education Act of 1966 continues to set the basic framework for the education system. However, other

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policy changes effected in the 1990s also inform current educational practices.

Historical Development of Education in Zambia For the purpose of this discussion the historical development of the education system in Zambia is divided into two periods: the colonial and postcolonial education epochs. Colonial Education In colonial Zambia, the education system was controlled and restricted to the few Africans who, by and large, belonged to certain Church denominations. The school served as a key means of Christian conversion, thus its main aim was to bring “light” and “civility” to “barbaric” communities. During this period, Carmody (2003) reports that the provision of education in Zambia was almost the total preserve of the missionaries who used it for the sole purpose of evangelization. Underpinning the evangelization philosophy, which was also both theoretically and culturally attached to the European colonization of Africa, was the ethno/ religio-centric principle that Africans needed to be freed from the evils that surrounded them in their communities: the beliefs, customs, and values that controlled their lives. The African worldview was perceived as crooked, myopic, and superstitious, if not outright demonic. The missionaries used the school as the means by which to convert Africans to Christianity. However, this “conversion” robbed Africans of their freedom and indigenously located democratic prerogatives to believe and follow their own way of life, which was greatly influenced by the way they understood and undertook their spiritual realities and concomitant existences. The onslaught of Christian/colonial education continued unabated, though, and was a very strong and important tool of the colonizing project. It included heavy doses of oppressive mechanisms that, by persuasion or perforce, suppressed people’s individual and collective/cultural rights (Makasa, 1985). Despite the widespread colonial claim, therefore, missionary-driven colonial education was anything but a beacon of independent thinking, freedom, and democracy. Instead, that type of schooling was mainly used as a purveyor of intolerance and the imposition of one worldview, that is, a Euro-colonial weltanschauung. As Mwanakatwe (1968) argues, the school under the Church failed to create and promote a more equitable Zambian society as it marginalized those with “other” belief systems and worldviews.

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Later, the partnership between the Church and colonial state assisted the local people in getting formal education. However, it was the content of that education system that was at fault. At the same time, education was not for everyone and the policies in place did very little to promote education for the majority of the people living in Zambia. The situation became worse when in the 1950s the colonial government took over most of the primary schools from Protestant churches and only the Catholic church kept control of its schools (Carmody, 2003; Murphy, 1972). The aim of the colonial government was to give access to a few Africans who would work for the colonial administration and the rest who remained “unschooled” were to work on farms owned by white commercial farmers (Mwanakatwe, 1968). So dire was the educational situation after 72 years of colonial rule that when Zambia gained its political independence on October 23, 1964, the country had no university, and there were fewer than 100 Africans with tertiary education diplomas (Makasa, 1985). Postcolonial Education: 1964–1990 Postcolonial education can be divided into two periods, the predemocracy era, which covers the years 1964 to 1990, when Zambia was under Kaunda’s UNIP; and post-1990 to the present moment when the country is democratizing, and is under the administration of the MMD. Educational Legislation—1966 Education Act At the time of independence in 1964, Zambia had a very limited pool of educated labor and the immediate educational policies were aimed at human resource development. The government implemented the human capital theory to justify the massive expansion in education that was needed to bridge the gap between the needed pool of labor and what was actually available. This meant that the education system had to be reformed in order to increase access and equal opportunity. Gandal and Finn (1995) propose that any society that wishes to remain free needs to ensure that its citizens are well educated. To effect this proposition, the Government of Zambia decided to take control of the education system, which it achieved not by a direct take-over but through legislation (Carmody, 2003; Saxby, 1980). As a newly formed democratic society attempting to rebuild its country politically, economically, and socially and to extend to its citizens the rights and freedom they deserved, the state enacted the 1966 Education Act, which gave the state control of the education system (Government of Zambia, 1966). The net effect of the Act was unbridled centralization and


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bureaucratization. Restrictions became so numerous that the autonomy of the Church-run institutions was derailed. In that vein, Carmody (2003) observes that: Although the government invited cooperation from Churches, it left little ambiguity concerning who was in charge. Through the Education Act of 1966, which became effective on September 2 of that year, the Ministry of Education and Culture outlined its sphere of control. Henceforth, the Ministry would not only direct the school calendar, syllabus, and subjects of instruction, but would also assume control over appointment of staff, admission of students, punishment, conditions of suspension, expulsion and transfer of students. (p. 293)

The government became the exclusive decision-making authority in all matters that concerned the provision and management of education in Zambia. Although the Zambian education system included different kinds of schools, mainly government (central and local), aided schools, and private, decisions concerning the structure, organization, and implementation of the school curriculum remained in the hands of the state (Kelly, 1997). In 1973 the Catholic Church, which had been the only Church still running primary schools in Zambia, felt completely marginalized, just like what had happened to many Protestant groups before, and handed over the running of their primary schools to the central government. According to Carmody (1999, 2003), the Catholic Church handed over its primary schools to the State after feeling that the government was encroaching on the Church’s rights and responsibilities to administer and manage its schools. The Rogers Report of 1969 had recommended the change in the administration of primary schools run by the Catholic Church, advocating the stripping of powers from the church to the central government (Government of Zambia, 1969). Even in the secondary schools and teacher’s colleges that the Catholic Church operated, the regulations in the Education Act of 1966 did not give the church the freedom to control the administration of the institutions, such as, the intake of students, employment of staff, or direction of the curriculum. Humanistic Education: Kaunda’s Expansionist Philosophy At the time of independence, the new government decided to Zambianize the new State by opening educational and employment opportunities to the previously marginalized. An immediate and extensive expansion of the educational system appeared imperative. Colson

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(1999) argues that the expansion was needed not only to fuel growth, but also and perhaps just as important, to consolidate control and legitimize, the new government’s own position in a fragile situation where the cooperation of different ethnic groups in a democratic system remained a potential hazard. Moreover, in the late 1960s the government frequently viewed the school as the means for achieving national unity, political legitimization, and equity. Thus massive expansion in the education system followed after the abolition of primary school fees in 1965 (Mwanakatwe, 1968). The aim of government was to provide free and universal primary education as a right for each Zambian. However, there was no such clear-cut policy rationale for secondary schooling. In 1969, at the First National Education Conference, Kenneth Kaunda, the former President, made a call for serious reforms of the education system in Zambia (Carmody, 2003). The call was to strengthen the move toward education for all Zambians and was embedded in the President’s humanistic philosophy, which gave impetus for reform and ideological sanction for a socialist redirection of the economy and the education system (Saxby, 1980). Humanism sought to eradicate poverty among Zambians and promote economic growth. In light of this, education was perceived as fundamental to the achievement of these goals. However, the call was never followed up by any immediate or systematic move to reform. According to Carmody (2003), the 1976 draft entitled Education for Development, that highlighted how education in Zambia was to be transformed and improved in line with President Kaunda’s socialist humanistic approach, was never implemented. The draft document was superseded by another policy proposal, Educational Reform (Ministry of Education, 1977), which sought to continue with the highly selective, credentialist, and academic-oriented education contrary to Kaunda’s dream for a more egalitarian society. In an attempt to expand schooling, the government encouraged communities to construct more primary schools to enable pupils to continue to Grade VIII and IX, the new names, which were given to former Forms I and II (Kelly, 1997). These schools became known as “basic schools” as they offered basic infrastructure for learners. However, despite the government’s attempt to provide education for all, it failed due to economic constraints. Owing to diminished resources the expansion in education resulted in the deterioration of educational quality (Kelly, 1997). Kalabula (2000) notes that the economic vulnerability of Zambia was evident during the 1970s and much of the 1980s when a protracted decline in copper prices, in conjunction with a decline in copper output, and a rapidly increasing population,


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contributed to a fall of one-third in per capita Gross Domestic Product. The decline in economic productivity had a negative impact on school attendance and completion rates among Zambian students. Saxby (1980) states that in the early 1970s as many as one-third of primary school-age children in urban areas were out of school and “for many Zambians, the ironic corollary of the early growth in educational opportunity proved to be frustrating and abrupt exclusion from the middle and upper levels of the system” (p. 432). Saxby further reports that by 1970 the system of education in operation had excluded 50,000 children at the Grade VII level who failed to go to Form I, and even as early as 1969, approximately 60,000 primary school pupils failed to obtain a place in Grade V or Form I. All this came as a shock in that the expectation was that everybody would have an opportunity to have at least seven years of basic schooling. Kalabula (2000) laments that the economic crisis that characterized the Zambian economy in the 1970s and 1980s led to a substantial reduction in the share of national resources going to the education sector resulting in a decline of 38 percent in total educational expenditure from 1974 to 1983 and a further decline of 50 percent in the period between 1983 and 1991. Although UNIP’s educational policies sought to universalize and democratize education through massive expansion, its policies on educational governance were myopic since control was highly centralized and bureaucratic. Moreover, issues of relevance of the curriculum were not systematically addressed. Mumba (1996) concludes that educational policy enactments during UNIP’s rule were silent on democratizing the school and classroom environment, teaching methods, and the academic curriculum to bring about human rights and social justice. Carmody (1999, 2003) asserts that even the 1986 Educational Reform Implementation Project (ERIP) did not address the issues of equity and these problems continued while some educational reforms were shelved. Sadly, even after political independence, the question on how to create an educational system that promotes the welfare of all Zambians and not simply that of the minority was not addressed by new educational policies.

Education Beyond 1990 Although there was a general expansion in the provision of education during the period after independence around the 1960s and 1970s, not all school age going children in Zambia are in school (Mumba, 2002). This situation has been worsening since the late 1980s and 1990s due to the worsening economic situation caused by the policy of Structural

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Adjustment Programme (SAP). Jones (2002) reports that at a workshop held in Lusaka participants complained that successive Zambian governments had not shown sufficient consideration for the education of the most vulnerable in society. The need to extend both the accountability of the government and also of civil society participation and partnership in the education sector was considered a fundamental requirement to cater for the vulnerable. According to the Ministry of Education (2000a), the MMD government was determined to increase access to education and improve its quality in accordance with the needs of the Zambian society. The government observes that education is a basic human right enshrined in both the United Nations Charter and the African Charter. Every school age going child has a right to basic education and it is every government’s responsibility to ascertain that this right is honored. Mumba (2002) observes that Zambia has participated actively in global revolutionary movements whose focus is on the right of every child to quality and basic education and in providing different learning opportunities for all categories of learners. The World Conference on Education for All (WCEFA) held in Jomtien in Thailand in 1990 emphasized the need for every country to provide education to all its citizens without any form of discrimination. Zambia was represented and is a signatory to the WCEFA, and soon after this conference it held a National Conference on Education for All in March 1991 and reaffirmed its commitment to EFA in Zambia. According to Mumba (2002), the National Conference set out the following goals and targets, which were to be achieved by the year 2000: 1. Universal access to, and completion of primary education by the year 2000. 2. Reduction of adult illiteracy rate by half, with female illiteracy no higher than the male rate by the year 2000. 3. Expansion of early childhood care and development activities, focusing on family and community intervention. These were noble goals, which sought to bring education to as many people as possible, thus democratizing access to and participation in education, but were never achieved. The proposals were meant to empower Zambians with knowledge and to make them active participants in their social, cultural, economic, and political lives. However, since Zambia was struggling under SAP, it is difficult to comprehend how the State intended to achieve these goals and targets. Commenting on the educational crisis in Zambia, one participant at a workshop on education argued, “a good policy without resources is really not policy” (Jones, 2002, p. 6).


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Education in Zambia is in severe crisis caused mainly by reduced funding levels in the midst of rising population growth and a growing demand for schooling. How did the Government of Zambia intend to democratize access to education as proposed at the National Conference on Education for All when it is reeling under severe economic depression? Mumba (2002) points out that at the conference some of the strategies that were proposed for achieving basic education for all included: 1. Reasserting the political commitment to basic education as a human right 2. Narrowing the gap between formal and nonformal education 3. Creating partnerships for basic education development 4. Meeting the basic learning needs and promoting the learning achievement of marginalized groups like girls, women, and the poor. The intention of the State was to create a democratic society through education, a point that Gandal and Finn (1995) make when they say, “[o]ne thing is apparent: the long term success of creating a democratic society will depend in large measure on how quickly and effectively the education system itself has been democratized” (p. 2). The Ministry of Education (2000a) reports that from 1990 to 2000 the main education reform had been liberalization of the education system, which witnessed increased access to schooling as shown in table 13.1. In spite of the dynamic figures in the table, the expansion program in education failed due to economic hardships and poor funding. By the year 2000, Zambia had not achieved the goals it had set out in 1991 (Jones, 2002). Dropouts from formal schooling made the achievement of EFA unrealistic and deemed the policy an unachievable political Table 13.1 Admission to grade 1, 1990 to 1996 Year

School age group

Boys

Girls

Total

1990

7-year-old population Grade 1 enrollment Apparent admission rate (%)

114828 131075 114.1

115927 107445 92.7

230755 238520 103.4

1996

7-year-old population Grade 1 enrollment Apparent admission rate (%)

116312 125235 107.7

111195 122039 109.7

227507 247274 108.7

55044 47.3

59174 53.2

114218 50.2

7-year-olds in school Admission rate—7-year-olds (%)

Source: Kelly, M.J., Msango, H.J. and Subulwa, C.M. (1999).

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rhetoric. However, the Ministry of Education (2000a) still assures the nation that the Government of Zambia abides by the Convention of the Rights of the Child, and pledges to protect the rights of every child and promote a healthy, happy, and caring learning environment.

The 1996 Education Policy: Liberalizing the Education System This National Policy on education entitled Educating Our Future compiled in 1996 reflects Zambia’s educational aspirations (Ministry of Education, 1996). The policy sets the new frameworks for developing the national educational system. Basic education in Zambia, in this policy document, has been defined to mean the first nine years of school, and every child is expected to have access to nine years of basic education by the year 2015 (Ministry of Education, 1996). In the interim, 2005 was set as the year for achieving universal education, a daunting task considering Zambia’s rundown state of the economy. One of the outcomes of Educating Our Future has been the current policy development directed at adopting a sector approach to the development of basic education through the Basic Education Sub-Sector Investment Programme (BESSIP). The objectives of BESSIP are to increase access, decentralize the education system, build capacity in the educational system, raise equity, develop better partnerships, and improve quality and coordination in basic education. Underlying the education policy and principles of BESSIP is liberalization of education and increased accountability (Ministry of Education, 1996, 2000a). Under a liberalized education system, the right of private organizations, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), individuals and religious bodies and communities to establish and control their own schools and other educational institutions is recognized and welcomed. Liberalization of education also encourages and strengthens partnership with other stakeholders (Shaeffer, 2000). The Government of Zambia also sought to decentralize education by devolving power from the central government to the local levels in districts and schools and making institutions at the national, provincial, district, and school/ college levels accountable for their educational actions. This has led to an educational system that is increasingly becoming diverse giving alternative paths for accessing education. The aim of encouraging partnerships and decentralization was to broaden participation in the control, responsibility, and accountability of educational development in the country.


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Partnerships in Education: Community Involvement In order to increase access to education, the Government of Zambia had to encourage and strengthen community involvement and other partnerships with various stakeholders. Bray (2000) asserts that partnerships were encouraged in accordance with the 1990 World Declaration on Education for All, which asserted that while governments should remain the principal agents in education, they should forge stronger partnerships with other actors. In 1991 the MMD government revised the regulations affecting the church-run institutions to enable them to become more autonomous and to encourage them to extend their commitment even to taking back some of the primary schools that had been taken over by the UNIP government in 1973. To improve and rebuild its dilapidated schooling system the government implemented revised terms of partnership through an Education Act, which granted greater autonomy to other stakeholders than before. The Education Act that was introduced in 1993 allowed privately sponsored institutions significant freedom in terms of financing their operations, student enrollment, appointment of staffs, and curriculum development (Government of Zambia, 1993). In light of these new changes, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), religious organizations, communities, and individuals were allowed to open, operate, and manage their own educational institutions. Mwansa (1998), Lungwangwa (1999), and Mumba (2002) report that the inclusive involvement of partnerships is evident in the emergence of community schools and community-based interactive radio learning programs which have spread inclusive schooling to the majority of the population. In this manner, the government has made great strides in addressing the equity issue. Community schools in Zambia serve as one way for providing basic education to many school-age children who are not in the regular school system. A recent study conducted by Lungwangwa (1999), reveals that the proportion of school-age children in rural areas that do not attend school is 40 percent, while 20 percent are out of school in urban areas. Mumba (2002) also indicates that 650,000 students had dropped out of school by 1996 compared to 1, 506,650 children in school, and there were about 20 organizations involved in community schools. Durston (1996) explains that community schools in Zambia are either wholly owned by the local communities or are in partnership with the Ministry of Education. Some of the schools are started by NGOs that work with the poor and with children of HIV/AIDS affected families, orphans, or girls. Because of the new policy on education liberalization and democratization, diverse groups and organizations are involved in

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managing various educational programs. Several multilateral and bilateral cooperating partners have been central to the implementation of EFA in Zambia. Key among them are Zambia Community School Secretariat (Z-CSS), Private Schools and Colleges Association (PRISCA), Adult Education Association of Zambia (AEAZ), Forum for African Women Educationists of Zambia (FAWEZA), Zambia Pre-School Association (ZPA) and Government of Zambia, itself (Mumba, 2002). For example, education partnership has changed the educational situation for girls. The Programme for the Advancement of Girls’ Education (PAGE) and the Forum for African Women Educationists in Zambia (FAWEZA), which privately sponsor the education of girls and women are worth noting. Concerning the education of impaired children, Kalabula (2000) points out that UNESCO and others in the international community have acclaimed Zambia’s effort to make education and schooling accessible to them and their needs. Government policy recognizes the role of civil society or NGOs and states that local communities should collaborate with other agencies and participate in the development, maintenance, and repair of basic schools (Government of Zambia, 1993). In a study of the effectiveness of community schools in Zambia, Mwansa (1998) observes and concludes that the management of community schools was good or efficient where there were other developmental activities, and community commitment was strong in those schools where supervisors had made deliberate efforts to involve the community in decision-making processes. Commitment was weakest in those communities where the community had little or no hand in the establishment of the school. Community schools reflect community participation in promoting schooling and literacy programs. Shaeffer (2000) emphasizes the importance of the reciprocal partnerships between the local community and the school that can help ensure that every child’s right to a quality education is supported. Parents and other community members often feel excluded from school settings, either because teachers build a wall to keep them out (“we’re the experts—parents only cause trouble”) or because parents are too busy with survival or feel intimidated by the school (“they’re the experts—we don’t know anything”). Community schools in Zambia are one way the education system can break down these walls and create a welcoming environment to make schools welcoming places. Restructuring the Education System through Decentralizing Decentralization entails that the State gives up some of its power and authority and devolves it to the local authorities in districts and schools.


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The organizational and management structure of education in Zambia as outlined in the 1996 National policy was highly centralized with the hierarchical decision-making procedures that ran from the national headquarters to provincial, district, and institutional levels (Ministry of Education, 1996). Centralized power and authority coupled with bureaucratic procedures in decision making on educational issues accompanied by over-reliance on civil service procedures severely compromised efficiency in all operational areas of the education system (Ministry of Education, 1996). The government of Zambia reports that progress is being made to strengthen the weak education management structure through decentralization by introducing Educational Boards in order to allow greater community participation in education (Ministry of Education, 2000a). As a way of promoting democratic educational governance, attempts have been made since 1997 to decentralize educational management to provincial, district, college, and school boards. According to the Ministry of Education (1996, 2000a), whereas the management of institutions is left to the responsible authorities within the decentralized system, the central government will continue to retain responsibility for key national functions like: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

making legislation and policy formulation. planning and resource mobilization and allocation. developing a national curriculum, setting standards and evaluation. collecting and analyzing data. providing effective mechanisms for accountability at different levels.

It would appear that by retaining some of the above functions the central government is not serious on total devolution of its power and authority. Policy formulation and governance should be a participatory venture in which the ordinary people are consulted for input into educational issues that affect their children and ultimately their own lives. Decision making and curriculum issues should not involve a top-down process, but a down-top or horizontal process that takes into account the voices of those who are directly affected by the final decision. To this effect, the Ministry of Education (2000b) reports that the process of educational change in Zambia involves democratizing the curriculum by localizing it and introducing life-skills in the learning process. Democratizing Curriculum Decisions Curriculum issues are crucial to the educational system of any country. At times conflict of interests can arise, if no balance is given to the cultural

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values of diverse social and cultural groups in the country. During the Kaunda era, the State in Zambia imposed its political ideology into the school curriculum without considering the cultural diversity that exists in the country. Kelly (1999) reports that Kaunda’s socialist humanist philosophy formed the foundation for official curriculum development. Political ideology was at the center of educational practice while alternative educational and theoretical perspectives were marginalized by the State. Attempts to integrate other philosophical views remained isolated and had little impact on the overall direction of what was a highly centralized and government-controlled curriculum (Carmody, 2000). As a result, there was constant conflict between the State and the Church which was against the imposition of socialist ideology in educational institutions. The State did not consult other stakeholders, like the Church and parents, on what type of education was relevant and applicable to Zambia. Whereas parents doubted the quality and standard of education emanating from the government’s socialist philosophy, the Church feared that religious education was not being given its proper place in schools. At the same time, Dillon-Malone (1989) conclude that the Church viewed political and ideological education as a propagandist approach targeted at silencing dissenting voices and pluralism in Zambia. Curriculum development took on a new direction when the new MMD government came to power in 1991. The Ministry of Education (2000b) postulates that the State introduced a curriculum framework that responded to the needs of society by incorporating the following: 1. Increasing the actual learning time in schools. 2. Promotion of basic literacy and numeracy as a priority in basic education. 3. Localizing the curriculum and introduction of life-skills of various categories in the learning process. 4. Introducing the Primary Reading Programme (PRP) in 1999 whose aim was to help Zambian teachers ensure that primary school children learned to read and write fluently and effectively across the curriculum. To achieve this objective initial learning in schools, at least up to end of Grade I, was to be done through the mother tongue. It would appear that the new curriculum framework did not give attention to the implementation of indigenous knowledge and indigenous perspectives in the learning process and content of learning. However, the Ministry of Education (2000b) suggests that although curriculum decisions, educational policy making, and legislation remains the


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prerogative of the government, other stakeholders are involved through curriculum committees that were set up to contribute ideas to the process. The committees, which include the Subject Curriculum Committees, have representations from teachers, the University of Zambia, institutions, or industries relevant to the subject, teacher education colleges, and other experts. The Ministry of Education Reports (2000a, 2000b) strongly argue that Zambia’s attempts to be democratic and representative is an issue of national development. In the case of curriculum development, the Basic Education Curriculum Review, which was initiated in 1991 and completed in 1996, shows a strategy in which the community was involved in the decision-making process. The Ministry Reports point out that national symposiums were held where issues of national concern were identified for inclusion into the school curriculum. Later, the Curriculum Development Centre (CDC), which implements government educational policy and legislation undertook orientation activities in the country to make inspectors and teachers aware of the requirements of the new curriculum. To strengthen the participatory approach, the making and distribution of teaching and learning materials were also liberalized. Under the liberalized system, the CDC as well as individuals and publishers develop instructional materials for use in schools. However, all materials have to be evaluated and approved by the CDC through the Book Approval System. The Ministry of Education (2000b) believes that an inbuilt consultative mechanism in the curriculum development process during a curriculum review exercise at the CDC ensures that the views of the society concerning curriculum issues are incorporated in the new curriculum. Thus, curriculum change and adaptation are effected through a democratic and participatory method involving curriculum specialists, examination specialists, university and college lecturers, teachers, NGOs, community-based organizations (CBOs), and churches.

Conclusion The current Zambian government seems to have taken steps toward democratizing the education system, but it needs to remove obstacles that impede effective, locally viable, liberalization of schools and schooling systems. While sub-Saharan Africa, including Zambia, is at the bottom of the global pyramid of educational and social development, a project initially created by colonialism and currently maintained by worldwide globalization in the form of Eurocentric economic and political systems (Mengara and Larson, 2003), it should pass without

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doubt that expansively available and relevant programs of education would still be the sine qua non for any tangible possibilities of inclusive development for the average Zambian. The new democratic State needs, therefore, to assume greater responsibility in supporting a free education policy which should enable all eligible learners to attend some form/level of schooling or another and as high and as effectively as possible. And while we are cognizant of the fiscal pressures on a Zambian state that continually suffers from weak financial liquidity in these times of unfettered laissez-faire economics and “survival-of-the-fittest” schemes of globalization, the government may still start with reducing barriers to education such as unfriendly classroom environments, culturally inhibiting learning material, exorbitant school fees structures, and compulsory uniforms. A concrete action plan is needed, if education for all is to become a reality. Budgetary allocation to education should also be modified as much as possible, so that it minimally suffices to highlight the crucial role of education for the development as well as the sustainability of Zambia’s nascent democratic development. Indeed, while Zambia is politically democratizing, one way to enhance this is to democratize both access to, and quality of educational programs, which in the long run, could assure the viability of the overall project of multidimensional (i.e., fully accountable) and multicentric (i.e., fully inclusive) political, economic and, undoubtedly, educational possibilities and practices. After all, we should take the MMD government at its word. Moreover, as Ferguson (2003) notes, it was the first MMD government that promised “accountability, renewal, good government” and “indigenously oriented projects of transparency” (p. 275) to move Zambia forward. An acrossthe-board available and culturally sensitive project of education will be one important component for relocating Zambia and, indeed, the rest of sub-Sahara, on the more viable side of the development continuum.

Note 1. This work was supported by a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

References Bray, M. (2000). Government-community partnerships in education: Lessons from experience. Education Update UNICEF, 3 (3), 1–29. Carmody, B. (1999). Education in Zambia: Catholic perspectives. Lusaka: Images Publishers. Carmody, B. (2000). Zambia’s Catholic schools and secularization. History of Education, 29 (4), 357–373.


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Carmody, B. (2003). The politics of Catholic education in Zambia 1964–2001. Paedagogica Historica, 39 (3), 285–303. Colson, E. (1999). The Bantu Botatwe: Changing political definitions in Southern Zambia. In D. Parkin (Ed.), The politics of cultural performance. Oxford: OUP. Dillon-Malone, C. (1989). Zambian humanism, religion and social morality. Ndola: Images. Durston, S. (1996). Increasing education for all: Community schools in Zambia. Lusaka: UNICEF/Ministry of Education. UNICEF (2000). The education for all 2000 assessment: Country reports. UNICEF. Ferguson, J. (2003). Stillborn chrysalis: Reflections on the fate of national culture in Zambia. Global Networks, 3 (3), 271–297. Gandal, M. and Finn, C.E. (Jr.) (1995). Teaching democracy. Freedom Paper No. 2. Government of Zambia. (1966). Education act of 1966. Lusaka: Government Printers. Government of Zambia. (1969). Education in transition. Lusaka: Government Printers. Government of Zambia. (1993). Education act: Statutory instrument (43). Lusaka: Government Printers. Ihonvbere, J. (2003). Structural adjustment and democratization in Zambia. In M. Smith (Ed.), Globalizing Africa. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Jones, P.S. (2002). Learning together: The challenge of applying a human rights approach to education: Lessons and suggestions from Zambia. Lusaka workshop, Zambia, September 25–27, 2000. Kalabula, M.D. (2000). Inclusive education in Africa: A myth or reality? A Zambian case study. International special education congress, July 24–28, 2000. University of Manchester. Kelly, M.J. (1997). Education policies and changing economic environment: The case of Zambia, 1965–1989. African Social Research, 37, 99–112. Kelly, M.J. (1999). The origins and development of education in Zambia: From pre-colonial times to 1996: A book of notes and readings. Lusaka: Images Publishers. Kelly, M.J. Msango, H.J., and Subulwa, C.M. (1999). Girls’ education: A situation analysis at the provincial level of girl child in Zambia. Lusaka: UNICEF/Ministry of Education. Lungwangwa, G. (1999). Meeting basic learning needs for out-of-school children and youths through education broadcasting: A necessary step. Paper presented at the national symposium on education broadcasting for out-of-school children and youths, April 19. Makasa, K. (1985). Zambia’s march to political freedom. Nairobi: Heinmann. Mengara, D. and Lason, V. (2003). Africa and the invention of democracy. In M. Smith (Ed.), Globalizing Africa. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Ministry of Education. (1977). Educational reform proposals and recommendations. Lusaka: Government Printers.

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Ministry of Education (1996). Educating for our future: National policy on education. Lusaka: Government Printers. Ministry of Education (2000a). The development of education: National report of Zambia. Lusaka: Government Printers. Ministry of Education (2000b). The basic school curriculum framework. Lusaka: Curriculum Development Centre. Mumba, E.C. (2002). Non-formal education in Zambia: Experiences of the working group on non-formal education in Zambia. Paper presented at the national symposium on non-formal education in Mozambique, Maputo, June 12–14. Mumba, P. (1996). Democratisation of primary classroom in Zambia. Enabling Education Network Newsletter. Murphy, E. (1972). Changing educational policy of the Catholic voluntary organization with reference to Zambia. Essay for the post graduate certificate of education at the University of Zambia. Mwanakatwe, J. (1968). The growth of education in Zambia since independence. Lusaka: Longman. Mwansa, D.M. (1997). Community schools: Strengths and weaknesses. Lusaka: Zambia Community School Secretariat/UNICEF. Rwomire, A. (1998). The development of education in Africa. In J. Nwomonoh (Ed.), Education and development in Africa (pp. 3–24). Bethesda, MD: International Scholars Press. Saxby, J. (1980). The politics of education in Zambia. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: University of Toronto. Shaeffer, S. (2000). Who owns the school? Education Update UNICEF, 3 (3), 1–29.

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At the Mercy of Informal Learning: Education and Development in Stateless Somalia Ali A. Abdi

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ith the collapse of the state in the beginning of 1991, Somalia has been a country without any coherent and nationally viable economic, social, or educational structures. Since then, the country has disintegrated into mini fiefdoms that are controlled by different factions with their own militia which are loyal to the warlords who, via their clan affiliations, control a cluster of politically non-cohesive regions. These factions have not been able or willing to formulate any reconstruction and re-development programs, including education, that could have “resuscitated” the country’s socioeconomic infrastructure, completely destroyed as it was by the factional fighting in late 1990 and early 1991. It was upon reflecting on this sad situation that the Somali novelist and literary critic Afrax (2002) described the case as a highly disturbing scenario where both the individual and communal minds of the nation are in a coma, and where the collective conscience of the people is no longer viable. Afrax’s observations are not off the mark. If anything, in these last 14 years or so Somalis have embarked on a covertly (as well as overtly) disorganized but systematic campaign of progress de-routing. With all actual possibilities of political rearrangement and concomitant social development effectively shelved, the early 1990s’ destruction of the education system has not been reversed. In this chapter, I intend to engage a multitier but essentially interrelated focus on the dismal realities of education and development in

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Somalia. The main objective is critiquing the problematiques of the current informal learning situation that is not achieving much for the country’s young or adult learners. It is, indeed, the case that the world knows a lot about the institutional collapse and related problems of socioeconomic and political development in Somalia. In reality however, the most serious damage might have come from the bleak educational situation which millions of the country’s would-have-been and current potential learners are still being subjected to. It is here that unless something is urgently done, the current programmatic de-linking of this East African nation from the rest of the world could be furthered. While the overall fragility of the situation may not be conducive to the establishment of effective, functioning programs of education, the focus to re-create reliable learning systems, at least for Somalia’s children, must become both a national as well as an international priority. Such a priority might even supersede the “long awaited” project of rearranging the political program that aims for the attainment of a nationally inclusive government. The lack of institutional viability in Somalia cannot nullify or weaken one of the fundamental principles of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as stated in the UNESCO Charter (1991). Everyone has the right to education, and education shall be free, at least in elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be compulsory. Technical and professional training shall be made available, and higher education shall be equally accessible on the basis of merit. (p. 16)

The Charter further states that education shall be directed to the full development of human personality, and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. As mentioned earlier, with the fall of the Somali state in 1991, followed by the de facto division of the country into autonomous, regionally based, and quasi-autonomous “cantonized” “chiefdoms” (Botan, 1997; Samatar, 1991), one would not realistically expect effective policy formulation, let alone the implementation, of these education-specific components of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. After all, the articles are hardly implemented for the majority of the people of Africa; if any effective undertakings were to be harnessed they could only be organized within the mandate of a functioning and internationally recognized political national entity, a situation that is entirely absent in Somalia. The overall institutional collapse guarantees the failure of any claims that Somalia could make vis-à-vis international charters and bodies since these could only be considered via state-based or quasi-state-based linkages and concomitant accountability procedures.

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With the total institutional collapse just mentioned, it is no wonder that the first and most conspicuous victims of the situation are Somalia’s children and adult learners who lost such tangible structures of learning as primary and secondary schools, specialized technical centers, and the only national university; all were decommissioned by some or all of the major protagonists in the 1990/1991 conflict (Abdi, 1998). For all of the past 14 years (a very long time especially in the lives of young learners), the overwhelming majority of those who wanted to acquire some education were, sans exception, limited to whatever they could harness from the general societal situation that surrounded them. As a result, informal education and any random learning that was accessible, has replaced formal schooling in Somalia (UNESCO, 1995). The point in problematizing the role of informal education is not based on a priori position that this type of education is always less advantageous relative to the development needs of learners. Indeed, informal education may, sometimes, have a number of constructive attributes, as the case should have been in precolonial traditional Africa (Nyerere, 1968; Rodney, 1982). However, in Somalia’s case, the country’s situation in the last 12 years or so clearly shows that informal education is not only destructively located in people’s lives, but has been, for all pragmatic considerations, diffusing the quasi-normalized behavior of warlordism, violence, and the procurement of resources and power via the illegal use of force. Hence, the livelihood as well as the long-term developmental problems that informal education is inducing in the lives of Somalia’s school-age children and, by extension, others. It is also the case that from a theoretical perspective, the issue of Somalia’s governance, educational, and developmental collapse represents a severe microcosm of the overall sub-Saharan African continuing crises of livelihood that characterize this most underdeveloped zone of the world. For brevity of space, a full discussion of this issue will not be undertaken in this chapter. Suffice to note that the overall problematiques of persistent African underdevelopment and concomitant educational and institutional decline have been treated by, among many others, Museveni (2000), Sandbrook (2000), Nwagwu (1997), Pisani (1997), Bayart (1993), and Bayart, Ellis and Hibou (1998). In terms of the overall state and educational collapse in Somalia, one could consult Abdi (2003, 1998), Issa-Salwe (1996), Lewis (1994), and Mirreh (1994). It may also be worthy to note here that there have been some recent announcements (in October 2004) of state rebuilding initiatives in Somalia, including the formation of a new parliament, which elected a new president, but all in the safer environment of Nairobi, Kenya.

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Currently however, there is no proper functioning central government in Somalia. Therefore, it will take many years, even decades, to reverse the current trend of de-development (defined here as the deliberate and organized destruction of the limited advancements achieved by underdeveloped countries). The institutional/educational problems outlined earlier are still real and will remain so, unless a massive and swift rebuilding is undertaken by the world (a very unlikely scenario) in the foreseeable future.

Education and Development in Somalia: A Brief Historical Focus Before the arrival of colonialism in the late nineteenth century, Somali education was mostly organized via informal structures and settings that were location and group-specific. Education then was, by and large, provided through recognized but unstructured societal relationships where older men taught their experiences and clan histories mostly to young boys, while women, again via informal means, transferred their mainly domestic-oriented knowledge to young girls. In the wider African context, these forms of knowledge transmission were akin to what Keto (1990) describes in reference to pre-settler South Africa. Keto notes that the training of children by adults included group history, acceptable ways of living, and the management of personal and community affairs as well as reliable modes of extracting available and useful environmental resources. This knowledge was then complemented by quasi-formal training in military and fighting skills. With the spread of Islam in the Somali peninsula, Quranic teaching conducted by learned men slowly permeated the education system, and although somewhat formalized, these were still non-stable religious programs found in many locations and temporary homesteads (Lewis, 1967). While colonialism did not really undertake any expansive programs of educational development in the country, one can still say that it did establish certain formal schooling systems in selected zones of Somalia. Here, as the case has been in other parts of colonized Africa, colonial schools were never designed to develop highly useful knowledge skills for the Somalis. These were, instead, formulated, as elsewhere in the continent, to maximize the natives’ contribution to the diabolic project of exploiting their natural and human resources (Abdi, 2002, 1998; Bassey, 1999). Indeed, Rodney (1982) points out how the colonial school system “was to train Africans to help man the local administration at the lowest ranks, and to staff the private capitalist firms which meant the participation of few Africans in the domination and exploitation of the continent as a whole” (p. 240).


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With very limited colonial schools in place, the birth of the Somali nation at independence in 1960 heralded the need for massive educational programs for national development. Somali leaders at that time were indeed aware of the need for viable, nationalist programs of schooling in order to catch up, as Julius Nyerere said in the Tanzanian case, with the modernized West. Even the Somali Youth League (SYL), formed in the early 1940s to fight for the decolonization of the country, emphasized the need for educational development in order to counter the clan and other region-based objectives. Little did SYL leaders know that after more than 30 years of postcolonial freedom, Somalis would rescind the nationalist project, destroy their education systems, and institutionalize mayhem and widespread anarchy that would assure de-development of the country. The SYL leaders were at least theoretically correct; indeed, it has been noted by others (e.g., Bhabha, 1994, 1990; Gellner, 1983) how “textualizing” the history or the actualities of the nationalist project is generally conducive to its durability and psycho-cultural viability. It is also important to state that, especially in the postcolonial experience of colonized populations, the view that education would lead to social development was a widely shared phenomenon. Indeed, the perceived positive relationship between education and development, that is, social advancement and institutional efficiency, has been highlighted by a number of educational and social development observers (Fagerlind and Saha, 1989; Mandela, 1994; Nyerere, 1968; Thompson, 1981; Tilak, 1994). This point of view finds credence in the fact that the blight of contemporary African societies is related to the qualitative weakness or outright lack of viable educational programs. Without access to quality education Africans stand to remain “uneducated,” unable to compete effectively for economic advancement and overall managerial efficiency. Since the inception of colonialism in Africa and elsewhere it is the universalized, mainly Western-style education that serves as the yardstick to appreciate and, of course, evaluate one’s qualifications, thus concretely influencing almost all worldly acquisitions that situate individuals and communities vis-à-vis others in the global space. In Somalia’s case, the situation is, of course, extreme. Here, programs of formal education and any resulting possibilities for comprehensive social development are essentially absent. As such, the practical importance of seriously ascertaining these issues with the potential of a future situational turn up cannot be underestimated. At any rate, it was the overall, postcolonial organized desire to develop the education system in Somalia that school enrollment at both the primary and secondary levels rose exponentially. This was

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complemented, for the first time in the country’s history, by the establishment of a government-funded university institute with Law and Economics departments, with all potentially heralding a bright future for Somalia (Laitin, 1976). The premium Somalis attached to education was so important that even the military regime which was in power between 1969 and 1990, despite all its other oppressive and destructive policies that led to the pivotal collapse of the state in 1991, undertook and achieved one of the most important projects of education. It successfully organized the 1974 national campaign with tens of thousands of teachers and students going to rural areas to partake in a massive project of alphabetization that quickly increased the national literacy rate from about 5 percent to an estimated 55 percent in the mid-1970s (Laitin and Samatar, 1987). With the majority of Somalis currently using that script for written communication, this project was, indeed, a remarkable achievement in the annals of Somalia’s educational and, by extension, social development spheres. The expansion of educational programs at all levels also affected the development of the original university institute into the full-fledged Somali National University. The university achieved a pre-state collapse student figure of 4,650 with 11 well equipped, effectively functioning, and worldwide recognized faculties including Law, Agriculture, Education, Medicine, and Engineering (International Association of Universities, 1993). It was with this promising backdrop that the educational front took the wrong turn with those who overran the former military government, literally and quite naively destroying all centers, programs, and related systems of education in early 1991 (Abdi, 1998). Here, schools, university buildings and even most of the country’s educated cadre were seen as belonging to the old regime and worthy of destruction and wanton killing. Needless to add that these precious institutions and educated Somalis were important and fundamentally indispensable resources that belonged to the Somalis. With their destruction and killing or exile of people, the invading groups willfully decommissioned this irretrievable wealth that is unimaginably and, especially painfully for any underdeveloped country, lost forever. The Current “School-less” Situation Without the presence of effective and organized systems of education in Somalia, it should go without saying that millions of the country’s children and adults are now at the mercy of informal learning realities where random schemes of interaction and information distribution are the norm. In this state of affairs, any reliable outcomes of effective and


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relevant educational programs for the management of societal institutions and interactions are, for the most part, absent. In lieu of these, we now have a host of non-constructive realities with implications and consequences that are self-perpetuating and in de-development terms, of longue durée (see Bayart, 1993; Bayart et al., 1998). With the lack of centrally or even regionally accountable government, it has been starkly clear that the “strong men” who run the plethora of semi-autonomous zones that dot the Somali landscape have no desire to reestablish any viable educational possibilities in the country. Indeed, rule by exploiting the ignorance (defined in this context as lack of education) of the people might be at work in these circumstances. Instead of educating them, the warlords are actually recruiting thousands of would-have-been primary, secondary, and tertiary students into their armies who are the main perpetuators of the current lack of development schemes as well as of a host of destabilizing factors that are diminishing the potential for peace and development. One need not look too far to see the destructive consequences in the lives of Somalia’s children and young adults that are the direct result of the lack of formal schooling. These young generations, who are also the future of the nation lack proper outlets to expend their energy and childish desires. As a result they use the one venue that is available to them; they engage in thuggery and hold war-like attitudes toward their habitat and related life conditions, none of which could be conducive to positive and constructive personal or social development. In fact, the previously conservative Somali society now sees the emergence of youth gangs that are not only creating antagonism among themselves, but are also revolting against parental authority. While this could also happen in places where formal schooling is available such as North America, the Somali case is unique in that it is very new, and is mainly taking place in small towns where most families and individuals know each other, and is not based on territorial claim, or accumulation of money or power. More disconcertingly, the situation in this regard seems to be worsening as more distance is created between formal education possibilities and all segments of the Somali society with widespread negative consequences for human development and behavioral dispositions. The educational and developmental situation in Somalia is so bleak that one now has to worry about the psychological state of the youth because so many of them have become habituated to the institutionally non-organized and socially fluid situation described above. In fact, many may not even be willing to return to some form of schooling (if that becomes available), nor may they be willing to abide by the law if

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a nationally functioning government were to be established. As Finnegan (1995) pointed out, people’s conditions may not recover that effectively in the configurations of the failed Somali state, especially the psycho-cultural damage that has been done to the country’s children. One may be tempted to conclude, therefore, that if children and young adults are to reconstitute a measure of national coherence, characterized by an expansive platform of social development for their country, then something very comprehensive and multidimensionally effective has to take place in the education of Somalia’s current generations. Failure to do so may mean that the whole situation may be even more difficult to rescue in the coming years. Although I say more about the possibilities for possible learning and social reconstruction later it may not be “off-the-mark” to suggest that as long as Somalia’s young generations remain in the current state of educational and psychological pathology, they may not be that enthusiastic to welcome any change in the present state of affairs. After all, people, whether young or old, become used to the conditions that prevail in their environments, develop specialized mechanisms to survive in these environments, and may resist anything that radically digresses from it. That could still be the case even if the change is from a schoolless, legally tenuous, and developmentally liable situation to one that improves upon all of those and may eventually lead to a better life. Here, the level of the calculated or imagined disquietude and danger may be responsive to the Foucauldian analogy (see Foucault, 1980) where power in a given situation could be correspondingly determined by the quantity as well as by the quality of knowledge one has about the situation, and how much of that knowledge the person can depend upon to shape that situation in a subjectively or group-wise beneficial perspective. Stated otherwise, if the actualities of the status quo serve one effectively, he or she may become highly prone, even if the longterm consequences could only be problematic as in the lack of schooling and order in Somalia, to preserve that status quo as much as possible. And to critically discern the complexities of the situation, one must realize that those children who were 10 years old in 1990 are now educationally deprived 24-year-olds, those who were born in 1990 are unschooled 14-year-olds, and anyone who was 15 in 1990 is now a 30-year-old man or woman, most probably with families of their own. The quasi-mundane and apparently repetitive nature of this point should not hide the magnitude of the problem I am describing in this regard. These are the issues of educational emergency which present an overwhelming dilemma that demand the collective conscience and action of the world to deal with and resolve. First is the lack of formal


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education in a world where organized schooling is the sine qua non of viable social development. Second is the persistent and extensive exposure to a form of informal learning that is mainly destructive due to a combination of political and legal failures. Third, the overall case has now acquired an intergenerational and thus entrenched feature, rendering it less and less amenable to constructive change. While I have hitherto spoken about prevailing problems of development, lack of formal schooling, and the problematic realities and effects of informal education, it does not mean that there have not been some efforts to ameliorate the situation, not only by local groups and individuals but also by some international agencies and bodies. These attempts have, however, been so woefully inadequate that one should portray them exactly as they are: sporadic literacy and short-term training programs by, among others, UNESCO and Care International, programs that are subject to the whims of the regional leaders, and that have not effected, I can categorically state, any meaningful modifications to the educational situation in the country. These limited international efforts are complemented by selected attempts to resuscitate local schools and the opening up of some private programs in rented properties that cater to the few families that can pay the fees. But even if these attempts were a small but still important beginning in re-creating Somalia’s education systems, it is now clear that with quasi-nonexistent or basically dilapidated infrastructure, total lack of qualified teachers or teacher training programs, and the complete lack of funds to undertake these and other long-term education projects, the quality of the little education that is being offered is so debased that any improvement in the overall situation would be, both quantitatively and qualitatively, not that significant. Due to these realities of the fundamental inadequacy of the small educational projects undertaken thus far, therefore, it was not surprising for at least one UNESCO report (UNESCO, 1995) to examine the Somali educational situation through the prism of the promise of the well-known Education For All (EFA) project that was stipulated in the international conference that was held in Jomtien, Thailand in 1990, and characterize the former as so removed from those expectations that it was dubbed Education For None (EFN). To be sure, the best, in terms of crucial school levels, that the combination of local and international efforts could muster, is the estimated 10 or so percent of Somalia’s school-age children (at all levels) who may be enrolled in some kind of schooling (UNICEF, 2000). UNICEF and others also corroborate the point that the estimated enrollments in these essentially under-resourced, community-based, occasionally private or semiprivate

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(i.e., cost-sharing with aid agencies), and selectively religious schooling projects (such as those run by some Islamist groups) may actually be catering to no more than 7 percent of the school-age population. If this last statement is analytically problematic in the sense that both 7 and 10 percent enrollments would be both dismal and highly liable in developmental terms, I submit that while that should be the case, in fundamentally deprived Somalia, a 3 percent difference could, indeed, have a measurable ameliorative impact, for every small increase in the number of learners who are attending any form of schooling will represent a welcome reprieve from an otherwise frightening outlook.

What Are the Prospects for Re-Scholarization? The case of the absence of viable educational programs as well as the greatly, if not entirely, debilitated socioeconomic development terrain, deserve a concerted effort that should be undertaken by the combined forces of the Somali people, aided, as much as possible, by the international community. As things stand, and for our purpose here, the specific and expansive failure of the education system would continue constraining, not only the energy and the capacity of people who could recreate learning and attached social development possibilities in the country, but also and as importantly, the minimum critical mass needed to reintroduce a semblance of governance into Somalia. In this vein, and in consideration of how education impacts society and is, in turn, influenced by society, the Somali people cannot move forward, and are likely to remain, for a long time, developmentally isolated from the rest of the world. As the prominent sociologist Emile Durkheim (in Giddens, 1986) spoke about, the centrality of labor differentiation and embedded life management systems can only be achieved in early twenty-first century via systematic and multilevel programs of learning. These would be, ipso facto, indispensable if this severely disadvantaged country is to have a chance in the global train of human progress. The case of Somalia is much worse than the rest of Africa; from a learning and/or developmental perspective, it is, indeed, in a selfcontained “no-go-zone” by itself. To illustrate this point, the Human Development Report which is published by the UNDP measures, among other things, the Human Development Index (HDI), determined by a number of factors including educational attainment. While many African countries are perennially grouped in the lowest rankings, Somalia was not even featured in the last several documents of this yearly publication (see UNDP, 2002, 2003).


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The possible new projects of educational rehabilitation in Somalia should begin with a comprehensive program that involves the input as well as the practical recommendations of Somali educators/researchers, concerned civil society associations such as women’s groups and others, especially the marginalized segments of society. However, these groups would of course not have the resources to undertake even a minimum of the reconstruction projects. Hence, the needed participation and overall visibility of international associations such as UN agencies and other Non-Governmental Organizations that are genuinely interested in recreating new programs of educational and social development that are not only effective from learning and specialized training perspectives, but also historically sensitive and culturally inclusive. Although it may appear that the aim here is to reconstruct the entire educational system, at all levels, even while the basic elements of schooling are missing, our research and teaching experience in sociology of education suggest that even when Somalia’s education system was functioning relatively well, the same recommendations might have been made so as to foster the country’s long-term development. Indeed, in these times of governance, institutional, and social development liabilities, one must still accord a measure of analytical currency to the fact that colonial-based, former educational arrangements should not be absolved from indirectly contributing to the political and socioeconomic disintegration of the Somali state. In that sense, some philosophers such as Nyerere (1968, 1974) reminded us several decades ago that if Africa was to move forward, it needed to deconstruct colonial systems of education and, in their places, reconstruct new paradigms of educational and related social development relationships that are prospectively (and by hindsight) of African creation and with African objectives. More of Nyerere’ points in this regard are worth repeating: This is what our [postcolonial] educational system has to encourage. It has to foster the social goals of living together and working together for the common good. It has to prepare our young people to play a dynamic and constructive part in the development of a society in which all members share fairly in the good or bad fortune of the group, and in which progress is measured in terms of human well-being, not in prestige buildings, cars, or other such things, whether privately or publicly owned. Our education must therefore inculcate a sense of commitment to the total community and help the pupils to accept the values appropriate to our kind of future, not those appropriate to our colonial past. (Nyerere, 1968, p. 273)

It is tempting to report (again) that even in Nyerere’s Tanzania, the once-celebrated projects of Ujamaa Vijijini did not completely succeed

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and were victimized, as McHenry (1994) reminds us, by the combined forces of global capitalism and the self-actualizing Tanzanian (i.e., less collectivist as in historical Africa). It is also important to note that the failure of Nyerere’s programs did not necessarily make life better for the Tanzanian people. If anything, not only in Tanzania but also in the wider African context, the quasi-effervescent, elite-based availability of consumer goods, that is, the free reign of current capitalist interactions, is overshadowed by declining educational and socioeconomic realities that are at the point where average standards of living for subSaharan Africa were lower in the late 1990s and into the twenty-first century, than they were in the 1970s (Abdi, 2002; Tsie, 1997). Here, one should not isolate standards of living from the quality as well as the overall philosophy of educational programs, for it would be more meaningful to argue that if Somalis (or others in Africa) had a more reliable vision of formulating and implementing local needs-oriented education in 1960, the situation might have been different from what it is in the early years of the twenty-first century. To illustrate the point, perhaps more effectively here, one should be given the right to contemplate what would have happened if Somalia’s education system, in its historical, social, and cultural foundations, effectively addressed the Somali society’s historical formations, inter-clan cultural attributes, postcolonial societal structures, complemented by cogent analyses and discussions of how to modernize the country. This might have been done via the combination of cultural and indigenously located knowledge systems, fully supported (no conditions attached here) by all that can be borrowed from Western education systems, creating in the process, a “Somalized” system of learning programs and spaces that would proactively respond to the needs of the individual and the community. Although it is easy to dismiss these observations as emotional, “would-have-been” nostalgia about Somali education and development, we must also, as sociologists of education, analyze any new recommendations of educational reconstruction in the country. Reconstruction analysis should not be simply via the mechanistic requirements of physical rehabilitation, but also by critically learning from previous lessons. In addition, we should complement our learning by relocating the complex intersections of education and society (rather, the future of these in Somalia) on a partial postcolonial platform where the structural and programmatic conceptions of the case are undertaken at the initial levels of reconstitution, with all heralding, one has to hope, a new horizon for the country’s deprived learning and development spaces. Finally, for the sake of avoiding any possible methodological or even discursive misunderstandings, it may be important to state that by


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speaking about the probable combination of indigenous knowledge formations with available projects of mainstream learning systems, there are at least two things that are not promoted. First, no call is being made for a complete return to the pre-colonial traditional, mostly informally located programs of education. It should be clearly understood that we are now in an expansive post facto period (i.e., after the fact of colonialism), and African countries, including currently delinked Somalia, are educationally and developmentally incorporated into the global capitalist system. Second, my intention, at any point in this commentary, is not to be contradictory by warning against the negative effects of informal learning in post-state Somalia while, at the same time, advocating the introduction of indigenous projects of education (also informal) to complement other knowledge and instructional systems for the revival of the country’s education system. In reality, I am not saying that indigenous or traditional learning systems are problematic per se, but only when they are characterized by nonconstructive or socially destructive situations and behavioral dispositions as those that now permeate the Somali peninsula. In terms of the proposed multidimensional possibilities of learning in the hoped-for Somalia, I concur with Dei (1998) when he writes that for African education to reconstruct the continent’s knowledge and community development trajectories, it must combine some aspects of traditionally based indigenous knowledge and epistemologies with currently available dominant systems of learning so as to achieve long-term and culturally meaningful prospects of social development. Indeed, George Ayittey, in his new book, Africa Unchained: Blueprint for Africa’s Future (2004), makes a hard-to-refute case for the revival of the continent’s precolonial socioeconomic, educational, and cultural systems as the sine qua non for any viable and long-term development prospects. Whatever went wrong in twentieth century Somalia, therefore, I submit that any emerging reconstruction strategies must incorporate indigenous projects of political and social development, without which the sustainability of any new initiatives may be interwoven with the weaknesses that have jeopardized the national project in the first place. In this chapter, I have reintroduced the multidimensional and multilocated problematique of the collapse of the Somali state, and how that has led, not only to the destruction of the country’s education system, but also to the quasi-permanent institutional and social development weaknesses that are affecting the lives of both young and adult learners. I have analyzed the destructive nature of the current informal learning relationships where children are not constrained from acts of behavior that often fall outside the parameters of the law. This is not, of course, to

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label all informal education as not conducive to desirable social development, in fact as Rodney (1982) reminds us, informal systems of learning in precolonial traditional Africa were highly effective in advancing both the material, social, and emotional livelihood of the Africans. But the Somali case is entirely different from those socially more cohesive times; it is a conflict-ridden situation that is characterized by a host of destructive interactions that can only hinder the viable development of the country’s current generations. To deal with this, I have suggested the need to immediately rehabilitate the education system, as much as possible, and with the involvement of both Somalis and others from the international community. This can be done not necessarily by imitating the former structures and contents of the pre–civil war learning programs, but by being bold in calling for the establishment of a new educational reconstruction scheme specific to Somalia’s historical and cultural realities, while taking that which is good from the currently mainstreamed programs of school-based formal learning systems.

References Abdi, A. (1998). Education in Somalia: History, destruction and calls for reconstruction. Comparative Education, 34 (3), 327–340. Abdi, A.A. (2002). Culture, education and development in South Africa: Historical and contemporary perspectives. Westport, CT & London: Bergin & Garvey. Abdi, Ali A. (2003). Reconstructing the collapsed Somali state, and the promise and (possible) pitfalls of federation. Horn of Africa Journal, XXI, 20–29. Afrax, M.D. (1994). The mirror of culture: Somali dissolution seen through oral culture. In A. Samatar (Ed.), The Somali challenge: From catastrophe to renewal? Boulder, Colorado: Lynne Rienner. Afrax, M.D. (2002). Dal dad waayay iyo duni damiir beeshay: Soomaaliya dib ma’ usoo dhalan doontaa? Eldoret, Kenya: Maji Matamu Publishers. Ayittey, G. (2004). Africa unchained: Blueprint for Africa’s future. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bassey, M. (1999). Western education and political domination in Africa: A study in critical and dialogical pedagogy. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey. Bayart, J.F. (1993). The state in Africa: The politics of the belly. London: Longman. Bayart, J.F., Ellis, E., and Hibou, B. (1998). The criminalization of the state in Africa. London: James Curry. Bhabha, H. (1994). The location of culture. New York: Routledge. Bhabha, H. (Ed.) (1990). Nation and narration. New York: Routledge. Botan, A. (1997). Somalia: Regional state or cantonization of clans? In H. Adam and R. Ford (Eds.), Mending rips in the sky: Options for Somali communities in the 21st century (pp. 255–270). Lawrenceville, NJ: Red Sea Press.


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Dei, G.J.S. (1998). Local knowledges and educational reforms in Ghana. Canadian and International Education, 29 (1), 37–51. Fagerlind, I. and Saha, L. (1989). Education and national development: A comparative perspective. Toronto: Pergamon Press. Finnegan, W. (1995). Letter from Mogadishu. The New Yorker, pp. 64–77. (March 20). Foucault, M. (1980). Power/knowledge: Selected interviews and other writings. New York: Pantheon. Gellner, E. (1983). Nations and nationalism. Ithaca, NY: Comell. Giddens, A. (1986). Emile Durkheim: Selected writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. International Association of Universities (1993). International handbook of universities, 13th edition. Paris. Issa-Salwe, A. (1996). The collapse of the Somali state: The impact of the colonial legacy. London: Haan Associates. Keto, T. (1990). Pre-industrial education policies and practices in the new South Africa. In M. Nkomo (Ed.), Pedagogy of domination: Toward democratic education in South Africa (pp. 19–42). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Laitin, D. (1976). Politics, language, and thought. Chicago: Chicago University. Laitin, D., and Samatar, S.S. (1987). Somalia: Nation in search of a state. Boulder, CO: Westview. Lewis, I.M. (1967). A pastoral democracy: A study of pastoralism and politics among the northern Somali of the Horn of Africa. London: Oxford University. Lewis, I.M. (1994). Blood and bone: The call of kinship in Somali society. Lawrenceville, NJ: The Red Sea Press. Mandela, N. (1994). Long walk to freedom: The autobiography of Nelson Mandela. Toronto: Little, Brown & Company. McHenry, D.E. (1994). Limited choices: The political struggle for socialism in Tanzania. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Mirreh, H. (1994). On providing for the future. In A. Samatar (Ed.), The Somali challenge: From catastrophe to renewal? Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Museveni, Y. (2000). What is Africa’s problem? Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Nyerere, J. (1968). Freedom and socialism: A selection from writing and speeches, 1965–67. London: Oxford University Press. Nyerere, J. (1974). Man and development. London: Oxford University Press. Nwagwu, C. (1997). The environment of crisis in the Nigerian education system. Comparative Education, 33 (1), 87–95. Pisani, E. (1997). Personal communication, Montreal, Summer, 1997. Rodney, W. (1982). How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Washington, D.C.: Howard University. Samatar, S. (1991). Somalia: A nation in turmoil. London: Human Rights Group. Sandbrook, R. (2000). Closing the circle: Democracy and development in Africa. Toronto: Between the Lines.

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Thompson, A.R. (1981). Education and development in Africa. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Tilak, J.B.G. (1994). Education for development in Asia. Delhi: Sage. Tsie, B. (1997). States and markets in Southern Africa Development Community (SADC): Beyond the neo-liberal paradigm. Journal of Southern African Studies, 22 (1), 78–95. UNDP (2002). Human development report. New York: Oxford University Press. UNDP (2003). Human development report. New York: Oxford University Press. UNESCO (1991). World Education Report. Paris: UNESCO. UNESCO (1995). Rehabilitating Somalia’s education sector. Paris: UNESCO. UNICEF (January 2000). Statistics Somalia. Retrieved from http:// www.unicef.org/country1page159.html

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Social Organiz ation of Teacher E ducation in Africa: A Kenyan Case Study Njoki Wane

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eacher education in Africa as a field of sociological study is often categorized in relation to levels of education namely: kindergarten, primary, secondary, vocational, and university education. At each level, issues of curriculum, cost, resources, quality, and quantity of education constitute areas of study, which may be analyzed independently or in relation to each other. This chapter presents a general overview of teacher education in Africa, drawing specific references from Kenya. The chapter is informed by the anticolonial framework as extrapolated by Dei (2000), Smith (1999) and wa Thiong’o (1986). The chapter draws from Kenya’s contemporary policy reform and evaluation frameworks (e.g., Kinyanjui, 1992; Republic of Kenya, 1998; Republic of Kenya/UNICEF, 1995). The chapter provides a brief historical background to teacher education in Africa followed by an overview of the anticolonial framework. Levels and types of teacher education offered in Kenya (from pre-primary/early childhood to higher education) are explored. A proposition to include indigenous knowledge in teacher education is presented. Finally, issues of selection and placement of untrained teachers, supply and demand for trained teachers since independence and teacher remuneration are also examined. Taken together, it is my hope that this chapter will help characterize the direction future teacher education in Kenya should take (especially under the new government).

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Historical Overview of Teacher Education in Africa Teacher education programs emerged out of, and are still constrained by economic, political, social, and historical conditions, such as colonialism and neocolonialism (Kinyanjui, 1992; Kipkorir and Ngenga, 1997). Formal teacher education, as we know it today, was nonexistent before the advent of colonialism. The would-be inculcators of knowledge and skills were usually the acknowledged sages—grandparents and the elderly—within the various Kenyan communities. The sages were supposed to pass on knowledge and skills to younger generations who would also pass it on to the next generations. With the introduction of formal education, teacher preparation became the missionaries’ and/or the colonial government’s prerogative. At the initial stages, missionary teacher education preparatory schools concentrated primarily on equipping the local would-be teachers with evangelical skills (McLeanland and Kamau, 1999). This was because formal education was not considered important. With time, focus shifted to formal education when it was realized that such an education could be used as a vehicle to promote domesticity—that is produce obedient servants to serve as clerks, instructors for coffee pruning, and other manual jobs (Semali, 1999; wa Thiong’o, 1986). In addition, the colonial government saw the need for supporting formal education, through subsidies so as to strengthen their political and economic power over the indigenous communities (Eshiwani, 1989; Nathani, 1996). Colonial education was racially stratified in most African countries. Emphasis was on the superiority of European education over other races (Nathani, 1996; wa Thiong’o, 1986). African literacy was kept to a minimum and any curriculum prescribed for the Africans was oppressive. Foci of African curricula were on vocational, agricultural, and religious education as opposed to academically orientated education for the European learners. These segregated curricula were designed in ways that instilled virtues in Africans that would benefit the Europeans— discipline, punctuality, appreciation of manual work, respect, character, and morality. No great effort was made to provide career-oriented education for Africans, since the Europeans intended that natives (Africans) were to remain satisfied with basic skills. Entry to each level of education was highly competitive, and only those who passed foreign-based examinations could proceed to the next level (Nathani, 1996; wa Thiong’o, 1986; Solaru, 1964). Most African nation-states began to gain their political independence in the 1960s, spearheaded by Ghana in 1957. In Kenya, the first two

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decades after independence (1963) were marked with tremendous increases in gross enrollment rates both in primary and secondary schools. Questions worth probing at this point are: Were there enough teacher training institutions to train the required number of teachers? How did the African countries cope with this “crisis”? In an attempt to answer these questions, I explore teacher education in Kenya and the manner in which increased demand for schooling has outstripped the ability of the economy to provide sufficient qualified teachers resulting in constraints in the overall quality of instruction provided. I also argue for the indigenization of teacher education in spite of the enormous pressures to globalize curricula.

The Anticolonial Discursive Framework An anticolonial discursive framework explores the role of social movement, grass-root organizing, and the current writing that challenges colonial and neocolonial mentality (Amadiume, 1997; Dei, 2000; Oyewumi, 1997; Smith, 1997). Today, many theorists contend that we live in a postcolonial world, implying that we have somehow risen above the yokes of colonialism (Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, 1995; Smith, 1999). While we may not see colonialism in its original form, colonial processes of domination and imposition are just as real for many indigenous peoples of the world as they were over one hundred years ago. To speak of the postcolonial is to falsely mark the end of an epoch by placing a break where none exist (Smith, 1999; Wenrber, 1996). For instance, most of the educational institutions in Africa have never moved away from the elitist model inherited from the colonizers. I have yet to learn of any teacher education institution in Africa that invites elders from the community to participate in teacher preparation. There is an inherent assumption that because elders lack formal education and they cannot articulate themselves in a foreign language such as English, French, or Portuguese, they cannot contribute to teacher preparation—hence this analysis. Since the social organization of education is broad, I now concentrate on the development of teacher education in Kenya. This will provide an entry point into the teacher education debate in Africa for those scholars interested in pursuing it.

Teacher Education in Kenya Kenya is a former British colony that inherited the British system of education mainly aimed at producing professionals and managers for a budding industrial society (Draper, Fitz and Schindler, 1969). After

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independence (1963), it became apparent that there was a need to put into place an educational program that would speak to the needs of the Kenyan population. The first postindependence education commission report (Republic of Kenya, Ominde Report, 1964) proposed a series of reforms relating to early childhood education, primary education, secondary education, teacher education, and adult education (note that since 1964, the Government of Kenya has continued to articulate major educational policy reforms). The underlying philosophy of the Government of Kenya is to provide and maintain relevant, quality education at all levels and hence the emphasis on investment in teacher education. Teachers in Kenya are seen as an important part of a successful education system, and most efforts for the betterment of education focus on teachers. Teacher training institutions in Kenya are grouped into three categories: 1. early childhood development training institutions (for kindergarten or preprimary teachers). 2. primary teacher training colleges (for primary school teachers). 3. diploma and university colleges (for some primary and all secondary school teachers).

Early Childhood Teacher Education In Kenya, Early Childhood Education is also referred to as early childhood care and education or early childhood development. Early childhood education institutions are referred to as preprimary schools, nursery schools, day care centers, preschools, and kindergartens. These institutions cater for children aged six years and below. Traditionally, households (mainly mothers and girls) and extended family members provided childcare in Kenya. With industrialization and urbanization, there has been increased rural–urban migration and accelerated changes in the family systems. These changes necessitated the establishment of ECE centers to provide care for children while the mothers worked. Prior to independence, Early Childhood Education centers in Kenya were mainly established for European and Asian children. After independence, ECE centers expanded rapidly as a result of President Kenyatta’s call for enhanced “Harambee” [self-help] in nation building (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997). Establishment of early childhood education institutions, sponsorship and funding, and the coordination and training of ECE teachers was initially propagated by the local communities and Non-Governmental Organizations


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(NGOs)—churches and voluntary organizations, local authorities, and individual investors—not the Government of Kenya. Local communities and NGOs were then (1971) under the Ministry of Co-operatives and Social Services (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997; Republic of Kenya, 1998). ECE teacher training was mainly done through short in-service courses and by agencies that managed preschools (Republic of Kenya, 1988). The government of Kenya’s involvement in ECE began in 1971, when, in collaboration with the Bernard Van Leer Foundation, they initiated a research project (the Pre-school Education Project), that was based at the Kenya Institute of Education (KIE). The aim of the project was to improve the quality of ECE through the development of feasible training models, curricula, and other support materials for use by children, teachers, and trainers (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997). Beginning 1980, the Government of Kenya assumed the responsibility of managing ECE through the Ministry of Education (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997; Republic of Kenya, 1988). In 1984, the National Center for Early Childhood Education (NACECE), based at the KIE, was established by the Government of Kenya in collaboration with the Bernard Van Leer Foundation. The Center became responsible for all training needs at the national as well as at the district levels. NACECE coordinates, designs, and develops ECE programs, including the curriculum; and also disseminates professional ideas, information, education, and communication materials and services; monitors and evaluates the programs, and carries out research on ECE (Kipkorir & Njenga, 1997). ECE Teacher Training Process Currently, there are two training programs for ECE teachers in Kenya, a four-year Bachelor of Education (B.Ed) ECE degree and a two-year in-service program offered to untrained teachers. Kenyatta University offers the Bachelor’s degree, established in 1995, while the Ministry of Education offers the in-service training program. At Kenyatta University, the B.Ed program is offered at the Center for Early Childhood Education. The center was created as a result of collaboration among stakeholders in the Ministry of Education, Science and Training, the National Center for Early Childhood Education (NACECE), Kenyatta University, bilateral and multilateral donors and representatives of various Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs). The objective of the Kenyatta University center is to offer a program that provides more opportunities for the development of skilled and knowledgeable trainers, researchers, curriculum developers and managers for ECE at the local, district, and national levels.

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The bachelor of education (ECE) program includes courses from a complete range of disciplines. Courses are mainly drawn from Psychology, Home Economics, Sociology, Education, Music, Arts, Physical Education, Special Education, Administration, Science, Mathematics, and other areas. The degree program includes four teaching practices through an affiliation with authorized participating ECE programs. The Kenyatta University center also offers Masters in Education and Masters of Art programs with specialization in administration of ECE programs, developmental psychology (child study), and family and community education (Kenyatta University Center for Early Childhood Education). In-service ECE training is a two-year program, which includes short in-service courses lasting about five months for which trainees obtain a certificate of attendance. Shorter courses are offered on weekends and are aimed at development of professional proficiency. The program requires six residential sessions alternated with six field experience sessions. Residential sessions take place during the holidays, while field experience sessions take place during the school term. Curriculum content for ECE teacher education includes: child development, health and nutrition, classroom management, community education, parents/community involvement in preschool education, history of pre-school education, teaching methodologies (including language, mathematics, and music), materials development, and the environment (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997; Ministry of Education Science and Technology, 1990; Republic of Kenya, 1998; UNESCO, 1996). Selection of trainees for the two-year in-service ECE training program in Kenya remained vague till recently. The minimum academic grade level is not specified. Primary Education certificate holders (at least 18 years old) may apply. In 1988, in some arid areas of Kenya, such as North East province and Coast province, many ECE teachers did not possess academic certificates. On the other hand, in highly academically competitive and densely populated regions such as Central province or Nyanza province, some ECE trainees had at least secondary education (Republic of Kenya, 1988). Later, policy reforms brought in admission changes. ECE teacher’s colleges began to take only applicants who had a Kenya Certificate of Primary Education. In order to accommodate teacher candidates from arid and semiarid areas, “alternative courses” were introduced (Kipkorir and Njenga, 1997). Conversely, requirements for admission into Bachelor of Education in ECE is a Grade B in the Kenya Secondary Examination. This means that to qualify for a bachelor’s program one requires twelve years of schooling while


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for the in-service, it is only eight years. The end product of the two programs is thus quite different. There are increasing disparities between the quality of rural and urban ECE teaching and staffing. Most in-service trainees are usually sent to the arid and semiarid regions of Kenya or to poor rural schools, while most graduates from Kenyatta University are posted to city schools. In Bourdieuian terms, this state of affairs reveals a tendency for education to replicate the existing social status quo. Constraints to ECE Teacher Training and Curriculum Development Preschool education in Kenya has been faced with continued inadequate staffing, physical facilities, instructional materials, and curriculum and teacher training (Republic of Kenya, 1998). From the outset, it appears as if the Government of Kenya is committed to the ECE teacher training. However, a close examination reveals that there are numerous inequities in terms of service delivery, qualification of trainees, and the duration of training. A 1999 survey done by the Ministry of Education & Human Resource Development showed that the training of preschool teachers at the district level had achieved marked improvement in quality in the years 1990 to 1998. In spite of these improvements, some preschool programs continued to be staffed by untrained teachers especially in districts that are far from Nairobi, the capital city of Kenya. For example, 87 percent in Bomet, 84 percent in Mount Elgon, and 83 percent of teachers in Meru and Nyandarua respectively remained untrained (Republic of Kenya and UNICEF, 1994). It is important to note that financial constraints continue to hinder uniformity and organized training of ECE teachers in Kenya. A 1971 survey done by the Ministry of Co-operatives and Social Services showed that during that year, there were 5,000 ECE teachers in the country and only 400 had basic training related to preschool education, the majority of whom were in urban centers (Republic of Kenya, 1988). By 1998, the percentage of untrained teachers was down from 70 percent in 1990 to 58 percent. In addition, the number of training centers grew from 18 in 1990 to 31 in 1999 (Ministry of Education, 1999). Kenya has continued to be one of the few countries with a high birth rate of 4.0 percent despite the fact that the country has been experiencing almost zero economic growth rates in recent years. This has been a major impediment to Early Childhood Education (ECE) teacher education reform.

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ECE Teacher Workload and Remuneration Most pre-primary schools in Kenya are run with support from parents, communities, non-governmental organizations, private organizations, or individual entrepreneurs. Recruitment and remuneration of teachers thus varies from one employer to another. The majority of preschool teachers are paid very low salaries. For instance, by 1988, the average monthly salaries of ECE teachers varied from Kenya shillings 90–700 (approximately US$1–13) in community-sponsored schools to Kenya shillings 800–2500 (US$15–49) in schools sponsored by local government authorities. Even though the Ministry of Education has taken charge of ECE, policies over salary for these teachers are not streamlined and incorporated into the main budget as for the case of teachers in primary and secondary schools. Moreover, it is not uncommon for some ECE teachers to go unpaid for long periods because of poor financial management and lack of standardization of remuneration systems. As a result, many ECE teachers remain understandably discouraged. Apart from poor remuneration, ECE teachers are discouraged by the high pupil–teacher ratios. In some rural districts where parents and communities are not able to employ more teachers, the pupil–teacher ratio is as high as 400–1. Such areas include Turkana 504:1; Marsbit 330:1; Mount Elgon 316:1; Bomet 294:1, and Nyandarua 227:1 (Republic of Kenya, 1998). In such situations, schools employ a shift method: morning, mid-morning, afternoon, and late afternoon so as to cope with the high enrollment rates. According to the 1997–2010 Ministry of Education Master Plan, these numbers are unacceptable and unmanageable. Even with such large numbers, the Ministry of Education maintains that the pupil–teacher daily contact time remain 4.5 hours or 22.5 hours per week. When the low-salary factor is added, or, in some cases, the complete lack of salary, and the high pupil–teacher ratio, such employment conditions raise serious human rights and labor/employment issues. As a result, the would-be ECE teachers are discouraged from pursuing careers in early childhood education. This indicates how the quality of education for preschool training in Kenya has long been compromised. In addition, the country has opted for quantity instead of quality because of persistent slow economic growth rates and the inequitable distribution of resources. These inequities are now being perpetuated into primary school teacher education.

Primary Teacher Education Provision of primary school education in Kenya remains a government responsibility involving partnership mainly with parents, communities,


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and religious organizations. Establishment of primary teacher training colleges began with President Kenyatta’s call for Kenyans to take education seriously. In his letter to the local newspaper Mwiguithania in 1929, Kenyatta noted that if Kenyans wanted to become of consequence and councilors of their country, they had to busy themselves with education (Mwiria, 1991, p. 122). This call led to the establishment of Kenya’s first independent institute of higher education for Africans at Githunguri which was based on the spirit of Harambee. The college was to meet teacher-training needs of Africans, catering for their drive for self-determination and cultural freedom, as well as their needs for purely intellectual and practical skills. After independence, enrollments in primary schools increased especially after the declaration of free primary education in the 1970s in the country (Ministry of Education Science and Technology, 1990). This meant an increased demand for trained teachers. The government was obliged to build more teacher training colleges and to expand pre-service and in-service training programs to produce qualified teachers to meet the growing demand. By 1986, Kenya had about 69.8 percent trained primary school teachers. In 1993, the percentage increased to about 82.5 and in 1998 this increased to 96.6 percent. Developments in Primary School Teacher Education Primary school teacher education in Kenya has gone through a number of changes since independence. Initially, missionaries managed teachertraining colleges in Kenya. Emphasis was on religious knowledge and theology. In 1968, the government amalgamated some of the existing teacher training institutions and by 1975, there were 17 colleges with an enrollment of about 8,600 students.1 In 1984, the government of Kenya introduced a new system of education, 8–4–4 (eight years of primary education, four years of high school, and four years of university education), that emphasized vocational training. This exacerbated the teacher training needs as the new curriculum required teachers who were competent to teach vocational subjects. In order to deal with the crisis, it was recommended that a crash program be introduced to train teachers for vocational subjects in primary schools (Republic of Kenya, 1988). By 1988, there were 15 public and two private primary level teachers’ colleges with an enrollment of over 16,000 students pursuing the primary one2 (PI) teacher program. From the arid and semiarid areas of Kenya, there were 600 trainees pursuing the primary two3 (P2) and primary three4 (P3) teacher programs (Ministry of Education Science and Technology, 1990; Republic of

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Kenya, 1988). Unfortunately, annual output from these colleges was not sufficient to meet the growing demands for qualified primary school teachers. The government opened up more training colleges to increase enrolment to about 18,658 and to boost the annual output to 9,329 teachers (Republic of Kenya, 1988). In 1995, there were 163,915 trained and 18,060 untrained teachers. By 1999, these numbers had changed and there were 180,164 trained teachers and 186,612 untrained teachers (see table 15.1). At present, about 3.4 percent of primary school teachers in Kenya remain untrained. However, gender and regional disparities are significant (see table 15.1). There are more male teachers compared to females throughout the country. Interestingly, female teachers dominate the ECE levels. At the upper primary, secondary, and university levels, there are very few female teachers. These trends could be attributed to the government’s failure to implement policies that address gender imbalance in education (Ministry of Education, 1995). Government policy on teacher employment has

Table 15.1 Number of primary teachers by qualification and sex for the selected years, 1997–1999 1997 M Trained Graduate Approvedb S1/Diplomaa P1 P2 P3 P4 Total

F

17 14 1,364 795 9,993 5,392 70,017 50,221 17,809 13,108 3,474 2,796 11 23

1999a

1998 T

31 2,159 15,385 120,238 30,917 7,270 34

102,685 73,349 176,034

Untrained K.A.C.E K.C.E/K.S. C.E K.J.S.E C.P.E. Other

622 4,940 873 151 74

387 2,935 350 129 95

1,009 7,875 1,223 280 169

Total

6,660

3,896

10,556

Grand Total 109,345 77,245 186,590

M

F

924 727 12,363 7,381 73,311 54,299 16,544 12,541 3,158 3,374 708 406

T

1,651 19,744 127,610 29,085 6,532 1,114

M

F

T

97 1,674 11,550 71,147 15,502 2,513

67 920 7,392 54,343 12,171 2,788

164 2,594 18,942 125,490 27,673 5,301

107,008 78,728 185,736 102,483 77,681 180,164 246 3,501 490 120 42

71 1,848 156 82 14

317 5,349 646 202 56

— 3,511 614 — 184

— 1,785 239 — 115

— 5,296 853 — 299

4,399

2,171

6,570

4,309

2,139

6,448

111,407 80,899 192,306 106,792 79,820 186,612

Notes: a Provisionals. b An approved teacher has completed the equivalent of a university education (The 1998 data for approved teachers include university graduates). Source: Ministry of Education (1995).


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assumed a level of gender neutrality. However, regional disparities have existed in the country for a long time. The Northern and Coastal frontiers of the country continue to record low numbers of female teachers. The problem is embedded in the system. There are fewer female teachers in teachers’ colleges. Moreover, the few females who are enrolled are scarce in the “male subjects” that is, Science and Mathematics. Admissions, Course Content, and Length of Primary Teacher Education Two kinds of primary school teacher-training programs are offered in Kenya, namely: (1) pre-service and (2) in-service programs. The preservice program is a two-year residential program, while the in-service program is a three-year program for untrained teachers. The three-year in-service program combines distance teaching (correspondence and radio) and residential training during school holidays and weekends. By 1992, approximately 20,000 primary school teachers had received training under the in-service program (Kinyanjui, 1992). The media learning package used in the in-service program consists of a correspondence component (i.e., approximately 75 percent of the course content) and a face-to-face training session for seven weeks that is spread over the school holidays at residential primary teachers’ colleges. Students are assessed throughout the three-year period, with grades awarded for performance on the written assignments, teaching practice, and final examinations. Radio lessons are designed to supplement the correspondence component. The radio lessons highlight significant points or issues contained in study units, without necessarily repeating or summarizing them. The primary school teacher education curriculum covers academic content, training in pedagogy, and teaching practice. It covers professional studies, subjects taught at the primary schools (English, Kiswahili, Mathematics, Science, Christian Religious Education/Islamic Studies, Physical and Health Education, Geography, History and Civics, Arts and Craft, Music, Agriculture, Home Science), and teaching practice. At the end of the program, the Kenya National Examinations Council (KNEC) examines students and the results from continuous assessment and teaching practice are used to determine qualifications. In 2001, Arts and Craft, Music, Agriculture, and Home Science were scrapped from the primary school curriculum and are no longer tested in the grade eight Kenya Certificate of Primary Examination (KCPE). Following such a move, Principals of Teacher Training Colleges proposed that teacher trainees be allowed to specialize in subjects of their

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choice. Such specialization would increase efficiency and output in teaching, they argued. Admission criteria for primary school teacher trainees in Kenya have been inconsistent. As of 1988, trainees had to be unemployed high school graduates who had been out of school for at least one year or were serving as untrained teachers. With the introduction of the 8–4–4 system, the trend changed. In 2000, the minimum mean grade for entry to the primary teachers colleges was raised from D⫹ to C. All applicants must have a minimum of grade C in Mathematics and English to qualify for admission. When the minimum grade required was raised from D⫹ to C, the number of applicants especially from arid areas was affected. In 2002, very few teachers’ college applications were received from Coast, North Eastern, and some parts of the Eastern provinces. This is because many high school graduates opted for better paying professional training as opposed to teaching (East African Standard, 2002). A major impediment to primary school teacher education in Kenya is the continued cash flow crisis. In addition, there are not enough tutors in training colleges. Before 1998, teachers’ colleges had 1,300 lecturers, producing approximately 6,000 teachers annually. When the government decided to close down primary school teacher education colleges and also froze P1 teacher training in 1998 (an attempt to cut down on costs following the World Bank and IMF sanctions), the majority of the college lecturers were deployed to secondary schools. This is indicative of the problems riddling primary teacher education in Kenya. Prevailing Trends in Primary Teacher Education In 1998, the then president of Kenya (Daniel arap Moi) suspended admissions to teacher training colleges claiming that cash flow was insufficient to sustain teacher-training needs. Closure of some colleges affected the number of trained teachers who could be deployed to various primary schools. In 1999, President Moi rescinded the decision and the closed colleges admitted teacher trainees that year. Closure of some colleges and suspension of admission for a year led to severe staffing shortages in many parts of the country, since many teachers left the profession through retirement, resignation, or death. By the end of 2001, there was a deficit of 9,134 teachers—8,421 for primary schools and 713 at the secondary level (Daily Nation, 2001). Plans to recruit more teachers were hampered by lack of funds. In 2001, the government tried to balance the distribution of teachers in the country by transferring


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teachers from overstaffed to understaffed districts, but this move was opposed by the Kenya National Union of Teachers. The Union argued that the move was inhuman and did not take into account marital and health needs of teachers.

Secondary School Teacher Education Secondary school education in Kenya serves as the transitional stage between primary education, and higher education and training and the world of work (Republic of Kenya, 1988). It caters to primary school graduates aged between 15 and 18 years of age. After independence, Kenya had 151 secondary schools that enrolled 30,121 students with 1,602 teachers of which 1,098 were trained and 504 were untrained (Republic of Kenya, 1988). The acute shortage of trained teachers between 1980 and 1986 made the government employ untrained, grade 12 students, and graduate teachers to meet the staffing needs in secondary schools. The rate of training graduate (B.Ed) teachers could not match the rapid growth in secondary school enrollments. In an effort to meet the increased teacher demands, the Ministry of Education introduced a crash program (a postgraduate diploma in education) for university graduates (Bachelors of Arts and Science) who had no teacher training background (Republic of Kenya, 1988). Diploma colleges were also expanded and a few were converted into constituent colleges of existing universities to train graduate teachers. In 1990, over 37 percent of secondary school teachers remained untrained. With the crash program, the percentage reduced to 15 percent by 1996. The total enrollment of teacher trainees was 10,788 in 1996. However, teacher development remained low in some subject areas such as mathematics, physics, and English and in technical subjects (Kinyanjui, 1992; Republic of Kenya and UNICEF, 1994). The supply and provision of professionally trained secondary teachers remains crucial for Kenya’s development. The government is committed to professional development and efficient management of the teaching force in the country as a way of raising the relevance and quality of education (Republic of Kenya, 1988, 1998). Training of secondary school teachers in Kenya is done at both degree and diploma levels. At degree levels, students take a four-year Bachelor of Education Degree. Graduates holding a Bachelor of Arts, Bachelor of Science, or Bachelor of Commerce who want to become teachers are offered a one-year postgraduate diploma program in education. Diploma colleges on the other hand cater for middle-level secondary school teachers. Diploma teacher trainees are required to

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take two teaching subjects, in addition to education foundation courses, and teaching practice (Ministry of Education, 1996). As of 1988, there were six diploma teachers’ training colleges in Kenya and currently, only two are operational (Kagumo and Kenya Science). All the others were upgraded into constituent universities. Under the 7–4–2–3 system of education, diploma colleges admitted those grade 13 students for training who had at least one pass in a major subject and two passes in minor subjects in the Kenya Advanced Certificate of Education. With the introduction of the 8–4–4 system of education in 1985, teacher trainee candidates are grade 12 graduates and holders of the Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education (KCSE) with an aggregate grade of C (raised to C ⫹ in April 2002).

What is the Place of Indigenous Knowledge in the Teacher Education Curriculum? Is teacher education in Kenya culturally inclusive? In African traditional society, children received teachings informally through proverbs, storytelling, riddles, and observation before they received formal education. These indigenous teachings provided an entry point to African ways of life in the past, present, and future (Wane, 2002a). They formed the basis for knowledge to grasp the abstract. Unfortunately, teacher education programs have ignored indigenous ways of knowing that explore values, recount history, analyze changes in attitude over time, and provide reflections for future. Teacher education curriculum developers have implemented curriculum, which bears the hallmarks of a globalized curriculum—eclipsed by the western curriculum—with limited acknowledgment of the needs of the local population. One consequence of ignoring such vast knowledge and teachings that were constantly ingrained in youngsters in the traditional African society has been the exclusion of local languages in the teacher education curriculum. In schools, children are also forbidden to speak their languages and at times physically punished for doing so. Language plays a significant role in children’s identity formation and socialization. The inter-generational link provided by language has been broken by the practice of emphasizing the knowledge of English and Swahili. Wa Thiong’o (1985) noted that the colonists effectively used language as a tool for colonizing and inculcating foreign values in the African people. To date, foreign languages like English, Portuguese, and French, are measures of intelligence, an indicator of one’s ability to learn and advance in a career both inside and outside Africa. The colonizer succeeded in destroying and undervaluing the ways of knowing


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and teaching the African and indigenous peoples around the world. Nicholls (n.d.) emphasizes that, the most basic tenet of all successful educational programs is the notion of using the child’s (or for that matter, adult’s) own knowledge as the educational starting point, and moving from the known to the unknown. It makes good educational sense for initial literacy to be taught to young children in their own first language, a language they can actually understand, and for second language acquisition (in this case, English) to take place on the basis of that firm foundation. Indigenous knowledge is a valuable teaching resource. Teacher education programs are good starting points for dismantling the colonial and neocolonial mentality of demeaning these ways of knowing. Using Inuuqatigiit’s (1998) words, there is a need to rethink teacher education curriculum in Kenya. The focus should be on: (1) maintaining, strengthening, recalling, and enhancing local languages and cultures in the program (2) creating a link between the past and the present (3) encouraging the practice of Kenyan people’s values and beliefs and (4) encouraging pride in local languages to enhance personal identity.

Discussion In 1998, the government of Kenya stalled recruitment of graduate teachers due to lack of funds for teachers’ salaries. The number of trainees admitted to teacher education programs was also reduced. To justify the freeze (without causing much political strife), the government attributed its move to the evaluations of the World Bank and others which indicated that Kenya had surplus trained teachers. The argument was that the problem was not lack of teachers but a nationwide imbalance in distribution of available teachers. Recommended strategies for improvement focused on re-distribution of the existing teaching force and a freeze on the expansion of teacher training programs. Evaluations based on pupil–teacher ratios failed to take into account the increased number of out-of-school children, and instead based their calculations on actual school enrollment returns. Although teacher surplus was reported, the government recognized a deficit of math, science, and language teachers in some schools. The folly of the teacher training and recruitment embargo soon became different. Checks revealed deteriorating staffing trends. This was worsened by circumstances beyond educational planning and administration. A 1999 World Bank report indicated that AIDS was killing teachers faster in many parts of Africa than they could be trained. In Kenya, teacher death rates related to HIV/AIDS increased by more

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than 300 percent in a span of four years—up from 450 in 1995 to 1,500 in 1999 (Daily Nation, 2002). During the 1996 UNESCO education conference in Geneva, it was noted that there was a tremendous decrease in spending for education in the framework of Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs), leading to a decline in the quality of education in many African countries (UNESCO, 1996). Teacher education was one of the most affected sectors. Eshiwani (1989) also noted that the prevailing educational problems in Africa are not only internal but also external (SAPs being one of the external problems). The IMF and World Bank made African countries cut back on their educational spending and especially on teacher training. Additionally, increased cost sharing has made education, including teacher training, too expensive for many Kenyans, scaring off many interested trainees (Eshiwani, 1989). Gender disparities in teacher education continue to prevail. As Gaynor (1997) noted, teaching is one of the “feminised” occupations that are seen as suitable for women, that is, extensions of their reproductive and nurturing role. Indeed, Kenya’s lower primary schools are dominated by female teachers, although head teachers (except for lower primary/infant head teachers) are often males (see table 15.1). Almost all preschool teachers (90 percent) are women. It is unfortunate that in an effort to improve the future of ECE in Kenya, the Master Plan for Education and Training 1997–2010 drafting committee recommended among other issues that the teaching force should consist of predominantly qualified female teachers (Republic of Kenya, 1998). Teaching at preschool and lower primary school levels remains a female-dominated profession in Kenya. If there are males, they are head teachers and deputies. Male teachers are thus often associated with “authority and power.” The trend in Kenya could be equated with what prevailed in England and Australia when women were considered “naturally” able to teach younger children (Kyle, 1992). Currently, the teaching profession in Kenya has lost its former glory, social status, and development prospects. Right from the colonial period, teachers held higher status with reference to society. Teachers were accorded respect because of their contribution to society as role models and points of reference in everyday life. Their remuneration was comparatively good (UNESCO, 1996). With reforms, teachers in Kenya are no longer involved in significant decision making and hence feel marginalized. Teachers no longer command high levels of respect in the community as was the case up to the 1980s. Many teacher trainees join the profession as a last resort and as a stepping stone for achieving other “bigger” things. A commentary in one of Kenya’s


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national newspapers shows how teaching continues to be looked down upon as a profession for those who did not perform well in school. “Society considers teachers as failures who went into teaching because they did not get better grades. People think teaching is a natural thing that does not require training” (Mr. Maina, a trained teacher now journalist, in the Daily Nation, June 16, 2002).

Conclusion Teacher education researchers would be interested in how current teacher education trends are playing out in the new government era and the implications for its future in Kenya. A new coalition government was sworn in during the last week of December 2002. The National Rainbow Alliance Coalition (NARC) replaced KANU, a party that had been in power since 1963 under two presidents, the last holding office, for nearly 30 years. Within less than 24 hours of taking office, the new government announced free and compulsory primary education for all, one of the NARC’s campaign strategies or promises. In less than a month, over one million children who had been out of school reentered the school system. Children turned up in such large numbers immediately after the presidential decree that some schools had to shut their doors due to over enrollment. How well were teachers prepared to handle this situation? Why have some of the children again dropped out of school? Even without the added pressures of free and compulsory primary education, the production of quality teachers for the provision of quality education is of great concern. As Eshiwani (1989) noted, what seems critical is how teachers are prepared to teach a large class of 50 and sometimes 80 pupils. Should teachers have general knowledge or specialized education? At the primary level, most teachers in Africa have general rather than specialized education. Thus, due to shortage of qualified teachers, a primary school teacher is expected to be able to switch from one subject to another and be able to teach in different classes.

Notes 7–4–2–3 system of education (seven years of primary education, four of secondary, two of advanced high school and three years of university education). It is important to note that Kenya has managed to train teachers of and for all levels of education. More was expected with the launching of the Global-Initial Teacher Education project at Egerton University in the year 2001. With the

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announcement of free primary education for all, more challenges have emerged. There are new demands for teachers to handle children of different age ranges enrolling in schools and at various levels. Although the new government means well, and every effort should be made to utilize the free education, there is need to emphasize on and introduce indigenous ways of knowing and teaching in teacher education programs. Global-Initial Teacher Education project—this was run jointly with two other universities in Britain and India—sponsored by the British government through its Department for International Development (DFID), aimed at expanding and improving teacher training, equipping teachers with skills on development matters, international relations, social justice, citizenship, conflict resolution, and human rights. 1. Primary school teachers in Kenya are trained as generalists, not subject specialists as is the case with secondary school teachers. 2. Teachers who would like to join P1 teacher training program need a minimum of grade 12 education and upon completion of the training, the teachers are usually sent to teach in secondary schools. 3. The minimum qualification for P2 teacher trainee is a grade 10 education. On completion these teachers are sent to teach in primary schools. 4. The minimum requirement to join P3 teacher training program is a grade 8 education and on completion, teachers are posted to teach in primary schools.

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Nicholls, C. (n.d). The closure of the bilingual education programs in Australia’s Northern Territory: What is at stake? A former school principal’s perspective www.icponline.org/feature_articles/f18_01.htm—44k. Accessed May 25, 2003. Oyewundi, O. (1997). The invention of women: Making an African sense of Western gender discourse: University of Minnesota Press. Republic of Kenya (1964). Kenya Education Commission Report. Nairobi: Government Printer. Republic of Kenya (1988). Report of the Presidential Working Party on Education and Manpower Training for the Next Decade and Beyond. Nairobi: Government Printer. Republic of Kenya (1994). UNICEF—(1992). Kenya’s Programme of Action for children in the 1990s. Nairobi. Republic of Kenya (1995). Kenya Education Commission Report. Nairobi: Government Printer. Republic of Kenya (1998). Master Plan on Education and Training 1997–2010. Nairobi: Jomo Kenyatta Foundation. Semali, L. (1999). Community as classroom: (Re) valuing indigenous literacy. In L. Semali, and J.L. Kinchole (Eds.), What is indigenous knowledge? Voices from the academy. New York: Falmer Press. Siringi, S. (2002). New bid to boost training. Daily Nation, June 24, 2002. http://www.nationaudio.com/News/DailyNation/Supplements/bb/010 72002/story2.html Accessed June 28, 2003. Smith, L. (1999). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. London: Zed Books. Solaru, T.T. (1964). Teacher training in Nigeria. Nigeria: Ibadan University Press. Stabler, E. (1969). Education since Uhuru: The schools of Kenya. Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press. Thompson, E.K.D. (2001). Transforming the adult education agenda through the Kenya Post Literacy Project. www.iiz.dvv.de/englisch/Publikationen/ Ewb_ausgaben/56_2001/eng_thompson.htm Accessed July 3, 2003. UNESCO, (1993). International Conference on Education. 43rd Session, September to 14th to 19th 1992. UNESCO International Bureau of Education. UNESCO (1996). International Conference on Education. 45th Session, Geneva 30th September to 5th October 1996. UNESCO International Bureau of Education. UNESCO: The EFA 2000 Assessment—Assessment of progress Kenya Country Report, August 1999. www2.unesco.org/wef/countyrreports/ kenya/rapport_1_1.html Accessed July 3, 2003. University of Nairobi Homepage http://www.uonbi.ac.ke/acad_prgs/ index.php3 Accessed July 3, 2003. Vonk, J.H.L. (1992). The professional preparation of secondary teachers in Europe: The analysis of trends. In J.T. Voorbach, J.H.L. Vonk and L.G.M. Prick (Eds.), Teacher education, research and developments on teacher education in the Netherlands. Amsterdam/ Lisse, Swets and Zeitlinger, B.V.


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Wane, N. (2002a). African women’s technologies: Applauding the self, reclaiming indigenous space. Journal of Post Colonial Education, 1 (1), 45–66. Wane, N. (2002b). The quest for education in postcolonial Kenya: Sharing educational experiences. Paper presented at The 46th Annual Meeting of the Comparative and International Education Society (CIES). March 11–15, Orlando: Florida. wa Thiong’o (1986). Decolonizing the mind, the politics of language in African literature. Nairobi: Heinemann. Werbner, R. (1996). Multiple identities, plural arenas. In R. Werbner and T. Ranger (Eds.), Postcolonial identities in Africa. London and New Jersey: Zed Books.


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The Role of the School in Africa in the Twenty-First Century : Coping with Forces of Change Okwach Abagi

[I]t becomes imperative to develop or move away from the narrow conventional concept of education as schooling to the more acceptable and realistic indigenous conceptualization of education in which elements of all the resources of the family, community and the society do contribute to the total education of the learners—be they children, youth or adult. Ocitti (1994, p. 23)

T

his quotation by Ocitti, a renowned African educator, articulates the challenge: to make education responsive to Africa’s development needs and priorities in the twenty-first century, school and its role must be reconceptualized and redefined by Africans—based on Africa’s environment, experiences, and needs. It is from this perspective that this chapter outlines the role of the school in this time of change, in particular in the era of AIDS, globalization, and democratization. Emphasis is placed on the forces of change that need to be dealt with in order to meet individual, societal, and national development needs. Others have contributed to this discussion: thus it is the intention of this chapter to join that discussion and to move it forward (see especially Carnoy, 1999; Castells, 1998; Cloete et al., 1997; Cohen, 1999; Kelly, 2000; Muller, Cloete and Badat, 2001; UNESCO, 2000; World Bank, 1999). The first section gives a synopsis of emergence of the school system in Africa and its relationship with indigenous African education. The second part describes the forces of change and the challenges they pose

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to the school. The third section discusses the role of the school in coping and adapting to the forces of change.

Education in Africa: A Retrospective Synopsis From an African perspective, Europeans did not bring the idea of formal education to sub-Saharan Africa (SSA). In various ways, education had been established in African societies long before the Europeans arrived (Anderson, 1970; Bogonko, 1978; Datta, 1984; Ocitti, 1994; Rodney, 1989; Sifuna, 1990). However, through Christian missionaries, force and/or persuasion, in the eighteenth century, Europeans introduced European-style formal learning institutions which brought the idea of grouping children in four wall classrooms for regular daily lessons in a foreign language (English or French) as well as a system of examination and certification. [T]his institutional-bound, age-bound concept of education implied three things that simply did not square with everyday experience . . . that schools, and only schools, could meet all the essential learning needs of individuals; that this could be accomplished, once and for all, during an individual’s school-age years; and that anyone who lacked proper schooling was ipso facto uneducated (that is ignorant). (Coombs, 1985, p. 20)

Through the denigration by Europeans of African forms of education, Africans came to perceive Western-style schooling as the custodian and provider of knowledge—the best catalyst for individual and societal development. Since the mid-nineteenth century, and more so from the 1960s, Africans laid (and still lay) emphasis and their hopes on the school for their social, economic, and political progress. The school came to be seen as “the eye opener,” “the way to success,” “the best gift a parent could give to a child,” “a family’s future investment,” “the road to socioeconomic and political prosperity and stability of the newly independent African nations.” Driven by the new global economy, the growth of information communication technology (ICT), and the emergence of an African elite interested in Africa’s development (Ayittey, 1991; Cloete et al., 1997), the postcolonial period has until recently been characterized by: 1. heavy individual and public investment in school; 2. production of schooled human resource; 3. curriculum review for quality and relevance;

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4. building of partnerships between the government and communities on one hand, and between the government and international donors on the other. Missing from these efforts to establish an effective system of schooling were the voices of African educators who sought to incorporate lessons from Indigenous African Education (IAE) and indigenous knowledge systems (Bogonko, 1978; Indire, 1974; Nyerere, 1968; Ocitti, 1994; Sifuna, 1990). The richness and relevance of IAE were neglected. The fact that Africans had their own education that was rooted in society’s natural human environment and targeted toward individual and societal development was forgotten or ignored. Indigenous African education was intimately intertwined with social life and its curriculum was closely related to the social context in which children, youth, and adults are called to live. While IAE varied according to local circumstances across Africa, its role included: Æ socialization of the young into the norms, religious, and moral beliefs and way of life of African society; Æ inculcation and emphasis on practical skills—the acquisition of knowledge and skills which is useful to individual and society as a whole (e.g., learning hunting skills, medical skills and/or fishing skills); Æ improvement of individual intellectual capacity—imparting knowledge and wisdom for academic and scientific thinking and development; Æ imparting life skills to children, youth, and adult—for example, how to deal with body changes, peer pressure, how to raise children, how to become an effective leader, and so on. It is from this standpoint that the role of the school in African settings in the twenty-first century needs to be considered in light of the nature of the many changes that African societies have already undergone and in the face of new challenges today.

The Forces of Change: Challenges to the School System in SSA When the missionaries arrived, the Africans had the land and the Missionaries had the Bible. They taught us to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, they had the land and we had the Bible. Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, the first President of Kenya

Social change refers to the alteration in patterns of social structure, social institutions, social processes, and human behavior and interaction

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over time (Gillis, 1980; Goslin, 1965; Robertson, 1977). Futurist scholars have provided insight into this process. For example, Daniel Bell (1974) wrote about a new “postindustrial” society, characterized by increased affluence, automation, and too much leisure. Alvin Toffler (1970) wrote about the modern society being in a permanent state of “future shock,” meaning that technological and social change can take place faster than people’s ability to adjust to it. William Ophuls (1992) described a “scarcity society,” in which depletion of resources leads to a lower standard of living and a strong, authoritarian state that regulates conflicts between groups struggling to share the scarce resources. Although these writers focused on Western societies, the predictions apply elsewhere. In the last century, African societies and social institutions, the school included, have changed greatly by interacting with the outside world through missionary work, international trade, political associations, and education exchanges. In the last two centuries African societies have undergone various stages of social change—from indigenous way of life, through slavery, colonization (Western imperialism), to independence and economical and cultural domination. Impact of such changes on African institutions and patterns of socialization are also well documented (Ayittey, 1991; Kenyatta, 1938; Mbiti, 1970; Mazrui, 1986; Nyerere, 1962; Rodney, 1989). One major social change from IAE has been in the mode and processes of learning. Introduced by Christian missionaries, the school was first used as a vehicle for the spread of Christianity among Africans. But, the social and economic forces during the colonial and postcolonial period made the school a necessary tool for economic growth and development. As a consequence, African societies’ confidence in the school to perform various social functions has been building for some time. The consequences however, are beginning to be felt. African societies and schools are now reverberating in the face of the largely uncontrollable and cumulative impact of the reshaping of African social institutions, relationships, and practices including: breakdown of the extended family, faltering of traditional socialization patterns, growing alienation of people from their ethnic group cultures, accelerating pace of urban life, advances in ICT, increased regional and gender inequities, and threat to survival of Africans as independent and morally upright people. The scope and intensity of such changes have intensified in the 1980s and 1990s. Indeed, cultural imperialism in most African countries has intensified in both economic and political terms. These periods have been described, mostly by Western scholars and media, as lost decades for Africa. In fact, in 2000 the prestigious magazine The Economist


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described Africa as a “hopeless continent.” Once a continent with riches and beauty and people full of optimism and hope, the African continent, SSA in particular, is on the brink of economic disintegration, permanent famine, political chaos, institutional and social confusion. Africa’s share of world exports has fallen by half since 1990. Economic growth in most SSA countries has stagnated or declined, with sharp increases in poverty. In many countries, more than half of the population survives on less that $1 a day. Countries in SSA are choking in international foreign debt, although most countries have nothing economically viable to show for this debt. Africa is lagging behind in the ICT developments that are globalizing the world, excluding them from the new economic order. Even more worrying is the fact that Africa leads the rest of the world with cases of those infected and affected by HIV/AIDS. The school in SSA, as one of the most trusted social institutions, has not been spared from the effects these forces of change. Although Africa, together with the world community at the 1990 World Conference on Education for All in Jomtien and the 2000 UNESCO Education Forum in Dakar committed herself to achieving the goal of universal primary education and providing quality education for all, there are persistent concerns, including: ● ●

● ● ● ● ●

● ●

decline in quality and relevance of education; reliance on national examination results as the sole indicators of achievement; stagnation and declining enrollments at all levels; low participation and completion rates; low transition rates from one level to the next; increased problems of school finance; decline in performance in basic subjects like languages, mathematics, and science; increased regional and gender disparities; increased public disenchantment with the school.

As we progress into the twenty-first century, African countries find themselves faced by forces of change that have taken on new dimensions that are having direct impact on men and women, young and the old, social institutions, and socialization patterns. These changes influence discussions on the role that the school should play or not play in helping the African continent to reclaim its past glory and participate as an active partner in the “global” village, while maintaining its Africanness in terms of culture, language, and the raising of children. The most

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critical emerging issues in the twenty-first century include the AIDS pandemic, globalization, and the new economic order, democratization and good governance, gender mainstreaming, and the empowerment of women. These are discussed in the following sections. The HIV/AIDS Pandemic Barely 20 years since the human immuno-deficiency virus (HIV) made its first appearance, HIV/AIDS has spread with alarming speed (UNAIDS, 1999; World Bank, 1999). By the end of 1999, an estimated 33.6 million people in the world were HIV-infected. The region hardest hit by the scourge was sub-Saharan Africa, which has the largest number of HIV/AIDS cases and the highest adult prevalence rates in the world (UNAIDS, 1999). Of the 16.3 million AIDS-related deaths that have already occurred, 13.7 million were in SSA. An estimated 23.5 million people (about 70 percent of those infected) are in SSA; this includes over one million children (see table 16.1). Although there are variations from one country to another, AIDS is emerging as the leading cause of death in SSA. It is spreading rapidly,

Table 16.1 HIV/AIDS statistics and features by region, December 1999

Region Sub-Saharan Africa Caribbean South and South-East Asia Latin America North America Western Europe Eastern Europe and Central Asia North Africa and Middle East Australia and New Zealand East Asia and Pacific World

Adults and children living Main mode(s) of with Adult prevalence transmission for adults HIV/AIDS rate % living with HIV/AIDS 23.3 million 360,000 6 million

8.0 1.96 0.69

Heterosexual Heterosexual, MSM Heterosexual

1.3 million 920,000 520,000 360,000

0.57 0.56 0.25 0.14

MSM, IDU, Heterosexual MSM, IDU, Heterosexual MSM, IDU. IDU, MSM

220,000

0.13

IDU, Heterosexual

12,000

0.1

MSM, IDU

0.068 1.1

IDU, Heterosexual, MSM

530,000 33.6 million

Notes: MSM ⫽ sexual transmission among men who have sex with men. IDU ⫽ transmission through injecting drug use. Source: UNAIDS, 1999, p. 5.


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affecting children and especially those between the ages of 15 and 30. It is depleting limited trained and qualified human resources. It presents a major social-economic, political, and health challenge. It complicates the cultural arrangements and practices, like polygamy and wife inheritance. It is causing untold physical, psychological, and emotional suffering to all who are infected and affected. Persons living with HIV or AIDS frequently experience discrimination—social stigma, scorn or maltreatment in households, communities, in hospitals, or at the workplace (going against the values of human rights). AIDS is therefore a development crisis that impacts all sectors, the school included. Studies have shown that HIV/AIDS has the potential to affect the school system through many different mechanisms including: reduction in demand, reduction in availability of resources, adjustment to the special needs of a rapidly increasing number of orphans, altered roles that have to be adopted by teachers, curriculum modification, management of the system, and donor support for education (Cohen, 1999; Kelly, 2000; UNESCO, 2000). In all this, the school as a societal institution faces an enormous challenge in the twenty-first century; it emerges as the ideal venue for tackling the crisis caused by AIDS due to its socializing function and connection to local communities, and cultures. Globalization and the New Economic Order Historic and technological changes are transforming how people live, socialize, do business, and learn within their countries and with others in other countries—far or near. The world is becoming a global village, a situation where a nation’s investment, production, innovation, and marketing are not limited to national boarders. Social order and socialization are becoming organized in a compressed and technologically oriented view of space and time. This is what has been referred to as globalization (Carnoy et al., 1993; Carnoy, 1999; Castells, 1996). Globalization has brought with it a new global economy. As Castells (1996) puts it, the new economy is defined as the combination of three interrelated characteristics that can not function without each other: (1) productivity and competitiveness based on knowledge and information; (2) no physical and/or time boundaries or restrictions; and (3) the ability to structure the entire planet through telecommunications and computer-based informational systems (Carnoy, 1999, pp. 13–17; Muller, Cloete and Badat, 2001, pp. 2–3). While globalization of the economy is also driving a revolution in households, workplaces, and in learning institutions in more industrialized countries, countries in SSA are not immune to it or spared.

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Indeed, the new force of globalization is changing human relations, social life, and socialization processes and patterns in Africa too. The culture of “www.com” is spreading like wildfire in most urban centers in SSA. Interaction through internet for business (e-commerce), e-education or e-leisure has become a norm: thus the youth and adults, especially from affluent homes, are glued to their computers many hours a day. The so-called cyber cafés have mushroomed in large numbers even in small village markets. Globalization and technological changes are having a profound effect on the school in terms of what its role ought to be and how it is supposed to be organized and to operate. The faster the school in SSA adapts to globalization the better the likelihood of its survival in a technological world. The major challenge for the school thus lies in developing globally while acting locally with respect to the values and principles of IAE. Forces of Democratization and Good Governance As Ayittey has clearly articulated, after gaining political independence from the British, French, or Portuguese, many African countries entered into “Black Imperialism”—exploitation of Africa by Africans, usually top government officials and business men and women (Ayittey, 1991, pp. 415–473). The terms democracy, good governance, and transparency were not in several leaders’ vocabularies in the years following independence in the 1960s. Independence failed miserably to herald the era of prosperity and development as promised by African nationalists like Nkrumah, Kenyatta, Nyerere, Sekeo Toure, Senghouh, among others. There have been coups and counter coups, steady increases in poverty, hunger, social strife, and wars, and the entrenchment of corruption. By the mid-1970s economic and political crises had emerged due to bad leadership, power struggles, and bad governance. Many countries were ruled under a one party-state and a military major, some of whom lived lavishly with money plundered from their countries and hoarded in Western European and American Banks. The 1980s marked the beginning of “a wind of change.” The forces of democracy and good governance started blowing throughout the continent in a systematic way. This is attributed to growing internal pressure from a new generation of young educated African elite and leaders who had long been demanding good governance and economic development. More critical was the end of the cold war and emergence of pressure from the international community that African countries should democratize and put their houses in order. Economic support, in terms of loans and aids, was now being tied to good governance and


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democratization of institutions. International institutions like the World Bank and IMF came up with development prescriptions and conditionalities that forced some African countries to start democratizing their governments. In the last two decades, several countries in SSA have held fair elections and have put in place mechanisms to deal with corruption and to foster economic growth and development. Multiparty states have emerged and many are now adhering to human rights requirements. The extent to which these changes will hold and become part and parcel of African culture will depend, to a large extent, on the role the school will play in political socialization in the next decade and beyond. Gender Mainstreaming and Empowerment of Women The role of African government in general and the school in particular, in gender mainstreaming and empowerment of women, is the subject of debate in many countries in SSA. The UN Women’s Decade Conference in Beijing and several international and regional meetings on development have all contributed to the discussion of the role of the school in the achievement of social justice for both women and men. The power relations between men and women and how these affect women’s access to resources and development benefits have been at the center of these international dialogues. Most African governments are accepting that gender mainstreaming and the empowerment of women is a primary and urgent development strategy. Most governments and NGOs regard women’s education and participation in development endeavors a necessity. Until recently however, the debate surrounding gender issues was not taken seriously, so entrenched were gender attitudes and the power given to men as heads of households. Unequal access to resources and to education was accepted as “natural.” Today, human rights, equity, and social justice issues have become major forces in shaping development in Africa. African countries being members of international communities are bound by international commitments and goals to generally reduce gender gaps in development and empower women to take leadership positions in their countries. For example, African countries are signatories to the Beijing Framework of Action (1995). The role of the school in closing this gap is a major challenge. The Role of the School in Times of Change The foregoing section outlined the particular challenges that the school in SSA faces. This section focuses on the role that the school ought to

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play in the face of these forces of change, with the concern centering on the adaptation and blending of old and new functions in the name of a form of African-generated development that links the global with the local. This will necessitate a revitalizing of structures, as well as change in curricula and teaching-learning processes. The support from different players including governments, NGOs, the public and the private sector is mandatory in this radical transformation. Sociologists describe the school as a social institution, a community, a society, and/or a socializing agent. This implies that the school has a utility function in any society, African or Western. The school plays this role because it has a defined population (teachers, pupils, and non-teaching staff), an official curriculum, defined authority structure (rules and regulations), an environment (classes and playing grounds) and supporting partners like communities and the government. All these characteristics interact with each other and make the school perform various functions, both manifest and latent. Manifest functions are those social outputs that are recognized and intended by the society, while latent functions are neither recognized nor intended, having to do with what has been called the “hidden curriculum” (Banks, 1968; Boocock, 1980; Datta, 1984; Goslin, 1965; Nyerere, 1968; Robertson, 1977). Datta (1984), using a structuralfunctional perspective, identified six functions of education, all of which require a critical interpretation that is fitting to the vision of the role of the African school in the twenty-first century that is set out in this chapter. 1. The conservative function preserves the society’s dominant culture and passes it on from generation to generation (cultural reproduction). 2. The innovative function refers to the school as a major source of new ideas and knowledge (cultural production). 3. The political function contributes to political socialization, the transmission of values, beliefs, ideas, and patterns of behavior pertaining to the generation, distribution, and exercise of power. 4. The economic function contributes to economic development by inculcating knowledge, skills, and work-related behaviors. 5. The selective and allocative function refers to the role that the school plays as a filtering agency, a sieve in selecting and allocating individuals for areas of specialization and levels of operations. 6. Unintended consequences of education refers to outcomes of education that may neither be recognized nor deliberately intended by those who organize and run the system. Schools everywhere tend to be conservative institutions, slow to change. The school is virtually the only institution in Africa that has yet


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to grapple with the need to reinvent itself and change for responsive development in the new century and beyond. Households/families, businesses, and the media (the other important socializing agents) have become flexible and adaptive to change, focusing on the basics and trying to satisfy their clients. But the school in SSA, by and large, has remained centralized and bureaucratic in nature. It has not been efficient and effective in addressing the forces of social change that have engulfed the continent. Let us now delineate the role that the school ought to play in response to the four key areas of change outlined earlier.

Responding to the AIDS Pandemic by Inculcating Life Skills Although national surveys in SSA show that AIDS awareness is quite high, the epidemic remains powerful with changing and unpredictable patterns in different communities. In communities where the epidemic is advanced and appears to be leveling in the general population, infection rates are increasing among women and the youth. Within these communities, a new epidemic of orphaned children and widows has emerged. Studies show that women are infected on average at a younger age than men, and that they tend to have higher rates of HIV infection than men (UNAIDS, 1999; World Bank, 1999). Most people become infected through heterosexual contact and the people in the high risk category of acquiring HIV/AIDS are those with multiple partners and their spouses and their unborn children. The major constraints that plague the spread and control of HIV/ AIDS infection include the universal resistance to change of sexual behavior. Given the sexual behavior of young people today and the fact that most people who are infected do not show visible signs of the disease, it is feared that many more people are becoming infected and affected daily. The school has an important role in informing and educating people about HIV/AIDS. The youth and adults, girls and women in particular, must be equipped with necessary life skills that will enable them to avoid being infected and actively fight the spread of HIV/ AIDS. Since the pandemic is mostly spread through sexual intercourse, the school must be active in teaching sex and reproductive health education, an area that has been avoided by most conventional school systems in SSA due to cultural and religious pressure. The role of the school in society is thus being asked to change from one of cultural re-production to one of radical cultural change. This means that the

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school needs to help young people to: 1. know their reproductive rights and how to deal with those who infringe these rights; 2. deal with peer pressure on sexual-related matters; 3. avoid careless sex; 4. avoid having multiple partners; 5. negotiate for safe sex with their partners; 6. weed out fear and shame so that they will be able to freely visit testing and counseling centers to know their HIV/AIDS situation and how to avoid or cope with the infection; 7. develop sense of empathy and affection to those infected and affected by HIV/AIDS. The spread of HIV/AIDS in most countries in SSA is also an issue of power relations between men and women. In many societies, girls and women have little control over the sexual behavior of their husbands or partners. Negative attitudes toward the use of condoms make it difficult for women to insist on their use. Women are also disproportionately responsible for the care of those infected and affected with HIV/AIDS, often without sufficient information, medical supplies, counseling, and support. To play a major role in AIDS education, the school must engender its curriculum and teaching-learning processes. The school has to initiate and support preventive strategies in general and education (IEC) messages in particular. Such initiatives have to focus on several issues related to sexual behavior including abstinence, reduction of sexual partners, fidelity within relationships, safer sexual practices (use of male and female condoms), and the treatment of sexual transmitted diseases. A major policy shift plus strong leadership at the highest levels may be required in order for the school to adjust its structure, curriculum, norms, and culture in order to reach those as yet uninfected and to cater for those infected and affected individuals, be they learners, teachers or non-teaching staff.

Responding to Globalization and ICT Globalization, together with new information technology, is driving a revolution in the development of knowledge and skills, organization of work, the production of goods and services, and how people do business.


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It is changing the very fundamentals of human relations and social life (Carnoy, 1999). Today, massive movement of goods and services, and how people do business depends to a large extent on ICT. Countries must provide enabling environments to enhance knowledge production and transmission. People must be equipped with necessary knowledge and skills to help them adapt to the fast changing ICT environment, in a globalized economy. The school in SSA has a major role to play in this process in the twenty-first century. Globalization has provoked various responses in the education and training sectors (Carnoy, 1999) such as reforms that respond to shifting demands for skills in the labor market. The globalized economy requires workers with special skills and abilities, in order to interact with and use ICT for learning and development purposes—the backbone of the new economic order. This implies that the school has to make learners more competitive and responsive to changes in the labor market—individuals have to be made more marketable and adaptable. The school must therefore produce dot-com learners and achievers, ready and able to cope with and adapt to rapidly changing economic and technological conditions. For example, the school should be able to empower learners to take risks and learn more skills for formal and/or self-employment, to make rational decisions to choose, abandon, or change course according to prevailing circumstances. Furthermore, a system of school–community partnerships and related apprenticeships might assist learners in identifying their potential while providing on-site ICT and other training. That the quality of instruction in many countries needs attention is evident in order to insure that literacy skills are fully and permanently established. To facilitate this, large scale efforts are needed to provide more opportunities to utilize the literacy skills that are acquired in school—campaigns to promote a “reading culture” along with more newspapers, internet cafes, and mobile or permanent libraries. Currently schools in SSA are under-resourced due to poverty and misallocation and/or misuse of existing resources by various governments. One of the major challenges is finding ways for schools to cope with computers, software, and indeed the power (energy) to run them. Many schools, especially in rural SSA, lack basic teaching-learning resources like books and pens. Thus, in sum, and again, what is needed is a radical shift in the role of the school from a conservative institution to one that is oriented to change. However, for that shift to take place requires a huge investment of resources so that the basic problems linked to poverty can be overcome.

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Empowering Learners to be Gender Responsive Today, human rights, gender equity, and social justice issues have emerged as major forces in shaping development in Africa. African countries are signatories to the UN Conventions including CRC and CEDAW and the Beijing Framework of Action, among others. They are bound by international commitments to reduce gender gaps in development in general and to empower women to take leadership positions. The international community, therefore, expects these nations to adhere to the conventions in theory and in practice. While the last decade has witnessed dramatic shifts in the status and role of women in many countries in SSA—in economics, politics, and management of public resources, there is still much that the school needs to do to reinforce the concepts of gender mainstreaming and the empowerment of women. As indicated earlier, what is required is for schools to stop being conservative institutions where traditional gender roles are likely to be fostered, particularly through the hidden curriculum. The hidden curriculum is manifested in the portrayal of women and men in textbooks, through teachers’ interactions with boys and girls in the classroom, through advice given to boys and girls with regard to career choices, and the like. The school needs to actively teach about women’s legal rights, children’s rights, gender-based violence, political participation of women and men, and HIV/AIDS. But more critically, there has to be national and regional social mobilization and networking by various groups and institutions in SSA to increase girls’ and women’s access to school systems, especially in subjects that have been erroneously perceived as male concerns. Preparing Learners for African Renaissance A people losing sight of origins are dead, a people deaf to purpose are lost. Under the fertile rain, in scorching sunshine, there is no difference: their bodies are mere corpses, awaiting final burial. Ayi Kwei Armah quoted in Makgoba (1999)

The beginning of the twenty-first century has marked a turning point for most countries in sub-Saharan Africa. The region’s economies are not doing very well despite infusion of resources from outside and within. International debt is choking several countries, poverty levels have continued to increase, and health and education sectors are in a bad state. Having gone through periods of havoc due to slavery, colonization,


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and economic domination, Africa is said to be in a crisis, under a threat of marginalization from the globalized economy and even a threat of “recolonization” by Western transnational corporations. More pertinent is the fact that Africa is losing its past very fast. Its cultural and traditional identities have been systematically interfered with during the last millennium by various forces of change discussed earlier in this chapter. Besides, the continent has already lost its past glory and is continuing to lose its resources to more industrialized countries. African youth and adult alike, therefore, find themselves in a dilemma as people “without” foundation or direction. This is because there is no clear knowledge of African recent and remote past among the majority of Africans. Addressing cultural confusion and paradoxes of the present situation in Africa, where Africa faces a development crisis while the more industrialized countries are stable and rich, is one of the major challenges for the continent in this century. The beginning of the twenty-first century has marked a turning point in Africa. There are many voices—individuals and/or groups, and countries—that are calling for a radical change. Such voices are calling for an “African Renaissance”—the rebirth of Africa to regain its lost glory, rediscover its rich norms and values, stop exploitation and confusion, and come back to the main road of social, economic, and political development. Examples of the collection of these voices by Africans are captured in a powerful, must-read book African Renaissance edited by Malegapuru William Makgoba (1999). Other issues of interest about Africa’s rebirth are found in the magazine New Africa edited by Baffour Ankomah (see 2001 and 2002 Editions). If there is a wake-up call for radical change for development, the school has to be part of this call. As a social institution, the school must be at the center of championing African Renaissance. The school must make African children and youth ask and attempt to answer several important questions about this rebirth. These include questions such as the following. Æ Who are the Africans, where did they come from? Æ What is the history of Africans and where are they going? Æ What constitutes African Renaissance: its vision, objectives, and strategies to achieve it? Æ Why is it that Africa which is the cradle of the people of the earth, gave birth to the first great civilization, developed the first system of writing (hieroglyphics), the first scientist in mathematics, medicine, and architecture, and was the first territorial state (Ayittey, 1991;

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Magubane, 1999, now has the poorest people, and leads the list of people who are suffering from HIV/AIDS, and is faced with starvation and wars? Æ Why an African Renaissance now? These questions could form the core of a new African curriculum. Africa must regain her position in the common heritage of humankind and be able to independently chart her path to development according to her own needs and priorities. The school must therefore play a lead role in inculcating values related to aspects of development. A new curriculum must therefore include: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

African renaissance and international relations; African identity, norms, and values; Peace and conflict resolutions education; Multicultural and ethnic education; African culture and sustainable development; African institutional structures and development of Africa from past to present.

For the school to play this role effectively there has to be a total overhaul of the content of curricula inherited at independence in SSA. School curricula must be radically transformed (Africanized) to make it responsive to the African needs and priorities, responsive to the six articulated issues listed earlier. In the final analysis, the school’s role in the twenty-first century should be that of laying a strong foundation for democracy and development, thus protecting African societies from being susceptible to mass manipulation and exploitation by western countries and their transnational corporations.

Conclusion The present chapter has indicated that, now more than ever, Africa’s prosperity hinges on how well a nation educates and trains its children, and by extension its men and women. The role of the school for the development of Africa in the twenty-first century must be radically conceptualized and transformed by Africans themselves for the development of Africa. To summarize, four basic factors make this paradigm shift necessary. First, the continent’s social, economic, and political development is in a crisis. By the end of the last millennium, for example, the rate of economic growth had contracted for the fifth consecutive year due to


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globalization and unnecessary conditionalities imposed by Western countries and their donor agencies. Today, the majority of Africans live below the poverty line (with an expenditure of less than US$1 a day). African youth has lost its cultural identity and is in a state of confusion. This condition has given way to drug abuse, immorality, and lack of innovativeness. Second, we find the tragic social and economic impact of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. All sectors of the economy are negatively affected. Traditional extended family care structures are overburdened. 700 Africans die each day from AIDS. Already, HIV/AIDS has led to 11 million deaths across the continent since mid-1980s. These deaths have left behind more than millions of orphans, who have basic needs like food, health, and education. It is estimated that the impact of AIDS may reduce Africa’s gross domestic product (GDP) by 15 percent in ten years. Third, as we progress into the twenty-first century, most of our children are becoming more and more ignorant of their indigenous, traditional heritage; they are drug addicts, and they are growing up thinking that violence is the only effective weapon of communication. Cases of school destruction and burning of fellow colleagues are no longer rare occurrences. Fourth, our children are becoming more and more Westernized socially and economically. Most of them grow up internalizing Western values at the expense of national values or those of their own ethnic group. They are bombarded with Western values, attitudes, and culture in their homes, schools, and in the streets and matatus. Many are ashamed of their skin, country, and government. Fifth, our school system is also facing critical challenges. Millions of school-age children have no access to basic education and more than half of those who enroll in Grade 1 fail to complete the primary education cycle. Bad governance and mismanagement of resources in education and learning institutions have made the achievement of national education goals difficult. Many questions remain to be answered: are our children really learning in our schools? What are they learning? Are the girls who are in schools learning and achieving as well as boys? This chapter concludes by focusing on one important question: are schools in Africa, in their present form, ready to address the forces of the twenty-first century, AIDS and globalization in particular? We must recognize the need for adjusting our schools to our past, but more so to our future. Schools must be adjusted in the direction of useful African norms and values, but they also must be geared toward adapting (not adopting) appropriate and useful international (global village)

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norms and values that are responsive to the development of the continent and its people. The wind of change is already blowing throughout the continent. African elites, who are not brainwashed by Western ideologies and lifestyles, both within and in the Diaspora, are calling for radical changes within the school. However, for this dream to be realized there has to be an enabling environment. This requires political will and commitment.

References Abagi, O. (1999). Education for the next millennium. In P. Kimuyu, M. Wagacha and O. Abagi (Eds.), Kenya’s strategic polices for the 21st century. Nairobi: IPAR. Abagi, O. and Okwach, A. (2002). Education for underdevelopment in Africa: Understanding the paradox of Western Schools in African Context (mimeo). Anderson, J. (1970). The struggle for the school. London: Longman. Ayittey, G.B.N. (1991). Indigenous African institutions. New York: Transnational. Banks, O. (1968). The sociology of education. London: Batsford. Bell, D. (1974). The coming of post-industrial society. London: Heinemann. Bogonko, S.N. (1978). Indigenous education in East Africa. In S.A.H. Abidi (Ed.), The future of education in Eastern Africa (pp. 39–48). The Professors World Peace Academy of Uganda. Boocock, S.S. (1980). Sociology of education: An introduction. New York: University Press. Carnoy, M. (1999). Globalisation and educational reform: What planners need to know. Paris: UNESCO- International Institute for Educational Planning. Carnoy, M., Castells, M., Cohen, S. and Cardozo, F.H. (1993). The new global economy in the information age. University Park, PA: Pennsylavania State University Press. Castells, M. (1998). The information age: Economy, society and culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Cohen, D. (1999). The HIV epidemic and the education sector in sub-Saharan Africa. HIV and development Programme, Issues Paper No. 32. New York: UNDP. Cloete, N., Muller, J., Makgoba, M.W. and Ekong, D. (1997). Knowledge, identity and curriculum transformation in Africa. Cape Town: Maskew Miller Longman. Coombs, P.H. (1985). The world crisis in education: The view from the eighties. New York: Oxford University Press. Datta, A. (1984). Education and society: A sociology of African education. London: Macmillan Publishers. Fafunwa, A.B. (1974). A history of education in Nigeria. London: George Allen & Unwin.


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Gillis, A.R. (1980). Social change. In R. Hagedorn (Ed.), Sociology (pp. 517–548). Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Goslin, D.A. (1965). The school in contemporary society. Illinois: Scott, Foreman and Company. Indire, F.F. (1974). Patterns of learning of the youth in traditional Eastern African Society. In Basic education in Eastern Africa (pp. 81–89). Nairobi: UNESCO/UNICEF. Kelly, M.J. (2000). Planning for Education in the Context of HIV/AIDS. Paris: UNESCO: International Institute for Educational Planning. Kenyatta, Jomo (1938). Facing Mount Kenya. London: Secker and Warburg. Magubane, B.M. (1999). The African renaissance in historical perspective. In W.M. Makgoba, African renaissance (pp. 10–36) Cape Town: Mafube and Tafelberg. Mazrui, A. (1986). The Africans. London: BBC Publications. Mbiti, J.S. (1970). African religions and philosophies. New York: Doubleday. Muller J., Cloete, N. and Badat. S. (2001). Challenges of globalisation: South African Debates. Cape Town: Maskew Miller Longman. New Africa Magazine (2001 and 2002). Edited by B. Ankomah. Nyerere, J.K. (1962). Ujamaa: The basis of African socialism. Dar-es-Salaam: Government Printer. Nyerere, J.K. (1968). Education for self-reliance. Arusha: Longman. Ocitti, J.P. (1994). An introduction to indigenous education in East Africa. IIZ/DVV Supplement to Adult Education and Development No. 42. Ophuls, W. (1992). Ecology and the politics of scarcity revisited. New York: W.H. Freeman. Robertson, I. (1977). Sociology. New York: Worth. Rodney, W. (1989). How Europe undeveloped Africa. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Sifuna, D.N. (1990). Development of education in Africa. Nairobi: Initiatives Publishers. Toffler, A. (1970). Future shock. New York: Random House. UNAIDS (1999). AIDS epidemic update: December 1999. Geneva: UNAIDS. UNESCO (1996). Learning the Treasure Within. Report to UNESCO of the International Commission on education for the Twenty-First Century. Paris: UNESCO. UNESCO (2000). Overcoming the effects of HIV/AIDS on basic education. Report of Sub-Plenary Session, World Education Forum, Dakar, Senegal, April 27, 2000. Paris: World Education Forum Secretariat, UNESCO. World Bank (1999). Intensifying action against HIV/AIDS in Africa: Responding to a development crisis. Africa Region, the World Bank. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank.


Index

Page numbers in bold indicate tables and figures. African philosophies of education: revival of, 35–9; see also Philosophers of education African Renaissance, 310–12; see also Change AIDS/HIV, 11, 95, 146, 251, 289, 297, 301–14; and globalization, 313; statistics, 302 Apartheid, 12, 70, 108, 127, 128, 131; see also South Africa Border crossing (concept of), 22, 106–9, 114; see also Language, issues Bourdieu, P., 10, 16, 234, 281 Change (social, cultural, technological), 297–314; democratization, 304; effects of change, 301; forces of change, 299–301; see also AIDS/HIV; gender mainstreaming, 151, 152, 302, 305, 310; see also Gender; global economy, 303; good governance, 304; information technology, 162, 301, 308, 309; life skills needed, 307 Colonial philosophies of education, 32–5; see also African philosophies of education; Philosophers of education Culture, 5–7, 15–21, 35–9; African, 66, 72, 126, 187, 305, 312; indigenous, 70, 80, 90, 93, 95;

language and, 35, 80, 103, 106; traditional, 115, 130; Western, 6, 98 Curriculum, 6, 7, 65–81; Africanizing, 73, 75; C2005 (South Africa), 128; colonial, 67; culture and, 66–71; democratizing, 80; globalization, 72; hidden, 7, 8, 184, 306, 310; inclusive, 18; irrelevant, 67; language, 79–80; see also language, issues; multicultural, 68, 77; new African, 310–12; new curriculum, 68, 131, 254, 255, 283, 312; official, 65, 66; post-colonial, 66, 68, 69; Western, 92, 288 Dakar, 2000, see Education for All Democratization, 241, 251, 297, 302–5 Diversity (difference—cultural, racial, ethnic, religious, gender, ability, socioeconomic), 65, 68, 73, 77, 80, 81, 222, 225, 236, 237, 254; gender, 145, 166, 175, 176, 177, 185; linguistic, 209; relations of power and, 234; as a resource, 236; rural–urban, 105; students and, 219–23, 234–7 Education: formal, 5, 15, 20, 27, 75, 160, 162, 169, 180, 199, 263, 276, 288, 298; informal, 5, 27,

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Education—continued 143, 196, 261, 267, 272; non-formal, 5, 27, 249 Education for All (EFA), 9, 102, 103, 114, 115, 176, 196, 198, 242, 248, 249, 251, 267, 291, 301 Equality of educational opportunity, 9; see also Inequality Functions of schooling, 3; intended, unintended functions, 6, 7, 300, 306; selection-allocation function, 10; see also Hidden Curriculum Gender: concept of, 176; defined, 178; mainstreaming, 151–2; politics of, 141–236, 284, 285, 300–8, 310; and race, 5; and religion, 66; as a social construct, 142; socialization, 153 Gender and development (GAD), 146, 178, 181, 182, 187, 188; see also Women in development (WID) Ghana, 219–37, 276; Akan, 223, 231–4; Ashanti, 224, 233; diversity and difference, study of, 219–37; Ewe, 223–33; focus groups, 219; inclusive education, 220, 222; students’ views of ethnicity (social class, gender, religion, language, northerners, southerners), 222–34 Globalization, 19, 45–9, 54–8, 72, 73, 81, 95, 106, 111, 131, 255, 256, 297, 302–9 Governance: of education, school systems, 11, 247, 253; political, 207, 304, 313; social, 160–3; of Somalia, 261, 268 Hidden curriculum, see Curriculum History, 26, 28–9, 38–9; colonial, 74; of education Africa, 298; political history of South Africa, 128; Somalia, 262–4

Indigenous knowledge, 85–96; compared to Western, 47, 71–3, 95; see also Culture; critique of, 85; holistic, 88; idiographic and nomothetic knowledge, 87, 88; revival of, 27; source of, 75 Inequality, 16, 17, 114, 151; gender inequality, 180, 184, 228; poverty and, 169 Islam, 18, 49, 204, 232, 262, 268, 285 Jomtien, see Education for All (EFA) Kenya, 11, 20, 35, 49, 95, 103, 105, 109, 111, 113, 116, 133, 261, 275–92; see also Teacher education, Kenya Language, issues, 5, 14, 16, 19, 20, 35, 36, 69, 71, 74, 101–16; African languages, 80, 92, 132, 134; bilingual education, 102, 112–16; code switching, 79, 109; culture and cognition, 107; economic factors, 103; of instruction, 79, 92, 127, 131; pedagogical factors, 106; political factors, 104; and religion, 235; of text materials, 110 Legitimation, ideology of, 10; see also Bourdieu, P. Literacy, 15, 102, 104, 108, 111, 112–16; scientific and technological, 124, 125, 134–5 Meritocracy, ideology of, 9, 16 Nigeria, 129, 131, 133, 142, 144, 150, 171, 185, 193; see also Nomadic peoples Nomadic peoples, 20; culture, Pulaaku 198, 206; early marriage of girls, 203; educational policy, 196; effect of herding on school access, 201; family system,

Index economic activity, 195; Fulbe/Fulani girls, 193–212; literacy rates, 197; mobile libraries, 211; mobile schools, 199, 200, 206, 210; policy options, 208–11; Quranic schools, 203; school access and enrolments, 199, 200, 207; schooling, 194; street hawking, 207; time in school, 202; types of nomadic classroom structures, 201 Non-governmental organizations (NGOs), 166, 176, 179, 184, 187, 188, 242, 250–2, 255, 279, 306; see also UNDP; UNESCO; UNICEF Philosophers of education, 25–39; African: Achebe, 4, 27, 32, 36, 72; Ake, 4; Cesaire, 33; Diop, 28, 32; Fanon, 3, 27, 32, 36, 70, 72; Keto, 29, 262; Memmi, 33; Ngugi wa Thiong’o, 4, 27–41, 69, 70, 72, 95, 276; Rodney, 3, 19, 28, 32, 41, 69, 262, 272, 298, 300; Semali, 30, 86, 87, 91, 95–6, 276; van Sertima, 28, 32 European: Dewey, 31, 132, 136; Freire, 7, 18, 22, 30, 31, 76–81, 144, 151–5, 184; Hegel, 26, 69; Marx, 4, 13–17, 22, 33, 34, 182, 184, 188; Montesquieu, 26; Pells, 33, 34; Plato, 25, 26, 31; Voltaire, 26 Postcolonial, discourses, 72; education, 19, 66, 71, 81; revivals, 35; thinking, 38; world, 60, 277 Precolonial, education, 27; learning, 29; traditional systems, 27, 39, 242 Quranic schools, 203–5, 262; see also Islam Science–technology education, 20, 123–40; African, 138; assessment issues, 130; cultural perspectives

319

in, 123, 128; curriculum reform in, 126; language of instruction issues, 131; literacy, 124–5; localization of curricula, 129; Outcomes Based Education, 127–8; school science and technology, 131; worldview, 122, 130, 131 Social control, 10; see also Functions of schooling Social stratification, 4, 8, 9; social class, 4, 5, 9, 16, 225, 227; social mobility, 8, 105, 161 Sociology of education main concepts, 3–20; conflict and neoMarxist perspective, 15–16; correspondence principle, 16; critical theory, feminist theory and pedagogy, post modernism, 19–20; functional perspective, 15; symbolic interaction, interpretive, phenomenological perspectives, 17–18; see also Social stratification Somalia, 20, 203, 260–72; chiefdoms, 260; collapse of governance, 261; historical focus, 262; human rights, 260, 272; re-scholarization, 268; school-age children, 260, 261, 265–70; school-less situation, 264 South Africa, 11, 29, 39, 70, 81, 87, 93, 107, 108, 111, 113, 127, 128, 131, 134, 262, 116 Structural adjustment (SAPs), 116, 149, 150, 182, 228, 248, 290 Teacher education, Kenya, 275–96; current trends, 286–7; EC teacher education, 278–81; EC teacher workload, remuneration, 282; framework, 277; gender disparities, 284, 290; indigenous knowledge in curriculum, 288–9; primary teacher education, 282–5; primary teachers by training and sex, 284; secondary teacher

320

Index

Teacher education—continued education, 287–8; teacher training and curriculum development constraints, 281–2 Textbooks, texts, text materials, 6, 16, 61, 68, 101, 111, 112, 114, 117, 120, 235, 310 UNDP, 43, 198, 268 UNESCO, 48, 141, 143, 161, 196, 198, 203, 210, 280, 290, 301, 303 UNICEF, 12, 210, 267, 281, 287 Universities (African), 43–65, 94, 159, 170; academic laborers, 45–56; decline in quality, 48, 50, 53; enrolments, 48, 53; globalization, 45–9; modernization, 44; national development, 43–5; new pedagogy, 55; private, 49–58; public, 49, 51; restructuring, 55; salaries, 52 Women and tertiary education; equity issues, 159–75, 164, 165; female academics, 170; female academic staff, 167; girls’ family economic roles, 165; progress and barriers, 163; training, 167 World Bank, 44, 45, 47–53, 104, 146, 151, 161, 163, 179, 182, 193, 198, 228, 286, 289, 290, 297, 302, 305, 307; shifting policies, 190 Women in development (WID), 145; alternative approaches to, 175–93; critiques of, 181; cultural

relevance, 185; gender and development (GAD), 181–2; postmodern critique, 185; socialist/neo-Marxist perspective, 184; women and development (WAD), 146 Women’s education: agricultural activity, 149; enrolments by African country, 142; fertility rates, 146, 147, 161; genderrelated development index (GDI), 145; liberal feminist thought, 143, 179; patriarchal structures, 144; patriarchy, 154–5; population growth, 147; and social development, 141–55; structural adjustment (SAPs), 150; women as agents of change, 154; see also Gender and development (GAD); Gender; Women in development (WID); Women and tertiary education Zambia, 20, 44, 48, 75, 113, 142, 149, 150, 155, 165, 183; colonial period, 243–4; community involvement, 251; curriculum, 253; decentralization, 252; democratizing postcolonial period, 244; Educating Our Future, 1996, 250; Education Act, 244; education in, 241–56; expansion of system, 246–7; grade 1 admissions by sex, 249; humanistic education, 245; Kaunda, 245; since 1990 crisis, 248–9

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