Terraces Before Rockets: Indigenous African Farming and the Deep History of Resilient Agriculture
Archiving the intangible systems of African food – since 2006.
Archiving the intangible systems of African food.
African food are a system of knowledge
Archiving the intangible systems of African food
How coils of metal turned into meals on the journey to Ujiji
The Core Idea: In 1871, Henry Morton Stanley led over 150 people into the interior of Africa to find Dr. David Livingstone. They couldn't carry all their food. Survival meant trading for it daily. While Stanley used cloth, beads, and wire, this article focuses on why brass and copper wire became a standout currency—especially for buying the food that kept the historic expedition alive.
"Stanley's caravan was like a small, moving town — over 150 people, including soldiers, guides, and hundreds of African porters (called pagazis) who carried every bale of cloth, coil of wire, and tool on their heads. Carrying months of food for everyone was impossible. The porters made the impossible possible by hauling the trade goods that bought fresh provisions day by day along the route.
Stanley bought about 350 pounds of specific brass wire (called "Nos. 5 and 6") before his journey. It had clear advantages for high-value trades:
Stanley's journals show wire was key for securing bulk provisions and special deals:
Cloth and beads handled many everyday small trades, but wire often closed the bigger, more important food deals.
The most telling part of the journey was watching the wire supply shrink. As coils were used up, Stanley wrote with growing worry. Less wire meant less power to bargain for food in the next village. This wasn't just about running out of a trade item—it was the real fear of running out of meals. The wire was a physical measure of their safety from hunger.
The famous meeting at Ujiji was built on a foundation of daily meals, bargained for and paid in trade goods. Brass wire, valued as "gold" in the interior, was a star player in that system. It was durable, valuable, and perfect for high-stakes trades for goats, grain, and safe passage to markets. Understanding this simple metal coil helps us answer the practical question behind the adventure: How did they eat? The answer: with careful strategy and a good supply of wire, cloth, and beads—the original expedition food vouchers.
Exactly. European or Zanzibari coins were useless in the African interior. The economy ran on barter—trading useful goods for other goods. People wanted things they couldn't make locally. Brass and copper wire was perfect: durable, could be measured by weight, and was in high demand by artisans for jewelry and tools. It was a commodity currency—valuable in itself, not just a piece of metal with a king's face on it.
It was one of the "Big Three" currencies, each with a special role. Stanley himself compared them to precious metals:
For high-value deals. Used to pay tribute (hongo) to chiefs and buy bulk protein like goats.
The everyday money. Specific types were key: "Merikani" (American unbleached cotton) and "Kaniki" (dark, patterned cloth) were essentials for buying daily grain rations (posho).
For smaller trades. Color was everything. "White-heart" beads were wanted in one village, while "red cornelian" or blue "sungomazzi" beads were the only accepted currency in another. Wrong color = no trade.
Not just any scrap wire. Stanley specifically bought "Nos. 5 and 6 brass wire"—about as thick as telegraph wire. This specific gauge was known and desired in interior trade networks. He bought it in coils measured by the frasilah (about 35 pounds each).
They bought the expedition's daily survival menu:
Yes. This was a constant, deep anxiety. Watching the coils of wire and bolts of cloth shrink was like watching their bank account empty. As supplies ran low, their bargaining power vanished, and the threat of real hunger set in. Managing these trade goods was a daily, life-or-death calculation.
It adds a crucial layer of understanding. That famous handshake wasn't just the end of an adventure; it was the successful end of an incredible logistical operation. Keeping over 150 people fed and moving for months, navigating intricate local economies where the wrong bead color could ruin a deal, was a massive challenge. Finding Livingstone proved Stanley wasn't just brave—he was a savvy, if desperate, traveling merchant who understood the real price of a meal.
The story of the "Big Three" trade goods reveals a fundamental truth of 19th-century African exploration: success depended as much on economic savvy as on geographical courage. Before any map could be drawn, a deal had to be struck. The expedition's pantry was not filled from a European store, but from local markets, paid for with coils of wire, bolts of specific cloth, and strings of precisely colored beads. The journey to Ujiji was, in many ways, one of history's most high-stakes shopping trips.
Documenting the seasonal, sensory, and nutritional knowledge embedded in Southern Africa's iconic edible caterpillar
This document archives the foodway of the Mopane worm (Gonimbrasia belina), a caterpillar harvested from mopane trees across Southern Africa. This entry moves beyond its notable nutritional profile to document the intricate knowledge system governing its harvest: the reading of seasonal signs, the tactile skill of collection and preparation, and its transformation from insect to a crunchy, umami-rich ingredient. It is a case study in seasonal food intelligence and a culinary ritual deeply tied to landscape and climate.
Archival Visual: Mopane worms in two states of preservation. The fresh worms (foreground) represent the immediate harvest, a seasonal bounty. The dried worms (background) represent food security, a protein source preserved for months. This image encapsulates the core transformation of this foodway.
The Mopane worm is not merely a "worm." It is the larval stage of the Emperor Moth, and its appearance is a seasonal event tied to the rains (typically December–April). Its documented nutritional value is significant—~60% protein, rich in iron, calcium, and zinc—but this is only the biochemical footnote to a deeper cultural and ecological story.
Did you know? The Mopane worm is a living calendar and a barometer of ecological health. Its arrival marks a season, its abundance reflects rainfall patterns, and its absence signals ecological distress.
The knowledge of its harvest is not a single skill but a temporal intelligence. It involves monitoring tree buds, moon cycles, and temperature shifts to predict the brief, optimal window for collection. This turns the harvest into a ritual of attentiveness to the non-human world. The crunch of a fried worm is thus the sound of precise, seasonal timing perfectly captured.
The sensory profile is distinct: a crunchy exterior giving way to a soft, earthy, umami-rich interior, often compared to dried shrimp or a hearty mushroom. Its flavor absorbs spices and stew bases powerfully.
Economically, it represents a vital informal sector. Women are often the primary harvesters and traders, creating seasonal income streams. Dried worms are transported from rural harvest zones to urban markets, even across borders, forming a protein trade network that operates parallel to formal agricultural economies.
The distinctive crunch of a perfectly sun-dried and fried Mopane worm is an acoustic signature of successful preservation. If it doesn't crunch, it wasn't dried enough, risking spoilage. If it's too hard, it was over-dried. This sound is a folk quality control metric, linking sensory experience directly to food safety and technical mastery.
This knowledge system faces pressures:
Preserving the Mopane worm foodway is not just about conserving an insect; it's about safeguarding a complex system of seasonal knowledge, sustainable harvesting, and cultural identity.
Polio, Disability, and the Architecture of Hunger in Kano
This entry documents a contemporary form of foodways displacement in Kano State, Nigeria. Rather than famine or crop failure, it records architecturally enforced hunger—a condition in which food exists, markets operate, and calories circulate, yet access is systematically blocked by infrastructure.
The case centers on the legacy of Nigeria’s successful polio eradication campaign. While the virus was targeted with scientific precision, the built environment that followed failed to accommodate those left with post-polio disability. Steps, distances, surfaces, and market design now determine who can eat fresh food independently—and who cannot.
Archival Visual Evidence: A typical rural market path in Kano. Uneven ground, open drainage, and crowd congestion form a literal barrier to food access for disabled persons.
Kano was central to Africa’s fight against wild poliovirus. Decades of vaccination, surveillance, and international funding culminated in Nigeria being declared polio-free in 2020. Yet vaccine-derived strains persist, and thousands of survivors live with paralysis, mobility loss, or chronic impairment.
The paradox documented here is simple: the communities most intensively mapped during eradication are now served by clinics and markets that exclude disabled bodies entirely. Primary Health Centres lack ramps, assistive devices, and trained staff. Markets require walking long distances over unstable terrain and lifting goods from high vendor tables.
In rural Kano, food security depends on physical mobility. Daily market trips, agricultural labor, and food transport assume walking, carrying, and balance. For post-polio survivors, these assumptions collapse.
“Giwa ta wuce, ƙura ta biyo baya.” — Hausa proverb
The elephant has passed, but the dust remains.
Polio eradication was the elephant. The dust is the daily reality of exclusion— inhaled with every attempt to reach food, care, or dignity.
This case study is part of the African Gourmet Foodways Archive’s broader documentation of how infrastructure, labor, and public health shape access to food across Africa, collected in the Explore Archive.
Documenting the military-geographic, economic, and cultural alterations of food systems in African conflict zones
This document establishes the framework for the AGFA Peacekeeping & Food Systems (`AGFA-PK`) collection. It analyzes United Nations peacekeeping missions not through the lens of political agreements or disarmament statistics, but through their gastronomic footprint—the tangible, daily alterations they impose on food procurement, preparation, and consumption in host communities. By mapping the intersection of military logistics and civilian sustenance, this entry reveals how global intervention is internalized at the level of the market basket and the family meal.
Archival Visual Evidence: The interface of intervention. UN peacekeepers patrol a local market, a space now defined by the security they provide and the disruption they represent. This path is both a security corridor and a culinary border, shaping who can sell, who can buy, and what foods flow along this route.
United Nations peacekeeping missions are usually described in the language of security, ceasefires, and negotiations. Yet for African families living near bases, checkpoints, and patrol routes, one of the most immediate changes appears in the kitchen. The military structure that supports peacekeepers — standardized rations, logistics hubs, curfews, and heavily guarded roads — reshapes how people shop, cook, and share food every single day.
Peacekeeping creates a new military geography that overlies the traditional landscape of farms and markets.
The daily plate becomes an artifact of logistical calculation, not just seasonal availability.
The massive logistical tail of a UN mission—ships of rice, pallets of canned goods—does not stay contained. It seeds a parallel food economy.
Peacekeeping bases become significant local employers, particularly for women in service roles (cooks, cleaners, vendors). This wage labor triggers a household nutritional transition.
The security apparatus can inadvertently sever the fundamental link between people and land.
Food is ceremony, memory, and social glue. Peacekeeping regulations directly impact this cultural layer.
In many conflict zones, the daily cooking schedule is no longer set by the sun or hunger, but by the checkpoint's opening hours. The need to cross a manned border to reach a market or a relative's farm for a feast means the simmering of a stew must be perfectly timed to the patrol's rotation. This militarization of domestic time is one of the most intimate, overlooked impacts of peacekeeping on daily life.
To assess a peacekeeping mission's true impact, one must look beyond troop deployments and political benchmarks. Follow the food trails: the path of the ration sack from warehouse to market stall, the altered route of a woman going to market, the new ingredients in a family pot, the hurried communal meal before curfew.
This map, drawn through kitchens and markets, reveals the complex interplay of power, protection, disruption, and resilience. It asks critical, often unvoiced questions: Can peace agreements be written to protect seed stores as well as ceasefires? Can logistical might be harnessed to bolster local maize production instead of replacing it with imported wheat?
Food is where global policy is ultimately digested. In archiving these gastronomic footprints, we preserve a crucial narrative of how African communities navigate, adapt, and assert their cultural identity under the watchful eyes—and within the logistical shadow—of the world.
In 1966, Prime Minister Milton Obote abolished Uganda’s traditional kingdoms — a bold political move that ended centuries of royal rule and centralized authority under his government. The decision reshaped Uganda’s political identity and set off decades of tension between culture and state power.
The Prime Minister who abolished Uganda’s traditional kingdoms — Milton Obote, 1966.
Milton Obote was from the Lango ethnic group in northern Uganda. His rise to power highlighted tensions between northern and southern regions — particularly with Buganda, the largest and most influential kingdom. Obote sought to centralize authority, believing that regional kingdoms threatened national unity.
The 1964 referendum on the “lost counties” — a territorial dispute between Buganda and Bunyoro — deepened divisions when results favored Bunyoro. The rift between Obote and Buganda’s King, Mutesa II, soon escalated into open political conflict.
Accusations of corruption and gold smuggling involving Obote and army officer Idi Amin provided a pretext for Obote to seize full control. In 1966, he suspended the constitution, removed Mutesa II, and ordered an attack on the Kabaka’s palace. By 1967, a new constitution officially abolished Uganda’s kingdoms, transforming the nation into a republic.
Idi Amin and Milton Obote’s political conflict reshaped Uganda’s governance and stability.
Idi Amin, from the Kakwa ethnic group in northwestern Uganda, rose through the British colonial army and built a loyal following by recruiting soldiers from his own region. After seizing power in 1971, Amin exploited Uganda’s ethnic rivalries, favoring groups from the West Nile region while persecuting the Lango and Acholi, who were associated with Obote.
Amin’s invasion of Tanzania in 1978 led to a counterattack that toppled his regime in 1979. Obote returned to power after the disputed 1980 election, but his second presidency was marked by civil war and human rights abuses. The Ugandan Bush War, led by Yoweri Museveni’s National Resistance Army, ended with Museveni’s victory in 1986.
President Museveni restored Uganda’s kingdoms — including Buganda, Bunyoro, Ankole, and Toro — in 1993. However, the restoration was cultural, not political. Traditional rulers regained ceremonial roles and the right to promote cultural heritage, but no legislative or executive powers.
The restoration aimed to promote reconciliation, heal ethnic divisions, and acknowledge traditional institutions as vital parts of Uganda’s identity. It also strengthened Museveni’s political ties to cultural leaders while maintaining a centralized republic.
Adinkra symbol reflecting leadership, unity, and reconciliation — values behind Uganda’s restoration of kingdoms.
Takeaway: Milton Obote’s abolition of Uganda’s kingdoms reshaped a nation torn between tradition and modernity. From his reforms to Idi Amin’s brutality and Museveni’s cultural restoration, Uganda’s story reveals how power, identity, and heritage intertwine in post-colonial Africa.
Archive Entry: African Foodways Heritage Archive
Primary Subject: West African Ethnopharmacology
Focus Species: Prunus africana, Pausinystalia johimbe, Adansonia digitata, Khaya senegalensis
Analytical Framework: Traditional Knowledge → Clinical Evidence → Sustainability Status
Conservation Context: IUCN Vulnerable/Endangered, CITES Appendix II
Geographic Scope: West & Central Africa
AFHA Compiled: January 2026 | Original Publication: October 2025
A cornerstone species now central to global pharmacological research.
Used across West and Central Africa for urinary discomfort, aging-related symptoms, and general vitality. Preparation typically involves prolonged decoction to extract lipophilic compounds.
Powerful neuroactive effects with serious sustainability and safety concerns.
Used in Cameroon, Gabon, and Nigerian traditional medicine for circulatory stimulation, physical endurance, and as an aphrodisiac. Typically prepared as a strong decoction with careful dosage control.
A culturally symbolic species with emerging scientific interest in its bark properties.
Bark decoctions used across the Sahel for fever reduction, digestive balance, and post-illness recovery. The baobab holds profound cultural significance beyond medicinal use, featuring in creation myths, as a gathering place, and source of multiple resources (fruit, leaves, fiber).
A widely used anti-inflammatory bark facing combined pressure from logging and medicinal demand.
Decoctions used throughout West Africa for fever, inflammatory conditions (arthritis, dermatitis), digestive issues, and as a general tonic. Often prepared with other botanicals in complex formulas.
| Species | IUCN Status | CITES | Primary Threat | Regeneration Time | Sustainable Alternatives |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Prunus africana | Vulnerable | Appendix II | Destructive bark harvesting for international trade | 15-20 years | Cultivation, community management, bark harvesting guidelines |
| Pausinystalia johimbe | Endangered | Not listed | Fatal ring-barking, slow regeneration | 10-15 years | Difficult cultivation, sustainable wild harvesting protocols |
| Adansonia digitata | Least Concern | Not listed | Climate change, habitat fragmentation | 15-25 years to maturity | Climate adaptation, cultural protection, ethical harvesting |
| Khaya senegalensis | Vulnerable | Not listed | Timber logging + medicinal harvesting | 8-12 years | Integrated timber/medicine plantations, community forestry |
The validation of traditional medicinal knowledge through scientific research creates a fundamental tension:
Archival Conclusion: Sustainable ethnopharmacology requires integrated approaches that value traditional harvesting knowledge, support cultivation research, develop non-destructive harvesting techniques, and create economic models that incentivize conservation over extraction.
West African medicinal bark knowledge exists within comprehensive ethnobotanical systems characterized by:
This entry employs a tripartite analytical framework specifically developed for AFHA ethnopharmacological documentation:
This methodology ensures comprehensive documentation that respects traditional knowledge while providing scientific context and addressing urgent conservation concerns—aligning with AFHA's mission to preserve both cultural and biological heritage.
This entry forms part of the African Foodways Heritage Archive's documentation of ethnopharmacological knowledge systems. Medicinal barks are archived here not merely as biological resources but as embodiments of cultural knowledge, scientific validation, and ecological vulnerability. They represent the critical intersection where traditional wisdom meets modern validation, creating both opportunities for health innovation and imperatives for sustainable conservation. This documentation contributes to preserving both the knowledge of these species and the species themselves within their cultural and ecological contexts.
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Before sunrise, after sunset, seven days a week — she grows the food that keeps the continent alive.
60–80 % of Africa’s calories come from her hands.
Yet the land, the credit, and the recognition still belong to someone else.
To every mother of millet and miracles —
thank you.
Feeding a continent
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