Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa: Perspectives from Hybrid Knowledge Production 9780367360603, 9780429355288

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Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa

This book discusses the status and importance of decolonisation and indigenous knowledge in academic research, teaching, and learning programmes and beyond. Taking practical lessons from a range of institutions in Africa, the book argues that local and global sciences are culturally equal and capable of synergistic complementarity and then integrates the concept of hybrid science into discourses on decolonisation. The chapters argue for a cross-cultural dialogue between different epistemic traditions and the accommodation of ‘Indigenous’ knowledge systems in higher education. Bringing together critical scholars, teaching and administrating academics from different disciplines, the chapters provide alternative conceptual outlooks and practical case-based perspectives towards decolonised study environments. This book will be of interest to researchers of decolonisation, postcolonial studies, higher education studies, political studies, African studies, and philosophy. Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis is an Associate Professor of Higher Education Studies at the Ali Mazrui Center for Higher Education, University of Johannesburg, South Africa. He has published several academic works on theories of regionalisation, student mobility, cost-sharing, partnership models, and harmonisation of higher education systems in Africa. Irina Turner holds the position as Academic Councillor at the chair of African Language Studies I at Bayreuth University, Germany. Her research interests are interdisciplinary questions of cultural and media studies, political communication, and applied linguistics with a focus on multilingualism in South Africa. Abraham Brahima is currently a Research Associate at the African Centre for Advanced Studies (CAHE, Université d’Abomey-Calavi), Benin. His research and teaching interests include African philosophy, philosophy and sociology of science, theory of knowledge, language policies in Africa, and postcolonial translation.

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Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa Perspectives from Hybrid Knowledge Production Edited by Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis, Irina Turner, and Abraham Brahima

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis, Irina Turner, and Abraham Brahima; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis, Irina Turner, and Abraham Brahima to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-36060-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-35528-8 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

Contents

List of contributorsvii Acknowledgmentsxiv Foreword by Sabelo J. Ndlovu-Gatshenixv Introduction

1

IRINA TURNER, ABRAHAM BRAHIMA, AND EMNET T. WOLDEGIORGIS

1. The emergence of decolonisation debates in African higher education: A historical perspective

17

EMNET T. WOLDEGIORGIS

2. An integrated approach towards decolonising higher education: A perspective from anthropology

36

VANESSA WIJNGAARDEN AND GRACE ESE-OSA IDAHOSA

3. Rethinking linguistics at Nelson Mandela University: Emerging decolonial insights

60

JACQUELINE LÜCK

4. What is the point of studying Africa in Europe? A micro-ethnographic study of decolonising African studies through international postgraduates in Germany

78

IRINA TURNER

5. The relationality of knowledge and postcolonial endeavours – analysing the definition, emergence, and trading of knowledge(s) from a network theory perspective 100 IRIS CLEMENS

vi  Contents

6. Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation

118

ABRAHAM BRAHIMA

7. Linguistic coexistence and controversy in Algerian higher education: From colonialisation via the Arabisation movement to the adoption of hybridity

140

ABBES SEBIHI AND LEONIE SCHOELEN

8. Class and literature: Cross-cutting theorisations and practices of Ngũgĩ wa thiong’o and Mao Zedong in education

159

MINGQING YUAN

9. “Borrowed” languages in Africa: A reflection on the reader–writer imaginary

177

TSEVI DODOUNOU AND BILLIAN K. OTUNDO

10. Must decolonisation occur on an island? The role of occupation in developing future visions within the #RhodesMustFall

193

ANTJE DANIEL

11. Decolonisation of knowledge on land governance

213

LAMINE DOUMBIA

Epilogue: A long way towards a decolonial future in African higher education

230

ABRAHAM BRAHIMA, IRINA TURNER, AND EMNET T. WOLDEGIORGIS

Index

241

Contributors

Sabelo J. Ndlovu-Gatsheni (University of Bayreuth) sjndlovugatsheni@gmail. com Sabelo J. Ndlovu-Gatsheni  is currently a Full Professor and a Chair of Epistemologies of the Global South with emphasis on Africa at the University of Bayreuth in Germany. Before this current position, Professor Ndlovu-Gatsheni worked as a Research Professor and the Director of Scholarship at the Department of Leadership and Transformation (DLT) in the Principal and Vice-Chancellor’s Office at the University of South Africa (UNISA). He previously worked as an Acting Executive Director of Change Management Unit (CMU) in the Vice-Chancellor’s Office at the University of South Africa (UNISA) ( January 2018–September 2019), Director of Scholarship at CMU (2016–2017), founding Head of Archie Mafeje Research Institute for Applied Social Policy (AMRI) (2012–2015). He is also the founder of the Africa Decolonial Research Network (ADERN) based in at the University of South Africa. Professor Ndlovu-Gatsheni has published over a hundred publications and his major book publications include Coloniality of Power in Postcolonial Africa: Myths of Decolonization (Dakar: CODESRIA, 2013); Decolonizing the University, Knowledge Systems and Disciplines (North Carolina, Carolina Academic Press, April 2016) co-edited with Siphamandla Zondi;Epistemic Freedom in Africa: Deprovincialization and Decolonization (London & New York: Routledge, July 2018) and recently Decolonization, Development and Knowledge in Africa: Turning Over A New Leaf (Routledge, May 2020). Emnet Woldegiorgis (University of Johannesburg) [email protected] Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis is curreny an Associate Professor of Higher Education Studies at the Ali Mazrui Center for Higher Education, University of Johannesburg. He has been researching higher education issues in Africa, since 2006 and published several academic works on theories of regionalisation, student mobility, cost-sharing, partnership models, and harmonisation of higher education systems in Africa. Prof.

viii  Contributors

Woldegiorgis did his Ph.D. at the University of Bayreuth, Germany, where he has also been working as a post-doctoral researcher between 2015 and 2018. His research focuses on various issues of higher education processes in Africa. He did his joint master’s degree in Higher Education Studies at Oslo University in Norway, Tampere University in Finland, and Aveiro University in Portugal. He has also been working as Head of Quality Assurance Office, Department Head and team leader at Mekelle University, Ethiopia. He is currently working on diverse themes of decolonisation of higher education in Africa. Abraham Brahima (African Centre of Advanced Studies-Université d’AbomeyCalavi) [email protected] Abraham Brahima is currently a Research Associate at the African Centre for Advanced Studies (AFCAS/CAHE, Université d’Abomey-Calavi (Benin) and an International Consultant at AgriPerformances Consulting (Benin). He obtained his Ph.D. in Comparative Studies at the University of Bayreuth, Germany, a DEA in Philosophy (Logic and Epistemology) at the University Cheikh Anta Diop, Dakar, Senegal and a Maîtrise (MA) in Sociology of Science at the Université d’Abomey-Calavi, Benin. His long time ‘on the field’ (1999–2006) as an international journalist and reporter (Benin, Nigeria, Togo, Ghana, and Senegal) is the main source of his enduring academic interest in questions and problems such as endogenous knowledge(s), language policy, and translation. His current research and teaching interests include African philosophy, philosophy and sociology of science, theory of knowledge, language policy in Africa, and postcolonial translation. His present research focus is on the connection between local knowledge(s), conceptual decolonisation, and formal modern science. Irina Turner (University of Bayreuth). [email protected] Irina Turner currently holds the position as Academic Councillor at the chair of African Language Studies I and she is a Member of the Cluster of Excellence Africa Multiple at the University of Bayreuth, Germany. Her research interests are interdisciplinary questions of cultural and media studies, political communication, and applied linguistics. Her focus is on communication practices and multilingualism in South Africa – especially in connection to isiXhosa. Of particular interest to her is the intersection of digital technology and language as well as linguistic realisations of science communication in postcolonial contexts and within networks of multiple knowledge systems. Within the AVVA programme at Bayreuth University, Irina teaches Semiotics, Methods, Writing, and Language Philosophy among other courses. She holds a Ph.D. from the Bayreuth International Graduate School of African Studies in English Linguistics, a M.A. from the University of Cape Town in Media Theory and Practice and a degree in Arts Management from the University of Applied Sciences in Potsdam.

Contributors ix

Vanessa Wijngaarden  ( University of Johannesburg) vanessa.wijngaarden@ gmail.com Vanessa Wijngaarden h olds cum laude MAs in political science (international relations) and cultural anthropology (sub-Saharan Africa) from the University of Amsterdam. Her Ph.D. in social anthropology (University of Bayreuth) introduced novel methodological practices in her discipline and contributed to theoretical and epistemological debates in tourism studies, visual anthropology, and African studies. Recurring themes in her work include ‘othering’ and (stereotypical) imagery; the political aspects of poverty and environmental challenges; and the relationship between people and animals. With a passion for reflexive approaches, extensive fieldwork, and creative research dissemination, she has made several nominated and award winning documentary films, and her feature ‘Maasai speak back’ was created as part of a Wenner Gren Fejos Fellowship. She has taught Q methodology and worked as an ATLAS.ti registered consultant and certified senior professional trainer on three continents. Currently, she is a senior research associate at the University of Johannesburg, executing a research project on non-verbal human–animal communication in European and African societies that contributes to the ontological and species turns. Iris Clemens (University of Bayreuth) [email protected] Iris Clemens is currently a Professor for general pedagogy at the University of Bayreuth, Germany. She is the vice-president and the founding member of the German Association for Network Research and Principle Investigator of the Cluster of Excellence Africa Multiple – Reconfiguring African Studies. Her main research interests are network theory or relational approaches, cultural perspectives on education and scientific theories, transdisciplinary theories and research designs, indigenous knowledge formations, concepts of identity and globalisation processes, and their consequences for education. She has worked extensively in and about India. Grace Ese-Osa Idahosa  ( University of Johannesburg) idahosagrace@gmail. com Grace Ese-Osa Idahosa is currently a Post-doctoral Research Fellow at the Centre for Social Change, University of Johannesburg, South Africa. She holds a Ph.D. and an MA in Political Studies from Rhodes University. She is currently a Guest Researcher at the Nordic Africa Institute and a Visiting Scholar at the School of Social Science, Education and Social Work (SSESW), Queens University Belfast. Her current project, titled ‘Mid-level Managers Agency for Transformation in Post-Conflict Higher Education,’ funded by the SRHE, interrogates how university middlemanagement, who are in key positions to engender social change within

x  Contributors

the higher education sector in South Africa and Northern Ireland, can be better empowered to enact their agency; and in what ways this is impacted by their social location. She employs a structure, agency and transformation framework to understand how and under what conditions, individuals have the agency to effect transformation. Furthermore, her research interrogates how social factors like gender, race, class, sexuality and ethnicity, intersects to enable/limit agency within specific contexts. Jacqueline Lück (Nelson Mandela University) [email protected] Jacqueline Lück  was the Head of Department from 2017 to 2020 and currently is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Applied Language Studies as well as the Acting Deputy Dean in the Faculty of Humanities at Nelson Mandela University. Her Ph.D. from Rhodes University, South Africa, was on inclusion of students into disciplinary knowledge and how language constrains or enables this. Her department offers modules in Linguistics, Translation, and Interpreting, Professional English Communication and Academic Literacies to 6500 students. She has lectured the following modules: Identity, Discourse, and Ideology, English for Humanities, Professional English Communication, and Academic Literacies to first year students; Critical Discourse Analysis to second year students; Sociolinguistics to third year students; Language Acquisition and Learning to Honours students and Tesol (Teaching English to speakers of other languages). She has supervised postgraduate students on the impact of English as medium of instruction for second language speakers; language and identity; language acquisition; sociocultural practices and their effect on writing; language as social practice in higher education; and the effects on student success. Her research interests are Language, Knowledge, and Academic Literacies; Identity, Discourse, and Ideology; Postgraduate student success; Language Policy; Decolonisation of Linguistics and Decolonisation of the Curriculum. She was part of a National Research Foundation project that looks at how knowledge includes or excludes students in higher education. She also works closely with the university’s teaching and learning community in their quest to transform curriculum and language policy. She is the chairperson of her faculty’s teaching and learning committee. She strives to publish and present at conferences regularly. She has received awards for her teaching and grants for teaching and learning innovations. She was nominated by her university for a national fellowship from 2017 to 2019. She is Acting Deputy Dean concerned with teaching and learning in her Faculty. Abbes Sebibi ( Institute for General and Intercultural Didactic, AIKUD) abbes. [email protected] Abbes Sebihi is currently a Senior Education and Training Specialist, an expert in the field of international higher education, technology-mediated learning and pedagogies, technical and vocational education and training

Contributors xi

(TVET), and institutional and capacity development. He has more than eight years of experience in the development context dedicated to tracking, performance evaluation, including the assessment of metrics, comparative analysis, results-based monitoring, reporting, and future projections based on improvement. Dr Sebihi possesses a solid technical and strategic management background in computer engineering, international affairs, and quality assurance in Higher Education. After completing IT master degree studies, he pursued academic research programs in the field of higher education, e-learning, and pedagogies both in Germany and Canada. With more than 20 years of project management experience in four continents, in the technology sector, he has been working as an IT expert for several companies including Bosch, Volkswagen, TüV Nord, ABB, and IBM global service. During the past 10 years, he has served the German Federal Enterprise for International Cooperation and Development (GIZ), contributing to a number of projects essentially in international higher education and Technical Vocational training, where he has been working as a team leader, output manager, and other senior roles in cooperation with key stakeholders from Africa, Southeast Asia, Middle East and Europe, such as AU/HRST, European Union, UNESCO, ASEAN, ILO, OECD, SEAMEO, BMZ, BMBF, and ADB. Mastering French, Arabic, German, and English, Dr Sebihi has mediated between corporate, academic and institutional stakeholders through cross-cultural communication and management of international relationships. Leonie Schoelen  ( Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz) leonie.schoelen@ gmail.com Leonie Schoelen  w ith “defended her PhD in Sociology and Education Sciences at Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz, Germany, and Paris University, France. Her thesis is entitled: Facing the Global: Ambivalent Coping Strategies in the Algerian Academic Field. She received a full doctoral scholarship. Following a B.A. in English Studies, Politics and Society at the University of Bonn, Germany, and an M.A. in Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of St Andrews, Scotland/UK, Leonie Schoelen started her career with an internship at German International Cooperation (GIZ) in India. She continued with GIZ Benin before working as a consultant supporting the establishment of the Pan-African University Institute of Water and Energy Sciences (PAUWES) with GIZ Algeria. She previously took up a position of Project Associate with the United Nations University Institute of Environment and Human Security (UNU-EHS) in Bonn, Germany, and, in parallel, as Research Assistant with the Centre for Development Research (ZEF) at the University of Bonn. As of 2020, she works as a GIZ consultant supporting the Pan-African University (PAU) Rectorate in Cameroon in strategic plan implementation, quality assurance, and programme review.

xii  Contributors

Mingqing Yuan (University of Bayreuth) [email protected] Mingqing Yuan is a Ph.D. student at the Bayreuth International Graduate School of African Studies (BIGSAS), University of Bayreuth, Germany with a focus on ‘China-Kenya encounters in literary narratives since decolonizing time.’ She did her undergraduate studies in English Literature and postgraduate studies in Intercultural Communication both in China and Germany. During her doctoral studies, she has presented her works at African Literature Association (ALA) conference in 2017, European Conference on African Studies (ECAS) in 2019, and spent one semester under the department of African Languages, Cultures, and Literatures at SOAS. She has carried out field research in Kenya and China. Currently, she is also a member of Future Migration: Network for Cultural Diversity. Her research interests extend from decolonisation, postcolonial studies, translation studies to Afro-Asian solidarity, China-Africa relations, world literature, and transnational movements. In addition to her native language Chinese, she also speaks English and German and has learned French, Swahili, Bambara, and Japanese. Tsevi Dodounou (Montmorency College) [email protected] Tsevi Dodounou d id his BA and MA at the University of Lomé, and held his Ph.D. by the University of Bayreuth and the University of Lomé. 2012, he joined the French and Literature Department, and currently a Professor in francophone literature at the Montmorency College. He teaches literatures in French language (Africa and diaspora, America, and Europe) and French literature from the Middle Age to the modern world at the undergraduate level. His areas of interest and research are in the cultures and literatures of contemporary African countries, mainly in the study of African literary productions from a postcolonial point of view. Research and publication interests include issues of identity, social discourses, readership in the African context. He is also interested in the contemporary African literary productions and the indigenous literatures in Canada in a comparative approach. He is an alumnus and member of the Bayreuth International Graduate School of African Studies (BIGSAS). Billian K. Otundo (Moi University) [email protected] Billian Khalayi Otundo is a Researcher and Lecturer at Moi University with a demonstrated history of working in the higher education sector, including its administration. In 2019, Billian was a Visiting Researcher at Radboud University, The Netherlands, where she completed her Postdoctoral Fellowship as a collaborative research of Moi University, Kenya, and Leiden University and Radboud University, The Netherlands. There, she focused on the linguistic strategies utilised by social movements advocating for land rights. Billian pursued her Doctor of Philosophy

Contributors xiii

in English Linguistics from the University of Bayreuth, Germany, a Masters in Educational Communication and Technology and a Bachelors in English and Literature, both from Moi University, Kenya. She has been teaching and researching in the areas of phonetics and phonology, language contact, conversation analysis, language and gender, language in literature, language in education, and higher education. In pursuing these interests, Billian has learned and applied both qualitative and quantitative methodologies comprising: case study analysis, (audio-recorded) interview material, comparative analysis, and acoustic analysis; within which she has equally published. Antje Daniel (University of Vienna) [email protected] Antje Daniel  i s substitute scholar in sociology at the Department of Development Studies at the University of Vienna, Austria. She is also an Associated Researcher of the Institute for Social Change at Johannesburg University, South Africa. Previously, she researched and touched in Berlin, Bayreuth and was a guest scholar in Durban, South Africa. Her works include social movements, political participation, environment, feminist theories, utopias and visions of the future as well as development theories. She locates her research in Eastern and Southern Africa (Kenya, South Africa), Latin America (Brazil) and Austria. One of her recent researches is titled ‘Aspiring to alternative futures: Protest and living utopia in South Africa.’ She recently co-edited a Femina Politica special issue on queer*feminist utopias and is co-editor of a special issue on future in social movements for Social Movement Studies. Lamine Doumbia (German Historical Institute DHIP) [email protected] Lamine Doumbia Ph.D. (DHIP/CREPOS - University Bayreuth, Germany) is an anthropologist from Mali who, after studying Cultures and Societies of Africa and Geography of African Development at the BA level obtained a Master of Research in Cultural and Social Anthropology from the University of Bayreuth, Germany. During his studies, he conducted ethnographic research in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, leading to an anthropological critique of the planning processes of the city of Addis Ababa. He completed his doctoral thesis in legal and political anthropology of urban land governance at the Bayreuth International Graduate School of African Studies (BIGSAS), which was published in the series ‘Topics of interdisciplinary African Studies’ of Rüdiger Köppe Verlag with the Title Une sécurisation foncière urbaine dans l’impasse – Exemple de Bamako. He is currently Postdoctoral Researcher in the international program ‘The Bureaucratisation of African societies’ of the German Historical Institute in Paris (DHIP) and the Center for Research on Social Policies (CREPOS) in Dakar for a research project on ‘Land tenure and Bureaucratisation in Mali, Senegal, and Burkina Faso.’

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank all contributing authors for their dedication, patience, and critical remarks. Thanks goes to advising colleagues especially Gilbert Ndi Shang and Moulay Driss el Maarouf for their critical reading and helpful comments. Further, we would like to thank Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni for his appreciation of our project and wish him a wonderful start to his new journey.

Foreword Planetary Decolonisation and Ecologies of Knowledges

Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa: Perspectives from Hybrid Knowledge Production is a timely contribution to a topical and planetary issue of decolonisation. It is written at a time when the modern world has entered a simultaneously exciting and scaring moment in the domain of knowledge. On the one hand, it is the reality of an epistemic crisis that is manifesting itself in systems, institutions, and world orders—and indeed as a global systemic crisis. This has created what Wallerstein (2004) has termed ‘the uncertainty of knowledge.’ On the other hand, the epistemic crisis has provoked new questions about knowledge of knowledge itself and rethinking and even unthinking of thinking itself (Hoppers and Richards, 2012). What has been opened are the basic and key epistemological and ontological questions. What is upon the modern world is the challenge of structural reorganization and rearticulation of the world of knowledge. It is within this context that a planetary decolonisation of knowledge as a struggle and process has entered the global public domain. The current resurgent and insurgent decolonisation is better understood as a planetary process because it reverberates across the North–South divide. While the decolonisation of the 20th Century was characterized by political demands for self-determination and the storm-troopers were modern educated elites emerging from colonized societies aiming to take over state power from white colonial elites, the decolonisation of the 21st Century is expansive and its key trope is epistemic freedom (see Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2018; Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2020a; Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2020b). At the centre of epistemic freedom is the imperative of cognitive justice, that is, the recognition that all human beings were born into valid and legitimate knowledge systems necessitating the demand for the recognition of the diverse ways through which different people across the human globe make sense of the world and provide meaning to their existence (see Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2013a; NdlovuGatsheni 2013b; Santos 2014; Santos 2018). In the Global South, the definitive entry of the descendants of the racialized, enslaved, colonized, feminized, and indeed dehumanized into the modern academies across the world has resulted in challenging and questioning of the very idea of the university; institutional cultures underpinned

xvi  Foreword

by patriarchy, sexism, elitism and classism; curriculum which has remained hostage to Eurocentrism; as well as scholarship and epistemology that is exclusionary and discriminatory of other knowledges. Within the erstwhile empires, the young generation has also been inquisitive about why their curriculum for instance was white within a world characterized by planetary human entanglements. The very celebrated Western rationalism and secularism is said to be in crisis, for example, Patrick Chabal wrote a book entitled The End of Conceit: Western Rationality after Postcolonialism and he concluded that ‘the end of conceit is upon us. Western rationality must be rethought’ (Chabal, 2012, p.335). While numerous book and articles have been produced on the subject of decolonisation of the 21st Century, what has continued to be elusive are the practical ways of doing epistemological decolonisation. This foreword to Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa: Perspectives from Hybrid Knowledge Production contributes a framework for decolonising knowledge and curriculum. The first tenets of decolonising knowledge and curriculum is (re)provincializing Europe and (de)provincializing the world that has been colonized and peripherized. This approach helps to deal with issues of overrepresentation and underrepresentation of some knowledges. At the centre of this transformative, tasks are a number of practical moves ranging from decentring and recentring, shifting the geography and biography of knowledge, and expanding the shoulders of giants beyond the dead white males from Europe and North America. The second tenet of decolonising knowledge and curriculum is reviewing of disciplines so as to escape what Lewis R. Gordon (2006) termed ‘disciplinary decadence.’ This transformative task entails delving deeper into the constitutive formation and emergence of modern disciplines and how they have travelled across the modern world so as to be ubiquitous in any modern and westernized university’s organization of knowledge. At the centre of this process are the urgent issues of the fitness of disciplines for purpose, their relevance, and their value for money and public service. Disciplinary decadence kicks in when disciplines are reified and naturalized to the extent that human thought becomes hostage to them. The decadence manifest itself in terms of obsession with disciplinary issues and academic tribes at the expense of focusing on human problems. The third tenet is a decolonial approach to knowledge, which is not about addition, subtraction, or replacement but rather is about how to establish ecologies of knowledges. It would seem the concept of ‘hybrid knowledge production’ is part of the move towards a decolonial approach to knowledge production. The easiest by no means the best approach is to adopt a position of ‘remove and replace.’ This approach amounts not only to revenge but also to repetition without change. The best way to do it is to first of all establish and make a clear case that knowledge has always been a product of encounters and exchanges but through the imperial and colonial processes, Europe,

Foreword xvii

and North America committed what became known as ‘theft of history’ so as to claim to be the originator of all legitimate and valid knowledge systems while disqualifying and delegitimizing all other knowledges. What therefore is needed is an epistemic restoration of denied interconnections, interlinkages, and convivialities in the knowledge domain (see Nyamnjoh 2017). This book prefers to call for ‘hybrid science,’ ‘integrative research,’ and ‘transcultural knowledge. The fourth tenet is a radical shift from miseducation to re-education involving the painstaking process of unlearning what was imposed by modernity/ coloniality and re-learning in non-colonial ways, which recognises that all human beings were born into valid and legitimate knowledge systems. At the centre of this transformative task is the rethinking of thinking itself propelled by questioning knowledge of knowledge itself. This move has the potential to open up to what Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2014; 2018) termed ‘epistemologies of the South,’ ‘born in the struggle’ (see Santos and Meneses 2020). Taking all this into account, it becomes clear why the editors of this important book defined decolonisation within higher education as ‘a radical process of redefining and re-designing systems and standards, which ensure that teaching and learning occur in and emerge from appropriate local contexts of relevance.’ Hybridity and cross-cultural dialogues bringing diverse epistemic traditions into the academy enable the practice of ecologies of knowledges capable of enriching diverse human experiences. But always vigilance must be exercised to guard against the simplistic neoliberal ideas of diversity informed by the equally simplistic idea of mixing and stirring so as to produce integrated and hybrid knowledge. The decolonial approach is predicated on de-hierarchization of knowledge so as to open up for ecologies of knowledge – a reality that is well-captured in this book, where reflexivity cuts across the eleven chapters. Decolonisation of Higher Education in Africa is a book that grapples with the theme of decolonisation from diverse vantage points – connecting theory and praxis. At the centre of the book are such topical issues as the political economy of knowledge, how to integrate diverse epistemic traditions, how to develop local southern multilingual knowledge, how to take seriously student voices in the decolonisation project, how knowledge travels, the challenges of using indigenous African languages in research, teaching and learning; testing the possibilities of a transcultural perspective of decolonising, and many others. It is indeed a treasure trove of transformational ideas that put decolonisation at another level. Sabelo J. Ndlovu-Gatsheni Chair in Epistemologies of the Global South University of Bayreuth Germany

xviii  Foreword

References Chabal, P. (2012). The End of Conceit:Western Rationality after Postcolonialism. London and New York: Zed Books. Hoppers, C. O. and Richards, H. (2012). Rethinking Thinking: Modernity’s ‘Other’ and the Transformation of the University. Pretoria: UNISA Press. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2020a). ‘The Cognitive Empire, Politics of Knowledge and African Intellectual Productions: Reflections on Struggles for Epistemic Freedom and Resurgence of Decolonization in the Twenty-First Century.’ Third World Quarterly, https://doi.org/10. 1080/01436597.2020.1775487. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2020b). Decolonization, Development and Knowledge in Africa: Turning Over A New Leaf. London and New York: Routledge. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2018). Epistemic Freedom in Africa: Deprovincialization and Decolonization. London and New York: Routledge. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2013a). Empire, Global Coloniality and African Subjectivity. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2013b). Coloniality of Power in Postcolonial Africa: Myths of Decolonization. Dakar: CODERIA Book Series. Nyamnjoh, F. B. (2017). Drinking from the Cosmic Gourd: How Amos Tutuola Can Change Our Minds. Mankon, Bamenda: Langaa Research & Publishing CIG. Santos, B. de S. and Meneses, P. ed. (2020). Knowledges Born in Struggle: Constructing the Epistemologies of the Global South. New York and London: Routledge. Santos, B. de S. (2018). The End of the Cognitive Empire: The Coming of Age of Epistemologies of the South. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Santos, B. de S. (2014). Epistemologies of the South: Justice Against Epistemicide. Boulder and London: Paradigm Publishers. Wallerstein, I. (2004). The Uncertainties of Knowledge. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Introduction Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

Background and positioning Discussions on decolonisation processes, in general, are neither new nor exclusively an African phenomenon. The debate prominently came to the fore during the mid-twentieth-century anticolonial movements that sought to dismantle European colonial rule across the Global South. Broadly speaking, decolonisation can be interpreted as various efforts to withstand the distinct but intertwined processes and outcomes of colonisation; it envisages alternative, just, and inclusive futures (Stein & Andreotti, 2016). Decolonisation within higher education, in particular, refers to a radical process of redefining and re-designing systems and standards, which ensure that teaching and learning occur in and emerge from appropriate local contexts of relevance. Throughout this edited volume, decolonisation of higher education has been discussed as processes of re-centring and de-centring1 (Morozov, 2013). That is, recognising and prioritizing 2 Indigenous methodologies and ways of knowing; specifically, with regard to African contributions to the production, dissemination, application, promotion, protection, control, and utilisation of knowledge. Especially in the last decade, decolonisation in higher education has been discussed broadly in academic research, focussing mainly on various power dynamics and coloniality of different epistemological traditions. A bulk of literature deals with decolonisation and cultural responsiveness of pedagogies, student activism, a transformation from Eurocentric to a local perspective, scholars from the Global South and Indigenous knowledge as well as systems and values (see Bhambra, Gebrial, & Nişancıoğ lu, 2018; Davidson, et al., 2018; Huaman & Brayboy, 2017; Kapoor, 2009; Pirbhai-Illich, Pete, & Martin, 2017). Most of the debates as of today, present various valuable perspectives on epistemic traditions seen as exogenous to colonial contexts and the need to decolonise them, as well as an emphasis on the status and importance of Indigenous knowledges. Nevertheless, further systematic and multidisciplinary assessment of the articulation between Indigenous knowledge and decolonising higher education based on current academic discourses is still crucial (see, for example, Emeagwali and Shizha 2016). Furthermore,

2  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

in the light of increasing calls for ‘endogeneity’ in postcolonial academic contexts (Dei, 2000), there is an urgent need to re-evaluate the connection between Indigenous knowledge(s) and higher education through their interconnectedness, as suggested by the notions of ‘hybrid science,’ ‘integrative research,’ or ‘transcultural knowledge.’ One can notice the challenge of objectively approaching the discussion of decolonisation processes as much of the literature seems normatively burdened and tempted to drift into sensational narratives (Dei, 2000). The concept of decolonisation in its application to higher education appears to be ideologically loaded, theoretically partial, and epistemologically misleading. Many authors lay strong emphasis on sensitive and emotionally laden historical facts such as the misdeeds of the colonisers, who despised and undermined or even destroyed local ways of knowing by regarding them as unworthy or non-scientific; and in consequence enduringly marginalised local populations and/or minorities. This historical focus narrows down to a criticism of Eurocentrism as the single cause of stagnation in science, knowledge, and technology in former colonial societies and happens at the expense of a thorough evaluation of the local socio-political and historical dynamics also involved in the epistemic dependency, structural inadequacy, and unsound policies that still characterize many higher education institutions in postcolonial contexts. Focusing on the context of African higher education, this edited volume critically discusses the question of alternative futures of decolonisation that accommodates a cross-cultural dialogue among different epistemic traditions and centres Indigenous knowledge systems and African thought in higher education. The editors of this volume conceptualise decolonisation within integrative approaches fully informed by the notion of ‘hybrid science’; i.e., the conviction that what is perceived as Indigenous (local) and Western Eurocentric (global) sciences are equally culturally situated, and therefore equally valid and capable of synergistic complementarity. At the same time, we are aware that integration, for instance seen from a political economic perspective in higher education, carries the danger of hegemonic silencing and is thus a highly politicized process; which can be observed in the publishing sector for instance.3 African studies per se is not free from colonial baggage (see Turner this volume), continued silencing (Kothor, 2019) and sustained gatekeeping structures (Kaijage, 2019). Decoloniality is therefore not a matter of acknowledgement but of critical self-rendering in dialogue. Hence, integrative approaches are crucially contingent on local agency, conceptualization, and theorization from the scholars of the so-called Global South. We therefore read decolonial integration in the sense of fragmented fusion; i.e., resulting from intellectual and academic activism, genuine dialogue, and non-consensual debates. While the focus of this book is on Africa, decolonisation is a worldwide process with multiple perspectives and cross-relations (on Arab and Eastern influences see for instance Woldegiorgis, Clemens, Sebihi & Schoelen, and

Introduction 3

Yuan this volume). A decolonial approach focusing on hybridity must not exclusively be oriented vertically from South to North or be misunderstood as an attempt to harmonise Western knowledge with Indigenous systems. Instead, it must remain open to a multiplicity of alternate modernities; ‘transmodernities’ in the sense of Dussel (2012). In that sense, hybridity can gain the potential of liberating formerly colonised territories from confining hybridity to Western/non-Western knowledge systems, opening it up to a symmetrical cultural dialogue that harnesses the best out of African, European, Latin American, and Asian cultures.4 The current volume provides both conceptual and empirical insights on decolonisation of higher education and a way forward accommodating different epistemic traditions. It explores the importance of pluralistic ‘hybrid science’ as an alternative perspective taking Indigenous knowledge systems as an important building block of knowledge production. We argue that African knowledge systems and Euro-American epistemic traditions are not necessarily parallel and contradictory, rather complement each other in the process of knowledge production. Thus, this volume provides a comprehensive discussion and alternative conceptual outlooks on decolonisation of higher education in Africa, drawing empirical insights from various casebased studies. In being aware that resurfacing hybridity might bring up old reproaches of elitism, of silencing material and political differences, or of re-centring Eurocentric notions, we as editors5 feel the need to make transparent our own positionality and relationality towards decolonisation in higher education in Africa. We are scholars and practitioners in higher education with long-term living, studying, and working experiences both on the African continent and in the North. Hence, we either sit between the chairs, or − if you prefer − have a foot in several doors and it is therefore not surprising that we are intrigued by hybridity. As such, we are a breed of a privileged diaspora with a particular gaze on indigeneity and globalisation. Our focus on hybridity is thus not merely an analytically abstract exercise of provocation to trigger attention in the fatigued academic community. Rather, the idea of this book emerges from a practical personal need and genuine conviction that only a reconciliation of knowledges and the acknowledgement that any innovation is of necessity hybrid in nature will enable the survival and revival of African thought on a global scale. In editing this book together, our different disciplinary schools of thought made things challenging but in the end also more nuanced. We can thus rightly claim that this volume is a product of genuine hybridity.

(Re)conceptualising the postcolonial: Decolonisation as an expansive concept From a conceptual standpoint, the ‘postcolonial’ is a highly expansive notion6 and one of the most misunderstood terms along with the postmodern and

4  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

the poststructural (Battiste, 2004). The main problem lies in the ‘infamous and falsely periodizing “post” in postcolonial,’ which entails ‘the misleading suggestion that colonialism is over’ (Byrd & Rothberg, 2011, p. 4). Battiste (2004) consequently talks about the postcolonial rather in terms of an ‘aspiration, a hope not yet achieved.’ For Ngugi wa Thiong’o (2012, p. 49) the postcolonial is problematic and elusive as a temporal marker because of the inherently uncertain nature of periodization as such and the resulting divergences in opinion along disciplinary lines and power relations.7 He further argues that ‘every postcolonial, as periodization, must carry the posts of the colonizer and colonized, and they can’t very well mean the same thing’ (wa Thiong’o, 2012, p. 50). It is the insidious presence of the main features of colonialism in the postcolonial that makes any attempt at strict periodization a challenge, and a definite conceptual delineation an impossibility. Similarly, the conceptual framing of de-colonisation often overlooks the fact that because there are multiple historical forms of colonisation, there also has to be various approaches to decolonisation. Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2017) describes colonisation as a vast project encompassing the alienation of space, time, nature, being, power, spirituality, gender, aesthetics, and knowledge. Consequently, ‘if colonisation was this vast, then decolonisation must of necessity be a vast project, tracking colonialism and coloniality in all the crevices and corners, where it is hiding, particularly in its institutional forms’ (p. x). Indeed, not all colonial experiences were identical and the discourse on decolonisation as a monolithic entity risks repeating the logic of colonialism, which is paradoxically hegemonic and homogenizing at once. As Lynn Mario Menezes de Souza (2017, p. 272) rightly observes, ‘homogeneity, when it appears, is the result of an attempt, on the part of the powerful, at eliminating heterogeneity.’ Analysing the unequal power relations characteristic of colonial regimes and the rhetorical games that go along with them, Menezes de Souza (2017) identifies a rigid conceptual line between colonialism and coloniality. The former refers to systemic ‘imposition of one nation and its values over another,’ while the latter encompasses unequal ‘patterns of power relations that emerged from and persist after the end of colonization’ (de Souza 2017, p. 275). Despite the assumed exclusive difference between these concepts, they are in fact complementary. The temporality of colonialism suggests inscription in an imaginary past. Both coloniality as well as colonialism, however, still contain the same outright power relations under the disguise of subtle political mechanisms and deceitful phraseologies (see also Ashcroft et al., 2003). For the soft ‘British indirect rule’ as much as for the French and Portuguese assimilationist colonial policies, the distinction between colonialism and coloniality is a wordplay with the distracting effect of putting a conceptual make-up on the hideous face of colonization. Alleged differences are just ‘a matter of detail, and of emphasis’ but the outcome is the same (wa Thiong’o, 1994, p. 19). The decolonial project as applied to higher education and hybridity in the present publication purposely resists the temptation to define the postcolonial

Introduction 5

in terms of radical and definite discontinuity between a ‘pre,’ a tangible episode of coloniality and a ‘post.’ The ‘post’ is inherently situated in a cognitive relation to the ‘pre’ and the ‘colonial.’

Hybridity in decolonisation of higher education The way decolonisation processes are conceptualised and framed determines the nature of alternative futures that any decolonial debate envisages. This volume approaches the discussion of decolonisation of higher education in Africa with an emphasis on hybrid forms understood not as complementary binaries but as simultaneous multiples. From the very outset, the notion of hybridity entails and acknowledges the existence of multiple and diverse cultures and knowledge bases. In decolonial higher education, acknowledging this multiplicity aims at forging alternative futures that accommodate these heterogeneous epistemologies. The concept of hybridity was comprehensively discussed in cultural theory foremost by Homi Bhabha (1994) who in turn was influenced by Said (1978), in developing the idea of the ‘third space’; i.e., the location where hybridity becomes evident. Applied to scientific knowledges, from the 1990s to the millennial turn − the decades dominated by discourses of multiculturalism and borderless mobility − hybridity has been celebrated for its cosmopolitanism and usefulness in transcending Eurocentric modernity (Mitzutani, 2009, p. 2). In unsettling this self-referential narrative, Bhabha clearly explicates the problematic self-understanding of whiteness as an ‘unmarked’ entity representing progress and modernity untouched by the colonial encounter (Mizutani, 2009, p. 5).8 Instead, he advocates taking ‘the cultural and historical hybridity of the postcolonial world […] as the paradigmatic place of departure’ (p. 31). Far from being an irreversible historical matter of fact, the idea of hybridity points to the optimal space in which Fanon’s ‘wretched of the earth’ and their former colonial masters should position their common destiny. Rather, hybridity is in fact the logical consequence of the ‘cross-fertilisation’ of two heterogeneous or even antagonist actors on the colonial scene, or ‘agonistic space’ to borrow Lyotard’s (1978) words. Accordingly, the notion of a ‘third space’ points towards this fatally intermingled future at the cross-roads between the endogenous and the exogenous, the particular and the universal, but more importantly between the local and the global which are all dimensions situated in provincially anchored power relations. Beyond epistemic nativisms and pathological fixations upon imagined identities, the ‘colonial encounter,’ even in light of its subsequent violence, has transformed the colonised and the coloniser. They are bound to refer to their common future as human beings in this space in-between where their entangled future is defined forever. Zooming in on this so-called ‘third space’ as a productive transcultural contact zone can assist in balancing out the unhealthy tendency of some voices in the decolonisation debate to be absorbed by Afrocentric narratives and ethnocentric readings of epistemic lineages that demonize Western

6  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

epistemologies and romanticize endogenous knowledge bases. Bhabha’s hybridity can be read as an alternative conception of the future where the challenges of cultural hegemony and the Eurocentric history of the Global South are readdressed. Hybridity is as an ideal space of symbolic interaction ‘in-between’ different individual identity dimensions as well as ‘in-between’ heterogeneous identity factions. According to Bhabha, ‘this interstitial passage between fixed identifications opens up the possibility of cultural hybridity that entertains difference without an assumed or imposed hierarchy’ (1994, p. 5). Nevertheless, this utopian longing for a heterogeneous togetherness − similar to the South African idea of the Rainbow Nation (Turner, 2019) − negates material and political differences that are so vitally put forward in discourses of decoloniality. The concept of hybridity has also been criticised by a number of scholars as a neocolonial discourse complicit with transnational capitalism, cloaked in the hip garb of cultural theory (Chow, 1993; Dirlik, 1994; McClintock, 1995; Young, 2006). ‘By stressing the transformative cultural, linguistic, and political impacts on both the colonized and the colonizer,’ Mabrol (2016) points out −while suggesting that Bhabha was misread− ‘has been regarded as replicating assimilationist policies by masking or “whitewashing” cultural differences’ (p. n.a). While acknowledging the critiques on hybridity in the decolonisation debates, we would like to emphasise the potentially reconciliatory function of the concept among diverse sources of knowledges and innovation as an important venue for the revival of African thought on a global scale. Hybridity is discussed as a process of intercultural dialogue that recognises the existence of not only diverse epistemologies but also the possibility of forging alternative hybrid systems. As argued by Bronfen, E. & Marius, B. (1997). hybridity is neither a peculiar feature nor a to-be-averted danger of globalisation but the basal foundation of any culture. Transferring that thought into the context of this book, hybridity is not a ‘peculiar feature’ of African studies or the African university, not a ‘to-be-averted danger’ in a decolonised utopia but a ‘fundamental foundation’ of it. Therefore, it is not the aim of this volume to introduce hybridity into decolonised universities but to lay it open and carefully re-appropriate it in a productive and just way. We attempt to bring the notion of hybridity back into the debate, with the assertion that it has a solid and practical potential that can enable genuine contemporary decolonisation within globally operating institutions of higher education. We furthermore argue that hybridity can be productive in highlighting aspects of temporality, mutuality, and anti-essentialist understandings.

Decolonising local knowledge, and transcending the boundaries of ‘colonial science’ With regards to the enduring influences of colonialism on epistemologies in Africa, Boaventura de Sousa Santos’ (2018) notion that colonisation is a

Introduction 7

‘cocreation’ between colonisers and colonised − in the sense of a programmatic relegation of Indigenous ways of knowing into the realm of pseudoscience, subaltern knowledge or ‘savage science’ − holds remarkable significance. Indeed, the call for ‘cognitive decolonisation,’ needs to be informed by the precondition that ‘however asymmetrical, decolonising entails decolonising both the knowledge of the colonised and the knowledge of the colonizer’ (Santos, 2018, p. 107). According to Santos, the way out of the current colonisation-driven epistemological deadlocks is to devise a cognitive ‘third space’ in terms of theory and methodology development ‘along the lines of a decolonised mestizaje in which the mixture of knowledges, cultures, subjectivities, and practices subverts the abyssal line that grounds the epistemologies of the North’ (2018, p. 107). Consequently, there is a need to decolonise the concept of Indigenous knowledge along with the preconceived negative ranking by its comparison with modern science. As a rule, Indigenous forms and ways of producing, archiving, and disseminating knowledge are put in opposition to scientific research as if they belonged to two radically contradicting realms. A thorough deconstruction of the concept of ‘science’ is accordingly also necessary for decolonised higher education in Africa. The decolonial project needs to interrogate the enduring consignment of traditional knowledge(s) to the ‘periphery of the periphery’ (Hountondji, 2002, p. 252) within institutional scientific knowledge. The varied but complementary views expressed in this edited volume show an acute awareness of this important task of deconstruction. The focus on the ontologically hybrid nature of knowledge is based on the conviction that beyond broadly admitted Manichean distinctions, Indigenous, traditional or local and scientific, modern or global knowledges are complementary (see also Silitoe 2007). Beyond criticizing suppressive Western epistemologies, a responsible posture on decolonising science requires a clear articulation of the ‘silent coexistence’ (Hountondji, 2002, p. 252) between ‘scientific’ discourse and traditional knowledge. ‘Voices from the Academy’ (Semali & Kincheloe, 2011) interrogating the status and role of Indigenous knowledge in higher learning actually speak from a position of legitimacy bestowed upon them by their professional practice as scientists and the subsequent awareness of the fundamental unity of knowledge. Furthermore, the task of constantly questioning the ideological fundaments and implications of science and research is also a requirement of the profession of scientist; particularly for the postcolonial scholar and researcher. Donaldo Macedo argues that it is only through the decolonisation of his/her mind and heart that the African scholar ‘can begin to develop the necessary political clarity to reject the enslavement of a colonial discourse that creates a false dichotomy between Western and indigenous knowledge’ (1999, p. xv). In a well-balanced education system, ‘the learning process should be a two-way affair, not only facilitating the adoption of scientifically informed ideas by local communities, but also the informing of scientific understanding with local knowledge’ (Silitoe, 2007, p. 3).

8  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

All this should not conceal the equally relevant facts that all quests for knowledge strive for universality and that at the same time, there is no ontological marker of locality or indigeneity as radically divergent from universality. Law and Lin (2017, p. 5) argue accordingly that ‘the claim that all knowledges are situated is self-contradictory’ and amounts to a ‘formal paradox.’ For instance, cognitive standards are universal but not necessarily the ways and means people choose the object(s) of their knowledge and how they proceed to incorporate them into their mind and life experience. Scientific or academic knowledge is no exception to this general rule (see also Sarewitz, 2010, p. 1001). Nevertheless, from a strictly theoretical point of view, the most important issue about knowledge is not so much its relation to particularity or universality seen in their respective spatial configurations but about the relation of knowledge to truth, i.e., of what people can believe in, and human wellbeing. The challenge for a hybrid conception of knowledge in decolonising academic contexts is to hold on to the unstable balance and mutuality among endogenous and exogenous sources of knowledge; what is considered local or particular one day, may well become global and universal another day. Ultimately, as Appiah (1992, pp. IX-X) cautions, ‘ideological decolonization is bound to fail if it neglects either endogenous “traditions” or exogenous “western” ideas.’ This implies that the decolonial project must transgress theoretical academic realms of higher education and be mainstreamed into or rather feed by society as a whole. Decoloniality, in its essence an anti-monolithic endevaour, has to rhyme with and be aware of other forms of social agency taking place in African societies outside the confinements of scholastic practices.9

Chapter outline The current volume presents 11 logically sequenced chapters organized along historical, conceptual, and thematic areas. The notion of decolonisation of higher education and hybridity is elucidated as a central organising theme, binding together the diverse perspectives of the authors. The subsequent section provides a brief introduction and overview. Decolonisation of higher education in Africa: Background and current debates In its first part, the volume tackles some essential deliberations on decolonisation such as approaching a common definitory ground and historical narration of its evolution as well as of the role of hybridity in this discourse. Emnet Tadesse Woldegiorgis opens with a bird’s-eye view reflection on debates of decolonisation in higher education (Chapter 1). In an attempt to conceptualize African higher education from a historical perspective, the author explores the political economy of pre- and postcolonial African universities

Introduction 9

and their ‘academic oligarchies’ set among society, the market, and the state. In the process of transformation from colonial to postcolonial setting, higher education institutions in Africa shouldered multiple responsibilities as agents of economic growth, Africanisation, and state building in the 60’s and 70’s. Since the 1990s, however, the growing popularity of liberal economic principles, new debates on the notions of ‘knowledge economy,’ ‘knowledge society,’ and commercialization of higher education, triggered a whole new philosophical debate on the social responsibility of higher education. Providing the methodological groundwork for doing decolonisation in higher education, Vanessa Wijngaarden and Grace Ese-Osa Idahosa offer an integrated approach (Chapter 2) from anthropology as a social scientific field that is specialized in dealing with a multitude of knowledge systems, and suitable to facilitate cross-cultural dialogues as well as highly critical reflections on its own knowledge constructions. They argue that if science (natural, social, and humanities) is to be a truly global knowledge system, scientific endeavours have to move beyond dualistic binaries of Indigenous versus Western, towards a dynamic dialogic approach that centralizes intersubjectivity, relationality, and contextualisation. Around the concepts of ‘radical multivocality’ and ‘adamant reflexivity,’ the authors convincingly explicate how the self-transformative effort of anthropology with its focus on selfreflexivity equip the discipline beautifully for developing transdisciplinary methods in decolonising science and thus the self-understanding of a university by treating science ‘as a form of culture’ and ‘co-creative dialogue.’ The authors advocate for a resistance against ‘integration/incorporation,’ which necessary implies hierarchisation and appropriation. From the lived experience of applied decolonisation, Jacqueline Lück (chapter 3) offers the perspective of applied linguistics in a southern context. The chapter introduces a ‘bottom-up transformative African-centred model for Linguistics.’ Applied here refers to the specific ways that the discipline transforms itself into a decolonial endeavour by stressing that ‘decoloniality is context’. The chapter provides practical examples from case studies that explore what it means to develop local southern multilingual knowledge projects and, to also enter into northern conversations. The chapter explores how Linguistics is navigating decoloniality in different spaces from workshops, curriculation spaces to the classroom at the Nelson Mandela University in South Africa. By so doing, it considers what it means to learn about language and to learn through languages in South Africa. The chapter rightly points out the dangers of an uncritical revival of hybridity in romanticising diversity and obscuring inequality in service of clearing the consciousness of northern academia: ‘A “new” hybrid science would have to pay attention to these critiques, if it is to serve a decolonial Linguistics agenda.’ The challenge is to create something new from the old while at the same time avoiding assimilation. Expanding from linguistics proper and looking at decolonisation from an interdisciplinary perspective, Irina Turner’s contribution (chapter 4) – coauthored with Masters students – integrates students’ voices with regards

10  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

to decolonisation. Emphasising the critical stance according to which decolonisation is not only for the former colonised to be undertaken, Turner insists on the self-critical engagement of academia from the North as a condition for success. Because of their influence in the continuation of neocolonial structures and power relations, the decolonial project also entails decolonising the institutions of higher education in the North, foremost and especially, the field of African studies. Implementing one step into this direction, the chapter presents the results of discussions with and among Master students of the AVVA programme (African Verbal and Visual Arts) at Bayreuth University in their visions of decolonisation as such and decolonsing learning spaces in particular. Accordingly, this discourse analysis is preceded and framed by a critical historical overview on German Afrikanistik, which is both the hosting discipline of AVVA as well as a carrier of ideological colonial baggage. The chapter is located in the realm of language sociology based on focus group interviews. Thus, it contributes to the current redefinition and re-legitimization of African studies in the North with a focus on art, literature, and language studies. Iris Clemens (Chapter 5) focuses on the relationality of trading knowledges. Starting from an analysis on the contested terrain of the very definition of knowledge in science and the biased discussion in the past, she draws attention to the approach of trading zones (Galison, Raina) and travelling knowledge in the educational field from a network theory perspective. The author is also aware of the problematic entanglements of hybridity and asks whether bringing this up inadvertently might reinforce the notion of pure science: ‘Notions such as hybrid science discussed in this volume raise the question of whether there is – or could be at all – a science, which is not hybrid? Calls to indigenize the Anthropocene and hear epistemologies from the South DeLoughrey & Handley, 2011; Nixon, 2005; suggest that knowledge or knowledge production would normally be without such “contaminations”’ (Clemens, 2009). We agree with Clemens that hybridity must not be mistaken for ‘false copies’ of the original, universal knowledge: ‘The search for “origin” or first source of a concept is reducing the possible analyses and the gain of knowledge unnecessarily. Any knowledge we could know of today is per se hybrid then’ (Clemens, 2009). While we don’t see the point of this book to establish whether or not pure science does exist, we rather strive to rewrite the ahistorical representation of this very notion. The subsequent section on languages and literatures presents some case studies from these disciplines which maintain a central position in the decolonisation debate. Literature and languages of teaching in decolonising African universities Abraham Brahima (Chapter 6) looks at the ramifications of translation in academic contexts. The aim of the chapter is to critically examine the conceptual

Introduction 11

problems arising from the on-going discussion about language-in-education in Africa, with special attention to challenging issues such as translating ‘culture-bound’ or ‘tongue-dependent’ concepts, towards the formulation and teaching of modern science in Indigenous languages and cognitive frames. The chapter is based on the general observation that beyond the initial stages of primary and secondary schools, very few countries in Africa have implemented the use of local languages for teaching and learning at higher education level. Are those local languages that are still left out of academic life definitively defective because they intrinsically lack the required conceptual resources for formulating and transmitting modern scientific knowledge? Are the reasons for the enduring use of former colonial languages as exclusive vehicles for science and technology fundamentally to be found in the lack of a culture of systematic translation? Looking beyond widespread dichotomies, this chapter reconsiders some conceptual and practical implications of translation in African postcolonial academic contexts. From the North of Africa, a historic perspective on the language issue in decolonisation is taken by Leonie Schoelen and Abbes Sebihi (Chapter 7). The objective of the chapter is to bring a highly politicised issue to scholarly debate, where it is currently muted. It contributes to highlighting options for integration by coexistence of linguistic diversity according to scientific rather than ideological considerations on the one hand, and the need to raise awareness that the (partial) discontinuation of a language marked by former colonisation alone is not sufficient for decolonised academia on the other hand. The modern People’s Democratic Republic of Algeria unifies centuries of occupation. Colonial influences on science are subject to continuing political re-negotiation. Social sciences in particular have been Arabised yet not decolonised. To varying extents, these epochs have left their traces in today’s hybrid culture and linguistically diverse landscape. The subsequent linguistic coexistence mirrors the development of the decolonisation process towards hybrid knowledges in Algerian higher education. In addition to the Arabic dialect, French, the official language inherited from colonisation, as well as English, continue to be used in administration and higher education. Drawing on the notions of structural violence and the concept of language for peace, Schoelen and Sebihi argue that incorporating rather than condemning hybridity counteracts the currently prevailing policy-making based upon emotional and ethnocentric decisions. Consequently, the authors emphasise the chances and future perspectives for consequent higher education reforms. A transcultural perspective on decolonisation is taken by Yuan (Chapter 8), who analyses traces of wa Thiong’o’s ideas in Mao Tse Tung’s writings. Even though China and Africa have gone through different forms of colonisation, wa Thiong’o and Mao share a similar understanding of the role of literature, language, and education in decolonisation. These links are constructed not only through Marxism but also through anticolonial struggles and divisive politics in the Cold War era. This chapter focuses on the similarities and differences, changes and revisions between and within the works of Mao and

12  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

wa Thiong’o in decolonising and intellectual debates on language, literature, and education. The chapter moves beyond Eurocentric orientations of region and nation–state and explores arrays of a possible Afro-Asian epistemology through a comparative close reading, revisiting, and reviewing of the two. Continuing in the emphasis of the prominent role of literature in decolonisation, Otundo & Dodounou re-interrogate the language in ‘African literatures’ (Chapter 9). Using Desk Research, this chapter reflects on the deficiency of reading and writing in African Indigenous languages, while foregrounding the question of the imaginary. It further exemplifies pertinent issues inherent in the language-in-education policy of African multilingual countries, where European languages are still dominating the media, academia, and social realm. The chapter argues that as a consequence of the imposed Eurocentric educational norms, an overwhelming number of Africans can neither read nor write in their Indigenous language(s), thus stripping them of their representations, identity, culture, heritage, and especially their imaginary. Despite the discrepancies in the language-in-education policy across Africa, the countries continue to underutilise Indigenous languages in formal education, which leads to a shrinking reading and writing culture in Indigenous languages. Due to the incapacitation of Indigenous languages, which have been underpinned by Eurocentric knowledge systems, the epitome for expression of specific representations, worldviews, experiences, thoughts, ideas, culture and particularly the imaginary of many Indigenous African communities is under threat. Highlighting the close link of the mental realm to physical realities, this volume closes with two contributions on decolonisation as a project revolving intrinsically around territorial objections and the postcolonial subject’s demands for legitimate space. Contested colonial delineations and spatial reappropriation In her contribution, Daniel asks whether decolonisation must ‘occur on an island’ (Chapter 10). The chapter offers a close up of the FeesMustFall protest at the University of Cape Town and dwells on the sustaining significance of occupational spaces for conceptual and real social transformation. Daniel reminds us that conceptual change is generated in a lab situation. Occupation as a particular form of protest does not only capture discontentment and claims for change, rather it can be understood as a laboratory for developing alternative visions because it offers the possibility for a particular kind of interaction among protesters. The limited and somehow exclusive space of occupation is the precondition to experiment with new forms of living, implement alternative social norms and values, or to elaborate new forms of decision making. The chapter discusses the role and ambivalences of occupation during the protest of students at the University of Cape Town and the relevance of the limited space for decolonial struggles.

Introduction 13

Exploring the fringes of higher education in the sense of decolonising institutionalised bureaucracy, Lamine Doumbia (Chapter 11) examines as a case study the African Union initiative – Network of Excellence on Land Governance in Africa (NELGA) – as a frame to analyse the relationship between higher education and the relevance of local knowledge in land governance in Bamako (Mali) as an example of decolonisation. The research is carried out to answer the question: to what extent can endogenous knowledge on land governance be decolonised through higher education? NELGA is a partner of leading African universities and research institution with proven leadership in education, training, and research on land governance. This chapter analyses different actors’ control and negotiating patterns of urban land tenure in Bamako. Among them are not only state institutions, but also international organisations, local communities, and individuals who claim their own usufructs at the grassroots level. Paperwork is central for all those actors because the legal framework of Mali’s State’s Land Code (code domanial et foncier) is not in line with the Indigenous land regulations of Malian communities. The focus of this chapter is the ethnography of how the subsequent legal discrepancy entails sociopolitical, historical, and linguistic issues that go far beyond the problem of land administration. Indeed, in the specific context of postcolonial Mali this question discloses subtle, albeit socioculturally significant tensions between endogenous conceptions of land as an ontological space of belonging and foreign models of governance that turn it into an object of political and financial transactions. In the concluding chapter, the epilogue, the editors recapitulate some of the arguments discussed in the diverse contributions and restate the call for the genuine decolonisation of African higher education systems within the framework of hybridity.

Notes 1. As our colleague Driss El Maarouf noted, this can be construed as steering away from the colonial gestures of worlding (after Gayatri Spivak) in which cultures and epistemes of the South wait to be placed on the world’s map. De-centring relativizes Western hegemonies and politics of naming. 2. Though this particular discourse on capitalisation mainly emerges from the Americas, where it conveys the notion of nationhood and might not be wholly applicable to Africa, we decided to follow this argument and capitalize Indigenous to recognize these epistemes as equally valid as Western etc. ontologies. 3. Literary scholar Driss El Maarouf: ‘There are contemporary exclusionary practices in the academic publishing industry that systematically block the dissemination of knowledge(s) coming from the Global South in general and from Africa in particular. Many African scholars today show profound concerns as to whether they should (or should not) heavily draw on local scholarship, and whether their built bibliographies will result in the rejection of their contributions altogether. Bibliographies get scrutinized carefully, discriminated discursively, showing that the existing

14  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis











conflict and clash around “who should be cited in the good journals run by the West” lie elsewhere in a longer conflict over land, resources, knowledges’ (private correspondence). 4. We are grateful to our colleague Gilbert Ndi Shang for this thought and phrasing. 5. I, Irina Turner, co-editor of this volume, am acutely aware that as a white European person my writing about decolonisation in Africa is – not without groundsconsidered by some as illegitimate and in fact, undermining the agenda perversely. What makes matters worse, is that the stance we take in this volume could be misconstrued as a glossing over political injustices and thus be a repetitive violating act of the ‘white gaze’ (Ahmed, 2007) coming with all discursive and symbolic institutional power I seemingly hold. However, it is exactly that small window of power that I – together with my colleagues – try to use for the cause of mainstreaming decolonisation. I hope this effort can be read as an added heterogeneous voice in the quest, rather than as an attempt of appropriation and assimilation. 6. ‘The concept [of postcolonialism] has been rendered even more incoherent by the appropriation of paradigmatic postcolonial concepts (hybridity, borderlands, etc.) for social distinctions that have little to do with colonialism in a strict sense, such as gender, race, ethnicity, etc. … The incoherence also has implications for our understanding of the present. … Increasingly from the 1990s, the postcolonial has dissipated into areas that had nothing to do with the colonial and has been rendered into a literary reading strategy rather than a social and political concept—largely under the influence of the likes of Bhabha’ (Dirlik, 2005, p. 8). 7. Beyond the apparent indication of the end of an era, ‘the period that follows the act and fact of colonization’ the post in postcolonial could legitimately refer to the neo-colonial period so as to subsequently validate an odd phraseology such as ‘postcolonial colonialism’. This uncertain conceptual delimitation could go so far as to ‘raise the spectre of countless posts’ not to talk about the ‘postcolonial of the colonizing’ [Ngugi wa Thiong’o (2012, p. 49f.)]. 8. ‘To remain the universal originator of historical change, the white subject had to always be ‘extra-environmental’ and ‘extra-racial. ‘But would it ever be possible for the white subject to stay completely aloof from the land he colonises? Could he not possibly become altered by environmental influence, by acculturation, and/or by miscegenation? The mere idea of ‘change’ appears logically inconsistent with the discursive designation of the ‘English gentleman’ as an ‘ever-present example’. But if anything, the anxiety over ‘change’ was deeply entrenched in the white community of the British Raj. And this logical contradiction made the colonial discourse of enlightenment equivocal and internally split. Or in Bhahba’s phrase, it made the ‘tongue’ of that language ‘forked, [but] not false’’ (Mizutani, 2009, p. 5). 9. We are grateful to our colleague Driss El Maarouf for this idea and phrasing.

References Ahmed, S. (2007). A phenomenology of whiteness. Feminist Theory, 8(2), 149–168. https:// doi.org/10.1177/1464700107078139 Appiah, K. A. (1992). In my Father’s House: Africa in the Philosophy of Culture. New York: Oxford University Press Ashcroft, Griffiths & Tiffin H. (2004). The Empire Writes Back. Theory and Practice in PostColonial Literatures. London & New York, Routledge. Battiste, M. (2004). Animating Sites of Postcolonial Education: Indigenous Knowledge and the Humanities. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Canadian Society for Studies in Education, Manitoba, MB, May, 2004. Bhabha, H. (1994). The location of culture, 212-235. London: Routledge.

Introduction 15 Bhambra, G. K., Gebrial, D., & Nişancıoğ lu, K. (2018). Decolonising the University. Pluto London Press. Bronfen, E. & Marius, B. (1997). Hybride Kulturen: Beiträge zur anglo-amerikanischen Multikulturalismusdebatte. Tübingen: Stauffenburg. Chow, R. (1993). Writing Diaspora: Tactics of Intervention in Contemporary Cultural Studies. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Clemens, I. (2009). Lost in Transition? Managing paradoxical situations by inventing identities. Paragrana, 18(1), 306-318. Davidson, C. E., Shotton, H. S., Minthorn, R. S., & Waterman, S. J. (2018). The need for indigenizing research in higher education scholarship. Reclaiming Indigenous Research in Higher Education, 7–17. De Sousa Santos, B. (2018). The End of the Cognitive Empire. Duke, Duke University Press. Dei, G. J. S. (2000). Rethinking the role of indigenous knowledges in the academy. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 4(2), 111–132. DeLoughrey, E., & Handley, G. B. (2011). Introduction: Toward an Aesthetics of the Earth. Postcolonial Ecologies: Literatures of the Environment, 3-39. Dirlik, A. (1994). The Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism. Critical Inquiry, 20(2), 328–356. Dirlik, A. (2005). The end of colonialism? The colonial modern in the making of global modernity. Boundary 2, 32(1), 1–31. https://doi.org/10.1215/01903659-32-1-1 Emeagwali, G. T., & Shizha, E. (Eds.) (2016). Anti-colonial educational perspectives for transformative change: Vol. 4. African indigenous knowledge and the sciences: Journeys into the past and present. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Enrique D. Dussel (2012). Transmodernity and interculturality: An interpretation from the perspective of philosophy of liberation. Transmodernity, 1(3), 28–59. Hountondji, P. J. (2002). The Struggle for Meaning. Reflections on Philosophy, Culture, and Democracy in Africa. Athens, Ohio University Center for International Studies. Huaman, E. S., & Brayboy, B. M. J. (Eds.). (2017). Indigenous innovations in higher education: Local knowledge and critical research. Springer, Rotterdam. Kaijage, F. J. (2019). A response to Steven Feierman’s ‘Writing history: flow and blockage in the circulation of knowledge’. Journal of Contemporary African Studies, 37(1), 14–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/02589001.2019.1627295 Kapoor, D. (2009). Education, Decolonization and Development: Perspectives from Asia, Africa and the Americas. Leiden, Nederland: Brill Sense. Kothor, M. (2019, April 8). Race and the Politics of Knowledge Production in African Studies. Black Perspectives. Retrieved from https://www.aaihs.org/ race-and-the-politics-of-knowledge-production-in-african-studies/ Law, J., & Lin, W.y. (2017). Provincializing STS: Postcoloniality, Symmetry, and Method. East Asian Science, Technology and Society, 11(2), 1–17. https://doi. org/10.1215/18752160-3823859 Mambrol, N. (2016). Homi Bhabha’s Concept of Hybridity. Retrieved from https:// literariness.org/2016/04/08/homi-bhabhas-concept-of-hybridity/#comments McClintock, A. (1995). Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest. New York: Routledge. Menezes de Souza, L.M.T. (2017), Multiliteracies and Transcultural Education, In Ofelia Garcia, Nelson Flores, Massimiliano Spotti (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Language and Society, Oxford University Press, pp. 261–278.

16  Irina Turner, Abraham Brahima, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis Mizutani, S. (2009). Hybridity and History: A Critical Reflection on Homi K. Bhabha’s’ Post-Historical'Thought. Institute for Research in Humanities Kyoto UniversityDepartmental Bulletin Paper, 41(03), 1-19. doi:https://doi.org/10.14989/134691 Morozov, V. (2013). Decentring the West: The Idea of Democracy and the Struggle for Hegemony. Farnham, Surrey, England: Ashgate. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2017). The Case for a Decolonised/Africanised Africa, foreword to Vuyisile Msila (Ed.). Decolonising Knowledge for Africa’s Renewal. Examining African Perspectives and Philosophies. Randburg, KR Publishing. Nixon, R. (2005). Environmentalism and postcolonialism. Postcolonial Studies and beyond, 233-51. Pirbhai-Illich, F., Pete, S., & Martin, F. (Eds.). (2017). Culturally Responsive Pedagogy: Working Towards Decolonization, Indigeneity and Interculturalism. Cham, Switzerland Springer. Said, E. W. (1978). Orientalism./Wolfgang Laade Music of Man Archive]. London: Routledge & Kegan. Sarewitz, D. (2010). Normal Science and Limits on Knowledge: What We Seek to Know, What We Choose Not to Know, What We Don’t Bother Knowing, Social Research, 77 (3), pp. 997–1010. Semali, L., & Kincheloe. L. (Eds.). (2011). What is Indigenous Knowledge? Voices from the Academy, New York and London, Routledge. Sillitoe, P. (2007). Local science vs. global science: An overview. Local science vs. global science: Approaches to indigenous knowledge in international development, 1-22. Stein, S., & Andreotti, V. D. O. (2016). Decolonization and higher education. Encyclopedia of educational philosophy and theory. Singapore: Springer Science+ Business Media. doi, 10, 978-981. Turner, I (2019). Axing the Rainbow: Does Fallism Reconfigure Postapartheid Nationhood in South Africa? Modern Africa: Politics, History and Society, 7(1), 81–108. https://doi.org/10.26806/modafr.v7i1.244 Wa Thiong’o. (2012). Globalectics. Theory and the Politics of Knowing. New York, Columbia University Press. Young, R. J. C. (2006). Colonial desire: Hybridity in theory, culture, and race (Repr). London: Routledge.

1

The emergence of decolonisation debates in African higher education A historical perspective Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

Debates on decolonisation of African higher education have evolved over time framed by various socio-economic and political imperatives. The discussion has also been embedded within different historical contexts of the region and the ongoing global transformations. Thus, in order to properly understand the conception of and ongoing debates on decolonisation, it is essential to analyse the historical trajectory of African higher education and its dynamic interactions with African societies. Understanding the historical context allows an in-depth perspective into present debates. The debates range from the initial call for the dismantling of colonial systems established on African territories, to the ideal of liberating institutions from their hegemonic Western ideologies, philosophies, and structures that marginalized African heritages and experiences. African universities were urged to revisit their curriculum to create spaces and resources for dialogue among all epistemological traditions and knowledge systems concerning what was being taught and how it framed the world. The objective of this chapter is, therefore, to provide a historical perspective on the debates of decolonisation, starting with a brief history of African higher education, the early discourses on Africanisation, and then the foundations for the emergence of the decolonisation debates.

Introduction Discussions on decolonisation processes of higher education beg for a clear understanding of the historical trajectory of the sector itself, which necessitated the debate from the very outset. The origin of African higher education is a much debated phenomenon (see Abdi, 2005; Ajayi et al., 1996; Assie-Lumumba, 2006; Lulat, 2005; Mngomezulu, 2013). This debate is prompted, among others, by the fact that there is no consensus on the point of departure. As the chapter argues later, some authors trace the development of higher education in Africa to the precolonial era (Abdi, 2005; Mngomezulu, 2013). Others argue that African higher education institutions are products of colonial intervention (Ajayi et al., 1996). Whatever the point of emphasis, the reality is that African higher education cannot escape

18  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

the debate on the legacy of colonisation still being felt decades after independence. Most current African higher education systems, programmes, curricula, degree structures, mediums of instructions, and organisational settings are based on colonial models. Moreover, their knowledge bases still maintain Eurocentric epistemological traditions that marginalize African perspectives. Thus, in order to properly understand the conception of and ongoing debates on decolonisation, it is essential to analyse the diachronical trajectory of African higher education and its dynamic interactions with African societies. Understanding the historical context allows an in-depth perspective into present debates. It is important to underline the fact that the debates on decolonisation processes in Africa are not a new phenomenon; they have rather come to the fore in the period of independence. Initially, decolonisation referred to the political phenomenon of creating self-governing states (Mazrui, 2003). Nevertheless, the notion has rapidly expanded to incorporate a broad spectrum of issues related to colonial institutions, including their political, economic, and cultural aspects. The debates range from the initial call for the dismantling of colonial systems established on African territories, to the ideal of liberating institutions from their hegemonic Western ideologies, philosophies, and structures that marginalized African heritages and experiences. It is, however, important to bear in mind that discussions on decolonisation and decoloniality are not uniquely African. Early debates on decolonisation in African higher education were framed within the notion of ‘Africanisation’ that calls for the inclusion of African perspectives into postcolonial African institutions. As explained by Makgoba (1997), Africanisation was taken as ‘a process of inclusion that stresses the importance of affirming African cultures and identities in a world community’ (p.1). Since the 1980s, however, the debates have culminated in the search for a more structural and fundamental transformation of postcolonial institutions and their epistemic basis. Thus, the debates have extended both in-depth and breadth challenging the epistemological foundations, contemporary relevance, and representation of African perspectives among higher educational institutions in the contemporary knowledge systems. Although the legacy of colonisation considerably influenced the decolonisation debate on higher education, the roles that postcolonial African institutions have played in the construction and production of knowledge since political independence have also held a significant share in postcolonial discussions. This is partly because the challenges of postcolonial African institutions have also been intrinsically linked to and embedded in ongoing global transformations. Thus, understanding the historical context of their establishment and their roles in the current global knowledge systems is imperative for any decolonisation debate. The objective of this chapter is, therefore, to provide a historical perspective on the debates of decolonisation, starting with a brief history of African higher education, the early discourses on Africanisation, and then

A historical perspective 19

the foundations for the emergence of discussions on decolonisation. It is important to keep in mind, however, that this chapter does not cover the post – 2015 decolonisation discourses in South Africa, since other chapters in this book exhaustively reflect on that.

The emergence of higher education in Africa The origin of African higher education is still a debatable subject as scholars are yet to agree on the point of departure for the history itself. Scholars have been debating whether the precolonial learning spaces in Africa can be considered as higher education (e.g., Ajayi et al., 1996). This is mainly because if the controversy over the meaning of ‘higher education’ in historical contexts and over what constitutes a ‘higher education system.’ It is quite convenient to define higher education within the historical context of the medieval European universities, which were institutionalized in the 17th century. The challenge, however, is how to conceptualize and explain higher education spaces abundantly available but not institutionalized outside the context of European experiences. Thorens (2006) for instance defines higher education as ‘an institution created or allowed by society and the state to participate in the development of knowledge and its dissemination through research and higher education for the welfare of mankind’ (p.19). This definition implies that higher education exists only as an institution and has constant interactions with the state and the society. In one of his comprehensive books on higher education systems, The Higher Education System: Academic Organisation in Cross-National Perspective, Clark (1986) also explained the concept of higher education systems within the context of medieval universities. Clark argues that higher education systems are results of a triangle of forces: professional-collegial, state-managerial, and the market. The professional-collegial are the faculties, departments, and professors, who are part of day-to-day teaching, learning, and researching processes. They are considered autonomous in the process of knowledge production and own professional authority in their disciplines. On the other corner of the triangle, there is the state, which has political power and authority to direct the functions of universities. According to Clark, the third end of the triangle, the market, represents various stakeholders such as society, students, professional associations, employers, etc. These three entities of the triangle interact and negotiate with each other all the time, cooperating, or competing in policy processes. Clark also states that knowledge is the epicentre of the higher education system around which activities are organised. Clark’s discussion was within the historical context of Europe and America as he presumably took nation states as the sole political authorities, disregarding other forms of political structures such as traditional kingdoms and endogenous organizational structures, which abundantly exist in African societies. According to him, in the absence of the above interactions among – institutions, state, and stakeholders – higher education systems do not exist.

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Contrary, Ajayi et al. (1996); Assie-Lumumba (2006), and Lulat (2005) argue that higher education does not necessarily have to be institutionalized and they opt for a broader definition. They argue that higher education can also exist as an assembly of scholars, as a self-directed and independent learning space of peer-to-peer interactions serving the purpose of higher learning. They argue that, even though European models of higher education as an institution were non-existent during precolonial Africa, higher education as an assembly of scholars has already been in place since the 3rd century AD and indigenous forms of learning and transmission of knowledge had been there long before Western colonial hegemony. Within this line of argument scholars (see for instance Assie-Lumumba, 2006; Gennaioli & Rainer, 2007; Lulat, 2005; Michalopoulos & Papaioannu, 2013) extensively documented the genesis of African knowledge systems tracing back to various precolonial foundations that produced complex civilisations, and socio-economic and political institutions. Accordingly, early century African institutions including the various kingdoms, learning spaces like the library of Alexandria, Islamic institutions of North African, the 2,700 year-old tradition of JudeoChristian education of Ethiopia with Ge’ez script are some of the examples cited as evidence for the existence of learning spaces in precolonial Africa. The University of Qarawiyyin in Fes in Morocco, founded in AD 859; the University of Al-Azhar in Cairo in Egypt, founded in AD 972; and Sankoré University in Timbuktu in Mali, traceable to the 12th century, constitute some of the oldest universities in the world. Precolonial African philosophers including the ancient Egyptian philosopher Ptahhorep, the 17th-century Ethiopian philosopher, Zera Yacob (1599–1692); and the Senegalese philosopher, Kocc Barma (1586–1655) were also considered as products of such African foundations (Lange, 1987). Thus, the exclusive interpretation of higher education only within the context of medieval universities in Europe does not provide us with a comprehensive explanation of higher learning spaces in the Global South. Without a thorough understanding of diverse contexts, it is easy to leave with an inadequate analysis that may create the condition for ill-informed conclusions of historical facts and a self-sustaining cycle of misunderstandings and resentment. Despite the discussions on the interpretations of higher education and their historical origin, however, there is a consensus on the fact that the current higher education systems in Africa are products of colonial interventions. By the end of 1885, after the Berlin Conference on the scramble for Africa, virtually all African countries were under the control of European colonial hegemony, which led to the introduction of European institutions among African societies. Even though a multitude of colonial powers including Belgium, Germany, the Netherlands, Italy, Portugal, and Spain have shaped Africa’s roots of modern institutions including higher education, Britain and France played a dominant role and have a legacy on African higher education systems. The European model of higher education was introduced in Africa around the mid-19th century. Fourah Bay College was the first

A historical perspective 21

higher education institution established by colonial powers in Africa in 1827 in Freetown, Sierra Leone. The college was established by the Church Missionary Society of London as an institution for training African clergymen and schoolmasters. In the later years, more institutions were established; including the University of Cape Town (1829), Stellenbosch University (1866), University of Khartoum (1902), Cairo University (1908), University of Algeria (1909), Makerere University (1922), Egerton University (1939), University of Ghana (1948), University of Ibadan (1948) of Niagara, Addis Ababa University (1950), and University of Zimbabwe (1952). It is crucial here to understand the context of their establishment for the decolonisation debate, since the historical emergence and purpose of these institutions were far from the very essence of higher education − the pursuit of knowledge and enlightenment of societies. Historically, the purpose of introducing higher education in the colonies was to train local ‘elite’ required for the smooth running of colonial administration (Ashby, 1961). As a result, only a handful of institutions established in the colonies and enrolments were open to a selected few. At the end of the 1960s, for example, Sub-Saharan Africa had only six universities for a population of 230 million people (Teferra & Altbach, 2004). The University of East Africa (serving Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda) had a total of only 99 graduates for a combined population of 23 million in 1960 (Teferra & Altbach, 2004). Courses and curricula were also introduced to meet this colonial objective. Lulat (2005) in his book ‘A History of African Higher Education from Antiquity to the Present: A Critical Synthesis’ comprehensively documented the programmes introduced in colonial institutions in Africa. According to Lulat, they were related to theology (to train local priests and pastors), language and cultural studies (mostly for interpreters), health assistants, and other technical disciplines including bookkeeping (to assist colonial administration). The interests of local Africans in the making and development of these institutions and programmes were neither reflected nor accommodated. Moreover, in most instances, where a significant number of European settlers existed, for example, in the Southern part of Africa, locals were significantly marginalized from accessing higher education institutions. The British were the first to have relatively structured policies of education for their colonies (Ajayi et al., 1996). British colonial higher education policies were products of recommendations from various advisory groups under the supervision of missionaries, who used to serve as informants for colonial administration. One of the British colonial policies on higher education was crafted by Richard R. Madden based on a survey conducted on West African Colonies of Gambia, Sierra Leone, and the Gold Coast in 1941 (Commission, 1945). This policy was framed within the concept of ‘indirect rule’ where the matter of handling the issues of education in colonies was left for missionaries, British universities, and local administrators. Even though these universities had been established in Africa, the entire functioning of the institutions including granting degrees, assigning professors, curriculum

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approvals, leadership of the universities were left to British universities in the United Kingdom. Thus, in a true sense, they were not African institutions; rather, they were British universities in the colonies. Contrary to the British colonial higher education policy, the policy of the French colonies of Africa was shaped by their colonial ideology of ‘assimilation’ and ‘direct rule.’ The French assimilation concept was first introduced by the philosopher Chris Talbot in 1837 (Zeleza, 2006). It was based on the idea of expanding French culture to the colonies outside of France in the 19th and 20th centuries. Natives of these colonies were considered French citizens as long as they adopted French culture and customs. The official statements of governors general of France in the 1920s clearly indicate these: Above all else, education proposes to expand the influence of the French language, in order to establish the [French] nationality or culture in Africa … it is a matter of training an indigenous staff destined to become our assistants throughout the domains, and to assure the ascension of a carefully chosen elite, … to bring them nearer to us and to change their way of life (Bulletin de l’Enseignment en AOF, No. 74, 1931.). Though the French provided a considerable number of basic education in Africa, they established a small number of higher education institutions in their colonies. French colonial powers found sending few Africans to France to learn the French language, culture, and way of life easier and cheaper than establishing higher education institutions in their colonies. As Assie-Lumumba (2006) describes it citing Ajayi et al. (1996), this policy basically left the mass of Africans uneducated and groomed a selected few as modern, co-opted as loyal upholders of French culture and colonial rule, by encouraging them to complete their education in France and to feel more at home in Paris than in Africa (Assie-Lumumba, 2006). As a result, there were only a few higher education institutions until the 1950s in French colonial Africa. Among the few institutions established by French colonial power were the Tananarive Medical Institute (1896); Medical College of Dakar (1918); the École Normale William Ponty (1903); and a school of veterinary medicine and polytechnic in Bamako (Zeleza, 2006). Just like the British establishments, French colonial higher education institutions were not autonomous African institutions; they were considered overseas campuses of French universities. When the University of Dakar was established, for instance, a decree from the French Ministry of Education named it as the 18th university in the French higher education system (Lulat, 2005). Portuguese colonies also had a similar experience as the French. Even though the Portuguese were in Africa much earlier than other colonial powers, their efforts to expand education in their colonies were meagre, and no form of higher education existed in Portuguese colonial Africa until the early 1960s. The illiteracy rate, as indicated among Africans in 1958, for

A historical perspective 23

instance, was close to 100 per cent in Portuguese colonies of Angola and Mozambique (Azevedo, 1980; Kitchen, 1962). Establishing educational institutions for their colonies was not on their colonial agenda at all. Even though in 1962, Portuguese set up two higher education institutions, which in 1968 would become the University of Luanda and the University of Lourenco Marques, both universities were established to serve only Portuguese settlers (Woldegiorgis & Doevenspeck, 2013). Out of a student population of 540 at the University of Lourenco Marques in 1966, for instance, only one student was a Mozambican African (Azevedo, 1980, p.199). All other institutions in lusophone Africa were established after the Portuguese had left. Establishing higher education in post-Portuguese colonial Africa was not an easy venture as the entire system started from scratch. For instance, at the time of independence, Portuguese African countries had no single African professor even in the established universities (Woldegiorgis & Doevenspeck, 2013). In general, the objective of colonial powers in establishing higher education institutions in Africa was not to address the socio-economic problems of African societies; instead, it was basically to facilitate the smooth running of colonial administrations. The programmes, courses, and training selected were based on colonial interests. Not only were African heritage, languages, religions, and cultures ignored and excluded but they were also depicted as backward and uncivilized; as the only way to become civilized was to uphold the European way of life − to learn a colonial language, to be baptized as a Christian and to accept European culture. Colonial higher education institutions in Africa were not only exclusionary in nature and irrelevant to African societies but also distractive to the pre-existing indigenous learning spaces. Indigenous learning is a complex accumulation of locally contextualized knowledge that embraces the elements of ancestral knowing as well as the legacies of diverse histories and cultural experiences (Dei, 2008). To precolonial African communities, indigenous knowledge was a feasible tool for reclaiming their context relevant ways of knowing that had deliberately been suppressed by Western knowledge and often been branded as inferior, superstitious, and backward. As a result, traditional notions of learning and the philosophy of education in Africa have been disconnected from their historical past and new exogenous models of institutions, which were not along with African roots, were imposed through colonisation. This resulted in a structural collapse of the African societies illustrated in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart (1958). Achebe demonstrates the erosion of African institutions, in his most authentic narrative, showing what happened in the Igbo society of Nigeria at the time of its colonisation by the British. Because of structural collapse within the social fabric of the locals and the divided nature of Igbo society, the community of Umuofia in this novel is unable to withstand the tidal wave of foreign religion, way of learning, technology, and government. In principle, the role of higher education and its philosophy evolves through time with continuous interaction of the state, the society (the market), and

24  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

the academic oligarchy, as Clark (1986) demonstrates. Even in postcolonial African higher education, however, these interactions have always been imperfect since the current higher education systems did not evolve out of the interaction of the aforementioned; instead, they were imposed over pre-existing learning spaces. Thus, in any decolonisation debate, it is imperative to understand the context of ‘the colonized society upon which Western knowledge was imposed … its motives and compare them to their indigenous way of knowing’ (Akena, 2012, p.603). Failing to do so would lead to misapprehension and distortion of the foundation of the decolonisation debate. Even though at the end of the 19th century European models of education were set up by colonial administrations, the process of disrupting indigenous learning spaces and introducing colonial institutions in Africa was not an easy adventure for colonial powers. As stated by Assie-Lumumba (2006) ‘the reaction of Africans in general, when European education was first introduced, was characterized by the overwhelming rejection by leaders and the general population’ (p. 30). African societies considered rejecting European schools and education systems as one way of resisting the disconnection from their own historical heritage. Colonial education at the early stage was communicated through Christian missionaries who brought in new religions, languages, and cultures foreign to African realities. This situation was understood as a threat to Indigenous culture, religions, and traditional institutions. For instance, in North Africa, Muslim families were resisting to send their children to colonial schools (Kane, 2016). They were perceived as ‘Christian’ (nasr ā n ī) institutions even if the French had developed laic principles for their school curricula. The introduction of the medersa1 could not dissolve the hesitations, and, as a result, these institutions did not turn out to be successful. Over time, however, the European model of education and its institutions became hegemonic in Africa, and access to higher education became an instrument for serving the colonial administration and for assuming a better position in the society. Thus, more and more people started to aspire for European education including higher education as it became the most important avenue towards upward mobility in the socioeconomic and political ladder and an instrument for self-determination. The significance of accessing higher education for upper social mobility has undoubtedly been recognized and positively embraced by African societies but the relevance of African institutions in their colonial forms has always been scrutinized. Even if most African countries have managed to obtain political independence and regain colonial institutions since the 1960s, liberating them from colonial epistemic traditions has not yet been a success story. Thus, it is within this historical context and trajectory that discussions on decolonisation of African higher education started with the objective of having an inclusive and pluralistic epistemic approach in the production, dissemination, application, promotion, protection, control, and utilisation of knowledge.

A historical perspective 25

The rise of decolonisation debates in African higher education Even though the discussion on decolonisation of higher education in Africa has been there for a long time, the way how the debates have been framed changed. The early debates in the 1960s and 70s were contextualized within the notion of ‘Pan-Africanism,’ ‘Africanisation,’ or ‘African Renaissance.’ In the post-1980s, however, the discussions have become more structural, questioning the very essence of Eurocentric epistemologies and alternative ways towards decolonisation. This section discusses these developments from a historical perspective. Africanisation The years following immediately after independence, were considered landmarks in the struggle for consolidating African identity as the newly independent states were working on various postcolonial restructuring issues including nation/state-building processes, decolonisation of colonial institutions, reconstructing African identity, and embarking on policies of economic development. This was also the beginning of the so-called ‘development decade’ as declared by the United Nations in the 1960s, whereby issues of development dominated the political discourse of African governments. Thus, the higher education sector, along with primary and secondary education, was given high priority by newly established African governments in order to train more professionals and skilled workforce to replace and expand the newly decolonised African institutions (Yesufu, 1973). Emerging out of the colonial experience with new socio-economic and political aspirations that represent African societies was the core ideological base of African nationalists of the time, including Kwame Nkrumah, Julius Nyerere, Jomo Kenyatta, Mobutu Sese Seko, and Patrice Lumumba. Some of these pan-Africanists were also intellectuals who were on the frontline of decolonisation discourses. Julius Nyerere, the first president of Tanzania, for instance, was a historian and economist trained at Edinburgh University in Scotland. He was the first black chancellor of the University of East Africa2 and known for his articulation of African socialism. He also translated two of Shakespeare’s plays into Kiswahili – Julius Caesar and The Merchant of Venice – which was published by Oxford University Press in 19633. Nyerere was critical about the dilemma of Africanisation facing African universities of his time. As he indicated in his 1965 speech at the University of East Africa: There are two possible dangers facing a university in a developing nation: the danger of blindly adoring mythical ‘international standards’ which may cast a shadow on national development objectives, and the danger of forcing our university to look inwards and isolate itself from the world (cited in Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017, p. 63).

26  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

Prior to his leadership as the president of Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo), Mobutu Sese Seko was also a reporter for the daily L’Avenir ‘The Future’ and later editor of the weekly Actualités Africaines, where he started to vent his criticisms on colonisation. His ideas of decolonisation of African institutions, however, became more vocal after he assumed power in 1965. Questioning the relevance of African universities of the 1960s, for example, he said: We need to emancipate the educational system in the Congo from the Western model by going back to Authenticity while paying due attention to scientific knowledge…It would be more desirable to have an educational system, which shapes the youth according to our requirements. That would make them authentically Congolese. Their ideas, reasoning and actions would be Congolese, and they would see the future in Congolese (cited in Mkandawire, 2005, pp. 22-23). The origin of the discourse of decolonisation of higher education was, therefore, framed within the notion of ‘Africanisation’ in the 1950s and 60s. It was during this time that discussions on the process of Africanisation and later decolonisation have emerged as a debate in higher education with the intent of deconstructing colonial epistemologies and emancipating African institutions from neocolonial and Eurocentric orientations. In order to pave the way for this to happen, the argument was that African higher education systems needed to address the challenge of creating a mindset shift from Eurocentric to an African paradigm. Citing Ntuli (1999), and Nkoane (2006) explained Eurocentrism as: ‘anti-universalist, since it is not interested in seeking possible general laws of human evolution. [Yet] it does present itself as a universalist, for it claims that imitation of the Western model by all peoples is the only solution to the challenges of our time’ (p. 51). The notion of ‘Africanisation’ at the beginning was not, however, a well-articulated academic debate but rather started as a movement along with the idea of Pan-Africanism among intellectuals of the black diaspora. It however, gradually evolved and became the foundation for the decolonisation debate on the continent (see Makgoba, 1997; Ramose, 1998). One of the most prominent intellectuals of the black diaspora who led the foundation of Pan-Africanism and its congress was the sociologist W.E.B Du Bois. The congress also attracted black nationalists of African background, including Nkrumah and Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya (Mkandawire, 2005). It was on this Pan-African Congress that for the first time the idea of Africanisation vaguely surfaced at the end of the 1940s. As a political movement in the diaspora, Africanisation was expressed as a conscious and deliberate sociopolitical movement with an assertion of nothing more than the right to be African and the demand for an economic and political inclusion stressing the importance of affirming African cultures and identities (Mkandawire, 2005). The early Pan-Africanists articulated ‘Africanisation’ as upholding of African

A historical perspective 27

aspirations, descent, cultural heritage, and identity (Seepe, 2004). Moreover, the notion of Africanisation was also loosely equated with the essence of liberation, cultural ownership, and reclaiming African heritages, including languages. Defining and conceptualizing ‘Africanisation’ in higher education is complex because the concept itself is all-encompassing; from embracing African culture and identity to a fundamental ‘mindset shift from European to African paradigms’; to borrow the expression of Makgoba (1997). This was also reflected in the first ever structured conference organized by the Association of African Universities (AAU) on the theme ‘Creating the African University’ in 1973 in Accra, Ghana. The fundamental question that shaped the conference discussion was ‘what does it mean to be an African university?’ with responses mostly being related to the relevance of what is taught (Yesufu, 1973). The principal argument was that African universities should embrace African identity by revisiting their colonial structures in order to include African thoughts in their curricula, courses, and syllabus. The conference was a call to take the notion of Africanisation beyond pan-African rhetoric and frame it into a more actual policy debate towards the emergence of an ‘African identity’ in higher education. Ajayi (1973) in his paper ‘Towards an African Academic Community,’ for instance, argued that having a community is a precondition for identity construction and therefore strengthening an African academic community is paramount for any Africanisation endeavours. His argument emphasized the importance of having an African academic identity parallel to curriculum restructuring processes. In his discussion, however, Ajayi fails to clearly address the question of what makes an academic community African. Or how do academic communities embrace an African identity? Nevertheless, the debates of the time on Africanisation resonated mostly with the socio-cultural and political emancipation of African institutions from European institutional culture. Even though the call for socio-cultural and political emancipation dominated the early discussions on Africanisation, they later embraced the notion of ‘economic empowerment’ and ‘development’ in the late 1970s. This combination was framed within the notion of ‘African Renaissance.’ The idea of African Renaissance was also coined as a movement and aspiration to overcome the postcolonial challenges of Africa and achieve cultural, scientific, and economic restoration (Nkoane, 2006). The concept was first articulated by Cheikh Anta Diop in a series of essays, which are collected in his book ‘Towards the African Renaissance: Essays in Culture and Development, 19461960.’ Underlying the view of ‘renaissance,’ the Africanisation discourse has embraced the notion as ‘the rebirth’ or ‘reawakening’ of African institutions, a ‘reconstituting of that, which has decayed or disintegrated’ (Nkoane, 2006, p. 59). Nkoane (2006) explained African Renaissance within the context of higher education as ‘the re-invigorating of Africa’s intellectuals, and the production of knowledge, which is relevant, effective, and empowering for

28  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

the people of the African continent, and more particularly, the immediate African societies the universities serve’ (p. 49). The early discussion on Africanisation, however, was not comprehensive enough to bring out fundamental epistemological issues – methodology, theories, or production, dissemination, application, promotion, protection, control and utilisation of knowledge – since the core area of the debate rather existed as a movement focused on matters of representation and embracing African identity within postcolonial institutions. Generally, actions such as replacing foreign professors by locals, introducing African languages in the education systems, deconstructing Euro-centric narratives of African cultures, introducing Africa focused courses and programmes, reorienting education systems, and curriculum towards the development needs of African societies, etc. were seen as manifestations of Africanisation in the late 1960s and 70s. At the same time, Africanisation was not free from criticism since some scholars (see Eicher, 1973; Fanon, 1963; Ki-Zerbo, 1973) considered Africanisation as a normative Afro-centric notion of nationalism, which could leave Africa in isolation from the rest of the world. For instance, Ki-Zerbo (1973) argued that such a sense of extreme desire to disconnect African universities from their European origin to the extent of replacing European professors by Africans might lead to intellectual isolation. Fanon (1963) also criticized the movement of Africanisation as ‘an Afro-centric political agenda,’ which hardly could survive in the context of higher education because of the universal and international characteristics of modern universities. In a recently published book, titled ‘Partnership in Higher Education’ Woldegiorgis and Scherer (2019); also indicate that as African universities establish more international collaborations with other knowledge nodes across the world, they tend to internationalize their curricula, instead of localizing them. The authors argue that it is hardly possible to materialize the notion of Africanisation, in its narrow sense, as African universities engage more in partnership with their international peers. Moreover, those Africans who were replacing European professors, in the 1970s and 80s had also been trained either in European universities or by European professors in Africa. Thus, there was a considerable pessimism about the prospect of Africanisation in the sense of making a fundamental ‘African mindset shift from the European to an African paradigm’ as claimed by Makgoba (1997). However, Fanon (1963) criticized the Africanisation movement of the 1960s based on the political context of the time. In the aftermath of independence, Africanisation was hijacked by narrow nationalists and interpreted as merely getting rid of all foreigners from colonial institutions, including those from other African countries (Mbembe, 2016). After witnessing events like, what we call now ‘xenophobic’ or ‘Afrophobic’ attacks against other Africans in the Ivory Coast, Senegal, and the Congo, Fanon, Sartre & Farrington (1963)

A historical perspective 29

was extremely critical of the way how the concept of ‘Africanisation’ had been misinterpreted (Mbembe, 2016). He argued that Africanisation tends to lead to inverted racism. Despite the debates and criticism, however, Africanisation as a concept is still used explaining ‘the process or vehicle for defining, interpreting, promoting and transmitting African thought, philosophy, identity, and culture. It encompasses an African mindset shift from the European to an African paradigm’ (Makgoba, 1997, p.203). Decolonisation The debate on retaining African identity through Africanisation, however, later framed more within the notion of ‘decolonisation’ attracting more African scholars in the field of social science and humanities. African scholars such as Cheikh Anta Diop, Jacob Ade Ajayi, Ng ũg ĩ wa Thiong’o, Chinua Achebe, Achille Mbembe, Ali Mazrui, Okot P’Bitek and Wole Soyinka critically debated the process of decolonisation and postcolonial theories. Prominent African novelist and postcolonial theorist Ng ũg ĩ wa Thiong’o, for example, published one of his postcolonial theories ‘Decolonising the Mind’ in 1981 implying that it is not only the institutions that need to be decolonised but also the infrastructure of thinking. Wa Thiong’o brought the politics of language or mother tongue at the centre of the decolonisation debate and became a leading advocate for a critical rethinking of the legacies of colonialisation and its accompanying epistemologies. Wa Thiong’o (1981) did not often use ‘Africanisation’ rather decolonisation as a revolutionary approach to the search for what he calls ‘a liberating perspective’ – a perspective that can allow us ‘to see ourselves clearly in relationship to other-selves in the universe’ (p. 87). He argues that the construction of knowledge is fundamentally embedded in language and culture, as language is a fundamental infrastructure for epistemic access. Thus, for the African mind to be genuinely decolonised, according to Wa Thiong’o, the language of instruction should be the mother tongue. He argues that decolonising is about liberating the mind with a different set of knowledge paradigms; belief systems, experience, and social capital – and language become the instruments for all these (Fomunyam, 2019). Taking the above discussions into account, one can clearly observe a conceptual overlap and similarities between Africanisation and decolonisation as both concepts aspire to have a fundamental transformation of colonial structures and systems to a perspective that accommodates and recognized African heritages. The concept of decolonisation, however, goes beyond introducing African values; rather it aims at a fundamental epistemological transformation towards an inclusive approach of what should count as knowledge. It is a call for a deliberate change of Eurocentric epistemologies that have excluded African perspectives. Decolonisation in the context of higher education fundamentally challenges the Eurocentric notion of knowledge production that

30  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

asserts Western values and ideals as closest to objective truth and claim to be the standard of measuring rationality, truth, reality, and civilisation in other parts of the world. Decolonisation of higher education is, therefore, an ideal that goes against the notion of Eurocentrism; urges, however, to consider alternative paradigms that accommodate African epistemologies. One of the decolonisation arguments in the postcolonial universities is also based on the assertion that colonial systems created a legacy that violently silenced local knowledge systems and undermined their role in higher education. For instance, Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff (2012) in their essay ‘Theory from the South: Or, how Euro-America is Evolving Toward Africa’ discussed the violent nature of Eurocentric approaches disarming indigenous epistemologies in Africa. Decolonisation consequently is a call against this hegemonic project, which violently delegitimized and repressed indigenous knowledge systems and intrinsically portrayed the colonial subjects as primitive ‘others.’ Thus, it is both a political and an academic project against the Eurocentric mindset of knowledge production, which asymmetrically obliterates the trace of that ‘other’ in its subjectivity through undermining local enlightenments. This is also what Spivak (1998), following the post-structural critical theorist Michel Foucault, described as ‘epistemic violence.’ The concept of epistemic violence has been part of the decolonisation debate to draw attention to the problematic and constitutive entanglements between power and production of knowledge. In this context, decolonisation is a demand for a fundamental transformation of the politics of knowledge in higher education institutions to bring epistemic justice recognizing and accepting the epistemological paradigm of ‘others’ as one among knowledges that ought to inform education curriculum in Africa. Decolonisation is often induced as an event of interruption of a specific process or characteristic considered ‘colonial’ and therefore, undesirable (Spivak, 1998). Nevertheless, a quest for a fundamental transformation of knowledge structures in Africa does not, however, mean that Africans should stretch back to precolonial settings to reach epistemic closure. This kind of understanding tends to wrongly imply that epistemic decolonisation begs for closure holding that the solution for Africa’s existing challenges lies in going back several decades and starting again. Such kinds of dualistic narratives that romanticize the precolonial heritage and demonize the rest lead us into a self-sustaining cycle of misunderstanding and resentment. Instead, decolonisation is a quest for a genuine and active measure to break Eurocentric epistemic canon – especially those that continue to alienate, marginalize, and silence the African experience in the theorisation, production, and distribution of knowledge. As discussed by Mbembe (2016), one of the reasons, which still makes decolonisation a relevant debate, is the abundance of Eurocentric canon within African higher education institutions, which attributes truth only to the Western way of knowledge production. ‘It is a canon that disregards other epistemic traditions’ (Mbembe 2016, p. 32).

A historical perspective 31

Thus, the debate on decolonisation is the ideal one to reorient, restructure, revisit, African universities – epistemologies, spaces, systems, curriculum, language, etc. to make them more inclusive and relevant for Africa. Decolonising African universities and African societies are closely related since African universities have been part of the major chain of dependency that continues to tie Africa to the Western world. Mazrui (2003), for instance, argued that ‘African universities have been the highest transmitters of Western culture in African societies. The high priests of Western civilisation in the continent are virtually all products of those cultural seminaries called “universities”‘(Mazrui 2003, p.147). Mazrui stated that higher education in Africa is caught up in the tension between its ambition to promote genuine decolonisation and its continuing role in the consolidation of Eurocentric epistemological dependency.

The decline of decolonisation debates in the 1980s Emerging out of colonial experience in the 1960s and 70s, many African intellectuals needed to deal with and debate about issues of Africanisation and decolonisation within African institutions. There were great hopes and aspirations to transform colonial institutions and make them reflective of African realities. There had also been relatively high political commitment among African governments and development partners to revitalize the higher education sector in the continent as an engine of development for the renaissance of Africa immediately after independence. These early aspirations and initiatives were, however, shattered during the 1980s economic crisis, which deteriorated and hit the African higher education sector hard. Most economies of Africa states were on the verge of collapse, and in some cases, it took them 20 years to recover (Bennell, 2017). The economic crisis affected not only institutions but also the daily lives of African academics. For instance, the high rate of inflation of the time made real values of wages meagre, and in most African universities, they fell by 30 per cent on average between 1980 and 1986 (Ogom, 2007). At the end of the 1980s, a lecturer’s salary in Uganda, for instance, was just USD 19 a month; barely enough to buy a week’s worth of food. According to Ogom (2007), public university salaries in Nigeria in 1987 were only 10 per cent of their 1978 real value. This was also the period where several African intellectuals left the continent, and brain drain became a significant concern. According to Teferra and Altbach (2004), Africa lost a third of its professionals to the developed countries in the 1980s; the same study, for instance, indicated that Sudan lost 20 per cent of its university teaching staff in the early 1980s. Mazrui (2003) discussed the academic crisis of the 1980s as ‘the decline of African intellectualism’ in his paper ‘Who Killed Intellectualism in the Post-Colonial Era?.’ He argues that the 1960s and 70s period in Africa had been the peak of African intellectualism whereby debates on Pan-Africanism, Africanisation, and decolonisation flourished but then declined at the end of the 80s.

32  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

The combination of socio-economic and political challenges of the time contributed to the higher education crisis in the 1980s and early 1990s, which was manifested through deteriorating infrastructure, inadequate finance, and funding, poor educational facilities, problems of quality and relevance, a critical shortage of faculty, and colossal brain drain. The aggregate effect of all these challenges made the African higher education sector assume a marginal position in the global market for knowledge production and dissemination since then. The economic crisis also made African governments weak and incapable of meeting the promises of independence, which later made them more dependent on international financial institutions and donors. This is also the time where structural adjustment programmes were imposed by the International Monetary Fund and implemented by many African governments (Helleiner, 1983). Thus, the 1980s crisis somehow discouraged the notion of Africanisation of higher education and made most African governments look for international support and integration into the global knowledge system. The economic recovery in the post-1990s, however, changed the higher education landscape of Africa and brought it to the forefront of policy discourses among African governments and scholars. This led to a discussion of repositioning and realignment of the sector once again as a significant player in African societies. The higher education sector has also expanded not only in terms of size and number of institutions but also in terms of having diversified programs. This period marked the introduction and expansion of not only private higher education institutions but also Information Communication Technology in the higher education sector which facilitated cross-border, distance, and online education in the region. These developments have facilitated the movement of capital and labour across borders, which further promoted international student mobility and a shift in focus into the discourses of ‘internationalization’ in higher education. Internationalization is ‘the process of integrating an international, intercultural or global dimension into the purpose, functions, or delivery of higher education’ (Knight, 2008, p.2). Thus, the decolonisation discourse gradually declined in most African countries in the post 1990s, as internationalization started to dominate the higher education policy discourses. Nevertheless, it resurfaced and emerged as a new debate in post-apartheid South Africa in the new millennium.

Conclusion The chapter discussed the foundations of decolonisation debates in higher education within their historical context of origin in Africa. Tracing back to precolonial learning spaces, it argued that Africa had distinct learning and epistemological traditions embedded in Indigenous cultures yet disrupted by colonial models. Thus, decolonisation is a call for embracing and including African perspectives in the current higher education systems of Africa. The chapter argues that the historical trajectory of the decolonisation debates in higher education goes back to the early Pan-African movement among

A historical perspective 33

African intellectuals in the diaspora. Initially, the discussion was framed as Africanisation and socio-cultural and economic emancipation from colonial institutions. The debate gradually evolved and consolidated as a quest for epistemological transformation of knowledge systems. African universities were urged to revisit their curriculum to create spaces and resources for dialogue among all epistemological traditions and knowledge systems concerning what was being taught and how it framed the world. The fundamental objective of decolonisation in higher education is to consider multiple perspectives and make space for a pluralistic approach and thereby challenge the widespread assumption that the most valuable knowledge and the most valuable ways of teaching and learning come from a single Eurocentric tradition. Decolonisation calls for the reinvigoration of Africa’s higher education, and production of knowledges, which are relevant for the people of the African continent, as well as for the societies these universities serve.

Notes



1. ‘Madrasa, is an Islamic college, literally a “place of instruction,” especially instruction in religious law. In medieval usage, the term referred to an institution providing intermediate and advanced instruction in Islamic law and related subjects. This contrasted with elementary schools, which provided basic Quran instruction, and non-religious institutions, which provided instruction in such subjects as medicine. In modern usage, the term usually applies to schools offering Islamic religious instruction at any level. The madrasa can be considered as a building, as a legal entity, and as a n educational institution.’ Encyclopedia of the Modern Middle East and North Africa Spellberg, Denise A. 2. Consisting of the University of Makerere in Uganda, the University of Nairobi in Kenya, and the University of Dares Salaam in Tanzania. 3. Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare Translated into Kiswahili by Julius Kambarage Nyerere London and Nirobi, Oxford University Press, 1963. p. 96

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34  Emnet T. Woldegiorgis Azevedo, M. (1980). A century of colonial education in Mozambique. In A. T. Mugomba & Nyaggah, M. (Eds.), Studies in international and comparative politics:. Vol. 13. Independence without freedom: The polit. economy of colonial education in Southern Africa. Santa Barbara, Calif.: ABC-Clio. Bennell, P. (2017). British industrial investment in sub-Saharan Africa: corporate responses to economic crisis in the 1980s. In Development Policy Review, 8(2):155–177· Bulletin de l’Enseignment en AOF, No. 74, 1931. Governor-General Jules Brevie ( January -March), 3-6. Clark, B. (1986). The Higher Education System: Academic Organisation in Cross-National Perspective. Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press. Comaroff, J., & Comaroff, J. (2012). Theory from the South: Or, how Euro-America is Evolving Toward Africa. A Journal of Social Anthropology and Comparative Sociology, 22(2), 113–131. doi:https://doi.org/10.1080/00664677.2012.694169 Commission, C.H. (1945). Colonial Office: Colonial Higher Education Commission (Asquith Commission, 1943-1944).( J. Asquith, (Ed.) London Colonial Higher Education Commission. Dei, G.J.S. (2008). Indigenous knowledge studies and the next generation: Pedagogical possibilities for anti-colonial education. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 37(S1), 5–13. Diop, C.A. (1996). Towards the African Renaissance: Essays in culture and development, 1946–1960 (E. P. Modum, trans.). London: The Estate of Cheikh Anta Diop and Karnak House. Originally published in French as Diop, CA (1990). Alerte sous les tropiques. Paris: The Estate of Cheikh Anta Diop and Présence Africaine. Trenton, New Jersey (NJ). The Red Sea Press. Eicher, C.K. (1973). Overcoming intellectual dependence. In T. Yesufu (Ed.). Creating the African University: Emerging Issues in the 1970s (pp. 27–34). London: Oxford University Press. Fanon, F., Sartre, J.P., & Farrington, C. (1963). The Wretched of the Earth (Vol. 36). New York: Grove Press. Fomunyam, K. G. (2019). Theorising Decolonisation Globalisation and Internationalisation in Higher Education. In Decolonising Higher Education in the Era of Globalisation and Internationalisation (Vol. 273, No. 272). SUN MeDIA. Gennaioli, N., & Rainer, I. (2007). The modern impact of precolonial centralisation in Africa. Journal of Economic Growth, 12(3), 185–234. Helleiner, G.K. (1983). The IMF and Africa in the 1980s. Canadian Journal of African Studies/La Revue Canadienne Des Études Africaines, 17(1), 17–33. Kane, O. (2016). Beyond Timbuktu: An Intellectual History of Muslim West Africa. Harvard University Press. Kitchen, H.A. (Ed.). (1962). The Educated African: A Country-by-Country Survey of Educational Development in Africa. Westport CT: Praeger Publishers. Ki-Zerbo, J. (1973). Africanisation of higher education curriculum. In T. Yesufu, Creating the African University (pp. 11–20). Oxford: University Press. Lange, W. (1987). The source of African philosophy: The Ethiopian Philosophy of man by Claude Sumner. The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 20 (4), 734–735. Lulat, Y.G.-M. (2005). A History of African Higher Education from Antiquity to the Present. Westport CT: Praeger Publishers. Makgoba, M. (1997) Mokoko: The Makgoba Affair - A Reflection on Transformation. Vivlia: Florida.

A historical perspective 35 Mazrui, A.A. (2003). Towards re-africanizing african universities: Who killed intellectualism in the post colonial era?. Alternatives: Turkish Journal of International Relations, 2(135–163). Mbembe, A. (2016). Decolonizing the university: New directions. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), 29–45. Michalopoulos, S., & Papaioannou, E. (2013). Pre‐colonial ethnic institutions and contemporary African development. Econometrica, 81(1), 113–152. Mkandawire, Thandika (2005) African intellectuals and nationalism. In: African Intellectuals: Rethinking Politics, Language, Gender and Development. Africa in the new millennium. Zed Books in association with CODESRIA Books, London, UK, pp. 10-55. ISBN 9781842776209 Mngomezulu, B.R. (2013). What does the Africanisation of a university entail? Lessons from East Africa. Africa: Journal of Politics, Economics, and Society, 3(1), 97–113. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S.J. (2017). The emergence and trajectories of struggles for an ‘African university’: The case of unfinished business of African epistemic decolonisation. Kronos, 43(1), 51–77. Nkoane, M.M. (2006). The Africanisation of the university in Africa. Alternation, 13(1), 49–69. Ntuli, P. (1999) “The Missing Link Between Culture And Education: Are We Still Chasing Gods That Are Not Our Own?” In: Makgoba, M.W. ed. African Renaissance. Cape Town, South Africa: Mafube-Tafelberg Ogom, R.O. (2007). Tertiary education and development in Sub-Saharan Africa at the dawn of the twenty first century: A lost hope, or present opportunity. National Social Science Journal, 29(1), 108–120. Ramose, M.B. (1998) ‘Foreword’ In S. Seepe (Ed.). Black Perspectives on Tertiary Institutional Transformation. Johannesburg: Vivlia. Seepe, S. (2004). Towards an African identity of higher education. Pretoria: Vista University and Skotaville Media. Spivak, G. (1998). Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson and L. Grossberg (Eds.). Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture (pp. 66–111). Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Teferra, D., & Altbachl, P. G. (2004). African Higher Education: Challenges for the 21st Century. Higher Education, 47(1), 21–50. Thorens, J. (2006). Liberties, freedom and autonomy: A few reflections on academia’s estate. Higher Education Policy, 19(1), 87–110. Wa, Thiongo. O. Ngugi. (1981). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. London: J. Currey Woldegiorgis, E., & Scherer, C. (Eds.). (2019). Partnership in Higher Education. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill | Sense. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004411876 Woldegiorgis, E.T. (2019). Higher education partnership in Africa: The case of the PanAfrican University network and the Mwalimu Nyerere mobility programme. In E. Woldegiorgis and C. Scherer (Eds.). Partnership in Higher Education (pp. 12–28). Brill Sense Leiden. The Netherlands: Brill | Sense. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004411876. Woldegiorgis, E.T., & Doevenspeck, M. (2013). The changing role of higher education in Africa: “A historical reflection”. Higher Education Studies, 3(6), 35–45. Yesufu, T. (1973). Creating the African University. Oxford: University Press. Zeleza, P.T. (2006). Beyond Afropessimism: Historical accounting of African Universities. Pambazuka News.

2

An integrated approach towards decolonising higher education A perspective from anthropology Vanessa Wijngaarden and Grace Ese-Osa Idahosa

Introduction If science1 is to be a truly global knowledge system, then why is African knowledge considered specifically African but European knowledge often automatically deemed universal?2 In the modernist view of the West as a ‘culture of no culture’ (Franklin, 1995, p. 179), Western contexts are often approached as more neutral, forgetting that the West is home to the minority of the world’s population, and many of its conditions are specific, temporal, and diverge from other areas. This also happens in scientific knowledge production. Even though, here, the need for conscientiousness and responsibility is magnified; first, because science is such a powerful knowledge system and second, because it hopes to produce a global kind of knowledge created by and of service to all of humankind. Academic debates are defined by a specific set of rules and conventions, and guided by preferences for and exclusion of certain languages, knowledges, and media; while day to day academic practices take place within unequal processes of socialisation and subordination. The unequal representation and positioning of Western knowledge systems as universal and dominant, to the detriment of other knowledge systems, prevents science from being a truly global knowledge system. In critiquing this dominance, scholars have underlined the significance of engaging in a radical process of redefining educational standards, to ensure that teaching and learning in the Global South and North occurs within appropriate contextual relevance and takes into account a broad spectrum of perspectives, ideologies, and knowledges (Makgoba & Seepe, 2004; Mamdani, 1998; Mbembe, 2016; Ndlovu Gatsheni, 2016). How epistemic diversity can be achieved in practice, has been less clear. In this chapter, we provide some practical pathways towards the achievement of a cross-cultural dialogue within academic debates and knowledge production contributing to insights into blind spots as well as to the creation of spaces for disruption and possibilities for transformation. We will focus less on the associated organisational aspects of decolonisation of higher education, for example, through de-privatisation and rehabilitation of the public space and democratisation of access, as argued for by scholars like Mbembe (2015). Instead, we focus

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on the personal and internal aspects involved in decolonising higher education, exploring an openness towards multiple ontologies, epistemologies, and methodologies and subjecting our everyday experiences, assumptions, and motivations to critique. We believe our ideas will contribute to Mbembe’s and others’ visions of creating classrooms without walls, in which various publics will come together using new forms of assembly to redistribute different kinds of knowledges. In our discussion, we approach knowledge as an intersubjective achievement 3 and use the term ‘knowledge system’ to indicate that knowledge is developed, shared, interpreted, and understood within its ontological and epistemological context (a corpus of substantive assertions about the world), which facilitates concepts, narratives, and symbols (media) to acquire meaning and be communicated (within a series of social relations) (Barth, 2002). We acknowledge that knowledge systems are not closed or static, but essentially dynamic networks of relations with semi-permeable boundaries. We use the term ‘Indigenous’ to represent local and often marginalized knowledge systems, ways of knowing and being, and the term ‘Western’ to refer to historically Eurocentric knowledges, ways of knowing and being, which have been dominant and have been employed to serve colonial and imperialistic objectives. We understand that both these terms have their difficulties. We take into account that the term Indigenous is often used in an exoticizing and romanticizing way and associated with the traditional, cultural, non-modern ‘other’ (Kuper, 2003) and approach it ‘not as a stable point of reference or remnant of the past, but a subject position that is actively claimed and enacted in the present’ (Schramm, 2016, p.133). From our point of view, modernity is cultural, too. We take into account that multiple modernities exist (Eisenstadt, 2000; Wijngaarden, 2018), and that we are all Indigenous to the localities and spaces, which form the centre of reference and belonging in our lives. We acknowledge that the apparent dichotomy between ‘the West and the rest’ (Hall, 1996) is, in fact, a faulty product of modernist ideology (Latour, 1993). Therefore, we approach the Indigenous and Western not as binary opposed, but as intertwined notions that bring each other into being, through an assemblage of inter-reliant contrasts and continuities. We are deeply aware that in the decolonisation debate the question of ideas and tools developed by whom is critical. This chapter is the result of exchanges between two authors who acknowledge that their insights are stimulated as well as limited by their ongoing socialisations in and affiliations with multiple European and African contexts, and who draw upon their interdisciplinary backgrounds in social and cultural anthropology, political studies, social theory, and communication studies. Using an integrated approach, we start from an anthropological perspective that places the decolonisation of academia within the unresolved tension between universalism and cultural relativism, i.e., the search for common ground in terms of universal commonalities and the problem of ethnocentrism (the blindness to the specifics of our viewpoints and standards, which

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seem natural or universal to us). For science to be a global knowledge system, a minimum of common ground needs to be present, but the interests of those with a privileged position or voice easily come to dominate and continue their tendency to be oppressive. The approach proposed here is aimed at making scientific thoughts and processes less vulnerable to ideological hijacking, which takes place when a scientific theory is understood as universal and timeless and when political interests are obscured under the guise of objectivity. The minimalistic scientific basis, we outline in this chapter is dedicated to making science an open conversation (accommodating for different knowledge systems, epistemologies, and ontologies to exist side by side), which is rooted in reflexivity (a dedicated critical process to control quality as well as politics of knowledge production4). We aspire to contribute to a scientific knowledge system that is increasingly global by expanding the recognition that it constitutes a perpetual dynamic process of reflexive and multivocal potential. We start by discussing the entanglements of the concepts of knowledge and colonisation, using historic colonial developments as a backdrop to introduce some of the responses present in the decolonisation debate. Subsequently, we establish why an anthropological perspective can further the process of decolonisation beyond these responses and outline radical multivocality and adamant reflexivity as two inter-related strategies. Finally, we will conclude how these strategies fulfil important prerequisites in the decolonisation process called for in the literature.

Entanglements of colonisation and knowledge Throughout history, a variety of knowledge systems have been present, which have influenced each other (Diamond, 1998; Hoppers, 2001; Wolf, 1990). Many of the theories that form the basis of current curricula worldwide are drawn from a multicultural conglomeration of knowledges, which have roots in Hebrew and Old Greek myths (forming the tacit groundwork to the criteria used in the philosophy of science to measure truth and the development of logic), Chinese technologies (inventions of compass, gunpowder, paper, and printing press technique), and Arab disciplines (mathematics, geography, astronomy, medicine) (Diamond, 1998; Scarborough, 1994). Through the periods of colonisation and Enlightenment, the interplay between Western power and knowledge reached a hegemonic level, fuelling the development of the modern scientific knowledge system. Even though this system has been extensive and powerful, it is far from absolute or complete, and one of its greatest weaknesses is that it remains strongly biased by its development in Western societies. Scholars from Africa and other beyond have for example criticized the underlying Newtonian Cartesian epistemologies for favouring specialisation above holism, structures above processes, materialism above spirituality, individualism above communalism, and answering ‘how’ questions but remaining silent on ‘why’ questions (Goduka,

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1999; Millar et al., 2006). Consequently, these epistemologies ‘present a view of reason that excludes and marginalizes other ways of knowing’ (Goduka, 1999, p. 26; Mbembe, 2015). These scholars argue that modern scientific knowledge is disembodied and disembedded, as there is a supposed division between mind and world, which results in a splitting of the observer and the observed, objectifying ‘the other’ (Badat 2017; Visvanathan, 2002). The knowing subject is supposedly able to know the world without being part of that world, and produce knowledge that is presented as universal and independent of context, while somehow remaining rational and outside of it (Mbembe, 2015). Interestingly, the philosophy of science prescribes that academics should always keep an open mind regarding their conclusions, even if these conclusions might appear absolutely correct and final for the time being (Popper, 2002; Scarborough, 1994), because theories are constructed by human beings within contexts and cannot be value free. As a result, scientific knowledge production is not static but dynamic, including shifts of paradigm5 (Kuhn, 1962; Popper, 2002, 1963; Scarborough, 1994). Nevertheless, in daily applications, scientific knowledge is often ‘naturalized’ and treated as a timeless, universal, and objective ‘truth.’ When turned into an eternal essence beyond question, it is disguised that a certain explanation was chosen from a variety of options available. The objective realism modern science envisions ‘pretends to be determined by things in and of themselves [while other knowledge] is a cultural ontology, comprehending nature in terms set by human relationships and activities’ (Sahlins, 1995, p. 158). In the process, the Western cultural bias underlying most scientific theories is ignored. Moreover, the naturalisation and essentialisation of scientific theories as objective, universal principles, fuels an ideological use of the scientific knowledge system, which is referred to as ‘scientism.’ In this constellation, theories are no longer viewed as tools to help order and explain the world but are treated as unfalsifiable and immutable. Instead of merely being an attempt to describe how the world works, they are used to prescribe how the world should work and/or how the world should be perceived or understood. These normative components are politically charged, because they not only contain a material or realistic element, but also an idealistic element, and thus cannot be separated from the question of interests. Specific perspectives and frames of thought, although in the interests of some, are now claimed to be in the interest of all. In this political programme, it is proposed that science demythologizes religious beliefs and superstition, replacing them with facts and reason. As a result of the overall Eurocentric basis and character of these scientific theories, scientism effectively intertwines with the process of colonialism, in which Europeans portrayed themselves as the holders of specific forms of thought (rational and logical), through which they could generate universally valid knowledge (Wiener, 2013). Those who follow the logic of Eurocentric science were − and often still are − deemed superior to those who follow other systems of thought, which are denigrated as not reasonable

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or not practical, and thus approached as irrational or ignorant of the immutable laws of nature (Kisiang’ani, 2004).

Decolonisation beyond dualisms Against this backdrop, decolonisation debates have developed; including the prominent call to re-centre Indigenous knowledge. Scholars from this perspective argue for a recognition, centralisation, and prioritisation of Indigenous methodologies, ways of knowing, and being in the processes of knowledge production, reproduction, and legitimation (Ajayi, Goma, & Johnson, 1996; Mamdani, 1998; Mbembe, 2016; Nakata et al., 2012), advocating an approach to knowledge production that is tailored to the local cultural context. In Africa, this means fitting the university, its practices, process, and modes of knowledge production and legitimation within the African identity and context (Le Grange, 2014; Makgoba & Seepe, 2004; Mamdani, 1998). This implies decolonisation of dominant Eurocentric knowledges. This is a difficult task because structures and knowledge practices of many universities in the Global South are based on Eurocentric values and ideologies. Decolonisation would thus involve a rethinking of the current model according to which universities are organised; a reconstruction of existing disciplines; and a shift to transdisciplinary knowledge (Le Grange, 2014). Scholars like Le Grange (2014), Makogba and Seepe (2004) have argued that while the centralisation of the African identity takes primacy, it should not be the sole focus of the Africanisation – and we would add – the decolonisation process. This implies addressing the possibilities of decolonising against the backdrop of colonial (and in some regions, apartheid) legacies. These responses imply a contestation and dualism between Indigenous and Western knowledges. This is especially problematic as the arguments often exist in conjunction with a hierarchical understanding that positions one way of knowing as ontologically prior, leading to arguments that one should be subsumed within or incorporated into the other (Le Grange, 2014; Nakata et al., 2012). Thus, the strategy towards reclaiming, reversing, and rewriting Indigenous identities and knowledges runs the risk of inadvertently reproducing colonial binaries and replacing one knowledge, ideology, identity, body or text with another (Horsthemke, 2017; Le Grange, 2014; Nakata et al., 2012). It fails to take into account the complexity and entanglements of cultures and identities (Horsthemke, 2017; Nakata et al., 2012), and the unequal geopolitics of knowledge (re)production and legitimation processes. In our move away from a simplistic, reductive, and dualistic approach towards and integrated treatment, we agree that the focus on the local is imperative, but also envision African universities as contributors to global knowledge (Makgoba & Seepe, 2004). We thus understand decolonisation not as a mere reversal or turning back the clock (Le Grange, 2014), but as an incentive to create a space that enables a co-creative dialogue between knowledge produced in different geographical, cultural, and social environments. We present strategies for the construction of

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an academic space in which a multitude of knowledge systems − including their epistemologies, theories, methodologies, as well as the history and the politics of their (re)production, centralisation, and legitimation − can be critically examined (Nakata et al., 2012).

The challenges and prospects of anthropological approaches If the (re)production and legitimation of knowledge cannot take place transcendent of social, cultural, and political influences, how can science be expected to produce global knowledge, relevant to, and congruent with the divergent multitude of local knowledges and experiences? We found resources in anthropology. This is the discipline that aims to analyse (groups within) societies from an insider perspective, using participant observation to expand the knowledge of human diversity, as well as to search for issues that are fundamentally human (Eriksen, 2001). An anthropologist tries to approach knowledges from within their respective knowledge systems ‘via direct and repeated exposure to the linguistic, social, bodily, motivational, and affective contexts in which concepts and categories appear’ (Cohen, 2010, p.201). Through engaged and immersive participation anthropologists aim to expand and practice their ability to deal with multiple, diverse kinds of knowledge (systems). In turn, these exposures fuel the critical examination of their own (sub)culture by defamiliarizing, deconstructing, and denaturalizing seemingly self-evident ‘truths’ and taken for granted institutions, for example, by questioning how knowledge is defined (Eriksen, 2001), as well as by engaging in cultural critique. Thus, anthropologists constantly ask themselves reflexive questions to prevent the use of a universalizing language when they actually view the world from a particular social, ‘racial,’ ethnic, gendered, and sexual location (Gupta & Ferguson, 1997). From the 1970s on, the ‘anthropology of knowledge’ tradition has greatly contributed to approaches of ‘self ’ and ‘other,’ which take into account that all knowledge is deeply socio cultural; that necessarily multiple definitions of knowledge co-exist (including rational, abstract and analytic as well as embodied, experiential, and intuitive forms of knowing); and that the ‘truth’ which is propagated most effectively, is deeply influenced by power constellations in society and academia (Barth, 2002; Cohen, 2010; Crick, 1982). Anthropology’s dedication to criticise and relativize its own knowledge (tradition), has grown out of the discipline’s problematic onset as the science of analysing and comparing cultures of the supposedly primitive, irrational, non-modern ‘other,’ treating the own culture as neutral, scientific, and the legitimate purveyor of true knowledge, thus contributing to imperialist incentives and the production of faulty dichotomies (Hall, 1996; Latour, 1993; Lutkehaus & Cool, 1999). Anthropologists played a role in constructing myths about Indigenous populations, fetishizing Indigenous peoples, and cultures, positioning them as exotic and analysing their societies through ‘the

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imposition of Western bourgeois categories’ (Rigby, 1996, p.81) that were irrelevant to these populations. Like other social sciences (Connell, 2007), anthropology developed theories of social evolution and racial hierarchy, and played a dark role in the racism of the late 19th and early 20th century (Ellingson, 2001; Harrison, 1995, 1998; Mullings, 2005), with the incentive to study other people’s point of view originally being conditioned by colonial needs (Pels, 2018). Anthropologists still question the concept of representation (Lutkehaus & Cool, 1999) and criticize themselves for being ethnocentric and dominated by Western concepts (Amory, 1997; Burns, 1999; Karp & Kendall, 1982; Thomas 2018); for not providing enough opportunity for Indigenous persons to express themselves (Rigby, 1996); and for insufficiently subverting misrepresentations of Indigenous communities (Crick, 1985; Rigby, 1996). Francis Nyamnjoh, who holds the chair of Social Anthropology at the University of Cape Town, has argued that anthropology on Africa still exhibits the structural and geographical, ‘monological, non-reflexive, and non-inclusive’ characteristics of its white colonial past (Nyamnjoh, 2012, p.68; Osha, 2013). It is anthropology’s ‘sustained critique of its practices [which] has kept it “in crisis” since at least midcentury’ (Franklin, 1995, p.179), and has heightened anthropologists’ awareness of the relativity of their own knowledge. This intense process of self-reflection has been aided by a variety of neighbouring disciplines, including postmodern, postcolonial, and feminist critiques, but also non-academic experts and these processes are far from complete. Anthropology’s non-hierarchical approach (rooted in the attempt to do justice to other people’s ideas without delegitimising them in the process) makes it a discipline exceptionally well suited to, on the one hand, accept and accommodate alternative knowledge systems – i.e., Indigenous perspectives and methodologies that have been considered un scientific, for example, concerning spirits, magic, and alternative ontologies (e.g., Stoller & Olkes, 1989); and on the other hand, engage in cross-cultural dialogue – i.e., being practiced in facilitating for translation between different knowledge systems and dealing with multiple epistemologies and ontologies (Pickering, 2017). Moreover, anthropology is a discipline that has the critical and reflexive tools to understand science as a form of culture, and thus question and contextualize the scientific knowledge constructed, as is done in critical science studies (Franklin, 1995). This allows it to approach its own knowledge in the same (critical) way as other systems of knowledge production, and confront the power with which knowledge is used (Campregher, 2010; Weiler, 2011). In the remainder of this chapter, we will formulate two inter-related strategies towards decolonisation that anthropology may offer.

Radical multivocality Many scholars have pointed out that if the scientific knowledge system is to be truly global, the points of view it incorporates have to be multiplied

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(Connell, 2007, 2014; Moichela, 2017). We take this idea a step further and propose a radical multivocality, which rejects approaches that advocate for the inclusion of multiple voices by incorporating them. Incorporation necessarily implies the subjugation of one knowledge system into another, meaning that one frame of reference validates or invalidates another. Instead, we propose a model where all voices are approached as equally valid, so that the variety of voices can exist as a multiplicity, with each voice remaining unrestricted and unsubdued, representing different worldviews and ways of knowing. The Nigerian critic Chinweizu (1987) pointed out that although it is legitimate to compare Greek and African myths, Greek mythology should not be the frame of reference for the interpretation of African literacy. His argument illustrates the fact that in a lot of current scientific work, Western social constructs of truth continue to be taken for granted, in the process centralizing Western experiences and interests (Chilisa, 2012; Connell, 2007, 2014; Smith 2012).6 When alternative points of view have been taken into account, this is often only in the form of data which has to be analysed, and not as ideas which are part of the dialogue of theory construction (creatively addressed, e.g., by Comaroff & Comaroff, 2012). Moreover, ‘even when discrete pieces of Indigenous knowledge are seen as valuable by Western scientists, the ways of knowing and cosmological orientation from which the knowledge originates is often not acknowledged’ (Harmin, Barrett & Hoessler, 2017). Thus, the scientific narrative has not only been a vehicle of knowledge production and sense making, but also obscures, deletes and masks insights by leaving them untold (Bruner, 2005; Selwyn, 1996). This leads to an ‘erasure of the experience of the majority of humankind from the foundations of social thought’ (Connell, 2007, p. 46). Catherine Odora Hoppers asserts that using Western scientific knowledge to inform education is a form of cultural imperialism that produces a cognitive crisis, with ‘millions of … people … bearing the uncomfortable burden of speaking and living in unfamiliar cultural idioms within all areas of everyday life’ (2015, pp. 98–99). This does not only result in insecurity and self-doubt but is relevant for community livelihoods, human rights, and democratic citizenship. Because scientific knowledge – like any other knowledge system – rests on a body of tacit, taken for granted assumptions (Scarborough, 1994), ensuring that a greater variety of people are involved in the scientific dialogue, will broaden the relevance and validity of the knowledge produced. Moreover, the engagement with discourses, viewpoints, and understandings of others is the most efficient mechanism towards becoming aware of unsound, incoherent, absent, or unproductive aspects in our own ways of thinking (Keet, 2014). This is because aspects which group members deem to be self-explanatory, are more easily visible to an outsider, who uses a different reference system (Idahosa, 2020; Idahosa & Vincent, 2019; Schütz, 1964). Hence, contrasting views are of great value for (self-critical) analysis and deconstruction of concepts, theories, and understandings.

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Anthropologists have often contributed to accessing these contrasting views, breaking down ideas of what was once thought to be factual or objective (Sahlins, 1995) or universal (Surrallés, 2016; Wierzbicka, 2008). An impactful instance is how ethnographic engagements with Papua New Guinean and Amazonian peoples (Descola, 2013; Strathern, 1980; Viveiros de Castro, 2004, 2012) disrupted Western frames of thought and academic premises of a single objective nature upon which culturally divergent meanings are imposed. This had far reaching implications for how academics understand the relations between themselves, other organisms and their life worlds, causing some to speak of an ontological turn (Candea & Alcayna Stevens, 2012; Paleček & Risjord, 2012; Pickering, 2017). The radicality of the multivocality that we propose here, first lies in the fact that alternative knowledges are not simply included in the existing system. While incorporation leads to a certain diversification, in the process of framing and subduing one type of knowledge by placing it in the context of another knowledge system, it also strengthens the dominant frame of reference without questioning its basis. We propose that the variety of voices neither needs to be incorporated into a single, comprehensive, or unified whole nor subjected to a certain monopoly of understanding. The epistemological and ontological turns in anthropology and science and technology studies have shown that although a multiplicity of epistemologies and ontologies may involve problems of translation, it also inspires a focus on comparative transitions (Pickering, 2017) and relational aspects (Barad, 2006; Latour, 1993). Actor Network Theory (Campregher, 2010; Latour, 2005) fields of new materialism (Dolphijn & van der Tuin, 2011), more than human and multi-species approaches (Kirsey & Helmreich, 2010) are successfully moving beyond Cartesian dichotomies, and in the process centralize multiplicity and relations, for example, including non-human agencies in ways that resemble cosmologies anthropologists have accessed (e.g. High, 2010; Kohn, 2013). This exemplifies how knowledges of people who live and think according to these cosmologies are/can be in conversation with Western knowledge systems and of (continued) value to theoretical developments. The developing awareness that new insights can be generated by focusing on the interface between multiple knowledge systems further underlines this (Durie, 2005). Second, the radicality of the multivocality we advocate, requires a multiplicity of ways of coming to know, and thus a radical divergence of research methodologies. We already pointed to the usefulness of the method of participant observation, which was made famous in anthropology through the early reflexive writings of Malinowski (1922), and aims at grasping the point of view and lifeworld of the people one does research with, by sharing aspects of life with them (Davies, 1999). Its execution has increasingly shifted focus from documenting information about others, towards cooperatively studying with and learning from others, and this foundation lies at the basis of a range of fieldwork methods, which all require ‘being there,’ and allowing oneself to

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become immersed and changed, through engagement in interactions, participation in activities, and by subjecting oneself to certain socialisation, which we deem useful starting points in the attempt to access or understand alternative world views. At the same time, a critically focused engagement is also required, which includes looking beyond our self-interests and its attending blind spots, disrupting our comfort, acknowledging our subjugated/dominant positions, recognising current relations of domination as strange, and imagining a different order of things7 (Idahosa, 2020; Idahosa & Vincent, 2019). Promising embodied and practice based research strategies continue to be developed in anthropology and beyond, and include phenomenological approaches and (multi)sensory research designs which question dominant hierarchies; multi-disciplinary applications of participatory (action) research; contemplative methods; and the use of internal boundary practices such as ‘embodied practitioner knowledge’ by psychologists and neuroscientists (Wiles, 2019; Zajonc, 2003). Central to all these approaches is that the use of the researcher’s ‘self ’ as a research instrument, facilitates the creation of translations between epistemologically, and perhaps even ontologically, distinct domains. Working with an alternative or multiple research paradigms certainly leads to challenges but it also makes it possible to hear the voices of people who would otherwise not be heard (Datta et al., 2015). Practicing novel methods can engage us in new perspectives, and thus make it possible to approach ways of knowing that would otherwise remain inaccessible; for example, because they are relational, intuitive, spiritual, embodied, bound to place, expressed in local languages, ritualistic or existent only in ‘we’ form, in a way that is foreign to the researcher. Helpful in this regard is Chilisa’s (2012) indigenous research paradigm, which includes participatory, liberatory, and transformative research approaches that reflect a variety of Indigenous ways of knowing; including talk circles, songs, cultural practices, and techniques based on philosophic sagacity and ethnophilosophy, among others. Chilisa’s Indigenous research paradigm assumes ‘socially constructed multiple realities, shaped by the set of multiple connections that human beings have with the environment, the cosmos, the living, and the non-living’ (Chilisa, 2012, p. 40). Its openness to multiplicity and focus on relational aspects make that it not only holds great potential to contribute towards the development of a radical multivocality, but the ongoing dialogue and co-creative efforts with non-academics are imperative to developing novel tools, spaces and processes to share knowledge. It is important to add here that a radical multivocal approach does not only affect methods of research design, data gathering, and analysis, but also forms of communicating findings. This includes reporting not only through various, innovative, and creative forms of text (Campregher, 2010), but expanding new and existing audiovisual (Harper, 2009) and performative forms; the use of installations and other creative outputs; as well as the development of hybrid

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forms combining these. Experiments in this direction have been ongoing in the laboratories of large anthropological conferences, which in recent years have included crafts, drama, embodied experiences, dance, and experimental use of media (European Association of Social Anthropologists, 2018). The vision of a symmetrical anthropology (Latour, 1993) provides a possible model for how a multiplicity of knowledge systems can exist side by side and interact within the academic space. In a symmetrical anthropology, knowledges are compared without setting aside one’s own culture and its understandings as if these are neutral or have more access to ‘truth’ (Campregher, 2010). The result is that analytic efforts are not focused on explaining and accounting for the falsehoods of other thought systems (in the process shielding the weaknesses of the own reference system), but aimed at finding and understanding the values of other perspectives on the world. This does not imply an absolute relativistic approach that deems all hierarchies equal but instead is based on a relativist relativism or ‘relationism’ (Latour, 1993), which is rooted in fostering a reflexive awareness of the relative yardstick one uses to achieve commensurability. This means it will always be taken into account in which context and from which perspective, certain concepts will be compared (Kirby, 2011). Following symmetrical anthropology, the key to the radical multivocality we propose here is a relativist form of relativism in which ‘the self ’ ceases to be an exception and is regarded from a relativist standpoint, too. For academics, this means that they turn a critical eye onto themselves (through adamant reflexivity outlined below). It challenges the prevalent assumption of ‘intellectual superiority’, which is the idea that ‘our ways of knowing are superior to those of fellow academics or those we study’ (Nyamnjoh, 2013, p.136). Radical multivocality enhances the principle that ‘science is a collective pursuit, and … no one has a monopoly on insights and the truth’ (Nyamnjoh, 2012, p.65). The approach enables cultural relativism and universalism to come together8 and would lead to the end of absolute binary oppositions while doing justice to the fluid, interactive, and dynamic aspects of cultural production (Sismondo, 2004). It acknowledges that meaning is created intersubjectively, making it possible to understand people’s behaviours as open and ongoing processes that can incorporate patterns as well as novelties. Distinctions do not exist in a fixed or absolute way and can only be made contextually. The consequences in academic teaching would be that the curriculum would no longer be focused on the binary positioning of Indigenous and Western theories while one is deemed central, but shift towards understanding a multitude of ideas and thinkers in their historical, social, and geographical contexts, fostering awareness of the existence of multiple epistemologies and ontologies. This co-constitutiveness will be cognisant of the asymmetrical power relations between different theories as a result of the reflexivity involved. Furthermore, students will necessarily engage with more non-academic and non-textual sources and processes of obtaining knowledge, which are partly locally based.

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Exemplary are ongoing initiatives to cooperate with Indigenous populations in Canada, such as between the Universities of Saskatchewan and Regina, and the Beady’s Okemasis First Nation. Researchers did not only take into account Indigenous epistemologies, ontologies, and community based ethics and cultural protocols, for example, by asking for spiritual support and engaging in sweat lodge ceremony with the community members, but also analysed the data in collaboration with the community, and published the results with the Community Elders Research Advisory Group as a co-author, acknowledging more than human beings as critical to the insight obtained (McGinnis et al., 2019). Engagement with local approaches to knowledge opens spaces for new voices to be part of the conversations and knowledge production processes, and for novel insights to be made operant; not only about the topic, but also in discussions concerning empirical contexts, ethical issues, academic practices, and interests. Similar initiatives could illuminate the entanglements of knowledge, colonialism, land, power and well-being, which are reflected in localities throughout Africa (Wijngaarden, 2016). The problem of incommensurability may be heightened when working with different knowledge systems, and due to their experiences, Indigenous people have a lot of insight to offer in this regard. Elder Albert Marshall from the Eskasoni Mi’kmaq First Nation offers us the concept of twoeyed seeing, which includes recognizing, assessing, and using each type of knowledge on its own terms, as well as weaving them together in a back and forth movement, without assimilating one with another (Barrett, 2013). Torres Strait Islander Nakata (2002) theorizes the ‘cultural interface’ as the place where life and the re-making of knowing take place as ‘knowledge systems … interact, develop, change and transform’ (p. 286). These contributions indicate that when dominant Western knowledge systems are not used as a necessary overarching model to legitimize or frame other knowledges, this results in an increased epistemological openness. Moreover, as other (e.g., transrational, embodied, and storied) ways of knowing come to be acknowledged, this leads to an increased awareness of intersections and overlaps between the variety of Western and Indigenous knowledges (Barrett, 2013). Ultimately, scientific knowledge production has been a multivocal practice all along, but its multivocality has been limited and was often made invisible. Critical reflexive approaches reveal that incommensurability has always been present, even within modern scientific knowledge systems. This is particularly evident in the social sciences, where one could never (perfectly) measure one theory or perspective relative to another 9. Increasing the awareness that inconsistencies and incommensurability are present throughout, may disrupt and dismantle the still often present notion of science as a unified whole (Sismondo, 2004) and the assumption that all academics share or should share a certain epistemological or ontological approach. A commitment to radical multivocality will divide the hegemonic system, questioning, and destabilizing the imaginary idea of a singular academic knowledge system, towards an

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understanding that focuses on the dynamic, dialectic, and rhizomatic aspects, fragmenting and diverting power from the centre.

Adamant reflexivity How can we rely on scientific knowledge if it is neither universal, objective nor timeless? Alasuutari (1996) proposed that science can be distinguished from day to day thinking as it contributes to the systematic production of ‘deconstructions of the way in which we construct realities and social conditions and ourselves as subjects in those realities’ (p. 382). This is because scientific thought starts with the awareness that ‘blindness … which comes from preconceptions, prejudices, and assumptions about what constitutes reality [is] a blindness of which all humans are guilty’ (Nyamnjoh, 2012, p. 65). This begs the question of ‘how one keeps one’s preconceptions in check to do justice to encounters with a difference?’ (Nyamnjoh, 2012, p. 65). We propose that the answer lies in reflexivity. We do not have in mind nihilistic reflexivity associated with post-modernity, in which nothing can be known but the knower, but rather ‘a turning back on oneself, a process of self-reference’ (Davies, 1999, p. 4) centred around the ability to contextualize and criticize one’s own assumptions, findings, theories, epistemologies, and ontologies, thus putting one’s own knowledge into perspective. This process includes (critical) reflections upon the culture, conventions, socio-political positionality, and unspoken or even unconscious practices of the academic community. Reflexivity fosters the awareness of how ‘the self ’ and the research process and encounter affect the knowledge constructed, produced, and legitimized, and is important in all levels of the research process, from the initial selection of the topic up to the dissemination of results (Davies, 1999). This self-consciousness must first be utilized at the personal level, as only from there it can trickle through to the disciplinary, research, knowledge production, and legitimation processes. Inescapably, the very act of reflecting on something already involves tacit assumptions (Scarborough, 1994). However, reflexivity is the mechanism through which these assumptions might be made explicit. It forms the bedrock of the dynamic scientific knowledge system, where science turns its gaze onto itself, thus safeguarding the central consciousness that theories are eternally falsifiable. Through reflexivity, academics engage with knowledge while attempting to prevent their full immersion in it; producing knowledge without naively believing in it. Reflexivity is the fundamental character trait of science which has often not been lived up to, and this is what underlies the need to decolonise academia. Decolonisation involves a process of questioning and subjecting our implicit assumptions to critique. This is facilitated and stimulated by engaging with previously unconsidered modes of thought, knowledges, and methodologies through radically divergent voices, and sensitizing ourselves to the asymmetrical nature of power relations both in our modes of interaction on

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a daily basis and in the knowledge (re)production and legitimation process by engaging with a multiplicity of perspectives. The process entailed in reflexive praxis is essential to ‘decolonising the mind’ (Thiong’o, 1981), which begins with the self and needs to be internalised before it can be externalised, and is deemed central to the decolonisation process (Ndlovu Gatsheni, 2016). It is the process of internal deliberation that enables the questioning and challenging of the self vis-à-vis the context. The decolonisation of our thoughts and behaviours is essentially and necessarily, a reflexive process as no one else can change our mind our actions. Reflexivity is thus an important key towards unlearning oppressive modes of interaction and healing our thinking from the forces of colonialism, because it enhances the awareness that our thoughts are not independent of our circumstances and stimulates us to find out which assumptions underlie our own perspectives. It brings the temporal and spatial relativity of knowledges into view, thus undermining absolutist usage of claims to truth for particular interests or groups because the circumstances of the speaker and the contexts of the idea communicated are always taken into account. The exposure to a broad variety of voices by engaging with the knowledge and knowledge production processes of a global variety of actors fosters and broadens reflexive prowess. It is an adamant approach to reflexivity that brings the otherwise cacophonic reality of radical multivocality into a conversation that is centred around the goal of global knowledge production. Through this unrelenting commitment to reflexivity, academia can become a space that facilitates the dialogue between different constructions of reality, to enhance the understanding of these varying constructions, including academics’ own constructions. It cultivates the awareness that studies of others and the world outside us, are also studies of ourselves and our relationship with others (Davies, 1999), stimulating the ability to stand back from existing social relations and transform them (McNay, 1999). Adamant reflexivity is personal and transformative, a strategy to challenge routinised action and normalised (thinking) processes. It resides in the awareness that not only knowledge, but also ‘the self ’ is continually under construction. It requires a conscious openness towards the possibility that in the process of knowledge production, also ‘the self ’ is transformed, and the questioning, disrupting and altering of our ‘selves’ is what ultimately makes decolonisation possible. In academic teaching, the practice of adamant reflexivity can be fostered and practiced in conjunction with radical multivocality, introducing students to the groundwork of academic knowledge (re)production and legitimation. For example, reflexive exposure to a variety of contextualized knowledges (where, when, and by whom) and multiple ontologies may be used as a starting point to ask students fundamental questions regarding what they consider reality, knowledge, and theory, and how these might be dealt with intersubjectively. These questions can be part of introductory courses, which also involve the basics of philosophy of science combined with exercises that

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enhance reflections upon the own and the scientific thought systems, inspired by social anthropology and critical reflexive practice (Cunliffe, 2004), including the keeping of reflexive diaries. Promising too is the technique of ‘epistemological stretching,’ employed, for example, in environmental education to simultaneously engage with modern scientific and Indigenous worldviews, and facilitate transformative and epistemic learning, which are strategies aimed at shifting people’s operative ways of knowing and ways of being in the world (Sterling, 2010). Epistemological stretching practically combines the multivocal and the reflexive in higher education learning and has been proven effective to facilitate deconstructions of power, bridging of worldviews, re-conceptualisations of relationships and increased validation of Indigenous’ points of view (Harmin, Barrett, & Hoessler, 2017). Still missing are practices inspired by Indigenous approaches, which are to be increasingly present over time as a result of engagement with radical multivocality.

Conclusion In this chapter, we began from the premise that knowledge is established intersubjectively and discursively. As a result, relationships and contextualisation are central, and knowledge constructed never forms an end station. Our approach is in line with Nyamnjoh’s statement that ‘knowing is a lifelong commitment to reflexivity, dialogue, and accommodation’ (Nyamnjoh, 2012, p. 81). In criticising the modern scientific system, we have taken up the challenge to provide tools towards decolonising the academic space by furthering a co-creative dialogue between knowledge from a multitude of geographical, cultural, and social environments. Drawing on insights and practices from anthropology, we propose an approach to decolonising higher education that ‘connotes not a transcendent viewpoint but simply the perennial possibility that human beings can move beyond their local or particular identifications through broadened horizons of intersubjective engagement’ ( Jackson, 1998, p. 205). Thus, we have taken the debate of decolonisation of higher education beyond responses that dualistically oppose Western and Indigenous knowledges, and refuse to subdue, incorporate, or integrate one type of knowledge (making) into another because such non-dialectical approaches obstruct the ideal of science as a truly global knowledge system. Instead, we argued for a radical multivocality that enables an openness towards multiple ontologies, epistemologies and methodologies (worldviews, ways of knowing, and ways of coming to know), advocating their treatment as equal partners amidst a myriad of knowledge production strategies, which have the opportunity to contradict, complement, and sharpen each other. This symmetrical approach of radical multivocality is enabled by academics exercising adamant reflexivity, which forms the unyielding and impermeable foundation of an open scientific system and holds great transformative

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potential. In turn, this adamant reflexivity is stimulated and deepened through academics’ exposure to the co-creative dialogue between a variety of knowledges. This minimalistic meta-approach is geared to draw attention to the limits of any knowledge system, so that science can function as it has been envisioned, not as a dogmatic narrative that is used ideologically to exert power, but as consisting of multiple dynamic knowledge production processes through which dogmas are constantly challenged and disrupted. The two inter-related strategies presented may help to decolonise and transform higher education in several ways. In the first place, they will allow a new generation of academics to enter the academic discourse and to use Indigenous knowledges, approaches, and methods in synergy with existing scientific knowledge, or to explore and criticize it. Second, they will enhance the role of higher education institutions and their members to contribute and transform scientific knowledge, which according to the philosophy of science, has always been a space where new narratives arise, meta-narratives are challenged, and different narratives are related to each other. In the current context, we see the usefulness of a curriculum, which presents knowledge as multiple and dynamic, including education on reflexivity and paradigm shifts, as well as relativistic approaches towards objectivity, timelessness, and universality. ‘Current demands to decolonize the university not only concern demographic, institutional, or representational matters, but they also challenge modes of academic knowledge production in profound ways’ (Schramm, Krause & Valley, 2018, p. 254). The strategies presented fulfil important prerequisites called for in the literature, promoting the understanding of ‘indigeneity as a fluid, embodied and rightful existence,’ furthering a ‘paradigmatic and epistemic shift’ and facilitating for an approach that enables Indigenous and Western epistemic frameworks to stand alongside each other (Almeida & Kumalo, 2018, p. 1). They de-centre the normality of dominant Western discourses at the university, which many students and lecturers continue to experience as alienating, disempowering, and exclusionary (Costandius et al., 2018). The proposed strategies also reinforce Le Grange’s (2014) suggestion that Africanising the university involves the flattening of perceived hierarchies between the Western and African (and we add other Indigenous) knowledge systems. Specifically, they form practical avenues to address the principle of the ‘detached observer,’ and the colonial implications of such an epistemology. As such, they align with calls for an approach to decolonisation that is sensitive to the politics of knowledge production, is contextual, cognizant, and responsive to social conditions, and takes into consideration the presence and intersections of multiple knowledges in the knowledge production process (Nakata et al., 2012). The call to decolonise knowledge has often been perceived as a call for cognitive justice, which is the right for a multitude of knowledges to exist, be valued and used to serve the needs of people in their societies, and is thus deeply related to the struggle for global social justice (Hoppers, 2001;

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Idahosa, 2019; Visvanathan, 2009). Its proponents aver that all knowledge is partial and complementary, and cognitive justice forms a dialogic approach that gives meaning to the relationships between different knowledges (Visvanathan, 2009). In line with these arguments, we acknowledge that there is a deep seated need for healing in education, as many people have been systematically excluded from participation in knowledge building in society. We argue that when science is transformed to become a truly global knowledge system, where ‘truth’ is constructed not through a claim to objectivity but through a commitment to a radical multivocal, deeply methodological divergent, and adamantly reflexive dialogic process of intersubjective validation, higher education will alter from a place where people are excluded, socialized, and subdued to accommodate a certain knowledge system, into a space of expansive self-transformation.

Notes







1. In this chapter, we use the term science to refer to the totality of the natural and social sciences/humanities. We treat science as a whole, because the division into natural and social sciences/humanities is based on the modernist Cartesian dichotomy of nature/culture, object/subject (Hauhs et al., 2018), which does not hold in many Indigenous epistemologies and ontologies (Descola 2013; High 2010; Ingold 1994; Mullin 2002; Viveiros de Castro, 2004) and, therefore, cannot be taken as an a priori in a decolonised approach to science. 2. There is no unproblematic definition of what may be referred to as African (Kuper, 2003) or European (see, for example, Wittrock’s (2000) observations with regard to modernity in Western and Central Europe). Both can include a variety of territories, institutional and cultural forms. For example, it is unclear if African knowledge should be used to include only Indigenous or also white writers who were part of the struggle against Apartheid. Also, it’s unclear if members of the black African diaspora such as Du Bois and Fanon, or Arab Africans as Amin should be part of this group, and those born in Africa but with non-African descent (Connell, 2007). 3. In line with Haverkort & Rist (2004, p. 4), we consider that ‘every form of knowledge – including the one produced by natural and quantitative science – is socially constructed.... This means that “truth” is not so much determined by objectivity, but by “intersubjective validation”.’ 4. With politics of knowledge we refer to the normalisation and legitimisation of specific knowledges, values and ideologies as the accepted norm and standard, a process which simultaneously misrecognises and marginalises other ways of knowing. 5. Interestingly, the theoretical notion of a Cartesian divide, which underlies modern scientific thought, has been challenged even in elementary natural scientific experiments. The most famous example is the double slit experiment, which ‘throws into question a basic premise of science ... that the real world is essentially the same when we are not observing it as it is when we are observing it’ (Hobson, 1995, p. 350). Wave particle duality cannot be understood from the current paradigm in natural sciences, however it cannot be done away with as a marginal side issue, as it forms a fundamental, central aspect of physics (Davies, 1999; Eibenberger, Gerlich, Arndt, Mayor, & Tüxen, 2013). These kinds of issues show the potential for a future scientific paradigm to sweep current understandings away (Kuhn, 1962; Popper, 2002 [1963]; Scarborough, 1994). Incompleteness, subjectivity, and temporality of knowledge play an even greater role in the social sciences, because instead

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of describing mathematical ‘laws,’ social scientists develop concepts to understand phenomena and behaviors (Klute, 2007), and as a result are more fluid and reliant on tacit assumptions and meanings. 6. Instead of the terminology West and non-West several authors use the terms (Global) North and (Global) South. 7. See Idahosa and Vincent (2019) and Idahosa (2020) for a broader discussion on critical engagement. 8. This has been an important objective in anthropology all along (Eriksen, 2001; Jackson, 1998). 9. An example can be found in the classical political theories of Hobbes (2009,1651) and Locke (1690), which start from fundamentally different assumptions concerning humans’ ‘state of nature’ but exist side by side. Similarly, in our society, different historical accounts written by different historians can exist side by side and be considered true, without us being shocked that they are not exactly the same, as we focus on what is basically similar and neglect the differences (Lévi Strauss, 1978).

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A perspective from anthropology 55 Hall, S. (1996). The West and the rest: Discourse and power. In S. Hall, D. Held, D. Hubert, & K. Thompson (Eds.), Modernity: An introduction to modern societies (pp. 184–227). Cambridge: Blackwell. Harper, K. (2009). New Directions in Participatory Visual Ethnography: Possibilities for Public Anthropology. American Anthropological Association (AAA) Meetings, Philadelphia, December 3. Retrieved from http://works.bepress.com/ krista_harper/14/ Harmin, M., Barrett, M.J., & Hoessler, C. (2017). Stretching the boundaries of transformative sustainability learning: On the importance of decolonizing ways of knowing and relations with the more than human. Environmental Education Research, 23(10), 1489–1500. Harrison, F.V. (1995). The persistent power of “Race” in the cultural and political economy of racism. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24, 47–74. Harrison, F.V. (1998). Introduction: Expanding the discourse on “Race”. American Anthropologist, 100(3), 609–631. Hauhs, M., Trancón y Widemann, B., & Klute, G. (2018). Bridging disciplinary gaps in studies of human environment relations: A modelling framework. Modern Africa: Politics, History and Society, 5(2), 35–76. Haverkort, B., & Rist, S. (2004). Towards Co evolution of knowledges and sciences: No shortcut in integrating local and global knowledge. Paper for the Compas panel in the conference Bridging Scales and Epistemologies, Alexandria. High, C. (2010). Agency and anthropology: Selected bibliography. Ateliers d’anthropologie, 34. DOI https://doi.org/10.4000/ateliers.8516 Hobbes, T. (2009). Leviathan: Or the matter, forme and power of a commonwealth ecclasiastical and civil. Lexington, KY: Seven Treasures Publications. Hobson, A. (1995). Physics: Concepts and connections. Englewood Cliffs, N.J: Prentice Hall. Hoppers, O.C.A. (2001). Indigenous knowledge systems and academic institutions in South Africa. Perspectives in Education, 19(1), 73–85. Hoppers, O.C.A. (2015). Cognitive justice and integration without duress: The future of development education perspectives from the South. International Journal of Development Education and Global Learning, 7(2), 89–106. Horsthemke, K. (2017). Transmission and transformation in higher education: Indigenisation, internationalisation and transculturality. Transformation in Higher Education, 2(1), 1–9. Idahosa, G.E. (2020). Agency and social transformation in South African higher education: Pushing the bounds of possibility. London: Routledge. Idahosa, G.E., & Vincent, L. (2019). Enabling transformation through critical engagement and reflexivity: A case study of South African academics. Higher Education Research and Development, 38(4), 780–792. Ingold, T. (1994). What is an animal One world archaeology. London, Boston: Routledge. Jackson, M. (1998). Minima ethnographica: Intersubjectivity and the anthropological project. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Karp, I., & Kendall, M.B. (1982). Reflexivity in field work. In P.F. Secord (Ed.), Explaining human behavior: Consciousness, human action, and social structure (pp. 249–273). Beverly Hills: SAGE Publications. Keet, A. (2014). Epistemic ‘othering’ and the decolonisation of knowledge. Africa Insight, 44(1), 23–37.

56  Vanessa Wijngaarden and Grace Ese-Osa Idahosa Kisiang’ani, E. (2004). Decolonising gender studies in Africa. In S. Arnfred, B. Bakare Yusuf, E.W. Kisiang’ani, D. Lewis, O. Oyewumi & F.C. Steady (Eds.), African gender scholarship: Concepts, methodologies and paradigms (pp. 9–26). Dakar. Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa. Kirby, V. (2011). Quantum anthropologies: Life at large. Durham: Duke University Press. Kirsey, S.E., & Helmreich, S. (2010). The emergence of multispecies ethnography. Cultural Anthropology, 25(4), 545–576. Klute, G. (2007). Vom epistemologischen Primat der Ethnologie in den Menschenwissenschaften. Paper presented at the DGV conference (Tagung der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Völkerkunde) in Halle, October 1 5. Kohn, E. (2013). How forests think: Toward an anthropology beyond the human. California: University of California Press. Kuhn, T.S. (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd ed.). International encyclopedia of unified science: vol. 2, no. 2. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Kuper, A. (2003). The return of the native. Current Anthropology, 44(3), 389–402. Latour, B. (1993). We have never been modern. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Latour, B. (2005). Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Le Grange, L. (2014). Currere’s active force and the Africanisation of the university curriculum. South African Journal of Higher Education, 28(4), 1283–1294. Lévi Strauss, C. (1963). Structural anthropology. New York: Basic Books. Lévi Strauss, C. (1978). Myth and meaning. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Locke, J. 1960. Two Treatises of Government. London: Awnsham Churchill. Lutkehaus, N., & Cool, J. (1999). Paradigms lost and found: the ‘crisis of representation’ and visual anthropology. In J. Gaines & M. Renov (Eds.), Collecting Visible Evidence (pp. 434–454). Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota Press. Makgoba, M., & Seepe, S. (2004). Knowledge and identity: An African vision of higher education transformation. In S. Seepe (Ed.), Towards an African Identity of Higher Education. Pretoria: Vista University: Skotaville Media; Johannesburg: Thorold’s Africana Books. Malinowski, B. (1922). Argonauts of the Western Pacific. London: George Routledge & Sons. Mamdani, M. (1998). Is African studies to be turned into a new home for Bantu education at UCT? Social Dynamics, 24(2), 63–75. Mbembe, A. (2015). Decolonizing Knowledge and the Question of the Archive. Retrieved from https://wiser.wits.ac.za/content/podcast achille mbembes public lecture decolonizing university 12046 Mbembe, A. (2016). Decolonizing the university: New directions. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), 29–45. McGinnis, A., Tesarek Kincaid, A., Barrett, M. J., Ham, C., & Community Elders Research Advisory Group (2019). Strengthening animal human relationships as a doorway to indigenous holistic wellness. Ecopsychology, 11(3), 162–173. McNay, L. (1999). Gender, habitus and the field. Theory, Culture & Society, 16(1), 95–117. Millar, D., Kendie, S.B., Apusigah, A.A., & Haverkort, B. (Eds.). (2006). Compas series on Worldviews and sciences. African knowledges and sciences: Understanding and supporting the ways of knowing in Sub Saharan Africa. Papers and proceedings of an International Conference on African Knowledges and Sciences October 23 to 29 2005, Bolgatanga U/R Region Ghana. Leusden: Compas.

A perspective from anthropology 57 Moichela, K.Z. (2017). Integration of indigenous knowledge systems in the curriculum for basic education: Possible experiences of Canada (PhD). Pretoria: University of South Africa. Mullin, M. (2002). Animals and anthropology. Society and Animals, 10(4), 387–393. Mullings, L. (2005). Interrogating racism: Toward an antiracist anthropology. Annual Review of Anthropology, 34(1), 667–693. Nakata, M. (2002). Indigenous knowledge and the cultural interface: Underlying issues at the intersection of knowledge and information systems. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 36(5 6), 281–291. Nakata, N.M., Nakata, V., Keech, S., & Bolt, R. (2012). Decolonial goals and pedagogies for Indigenous studies. Decolonisation: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 120–140. Ngugi wa T. (1981). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Nyamnjoh, F.B. (2012). Blinded by sight: Divining the future of anthropology in Africa. Africa Spectrum, 47(2 3), 63–92. Nyamnjoh, F.B. (2013). From quibbles to substance: A response to responses. Africa Spectrum, 48(2), 127–139. Ndlovu Gatsheni, S.J. (2016). Decolonizing the University and the Problematic Grammars of Change in South Africa. Keynote Address Delivered at the 5th Annual Students Conference on Decolonizing the Humanities and Social Sciences in South Africa/Africa, University of KwaZulu Natal, Durban. Osha, S. (2013). The value of outsiderdom, or, anthropology’s folly. Africa Spectrum, 48(1), 129–134. Pale ček, M., & Risjord, M. (2012). Relativism and the ontological turn within anthropology. Philosophy of the Social Sciences, 43(1), 3–23. Pels, P. (2018). Anthropology should never be fully decolonized. Etnofoor, 30(2), 71–76. Pickering, A. (2017). The ontological turn: Taking different worlds seriously. Social Analysis, 61(2), 134–150. Popper, K.R. (2002 [1963]). Conjectures and refutations: The growth of scientific knowledge. Routledge classics. London, New York: Routledge. Popper, K.R. (2002). The logic of scientific discovery. Routledge classics. London: Routledge. Pickering, A. (2017). The ontological turn: Taking different worlds seriously. Social Analysis, 61(2), 134–150. Rigby, P. (1996). African images: Racism and the end of anthropology. (Global issues). Oxford, Washington, D.C: Berg. Sahlins, M. (1995). How “natives” think: About captain cook, for example. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Scarborough, M. (1994). Myth and modernity: Postcritical reflections. SUNY series, the margins of literature. Albany: State University of New York Press. Schramm, K. (2016). Casts, bones and DNA: Interrogating the relationship between science and postcolonial indigeneity in contemporary South Africa. Anthropology Southern Africa, 39(2), 131–144. Schramm, K., Krause, K., & Valley, G. (2018). Introduction: voice, noise and silence: Resonances of political subjectivities. Critical African Studies, 10(3), 245–256.

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Acknowledgements The authors are grateful for the support from the University of Johannesburg and specifically to Prof. Gert van der Westhuizen of the Department of Education for his engagement during the initial stages of the writing process, including the advice on useful literature and fruitful discussions with regard to the subject. The views expressed here belong solely to the authors and are not necessarily the opinion of these institutions and individuals

3

Rethinking linguistics at Nelson Mandela University Emerging decolonial insights Jacqueline Lück

Introduction Those of us teaching Linguistics at South African universities are often confronted with epistemological ironies and injustices that are deeply concerning. We often teach courses on first and second language acquisition, the marginalisation and loss of Indigenous languages; the value and relevance of multilingualism; the hegemony of English and Afrikaans in South Africa; through English as the language of teaching and often, solely through the epistemological and ontological lenses of northern linguistic thought. Many of us do, however, situate our teaching and research firmly in southern contexts and use approaches and theories that speak to multilingual contexts. This chapter is an attempt to make sense of some of these ironies and injustices that endure, as well as explore some of the transformative work being done in this space. A decolonial tide swept across South African higher education shores in 2015 and 2016 with student led protests. The call by students included for fees to fall but also for the decentring of northern knowledge and hegemonic and colonial languages, and the re-centring of African epistemologies. The impact of the student movement1 was felt in all corners of the academy, including in the discipline of Linguistics. This chapter discusses the responsiveness to the decolonial call by the Linguistics scholarly community at national and local levels. Case studies of an institutional language policy process and Linguistics curricular transformation at one university are explored as examples of what it means to develop local multilingual language knowledge projects and to enter into northern conversations. By doing so, it considers what it means to learn about language and to live and learn through languages in South Africa and draw on both local and northern epistemologies. The chapter’s theoretical lenses draw on both global south and north scholars to recalibrate epistemologies that largely are north gazing and to invoke non-binary and non-essentialised entangled knowledges ( Jansen, 2017) that are pluriversal and hybrid in nature. The chapter begins with a brief overview of transformation and decoloniality in South African higher education. Next, it briefly looks at the evolution of western linguistic thought and how

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we ‘received’ this canon in South Africa. Then, it discusses transformation in Linguistics on a national level. Finally, it considers the case of the Nelson Mandela University and our explorations towards a transformed language policy and Linguistics curriculum. The case studies show how ‘entangled knowledges’ can be used. The perspectives of Humanising Pedagogy, African philosophy of Ubuntu and African scholar Jank’s (2010) Critical Literacy Model are drawn on in the chapter. The chapter also draws on LCT (Maton, 2007), an approach that studies knowledge structure and knowers and offers an explanation for who claims to be a legitimate knower and what legitimate knowledge is. These are pertinent concerns for the decolonial project.

Discourses of transformation and decoloniality in South African higher education To understand the chapter’s concerns with Linguistics and decoloniality, it is important to provide some historical background to higher education in South Africa. South Africa attained democracy in 1994 after a long and brutal history of colonialism and legislated apartheid. The 2015 and 2016 student protests reminded us that while political freedom was gained in 1994, economic freedom had been elusive. Pre-1994 the South African higher education sector had been characterised by racially designated institutions, resources, and educational inequities. Much work thus had to be done to achieve social inclusion in the academy in alignment with the new democracy. Access for Black South African students was a critical concern with only 55% in higher education by 1994 (Le Roux & Breier, 2012). The South African National Plan for Higher Education (NPHE, 2001), therefore, sketched a vision for higher education to eliminate exclusionary processes and to be responsive to globalisation and the knowledge economy. The discourses were framed around transformation and social cohesion as the overarching ways in which to achieve change in higher education. Equity of access (broadening higher education access to all) and equity of outcomes (fair chance of success for all South African students) (NPHE, 2001) were also integral to transformation endeavours and discourses in higher education. Understandings of transformation were based on the White Paper 3 – A Programme for Higher Education Transformation. This paper had advocated transformation for all, irrespective of race, gender, age, creed, or class or other discrimination forms; representative staffing components in the academy; transformation of governance structures and institutional climates; provision of quality teaching; and learning with a regionally and nationally responsive curriculum (Department of Education, 1997). So, what transpired in South African higher education after these lofty and well-intentioned policy goals? Access has been broadened, with 73.7% African, 6.2% Coloured, 4.8% Indian, and 14% White students in 2017 (DHET, 2019). However, the lack of transformation in teaching and learning practices continued to mitigate systemic change. The Soudien report tasked

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with investigating discrimination in the higher education sector found that for most institutions equity was a matter of compliance and they did not engage in an examination of the underlying assumptions of institutional climate and governance and epistemologies (Soudien et al., 2008). Epistemological concerns were highlighted as one of the most significant obstacles given its decontextualised and de-Africanised approaches, and macro-reviews of curricula were recommended (Soudien et al., 2008). A later report, the SAHRC Report (2016) also examined factors that hindered transformation and found that ‘public universities have not sufficiently transformed in the past 20 years and that discrimination remains prevalent in public universities in South Africa, particularly on the ground of race, gender, disability, and socioeconomic class’ (p.viii). Two recommendations made in the SAHRC report (2016) speak to the language and curricula processes universities should be engaged with when they urged the ‘reviewing [of ] current language policies to determine appropriateness, practicality, and impact on university culture’ and ‘the redesigning of universities’ curricula to ensure its social responsiveness (both locally as well as regionally)’ (p.ix). The case studies in this chapter will later discuss language policy review processes and the redesign of curricula at Nelson Mandela University. Transformation sluggishness was thus the backdrop for the student led movement in 2015. This sluggishness that has been the source of much research and findings point to an array of reasons from persistent and resistant colonial-apartheid institutional cultures to an inability to see our students and our epistemologies for who and what they are (Durban statement on transformation in Higher Education, 2015; Badat, 2009). The Rhodes Must Fall campaign is widely seen as the impetus for decoloniality across South African higher education. In this campaign, students protested against the presence of a statue of Cecil John Rhodes at the University of Cape Town (UCT). Matebeni, UCT researcher, and member of Rhodes Must Fall, reflects that Cecil John Rhodes, a symbol of racism and colonial conquest, a constant reminder of alienation and dehumanisation and the university’s namesake, had to be removed (Heinrich Böll Stiftung, 2018). During the statue’s removal in 2015, a Fine Arts student, Sithembile Msezane, protested on a plinth with the feathered wings of the Zimbabwean Chupungu bird that Rhodes had removed from Zimbabwe and which is still to be found on his estate. Her art installation depicts hierarchies of difference and its power producing binaries in its white/black, old/young, art/science juxtapositions as well as the unequal hierarchies in higher education (Murris, 2016). The Rhodes Must Fall movement culminated in a wider spread national student protest in 2015, under the hashtag #FeesMustFall. Jansen (2017) attributes the #FeesMustFall protests to the decline in state subsidies for universities, as increased access for students led to increased subsidy but a decrease in output (student success and graduation). Universities had raised their fees in attempts to cope with the declining state subsidies, but many poor students found themselves unable to afford higher education. The decrease in outputs

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could be attributed to a system unable to facilitate success for students, from a previously disadvantaged schooling system. As access was now broadened and many students, mostly from a disadvantaged schooling system, now entered a higher education system ill-equipped to facilitate their success. Boughey and McKenna (2016) argue that the university places the blame on students’ innate attributes for their lack of success and do not glance inward at the academy’s socio-cultural practices that are alienating for students. This applies particularly to previously disadvantaged students. They are labelled as under-prepared for higher education when the weakness and underpreparedness is systemic. Many universities do not critique how students are given access to disciplinary (and institutional) practices and do not use ideological models that see disciplinary practices as socially embedded (Boughey & McKenna, 2016). Such practices have also affected students doing Linguistics as they draw on traditional models of language learning. These concerns all came to a head in 2015 and 2016 with student protests highlighting a system that was slow to transform. Since then the decolonisation project has gained traction and dominated the national higher education agenda. Jansen (2017) argues that this project will decline with activist graduation and we will once again slip into business as usual. As there are no national educational policies that have emerged placing pressure on the sector to decolonise its curriculum, this prophecy is of concern. Many institutions have, however, taken up the task in earnest and have instituted deep reflective processes such as UCT and Nelson Mandela University’s curriculum change processes. Of late, the discourse of the Fourth Industrial Revolution and online learning amidst a global pandemic is gaining traction in national discourses and in higher education. So too are discourses of racial injustices in global society as result of police brutality in the United States. All these issues are pertinent for Linguistics and lead me to a discussion of the discourses related to language and curriculum that emerged during #FeesMustFall.

Discourses of language Among student concerns, were the languages of teaching and learning. While the Language Policy Framework for South African Higher Education (LPHE, 2001) had encouraged universities to embrace multilingualism and the intellectualisation of Indigenous languages, many institutions were slow to implement these. Even in the face of the LPHE (2001) and evidence of the cognitive benefits of multilingualism, English, and Afrikaans are still largely used as mediums of instruction at universities (DHET, 2015). McKinney (2017) challenges us to recast the languages our students bring as valuable resources and not as problems. This is in response to the common sense assumption that students who speak Indigenous languages are linguistically impoverished. A video called Luister (Listen) made by Stellenbosch University students in 2015 on the alienation suffered at the university as a result of Afrikaans went viral in South Africa and elicited much dialogue on the role

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and history of Afrikaans. The protests targeted Afrikaans specifically as a language of teaching and learning at Afrikaans medium universities (Dube, 2017) as the language carries deep symbolic meaning of oppression in South Africa. Ironically students demanded that Afrikaans be replaced with English at such universities. Despite its colonial legacy and hegemony, English does not carry the same symbolism as Afrikaans does in South Africa. It is often viewed in positive ways with fluent speakers seen as sophisticated and well educated and the vehicle to economic empowerment, given its hegemony in public discourses. Many conferences and publications have been devoted to the benefits of multilingualism at universities and moderation of the obstacles against its implementation but progress towards a multilingual academy has been slow. The Draft Language Policy for Higher Education (2018) places more pressure on universities to develop inclusive and multilingual language policies for access and success. The policy (2018) requires that vicechancellors report annually on the implementation of the policy provisions that places an obligation on universities to implement multilingualism and to develop institute Indigenous languages as languages of teaching and learning. The policy is up against the firm foothold English has in the academy and perceptions that indigenous languages cannot, and perhaps should not, function as languages of teaching and learning (Ndebele & Ndimande-Hlongwa, 2019). This chapter later discusses a project that has undertaken innovative work in Language Policy implementation.

Decoloniality: Believers and unbelievers Student led movements also demanded that the curriculum in South Africa be decolonised. The academy is divided on this project and can be compared to the Believers and Unbelievers in Mda’s (2000) novel The Heart of Redness. In the novel two groups find themselves on opposite sides of a prophecy to kill their cattle so that all dead ancestors arise and restore the amaXhosa to glory in brutal colonial times. So too, in the academy, there are various fight back or fight for strategies to pursue ideals to attain decoloniality or maintain the northern knowledge hegemony. This chapter will not explore these strategies as the purpose of this section is to contextualise notions of decoloniality. Suffice to say that there are proponents for and against the decolonial project. Some feel the tide has risen but will ebb again and with it the demand for decoloniality. It should not, however, be viewed cynically as something trendy that will go out of fashion but as a social justice concern in South African higher education, and a way in which we can develop our own knowledge that do not necessarily exist as a way of speaking back to northern knowledge, but exist in its own right. Decoloniality is context. There are thus several questions that can be posed about decoloniality and context. How might decoloniality be unfolding in Linguistics at a South Africa university? How are Linguistics scholars reacting and rethinking or retracting and resisting the decolonial call? Are they doing

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so in coherent ways nationally? What makes for understandings of difference − as opposed to essentialised understandings − of African intersections and scholarship in Linguistics? How responsive is Linguistics to decoloniality in my particular context, that is, an urban comprehensive (with both skills and theoretical based programmes) university in South Africa? Before I attempt to answer these questions, let me first grapple with useful meanings of decoloniality for my context. Zembylas (2017) argues that the fundamental questions around decolonisation are what it is; why there is a need for it; its challenges; how it could take place; and query the tensions, complexities, and paradoxes that emerge from this project. There is a difference between colonialism and coloniality, the former being a period of oppression and the latter being the logic of a classification system of knowledge that valourises western thought (Zembylas, 2017). Colonialism involved economic exploitation ruthlessly inflicted on enslaved Africans (Magubane, 2007). The decolonial project essentially is an interrogation of how Eurocentric thought, knowledge, and power structures are linked to the marginalisation, exploitation, and exclusion of colonised subjects (Zembylas, 2017). Northern Linguistic thought with limited add-on approaches from multilingual perspectives has dominated the Linguistics canon we teach at our university. These perspectives include flawed conceptualisations of language, with languages seen as idealised bounded entities and as cognitive and literate objects that are separate from social relations (Pennycook & Makoni, 2020). An alternate southern view would be that of Ubuntu translanguaging, where language boundaries are blurred and one cannot exist without the other (Makalela, 2017). There should be a displacement of northern epistemologies given that we are a global citizenry and although African knowledge should be recentred, there are caveats that one form of knowledge should not be valorised above another. Linguistics has been complicit with coloniality (Pennycook & Makoni, 2020) and the recentering of African epistemologies in our context would mitigate against such inequalities in global knowledge production. Jansen (2017) talks of globally connected entangled knowledges that the decolonial project should concern itself with. This adds to the notion of a ‘hybrid’ science of knowledges across the globe. Notions of a hybrid science − as proposed by this volume − should not lead to essentialised ‘science’ versus ‘hybrid science’ binaries, and the valorisation of one over the other. In this view, a hybrid science would not be seen as a token nod to knowledges from the south. Nor should a hybrid science ignore difference and inequalities but involve the discovery of multiple language knowledges. Keet (2019) urges us to discover the historical conditions of our production to gain theoretical control of our structures and to reject simplified inclusion and epistemological pluralism that lack associated political ethics. Hybridity, a postcolonial concept, working against binaries of coloniser and colonised, and for an in-between space is more often used in literary theory than in Linguistics. Hybridity is critiqued for its focus on diversity at the expense

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of racial and socio-economic inequalities and for how it romanticises and celebrates diversity (Pennycook & Makoni, 2020) and for ignoring power relations and differences in its quest for mutuality (Mambrol, 2016). A ‘new’ hybrid science would have to pay attention to these critiques, if it is to serve a decolonial Linguistics agenda. Linguistic power relations as it intersects with race, class, communities, and gender, its historical constructions and current articulations would need foregrounding in such an approach in South Africa. This approach would not be reclaiming an idealised and fixed version of language as is critiqued above, but asking what are the new ways of seeing our southern and northern contexts through fluid language practices, and fundamentally, taking our cue from Pennycook and Makoni (2020, p. 76) asking what our languages are as ‘embodied, embedded, and cultural processes.’ The notions of decolonisation, transformation, and Africanisation have received much attention. Decolonisation, what we should be teaching children in Africa, is different from Africanisation, which refers to the politics of the mother tongue, a recentering of knowledge, (wa Thiong’o, 1981) and a decentring of western knowledge (Oelofsen, 2015). To decolonise is to engage in a process of ‘seeing ourselves clearly’ (wa Thiong’o, 1981, p. 87) in the languages we use and the curricula we teach and learn. Decolonisation of university structures equals the creation of a pluriversalism showing an openness to ideas that are new (Mbembe, 2016). Oelofsen (2015) argues that African intellectual spaces should be reclaimed and this should be done by starting from a person’s place – geographically and contextually. This leads me to the questions of the normative history of Linguistics and what is happening in the disciplinary space I occupy, which is the Linguistics curriculum. Furthermore, do Indigenous languages remain ‘folkloric’ at our universities as Mamdani (2019) states they do?

Discourse of the canon of linguistics How did we get to be where we are in Linguistics in South Africa? Linguistics and Applied Linguistics are said to involve the study of Languages, how they work and how they are applied to solve language-related problems. The latter description of Applied Linguistics shows the deficit focus of the field, which took the form of a great linguistic fixing quest in the South. The discipline can be said to fall into two broad approaches or schools: formal or theoretical study of languages like those of Morphology or Syntax and Applied Linguistics, an interdisciplinary field (drawing on education and psychology for example). Applied Linguistics included first and second language acquisition, language teaching, translation, language policy, and planning. In South Africa, we ‘received’ the northern canon of these two broad approaches through our colonial education with much of it enduring today. Robins (2013) writing on the history of Linguistics, states that all science develops from its past. As much of African epistemologies were erased in our curricula and their history not foregrounded in colonial texts, for northern

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scholars they may appear to have no past and thus our work not seen to constitute science. Europe can show a continuous line from its Greek origins to Latin grammarians in Rome to the Middle Ages and the lack of discontinuity in the European tradition is seen to make it a superior science (Robins, 2013). It is more likely that that the hegemonic powers of colonialism foregrounded this knowledge and the subalterns were not allowed to speak their histories and understandings of language. The histories of those in the south were mostly not studied and so ignored, in epistemically violent ways. Makoni and Meinhof (2004) note that when African languages outside of Europe were studied, they were codified and reduced to ‘writing.’ They cite the example of Swahili that was first written in Arabic script in the 15th century and later in Roman script, and that in the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries simplified and standard spelling and grammar systems were developed for African languages. This has resulted in orthographies that are invalid and incomplete, and now also being cited as reasons for inertia in implementing multilingual teaching (Ndebele & Ndimande-Hlongwa, 2019). The framework of western linguistic thought is one which survived from Socrates to Saussure and beyond and is that which we often reproduce and privilege in South Africa to make sense of our linguistic lived realities. This thought flows from Greek preoccupation with logos or speech that distinguishes humans from other animals to the Romans (Harris & Talbot, 1997) and Saussurean thought on structural linguistics, with language seen as stable and structured. The post-colonies also developed and strengthened Linguistic thought in approaches such as the Generative Approach, for example, in North America. First and Second Language Acquisition theories were developed from the 1960s and 1970s by Chomsky and Selinker. These approaches spoke mostly to a ‘monolingual’ individual and context, and the notion of language as separate bounded systems, or what McKinney (2017) calls an ‘anglonormative’ ideal. These approaches are being contested by notions of language fluidity in southern work done on Ubuntu translanguaging (Makalela, 2017), and multilingual mediation (Dyers & Antia, 2019). In many South Africa universities, we have been schooled to first teach our students the ‘canon’ of syntax, phonetics, morphology, and language acquisition, for example, as received from the ‘modern world.’ We glean the information from several northern textbooks that our publishers make available to us each year. We argue that students need to know the foundational, indeed ‘seminal,’ principles of Linguistics first before venturing into multilingual approaches. This gives these approaches a secondary status. We do much work to contextualise our field to and in Africa but what remains problematic is the theoretical framing of this work. It is still dominated by global north epistemologies2. African Linguistics is presented as a module in this canon – this too is problematic if it relegates the study of Linguistics in Africa to a stand-alone offering. It also separates it from the other core modules in Linguistics. It may also essentialise Africa as singular. There is no comparative ‘Linguistics in Europe’ module as the western canon remains normative.

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The notion of a canon that is largely received from northern thought is one that needs problematising. A key question is one that asks how a different canon of Linguistics might look like. While many universities have Linguistics modules that can be said to be locally contextualised, in that the data and examples are local, the theoretical lenses applied to it, however, are mainly northern. This does not mean to say that such theories do not have teachings for our context. We need to have a nuanced interrogation of these theories to see what fits, is not applicable, and should not be applied. A theory such as critical discourse analysis has a significance for our context. The problem is if a theory becomes the sole theory used to examine African contexts and the lack of attempts to look into philosophies and epistemologies developed in Africa as ontological lenses. Legitimation of southern Linguistics can occur if they are treated as equals. If critical discourse analysis engages with the critique of it being an approach that uses northern assumptions, logo-centrism, and not coloniality and southern knowledges (Pennycook & Makoni 2020), then it can be a more nuanced approach for our contexts. South African scholar Janks (2010) has a critical literacy model used for language teaching that speaks to African worldviews and topics and critically looks at the redesign of texts that are exclusionary.

Entangled knowledges as theoretical framing How then might entangled knowledges or a hybrid science look in a new canon of Linguistics? It could mean giving equal inclusion to theories from the global north and south. This is not a mere pluralisation but a critical interrogation of what is best able to excavate knowledge (Keet, 2019) in southern contexts. In my own Linguistics context at Nelson Mandela University, I have used Freirean Humanising Pedagogy, Ubuntu and Janks’s (2010) Critical Literacy Model, Social Realism and LCT (Maton, 2007, 2013); Literacy as Social Practice (Street, 2006); First and Second Language Acquisition fields; Critical Discourse Analysis (Fairclough, 2015) and Poststructuralist perspectives of language and identity (Baxter, 2016), for example, to examine local linguistic realities, and to trouble northern thought and generalisations. The notion of a Humanising Pedagogy is one that resonates in higher education, given its focus on voice and voicing. Freire (2005) conceptualised it as a mutual humanisation. The Nelson Mandela University has adopted a Humanising Pedagogy as curriculum philosophical framing that underpins all our teaching and learning. Humanising references how we centre actions in teaching and learning in ways that reflect our humanity. What it means to be human, treating others as human and having agency are placed at the centre of our curriculum at Nelson Mandela University. The relations of power in the classroom and curriculum thus become critical as we seek to transform the curriculum so that students can achieve their full potential. This enables us to talk about marginalised southern ways of knowing that are political and historical and are linked to the broader struggles in South Africa. These

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struggles included economic exclusion, gender-based violence, race, and racism. They counter northern notions of linguistics in the south as languages of loss and death and as fixed (Pennycook & Makoni, 2020). Zinn and Rodgers (2012) concluded that the South African ‘educational arena remains a battlefront’ as it is characterised by inequities (p.76). They look to Odora-Hopper and Richards’ (2011) act of rethinking, thinking in intentional ways to interrogate knowledge production in the academy, and its inherent exclusionary practices, as well as the creation of humanising learning experiences for recognition and legitimation of all knowledges. In practice, this means seeking out and developing new southern knowledges. The Afro-communitarian framework of Ubuntu of ‘umntu ngumntu ngabantu’ or ‘a person is a person because of other people/I am because we are’ aligns to a Humanising Pedagogy as it sees the significance of others, history, context and community in forming identity, as well as interdependency between the individual and the collective (Oelofsen, 2015). In Linguistics, the contexts provide data but this alone is not powerful epistemology if it remains at the level of contextual examples and does not include Africans thinking about Africa using African knowledge and ways of being. This means that we need to ask whose knowledge is being valued and who are considered the knowers in the Linguistics curriculum. This is where a northern theory such as LCT is very useful. It poses these questions about knowledge and power and illuminates how intellectual fields are structured, how they build cumulatively and transfer knowledge (Maton, 2007). Knowledge claims and practices are understood as languages of legitimation with knowledge structures and knowers for all fields (Maton, 2007). The knowledge structure of Linguistics is one that builds on and is predominantly oriented towards northern linguistic thought with strongly bonded knowers who recontextualise this knowledge in the curriculum and reproduce it in the classroom. It is not powerful knowledge as it excludes African knowledge and how we function in an African world. If we use LCT’s lenses to examine our Linguistics knowledge structures, they can be useful to show which normative northern notions we have held onto. Janks’s (2010) Critical Literacy Model also asks us to consider who has power and access to the knowledge in the Linguistics curriculum and whether it is a diverse knowledge. Her model goes beyond an analysis of text and has the critical dimension of the redesign of multimodal texts to be more inclusive of different knowledges. We use this model in our Critical Discourse Analysis classes to add to Fairclough (2015)’s model.

Rethinking a linguistics canon At Nelson Mandela University Linguistics is being rethought so that it draws on entangled knowledges or a hybrid science that both troubles and embraces different knowledges. We are also grappling with these concerns on national and local levels. The section below first outlines the broader national

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Linguistics decolonial responsiveness as background to the case studies that are later discussed.

Transformation in linguistics on national level The Linguistics scholarly community in South Africa is deeply aware of these pressing issues of transformation and decolonisation. We have undertaken much soul searching in national transformation workshops. Scholars have gathered to examine Linguistics at two transformation workshops in 2016 and 2018. These workshops have challenged us to re-articulate how we think about Linguistics in a transforming South Africa (Resolutions of the first Transformation in Linguistics Summit, 2016). The report (2016) notes that the Linguistics community needs to consider student and staff alienation and pressures; create a balance between competing tensions of Africanisation and globalisation and rethink hegemonic language and intersectionality in its transformational and decolonial work. It calls for a non-essentialist and non-parochial approach, a pluralism, acceptance, and inclusion of diverse voices and linguistic repertoires (Busch, 2012). It sees the curriculum as ‘broadly construed to encompass the totality of structured learning experiences of a student, including modes of interaction and learning; philosophies of teaching and learning; assessment criteria and practices; the selection of theory and analytical paradigms; outcomes, intended or not; the object of study and the language of exemplification and access and institutional culture’ (Resolutions of the first Transformation in Linguistics Summit, 2016, p. 4). The broader Linguistics scholarly community in South Africa is thus supportive of the decolonial project. It provides a framework that allows us to address transformation of the curriculum in ways that are contextual yet global. It is mindful that transformation can be used in counter-productive ways to serve different agendas that may not constitute authentic change. The case studies that will now be discussed are those of an institutional language policy process and Linguistics offerings at the Nelson Mandela University. This university is a comprehensive institution offering both vocational or skills based and theoretical programmes. The notion of comprehensive thus means that it is not a research intensive university. Linguistics is offered by the Department of Applied Language Studies in the Faculty of Humanities. The department also offers what is known as service modules to a range of faculties at the university. These modules essentially are Professional English or Business English courses that seek to equip students with workplace literacies. Academic literacies are also offered by the Department. The Linguistics modules are offered to both undergraduate and postgraduate Bachelor of Arts students. Since 2016, the department has been involved in reimagining its curricula change. A new cohort of staff with various expertise and consultations with sister universities such as Rhodes and the University of the Western Cape are deepening our understanding of our

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identities in the department while the university’s centre for teaching and learning is assisting us with our curriculum endeavours.

Language policy process at Nelson Mandela University Language Policy Planning and Practices are not only institutional concerns of the language of teaching and learning but are also embedded as core modules in Linguistics at the Nelson Mandela University. Uncovering the intellectual richness and history of indigenous languages lay at the heart of this project. Nationally many conferences, workshops, and colloquia have been held to review key elements that fail in implementation of a multilingual language policy across the South African higher education landscape, and what the implications are for the teaching of Language Policy and Planning modules in the curriculum. These have pointed to costs of implementation, lack of political will, claims about a lack of corpus on Language Policy Planning research in South Africa or a sparsity of translanguaging research in South Africa. Still, there are many instances of best language practice such as the University of Kwa Zulu Natal with its isiZulu terminology development programme, with disciplinary terms being excavated for all disciplines, a compulsory isiZulu course, and the University of Limpopo’s bilingual Sesotho sa Leboa and English B degree in Contemporary English and Multilingual Studies. The measures taken towards a multilingual university environment are, however, not coherent across the sector. One key element that Nelson Mandela University has identified as a stumbling block to the implementation of multilingual language policy is the process we undertake to arrive at our policy. The process is crucial as it will determine the knowledge structure of this policy and its knowers. Our previous policy had failed as it was a top–down policy process with power and access to it by the few knowers who had constructed this discursive text. The policy was deemed unimplementable by the National Department of Higher Education as the hegemony of English was reinforced and, while staff was encouraged to implement multilingualism, there was no obligation to do so. This resulted in the maintenance of the status quo. Our new policy process is attempting a more inclusive and humanising process that creates spaces for the entire university community to be heard and to talk about their linguistic experiences at the institutions in ways that are powerfully evocative and lead to a reimagining of an inclusive and multilingual institutional environment. So doing, it invokes the social justice concerns of language policy planning that Mayaba, Ralarala, and Angu (2018) urge us to be mindful of. This process is designed to be iterative and dynamic so that the policy becomes a living document and one that ensures access and success for the university community in all its domains. It is a deeply decolonial process that disrupts hegemonic languages as tools of subjugation for most of our university community. It is not a quick fix process as a university wide consultation and the design of safe ‘courageous

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conversation’ spaces take thought and time. The entire university community is invited to these conversations to speak of their language experiences at the university and to develop an alternative policy that considers the ways of knowing of this community. The process is led by language and linguistics practitioners, scholars, students, and includes staff from a variety of levels at the university. It is a scholarly process with entangled local and global epistemologies such as humanising pedagogy, coloniality of language, and critical pedagogy. We are using the process to inform our Language Policy and Planning postgraduate Linguistics programme to trouble the cynicism around the implementation of institutional language policies. We show that a process that is deeply contextual and one that can draw on good practices from both local and global spheres is one that can have success. The reclamation of indigenous languages is a decolonial imperative.

Transforming linguistics at Nelson Mandela University As noted above, the Linguistics curriculum at our university is undergoing an intensive identity search. We have undergraduate programmes in our Bachelor of Arts degree as well as postgraduate studies. The curriculum was developed around the northern ‘canon’ and the particular interests of staff, many whom have left the department. It includes Formal or Theoretical Linguistics and Applied Linguistics. At the first year levels, it has autonomous grammar modules – seeking to develop the language ‘skills’ of students in neutral and technical ways, as opposed to ideological models of literacy that sees literacy as embedded in disciplinary domains (Street, 2006). Morphology, Syntax, Phonetics, Discourse Analysis, World Englishes, and the rather vaguely named Sociolinguistics module, all constitute the modules in the undergraduate degree. Postgraduate studies include both Formal and Applied Linguistics, Language Acquisition Studies, Model and Practices of Teaching, Lexicography, Creative Writing, Translation and Interpreting and Language Policy Planning and Practice. It is a rather mixed bag of offerings and one that does not reveal our particular identities and areas of interest as a Linguistics department in Africa. What it does reveal is the adherence to a northern canon. Staff has started to develop their areas of interest around these modules and we are more and more drawing on multilingual approaches and scholarship in Africa. For example, in the first year, a first-year module entitled language, ideology, and identity uses both global south and north paradigms and notions of how language, common sense assumptions, discourse, and identities are constituted. The module provides space for students to critically deconstruct the validity of their common sense assumptions about language groups in South Africa in attempts to deconstruct apartheid linguistic ideologies (Lück & Rudman, 2017). A second year Critical Discourse Analysis module includes discourse underpinnings of Gee (2008), Fairclough (2015),

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Foucault (1970), and African scholar Janks (2010). Students can undertake Critical Discourse Analysis work on texts that reflect their own and global realities, so using knowledges that are local and global. Our postgraduate studies include modules that reference linguistic repertoires and Ubuntu translanguaging and include southern case studies. While these attempts are valuable and work towards a decolonial ideal, they are not coherent and consistent across our offerings and significantly, are not codified in the module core outcomes and so we are undergoing a deep curricula introspection. In our introspection, we pose the following questions: What is it that we want to offer? What is it that we can offer? We respond that we wish to be Africanised, multilingual, and globally competitive. These are not mutually exclusive as our students are exposed to different knowledges and so should navigate a challenging and complex world better. Our students need to be independent and critical thinkers who can cope in the digital age. Ubuntu and Humanising Pedagogy frame our teaching and learning. Renewing the curriculum is a process, not an event and so this is an ongoing and dynamic endeavour. It will involve iterations of design, implementation, and evaluation. Another example shows how a Language Acquisition module can be co-constructed with academics and postgraduate students. In its original conceptualisation, the ‘core outcomes’ of the module were to teach First and Second Language Acquisition Theories. No space was given to multilingual theories of acquisition. Many of our students have found the theories impenetrable, diffuse, and alienating to their realities of learning languages, given that it views language as separate and bounded systems. The notion of an inter-language (Selinker, 1972) as a gateway between first and second language was particularly perplexing to them as they wondered if they had many interlanguages. Translanguaging (Garcia, 2009) and multilanguaging (Makalela, 2017) best describe their language experiences, where languages are fluid and one moves between them to make meaning. The module is being reframed as one that speaks to languages acquisition and language reclamation (Leonard, 2019). This is because often Indigenous languages are diminished to second class status in South African schooling, leading to lack of proficiency. With maturity and insight, individuals often actively seek to reclaim and reaffirm languages that were absent in their primary and secondary schooling and use these with more agency in their linguistic repertoires. The module is co-constructed through student engagement with reflective questions that seek to trouble the seminal literature on Second Language Acquisition Interlanguage theory in particular. Students become co-constructors and generators of new knowledge. The proponents of Second Language Acquisition theory are focused on identifying factors that lead to fossilization (Selinker, 1972), that is, consistent ‘errors’ that recur in language learning despite instruction and exposure to correct form and how best to deal with these ‘grammatical errors’ in the classroom. This is in opposition to theories of trans- and multilanguaging that speak to the use of

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multiple languages as meaning making endeavours. Nevertheless, we teach these ‘seminal’ northern theories as students can only speak back if they have knowledge of the theories. They may also have historical importance for what once was considered to be a monolingual norm. In this module, student research is based on language acquisition among children and adults in a multilingual context like South Africa, where most people speak more than one language. This module out the epistemologies of the impact of African contexts on language acquisition processes. It critically examines what counts as valid knowledge for a Language Acquisition module in an African setting and how this knowledge and its knowers can be legitimated. The above examples highlight how we are seeking to transform Linguistics on national and local institutional levels by troubling northern epistemologies and seeking out African epistemologies. Our work is based on our linguistic and the impact of economic inequalities, race, gender, and class on these.

Conclusion This chapter has shown that Linguistics in South Africa − like all other disciplines − is confronted by social justice imperatives of decoloniality in higher education. It has given some background to the received tradition of a northern Linguistics canon. At the start of this chapter, the following question was posed: How might decoloniality and Africanisation be unfolding in Linguistics in South Africa? I have shown that Linguistics scholars are reacting by rethinking the decolonial call. They may not be doing so in coherent ways but are striving to account for understandings of difference as opposed to essentialised understandings of African intersections and scholarship in Linguistics. I have shown that we are responsive in Linguistics to decoloniality in my particular context, that is, an urban comprehensive (with both skills and theoretical-based programmes) university in South Africa. The chapter has shown that Linguistics scholars and are students, are rethinking and being responsive to the decolonial call nationally in ways that are non-essentialist and draw on our historical and political pasts and present. On a local university level, we are engaged with the complex work of entangled and ecological linguistic knowledges – so contributing to new ways of thinking about Linguistics. What is emerging is that our decolonial project is serving to reclaim what was marginalised and to take back the African linguistic knowledges that were erased in the canon.

Notes

1. The student protests can be seen as a movement as it spread across the country and the impact of student demands reverberated across the country and continues to impact it. 2. We are starting to use our own locally produced textbooks in our department like language, society, and communication by Zannie Bock and Gift Mheta.

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Reference Badat, S. (2009). Theorising institutional change: post-1994 South African higher education. Studies in Higher Education, 34(4), 455–467. Baxter, J. (2016). Positioning Language and Identity. Postculturalist Perspectives. In S. Preece (Ed.), The Routledge Handbook of Language and Identity (pp. 34–49). Oxfordshire: Routledge. Boughey, C., & McKenna, S. (2016). Academy literacy and the decontextualised learner. Critical Studies in Teaching and Learning, 4(2), 1–9. Busch, B. (2012). The linguistic repertoire revisited. Applied Linguistics Advanced Access, 33(5), 503–523. Retrieved January 28, 2020. http://www.heteroglossia.net/ fileadmin/user_upload/publication/2012-Busch-Applied_Ling.pdf Department of Education. (1997). Education White paper 3 (1997) A Programme for the transformation of higher education, Pretoria, Notice 1196 of 1997. https://www.che. ac.za/sites/default/files/publications/White_Paper3.pdf. DHET. (2015). Report on the use of African Languages as mediums of instruction in higher education. Transformation at Public Universities in South Africa. https:// www.sahrc.org.za/home/21/files/SAHRC%20Report%20-%20Transformation%20 in%20Public%20Universities%20in%20South%20Africa.pdf. Draft Language Policy for Higher Education. (2018). http://www.dhet.gov.za/Policy%20 a nd%20Development %20Suppor t/Gover n ment %20Not ice%20Rev ised%20 Language%20Policy%20for%20Higher%20Education.pdf. Dube, B. (2017). Afrikaans must fall and English must rise. Ironies and contradictions in protests by South African students. Africa Insight, 47(2), 13–27. Durban statement on transformation in Higher Education (2015). Higher education on the second Higher Education summit. https://www.gov.za/speeches/2015-durban-statement-transformation-higher-education-17-oct-2015-0000. Dyers, C., & Antia, B. E. (2019). Multilingual and multimodal mediation in one university module: The people and processes involved. Southern African Linguistics and Applied Language Studies, 37(1), 62–75. Fairclough, N. (2015). Language and power. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1970). The Order of Discourse. In R. Young (Ed.), The Text: A Post Structuralist Reader. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Freire, P. (2005). Pedagogy of the oppressed. London, New York: Continuum. Garcia, O. (2009). Bilingual education in the 21st century, a global perspective. Hoboken, New Jersey: Wiley-Blackwell. Gee, J. (2008). Social linguistics and literacies: Ideology in discourses. (3rd ed.). Oxfordshire: Routledge. Harris, R., & Talbot, T. (1997). Landmarks in linguistic thought volume I the western tradition from socrates to Saussure. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Heinrich Böll Stiftung. (2018). Zethu Matebeni Interview, #Rhodesmustfall, It was never just about the statue. https://za.boell.org/2018/02/19/rhodesmustfallit-was-never-just-about-statue. Janks, H. (2010). Literacy and power. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Jansen, J. (2017). As by fire: The end of the South African university. Cape Town: Tafelberg Publishers. Keet, A. (2019). The Plastic University: Knowledge, Disciplines and the Decolonial Turn. In J. Jansen (Ed.), Decolonisation in Universities: The Politics of Knowledge (pp. 202–216). Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

76  Jacqueline Lück Language Policy Framework for South African Higher Education (2001). http://www. dhet.gov.za/HED%20Policies/Language%20Policy%20Framework%20for%20 South%20African%20Higher%20Education.pdf. Le Roux, P., & Breier, M. (2012). Steering from a distance Improving access to Higher Education in South Africa via the funding formula. Paper prepared for Friedrich Ebert Stiftung South Africa. Leonard, W.Y. (2019). Indigenous Languages through a Reclamation Lens. Anthropology news website. September 19, 2019. DOI:10.111/AN.1266. Lück, J., & Rudman, S. (2017). Identity, ideology and discourse: Classroom spaces for deconstructions and reconstructions. The Independent Journal of Teaching and Learning, 12(1), 5–19. Magubane, B. (2007). Race and the construction of the dispensable other. Pretoria: University of South Africa Press. Makalela, L. (2017). What is multi-languaging. Ubuntu or botho translanguaging? http:// leketimakalela.blogspot.com/2017/12/what-is-multilanguaging-ubuntu-or-botho. html Makoni, S., & Meinhof, U. (2004). Western perspectives in applied linguistics in Africa. AILA review, 17(1), 77–104. Mambrol, N. (2016). Homi Bhabha’s concept of hybridity. https://literariness. org/2016/04/08/homi-bhabhas-concept-of-hybridity/ Mamdani, M. (2019). Decolonising Universities. In J. Jansen (Ed.), Decolonisation in Universities: The Politics of Knowledge (pp. 15–28). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Maton, K. (2007). Knowledge-Knower Structures in Intellectual and Educational Fields. In F. Christie & J. Martin. (Eds.), Language, Knowledge and Pedagogy: Functional linguistic and sociological perspectives (pp. 87–108). London, New York: Continuum. Maton, K. (2013). Making semantic waves: A key to cumulative knowledge-building. Linguistics and Education, 24, 8–22. Mayaba, N., Ralarala, M., & Angu, P. (2018). Student voice: Perspectives on language and critical pedagogy in South African higher education. Educational Research for Social Change, 7(1), 1–12. Mbembe, A. (2016). Decolonising the university: New directions. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), 29–45. McKinney, C. (2017). Language and power in post-colonial schooling. ideologies in practice. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Mda, Z. (2000). The heart of redness. Oxford: University Press. Murris, K. (2016). #Rhodesmustfall: A Posthumanist orientation to decolonising higher education institutions. https://www.journals.ac.za/index.php/sajhe/article/ viewFile/653/260. National Plan for Higher Education. (2001). http://www.dhet.gov.za/HED%20Policies/ National%20Plan%20on%20Higher%20Education.pdf. Ndebele, H., & Ndimande-Hlongwa, N. (2019). Impediments in promoting the functional status of African languages in higher education. Southern African Linguistics and Applied Language Studies, 37(2), 91–118. Ngugi wa Thiong’o. (1981). Decolonising the mind. The politics of language in African literature. Melton: James Currey. Odora-Hoppers, C., & Richards, H. (2011). Rethinking thinking: Modernity’s ‘other’ and the transformation of the university. Pretoria: University of South Africa Press.

Emerging decolonial insights 77 Oelofsen, R. (2015). Decolonisation of the African mind and intellectual landscape. Phronimon, 16(2), 130–146. Pennycook, A., & Makoni, S. (2020). Innovations and Challenges in Applied Linguistics from the Global South. In K. Hyland (Ed.). Innovations and Challenges in Applied Linguistics. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Resolutions of the first Transformation in Linguistics Summit (2016). LSSA and SAALA. https://salals.org.za/2019/03/25/resolutions-of-the-first-transformation-inlinguistics-summit-2016/ Robins, R. H. (2013). A short history of Linguistics. Oxfordshire: Routledge. SAHRC Report. (2016). Transformation at Public Universities in South Africa. https:// www.sahrc.org.za/home/21/files/SAHRC%20Report%20-%20Transformation%20 in%20Public%20Universities%20in%20South%20Africa.pdf. Selinker, L. (1972). Interlanguage. International Review of Applied Linguistics, 10, 209–231. Soudien, C., Michaels, W., Mthembi-Mahanyele, S. Nkomo, M., Nyanda., G., Nyoka, N., Seepe, S., Shisana, O., & Villa-Vincencio, C. (2008). Report of the Ministerial Committee on Transformation and Social Cohesion and the Elimination of Discrimination in Public Education Institutions. https://www.ukzn.ac.za/wp-content/miscFiles/publications/ReportonHEandTransformation.pdf. Street, B. (2006). Autonomous and ideological models of literacy: Approaches from new Literacy studies. Media Anthropology Network – phibu-net. Zembylas, M. (2017). Decolonizing higher education pedagogies: good intentions are not enough. In UWC Decolonisation Seminar Series (Vol. 1). Zinn, D. &Rodgers, C. (2012). A humanising pedagogy: Getting beneath the rhetoric. Perspectives in Education, 30(4), 76–87.

4

What is the point of studying Africa in Europe? A micro-ethnographic study of decolonising African studies through international postgraduates in Germany Irina Turner1 Do you ask rhetorically with Spivak […] whether the subaltern can speak, or should you […] ask the sovereign to shut up? Do you, […] call for the decolonisation of the African mind, or should you change the focus and call for the decolonisation of the European mind? (Macamo, 2018, p. 4)

Introduction In his keynote lecture at the 7th European Conference on African Studies (ECAS) in Basel, Switzerland, Elisio Macamo asked about the legitimisation of African studies in Europe. In order to ‘vouch for the intellectual integrity of [European] research’ in African studies, Macamo (2018) argued, constant reflection ‘on what makes it possible to know’ was necessary (p. 4). This epistemic reflection also comes with a methodological one: ‘We study Africa because we want to know how to study Africa’ (Macamo, 2018, p. 8) [emphasis in original]. Macamo emphasized that methodological focus is the fundament of scholarship; i.e., it is not only defined by research conclusions but by the quest to find and reflect ‘on the best way to organize our ways of knowing’ the world; and from this knowledge emerges great responsibility (2018, p. 8). The success of the decolonial project in academia requires self-critical engagement of the North with its own influence in the continuation of neo-colonial structures and power relations. On a practical level, this also refers to decolonising curricula and organisational structures, foremost and especially in the field of African studies. Though some might argue the process has already taken place to some extend during various waves of critical renewal in the field (Brahm, 2010), this harbours a saturated and static viewpoint and does not do justice in acknowledging and anticipating the impact of current developments on the African continent such as the #FeesMustFall movement, which calls for decolonisation of the academia in South Africa. The consideration

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and integration of socially relevant trends in Africa is core for maintaining legitimation within the field of African studies in Europe. 2 Instead of talking of postcolonialism, where the evils of the past seem overcome, Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2013) prefers to name the current status-quo a ‘postcolonial neo-colonialized world’ describing ‘an entangled situation, where the African and the Western world meet under highly racialised, hegemonic, hierarchical, and unequal terms’ (p. 3f ). Before the utopia of a genuinely ‘post-colonial African world’ can become a reality, ‘some dangerous myths of decolonisation and illusions of freedom’ need to be exposed (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013, p. 13). Since this is a matter of discourse, African languages, and ontologies play an important role in this endeavour. While the linguistic study of and communication in African languages is a field that will become increasingly relevant for the future, the ongoing critical deconstruction of the field’s past is necessary to enable the survival of this niche subject. Decolonisation is not only a top–down approach, as students have a legitimate say in what their education and preparation for the future should look like. At the University of Leipzig, for instance, a student initiative calls for decolonisation of African studies in Germany. 3 The views of African postgraduate students studying in Germany can be a contribution to decolonisation of African studies in Europe. Students from Africa can bring their diverse educational socialisations and insights from all over the continent to Europe and can thus play a key role in deconstructing neo-colonial structures at Northern universities. From the perspective of language sociology, this chapter presents a micro-ethnographic study among Master students in inter-disciplinary African studies. While the umbrella term is broad and unspecific, the focus of this chapter is anchored within the tradition of German Afrikanistik, the study of African languages, literatures, and linguistics, and related subjects such as media and arts. The students speaking here, in the majority, studied the Master Programme African Verbal and Visual Arts: Languages, Literatures, Media and Art (AVVA). While a nationwide comprehensive survey on decolonisation in German African studies is in need, the scope of this contribution can only relate the example from Afrikanistik in Bayreuth. The following questions are explored: What was the students’ motivation to study Africarelated subjects in Germany? What role did and does coloniality − in the sense of Grosfoguel (2007) as lasting structural oppression − play in the students’ academic life and educational history? What do they hope to gain from their studies and how can they contribute to a decolonisation of African studies in the North? What are the problematic areas in the current set up of the AVVA programme? The chapter opens with a brief history of the hosting discipline Afrikanistik, which had influenced the emergence of African studies in Germany to a major extent (Probst, 2005) to set the contextual background. In the following, it explains the method and scope of the empiric core, the ethnographic micro-study. The results of the interviews are then thematically discussed

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under the headlines: concepts of decolonisation, biographical experiences of colonial structures, motivation to study Africa in Europe, traces of decolonisation and decolonised utopias, as well as a critique of AVVA. Concluding, results are discussed in the light of African studies in Germany and Afrikanistik in particular. This micro-study can contribute to the debate on the current redefinition and re-legitimisation of African studies in the North. The main purpose of this enquiry is to unravel traces of coloniality within African studies in Germany.

The role of German African language studies – Afrikanistik The new inter-disciplinary Master and Bachelor programmes AVVA: Languages, Literatures, Media, and Art4 at Bayreuth University have their institutional intellectual and historical roots in African Language Studies – the German Afrikanistik. Although an inter-disciplinary opening and integration of newer research fields within African studies – such as Curation and Media in Africa – were an important part of the new concept, the pillars of the programmes remain African languages, literatures, and linguistics. Hence, it is worthwhile revisiting the (de-)colonising history of the discipline, in order to understand the context in which current students operate. The term Africanist is quite ambiguous. Within the African context, it is used to name an intellectual activist, who politically advances the African interests through scholarly means taking ‘a perspective that is focused on defending and promoting the cause of Africa’ (Lamola, 2015, p. 64f ). Africanists have never been able to afford scholarship for its sheer luxury, in whatever field, we have worked with an unwritten command to tell our people about our people. We have had to work our way out from under a number of historical boulders rolled over us by foreign interests (Thuynsma, 1998, p. 185). In the contemporary German university context, however, the Afrikanist exclusively refers to a scholar of African languages; as the expertise areas of the respective chairs and its lobby association Fachverb and Afrikanistik eV. (2019) states. This delineation is neither conclusive nor without objection; as the role of media and literatures, communication practices, and other sociological aspects gain more ground in contemporary research foci side-lining pure linguistic concerns. German research on Africa at large, including the social sciences and art studies, are lobbied by the African Studies Association Germany (VAD e.V.), whose members also claimed to be Afrikanists (Probst, 2005). These research foci are better represented under the umbrella term African studies precisely due to its multi-valency. In the early days of German African studies, linguists clearly dominated the scene (Probst, 2005). The term Afrikanistik had first been mentioned in

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its narrow linguistic sense around 1914 by the founding father of Afrikanistik Carl Meinhof and later been expanded to include African literatures (Stoecker, 2008). Meinhof is seen as the ‘most important early 20th Century scholar of African Studies,’ whose ‘theories on language and ethnicity were uncompromisingly racist’ and influenced racial thought and politics in the early 20th Century in Germany and beyond; e.g., in South Africa (Pugach, 2012, p. 19). One important instrument of colonialism was the taxonomical and hierarchal classification of African people and the establishment of hypothetical cultural boundaries based on grammar, lexis, and cultural conventions: German scholars imagined that Africans spoke and acted in a certain manner and were unlikely to deviate from a specific set of behaviours. The Africa of their imagination did not correlate with what they encountered on the ground, but that was of little consequence (Pugach, 2012, p. 4). German Afrikanists, such as Lepsius, Westermann, and Meinhof, played an important part in assisting the colonial project by bringing order into a blurred image of African cultures confining it onto ‘a neatly ordered map’ (Pugach, 2012, p. 4). The process of racialisation of African Language Studies was tied to the professionalisation and establishment of the academic discipline and ‘an increasing objectification of Africa’ (Pugach, 2012, p.3). Since the 1920s, professionalisation of the field has led African studies away from the missionaries into the German universities, and fostered the establishment of research chairs, specialisations, and differentiation of the field, and a distinct academic education with its own curriculum and examination standards (Stoecker, 2008). Along with the categorisation and linguistic standardisation, also came a reduction of complexities; of ‘messy human life-worlds in the form of highly standardised grammars, dictionaries, and illustrative texts resulting in a profound and persistent epistemological dislocation’ of African realities (Beck, 2018, p. 2). While the history of Afrikanistik can by no means be simplified as a product of ‘European dominance and African submission,’ since it has always been a heterogeneous discourse with many African stakeholders involved (Pugach, 2012, p. 5), it is nevertheless closely tied to colonial history and therefore in need of thorough continuous deconstruction. Meta-reflection of Afrikanistik thought and impact has accompanied the discipline, since its heydays but initially rather aimed at firmly establishing the field within the university on a competitive international scale (Stoecker, 2008); instead of critical self-reflection on political and social effects of research outputs. After the second world war, according to emeritus professor of Afrikanistik at the University of Vienna Norbert Cyffer, any critical engagement with the political implications and colonial agenda of the founding fathers of Afrikanistik was considered a taboo and only from the 1990s, have colonial aspects of German African studies been systematically

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and critically examined (Stoecker, 2008). Originally, Afrikanistik knowledge emerged from the missionaries where fieldwork done by people living in Africa was the norm. Later, with the establishment of professorships at the universities, the knowledge production travelled to the German metropoles Hamburg and Berlin along with an increasingly racialised discourse about African languages and cultures such as the Hamit-Theory propagated by Lepsius and Meinhoff (Pugach, 2012). These so called armchair scholars relied heavily on African informants (Pugach, 2012), which is also why Akfrikanist ontology cannot reductively be framed as a purely Western invention. Despite their crucial importance in the establishment of the discipline, Africans within European African studies largely were for a long time deemed to resort to the role of ‘informants’ and ‘assistants’ (Stoecker, 2008, p.311). Eventually, with scholars trained in Germany, Afrikanist knowledge, e.g., about the classification of African languages, has partly been re-imported into Africa (Pugach, 2012). The end of the German colonies also brought about the end of the immediate political relevance of German Afrikanistik (Pugach, 2012; Stoecker, 2008). From this time, Afrikanistik remained within self-serving ivory towers, where the research outputs were of little political or social relevance since the colonies no longer needed practical assistance (Pugach, 2012). Though the period and scope of German colonialism was relatively short and small compared to other European nations, German Afrikanists internationally nevertheless contributed to intellectual colonialism (Pugach, 2012) and later partly supported the Nazi regime (Probst, 2005). From the 1960s, there were some activities to decolonise African studies at large and the field experienced a massive re-politisation and boost in inter-disciplinarity in Germany; this time in the direction of seeing Africa on eye-level and supporting decolonisation in African countries (Probst, 2005). Since traditional Afrikanistik, however, has largely deliberately stood away from these discourses (Probst, 2005), there is a sense that up to today, the discipline has not recovered from this loss of its former prestige also due to a failure to re-invent itself appropriately and purge from colonial infections. In sum, colonial elements are central to the history of German Afrikanistik. It is less a question of direct impact or political and personal allegiances than of providing epistemological authority for racialised politics: Language formed the basis for understanding Africa’s complicated ethnic map, and it showed Europeans how to draw boundaries between groups that might earlier have appeared indistinguishable. Whether or not Afrikanistik affected German colonial policy in concrete terms is thus not the most important issue. What is significant is how Afrikanistik allowed Africa to be parcelled out in discrete, easily definable categories that could then be hierarchically arranged (Pugach, 2012, p.193).

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Today, Afrikanistik in Germany is no longer the racialised science from the past but has a more inter-disciplinary and contextual approach; although the theoretical lineage is often still drawn back to Meinhof and Westermann (Pugach, 2012, p.195).5 Nevertheless, proactive distancing from the colonial past has not been comprehensively carried out nor decidedly been implemented structurally, which might be felt by contemporary students, especially from Africa who are sensitized to neo-colonial structures. Decolonising Afrikanistik in Germany must ultimately be a bottom up approach, which is why the students’ voices are so vital.

Method and scope The data are drawn from two focus group interview with Master Students from consecutive cohorts in African studies (Linguistics, Literatures, and Literature) at Bayreuth University6. The majority of the students studied the newly launched AVVA master programme. AVVA has been developed to broaden the scope from linguistics and enable fruitful connections with the field of literatures, media, and curational studies. It came to life through students with an international profile and close personal connections to Africa. While residing on four major blocks – African languages and linguistics, literatures in African languages, media and art creation in Africa – students can individually specialize and the programme can be tailored to specific disciplinary and regional interests. The students thus infuse a decolonial outlook on African linguistics and related fields. The following presents a thematically grouped analysis of the points raised during the interview and group discussion.

Data analysis: Students’ voices Concepts of decolonisation When being asked about their concepts of decolonisation, the students – with reference to Ngugi wa Thiong’o (1986) – describe it as a psychological condition ‘like a virus’one needs to be healed from: A textbook definition is a lack […] of political colonial presence. And so, some people talk about the sixties as the period of decolonisation, but I think that, that is not the whole truth. […] Rather than a lack of colonial power, decolonisation is the uncolonising of the mentality in so-called postcolonial places (Focus Group Interview, 2018). ‘Mental colonisation’ is the worst and the most difficult form to undo since it ‘stole the African souls, invaded their consciousness, destroyed, and distorted their imagination of the future’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013, p.50). Ironically, mental purging was the hardest for the forefathers of the postcolonial struggle

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because they usually were educated at Western universities and colonial schools and were thus immediately exposed to a Eurocentric knowledge hegemony (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013). The idea of re-connecting to a precolonial ideal utopia and rebalance pre-existing power relations is seen critically by the students: Negotiating that something can come back as it was before all these interferences came […] that is like nearly impossible. I think decolonisation is just a way that allows for an integration. Like accepting this past. But then how do we move on from this? (Focus Group Interview, 2018). The notion of integration is echoed by Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2013), who describes a genuinely postcolonial world as one that does not reject Western knowledge but democratizes this epistemic hegemony ‘so that it recognizes other knowledges from the ex-colonized world as equally important and relevant’ (p. 60). Democratisation of knowledge then must actively facilitate critical negotiation of given truths and power structures. Decolonisation seems linked to Africanisation or Afrocentricity, defined by Asante (1988) as a ‘critical perspective placing African ideals as the centre of any analysis that involves African culture or behaviour’ (p. 6). This might inevitably result in an essentialising exercise about Africanness; a move that African studies urgently attempts to undo as the students are aware of: To define [African] becomes […] a problem […]. What is so African about you to say: ‘I am an African? ‘When already you are growing up with all these additions and spices […] and salts and all these things. What is then African about me? (Focus Group Interview, 2018). The question of who an African is and what makes this person African is relevant and yet unsolved. Africanism can be seen as a response to and result of imperialism and colonialism and racial aspects of Africanness are attributed to the emergence of African Diasporas and of course colonial ideology (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013). Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2013) argues that being African is a collective historic experience that justifies ‘claim of common identity’ (p. 111); i.e., a common experience of coloniality. Biographical experiences of colonial structures The AVVA students are between 20 and 40 years of age; i.e., most have grown up in independent African states. Yet, they all have to a greater or lesser extent encountered colonial structures within their education biographies. To ask about these is relevant when considering a bottom up utopia of a decolonised study environment; the current status-quo in liberal Western academia is in some respects not so far from the experiences made in Africa. Traces of coloniality become evident in neo-colonial conditions.

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The repetition of supposedly transcended oppressive structures brings about awareness of the need for action. One aspect is concerned with teaching material. A curation student related experiences made during her undergraduate studies at Chinoyi University, Zimbabwe, where she searched the university library in vain for African artists and philosophers but only found ‘Bruegels and Picassos, and Michaelangelos,’ which did not make sense nor inspire her. Instead she felt stuck with Socrates and Plato asking herself: ‘What am I actually supposed to learn from it?’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). The prevalence of Western thought in the curriculum is creating resistance, as it is not offering a platform for the identification or any sense of reciprocal relationship: There is no Ugandan on the syllabus. There is not even… no African. It is either Europe or America […]. And I feel that [these are] people, you don’t have to know. Because they don’t even know if Uganda is in Africa or somewhere (Focus Group Interview, 2018). And indeed, Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2013) confirms that the time has come for ‘an African epistemological rebellion’ which places ‘the African experience at the centre of intellectualism and the African taking a leading role in the production of situated and relevant knowledge’ (p. 52). The quest to ‘Africanize global scholarship and globalize African scholarship’ (Zeleza, 2003, p.97) entails a tackling of institutional structures as much as an ontological edifice, which is built on the foundation of universalized Western experience At the same time, questioning the universality of science should not happen at the expense of ‘an essentialising cultural revivalism that homogenizes Africa’s diverse cultures’ (Zeleza, 2003, p.97) but rather aim at undoing the lack-oriented framing of African knowledge. From the perspective of political economy, the consciousness for ontological dependency and disciplinary obligation from and to the West had been instilled early in the students’ minds: S1: In primary school, everything was being taught in French.[…] all the materials, all we had. […] Everything was coming from outside the country. All the books and everything. I don’t even know of a book that was published in Rwanda or in Africa. S2: But even, how do these books get into our libraries? Most of them are donations. […] At your house what would you donate? The things you don’t need. S3: Some of these books are even no longer used by the people in America. (Focus Group Interview, 2018). Physical restrictions such as access to and availability of relevant textbooks have been a major stumbling block in the advancement of decolonisation for a long time (see Brock-Utne, 2017). This ongoing systemic material

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shortcoming continues into the digital age as access to quality and diversified publications continue to be subject to gatekeeping. Normalising the Western canon through the selected provision of textbooks can be seen as one route in the ‘coloniality of knowledge;’ a notion coined by Arturo Escobar (2007): Coloniality of knowledge addresses the epistemological questions of how colonial modernity interfered with African modes of knowing social meaning-making, imagining, seeing knowledge production, and their replacement with Eurocentric epistemologies that assumed the character of objective, scientific, neutral, universal and only truthful knowledges (in Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013, p. 8). The resulting sense of alienation is common in postcolonial teaching environments (e.g., Everatt, 20167). Language politics play a major part in these suppressive dynamics, maintain the students: I think what the system does, it makes you an alien in your own system; beginning with language. […] I find that I can’t text fluently in my mothertongue because from the moment I was born: English. You know. And then you begin to even not like your mothertongue. […] Small things like language […] they penetrate you deeper (Focus Group Interview, 2018). Two students recalled how they were disciplined at primary school for speaking their mothertongue on the school grounds through corporal punishment or by carrying a foul smelling bone which was to symbolize the primitivism of African languages. Epistemic violence is but a close step from physical violence evident in moments of transgression. This shows that colonial conceptions of language still linger on in postindependence African contexts but also Europe is not free from such notions, as Beck (2018) argues: The language disconnect – the differentiation between word and world, between language and society, and its effects on our current world […] is itself indicative of the apparatus of modernity. […] Our understanding of the dynamics of language production in Africa as a joint effort of science and politics, productive of Africa as well as of Europe in the sense of a ‘double inscription’, is little understood (p. 3). Based on Baumann and Briggs (2003) as well as Lacan and Fink (2006), Beck here refers to the inseparability of culture and language in identity formation and the entanglement of Africa and Europe as a platform for dialectically establishing a European identity. As long as language is still seen as an autonomous entity and separable object of study, it carries the academic authority to be a ‘boundary-making apparatus that produces difference and

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inequality’ (Beck, 2018, p. 4).8 In education and the university, ‘inequalities resulting from colonialism are codified and perpetuated’ and due to the seemingly neutral and context-free claim to universality of science, academia is also ‘deterritorialised’ and ‘hegemonic’ upheld and driven by language’ as a standardised, normative entity,’ which assists in formal institutions and their power structures (Beck, 2018, p. 6). Apart from material and curriculum, pedagogical aspects, too carry forward colonial structures and the sense of being caught in insurmountable hierarchies is an experience made here as there, as the students explain: Choosing what you should learn. They don’t teach you to think with the brain. […] The education system back home […] it brings a few things to you and you are supposed to get them as they are. You are not told to question, you are not told to think out of the box […]. Basically you become a slave to this knowledge. It is not teaching you to liberate yourself. […] Never ever […] challenge your teacher. Never. […] You are supposed to think you are down there and the other person is up there and you never have to meet. This kind of [dis]empowering the mind is what I think is affecting many of us. […] They put just a few people in those places of power and these people are maintained there for years and nothing changes for a long period of time (Focus Group Interview, 2018). Bureaucratic structures are also an important way of purporting colonial ideologies (Kalpagam, 2006). A student from Rwanda recalled how during her early school years in the late 1980s, the relicts of the ‘Belgian [education] system’9 taught people to complicate matters unnecessarily for the sake of complication: ‘Everything was really complicated because you were just obliged to do it that way. It is still like really, really colonising’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). A student from the USA made evident how growing up in a Western education system can be an equally colonial experience of white supremacy: Growing up it is normal and at a certain point you look back and think, wow that shouldn’t be normal. […] In public school, we kids […] in America basically learned that we were friends with native Americans and that we all got along until they disappeared. […] We don’t talk about that we committed genocide. […] And then the same with slavery. […] ‘These black people came over from Africa and helped us with our economy’. […] There is a lot of focus still on white people and how they are the abolitionists. […] We are always seen as the protagonists, the active agents in any sort of historical unfolding (Focus Group Interview, 2018). The backgrounding of white agents in favour of alternative voices is a tangible goal that can be pursued by contemporary Africanists and lecturers of

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African studies. One main concern for all students is the social and ontological relevance of their studies for local contexts: If I am going to get out and then become someone in my own community, [they should] […] benefit from those things. Because the community already got its own philosophies. And I cannot bring something that I got from Socrates. […] How do I then […] adopt the granny who is there, because she is already a philosopher, […] take her words and make meaning to myself and get rid of Socrates, who I had spent four years with? (Focus Group Interview, 2018). In the case of AVVA, an additional difficulty is to communicate the significance of museum’s curation to the communities back home: I have to defend [my degree choice] almost every day. If I was doing Engineering it would be a bit more valid. But Curating? […] ‘Are you going to master nails and labels?’. […] Curating people can sort of pronounce and [that] makes it a bit questionable for those who want to do it more professionally. ‘What are you going to add on the table? What should we expect beyond just hanging artwork on the wall?’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). When transferring these experiences made in the past outside Europe to the current system, presumably many aspects are maintained or to some extent repeated; even within the system of African studies in Europe: Hierarchical, un-democratic, and paternalistic structures within the academia, lack of African thought in the curriculum, economic dependency relationships geared towards the North in appointments, funding, and publishing; linguistic hegemony10; bureaucratic and systemic alienation of foreign people (Auer, 2013) as well as lack of social and ontological relevance of research for local contexts. The latter argument of local relevance should be taken seriously also with regards to the German context. The Humboldt ideal of the free universal scholar has its merits and the increasing functional quantification and commercialisation of academia has been so far successfully defeated in the realm of Afrikanistik, which draws its legitimisation largely from representing a niche subject in a pluralistic and diverse research environment. The principles of free research are thankfully held high in the German context: Research is, by its very nature, dealing with what we do not know […]. Research evaluations should not create a situation in which predominantly ‘normal’ science is conducted which, while offering the scope to be easily planned and well-documented, hardly leaves any place for serendipity11 (Bornmann, 2013, p. 231).

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Nevertheless, the call for public accountability and communication of the relevance of research results is nationally and internationally growing; especially for African contexts. This is not to say that Afrikanistik must produce tangible, marketable ‘outputs,’ but rather emphasize and promote its research’s social ‘(e.g., stimulating new approaches to social issues, informed public debate, and improved policymaking)’ and cultural benefits (‘e.g., understanding how we relate to other societies and cultures, contributing to cultural preservation and enrichment’) (Bornmann, 2013, p. 218). And this is mainly not only in a ‘developmental’ trajectory from Europe to Africa, but more urgently in a self-sustaining agenda of ‘what can be learned from Africa.’ One way of refraining from falling into the radar of the rating frenzy shaking up the natural sciences is the proactive promotion of best practice case studies (Bornmann, 2013, p. 222). In this light, Afrikanistik in Germany seems to have a special mandate in promoting postcolonial thought as well as self-critically and proactively assessing its own colonial history as this is relevant for the broader public discourse for instance on migration and integration. Entering the public debate about its own relevance, the discipline can ‘decolonise’ and emancipate from the past. Motivation to study African studies in Germany Asked for their motivation to study Africa-related subjects in Germany, students expectedly gave practical reasons such as scholarship opportunities, existing collaborations, and unique programme concepts such as Curation of African Art. However, on a psychological level, it became evident that this choice does not come without ideological baggage: AFRICAN Verbal and Visual Arts. That first thing ‘African’. Already, [people at home] have a problem with that: ‘You are an African. You are leaving Africa to go to Germany to study Africa. What is that?’ And many a times, I get stuck for an answer. […] I am now taking out the ‘African’. I am just saying: ‘I’m studying Verbal and Visual Arts’ […]. Even if you want to tell them, there is no university here that is going to offer me a curatorial understanding. […] Still they are just going to hang me on the cross: […]’You can’t leave Africa to go and study Africa […] It is a very dangerous question’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). The implicit danger in this question lies in its potential to affirm a Eurocentric notion of Africa by being part of a system – in this case a study programme – under the ‘Africa’ label,12 as Mbembe (2001) has pointed out: Africa as an idea […] continues to serve as a polemical argument for the West’s desperate desire to assert its difference from the rest of the world. In several respects, Africa still constitutes one of the metaphors through which the West represents the origin of its own norms (p. 2).

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On a macro-level, this phenomenon, which Mudimbe calls the ‘Invention of Africa’ (1988), serves as a backdrop for Western identity construction. On a meso-level, the label ‘African studies’ fulfils this function for a group of scholars united by the fascination to a particular Southern world region and its metaphorical implications. By being part of this arrangement as a student, one silently accepts and stabilizes this delicate mobile. The main reasoning for studying in Europe seems to have been a change of physical and cultural perspective. In a postcolonial ‘afterlife’ global integration seems key to the students: I believe that it is really important that we think about Uganda on a global level. […] To tap into all this integration it’s important that people get out. […] You see the problem more clearly. You see how you can be part of a solving agent (Focus Group Interview, 2018). Though a change of perspective also has potentially problematic implications of assumed superiority: ‘When I was still in Africa, I was seeing Africa around me. […] But now that I am in Germany, I am looking at Africa from the top’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). In the case of the American student, practical economic and geographical reasons seem to overlap with ideological ones: Being in Germany is sort of like being between America and Africa. […] I was considering studying in Ghana but […] by stepping back I have the opportunity not just to study Twi but […] I can study West Africa and then at the same time be involved in it. I can […] go there much easier than I could from America. There is a sort of a middle ground […] by being in Germany that allows me certain privileges and opportunities but at the same time access to the continent (Focus Group Interview, 2018). This middle ground is not only geographically but also ideologically tangible as German African studies ‘manouver’ between the Anglophone and Francophone tradition (Probst, 2005, p.405). Traces of decolonisation and a decolonised utopia Without a doubt, there has been progress in decolonising the academia in Africa as well as in Europe. The students describe an ideal decolonised study environment as one that gives space for individual centred identities and provides options: I need [a programme] that prioritizes my interests and teaches me how to analyse things and […] to even know who I am. […] I think none of that is there now. […] For me [a study programme] is like a platform. […]: This I want to study, because it is going to help me and this I won’t study, because it won’t help me. […]. If this curriculum was thinking about me […] it would start […] mentoring me into making an informed choice of who I want to be (Focus Group Interview, 2018).

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Unfortunately, the sense of compulsion has apparently been maintained for that particular student within the AVVA programme (see emphasis). While AVVA tries to create spaces for individual scholarly interests wherever possible, some adherence disciplinary standards, such as the learning of African languages, is deemed necessary on the one hand, to maintain the stability of the discipline, and on the other, to speak from a common canon that very well might be altered, discussed, and deconstructed again. Interestingly, the promotion of English as a ‘neutral’ language in this context is ubiquitous, as in the example of Rwanda: ‘[High School] Teachers were obliged to switch to English […] It was almost impossible. How can you just switch to English in one year or two years coming from the French system?’ (Focus Group Interview, 2018). English, however, despite its ‘deterrioralised’ global character is in no ways ideologically neutral but ‘closely associated with global knowledge and the promises of upward social mobility’ and ‘figures both as colonial inheritance and as an instrument of universal knowledge production’ (Beck, 2018, p. 10). Traditional Afrikanistik is backgrounded within the new AVVA programme in favour of an interdisciplinary opening to African studies, which does not come without criticism itself. The question of the legitimisation of area studies is a current topic not only in Germany (Melber, 2009) and also concerns the students: I think in an ideal world we wouldn’t study African studies in the first place. […] We group all of these really different fields of study under a huge geographical heading […] to make the field seem reputable, to make it bigger than it is. […] It creates this idea that Africa is a culture, or a country, or an entity which it is not. […] I think we need to get rid of that heading. […] You can pick one [African] language or one literature, or one tradition […] and it is as legitimate as studying Rococo architecture (Focus Group Interview, 2018). Melber (2009) argues that – for Europe and globally − African studies maintain their political and social relevance beyond the ‘utilitarianism of economic, geopolitical, and strategic interests’ (p. 188). African studies draw strength from their inter-disciplinarity while at the same time feed relevance back into the disciplines by being bound together under the Africa label; and thus represent a ‘dialectical understanding of scholarly work’ (Melber, 2009, p. 192). Critique of AVVA One year after inception, in 2018, students were in a better position to see the shortfalls of AVVA. The second cohort benefitted from the experiences of the pioneers and therefore had a more critical approach to the study programme. As the liminality of the beginning started to fade, structures emerged that could be opposed and transformed and the students also emphasized their

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productive role in transforming the curriculum and research hierarchies. Three Master’s students from the group, i.e., Monika Rohmer, Martha Kazungu, and Kamran Sehgal analysed the second Focus Group Interview from 2019. The following section is written by the students and covers aspects of pedagogy, theory, access to and selection of literature, the conceptualisation of research objects, and the role of languages. Pedagogy This setting − us students commenting on the group interview − is of importance, since it aims to undermine dominant conceptions of science in several ways. First, we challenge a hierarchic understanding of academia in which we, the students, are supposed to listen and learn what is presented by the teachers, authorized by academic titles and positions. Second, we are blurring the line in between researcher and researched. Thereby, we stay subjects through the whole experience; being able to re-comment and re-formulate at every stage of the process. Third, in commenting, we primarily draw on our own experiences and everyday knowledge, in opposition to scholarly literature. This implies, a critique of what is seen as ‘knowledge’ in scholarly discourses. Theory Recently, as I was catching up with a friend about the progress of a term paper, he was astonished at the response given by a professor, who said that the student should stick to the reading list provided. The student referenced a Rwandese comic, which the professor did not know about. There was no Rwandese or African authors on that reading list. In all the fields AVVA covers, readings are being dominated by Western academics and universities. Rarely do we engage with African writers’ theoretical texts. It seems like ‘[there is] no theorizing outside of Europe. And then, of course, there are people applying these theories to the African context without admitting that they have a biased background’ (Focus Group discussion, 2019). We are given European theories, often with clear biases and prejudices, with African subjects upon which to apply them. This does not imply that European and African theories are solely applicable to the continents on which they were birthed. Further, there has been an interplay between the continents’ knowledge productions. Rather, the unequal ratio given in our studies gives us a poor understanding of African theory. How can we move away from seeing African Arts through a European gaze? How can we move beyond the ‘European centre point of view’? How can we even start seeing the African knowledges, replacing European knowledges about the continent? Semiotics, for instance, exist in Africa but not on white paper. There are certain occurrences that are considered premonitions or signifiers of something to happen in the near future. In most cases, these occurrences are paired

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in a way that once the first occurrence happens, societies prepare themselves for the respective expected event. For example, among the Basoga of Eastern Uganda and the Luhya of Western Kenya, the occurrence of two cocks fighting is a signifier of uninvited guests to arrive in the near future. Another way of knowing that an uninvited guest will be arriving soon among the Basoga is when one sees a bee buzzing around objects in the homestead. This kind of knowledge, which is not recorded on white paper becomes useless in the academic domain. In consequence, students, especially from an African background, feel side-lined in what is possibly accepted as ‘citable’ literature. Literature, standard, and access Throughout our studies, we are trained to gather information from books, cite them correctly, and condensate again in writing. However, when we encounter a structural absence of literature, what can be the next step? As students within the African Arts, we sometimes encounter scientific standards as boundaries in making meaning of our research field. While standards are of significance, we feel they are misplaced when hindering in gathering all available information. Classical research in the library is well suited for historic accounts but is less fruitful in interpreting contemporary artworks, present popular cultures or decolonising methods within the African studies. Within the focus group discussion, we discussed two approaches to handle this problem: On the one hand, furthering to integrate digital publications of several kinds, on the other, fostering decolonised theories through decolonised field research. African universities hold a significant amount of unpublished papers due to access barriers to journals and a lack of own resources. This is a longstanding issue that needs to be tackled by the ‘international’ science community if there’s really a commitment to knowledge expansion. Here, the digital era offers various tools for creative approaches. ‘I just feel that’s where the decolonial knowledge to a certain extent lies because the Internet does not have the barriers scientific journals have and so maybe in our context we have to be less rigid [with] some things that were always taught’ (Focus Group discussion, 2019). As ‘digital natives’ we rely on a range of web-based platforms in gathering information. We watch lectures online on university-based platforms as well as on YouTube. We take online classes from our own university as well as from private institutions. We engage in discussions on our research topics through instant messaging. We experiment with online-based writing tools, comment, and blog. Defining a research object ‘My first study was anthropology. […] Now in retrospect I’m quite shocked about how it was taught in a way that you always learned how to study about someone. […] And maybe that’s also something that we could try to teach in

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AVVA: […] to study with instead of studying about an artist. Because this is already this gesture− […] I would say it’s a colonial gesture −to study about a subject’ (Focus Group discussion, 2019). Field research has a history of being taught in German universities as the study about the other. A decolonised field research reverses this concept. As voiced above, the aim should be to study with instead of studying about our colleagues on the African continent. We want to learn from and with our fellows. We expect the AVVA curriculum to provide us with a basis for encounters on eye-level, within and beyond the university. We need to move away from classifications in books to a politics of the fellow-creature (Mbembe, 2008). This might entail the necessity to formulate ‘codexes’ or a ‘guideline, so to say how to behave as a researcher, who is doing research on arts, literature or whatever’ (Focus Group discussion, 2019). In the framework of field research history, this is an especially challenging task. However, it is through decolonised fieldwork that we attempt to move beyond an analysis of the past to study the present and the future. African languages in AVVA and at SOAS13 The Rhodes Must Fall movement in South Africa seems to be the genesis of our current discourse on decolonisation. Though it is often not relayed onto European universities, peculiarly, as the rise in tuition fees was one serious cause for a protest at SOAS when fees were trebled in 2010. Bayreuth, at the time of writing, does not have this problem as the institution is basically tuition free. Another source of complaint I observed at SOAS was frustration with the academic spotlight being focused on a handful of countries. The majority of readings and lectures in our courses dealt directly with countries formerly under British rule. The professors of African origin came from Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana, and South Africa; giving the university a thoroughly Anglophone atmosphere. An introductory ‘African cultures’ course was nicknamed ‘Nigerian culture’ due to the almost exclusive focus on Nigeria. Bayreuth seems to be breaking this mould with many lecturers being fluent in both English and French and avoids an explicit Anglophone or Francophone focus. I have been refreshingly exposed to Francophone Africa in both literature and linguistics courses. But still, there is a blind spot with the invisibility of Lusophone Africa being somewhat the final frontier in a full African studies programme. The whole debate further shows how far we are from decolonised African studies. Still, the African continent is divided scholarly by means of the languages of the European colonizers. The selection of languages [at SOAS] included Swahili, Hausa, Yoruba, Zulu, Somali, and Amharic with only the last not being spoken in a former British colony. SOAS was built with the original purpose of training civil servants in the languages of subject peoples and the correlation between the languages being taught currently with this original purpose is not hard to miss. In contrast,

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Bayreuth, established after the period of African independence, offers Swahili, Hausa, Bambara, Arabic, and an online course in Xhosa. The choice shows no links to or any preference to a geographical or colonial language area. When we parade that we are teaching African languages, what does that actually mean, since the African continent has thousands of languages. How do we explain the selection of having just five languages as the ‘African languages’? The facilitators responded that the reason for this is logistical. But it goes back to the whole thing of the African brand. The students therefore request for more options. That the university should be able to have a fair number of languages to qualify the label ‘African languages.’

Conclusion: Getting rid of Socrates As the students rightly pointed out, so far, there is still a void of African theory within AVVA. Especially for students with a focus in African Arts, standardized academic methods and gatekeeping processes of ‘quotable’ literature feel oppressive. While the colonial heritage and ties, and therefore biases, are stronger in the Anglophone world where most times universities are businesses, inequality in higher education is also existent in Germany through centuries of elitist gatekeeping and colonially rooted institutionalisations of oppressive structures. These historic baggages need to be laid open for genuine transformation. Nevertheless, the example of the AVVA programme shows that German Afrikanistik has the capacity to renew from within without abolishing itself. The programme has managed to attract inter-disciplinary, transcultural students with active interests in African contexts. It has striven to provide a guiding structure for studying while at the same time keeping content open and flexible for students’ interests and backgrounds. The integration of African perspectives is an ongoing endeavour but leaves room for expansion. Decolonisation should be purported in the areas of curriculum and literature, protagonists (students, lecturers, and administrators), naming, deconstruction of claims of ontological objectivity and language as a closed entity, democratisation and empowering in teaching methods and contents, and last but not least an opening up to the increasingly loud call of African scholars14 to make research socially relevant. This requires some unlearning of known truths and certainties within the discipline; foremost, the conceptualisation of language itself: As long as [Africanist linguists] defend their role as guardians of language as an autonomous object: by keeping it in theory and practice ‘pure’ – disconnected from all matters social – they reify the very colonial language–culture–territory figuration and ensuing discourses they helped produce. More importantly, they place a conceptual restriction on the development of their discipline, which is no longer able to grasp the new phenomena that keep emerging in the context of accelerated globalisation and transnationalisation (Beck, 2018, p. 8).

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The foremost aim should not be integration and accommodation of black people into Afrikanistik. Rather, it is the proactive acknowledgement by a field of predominantly white people that there is another world out there outside of the realm of vowel pushing, that African languages are not an object to be taught and researched but that the institution itself is part of a mutual living relationship with its interests and agendas. Neither Africa nor language can be an object of enquiry per se. This realisation fundamentally impacts on the researchers’ identity. Afrikanistik needs to proactively distance itself from the ‘imperial knowledge’ production it was historically part of and which assisted in systematically humiliating and marginalizing Africans (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013, p. 53). While the early Afrikanists were driven by the exotic quest to discover ‘human origins and inter-relationships among far-flung people’ (Pugach, 2012, p. 17), today’s research should be more concerned with inter-relationships of the study object to the self. This self-reflexive agenda is tackled by the newly launched intercontinental collaborative project ‘Recalibrating Afrikanistik,’ which is a cooperation between the University of Leipzig, University of Bayreuth, and Cologne University as well as Stellenbosch University, Eldoret University, and Wukari University15 It aims at fostering physical, mental, and epistemic mobility for students and teachers of Afrikanistik. While this chapter has highlighted the need for further decolonisation of African studies and Afrikanistik in particular, more concrete AVVA students’ visions in that regard are yet to be developed and a nationwide study of the field could be fruitful. To fill AVVA with truly Africanist content − in the sense of Thuynsma (1998) − knowledge and means, the programme might need to accrue a little longer history to reflect and work upon. The chapter has shown that the point of studying Africa in Europe is to be a constitutive part of a productive deconstruction of the notion of Africa as well as African languages as enclosed and objectifiable cultural and ontological artefacts.

Notes





1. This paper is a collaborative writing/editing effort with the AVVA MA students of class 2017 and 2018. In particular, I am thankful to Monika Rohmer, Martha Kazungu, and Kamran Sehgal who took time and effort to contribute to this chapter. 2. For a discussion of the relevance of African studies on a global scope see Melber 2009. 3. As a critical reaction to the seminar ‘Was macht die Bundeswehr in Mali?’ students of African studies in Leipzig demanded a public forum for debate on the ‘Militarisation and Ethics in African Studies,’ which was held in January 2018. Furthermore, from this resulted a reading group ‘Critical African Studies’ that focuses explicitly on postcolonial contents. (Information based on e-mail correspondence with the Institute of African Studies at Leipzig University, August 2018). 4. The programmes have been launched in October 2017. The language of instruction is English. This comes with its own ideological baggage as a colonial language assuming ‘superiority’ to other languages: ‘In the university, being a colonial export to Africa, English figures both as colonial inheritance and as an instrument of universal knowledge production’ (Beck 2018, p. 10).

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5. Some crude ideas, like the ‘Hamit Theory’ by Meinhof, is seen as a contextual by-product of history, a ‘strange artefact based on a wrongheaded idea,’ instead of a founding pillar of contemporary research (Pugach 2012, p.195). 6. Transcript available on request: [email protected]. Students wanted to remain anonymous. 7. This refers to the South African higher education context specifically: ‘For many students, much of the academy is an alienating, overwhelmingly white, Eurocentric space, and experience. Students arrive and are expected to meet imported norms, seminar room sarcasm, unknown customs, foreign authors, hard marking, and plain hard slog of tertiary education, while being young and going through their own life transitions, and doing so in ‘othered’ spaces, out of vernacular, and so on (Everatt 20 October 2016). 8. For a deconstruction of ‘language’ as a monolithic concept see Pennycook & Sinfree (2012). 9. For an analysis of the many changes in the Rwandan education system throughout the 20th Century and its role in fostering ethnocentrism leading up to the genocide see McLean Hilker (2011). The role of education in driving conflict and building peace: The case of Rwanda. Prospects 41(2), 267–282. 10. The Bavarian government demands knowledge of German from AVVA Master students even for an English taught study programme, where learning of two additional African languages is compulsory. 11. Referring to Ziman, J. (2000). Real science: What it is, and what it means. Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press. 12. For an etymology of ‘Africa’ see Mudimbe 1988, 1994, Spivak 1991, p. 170; Zeleza 2006. (In: Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2013, p. 107). 13. A student with a BA background at the School of Oriental Studies in London was able to provide a direct comparison and so carve out the idiosyncrasies of AVVA. 14. Since the inception of AVVA in 2017, several scholars have emphasized this aspect in their presentations at the Research Colloquium in Bayreuth: Prof Gratien Atindogbe (University of Buea): Achieving the SDGs through Documentary Linguistics. April 2018. Chijoke Uwah (University of Fort Hare): Exploring the Prophetic Discourses on the Realities of Post-Apartheid South Africa in the Plays of Zakes Mda. January 2018. Prof Kithaka wa Mberia (University of Nairobi) Reality and Dreams: The Place of the Writer in Present-Day Africa. May 2018. 15. h t t p: //p o r t a l .v o l k s w a g e n s t i f t u n g . d e /s e a r c h /p r o j e c t D e t a i l s . d o ? s i t e Language=en&ref=96797

References Asante, Molefi. (1988). Afrocentricity. Trenton: Africa World Press. Auer, Katja. (2013). ‘Ausländerbehörde in der Kritik: Bloß nicht Bayreuth.’ Sueddeutsche Zeitung. www.sueddeutsche.de/bayern/auslaenderbehoerde-in-der-kritik-studiere-bloss-nicht-inbayreuth-1.1681476 Bauman, Richard, & Briggs Charles L. (2003). Voices of modernity: Language ideologies and the politics of inequality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Beck, Rose Marie. (2018). Language as apparatus: Entanglements of language, culture and territory and the invention of nation and ethnicity, Postcolonial Studies, DOI: 10.1080/13688790.2018.1462085 Bornmann, Lutz. (2013). What is societal impact of research and how can it be assessed? A literature survey. Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology 64 (2): 217–233.

98  Irina Turner Brahm, Felix. (2010). Wissenschaft und DekolonisationIn Pallas Athene (ed.), Paradigmenwechsel und institutioneller Wandel in der akademischen Beschäftigung mit Afrika in Deutschland und Frankreich, (pp. 1930–1970). Berlin, Humboldt-Univ. Brock-Utne, Birgit. (2017). Decolonisation of knowledge in the African University, In M. Cross,. & A. Nofirepi. (eds.), Knowledge and change in African Universities. (pp. 161–181). Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Escobar, Arturo. (2007). Worlds and knowledges otherwise: The Latin American modernity/coloniality research program, Cultural Studies 21 (2–3): 179–210. Everatt, David. (2016). ‘What must fall: Fees or the South African state?’ The Conversation. https://www.enca.com/opinion/what-must-fall-fees-or-the-south-african-state Fachverb & Afrikanistik e.V. (2019). http://fachverband-afrikanistik.de/ Focus Group Discussion. (15.03.2019). Bayreuth University. Iwalewahaus. Lecturers and students of AVVA. Focus Group Interview. (17.05.2018). Bayreuth University. Irina Turner with students of AVVA. Grosfoguel, Ramón. (2007). The epistemic decolonial turn. Cultural Studies 21 (2–3), 211–223. Kalpagam, Umamaheswaran. (2006). Thinking the State with Bourdieu and Foucault. In R. Lardinois & M. Thapan. (eds.), Reading Bourdieu in a dual context–essays from India and France. (pp. 77–102). New Dehli (India) and Oxon (UK): Routledge. Lacan, Jacques, & Fink Bruce. (2006). Ecrits: The first complete edition in English. New York: Norton. Lamola, Malesela J. (2015). Peter J. King and the transformation of the philosophical canon: An Africanist appreciation, Phronimon 16 (1): 62–76. Macamo, Elísio. (2018). Urbane scholarship: studying Africa, understanding the world, Africa 88 (1): 1–10. Mbembe, Achille (2008). ‘What is postcolonial thinking? An interview with Achille Mbembe’. [Interview by O. Mongin, N. Lempereur, & J.-L. Schlegel. Translated by John Fletcher] https://www.eurozine.com/what-is-postcolonial-thinking/ Mbembe, Achille. (2001). On the postcolony. Berkeley: University of California Press. Melber, Henning. (2009). The Relevance of African Studies. In Sonderegger Arno & Krahler Albert (eds.), Stichproben- Wiener Zeitschrift für kritische Afrikastudien. Perspectives on Ethnicity and ‘Race’ (pp. 183–200). Wien: ECCO. Mudimbe, Valentin Y. (1988). The invention of Africa: Gnosis, philosophy, and the order of knowledge. Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, Sabelo J. (2013). Coloniality of power in postcolonial Africa: Myths of decolonisation. Oxford: CODESRIA. Pennycook, Alastair, & Makoni Sinfree. (2012). Disinventing multilingualism: From monological multilingualism to multilingua francas. In Martin-Jones, Marilyn, Blackledge, Adrian & Angela Creese (eds.), The Routledge handbook of multilingualism. (pp. 439–453). London: Routledge. Probst, Peter. (2005). Betwixt and between: An anthropologist’s perspective on the history of African Studies in Germany. Afrika Spectrum 40(3), 403–427. Pugach, Sara E. B. (2012). Africa in translation: A history of colonial linguistics in Germany and beyond (pp. 1814–1945). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Spivak, G. C. (1991). Theory in the Margin: Coetzee’s Foe reading Defoe’s Crusoe/Roxana. In Arac, J. & B. Johnson (eds.), Consequences of theory. (pp. 154–180). Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.

Micro-ethnographic study of decolonising African studies 99 Stoecker, Holger. (2008). Afrikawissenschaften in Berlin von 1919 bis 1945: Zur Geschichte und Topographie eines wissenschaftlichen Netzwerkes. Stuttgart: Steiner. Thiongʼo, Ng ũg ĩ w. (1986). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. Oxford: James Currey. Thuynsma, Peter .N. (1998). On the trial of Christopher Okigbo. In Omari H., Kokole. (ed.), The global African: A portrait of Ali A. Mazrui (pp. 185–200). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Zeleza, Paul T. (2006). ‘The troubled encounter between postcolonialism and african history.’ Journal of Canadian Association 17 (2): 89–129. Zeleza, Paul. T. (2003). Rethinking Africa’s globalization: Volume I: The intellectual challenges (1. ed.). Trenton: Africa World Press.

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The relationality of knowledge and postcolonial endeavours – analysing the definition, emergence, and trading of knowledge(s) from a network theory perspective Iris Clemens

Introduction Since concepts such as ‘diffusion’ have been criticised fundamentally (Krücken, 2005) to describe the mobility and transformation of knowledge, the way is free to see multiple contributions to the emergence of knowledge worldwide. The diffusion approach (Meyer & Ramirez, 2003) is based on a centralistic model in which knowledge or concepts have emerged in the so-called West and from there, it spread throughout the world. This is criticized in postcolonial perspectives (Raina, 2016), and the global contribution to the flows of knowledge at all times is stressed. In this perspective, knowledge is always a product of encounters (Galison, 1997) and therefore, a hybrid phenomenon. This enables us to overcome the often nationalistically connoted questions regarding sources of knowledge and to appreciate dynamic processes of on-going encounters of knowledge instead. Colonial entanglements also of recent influential concepts such as the Anthropocene point ‘towards the necessity of Non-Euro (and even non-Anthropo) centric understandings’ (de Groof, 2019, p. 92f.), and towards changes of perspectives. Starting with some comments on the contested terrain of the very definition of knowledge and the biased, discriminating discussions in the past, the following Section draws attention to the approach of trading zones of knowledge as a basis for further argumentation of knowledge encounters. In the next step, the process of travelling knowledge in the educational field from a network theory perspective (Clemens, 2015) will be discussed. While borrowing the notion of generative tensions by Verran (2001), the last part of the chapter uses an example from math classes in Nigeria to show the creative potential of such encounters of logic or knowledge. Then, some consequences will be discussed. The main goal of this chapter is to contribute to the decolonisation of the definition of knowledge as well as the analysis of its emergence and movement and to argue for the innovation potential through the encounter of knowledges.

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Decolonising the definition of knowledge Notions such as hybrid science discussed in this volume raise the question of whether there is – or could be at all – a science, which is not hybrid? In other words, is there or has there ever been a ‘pure’ science? And what could that be, how could it look like, and most of all: how could that emerge? The concepts of hybrid science and epistemic diversity refer to at least two related differentiations, namely cultures and disciplines. On the one hand, it implies sociocultural differences of knowledge and related ideas of ‘contaminations’ through cultural contents. Purity would mean knowledge without such contaminations from cultural specific contents in consequence. This also touches the question of universality of knowledge versus cultural specific or diverse knowledges. Epistemic diversity, on the other hand, brings up as by-product questions regarding disciplinary differences in epistemologies. Here, purity might imply knowledge that is based only on one epistemological approach, or from a single discipline only. In general, purity means singularity, definite borders, no contact, and no contaminations from something that is ‘behind’ that imagined border. In other words, in both cases of cultures and disciplines, the object at hand – knowledge, or science, or epistemology – is constructed as a distinct entity, separated and pure, unaffected from influences from ‘outside,’ wherever that is. In such a logic of purity, this pretended purity is constructed as the normal case, with hybrid science or indigenous knowledge as deviations. As previously indicated, the discussion of indigenous knowledge (Hwang, 2005; Mukherji, 2004; Raina, 2016a for recent calls to indigenize the Anthropocene and hear epistemologies from the South, e.g., DeLoughrey & Handley, 2011; Mukherjee, 2010; Nixon, 2005) suggests that knowledge or knowledge production would normally be without such ‘contaminations’ (Clemens, 2009). This is highly questionable. This chapter rather argues in line with other authors, especially from the sociology of scientific knowledge and postcolonial debates (Raina, 2009, 2016), that knowledge is per se a product of interfaces and therefore not ‘purely’ national or cultural. This is important for the process of decolonisation, as it questions a certain distinction between forms of knowledge as pure or scientific and other, culturally contaminated forms. Knowledge, its emergence and movement is a controversial, often contested terrain (for education Bhattacharya, 1998). Any analysis of knowledge, its emergence, transformation, and mobility start with the problem of defining it. For the last centuries, in the dominant narratives, Europe and later North America (often forgotten: Australia/New Zealand) have been the main or more or less the only producers of ‘valuable’ – especially scientific – knowledge. Non-European/North-American constructs were marginalized, overlooked, or diminished to a large extent1. Only when this dominant European/North-American narrative faded, a more pluralistic debate became possible about what knowledge can be. That led to a growing awareness of different knowledge forms. For example, the struggle for

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Indian perspectives to be accepted as scientific knowledge – or in the case of philosophy as logic – is long (Gokhale, 2012). In this specific case, the tendency to include social and psychological components in the consideration of all levels of knowledge construction (Raina, 2009) has been one of the reasons why, e.g., Indian 2 approaches have been neglected and were denied a scientific or philosophical status in the European/North-American scientific discourses. Interestingly, there is a parallel to more recent approaches in the sociology of scientific knowledge and postcolonial positions as Raina (2009) has pointed out. For example, in postcolonial perspectives, the production of scientific knowledge ‘is viewed from a contextualist perspective across the frames,’ and the ‘sociology of scientific knowledge highlighted the distributed nature of the process of knowledge production, argued for the socially embodied nature of scientific knowledge and thereby brought into the field of visibility a variety of actors hitherto invisible to the gaze of the historian or sociologist’ (Raina 2009, p. 621, accentuations IC). An interesting question here would be whether one can see an assimilation of viewpoints, analysing parallels as well as distinctions in how the social embeddedness of knowledge is conceptualised in the both perspectives of Indian approaches and sociology of scientific knowledge/postcolonial positions. In both cases, the social conditions and embedding of knowledge and its emergence come to the fore. The main arguments of this contribution are in line with these thoughts. One very basic problem is that discussing knowledge in different contexts, and for instance comparing it, already presumes that one can indeed find everywhere the specific concept of universal knowledge. Here again, the European/North-American concept of knowledge has long set the frame and delivered the criteria of what to talk about, and other forms of knowledge or knowledge from other contexts have been diminished. For example, the label ‘indigenous’ knowledge opposed to other forms such as scientific already implies a hierarchical view, and the European/North-American knowledge is not labelled as indigenous (Clemens, 2009), but as universal. Nevertheless, the assumption of universality of this specific European/North-American concept of knowledge is questionable. It is, e.g., not easy to identify the idea of universal, singular knowledge in Indian epistemological literature. The general problem is, that all too often, ‘cross-cultural dialogue between philosophical traditions has been set within the frame of the Western philosophical tradition, which provides a vocabulary and a grammar within which to apprehend or translate the Indian [or in general: other] philosophical tradition’ (Raina, 2009, p. 622). The difficulties of the so-called comparative method become visible here, because according to Raina, comparison was always done from the European/North-American perspective. In consequence, the ‘foreign’ (Indian or else; in any case, it is important to underline that there is no such thing as the Indian philosophy etc.)3 always had problems fitting into the framework of a different way of thinking4. ‘Even in

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well-intentioned dialogues,’ Raina (2009) argues in his critique of the comparative method, ‘attention is not often paid to the systemic levels at which the dialogue is organized’ (p. 623). With regard to the European/North-American concept of knowledge, the challenge is that it is constructed in a normative way. According to Gokhale (2010), the English concept of knowledge then ‘is supposed to stand for “true belief ” or “ justified true belief ” and hence knowledge is not supposed to be truth-value-neutral, whereas belief is supposed to be so’ (Gokhale, 2010, p. 2, accentuations IC). This pre-supposition has many implications such as that there is indeed true knowledge and that one can make a distinction between true and false knowledge. It marks the difference between knowledge and belief in the European/North-American thinking, as belief is seen to be truth-value-neutral. Nevertheless, some Indian epistemologies, for instance, Buddhist tradition, know truth-value-neutral forms of knowledge, so we find here an alternative concept of knowledge. It is only ‘mainly in Vedanta tradition that the word jñ āna is used in the sense in which it necessarily yields truth’ (Gokhale, 2010, p. 2f ). ‘Hence we can perhaps translate jñ āna as knowledge in Vedanta context, but we cannot do so in Nyāya, Buddhist or Purvamimamsa context’ (Gokhale, 2010, p. 2f ). We can see that the question of defining knowledge becomes trickier. A deeper look into the very idea of true and false knowledge and its rejection can be instructive for understanding the far-reaching consequences of the dissimilarity of concepts. In the European/North-American tradition, something is either true or false, knowledge or no knowledge. It is a two-valued logic system, which builds on singularity and decidability. On the contrary, in the case of Jaina5 logic, this noncontradictory, two-valued characteristic need not be necessary criteria of logic in general. The same might be true for knowledge. Brought up within a specific logic system and school of thoughts in the European/NorthAmerican context, it is rather difficult and in any case against intuitions that there are knowledge forms that are knowledge and yet contradictory and/or truth-value-neutral. Running counter to these intuitions, Jaina philosophers hold that reality cannot be expressed in simple and absolute statements at all. If we think of the immense complexity of reality, indeed this sounds reasonably doubtful. In their view, such an approach would simplistically reduce complexity of being: A valid claim of knowledge, according to the Jainas, is described through seven propositions6, which encapsulate the multifaceted nature of a phenomenon. Furthermore, each proposition should be explicit about its conditional character and therefore begin with the term ‘somehow’ or ‘in a certain sense,’ e.g., ‘somehow I am writing this text.’ Although in principle everything can be seen from infinite perspectives, since each of the propositions can be further analysed from seven standpoints, Jainas hold that the seven standpoints themselves cannot be reduced or increased further (Clemens & Biswas, 2018, p. 14).

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We see here a much more sophisticated view of reality and accordingly of knowledge besides the European/North-American logical difference of knowledge to be either true or false. In Jaina thinking, relationality of any observation, and accordingly of the act of sense-making itself, is included in the concept of logic and knowledge. The definition of knowledge is complicated as we can see. It is connected to the questions of ‘criteria, the problem of perception and the status of the external world’ (Raina, 2009, p. 623). These questions are, for instance; What is identified as knowledge and why? What are the differences with regard to ignorance? Where is knowledge located – in the observer or in the observed, the object – and is there a world independent of the observer? And, regarding perception, how can we ever know about that external world, if existent? Different traditions have found different answers, e.g., rationalists stress reason as a source of knowledge and empiricists science. Again, alternative ways of thinking about basic conditions and relations of knowledge become obvious, as ‘the Sanskrit tradition has no equivalents for either of these terms’ (reason and science), and rightly Raina (2009) asks in the following the general question: ‘how do we transit from the discussion of “knowledge” in one system to another, when there are differences in some essential conceptions?’ (p. 623). So obviously, decolonisation of knowledge has to start with problematizing the process of defining knowledge. If the analysis and critical reflection of power imbalances and hierarchies established through colonial structures are one first step of the endeavour of decolonisation, the study of definition processes of knowledge is crucial. Facing these basic contradictions formulated by Raina, and taking into consideration the social embeddedness and emergence of all kinds of knowledge, the text will argue here for a more value-free definition of knowledge. In consequence of the discussion above, value free means the exclusion of an evaluation regarding truth and a relational perspective on knowledge. Accordingly, knowledge is aggregated meaning that emerged in a certain social context and survived within the selection process of social evolution. Of course, there can be no culture-free characterization of knowledge though and therefore normative implications are always involved. Consistent also with Systems Theory (Luhmann, 1998), any semantics (or ideas/concepts, etc.) are culturally and historically contingent and structurally coupled with the social structures, in which they are emerge. This means, they are entangled with their context, and this is true for scientific theories as well. In consequence, for a heuristic proceeding, here knowledge will be taken very broadly as meaning patterns that are systematically collected and assembled in a certain context to a more aggregated form to explain, to explore, to observe, etc. the world. It consists of reciprocally related meaning forms. This characterization does not include a postulation of truth, rationality, or logic. Building knowledge is taken as a generic procedure, a social, and interactive process (Lawson & Lorenz, 1999). Therefore, a theoretical perspective of knowledge necessarily implies an analytical focus

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on relationality in social action (Glückler et al., 2017). The network theory or relational approach following, e.g., Emirbayer (1997), White (2008) , and others, provide a fruitful perspective on knowledge in accordance with the argumentation so far. Hence, network theory is used here to analyse the emergence and travel or trading of knowledge as well as for an overall decolonisation of thinking about knowledge. Before doing so, the chapter starts with a general view on the global movement of knowledge and brings in an alternative concept of travelling that seems to be helpful for the enterprise of decolonisation of knowledge.

Describing the fluctuation of knowledge through trading zones As stated before, a dominant explanation for the global movement of knowledge is the concept of diffusion, based on a centre-and-periphery-thinking (Meyer & Ramirez, 2003). In this perspective, ‘modern’ knowledge is mainly produced in the European/North-American context and diffuses from there in the ostensible periphery. After arriving, the mobile knowledge turns into hybrids or false copies (Krücken, 2005). The neoinstitutional approach (Meyer & Ramirez, 2003) – also quite popular in educational science – can be mentioned here as an example. It focuses on organizations and competition; exchange and cooperation are emphasised. The main drawback of this approach is the assumption of a single modernity and singularity of the origin of knowledge that moves from a centre to peripheries. When concepts travel, so-called myths arrive in another context and are adopted as signs of modernity and development according to neoinstitutionalists. For example, worldwide, total quality management and other tools are implemented in one way or another in companies, hospitals, municipalities, etc., to show that one fulfils the latest international standards of management tools. However, this does not necessarily mean that the structures and organization of institutions really change due to the argumentation of the neoinstitutional approach. Accordingly, the process can be described as a mimetic adoption of myths of modernity accompanied by resistance at the same time. The main point is that arrows of travelling point more or less only in one direction here (Raina, 2016), from centre to periphery, and periphery is always situated opposite to the European/North-American context: peripheries are always the others. Another approach to explain landscapes and dynamics of knowledge starts with the assumption of ‘trading zones of knowledge’ (following Galison, 1997; Raina, 2016). This approach originates from thoughts on the relation of scientific sub-disciplines and cultures that are near enough to trade: they ‘share some activities while diverging on many others … [They] encounter(ing) one another through trade, even when the significance of the objects traded – and of the trade itself – may be utterly different for the two sides’ (Galison, 1997, p. 803). Arrows of travelling point in all kinds of

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direction here: knowledge travels not only from a (however defined) centre to peripheral spaces, but a continuous flow and circulation of knowledge forms is assumed from early times on. There is, however, no teleological drive towards ever-greater cohesion, following Galison, ‘it is altogether possible that, at some moments, fields previously bound, fall apart. Just as some pidgins or creoles die out, so too can scientific interfields atrophy or mutate to the point of being unrecognizable’ (Galison, 1997, p. 805). As the terms of trading zones already suggest, knowledge is also seen rather as a volatile process than an entity; an object of permanent communication (as negotiation, bargaining, etc.) between many different actors. Additionally, in this view, a mutual emergence of knowledge forms is considered. From that perspective, the search for ‘origin’ or first source of a concept is reducing the possible analyses and the gain of knowledge unnecessarily. Any knowledge we could know of today is per se hybrid then. It is clear here that ‘both sides impose constraints on the nature of exchange’ (Galison, 1997, p. 806). In consequence, knowledge can be described as a product of such continuous trading zones from early ages onwards, with an increased pace of mobility and volume of knowledge in the last decades due to new media and globalization in general. Important for a decolonisation of knowledge is not only the description of the proceeding of these trading zones but the recognition of their sheer existence in the first place and the contribution of various actors involved in the emergence of knowledge beside the European/NorthAmerican context. As processes of definition of knowledge are interlinked with power structures like described above and therefore such established (e.g., colonial) power structures affect what is defined as knowledge and what not, a genuine multiplicity of knowledges should be taken more seriously. In consequence, in the following, the term knowledges will be used to stress this perspective. This multiplicity also holds resources for innovations and productions of new knowledges, especially through encounters of them, as we will see below. A precondition for such encounters is that various knowledges such as so-called indigenous knowledges manage to survive and are valued. In the next step, the emergence and movement of knowledge in general will be analysed in a more detailed way for a better understanding of the process at hand, taking into consideration the mentioned relationality in social action.

A network theory perspective on the emergence and trading of knowledge Following the definition of knowledges as meaning patterns that are systematically collected and aggregated, as reciprocally related forms of meaning for explaining phenomena of the world, we first have to analyse the emergence of meaning, before we discuss its accommodation as knowledge. This is the basis for analysing mobility and transformation of knowledges in a next step.

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Following the relational approach and its focus on social embeddedness, any meaning attribution in communication is processed and assessed by actors from the standpoint of their footing. This is a basic assumption of network theory, and footing itself is a process, not a fixed state like a ground on which one stands. The relation of emergence of meaning and the positions of the actors is a starting point for all further assumptions. No footing of an actor is ever equal to that of another though, but it can be structurally equivalent (White et al., 1976). Meaning is always processed and assessed in a specific way and never superimposable. Communication, on the other hand, needs social footing as source and destination: an attribution must be possible regarding who communicates what and to whom or what communication is directed at. Footing is the basic condition for any meaning procession, without it ‘social life would be “A tale told by an idiot, Full of sound, and fury, Signifying nothing” (Shakespeare, Macbeth) and communication would not be triggered’ (Godart & White, 2010, p. 570). As a precondition, actors must find footing in the different networks between what they switch continuously. Our lives are endless flows of coupling and de-coupling in networks and switching between them: from family to colleagues, sport teams, neighbours, friends, as patients, etc. The footings in different networks can differ widely for the same actor. In consequence, processing the meaning can differ from network to network too. With any event or switching between networks, footing is disrupted and must be established anew together with an adapted form of meaning: what makes sense in one network may not necessarily make sense in another. In consequence, meaning is always in movement. We see this very basic relatedness of meaning with context in network theory. If meaning is always coupled with the context in which it emerges, this also implies a culture inclusive view on knowledges, as this explains the emergence of differing meaning forms in different networks. White (2008) uses the term of network-domain – shortcut: netdom – to stress this relationality between social embeddedness (network, referring to pattern of social ties) and corresponding meaning (domain, comprising stories, symbols, expectations, etc.). The inclusion of meaning in his network theory is often described as part of the cultural turn in network research. Meaning is never ‘out there’ but emerges through communication among actors and is therefore coupled to specific networks – other networks, other meanings. Therefore, meaning lies neither in the actor nor in the network, but is generated through switching between networks and is always dependent. Biophysical settings as well as sociocultural ones originate contingency and uncertainty because they generate events, and these events lead actors acting across different networks to try to attempt control. White (2008) uses control in a very broad sense, including sheer kind of any influence or even being, up to more strategic actions. While actors act in their ‘struggle for control,’ they too trigger new events as well – a starting point for other actors to start their control struggle to react, and so on.

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Actors generate specific meanings along with new netdoms. Stressing the ‘new’ here means stressing the switching between networks, as meaning emerges through the process of switching – again we see the important role of the betweenness. Only through switching between netdoms, can new meaning emerge. Here, also lies the potential of innovations through encounters. The mobile actors experience differences, irritations, deviations, etc., while switching from one netdom to another. Things done in a particular way in one netdom might be offending in another. It does not necessarily mean though that a specific actor must make the actual experience of switching between networks (which triggered the meaning) by him- or herself. Here, communication comes into play, as it enables the sharing of meaning that was triggered by switching processes. Actors who made the experience of switching can communicate it to others, and so experience can travel across networks. The new meaning can then arrive at a distanced actor via another actor and its communication of his or her experience of switching. The driving force behind the emergence of meaning, however, is contrast: ‘perceptions and representations come only with and from contrast; it is through contrasts as processes that meanings are communicated and shared’ (Godart & White, 2010, p. 572). This fusion of network and domain is a radical departure from common sense according to Godart and White (2010), ‘because, we simultaneously consider networks and semiotic domain, structure, and culture’ (p. 570). There is no meaning independent of the network that is transported across contexts like in the concept of common sense. Networks form the way of making experiences ‘a “matrix” of practices and representations’ (Godart & White 2010, p. 570), but it is the process of switching between netdoms that generates perception, representations, and meanings, and not the netdom itself. The question regarding the movement of meaning must take this into account: first, that there is no stable form of meaning that can be transferred from one context to another without transformations, and second, that the experience of moving between matrixes of practices and representations modify any meaning. After this short clarification of the process of emergence of meaning, now the flow from one netdom to another will be explained. What are the pre-conditions that aggregated meaning forms – knowledges – travel, and how can this process be described?

The concept of stories According to White (2008), more stable meaning forms are cumulated in interdependent patterns. In such stories, meanings are not only aggregated, but merged. Following network theory, in stories meanings are combined in transportable patterns of relation. Networks of meaning come together in stories, and they can be transferred or activated in different contexts. One can take an example from recent educational discussions to highlight what is meant: obviously, the idea emerged that education contains universal and objective knowledge; therefore, it is thought that tests can be created

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‘measuring’ this education; in conclusion one can create a test in one context, take it somewhere else and test education with it there. This whole concept – or story – implies different forms of meaning, which all relate to each other: only if education is conceptualized as objective, can one attempt to create a test and measure it. Only if it is universal, can one take the test and use it globally. And only based on all these related meaning forms, can one believe that one actually does compare education by this procedure. We see several meaning forms combined to a bigger concept or pattern that can be packed in a story and travel to different networks. Meaning is organized in such stories. Stories are important to explain to actors what is going on and why. Stories can encompass more than one relation and extend to a set of specific relations. This is why they can guide or canalise action. But stories do not capture the specific experiences of an actor. Stories are in charge of the bigger picture, they express more commonalities and can be used in different netdoms. This is their advantage. They are scripts with the capacity to be reproduced across historical, geographical, and social contexts (Godart & White, 2010, p. 572). This description makes stories especially interesting for the analysis of the process of knowledges travelling. Stories embed events through causal relations: they are relational, not temporal (non-temporal telling). In stories, meanings are organized and related into patterns in publics. In consequence, stories must always be seen in relation to their public. Stories are incubated in publics, which are defined as a union of many netdoms. Public ‘is a space, a horizon of virtual meanings, of allowable expectations that frame and form stories’ (Godart & White, 2010, p. 572). In their specific publics, stories inter-relate meanings in coherent wholes. As already said regarding the fact that stories express more commonalities, they function on a higher level of aggregation. A specific public enables the perception and representation of certain events. In other words, the public influences the perception and processing of events. In this specific public, an event emerges as event. Maybe, in another public, it would not even be perceived at all. In consequence, also the production of meaning is always related to the given public. Certain publics (e.g., markets) are characterized by relatively stable conceptions and understanding of specific social phenomena or concepts such as, e.g., ‘quality.’ In this way, publics sharpen expectations. Joint actions create a shared space that constitute a situation in which actors feel a certain need to be socially accountable and therefore tend to act in a specific manner. But stories rely on their use in concrete social situations; they are always activated through interactions. For interactions, existing stories can be mobilized. The advantage is that one knows what is expected, what others expect from me and certain behaviour is more likely to be shown than others. However, other than Bourdieu (1984) and the concept of habit, White (2008) stresses the variations between networks. Such existing stories can travel across networks, they are generalized constructs that can be transported across contexts. Nevertheless, how does this work? And why does it happen?

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Thriving, spreading, and travelling of stories According to network theory in order to thrive and spread, meaning structured in stories must be transposed across contexts and become a basis for communication. They must be epidemic (Sperber, 1996). An example given by Godart and White (2010) is business analytical frameworks and ‘rules of thumbs,’ which can be applied in other contexts than that of their emergence. ‘The art of business strategy… lies in the ability to transpose stories of different scales, scopes, and levels’ (p. 574). The failure or success of such rules or frameworks as well as the reasons for failure or success will influence if and how they will be applied in future. In the case of a general business analytical framework, its application in a specific context will always also imply feedback modifications of the framework as well, which means that it will be modified. The process of transposition is always context specific including a specific way of application, and this forms the basis and sets the context for further transpositions and applications, and so on. Actors use both meanings and stories to cope with contingency and uncertainty. To be able to act in different contexts, stories can be taken from one network to another. In this process, new vocabulary establishes itself in a network, and while new concepts are used in one discourse ‘they have the tendency to diffuse into the wider public’ (Fuhse, 2015, p. 30). If meanings assembled into stories travel, they can generate fresh action and switching. The ‘new’ is stressed here, as only new meaning can generate fresh action according to White. It introduces a difference, functions as an interruption, and blocks ‘more of the same.’ Therefore, the process of travelling of stories (or knowledges) implies a potential for innovations, e.g., in the scientific public, where one gets ‘infected’ by new stories, which create fresh action in new networks. This is, however, not the only way for stories to travel, as we have seen, e.g., with the transition via actors and communications. To sum up what has been said so far: we have heard that meaning is dependent on the social footing of involved actors and on stories, in which meaning is melted and organized. Stories express commonalities used in different networks and combine meaning in transportable, related patterns. They create networks of meaning which can be transferred or activated in different contexts and guide or canalize action. Stories are related to their publics, an assemblage from diverse netdoms, which form and frame stories mutually: the application of stories in specific contexts implies modifications through feedback. Therefore, stories are not stable units, which can simply be transferred into different contexts without modifications. While travelling, the process of switching between practices and representations always modifies knowledges. This analytical view helps to understand the role of culture in the process of emergence and movement of knowledges. In this perspective, knowledges is always relational and dynamic, and different social networks contribute to diverse knowledges that emerges. This helps to establish

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a decolonising perspective on these dynamics in general in at least two ways. First, it overcomes concepts such as diffusion in which knowledge moves one way from centre to periphery, and stresses a continuous emergence and modification of knowledges instead. This also implies an entitlement of a simultaneous plurality of knowledges. Second, it includes many diverse actors in the process of knowledge production, which are overseen in other approaches. The last section analyses what happens in case of encounter of knowledges, now understood as circulating stories that ‘meet’ in a network. The concept of generative tensions by Helen Verran will be referred to in order to stress the potential for innovations through such encounters.

Generative tensions through encounters of knowledges: Division in a Nigerian Yoruba class In opposition to social sciences, certain other disciplines are often labelled as ‘hard science,’ and are described as disambiguate, objective, universal, etc. However, rarely recognized, also, e.g., in mathematics there are cultural differences in operations that are used to solve certain given mathematical problems. In the theoretical frame used here, one can say that obviously diverse stories circulate in diverse networks to solve mathematical problems. By referring to the Indian mathematician Yesudas Ramchandra, Raina and Habib (2004) show that the problem of maxima and minima can be considered in alternative ways and propagate the ‘realization that mathematics is done one way but can as well be done another way’ (p. 27), depending on the sociocultural context and cognitive preferences. In a certain way, any knowledge is indigenous (Clemens, 2009) though. Raina and Habib (2004) demonstrate that in the 19th Century, Ramchandra, grounding his assumptions on old Indian mathematical texts, stated that Indian learners might prefer another way of problem solving than English learners (Clemens, 2009). Trained as a mathematician in both contexts (India and England), he was aware of the different approaches and their specific cognitive and epistemic grounding. Epistemic diversity was and is a fact and knowledges has been encountering, since humans and stories travel. In her book Science and African Logic (2001), Verran reports about an encounter of such different ways of ‘doing mathematics,’ which will be analysed now in a little more detail. Focusing on encounters of different logics, in general, she struggles with a position neither following universalistic nor relativistic logics and stresses ‘generative tensions’ (Verran, 2001, p. 21) instead which appear when different knowledge forms or logics come together. Following the relational approach discussed here, we can translate this situation and say that circulating stories meet in a given network, and according to the network approach, fresh action might be a result. This will be explained now by the example given below. According to Verran (2001), generative tensions are a sign of creativity typically for collective life. As explained in Section 3, following network theory, switching among networks typically

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creates new knowledge. Hence, fresh action is a by-product of such encounters and probably an incubator for creativity. Of course, fresh action can be a destroying power as well. Verran7 (2001) reports of a math class by a Yoruban teacher in Nigeria teaching division to Yoruba children. She knew the teacher from courses at a Nigerian University, where she taught teachers and developed teaching material and strategies together with them for several years. While observing his class and anticipating what would happen, Verran expected the teacher to follow a certain script of division teaching, ‘some sort of “serial process,” something like the reverse of multiplication, understood as serial addition’ (Verran, 2001, p. 13), e.g., 5 + 5 + 5 + 5 = 20. In other words, there was a certain story on how to teach division, which both shared at the university, and she anticipated that the teacher would act accordingly now in his class. The teacher started in English but shifted to Yoruba soon and acted against the expectations of the Australian observer though. In his explanations, the teacher did not start from the parts (5 + 5 is 10) but from the unity, the integral number. Therefore, he used a completely different logic. His approach was to identify division as definitive of whole number and he states: ‘You will not understand a number unless you understand the many ways it can be divided’ (Verran, 2001, p. 13). He stressed not the single factors of a division but the number that should be divided and its integrity. All children in the classroom understood the teacher and paid full attention. In the following, he first presented a Yoruba number ‘and showed it as a multiple of 20 plus or minus various factors of 20, in translating it into a base-ten English-language number’(Verran, 2001, p. 13). This becomes understandable when one considers the nature of Yoruban numbers, which show similarities to French numbers:

márùúndínlógórin (-5 + (20 × 4)) 75 (Verran, 2001, p. 57) (similarities in French, for example: Quatre-vingt-cinq (5 + (4 × 20)) = 85).

Yoruban numbers are based on a logic of 20 and are already like a sum of a calculation. The teacher used this nature of the numbers to explain how a number can be divided. After showing the nature of Yoruban numbers, he used English numbers for the reverse process and converted them into Yoruba, ‘using division into sets of 20 as the first and defining process’ (Verran, 2001, p. 13). He brought together the two distinct stories and created something new. The Yoruba base-twenty logic and the English base-ten thinking were interwoven, and this encounter let emerge a new form of learning division. Fresh action in White’s words emerged. Several exercises in translating numbers in the different systems by division followed. And then ‘came the fun. Each translation could be done in more than one way, yet clearly, some ways were more elegant than others’ (Verran, 2001, p. 13).

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So, the math class moved into a competition on who finds the most elegant translations, Verran describes wincingly: [Amid] much laughter and shouting, children jumping out of their seats to rush to the blackboard to demonstrate an alternative, a generally agreed-upon best translation [eventually not understandable for the non-Yoruban] were gradually reached for each of the 20 numbers. All thought of serious focus on the process of division vanished in the delight of the game, yet the game was all about division of whole numbers’ (2001, p. 13). What we see here are diverse and slightly competing stories about division – serials and sequences versus an understanding of numbers as integral units, which are defined and fully understandable only by the ways in which they can be divided – both circulating in a network and meeting there. As Verran (2001) shows, this leads to generative tensions and in the following to a very fruitful and stimulating learning process that can even build on aesthetic experiences: the actors agree on more elegant solutions and experience fun while searching for new combinations. Fresh action emerges through the transfer of a story in a new network and through its encounter with another story. On the one hand, we have the common setting of a math class teaching division in a serial way and with English numbers. This is accompanied by a specific set of meaning forms assembled to a certain, existing and already circulating story. The Yoruban teacher, as well as the Australian researcher, knows this common story of teaching in serials and sequences, and it circulated most probably in the university, where the education of the teacher took place. Most probably, it entered the network years back, as well a story in network theory terms travelling into a new network and guided fresh action that time. However, on the other hand, the teacher in Verran’s observation brings in another story, which generates indeed fresh action: division is taught here in a new way relational with the network of Yoruba children who understand these meaning forms and the associated pattern. In another network with other actors, these specific meaning forms would not have emerged. This story forms the network and it is modified by it in return as well: the network and story transforms relational with each other. The emotions such as excitement and fun were associated with this process – desired but seldom achieved components of learning processes.

Concluding remarks – Decolonisation and education What does all this mean for the project of decolonisation of education in general and the decolonisation of higher education in particular? At least two conclusions can be drawn. First, an awareness for the problems explained in the first two sections – (1) the contested terrain of defining knowledge

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and the attached power imbalances, and (2) the trading zones of knowledge implying that all parts of the world have and do contribute to knowledge production and not only the so-called West – must find its way into all levels of educational institutions, especially into the (re)production of scientific knowledge at universities. From there, this awareness can make its way into schools as well. Theoretical tools such as the relational approach can help to understand the relational character of knowledge and its corresponding principal hybrid nature and how it travels and emerges anew in new networks: never without transformations. Additionally, a sensitisation for power structures in the very process of defining knowledges is crucial and necessary; also to frame the discussions on so-called indigenous knowledge. Who defines knowledges and, e.g., alternative knowledge, and on which basis? This awareness includes to accept the possibility of knowledges, which may be even (although not necessarily) contradicting but yet equally valuable. This brings in competition and dimensions of power, too, as questions might arise about who has the ‘better,’ more valuable or the right knowledge, and even more problematic, the question who should judge this. The one who dictates the judgment criteria undoubtedly channels the judgment itself. Exactly this has been the case for the definitions of knowledges as well as of philosophy and logic for a long time when the European/North-American definitions provided the criteria and by this delivered the frame for what was accepted as knowledge and what not. From the perspective of decolonisation, the process of defining knowledges must, therefore, be opened up and permanently negotiated. The reflection of relationality between network and knowledges and the attached dynamics can influence actual discussions in many disciplines. In educational science, for instance, the awareness of relationality of knowledges and insights into the dynamics of trading zones of knowledge can lead to a critical reflection of recent trends such as global standardisation of education. Claims of an idea of more or less universal education (concerning content as well as concepts) become dubitable in the following (Clemens & Biswas, 2019), with far reaching consequences. If knowledge is culturally contingent (Clemens, 2015), one should be careful with assumptions of universality with regards to knowledge that can easily be transferred, taught, and tested globally. The one single story does most probably not fit in every network but must show its appropriateness in every network anew. The Yoruban case, however, also shows the creative processes that can be provoked by the encounter of stories. This leads to the second conclusion: to promote encounters of knowledge. A precondition is that knowledges must be accepted in plurality (Clemens & Biswas, 2019). The case of the Yoruba class indicated why encounters of knowledge are desirable. If one thinks of supporting conditions for the emergence of new knowledges from a network theory perspective, mobility of stories holds a central position. Circulating stories entering new networks are crucial for the emergence of new meaning and accordingly, knowledges. As new meaning emerges only within new networks, and as only through

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switching between networks new meaning emerges, trading zones are the space where new knowledges can emerge. This again is only possible if stories have the chance to spread, and different stories meet in networks. This also implies the not at all trivial precondition that knowledges from the majority world (some call Indigenous) manage to survive in the first place, and are taken seriously. One can assume a high potential for innovations through these encounters – including maybe fresh action. Creating such encounters seems to be a promising way for inspiring future knowledge production and therefore the question is how to support such processes. Last, also the observation of fun through the connection of already circulating stiles and stories with new ones is crucial for thinking about educational concepts.

Notes









1. For example, Gokhale (2012) points out that the Indian philosophy is treated often as ‘Religious studies’ in Western universities and therefore the status of philosophy is denied. 2. As the author has worked in and about India for the last 20 years, the reference in the theoretical parts is India and not Africa. However, this does not mean to simplify dynamics and processes and recur to a somehow uniform ‘Global South.’ The concept of Global South perpetuates binary thinking, suggests questionable similarities of contexts in the so-called South, and is therefore part of the problem as well. Apart from this, something is not ‘western’ or ‘southern’ as such, but for such a relational description, a clarification of the position is always needed. These thoughts are the reason why the expression European–North-American is used in this text. 3. As Raina puts it: ‘an issue that needs to be addressed is that Indian philosophy itself is internally quite diverse and large constructions of systems such as Indian philosophy collapse the internal distinctions between the different streams that comprise the Indian philosophical tradition’ (Raina, 2009, p. 622). 4. In the case of Indian philosophy, this had led to descriptions like idealistic, intuitive, experiential, or pragmatic in opposite to self-description of the European– North-American philosophy as intellectual, abstract, theoretical, etc. (Raina 2009) what again implicates a hierarchy and evaluation of course. 5. Jaina philosophy is among the oldest schools of thought in the Indian context dating back assumingly to the 6th century BC. 6. ‘The physical phenomena of doing something, which resembles reading would be adequately described through the following set of seven standpoints: Somehow, I am reading. (+) Somehow, I am not reading. (-) Somehow, I am both reading and not reading. (+ . -) Somehow, this is indescribable. (0) Somehow, I am reading and this is indescribable. (+ . 0) Somehow, I am not reading and this is indescribable. (- . 0) Somehow, I am and I am not reading and this is indescribable. (+ . - . 0)’ (Clemens & Biswas, 2018, p. 246). 7. Helen Verran is an Australian anthropologist, who has tremendous experiences with cross-cultural knowledge processing and did field research in Africa and Australia for many years, including working with various indigenous groups. One focus of her work is the encounters of different logics. Her work is full of descriptions of such encounters of different logics in various forms and not reduced to school situations. For example, she also did research about alternative fire regimes in Australia by Aboriginal landowners (Verran, 2002), a knowledge that might could have helped preserving the country of the recent fire disaster (2019/2020).

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References Bhattacharya, S. (1998). The contested terrain. Perspectives on education in India. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Clemens, I. (2009). Die Herausforderung Indigener Theorien: Die Frage nach der Relevanz kulturtheoretischer Perspektiven in der Erziehungswissenschaft am Beispiel der Emergenz Indigener Theorien. Zeitschrift für Pädagogik, 55, 113–129. Clemens, I. (2015). Erziehungswissenschaft als Kulturwissenschaft. Die Potentiale der Netzwerktheorie für eine kulturwissenschaftliche und kulturtheoretische Ausrichtung der Erziehungswissenschaft. Weinheim/Basel: Beltz Juventa. Clemens, I. & Biswas, T. (2018). Rethinking education in times of globalization – but where to start the rethinking? In Clemens, I., Hornberg, S., & Rieckmann, M., (Eds.). Bildung und Erziehung im Kontext globaler Transformationen (pp. 237–250). Berlin: Verlag Barbara Budrich. Retrieved fromhttps://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctvm201r8 De Groof, M. (2019). Congocene. The Anthropocene through Cogolese Cinema. In Grzinic, M. & Uitz, S. (Eds.). Rethinking the past for a new future of convivlity: Opposing colonialsism, anti-semitism, turbo-nationalism (pp. 87–109). Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. DeLoughrey, E. & Handley, G. (2011). Introduction: Toward an Aesthetics of the Earth. In DeLoughrey, E. & Handley, G. (Eds.). Postcolonial ecologies: Literatures of the environment (pp. 3–39). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1093/ acprof:osobl/9780195394429.001.0001 Emirbayer, M. (1997). Manifesto for a relational sociology. American Journal of Sociology, 103(2), 281–317. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1086/231209 Fuhse, J. (2015). Theorizing social networks: Relational sociology of and around Harrison White. International Review of Sociology, 15 (1), 15–44. Retrieved from https://doi.org/ 10.1080/03906701.2014.997968 Galison, P. (1997). Image and logic. A material culture of microphysics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Glückler, J., Lazega, E., & Hammer, I. (2017). Exploring the Interaction of Space and Networks in the Creation of Knowledge: An Introduction. In the same: Knowledge and Networks. In Tschira Symposia, K. (Ed.). Knowledge and space (11, pp. 1–24). Heidelberg: Springer. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-45023-0_1 Godart, F. C. & White, H. C. (2010). Switching under uncertainty: The coming and becoming of meanings. Poetics, 38, 567–586. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1016/ j.poetic.2010.09.003 Gokhale, P. P. (2010). Contextualizing Gettier’s problem to Indian epistemology: The possibility of its solution and dissolution. In Chattopadhyay, G. (ed.) Knowledge and belief: Contemporary perspective (pp. 1–20). University of Allahabad: Department of Philosophy. Gokhale, P. P. (2012). Philosophy in colonial India. In Sharma, A. D., Shankar, J., & Sinha, R. C. (Eds.). Dimensions of philosophy (pp. 151–160). New Delhi: New Bharati Book Corporation. Hwang, K. K. (2005). A philosophical reflection on the epistemology and methodology of indigenous psychologies. Asian Journal of Social Psychology, 8, 5–17. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-839x.2005.00153.x Krücken, G. (2005). Imitationslernen und Rivalitätsdruck: Neo-institutionalistische Perspektiven zur Empirisierung globaler Diffusionsprozesse. In Schriewer, J. & Caruso, M. (Eds.). Nationalerziehung und Universalmethode. Frühe Formen schulorganisatorischer Globalisierung (pp. 94–111). Leipzig: Universitätsverlag.

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Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation Abraham Brahima

Introduction The relevance of translation to the need for conceptual decolonisation, i.e., the effort to divest African thinking of all undue influences from the colonial past (Wiredu, 1998, p. 1), ultimately points to a tension between two orders of discourses historically divergent and pragmatically incommensurable. On the one hand the discourse of the so-called ‘colonial science’ with its set of projections and representations constructed as a response to scientific needs exogenous to the African subject and his intrinsic worldviews. On the other hand, an increasing demand by postcolonial African intellectuals to formulate an autonomous and authentic discourse about themselves, their thought, history, social practices, ways of knowing, and cultures. At the strict academic level, this request for an endogenous epistemological discourse refers to the process of ‘Africanisation.’ This concept encompasses requirements for institutional transformations and the decolonisation of the African mind in such a way that the relevance and inter-relatedness of African culture, African identity, and African knowledge systems could be clearly articulated and implemented in teaching, learning, and researching in and about Africa (Makgoba & Seepe, 2004). This chapter aims at critically accessing the role and status of translation in the decolonial project. The main underlying question is how to decolonise a practice that is ontologically non-autonomous, intrinsically dependent on the text-to-be-translated, and which is definitely situated ‘in-between,’ at the crossroads of many cultures, languages, and worldviews. First, the chapter analyses the historical and conceptual connections between translation and coloniality. This section emphasises the theoretical and practical characteristics that differentiates translation in decolonial contexts from other forms of interlinguistic and intercultural transfers of meaning. Second, with regards to the fact that decolonisation is a complex and multifarious historical phenomenon, the chapter examines how these specificities apply to translation in postcolonial African contexts. How does translation in postcolonial African settings reflect the socio-historical specificities of the African colonial experience and contributes to efficiently address them? Finally, what is the status, role, and importance of translation in the process of decolonising higher

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education in Africa and what is the African translator’s task in this process? This chapter eventually suggests the notion of systematic creative translation as a way to address the lack of a tradition of massive translation aimed at domesticating into African languages and cultures the most significant literary and scientific productions available in the world.

Colonial enduring traces: Translation and decolonisation According to Young (1999), ‘nothing comes closer to the central activity and political dynamic of postcolonialism than the concept of translation’ (p. 138). From a conceptual point of view, translation and decolonisation share a lot of similarities. Both concepts convey the idea of projecting oneself elsewhere or carrying, bearing across. Translation is a metaphorical displacement of a text from one language and cultural space into another. As such, it mirrors the movement of the colonial metropolitan centre towards the colonies, with the ultimate purpose of building there a copy of itself. Historically, the relation between translation and decolonisation derives from the fact that ‘colonialism and translation went hand in hand,’ the latter ‘facilitating’ the former by grammatizing, domesticating and appropriating the languages and cultures of the colonised (Bassnett & Trivedi, 1999, p. 5). As Tageldin (2011, p.15f.) argues, ‘the translated word – luring the self to forget itself (if not its language) in the memory of another – annexes a colonised people far more effectively than arms’ (as cited in Baer, 2014, p.240). Under the colonial regime, translation was a ‘one-way process, with texts being translated into European languages for European consumption, rather than a reciprocal process of exchange’ (Baer 2014, p.233). The effect of this unequal and extroverted linguistic power relations is a postcolonial practice of translation overwhelmingly dominated by transfers between European languages and textual productions. According to Wiredu (1996), ‘the problems […] having to do with translation from African, into foreign, languages are especially urgent since at present very much more of that take place than the reverse (p. 100). In this context, as Baer (2014) rightly states, ‘European norms have dominated literary production, and those norms have ensured that only certain kinds of text, those that will not prove alien to the receiving culture, come to be translated’ (p. 233). The Need of Translation in Africa (2012), one of the rare, systematic studies on the practice of translation on the continent found out that albeit growing, ‘Africa’s share of the global translation market is tiny, with only about a quarter of the world’s total translation revenue’ (p. 1). Based on a representative group of individuals from 49 African countries who work in the field of translation1, the study confirms that the translation sector is still heavily dominated by transfer from and into European languages. As the authors concede, ‘the most popular combinations among [their] respondents were English into and out of French’ (p. 9). These are followed by pairings involving Afrikaans, Swahili, and Arabic, Zulu, Sesotho, Xhosa, Yoruba, and Amharic.

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Concerning the translation of literary works in general, Ngugi wa Thiong’o (1993) bemoans the fact that ‘there is very little mutual translation between African languages, and, say English and French’ (p. 40). He further argues that this state of affairs is even getting worse since the ‘colonial dominance of English and French in African lives has made African languages so suspicious of one another that there is hardly any inter-African communication’ (p. 40). Even at the level of development aid programmes, where translation and interpretation are crucial for any successful action, Marais (2014) notices the same deficiency. According to him, translation studies and development studies have ‘neglected’ their mutual relationship as well as their interdependence, ‘to the detriment of both’ (p. 143). Dedieu (2007) reads the play between the colonial project and translation as a nexus that still legitimises most of the colonial structures in the postcolonial linguistic and discursive framework; as illustrated by French colonial policy: Linguistic homogenisation by the recusal of African languages and the imposition of the French language permitted the creation of a subsidiary rhetorical space which for the purpose of a simplified exercise of structural subordination, purely and simply did away with the symbolic and material costs of translation (p. 114). Colonial powers have even pretexted the untranslatability of indigenous languages as a strategic subterfuge to enforce an agreement or avoid legal accountability. Young (2011) states accordingly that ‘the problems of translation, the impossibility, for example, of producing a perfect translation, became manipulated in certain power games’ (p. 4) by colonial rulers. Young further discloses that alleged untranslatability ‘was utilised for the colonizer’s benefit, as in the Treaty of Waitangi2, where the English version [was] very different from the Maori [in which] the language is simplified and vaguer’ (p. 4). In the colonial period, the outcome of a translation could be a matter of life or death at individual level as well as wars and destructions at states level. As eloquently illustrated by the Treaty of Wichale (1889) between Ethiopia and Italy, a word or a concept purposely (mis)translated was sufficient to set territorial discords to the benefit of the translator’s party or country. In this particular case, a twist was intentionally introduced in the translated version of the treaty, substituting the verb ‘could’ by ‘must,’ hence legally allowing Italy to reclaim Ethiopia as its protectorate.3 Eco (2006) informs us that in such historical contexts of asymmetrical linguistic and political power relations, a translator’s position in the chain of decisions endowed him with the supreme privilege of deciding about the fate of other human beings.4 Similarly, Young (2011) argues that professional translators and interpreters had a crucial role in the postcolonial world, because of their ‘tremendous power in legal processes’ (p. 5). Their competence, as well as their capacity to exert power through various ‘forms of control and reduction,’ could be decisive in the outcome of the gravest social or human situations.

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As in the legendary dialogue between King Thamus and Theuth around the pharmakon in Plato’s Phaedrus (Derrida, 1981a), the translator embodies the character and role of Theuth trying to acquire Thamus’ approval. In order to obtain the king’s authorisation to propagate his last invention (the writing), Theuth presents it as a pharmakon, a remedy against forgetfulness, while cunningly concealing the second meaning of the term which is poison. The ability of the translator to juggle with meanings and her/his relative freedom in the process of rendering a text or a speech (in the case of interpretation) in another language goes as far as to involve diverse strategies of manipulation and subversion generally embedded in the notion recurrent in colonial contexts of ‘false translation.’ This practice which consist in intentionally mistranslating, as a form of anticolonial resistance (Young, 2003, p. 141), is also a demonstration of the implicit relations between translation and power, namely in situations of fundamental asymmetry such as the colonial regime.

Translation, power, and subversion As ‘an activity that always takes place in a specific social, historical, and political context, [translation] involves – voluntarily or not – asymmetrical power relations.’ (Wolf, 2000, p.127). This interaction between translation and hierarchical power is well-illustrated by Romàn Àlvarez & M. Carmen-Àfrica Vidal (1996) in their volume ‘Translation, Power, Subversion.’ Contrary to the admitted definition, they contend that translation is not the production of mere equivalence between source and target texts. It is rather ‘a complex process of rewriting that runs parallel both to the overall view of language and of the “Other” people have through history and to the influences and the balance of power that exist between one culture and another’ (p. 4). Similarly, Young (2003) observes that translation cannot avoid political issues, or questions about its own links to existing forms of power. In his view, ‘no act of translation takes place in an entirely neutral space of absolute equality. […] The colonized person is also in the condition of being a translated man or woman.’ (p. 140) Thus, the uneven power relation and the subsequent struggles for domination instigated by the colonial regime are the principal raison d’être of postcolonial translation studies. As Bandia (2017) points out, ‘postcolonial translation theory is all that deals with translation between dominant language cultures and minor cultures and minority contexts, including […] “ethno global minorities,” not just minorities in the former or post-colony’ (p.n.a). In situations of linguistic hegemony, translation can end up serving the purpose of politico-phatasmatic constructions and manipulations leading to the ‘rape of a cultural usurpation which means always essentially colonial’ (Derrida, 1998, p.23). Pointing out the symbolic violence inherent to the act of translation, which essentially consist of moving a text from its linguistic space of origin into another, Derrida (1981, p.20) describes it as ‘a regulated transformation of one language by another, of one text by another.’

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Transformation not only in terms of technical requirement of the act of translating, an infinite task essentially based on a constant process of differentiation between signified and signifier, but as a substitute for the colonial power. Similarly, Young (2003) argues that ‘to translate a text from one language to another is to transform its material identity. With colonialism, the transformation of an Indigenous culture into the subordinated culture of a colonial regime, or the superimposition of the colonial apparatus into which all aspects of the original culture have to be reconstructed, operate as processes of translational dematerialisation’ (p. 139). More than a simple transport of ‘signifieds’ (signifiés) from one language to another, or within one and the same language, that the signifying instrument would leave virgin and untouched’ (Derrida, 1998, p.23) the act of translating drives the source text off its roots towards another linguistic, cultural, and mental space. This transformation, or literally this uprooting, of the original text from its initial linguistic and cultural universe implies the exercise of a symbolic violence. This view contrasts remarkably with the romantic vision of translation as a fair-minded activity in which the translator operates as a candid and impartial culture ferryman. According to this ideally constructed perception, translation is a process of ‘negotiation’ between two texts and ultimately between two cultures (Eco, 2006, p.17), a ‘mediation between cultures’ (Tonkin & Frank, 2010) a ‘language ferrying’ [passage de langues] (Ricard, 2011), or a space where ‘linguistic hospitality’ is offered and accepted following ‘the model of religious confessions’ (Ricœur, 2006, p.23). Contrary to this idealistic view, Àlvarez and Vidal (1996) stress the intrinsic connection between translation and power. They argue that translation is essentially a ‘political act’ (p. 4), a literary battlefield where power struggles are the order of the day. These power games aim at mastering and domesticating the ‘Other’ to finally maintain her in long-lasting bondage by way of one’s language. Accordingly, the translator’s stance vis-à-vis source and target texts, languages, cultures, and institutions is never innocent. The very nature of his task drives him to undertake what Àlvarez and Vidal describe as ‘a labour of acculturation, which domesticates the foreign text, making it intelligible and even familiar to the target-language reader, providing him with the narcissistic experience of recognizing his or her own cultural other’ (p. 4f.). The translator’s inherent and unconscious identification with the target language – in general her mother tongue – is expressed through the impulse to erase or normalise all instances of oddity from the source text. This attitude illustrates the ‘deforming tendencies’ of translation listed by Berman (2000) in his essay Translation and the Trials of the Foreign. Even if these misleading practices are more or less unavoidable, Berman advises the ‘conscientious translator’ to do his best at circumventing or mitigating them. However, the process of textual normalisation is commonplace in postcolonial translation processes. It is generally expressed by compulsive omissions, impoverishment, regularisation of non-conventional use of the language, and all instances of ‘defamiliarised language’ (Tymoczko, 1999, p.255) that look

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opaque to the reader of the target language and culture. These occurrences of cultural untranslatability are typographically marked in translated texts by the use of italics or other signs. In fact, these treatment of postcolonial source texts in order to render them pleasant for Western readers do not necessarily correspond to concrete expectations formally expressed by the latters. Instead, as Batchelor (2014) argues, these markers indicate that ‘the drive towards linguistic correctness and clear delineations in translations does not come from publishers’ general assessment of what readers are willing to tolerate, but from their views on translation and the priority given to correct or idiomatic use of the target language’ (p. 217). Beyond any sentiment of good faith and constructive intentions, a translator undertaking what Eco (2006) calls ‘translation proper’5 (la traduction proprement dite), ‘the type of translation practiced by publishing houses,’ is constrained to perform in a complex institutional framework. His professional horizon is defined not only by the injunctions and guidelines of his publisher, his own financial interests and the corollary prerequisite to fulfil the will and expectations of the readers but also ‘the political logic at work in the processes of translation’ (Dedieu, 2007, p.114). Building upon Venuti’s (1998) characterisation of translation as a process that ‘constructs a domestic representation for a foreign text and culture’ (p. 68), Jean-Philippe Dedieu (2007) observes that ‘the advent or the postponement of a translation’ in a national context is the outcome of economic [factors] as well as the political assessment of its legitimacy.’ Dirkx (1999) argues that this process of legitimation goes, as a rule, through extremely ‘opaque editorial strategies of selection’ (p. 71). Reflecting on some current problems of translation in the area of African studies, Dedieu (2007) contends that the idea of ‘linguistic hospitality’ to describe translation is quite generous. Contrary to the powerful colonial translator or interpreter, the modern translator is a marginal actor in the processes of edition, which is essentially dictated by the logic of economy, vetted institutional practices, and national policies. Accordingly, a structural homology exists between the political act of allowing foreigners to cross the territorial borders of a country and the ‘politics of translation’ consisting of strategic decisions aimed at regulating the admission of foreign texts into national literary borders: The incorporation of foreign texts in a national language pertains to the constituting of state-controlled symbolism and to political consensus. The naturalisation of literary taste, economic preference or civic sensitivities is linked to these practises which are concealed from public attention and scientific observation. (Dedieu, 2007, p. 113) This, Dedieu further argues, is confirmed by the analysis of selections made from among innumerable foreign textual indexes, which reveal the existence and reproduction of a political consensus regarding editing policies that

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regulate the acceptation, postponement, or rejection of foreign texts into the French culture via translation. As the textual craft of welcoming the foreign in one’s language and culture, translation is not exempt of resistance strategies in the form of insidious censorship or postponements. These are expressions of socio-political mechanisms of antagonism towards translation and sheer symptoms of a fear of alienation. Instead of an opportunity to practice ‘linguistic hospitality,’ the intrusion of the Other in one’s existential space triggers an ‘ethics of discomfort’ (Foran, 2015) leading to linguistic and cultural autarchy. As Morrison (2017) sums it up in her essay The Origin of the Others, ‘the danger of sympathizing with the stranger is the possibility of becoming a stranger’ (p. 30). To be fair, this sentiment of losing oneself during an intercultural encounter is not an exclusive mark of colonial/decolonial struggles but a universal expression of human uncertainty when faced with the unknown. As such, the fear of the stranger often degenerates in absurd xenophobic reactions and various expressions of ‘the dark desire to get rid of the foreigner’ (Mbembe, 2016, p.34) even within apparently homogenous entities such as nations that were historically victims of colonial violence. As a rule in intercultural encounters, the initial fear of the foreigner is often resorbed in the process of deeper mutual knowledge and understanding. As far as decolonial translation is concerned, the ideal platform for mutual and genuine intercultural understanding lies in the concept and process of ‘thick translation,’ which Appiah (1993) defines as ‘a different notion of literary translation […] that seeks with its annotations and its accompanying glosses to locate the text in a rich cultural and linguistic context’ (p. 817). According to Appiah, this is also the ideal type of academic translation which holistic intrinsic characteristics make it eminently worth doing.

Translation as an instrument to ‘Dis-Enclose’6 the postcolonial African academic space According to Santos (2018), the problem of postcolonial intercultural translation is essentially about ‘how to articulate and entertain a conversation among different knowledges that, in some instances, are anchored in different cultures’ (p. 16). These ‘epistemologies of the South,’ as Santos (2016, 2018) calls them, are mostly indigenous ways of knowing that are still ‘marginalised, even denigrated [even if they] sustain millions of people economically, socially and spiritually as a living framework for continuing creativity and innovation in most fields of technology’ (Odora-Hoppers, 2017, p.8). The ultimate implication of the programme of conceptual decolonisation is to achieve scientific autonomy for and within these particular knowledge systems. To this end, many scholars argue that Africans have to deconstruct, in their main features, the entire knowledge accumulated on Africa by foreign researchers. According to Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2017), the paradigmatic shift necessary in ‘tackling global coloniality on a world scale […] can only be

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possible if we can introduce new vocabularies/concepts that are usable in unmasking invisible crimes taking place in the knowledge domain so as to produce restitutive knowledge’ (p. x). A restitution of African worldviews and the perception of Africans by themselves is precisely the project assigned by Mudimbe (1979) to Nara, the main protagonist of his novel l’Écart,7 and which is also recurrent in the writings of many other African scholars and writers. Mudimbe illustrates this point by exposing how ‘colonial science’ has, as a rule, (re)presented a shattered image of Africa and Africans. Similarly, Wiredu (1996) argues that a large part of the western scientific discourse on Africa has to be retranslated into African languages, using African categories of thought through an effort of conceptualisation or endogeneisation of the main concepts from science and technique to adapt them to the specific African canons of thought. At the linguistic level, Wiredu (1996) states that the ‘lack of continental lingua franca is a disincentive to the use of the vernacular as the medium in academic work’ in Africa (p. 3). The common assumption in this regard is that if African scholars were in possession of such a common linguistic platform, they would have developed more direct, intensive, and productive academic exchanges. The development of many African languages as efficient vehicles for teaching and researching at academic levels testifies to the fact that they are not scientifically defective as Mazrui (1974, p.87) once stated. In contrary, this development is a statement of the fact that ‘African languages have been and still are legitimate sources of knowledge’ (wa Thiong’o, 2018, p.124f.). However, a lingua franca does not automatically warrant the possibility of scientific integration. The idea of a unique continental linguistic medium as a mean to resolve the consequences of the extreme multilinguism in Africa has proved to be unworkable. Because this idea is based on ‘the illusion of a unifying language, [it] leads to a deliberate marginalisation of African languages and an almost fierce emphasis on the spread and dominance of English or other European languages’ (Kilolo, 2020, p.350). Furthermore, it has the distracting effect of concealing more realistic and applicable alternatives towards linguistic and conceptual autonomy in Africa. Cheikh Anta Diop (1979) has once warned against idealistic visions of pan-African linguistic unanimity: One could object the multiplicity of languages in black Africa. One should not forget that Africa is a continent as is Europe, Asia or America, but on none of these is linguistic unity a reality. Why should it necessarily happen in Africa? The idea of a unique African language, spoken from one end of the continent to the other is inconceivable as is the notion of a single European language. (p. 405) [My translation]. Indeed, a radical academic turn towards a linguistic policy essentially based on local languages ‘would immediately make, for example, the philosophical excogitations of Kwame Gyekye of Ghana a closed book to Peter Bodunrin

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of Nigeria and vice versa’ (Wiredu, 1996, p.4). According to Zeleza (2007), the epistemic communities in Africa are fragmented along national, geographic, and linguistic lines making the need for translation even more crucial while also posing evident challenges. In the particular context of academic exchanges, one needs to go beyond the admitted definition of translation as a mere transfer of meanings from one language to another. The kind of translation required in this particular case encompasses ‘cross-cultural access, reading, and interpretation of scholarship on areas of mutual interest produced in different national intellectual traditions’ (Zeleza, 2007, p.11). Elaborating upon Alan Tansman’s (2004, p.184) idea of translation as ‘the act par excellence of area studies,’ Zeleza (2007) equates academic exchanges in transnational and multilingual context in Africa with processes of translation: Scholarship across national boundaries or epistemic communities, however, constructed, especially in the human sciences, can be conceived as acts of translations, in which scholars grapple with foreign textual and lived experiences – languages, materials, and perspectives – and strive, if they are scrupulous, to understand them on their own terms and in terms that are also meaningful to their own cognitive universe and training. (p. 11) The notion of ‘transnational translation’ reflects Berman’s (1984) conception that translation, as expressed by the German word ‘Übersetzen’ is inherently a movement of transcendence, ‘Über-Setzung’, a constitutive move beyond oneself, ‘un se-poser-au-delà de soi constitutif’ (p. 78). Both the movement of transcendence inherent to translation as such and the transnational academic expectations it fulfils by bridging the gap between linguistically fragmented scholars justify its importance for the process of conceptual decolonisation in Africa. Tymoczko (1999) accurately illustrates this duality through her description of translation as a metaphor for postcolonial writing that ‘invokes the sort of activity associated with the etymological meaning of the word: translation as an activity of carrying across’ (p. 19). Thus, translation in the postcolonial context primarily serves the purpose of transcending the artificial borders constructed along the lines of the ‘colonially derived nation-states’ (wa Thiong’o, 2016, p.55), which have subsequently been validated by the formally independent African countries. Even today, more than half a century after ‘independence,’ the circulation of ideas and experiences within the African academic sphere is still hampered by its fragmentation along regional, national, and linguistic lines. So much so that scholars and students from contiguous countries having different national languages are reciprocally ignorant of mutual academic life, events, innovations, constructive reforms at disciplinary levels and publications. But a scientific dialogue among African scholars sharing the same vernacular is still possible and should be encouraged. In prelude to the establishment of a continental lingua franca, a good start at decolonising could be

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a resolute deconstruction of the virtual academic fences constructed along the colonial nation-states’ borders. One could start by solving the problem of language-in-education versus language of daily life, which continues to maintain scholars and students in a state of intellectual schizophrenia. The South African translanguaging movement is a systematic attempt to resolve this issue. This programme is fundamentally a pedagogic reaction to prevent the ‘disconnect between the dominant language of the classroom and the home language of South African learners [which] may lead to dehumanising experiences in classrooms’ (Childs, 2016, p.22). According to Garcia (2014, p.3), translanguaging in education is ‘a process by which students and teachers engage in complex discursive practices that include all the language practices of students in order to develop new language practices and sustain old ones, communicate and appropriate knowledge, and give voice to new socio-political realities by interrogating inequality’ (as cited by Childs, 2016, p.25). Translation could play an important role towards this end. Teaching and learning involve a translation activity at cognitive levels. The scientific language is an academic and specialized language made up with images and concepts (Cummins, 2000), which always call for the acquisition by students of a specific vocabulary, syntactic structures, and discursive characteristics. A student who learns science must learn to speak scientifically as well, i.e., he has to define the concepts studied in his own words, describe the objects of study, explain the phenomena observed, design and describe some experimental process, draw conclusions and write reports about some of his scientific experiences (Lemke, 1990). These functions of language (describe, explain, and formulate) have a linguistic dimension as well as a conceptual scientific one. Thus, to be able to master these language functions, the learner must understand the scientific concepts involved, know and be able to use the necessary correct vocabulary, syntactic structures and the discursive characteristics suited to each of these functions. Any learning process can therefore be expressed in terms of linguistic knowledge (speak scientifically), a procedural knowledge (to do sciences), and conceptual knowledge (understanding sciences) (Laplante, 2001). However, in the discussion about decolonisation in teaching and researching in Africa, opinions driven by nationalistic convictions and epistemic nativism tend to set the pace and programmatic suggestions have set aside imperative issues of practical applicability. Even if teaching, researching, writing, and publishing predominantly in African languages is difficult at present for various reasons, a massive programme of translation could already be set off. Such a programme has been implemented with success elsewhere and would certainly help to deconstruct, by symbolically transcending them, the artificial borders of nation-states. This undertaking will also have the effect of making African academic microcosms visible to each other and to the global community. Another action to that end would be that African scholars initiate right now a scientific dialogue, in their vernacular, with their compatriots not literate

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in the dominant foreign official languages. Even more importantly, scholars who are conscious of the linguistic impasses confronting life and thought in postcolonial Africa should start to ponder the major theoretical problems of their discipline in their own vernaculars. This suggestion echoes Jakobson’s (1959) notion of ‘intralingual translation’ or ‘rewording’ which he defines as ‘an interpretation of verbal signs by means of other signs of the same language’ (p. 233). Many scholars in literary and translation studies have even identified an implicit translation work in the background of any discursive or creative textual production by African writers and thinkers. Such texts are in general hybrid in nature because of their inherently plurilingual, plurivocal, and heteroglossic distinctive features. As a rule, incommensurability is a marker of distinctiveness of the postcolonial text and a tool for resistance and subversion. In this sense Rushdie’s (1989, p.24) self-description as a ‘translated man, […] born-across’ fully makes sense. Because he constantly works at the intersection of overlapping worlds (the local and the colonial), the postcolonial writer, thinker, and translator is engaged in an everlasting process of hybridisation. The cognitive processes involved in this inherently hybrid literary or discursive production has been described under different and complementary labels8. A productive assessment of the relations between translation and knowledge in postcolonial Africa requires a recourse to counter-essentialist understandings of the concepts of decolonisation and Africanisation. As Mudimbe (1988) argues, the main question, as far as one wishes to stay away from any uncritical essentialist view about knowledge in Africa is: to what extent can one speak of an African knowledge, and in what sense? Mudimbe considers the reflection on the form, content and style of ‘Africanising knowledge’ on the one hand, and the status of traditional systems of thought and their possible relation to the normative genre of knowledge on the other hand, to be the major tasks of a philosophy taking African gnosis as the main object of investigation. The main purpose of this analysis is to rethink ‘the processes of transformation of types of knowledge’ (p. 9). Besides the ‘violence of representation’ (Van Binsbergen, 2003, p.148) inherent to any scientific enterprise taking the ‘culturally other’ as object of investigation and the ‘inevitable distortion-transformation-innovation that invariably and inevitably adheres to any hermeneutics, the use of foreign, dominant languages to interpret, translate and disseminate African life, and thought often led to inconsistencies. This is the epistemological and historical background in which Mudimbe’s following interrogation takes its full significance: Does this mean that African Weltanschauungen and African traditional systems of thought are unthinkable and cannot be made explicit within the framework of their own rationality? My own claim is that thus far the ways in which they have been evaluated and the means used to explain them relate to theories and methods whose constraints, rules, and systems of operation suppose a non-African epistemological locus. (p. 10)

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A distortive epistemological order that points to the validity and soundness of other ways of knowing, namely ‘knowledge produced on Africa by African’ (Hountondji, 2009). The main issue at stake being the ‘theoretical dependency or extraversion’ leading the majority of African intellectual creations to be produced for and consumed elsewhere (Hountondji, 1997). This is complemented by an uncritical and systematic recourse to canons of thought elaborated under different sociohistorical circumstances to respond to specific epistemological needs. Adopting them straightforwardly, without any critical distance, and even behaving as if these were the canonical way to produce knowledge and science obviously raises the question of the status and relevance of other ways of knowing. Hence, the importance and urgency of a thorough work of deconstruction at the epistemological level, but also in the field of translation as an ideal instrument towards the conception, conservation, and transmission of knowledge.

Decolonising translation, deconstructing the ‘colonial phrase’ The complex and insidious presence of the main features of colonialism in the ‘postcolonial’ makes any attempt at conceptualising it or delimitating it according to a strict periodisation a real challenge. Indeed, the ‘noncolonial,’ as wa Thiong’o (2012) calls it, warrants the possibility of continuity under the disguise of spurious terminology. Hence, there is a discursive impossibility to think the postcolonial in terms of radical and definite discontinuity between a ‘pre’ and a ‘post’ perceived as temporal blocks. In their volume ‘The Empire Writes Back,’ Ashcroft, Griffiths & Tiffin (2004) testify to this difficulty. They justify their use of the term postcolonial in the encompassing sense of an imperial process that affects other cultures ‘from the moment of colonisation to the present’ by the existence of a ‘continuity of preoccupations throughout the historical process initiated by European imperial aggression’ (p. 2). The common feature of the subsequent literary productions, Ashcroft et al. further argue, is their emergence ‘out of the experience of colonization.’ Furthermore, the postcolonial text asserts itself ‘by foregrounding the tension with the imperial power, and by emphasizing [its] difference from the assumptions of the imperial centre. It is this what makes [it] distinctively postcolonial’ (p. 2). It is precisely the continuity between the order of discourse prevalent in the colonial time and the period that followed it that scholars, writers, and translators are called to challenge in the framework of mental or conceptual decolonisation. As a rule, subjective and biased representations of Others ultimately aim at overstating their moral, physical, discursive, and cultural difference(s) with the Self. As Laurent Dubreuil (2008) notices, political and military domination is generally built upon and perpetuated within (dans) and through (par) a specially devised type of discourse. Dubreuil further asserts that the French colonial enterprise and the subsequent project of Francophonie were

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rooted in the construction of a stigmatised ‘Other’ through the ‘colonial phrase,’ a set of stereotyped pieces of discourse such as ‘sub-human,’ ‘backward’ and even ‘possessed’ by evil spirits (p. 13). Against this backdrop, it is understandable that for many African scholars and writers, language, and translation issues in postcolonial Africa are not only a matter of transferring concepts from European scientific jargon into local African languages. It is more about subverting the old epistemological order established in the colonial context on the exclusive basis of Western categories of thought. These should eventually be replaced by a new set of paradigms taking into account other epistemologies more suitable to host and express the particular worldviews of their societies. Ashcroft et al. (2004) describe decolonisation as involving two complementary elements: abrogation and appropriation. The former is defined by a refusal of the categories of the imperial culture, its aesthetic, its illusory standard of normative or correct usage, and its assumption of a traditional and fixed meaning inscribed in the words. The latter is ‘the process by which the language is taken and made to “bear the burden” of one’s cultural experience’ (p. 37). In other words, postcolonial writing is ‘a movement that seizes the language at the centre and re-places it in a discourse fully adapted to the colonised place’ (Ashcroft et al., 2004, p. 37). The same could be said of translation in the postcolonial context. For a translation process to be fully ‘relevant’ (Derrida, 2001), the translator needs to share the same language as the writer, and a close affinity in the form of shared meanings (Wiredu, 1996). Indeed, it requires a greater attention to the inherently heterogeneous, heteroglossic, and hybrid nature of the postcolonial text. Besides, translating in a postcolonial mind-set requires an affinity with the subtext(s) from the standpoint of its intentions but also its literary form. Some scholars and translators even require a sort of nativist identification with the source text as a prerequisite for any adequate translation. Bandia (1993) views the translation process as a kind of diving into the worldview(s) embedded in the source text and sharing its fundamental ontological features. For him, ‘it is advantageous, therefore, for the translator to share a similar “life-world” with the author. For instance, if s/he is African s/he will be more familiar with the cultural background of the narrative to be translated’ (p. 55). D’almeida (1981) shares this point of view and goes even further into the description of the ideal affinities between writer and translator. For her, ‘impersonation is easier and more effective when it is an African person who is translating an African writer’ (p. 24). According to Bandia, the ‘conscientious translator’9 is capable of better perceiving any cultural practice or daily event described in an African literary work because, as D’Almeida further adds, ‘they are part of a shared experience’ (p. 24). Simpson (1979) even denies the possibility of any sound translation of African texts by the ‘uninitiated European translator’ whose single cultural competence is his mother tongue.

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The advent of the practice of translation between African and diasporic African languages would be the f irst step towards the realisation of ‘intellectualism “in the vernacular” ’ (Mazrui, 2003, p.145) to which so much literary interest has been given in publications about linguistic decolonisation. However, regarding translation as a systematic way to appropriate ‘all the knowledge available in the world’ (Hountondji, 2002, p.243) and the equally urgent question of linguistic autonomy, the ‘Promised Land is still very, very far away,’ to borrow Werrema’s (2012) words. As far as translation into African languages is concerned, the current efforts are still confined to a handful of languages. A systematic effort at appropriating the major texts of world literature and the current state of world affairs could effectively serve many purposes. Wa Thiong’o sets the discussion about translation in postcolonial contexts on the firm ground of its probable positive outcomes for African peoples. According to him, translation could contribute to the empowerment of Africans not literate in European languages by providing them with the keys towards their intellectual self-determination. In his essay Secure the Base. Making Africa Visible in the Globe (2016), he accurately states that Enriching the languages people use and encouraging dialogue among them through the tool of translation is the best way to create a cultural basis for African unity. Imagine if all the books written in different African languages, and even those produced by continental and diasporic Africans in any language, were available in each and every African language. Would this not create a sense of common inheritance and a basis for more intellectual production? (p. 53) This would be an extremely empowering way to finally start addressing the issue of decolonisation from a concrete and effective point of view. Up to now, the literature on the subject of decolonisation is confined in an academic and elitist monologue with anecdotal endeavours in the direction of the ‘illiterate’10 majority. Circumstantial efforts quite often occur in the form of opportunistic translations for development projects through vulgarisation supports. However, apart from the recent (2016) ‘Jalada translation project,’ which shall be further described later, there is still no systematic effort in Africa towards the implementation of something similar to the ‘poly, omni-translation’ Berman (1984) describes in the specific case of German Romanticism. Much has been published about the importance of linguistic decolonisation as an essential step towards mental and/or conceptual decolonisation (Chinweizu, Onwuchekwa & Ihechukwu, 1980; Wa Thiong’o, 1986; Wiredu, 1996) but the connection between language policy, translation, and decolonisation seems to be overlooked. Bandia (2008) states that ‘there is not even a single study as broad in scope as a book that critically assess [African] literature from the standpoint of the latest development in

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translation theory’ (p.1). It seems, as Ricard (2011) notices, as if ‘the contemporary literary production in Africa is not interested in the issue of translation as such: few texts are translated into African languages, very few are translated from these languages. […] The question of translation remains an issue for these literatures’ (p. 42). According to Batchelor (2014): In the existing literature, translation theory frameworks developed in response to the specific challenges posed by the translation of hybrid postcolonial texts are limited to broad outlines, or indications of a direction in which translation theory might move, rather than full explorations of possible translation approaches. (p. 5) In his reflection on how to ‘re-Africanise’ higher education on the continent, Mazrui (2003) underlines the inexistence of a tradition of systematic translation, which could provide Africans scholars and students with major texts of world literature. Mazrui’s remarks are still broadly valid even if, as Kilolo (2020), founding member of ‘Jalada’ a pan-African collective of young African writers puts it, as far as literary translation in Africa is concerned, ‘there is much cause for concern, [but] the situation is changing for the better’ (p. 350). Indeed, in 2016, the collective translated wa Thiong’o’s short story ‘Ituika Ria Murungaru: Kana Kiria Gitumaga Andu Mathii Marungii’ (‘The Upright Revolution: or Why Humans Walk Upright’) originally written in Gikuyu into 92 languages of which more than 50 are African vernaculars. An achievement which illustrates that translation between African languages is not only practically possible but constitutes a necessary step toward the development of literary and scientific traditions in these languages. As wa Thiong’o (2018, p.124) states, this initiative is a confirmation of the fact that ‘thought can originate in any African language and spread to other African languages and to all the other languages of the world’ (as cited by Kilolo, 2020, p.348). The Jalada translation project brought together a tremendous number of translators and scholars from all over the continent to ‘carry across’ the original text of wa Thiong’o into their mother tongue, individually, in pairs or even with other members of their family. Remarkably, since only a few translators were literate in Gikuyu, most of the translations had to transit through a number of former colonial languages, namely English, French, and Arabic. As such, this experience is an eloquent expression of the subversive potential embedded in a decolonial practice of translation as well as its intrinsic hybrid nature. Furthermore, such initiatives reflect the vision of ‘translation culture’ (Wolf, 2000) in which ‘translation will no longer means bridging a gap between two different cultures but, rather, producing meanings which are created through the encounter of cultures that are already characterised by multiculturality’ (p. 10). At the heart of this ideal space where translations fully endorse their ontological purpose of bearing across different languages

Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation 133

and culture towards a ‘third space’ of mutual understanding, the translator ‘operates in an environment characterised by the hybridisation of language, culture, behaviour, institution, and communication’ (Wolf, 2000, p.10) Strikingly enough, history is full of examples of people under (foreign) domination who endeavour to appropriate the linguistic and cultural particularities of their ruler in an attempt to subvert the hegemonic asymmetrical relation and turn it to their own advantage. As Osha (2005) observes, ‘the factors that guarantee a language’s survival include the economic power, military superiority, and cultural prestige of the people who speak it’ (p. 68). Translation has always played a major role in this attempt at appropriating the secret of the ruler’s power. This was the case in Germany during the Reformation and the 19th Century, and in Japan during the 20th Century where ‘a “Civilisation and Enlightment” movement was translating the classics of the French Enlightment and British liberalism into Japanese and advocating catching up with the West through democracy, industrialism, and the emancipation of women’ (Morris, 2011, p.14). The Japanese were so convinced of the power of the Western colonial nations residing in their cultural production that some were not satisfied with a mere appropriation of the major works through translation. They even wanted to go beyond and straightaway made English be their national language. After a series of military and political setbacks, ‘by 1900 Chinese intellectuals were following the Japanese lead, translating Western books on evolution and economics’ (Morris, 2011, p.15). With regards to these historical examples, it is legitimate to ask why such a tradition of massive translation has not been implemented within the decolonising processes in Africa? Cheikh Anta Diop’s work stating the importance of translation and the re-appropriation of local languages aim at demonstrating, in the context of colonial denegation, that African languages can conceptualise and express the most abstract concepts of science and literature. In order to substantiate his claims, he endeavours to translate various scientific and literary texts including the theory of relativity into Wolof. One should also single out Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Okot p’Bitek, Rabearivelo, Joaquim Dias Cordeiro da Matta, Eno Belinga, Wole Soyinka, Robert Shabaans, Amadou Kourouma, and Ousmane Kane. Their work as translators, thinkers, and writers in African languages have contributed to a better understanding of the challenges of translation in postcolonial Africa.

Conclusion For decades, the African postcolonial translation scene has been a desert like landscape, dominated by a one-way transfer from local languages and culture in the colonies towards the metropolitan Centre. Today, many universities on the continent have their own faculty or departments of Translation Studies11 and there are various translators’ associations with a continental spectrum and

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academic journals. These organisations aim at providing students and scholars in Translation Studies with a platform for reflection and exchanges mainly through academic encounters. One of these structures is the Association for translation studies in Africa (ATSA).12 However, the principal aim of these institutions, schools, and programmes is to train professional translators and interpreters whose skills are primarily dedicated to earn a living and to lead a successful career. The systematic form of translation required in the postcolonial context of Africa is more demanding but less rewarding in terms of material or financial gains. Besides their professional engagements, translators, and scholars well-informed about the future challenges of Africa in the postcolonial era and eager to contribute to an authentic human development on the continent should engage in a translation practice which would turn them into creative systematic translators as illustrated by the Jalada translation project. As shown by the historical examples mentioned above, if Africans really mean to decolonise conceptually and linguistically, they should initiate a vast programme of systematic translation of world literary or scientific works into their vernaculars. This may sound paradoxical in the context of a discussion about self-determination and de-linking from the vestiges of colonial domination. But if this promethean task has succeeded in endowing other peoples with the moral and intellectual strength necessary for the leap into the modern scientific age, why should Africans not follow through? This option is at least worthy of being seriously considered with regards to the long series of fruitless attempts at appropriating science and technology on the continent in the postcolonial era. As such, the integration of indigenous languages and worldviews into the academy is one of the biggest challenges to the project of Africanisation, as well as the most promising prospect for the establishment of an autocentered, productive, and sustainable culture of science and research in Africa. That said, one cannot overlook the fact that translation is after all an instrument which primordial function is to carry meaning, feelings, and stances across languages and cultures. Its primordial purpose is to create a ‘third space’ in which different worldviews could meet and interact. The practice of translation occurs in a hybrid space (Wolf, 2000), where the natural need to communicate, share others thought and feelings is mixed up with power struggles. However, one cannot reasonably expect from translation only to provide for the deep structural changes needed today in the domains of science and higher education and which primarily depend on determined political decisions and enthusiastic engagement.

Notes   1. The primary target population of the survey was individual translators and organisations that provide translation services. This initial group was extended to academics, mainly professors of languages at universities, freelance translators based in Africa and other people involved in translation in Africa.

Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation 135   2. Historic pact signed on Feb. 6, 1840 between Great Britain and a number of New Zealand Maori tribes of North Island. It purported to protect Maori rights and was the immediate basis of the British annexation of New Zealand. […] Negociated at the settlement of Waitangi, the treaty’s three articles provided for (1) the Maori signatories acceptance of the British queen’s sovereignty in their lands, (2) the crown’s protection of Maori possessions, with the exclusive right of the queen to purchase Maori land, and (3) full rights of British subjects of the Maori signatories. [Encyclopedia Britannica online, https://www.britannica.com/event/Treaty-of-Waitangi].   3. Signed on May 2, 1889 at Wichale (or Ucciali) in Ethiopia by Menelik II, Emperor of Ethiopia and the Italians, this treaty granted Italy the territories of modern Eritrea and northern Tigray in exchange of a sum of money and weapons. Article XVII of the Treaty stated that the emperor of Ethiopia “could” have recourse to the good offices of the Italian government in his dealings with other foreign powers; but the Italian text translated that it “must”. On the base of their own text, the Italians proclaimed a protectorate over Ethiopia. A year later, having found out the subterfuge, Menelik II denunciated and rejected treaty, which led to the Battle of Adwa and the Treaty of Addis Ababa (Oct, 26, 1896). [Encyclopedia Britannica online, https://www.britannica.com/ event/Treaty-of-Wichale].   4. An Italian adventurer followed the occupation troops and was eventually appointed as interpreter for Arabic, without having a clue about this language. And so, an alleged rebel was captured and questioned.The Italian officer asks the question in Italian and the false interpreter said a few sentences in his own-devised Arabic. The questioned did not understand and answered God knows what (obviously that he did not understand). The interpreter translated as he pleased in Italian that the rebel did not want to answer or that he admit being culprit and most of the time the later was hanged.] (My Translation)   5. According to Jakobson who devised it, this expression refers to ‘interlingual translation’ (or “translation proper”) one of the three elements of his typology, along with intralingual (rewording, reformulation) and intersemiotic translation (transmutation).   6. This odd compound is borrowed from the English translation of Jean-Luc Nancy’s (2005) neologism “déclosion,” which he uses to designate the opening up of a formerly closed space. Its meaning as a reversal process of a foreclosure is pertinent to the indispensable process of academic integration in postcolonial Africa.   7. Confronted in his readings with the overwhelming (mis)representations of Africans in colonial ethnological discourse, Nara decided to deconstruct them all, start from scratch and decolonise all the knowledge accumulated about his people: ‘J’aimerais repartir de zéro, reconstruire du tout au tout l’univers de ces peuples : dé-coloniser les connaissances établies sur eux, remettre à jour des généalogies nouvelles, plus crédibles, et pouvoir avancer une interprétation plus attentive au milieu et à sa véritable histoire. Souvent, je me surprends hésitant. J’ai alors envie de me moquer de cette envie de faire surgir des parcours nouveaux. […] Craindre la convoitise… Leur impertinence, également. « Quelle utilité ? Les Kouba ont été étudiés en profon-deur… – Par un Noir ? – Vous pensez que cela changerait quelque chose… ? » Que les Allemands commencent par se contenter des descriptions de leur passé faites par des Français… Ceux-ci, par des études anglaises… Alors seulement, je céderai.’ (p. 27)   8. ‘Unconscious translation process’ [unbewusster Übersetzungsvorgang] (Mayanja 1999), ‘introspective translation’ [innerliche Übersetzung] (Fall, 1996), ‘african subtext’ (Kolb 2009) to ‘linguistic consciousness’ or ‘subliminal translation’ (Ricard, 2011).  9. According to Bandia, the term means ‘an African author writing in a European language or a translator of African works’ (1993, 55–78). 10. The term ‘illiterate’ as applied to African communities in this chapter always means ‘non-literate in European languages.’ 11. Among others, the ‘South African Translator’s Institute’ (SATI) in Bloemfontein; the Nigerian Institute of Translators and Interpreters (NITI), the Advanced School of Translators and Interpreters (ASTI) in Buea (Cameroon). In addition to these, many

136  Abraham Brahima universities in Africa currently offer courses and qualifications in translation and interpretation like the Master of Arts in Translation Studies at the Africa International University in Nairobi, Kenya and at many universities in South Africa. 12. In its online presentation, the association states that its most important task is to provide ‘a voice to translation scholars in Africa. Making their voice heard implies decolonising their minds’. According to ATSA, scholars and students in translation studies in Africa are in urgent need for an academic space open ‘to the most recent trends in translation theory and practice’ as well as a forum ‘for discussing uniquely African notions of translation.’

References Àlvarez, R., & Vidal, M. C-À. (1996). Translation, Power, Subversion, Topics in Translation (pp. 4–5), Clevedon-Philadelphia, Adelaide: Multilingual Matters Ltd. Appiah, K. A. (1993). Thick Translation. Callaloo, 16(4), pp. 808–819. Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G., & Tiffin, H. (2004). The Empire Writes Back. Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (2nd ed.), London & New York: Routledge. Baer, B. C. (2014). What is Special about Postcolonial Translation? In Berman, S. & Porter, C. A Companion to Translation Studies (1st ed., pp. 233–245), West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons. Bandia, F. P. (1993). Translation as Culture Transfer: Evidence from African Creative Writing. TTR: Traduction. Terminologie. Rédaction, 6(2), pp. 55–78. Bandia, F. P. (2008) Translation as Reparation. Writing and Translation in Postcolonial Africa. Manchester/Kinderhook: St Jerome Publishing. Bandia, F. P. (2017). Postcolonial Translation Theory and Minor Literatures, RTG Minor-Cosmopolitanisms, https://www.uni-potsdam.de/fileadmin/projects/minorcosmopolitanisms/PDFs/Bandia_Interview.pdf Batchelor, K. (2014). Decolonising Translation. Francophone African Novels in English Translation, London-New York: Routledge,. Bassnett, S. & Trivedi, H. (Eds.) (1999). Post-colonial Translation: Theory and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. Berman, A. (1984). L’épreuve de l’étranger. Culture et traduction dans l’Allemagne romantique. Paris: Gallimard. Berman, A. (2000). Translation and the Trials of the Foreign. In Venuti Lawrence (Ed.), Translation Studies Reader, London & New York: Routledge, 284–297. Childs, M. (2016). Reflecting on Translanguaging in Multilingual Classrooms: Harnessing the Power of Poetry and Photography. Educational Research for Social Change, 5(1), pp. 22–40. Chinweizu, I., Onwuchekwa, J., & Ihechukwu, M. (1980). Toward the Decolonization of African Literature, African Fiction and Poetry and their Critics. London: Routledge. Cummins, J. (2000). Language, Power and Pedagogy: Bilingual Children in the Crossfire. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. D’Almeida, I. A. (1981). Literary Translation: The Experience of Translating Chinua Achebe’s Arrow of God into French. Babel. 27(1), pp. 24–28. Dedieu, J. P. (2007). The Problem of Translation in African Studies: The Case of French. In Paul Tiyambe Zeleza (Ed.), The Study of Africa. Global and Transnational Engagements, (pp. 112–124) Dakar: Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA). Derrida, J. (1972). La dissémination. Paris, Le Seuil. Derrida, J. (1981a). Dissemination. London: The Athlone Press..

Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation 137 Derrida, J. (1981b). Positions. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Derrida, J. (2001). What is a Relevant Translation? Critical Inquiry, 27, pp. 174–200. Diop, C. A. (1979). Nations nègres et culture, Paris: Présence Africaine. Dirkx, P. (1999). Les obstacles à la recherche sur les stratégies éditoriales. Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 126-127, pp. 70-74. Dubreuil, L. (2008). L’empire du langage. Colonies et francophonie. Paris: Hermann. Eco, U. (2006). Dire presque la même chose. Expériences de traduction. Paris: Grasset. Foran, Lisa. (2015). An Ethics of Discomfort: Supplementing Ricœur on Translation, Ricœur Studies, 6, 1, pp. 25–45. Garcia, O. (2014). TESOL Translanguaging in NYS: Alternative Perspectives. NYS TESOL Journal, 1(1), 2–10. Hountondji, J. P. (1997). Endogenous Knowledge: Research Trails. Dakar: CODESRIA. Hountondji, J. P. (2009). Knowledge of Africa, Knowledge by Africans: Two Perspectives on African Studies. RCCS Annual Review, N° 1, pp. 121-131. Hountondji, P. J. (2002). The Struggle for Meaning. Reflections on Philosophy, Culture, and Democracy in Africa, Athens: Ohio University Center for International Studies. Jakobson, R. (1959). On Linguistic Aspects of Translation. In Brower Reuben A. (Ed.), On Translation, Cambridge & Massachusetts: Havard University Press. Kelly, N., DePalma, A. D. & Hgde, V. (2012). The Need for Translation in Africa. Adressing Information Inequality So that Africa May Prosper, Massachusetts, USA: Common Sense Advisory, Inc. Kilolo, M. (2020). The Single Most Translated Short Story in the History of African Writing. Ngugi wa Thiong’o and the Jalada Writers’ Collective, In R. R. Gould & K. Tahmasebian (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of Translation and Activism (pp. 346–363), Oxon and New York: Routledge. Laplante, B. (2000). Apprendre en sciences, c’est apprendre à parler sciences: des élèves de sixième année de l’immersion parlent des réactions chimiques. Revue canadienne des langues vivantes, 57(2), 245-271. Laplante, B. (2001). Des élèves de sixième année apprennent à parler des réactions chimiques. In D. Masny, La culture de l’écrit: les défis à l’école et au foyer (pp. 105–141). Montréal, QC: Éditions Logiques. Laplante, B. (2001). Introduction: French Education in Canada, Language, Culture and Curriculum, 14(2), pp. 91–97. Lemke, J. L. (1990). Talking science: Language, learning, and values. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Marais, K. (2014). Translation Theory and Development Studies: A Complexity Theory Approach. London, UK: Routledge. Mazrui, A. A. (1974). World Culture and the Black Experience. Seattle/London: University of Washington Press. Mazrui, A. A. (2003). Towards Re-Africanizing African Universities: Who Killed Intellectualism in the Post Colonial Era? Alternatives: Turkish Journal of International Relations, 2(3–4), pp. 135–163. Mbembe, A. J. (2016). “Decolonising the University: New Directions”. Arts & Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), pp. 29–45. Morris, I. (2011). Why the West Rules for Now. The Patterns of History and What they Reveal About the Future, London: Profile Books Ltd. Morrison, T. (2017). The Origin of Others, Cambridge & London: Harvard University Press. Mudimbe, V.Y. (1979). L’Écart, Paris: Présence africaine.

138  Abraham Brahima Mudimbe, V.Y. (1988). The Invention of Africa, Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2017). The Case for a Decolonised/Africanised Africa. In V. Msila. (Ed.), Decolonising Knowledge for Africa’s Renewal. Examining African Perspectives and Philosophies. Randburg, South Africa: KR Publishing. Odora-Hoppers, C.A. (2017). Culture, Indigenous Knowledge and Development. The Role of the University. Occasional Paper, Johannesburg: Centre for Education Policy Development (CEPD). Osha, S. (2005). Kwasi Wiredu and Beyond: The Text. Writing and Thought in Africa, Dakar: CODESRIA. Ricard, A. (2011). Le sable de Babel: traduction et apartheid. Paris: Éditions du CNRS. Ricœur, P. (2006). On Translation, London & New York: Routledge. Rushdie, S. (1989). Shame, New York: Vintage. Santos, B. de S. (2016). Epistemologies of the South and the Future. From the European South, 1, pp. 17–29. Santos, B. de S. (2018). The End of the Cognitive Empire: The Coming Age of Epistemologies of the South, Durham and London: Duke University Press. Simpson, E. (1979). Translating from and into Nigerian languages. Babel, 25(2), pp. 75–79. Tageldin, S. M. (2011). Disarming Words: Empire and the Seductions of Translation in Egypt, Berkeley: University of California Press. Tansman, A. (2004). Japanese Studies: The Intangible Act of Translation. In David Szanton (Ed.). The Politics of Knowledge. Area Studies and the Disciplines. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. Tonkin, H., & Frank, M. E. (Eds.) (2010). The Translator as Mediator of Cultures, Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Tymoczko, M. (1999). Post-colonial writing and literary translation, In Bassnett Susan & Trivedi Harish (Eds.), Postcolonial Translation Theory and Practice, Routledge, London. Van Binsbergen, W. (2003). Intercultural Encounters. African and Anthropological Lessons Towards a Philosophy of Interculturality. Münster: LIT Verlag. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonising the Mind. The Politics of Language in African Literature. London: James Currey. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1993). Moving the Centre: The Struggle for Cultural Freedom. London: James Currey. Wa Thiong’o, N. (2012). Globalectics. Theory and the Politics of Knowing. New York: Columbia University Press. Wa Thiong’o, N. (2016). Secure the Base. Making Africa Visible in the Globe. London-New York-Calcutta: Seagull Books. Wa Thiong’o, N. (2018). The Politics of Translation: Notes towards an African Language Policy. Journal of African Cultural Studies 30 (2), pp. 124–132. Werrema, I. J. (2012). After 50 Years the Promised Land is still too far! 1961-2011. Dar es Salam: Mkuki Na Nyota Publishers. Wiredu, K. (1996). Cultural Universals and Particulars: an African Perspective. Bloomington/ Indiana: Indiana University Press. Wiredu, K. (1998). Towards Decolonising African Philosophy and Religion, African Studies Quarterly, 1(4), pp. 17–46). Wolf, M. (2000). The Third Space in Postcolonial Representation, in S. Simon & P. S. Pierre (Eds.), Changing the Terms. Translating in Postcolonial Era, Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press.

Conceptual decolonisation, endogenous knowledge, and translation 139 Young, R. J. (2003). Postcolonialism: A very short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, R. J. C. (2011) Translation and Postcolonialism, Interview with Thomas J. Corbett, Translorial, http://www.translorial.com/interviews/translation-andpostcolonialism/ Zeleza, T. P. (Ed.). (2007). The Study of Africa. Volume II: Global and Transnational Engagements. Dakar: CODESRIA.

7

Linguistic coexistence and controversy in Algerian higher education From colonialisation via the Arabisation movement to the adoption of hybridity Abbes Sebihi and Leonie Schoelen

Introduction For centuries, Algeria has occupied a strategic geopolitical position, with more than 1,000 km of coastline at the Mediterranean Sea separating Europe and Africa. Contrary to other countries formerly colonised by France, as Département outre-mer, Algeria had a unique status as an integral administrative part of France under its rule, starting in 1830, until independence in 1962. Algeria’s official languages are modern standard Arabic – with the spoken Algerian dialect Daridja – and Tamaziɣt/Tamazight (so-called ‘Berber’), since 2016 constitutionally, after being awarded national language status in 2001. French continues to be widely used in administration, (higher) education and commerce. English is not widespread as of now, however, the academic integration of the South presently pushes for more English in the country’s higher education system, as do representatives of science disciplines (Bensouiah, 2020b). There are many reasons for Algeria’s linguistic diversity: historical, cultural, geographical, and political influences. It was marked by the coexistence of several linguistic and dialect varieties, starting from the first recorded language brought to the region from the ‘Berber’.1 Their languages were made up of the current ‘Berber’ dialects, an extension of the oldest varieties known in the Maghreb, or rather in the ‘Berber’ speaking area, which extends from Egypt to Morocco, and from Algeria to Niger. These Tamazight languages, as we now call them, constitute the oldest linguistic substrate of this region and are, therefore, the mother tongue of parts of the population (Chaker, 1998). This still existent language is rich and dynamic in practices and behaviours of speakers, who adopt diversity to their expressive needs. It is substance to the different foreign languages having marked Algeria over time, by way of the Arabic language as a vector of Islamisation, and the French language, originating in colonisation. This coexistence, therefore, turns out to be turbulent,

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fluctuating, and sometimes conflictual in a symbolic and cultural field crossed by relations of domination and linguistic stigmatisation. A recurring source of conflict past and present is the controversy surrounding language of instruction and science in general as an issue that is highly politicised. With the policy obligation to decolonise, social sciences and humanities have been Arabised, whereas experimental sciences continue to be taught in French. In 2019, the interim minister Tayeb Bouzid announced the reinforcement of English alongside Arabic, which, in principle, is upheld by the new Minister taking up office in 2020, Chems-Eddine Chitour, who, however, stresses quality of teaching regardless of the language it is dispensed in (Bensouiah, 2020a). It must be noted that this discourse points at an emotional statement to apply pressure on the French government to underline Algerian sovereignty and thus decrease French linguistic and cultural influence, communicated as a strategy, lacking any implementation measures, however. As of now, the debate is political rather than scientific, and, with ideology prevailing, does not take into account the chances provided by the Algerian plurilingual environment also in academia. Notwithstanding, curricula have rarely been changed and updated in the non-technical disciplines, which makes the intended decolonisation policy incomplete as well as ineffective as both lecturers and students may lack respective passive and active language proficiency, in addition to the non-availability of (translated) resources.

Theoretical approach, hypothesis, and argument This contribution draws on a theoretical approach of structural violence (Galtung, 1969), a concept first coined in peace and conflict studies. Simplified, it describes violence with victims, yet no visible perpetrators. Hence, the violence is in, and exercised by, structures, systems, and policy. The continued influence of these colonial elements can be labelled structural violence. As a result, there is a need to decolonise structures, too, such as in higher education systems. From the background of language as social practice, and identity building through language choice in an Arab context (Serreli, 2019), Algeria is an example of a postcolonial society, which is marked by multilingualism, as was described by Homi K. Bhabha (Bhabha, 2003). Decolonisation, including, but not limited to higher education, has so far taken place predominantly by linguistic means: since the first reform of the colonially inherited system in 1971 (MESRS, 1971), Algeria has been endeavouring to nationalise its higher education. Nevertheless, this policy has been implemented only partly. In this context, the notion of ‘language for peace’ (Belmihoub, 2015) can account for the existence of hybrid, heterogenous knowledge (Bhabha, 2003). In the case of Algeria, recently emerging English has the potential to fulfil this role. Due to its decolonial connotation in this setting, it is apolitical, more neutral, and linked to industry, information technology, and, increasingly, globalised trade.

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In the following, we present a review of the presence and development of languages in Algerian history and its impact on the national higher education agenda. Linguistic influences and their implications for the present situation in higher education are systematically exposed to facilitate an understanding of its relevance. We trace back the language conflict of Arabic versus French in higher education in Algeria: while these are the only two references today, this dichotomy fails to pay tribute to the country’s multilingualism past and present. In conducting a situation analysis, we highlight the present positioning and argue how a ‘language for peace’ could offer a solution to prevailing emotional policymaking, based on ideological considerations rather than rational choice. Ever since, there has been individual preference based, unplanned, and incomprehensible decisions regarding official, including educational, language policy, instead of study informed reforms accompanied by well-planned implementation. There has not been consolidation between Algeria’s two official and an additional working language to this day. Young Algerians define themselves by being either proficient in Arabic or French, or yet, Tamazight, not seldom as a protest reaction. It can be observed that policy choices were not well reflected but aimed at a temporary solution, oriented towards global trends rather than national needs. This status quo is rooted in French colonial practices based on a ‘divide-to-rule’ approach with the objective to create internal conflict between Arabs and Tamazights, and thus to weaken both languages in Algeria in favour of French as the only language of administration and education. Consequently, there has been no coherent definition, let alone strategy of what decolonisation, Arabisation, or the Algerian university means – instead, impulsive legislation without the involvement of any stakeholders, either in academia or in civil society, has taken place. Nowadays, rather than building bridges between African, Arab, and European countries, there is resentment.

Historical overview of the presence of languages through settlement in Algeria This section necessarily remains fragmented, given its brevity, and focused on an examination in the context of Algeria’s history and its impact on the linguistic praxis. Nevertheless, we are convinced that the reader needs to be introduced to the historical context in order to reconstruct the impact of language in education. Furthermore, we highlight the colonial use of the term ‘Berber’ in order to correct and thus decolonise it. Compared to other, land locked African countries, there has been exchanging through trade in Algeria, which is the root of the hybridity observed today. Over time, the settlement by many cultures in Algeria has exerted their respective influence, however, today, there remains no linguistic impact except of colonial nature.

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Algeria occupies a prominent place in the panorama of world prehistory. The number and the quality of its traces, from the oldest Palaeolithic to protohistory, give it an exceptional position and make it one of the first cradles of humanity. The first traces of human occupation, which marked Algeria’s Prehistorical area, begins 2 million years ago and ends with the first Libyan texts called Tifinagh, in the 1st millennium before time.2 The so-called Tighennif Man is the oldest known fossil human in North Africa.3 Algerian ‘indigenous’4 population dating from sometime in the myriad before time has been incorrectly referred to as ‘Berbers,’ a term derived from the Roman label ‘Barbarian’ in addition to another group, ‘Moors,’ since the century later Arab Muslim presence and indeed to this day. In fact, what is routinely portrayed as one people were many different civilisations – Moors (Mauri), Mauritanians, Africans, and many tribes and tribal federations such as the Leuathae or Musulami, all of whom did not share a common ancestry, culture, let alone language (Rouighi, 2019a). The modern, acceptable term for members of peoples in a multitude of countries is Imazighen (plural)/Amazigh (singular) (Rouighi, 2019b). The history of ancient Algeria is linked to that of the Mediterranean. From approximately 4000 before time, the Libyan ‘Berber’ populations, whether nomadic or sedentary, participate in the economic and cultural movements of the region. Before the arrival of the Romans the last centuries before time, Numidians (‘Berbers’) and Punics (Carthaginians) mingle in what corresponds to Eastern Algeria. Greek is the common language, Punic is a semi-official language; they coexist with the languages spoken by the people, Libyan (or ‘Berber’). The spread of classical science and educational institutions does not yet take place, as settler peoples mostly adapted to the native population at the time. The Graeco-Roman civilisation’s traces varied greatly in its different provinces. While there existed various degrees between a mere facade and quasi-total extinction of local cultures, mostly, a mixture or coexistence of both cultures was found, the situation of which also extended to language presence and practice prevailing alongside Greek and Latin (Millar, 1968). The commonly spoken native languages of Roman Africa, around time record until the early 5th Century – in Hippo Regius, the location of modern Algeria – were Punic and a language often incorrectly referred to as ‘Berber,’ which has since been labelled ‘Libyan.’ It might indeed have been a coded language incomprehensible to outsiders but it is not known whether or to what extent it was in daily use at all, neither whether there is a connection nor it is even at the origin of modern day Tamazight (Millar, 1968). Arabisation of present day Algeria took place through two (of a total of seven) large flows of populations arriving from the Arabic peninsula during the period of Islamisation. The first stage directly follows the Islamic conquest of the 7th and 8th Centuries. This Arabisation is only superficial since it concerns only the conquered cities, where the Arabs settled and constituted a scientific and aristocratic class that allowed access to the language, power,

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and science to the rest of the inhabitants of these cities (Remaoun, 2000). The countryside remains purely ‘Berber.’ The dialects dating from this time are called pre-Hilialian (Meynier, 2007). The second stage is the result of Bedouin incursions in Algeria in the 11th and 12th Centuries, principally, the Banu Hilal and the Banu Maqtil. This Arabisation was much stronger and deeper than the first, since it affected not only the cities but also the high plateaus, the plains, and certain oases, thus causing the gradual Arabisation of the country between the 15th and 18th Centuries (Russell & Russell, 1999). The ‘Berber’ languages were maintained in the 19th Century in the densely populated mountains, the adjacent plains, and in certain oases of the south called ‘Ksours.’ The dialects resulting from this Arabisation are referred to as post- Hilialian (E.B., 2001); (Hamet, 1932). However, it should be noted that the influx of population from the Middle East has never been large enough to Arabise a majority of Algerians. Linguistic Arabisation was therefore done mainly through the Zaouïas and religious brotherhoods, who used Arabic as the liturgical language and language of instruction, as well as by the political powers of the different medieval kingdoms of the Maghreb – who, with a few exceptions, all used Arabic as the one and only official language. Consequently, in the mid-14th Century, a university in the modern understanding with disciplinary departments, academic staff, visiting researchers, student residences, and scholarships, was established in Tlemcen,5 in the West of Algeria, by one of these scholars, Abū l-’Abbā s Ah  . mad b. Yah  . yā b. Muh  . ammad b. ʿAbd al-Wāh  . id al-Wanshar īsī, as the first institutionalised form of higher education.6 Algerian ground breaking intellectual and commonly regarded founder of modern sociology, Ibn Khaldoun (1333–1406), publishing a history of the Maghreb detailing successive Arab and ‘Berber’ dynasties as well as their Eastern and Western contemporaries called ‘The Book of Examples’ (in Arabic) had taught there, and it was similar in its academic programmes with European medieval universities of the time. Yet, the pioneering university ceased to exist for unknown reasons (Kateb, 2014). As a consequence, outside of intellectuals’ circles in principal Mosques of main cities, there had been no formalised higher education in Algeria for centuries, with students being sent abroad to Islamic institutions of higher learning in Egypt, Morocco, or Tunisia, to pursue tertiary level studies (Daghbouche, 1982; Dahmane, 2014). The Ottoman Algeria, 1516–1830, marked a period of a distinct, tradition oriented Sufi culture and a maritime rule orientation, seeking to prevent European – primordially, Spanish Christian, as opposed to the Muslim Spanish, the Andalous – conquest of North Africa. Rulers, who called the states of the region the ‘Maghrib’ as the Muslim West for the first time, overwhelmingly lacked knowledge of the Arabic language, and, hence, there was little recognition of the importance of learning, intellectual development, and progressivist science beyond religious curricula. Coupled with political

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instability and bad governance, it led to the failure of educational institutions in the late 18th and beginning 19th Century and widespread isolation. Overall, the enlightenment movement of the time on the other side of the Mediterranean did not reach Algeria, and, therefore, needed educational reform did not take place (Ladjal & Bensaid, 2014). To sum up, the ancient ‘Lybian’ language disappeared. The Romans had been engaged in science, yet, they resided in Algeria primarily to show strategic political presence, and did not take interest in learning local languages, neither spreading their own. During the time of Arabic conquest and centuries of settlement then, there was no pressure to assimilate linguistically for the population, as the Arabic language was a symbol of education and hence prestige and political power. Rather, the Arab motivation was based on Islamisation. The Spanish, like the Romans, used their presence in Algeria as a medium term backup security against the Muslim Andalusians. Thus, Spanish linguistic influence, beyond a few words, is negligible as is the Turkish, due to priorities other than education during the Ottoman period. By the 18th Century, the two artificially separate identities had been constructed, Arab versus Berber, and been adopted by the people in the now Maghrib, including modern Algeria. Consequently, at the time of the early 19th Century, with the beginning of French colonisation, Arabic and Tamazight varieties as the only surviving languages since pre-historic times were spoken in Algeria. The investment in education and science during Arab settlement spread not least by religious practices, such as the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca, Hadj, and thus went well beyond trade. Science, through the Arabic language, was not monopolised as it had been during Roman times. Centres of knowledge, such as the 14th Century university, were much more accessible. The presence in Timbuktu, for instance, embraced Blacks, and merged Africans and Arabs fostering exchange, and building hybrid cultures.

Colonial rule: French as de facto unique language of higher education in Algeria (1830–1962) At the time of French occupation, Arabic language illiteracy rate in Algeria was as low as 14 per cent, which rose to over 90 per cent by 1901 due to suppressive French educational policies, which confiscated endowments allowing operation and closed existing local, Islamic institutions (Ladjal & Bensaid, 2014). Up until the first World War period, the rate of school age Muslim children in primary school was less than 10 per cent of an age cohort (Kadri, 2007).7 The concept of French higher education in colonies8 was to establish institutes of tertiary education covering specific needs of the European settler society, the écoles supérieures, rather than implant the system present in Paris at the time. As early as 1832, in Algiers, the École de médecine was established − although it was only operational four years before reopening in 1858 − requiring an authorisation by the French Minister de la Guerre (War) for all non-French students, i.e., Maures, Turks,

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and Jews (République Française, 1960). In that ‘Elle devrait contribuer à la conquête des indigènes et à leur soumission,’9 it had a clear cut ideological as well as missionary function of colonial supremacy (Guerid, 2010). Medersas10 were established as Franco-Muslim secondary cum tertiary education institutions in Tlemcen, Medea (transferred to Blida and then Algiers shortly after) and Constantine by decree in 1850. They were aimed at dispensing instruction of a professional nature11 by training assistants or midlevel civil servants for the colonial administration only, which is shown by the fact that they were put under military authority (Kateb, 2014). They were integrated in the Academy of Algiers as the French public instruction system in 1876 and underwent reforms in 1895, reinforcing French language instruction in addition to Arabic, at the detriment of theology education. The first Algerian teachers were therefore trained at the École Normale Superiéure (ENS) in Bouzareah, Algiers – which exists to this day – from 1883 until 1939. This further illustrates the fact that the objective of divide between French and Algerians was achieved in a double manner; Algerians not quite like the Europeans but – admitted to their institutions – the elite among the locals (Colonna, 1975). Consequently, there were few bilingual Algerian intellectuals. In general, only two languages were used for instruction. The French adopted a ‘split-to-rule’ policy by the promotion of Tamazight, reinforcing an artificial separation, justified by a mistranslation of Ibn Khaldoun’s work, widespread in the 1850s, claiming an Arab-Berber race divide, in a form of racialised Islam to disenfranchise the local Algerian Muslim population, thus benefiting French settlers (Rouighi, 2019b). The foundation for Algerian colonial higher education was then laid by a law in December 1877, separating theory focussed institutions and those with a more practical orientation (République Française, 1960). Modern day higher education, including its postgraduate training and research mandate, in colonial Algeria thus begins with the founding of the University of Algiers as well as its two annexes in the west of the country, Oran, and in the east, Constantine, in 1909. By this act, the former écoles were transformed into faculties of the new institution. In its early times, only law and medicine continued to be proposed for higher learning (Mélia, 1950). In line with its ideological outset of promoting, and sustaining colonialism, the university was mainly aimed at educating settlers of European origin (Ronze, 1930). Therefore, Algerian students only made up as little as approximately 5 per cent between 1882 – then in the écoles – and at the single university until the end of the First World War. In contrast, both Morocco and Tunisia had private, i.e., non-French but local administered institutions, with religious and Arabic instruction as central elements. Those – El Azhar University in Cairo, Karaouyne University in Fes and Zitouna University in Tunis – continued to be frequented by so-called ‘indigenous’/musulman (Muslim) Algerians in the first half of the 20th Century (Kateb, 2014). Overall, Arabic was the language of the heart and the spirit, whereas French was made the language of education by and of force, accessible to European settlers almost exclusively with regards to education.

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Colonialism implies structural violence by aggressive francophonie culture, achieved by Algeria being conceptualised as a settlement colony par excellence. More than 130 years of French occupation thus marked a backwards turn for education and science in Algeria. Local culture and structures were not only overturned by colonisation but indeed destroyed by the French. They consciously did not take on existing education infrastructure to build on, but in arrogant superiority ideology, created inferior, separate pathways for the so-called ‘indigenous/indigène’ status – while primary education was made mandatory already in the late 19th Century, this only applied to European male children (Colonna, 1972).

Independence and nation building: Coexistence of French and Arabic in Algerian higher education following reform (1962–2000) To begin with, education in independent Algeria is a cultural conflict (Heggoy, 1973). This conflict is most evident in language, which showcases hybridity, yet also identity orientation. This section traces the development of the language conflict Arabic versus French as the only two references in higher education, and thus officially, until recently. The Evian agreements, preparing Algerian independence and formally ending the eight years, brutal liberation war 1954– 1962, foresaw and determined the continuation of French interests by means of cooperation (Algeria, 1962).12 This meant French services in the form of lecturers, teachers, books – education and culture, not technology, knowledge transfer, and economic cooperation. The French strategy was to continue colonisation by and through education – both system and language as a means of structural violence in a win lose situation. Therefore, the language conflict in the postcolonial society, as well as in educational planning caused by the franchisation of education went on for decades (Benrabah, 2007, 2013). In its second year of Algeria’s independence, following the national movement in its ideological options and the process of appropriation of identity, Ahmed Ben Bella, the first President of the Republic, in his first public and official speech, unequivocally established the framework for the definition of Algerian identity: ‘We are Arabs, Arabs, ten million Arabs’ (Chaker, 1990). The first Algerian Constitution (8 September 1963) was inspired by two articles in particular: Art. 2: ‘Islam is the state religion,’ and Art. 3: ‘Arabic is the national and official language.’ The State was working to generalise the use of the national language at the official level, according to the Constitution of 1976. This provision of the Constitution was planned to be implemented through a series of laws, though none of them could be applied since all positions in administration, related to political power, were taken by and given to francophones or francophiles. Those did not want to adapt and there was no time through hasty, unprepared roll out. Throughout the 1960 then, higher education in Algeria remained French by curricula, academic staff, diplomas, and its elite orientation, to the extent that: ‘En cette période, rien ne distinguait l’université algérienne de l’université française’ (Guerid, 2007, p.282).13 The inherited French law on the

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university remained valid until further notice (Mahiou, 2015, p.14) and prominent sociologists from Europe, such as Pierre Bourdieu and Jean Claude Passeron, taught during stays in Algiers. Still in 1966, there were seven French modelled Écoles Nationales, one École Normale Superieure, and two Écoles Superieures, as well as seven Instituts Nationaux (Ministère de l’Education Nationale, 1966). This state of affairs shows the structural violence as French colonial legacy. Most lecturers were French coopérants (Siino, 2014), although arabophone professors − mainly Egyptians − had started coming to Algeria. In the beginning of the 1970s, there were only about 10,000 students, still less than 2,000 Algerian academic staff (Guerid, 2010), and as little as 811 university diplomas were delivered to Algerians (Kateb, 2014). 1971 then marked the year of the creation of the ‘Algerian university’ by the introduction of the reform La Refonte. This political term was used to distinguish the now founded novel, national university, from its inherited French origin. The discourse, however, is proof of the prevailing ideologisation as opposed to rational, evidence based policymaking. During the dedicated press conference, the then Minister of Higher Education, Mohamed Benyahia, defines the objectives of the Algerian university, first of all, in ‘(…) former les cadres, tous les cadres dont le pays a besoin’ (MESRS, 1971).14 Not least, the then President Houari Boumediene (1965–1978) stated in one of his speeches on arabisation in the framework of the commission that ‘la langue arabe est la langue de la sidérurgie et de l’acier’15 (Mahiou, 2013, p.301). Arabisation was made priority for national development as was the policy of the ruling party since independence, the Front de Libération Nationale cultural commission, which sought ‘indépendance linguistique’ after political independence from France. Then Minister and president of the commission, Ahmed Taleb, took over to define the four pillars of higher education reform: Algerianisation of academic staff, Arabisation of instruction in a ‘de facto’ bilingual environment, democratisation of higher education in line with other levels of national education, and scientific modernisation (Mahiou, 2015, p.10). Arabisation in higher education according to the criteria above was implemented in several phases. First, in the 1960s, it only applied to history and philosophy; second, in the 1970s, law, social sciences, and sciences were taught bilingually, respectively, in parallel Arabic French. Third, in the 1980s, social sciences were entirely Arabised, and – as is the status quo still today – fourth, from the 1990s, the division of social sciences and humanities in Arabic and experimental sciences in French manifested itself (Benghabrit & Haddab, 2008; Benguerna, 2011; Coffmann, 1992; Geneste, 1983; Guerid, 2010; Henry & Vatin, 2013; Sebaa, 1996). The concept of Arabisation is interpreted as an unplanned decision of visibility and fast impact, based on historical reasons to have wider political acceptance, and maintain peace by trust from the population. It was not strategic and not doable to implement overnight as there were no tools, no roadmap, and only marginal support by the few Egyptian and Syrian lecturers.

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Hence, the definition of the institution university is its integration in the larger political project with a national outlook (Kadri, 1991). Many activists, mayors, and deputies of the then single opposition party are the product of this proclaimed national, reformed university (Kadri, 1991), who demanded the establishment of an Islamic Republic with Arabic as the only official language as per the first national agenda from 1954, without any negotiations, which led to the so-called décennie noire (‘black decade’) of civil war. Higher education was in fact the missing piece in the nation to be decolonised, both linguistically and in terms of structures. Universities and military academicist continued to be staunchly francophone and French modelled. During years of terrorist attacks ravaging the country, departures into exile, and the subsequent professional insertion of university professors in France and elsewhere in Europe and North America was rampant, which cannot be compared to so-called ‘brain drain’ in academia elsewhere as the economic situation in Algeria was comfortable for most lecturers (Guerid, 2007, p.303). Scientific activity came to an almost complete standstill. Not least, the phase of political instability in the 1990s fostered the first appearance and use of English in Algeria (Belmihoub, 2018a). It is important to note that, again, Arabisation was conceived as ‘a goal and a means’ (Taleb Ibrahimi, 1981) to transform the colonial administration into that of ‘an Arab Muslim state,’ and thus inherently political. The most important is undoubtedly the law no. 91–05 of January 16, 1991 relating to the generalisation of the use of the Arabic language. It aims to exclude the use of French, and all public administrations, institutions (including universities), companies, and associations, whatever their nature, are required to use the only Arabic language in all their activities such as communication, administrative, financial, technical, and artistic management. Nevertheless, to this day, all government documents appear bilingually, which shows that since 30 years, the situation has not changed significantly. The lobby of the francophones in powerful positions, backed by France, continuing their influence in exercising structural violence, remains strong and resists full Arabisation. For this reason, Algeria continues in its ambivalent, defacto linguistic dichotomy. To sum up, in the decades following independence, decisions promoting Arabic or discontinuing French in higher education and beyond were based on high ranking army officers’ or ministers’ personal preferences corresponding to their own linguistic competences, which is reflected in the respective decrees and laws from the mid-1960s till the late 1990s ( Jean, 2019). Therefore, those were decisions by predetermined political blocks against the other. There has not been a single reflection or a study on the country’s needs. Rather, emotional short term decisions were taken. The ‘black decade,’ too, is based on language conflict, as arisen from the frustration of elites only taking decisions. Many francophone academics were killed because they did not believe in Arabic as a language of instruction for pragmatic scientific reasons and refused to be overruled by ideology.

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Competing interests between internationalisation and Arabisation in contemporary Algerian higher education After long resistance by the government, the adoption of Tamazight in 2016 as second official language in Algeria in addition to modern standard Arabic is a first sign of an overdue shift in policy recognising its equal status, as can also be seen by the decree for the creation of an Algerian Academy for Tamazight Language as of June 2018, and the subsequent commission set up at the African Union from November 2019 (University World News, 2019). However, in a domestic sphere, its overall role in higher education institutions throughout the Algerian national territory beyond its centre in the Kabyl region remains insignificant as of today. In this context, while schools have been completely Arabised, based on a primordially ideological religious monolingual policy, which is referred to as ‘polemic’ (Arezki, 2008), this is not the case for higher education, where the francophone versus Arabophone dichotomy prevails; mainly, but not exclusively reflected in disciplines’ language of instruction. As of January 2020, the Algerian higher education system counts 106 institutions in 58 – since a district reform accounting for the great Southern region in December 2019 – Wilayas as administrative units, out of which 50 universities, 13 university centres, 20 écoles nationales supérieures, 10 écoles supérieures, 11 écoles normales supérieures, and 2 annexes (Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique [MESRS], 2017). Out of these, about 30 per cent of Universities and 90 per cent of University centres were created since the millennium (Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique [MESRS], 2019). Those are divided into three regions, namely, Centre (11 universities), East (22) and West (17), each with a governing body, the regional conference of universities. No conference has been established for the Algerian South yet, while higher education policy is implemented on the principle of having one university in each administrative region (Wilaya). Since the turn of the millennium, the Algerian university − while partly imposed for competitive, economic reasons due to globalisation as well as domestic civil pressure − has featured an increasingly liberal orientation. Although the conditions had already been set in 1999 and updated in 2008, 16finally, since the end of 2016, private institutions of higher education are formally permitted by ministerial decree. This constitutes a novelty as, since independence, there have only ever been public universities in Algeria, in contrast to its neighbours Morocco and Tunisia which, despite their much smaller size and population, are host to a number of private academic institutions – among them, branch campuses of foreign universities. American universities present in a number of countries in the Middle East, such as Egypt and the Lebanon, for example, do not exist in Algeria. Although there is no private comprehensive university in Algeria yet,17 operations are expected to start in the near future, and have the potential to mark the beginning of a new era in the Algerian higher education system; not least introducing an exclusively foreign language instruction option.

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Furthermore, there has been an announcement of the prospect of a common Arab university classification spearheaded by Egypt recently (Bensouiah, 2019). There are two binational cooperation agreements, namely, with the Republic of Iran, ratified by Presidential decree in 2017, and, more recently, with the United States of America, since the beginning of 2019 (MESRS, 2020). The recognition of degrees obtained abroad has also been updated and facilitated after its first provision in 1971, complemented by decrees in 2013 and 2015, and, by ministerial decree in 2018.18 By means of research support, Algeria is also involved in the European Commission’s ‘Horizon 2020’ as well as European Cooperation in Science and Technology (COST) programmes.19 Algeria has participated in the EU’s Erasmus + programme for many years.20 With regards to research, a focus is placed on developing internationalisation according to different indicators in the coming years until 2025 as outlined in the provisional strategy ‘Horizon 2025’ (DGRSDT, 2019a). The persisting competition and conflict between Arabic and French are reflected in bibliometric data and become apparent in international comparison. Due to overall low research output, Algerian universities are hardly visible as they presently rank low worldwide and also regionally. While international rankings must generally be examined critically in terms of methodology and their often inherent Anglo Saxon system as well as English language bias, as an indication, in the 2019 Times Higher Education Universities World Ranking edition, five Algerian institutions appear, out of which 2 are at 800–1000th position and three at 1001+. In this classification, within African universities, those perform well in occupying 17th–30th place, although there is only one, at 25th position, in the 2018 Arab World ranking (Times Higher Education (THE) World Universities Ranking, 2019). Out of close to 11,000 co-authored publications involving Algerian researchers analysed in 2000–2011, about 42 per cent were written with France, while only 3 per cent with the United States, 2 per cent with the United Kingdom and less than 1.5 per cent each with Canada, Tunisia, and Morocco (DGRSDT, 2015). These figures show that French continues to dominate the scientific output visible internationally, whereas Arabic is virtually non-existent. Further, in 2018, Algeria is among the top three in Africa in Physics, Chemistry, Material Sciences, Engineering, and Mathematics; as opposed to economics/finance (11) and psychology (19) (DGRSDT, 2019b). The first mentioned disciplines are franchised, whereas the latter are Arabised. Accordingly, the citation rate per document as indicator of the national scientific production is most obvious in arts and humanities and social sciences at only one-third of the national average, which is likely due to default Arabic language publications in these fields as well as lower standards for journal reputation compared with experimental sciences, according to the authors, a Ministerial agency (DGRSDT, 2019b). Not least, as an effect of increasing higher education internationalisation worldwide, the Algerian higher education system has been increasingly subjected to external pressure, mainly by an – even if masked – emigration

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trend by its graduate students, who enroll in French universities through the French public agency Campus France, established in 2010, which promotes France as a destination to pursue, or continue, higher education. Hence, a significant number of Algerian graduates is striving to go to Europe or North America – not primarily to study but to emigrate (Chachoua, 2018; Chachoua & Schoelen, 2019). Consequently, the language sought after to master at least in the academic field is French rather than Arabic. Portaying the contemporary situation, in general, Arabic and French are not complimentary, but conflictual. Identity is reflected in language, and the politisation is due to the fact that this very identity had been destroyed by the French. In addition, Arab countries’ support in cooperation remains weak as it had been in the past. There is neither methodology nor a strategy, which gives way to French francophonie promotion and the upkeep of an education system that has not yet been decolonised.

Conclusion To conclude, as a synthesis, more than a millennium of history could not exert as much linguistic influence on present day Algerian higher education as 130 years of French colonisation. Not even if the latter is based on the aggressive implementation of a Francophonie ideology, coupled with the exclusion of the overwhelming majority of Algerians from both basic and higher education throughout occupation. Decolonisation indeed had not taken place at the beginning of Algerian independence, but, through the persisting presence of the French language at the country’s higher education institutions, de facto continues, as does structural violence in the form of a system featuring ancient structures. As a consequence, academics in Algerian higher education suffer as well as the system more broadly, since the ideological linguistic conflict is an obstacle to scientific publications with regards to quality and quantity, and, more generally, the further development of a research promoting culture. The new generation neither masters Arabic nor French, which results in weak academic performance and destabilises the further development of higher education in the country, albeit exceptional gross enrolment rates. At the time of state/nation building, French was practical and pragmatic. More than 20,000 academics as elites were comfortable in their position and did not want to lose their jobs, the fact of which led to them pushing back Arabisation in a rational manner (Jean, 2019). The subsequent political rejection of French, on the other hand, has been expressed by emotional, short sighted, individual dependent policy, as has been exposed above. The relationship with France, however, remains of love hate nature, which is ambiguous. At the Algerian university nowadays, there exists increasing resentment of the French language with its colonial connotation, and the challenge of a postcolonial setting with Arabisation not being fully implemented yet. This status quo demands reforms by a hybrid form of a dual Arabic English language of instruction policy, which can be observed in other countries in the MENA and Gulf region.

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In the Gulf countries as members of the Arabic League, English has been widely and successfully integrated in an educational context, as is shown by studies as early as the late 1990s from the United Arab Emirates (Benjamin, 1999). Policies are based on dualism as coexistence of Arabic and English in higher education in particular (Findlow, 2006). With increasing higher education internationalisation in the Gulf, English is increasingly being introduced as the language of instruction, which poses questions of acceptance, compatibility with the national language (Badry, 2019) as well as its embedding in the specific sociocultural context ever since its appearance (Syed, 2003). These issues concern learners’ Arab identity and culture (Al-Issa & Dahan, 2011). Nevertheless, as the case of small European countries such as the Netherlands or Denmark shows, the approach is bilingualism rather than discontinuation of their own national language. Germany and France, too, for instance, embrace English without comprising on their respective languages in higher education. Most topical, in Algeria, with the arrival of the new Minister of Higher Education and Scientific Research in January 2020, lecturers have voiced their demands of considerably improving their salary, working conditions, and living allowances. Furthermore, they require to discontinue the reformed Bologna adopted system in favour of the previous – French modelled degree system, as well as to switch to English and abandon French as the language of instruction (Bensouiah, 2020b). A recent empirical study among students, too, found that they prefer English as a ‘useful vehicle for economic opportunity and knowledge transfer’ (Belmihoub, 2018b). In addition, with the new government from mid-2019, there have been outreach activities to the Algerian Diaspora (Bensouiah, 2020c). Consequently, as elsewhere, economic advantages – connected with the surge in service rather than agriculturally or fossil fuel based industry sectors both domestically and globally – are the main driver of the demand for digitalisation, which again is inextricably linked with the English language. Indeed, developments may be facilitated by a strong promotion of, and interest in ICT, which is adapted to the Algerian context of a young, technology savvy population, as well as the recent academic inclusion of the South, with universities being established in the Wilayas administrative regions in the Algerian South, where French is not widely spoken. However, such a dual language policy has not been adopted yet, which is likely due to unsolved issues related to cultural conflict subject to politisation, as has been shown with its languages. There is a need for access to information, too, and for equity in this process. Hence, English is both an attractive and feasible option and concrete policy recommendation for Algeria as an expression of effective and pragmatic, bottom up movement rather than a top–down way of symbolic decolonisation in its presently prevailing highly politicised higher education. Indeed, it is the first time that a language is chosen rather than imposed externally. Existing hybridity can be embraced in accounting for the need to access information, and equity in the process, and adequately reflect in hybrid knowledges of an environment of multilingualism as is the case in Algeria.

154  Abbes Sebihi and Leonie Schoelen

While English is problematic – it poses questions of the lack of accessibility in learning and mastering, and its adoption, too, can be a form of colonisation and structural violence – there is the possibility to resort to an alternative. A needs assessment is mandatory, as is an impact study in order to collect, and draw on, empirical data for evidence based policy making. The criteria to apply are complementarity rather than replacement, which will ensure hybridity instead of exclusion. As an outlook, this also applies to the Chinese language. Moreover, a lesson learned is that an issue that persists is the lack of participation in decision-making by stakeholders and civil society. If only elites decide, it can have a dramatic outcome, leading to frustration, emigration, political unrest, or outright violent civil conflict, as has happened in the past. The first step, however, is to consolidate the interrelationship between the three languages present in the country, respectively, in national higher education, and their deficits. English, after all, is only a temporary solution to avoid this very confrontation.

Notes   1. The colloquial use is incorrect as it carries a derogatory origin (see below). The authors therefore adopt quotation marks to highlight this discrepancy.   2. See Sahnouni, M. ‘The Site of Ain Hanech Revisited: New Investigations at this Lower Pleistocene Site in Northern Algeria’, Journal of Archaeological Science’, 1998, vol. 25, pp. 1083–1101, and Balout, L., Biberson, P. and Tixier, J. (1970) « L’Acheuléen de Ternifine (Algérie), gisement de l’Atlanthrope », in: Actes du VIIe Congrès International des Sciences Préhistoriques et Protohistoriques, Prague, UISPP, 21-27 août 1966, pp. 254–261.   3. See Dutour (1995)., « Le Peuplement moderne d’Afrique septentrionale et ses relations avec celui du Proche-Orient [archive] », Paléorient, 1995, vol. 21, no. 21–2, pp. 97–109.   4. The authors disapprove of this terminology, which is marked by quotation marks, due to its colonial connotation, yet – lacking alternatives – have adopted its use.   5. This university concept was then perfected and implemented in Fes, modern Morocco.  6. Unpublished manuscript of an (undated) lecture available to the authors, entitled ‘The Madrasa in the Maghreb from the 6th/12th until the 19th/15th Century’ given by Wadad Kadi, Professor emeritus at the University of Chicago.   7. See Kadri (2007) for a comprehensive history and detailed statistics of school-level education in colonial Algeria.   8. See Singaravélou (2009) for an overview of higher education in former French colonies worldwide. See Anderson (2016) for an account of the colonial French West African region as present-day Saharan countries including Algeria.  9. It should contribute to the conquest of the natives and their submission. 10. See Bettahar (2008) for an inventory of primary sources on higher education in colonial Algeria available at the Archives Nationales d’Outre Mer (ANOM) in Aix-en-Provence, France. See Bettahar (2014) for a comprehensive history of the University of Algiers. 11. This is also shown by the fact that, finally in 1951, they were transformed into lycées preparing for the baccalaureat as university entrance diploma (Kateb 2014), thus equivalent to grammar school in the system of secondary education. 12. Cf. Chapter II, ‘Cooperation Between France and Algeria’, Part B, Article 3: ‘French personnel, in particular teachers and technicians, will be placed at the disposal of the Algerian Government by agreement between the two’. 13. During this period, nothing distinguished the Algerian university from the French university.

Linguistic coexistence and controversy 155 14. (...) train the executives, all the leaders that the country needs. 15. The Arabic language is the language of steel and the steel industry. 16. https://services.mesrs.dz/DEJA/fichiers_sommaire_des_textes/50%20FR.PDF, pp. 33–37. 17. Business school-type specialised institutions, mostly in cooperation with French écoles, do exist. 18. Cf. Chapter III, Section II, Les documents demandés pour le dossier d’obtention d’équivalence des diplômes et titres universitaires étrangers https://www.mesrs.dz/fr/chapitre3 19. http://www.h2020.dz/#programme 20. http://erasmusplus.dz/index.php/fr/accueil/

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156  Abbes Sebihi and Leonie Schoelen Bensouiah, A. (2020a). New minister puts damper on switch to English in HE. University World News. https://www.universityworldnews.com/post.php?story=20200121075558324 Bensouiah, A. (2020b). University academics prepare demands for new minister. University World News. https://www.universityworldnews.com/post.php?story=20200129070232361 Bensouiah, A. (2020c). President’s Twitter appeal fails to stem student protest. University World News. https://www.universityworldnews.com/post.php?story=20200212063345661 Bettahar, Y. (2008). Les Sources de l’enseignement supérieur colonial au Centre des archives d’outre-mer et au Centre des archives nationales d’Algérie. In M.-J. ChoffelMailfert & L. Rollet (Eds.), Mémoire et culture matérielle de l’université. Sauvegarde, valorisation et recherche (pp. 63–77). Nancy: Presses Univ. de Nancy. Bettahar, Y. (2014). L’Université d’Alger: une transposition singulière de l’université républicaine en terre algérienne (XIXe-XX siècles). In Y. Bettahar & M.-J. ChoffelMailfert (Eds.), Collection “Histoire des institutions scientifiques”. Les universités au risque de l’histoire: Principes, configurations, modèles (pp. 115–154). Nancy: Presses universitaires de Nancy. Bhabha, H. K. (2003). The location of culture (Repr). Routledge. Oxfordshire. Chachoua, K. (2018). ‘Un délire bien fondé’. Revue Des Mondes Musulmans Et De La Méditerranée (143 and 144), 45–60. Chachoua, K., & Schoelen, L. (2019). Higher Education Systems and Institutions, Algeria. In Encyclopedia of International Higher Education Systems and Institutions (pp. 1–6). Springer Netherlands: Imprint, Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-017-95531_436-1. Chaker, S. (1990). Imazighen Assa. Bouchène Alger. Chaker, S. (1998). Berbères aujourd’hui: (Berbères dans le Maghreb contemporain) (2. éd. rév). L’Harmattan. Paris. Coffmann, J. M. (1992). Arabisation and Islamisation in the Algerian University [Dissertation]. , Stanford: Stanford University. Colonna, F. (1972). Le système d’enseignement de l’Algérie coloniale. European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes De Sociologie/Europäisches Archiv Für Soziologie, 13(2), 195–220. www.jstor.org/stable/23998582. Colonna, F. (1975). Instituteurs algériens: 1883-1939. Travaux et recherches de science politique: Vol. 36. Pr. de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Polit. Daghbouche, N. (1982). Higher Education in Algeria - strategical problems [Magister]. Cardiff: University of Cardiff. http://www.ccdz.cerist.dz/admin/bib_loc.php ?id=00000000000000238044000000 Dahmane, M. (2014). Les fondements des systèmes nationaux d’information scientifique et technique: Cas de l’Algérie. Office des Publications universitaires (OPU). Direction Générale de la Recherche Scientifique et du Développement Technologique. (2015). L’Evolution de la Recherche Scientifique dans le Monde et en Algérie de 2000 à 2014. Algiers. DGRSDT. Direction Générale de la Recherche Scientifique et du Développement Technologique. (2019a). Document préliminaire Stratégie Nationale de la Recherche Sectorielle Horizon 2015: Vision et Plan d’action. Algiers. DGRSDT. Direction Générale de la Recherche Scientifique et du Développement Technologique. (2019b). Production Scientifique en Algérie: Juin 2019. Algiers. DGRSDT Dutour, O. (1995). Le Peuplement moderne d’Afrique septentrionale et ses relations avec celui du Proche-Orient [archive]. Paléorient, 1995, 21(2), 97–109. E.B. (2001). Hilaliens. In G. Camps (Ed.), Encyclopédie berbère (Vol. 23). ÉDISUD. https://journals.openedition.org/encyclopedieberbere/1593

Linguistic coexistence and controversy 157 Findlow, S. (2006). Higher education and linguistic dualism in the Arab Gulf. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 27(1), 19–36. https://doi.org/10.1080/01425690500376754 Galtung, J. (1969). Violence, Peace, and Peace Research. Journal of Peace Research, 6(3), 167–191. https://doi.org/10.1177/002234336900600301. Geneste, G. (1983). L’Arabisation des Sciences Sociales et Humaines en Algérie: 1980-1982: une étape décisive dans l’histoire de l’Université [Dissertation]. Université de Lyon, Lyon. Guerid, D. (2007). L’exception algérienne. La Modernisation à l’épreuve de la société. Casbah. Guerid, D. (2010, January 6). L’Université algérienne a 100 ans. Le Quotidien d’Oran, pp. 9–10. Hamet, I. (1932). Notice sur les Arabes hilaliens. Revue D’historie Des Colonies, 20(87), 241– 264. https://www.persee.fr/docAsPDF/outre_0399-1385_1932_num_20_87_2836 .pdf Heggoy, A. A. (1973). Education in French Algeria: An Essay on Cultural Conflict. Comparative Education Review, 17(2), 180–197. www.jstor.org/stable/1186812 Henry, J. R., & Vatin, J. C. (Eds.). (2013). Le temps de la coopération. Sciences Sociales et décolonisation au Maghreb. Karthala. Jean, L. (2019). Algérie: (3) La politique linguistique d’arabisation. Université de Laval. http://www.axl.cefan.ulaval.ca/afrique/algerie3Politique_ling.htm#3_La_politique_ darabisation. Kadri, A. (1991). De l’université coloniale à l’université nationale: Instrumentalisation et ‘idéologisation’ de l’institution. Peuples Méditerranééns, 54–55, 151–184 (Sciences Sociales Sociétés Arabes). Kadri, A. (2007). Histoire du système d’enseignement colonial en Algérie. In F. Abécassis, G. Boyer, B. Falaize, G. Meynier, & M. Zancarini-Fournel (Eds.), La France et l’Algérie: leçons d’histoire (pp. 19–39). ENS Éditions. https://doi. org/10.4000/books.enseditions.Lyon Kateb, K. (2014). Le système éducatif dans l’Algérie coloniale: 1833-1962: bilan statistique historiographique. APIC. Ladjal, T., & Bensaid, B. (2014). A cultural analysis of ottoman Algeria (1516–1830): The North–South mediterranean progress gap. Islam and Civilisational Renewal, 5(4), 567–585. https://doi.org/10.12816/0009884. Alger: Apic éditions. Mahiou, A. (2013). ‘La réforme de l’enseignement supérieur en Algérie. Libres propos d’un acteur’. In J.-R. Henry & J.-C. Vatin (Eds.), Le temps de la coopération. Sciences Sociales et décolonisation au Maghreb (pp. 297–320). Karthala. Mahiou, A. (2015). La réforme de l’enseignement supérieur en Algérie: quelques souvenirs personnels. Revue Algérienne des Sciences Juridiques, Economiques Et Politiques, 52 (3), 5–33. Mélia, J. (1950). L’Epopée Intellectuelle de l’Algérie: Histoire de l’Université d’Alger. La Maison des Livres. Alger. Meynier, G. (2007). L’Algérie des origines: De la préhistoire à l’avènement de l’islam. La Découverte. Paris. Millar, F. (1968). Local Cultures in the Roman Empire: Libyan, Punic and Latin in Roman Africa. The Journal of Roman Studies, 58(1/2), 126–134. http://www.jstor. org/stable/299702 Ministère de l’Education Nationale. Sécretariat Général Service de la Planification et de la Carte Scolaire. (1966). Guide de l’enseignement supérieur en Algérie. Supplement N. 2 de la Publication mensuelle ‘Informations et Documents’. Ministère de l’Education Nationale.

158  Abbes Sebihi and Leonie Schoelen Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique. (2017). Réseau Universitaire. Algiers. https://www.mesrs.dz/reseaux-universitaires Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique. (1971). La Refonte de l’Enseignement Supérieur. Principes et régime des études des nouveaux diplômes universitaires. Algiers. Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et la Recherche Scientifique (MESRS). Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique. (2019). Textes législatifs et réglementaires du secteur de l’enseignement supérieur et de la recherche scientifique, 2005-2019. Algiers. https://www.mesrs.dz/documents/12221/32648/ Textes-Reglementaires-Fr-2005-2016.pdf/75f41cc6-2472-4ce1-b5fd-aa8287659ef6 Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique. (2020). CHAPITRE I: Accords de coopération dans le domaine de l’enseignement supérieur et de la recherche scientifique. https://www.mesrs.dz/fr/chapitre1 Ministère de l’Enseignement Supérieur et de la Recherche Scientifique. (2013). L’Enseignement Supérieur et la Recherche Scientifique en Algérie: 50 Années au service du développement 1962-2012. Office des Publications universitaires (OPU), pp. 19–124. Remaoun, H. (Ed.). (2000). L’Algérie: histoire, société et culture. Casbah. https://scholar. google.com/citations?user=pbllyloaaaaj&hl=en&oi=sra République Française. (1960). Université d’Alger: Cinquantenaire 1909-1959. Imprimerie Officielle de le Délégation Générale du Gouvernement en Algérie. Ronze, R. (1930). L’Algérie du Centenaire vue par l’Université de France. Publications du Comité national métropolitain du centenaire de l’Algérie. Rouighi, R. (2019a). Inventing the Berbers: History and ideology in the Maghrib. The Middle Ages series. University of Pennsylvania Press. Philadelphia. Rouighi, R. (2019b, September 18). Race on the mind. Aeon. https://aeon.co/essays/ how-the-west-made-arabs-and-berbers-into-races Aeon Media Group Ltd Russell, C., & Russell, W. M. S. (1999). Population crises and population cycles. The Galton Institute. London. Sebaa, R. (1996). L’arabisation dans les sciences sociales: Le cas de l’université algérienne. Histoire et perspectives méditerranéennes. L’Harmattan. Paris. Serreli, V. (2019). Identity work through language choice in the Siwa Oasis: The exploitation and iconisation of Siwi. Language & Communication, 68, 28–36. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.langcom.2018.10.012. Siino, F. (2014). ‘Malentendus dans la décolonisation. Coopérants de l’enseignement supérieur au Maghreb (1960-1980)’. In S. El Machat & F. Renucci (Eds.), Racines du présent. Les Décolonisations au XXe siècle: Les hommes de la transition: itinéraires, actions et traces (pp. 247–286). L’Harmattan. Paris. Singaravélou, P. (2009). « L’enseignement supérieur colonial ». Un état des lieux. Histoire de l’éducation(122), 71–92. https://doi.org/10.4000/histoire-education.1942 Syed, Z. (2003). The Sociocultural Context of English Language Teaching in the Gulf. TESOL Quarterly, 37(2), 337. https://doi.org/10.2307/3588508 Taleb Ibrahimi, A. (1981). De la décolonisation à la révolution culturelle. SNED. Alger. Times Higher Education (THE) World Universities Ranking. (2019). Top Universities in Algeria. https://www.timeshighereducation.com/student/where-to-study/study-in-algeria. University World News/Algérie Press Service (2019, November 14). African Union sets up commission for Tamazight language. University World News. https://www. universityworldnews.com/post.php?story=20191111081745330

8

Class and literature Cross-cutting theorisations and practices of Ngũgĩ wa thiong’o and Mao Zedong in education Mingqing Yuan

Introduction Since the 1960s, the debate about English and local languages has been a crucial issue in African literature (Bandia, 2006, p.373). In Decolonising the Mind published in 1986, Ng ũg ĩ wa Thiong’o (1986) declares his ‘farewell to English as a vehicle for any of [his] writings’ (p. xiv)1 and announces his decision to publish exclusively in Gikuyu, his mother tongue. This decision often leads to the criticisms of him being Afrocentric, Nativist, and even extremist as reviewed by Bandia (2006) and Roy (1995). These comments actually show a conceptualisation of decolonisation through dichotomies established between local and global, between Africa and the West, between periphery and centre without considerations of the interconnectedness among the ‘wretched of the earth’ in Franz Fanon’s term against colonialism and imperialism. Interactions and connections among authors and ideas from Africa, Asia, and Latin America are often overlooked in this dichotomy and within theorisations of decolonisation and postcolonial studies. Even wa Thiong’o (2018), admitted himself that he ‘had always assumed that [his] intellectual and social formation was tied to England and Europe, with no meaningful connections to Asia and South America’ (p. 194) due to his education and the anti-colonial struggle focusing on ‘we, Africa, against them, Europe’ (wa Thiong’o, 2018, p.194). His apparent lack of interest in the influence outside Europe is both the result of colonial history and the continuing Euro-centric knowledge structure in postcolonial era, repeating an Orientalist gaze from Europe and on Europe. The temporal simultaneity of anti-colonial struggle and the Cold War further imprisons each other in a binary politics that reduces the vigour and force of decolonisation. There have been many attempts to trace and integrate the dimension of Marxism and class analysis into anti-colonial struggles and postcolonial theorisations (Brennan, 2002; Larsen, 2002; Parry, 2002), but the lineage of classic Marxism in Europe or the Soviet experience are often the yardstick of

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analysis in studies of wa Thiong’o’s writings (Gikandi, 2000; Popescu, 2014). Very few consider Mao’s reformulation of Marxism in relation to African Marxist intelligentsia or writers,2 especially in postcolonial literary studies. Questions about intellectuals’ position in decolonisation have haunted wa Thiong’o for a long time, because of his own experience of the cruelty of colonialism reinforced by his colonial education. As Gikandi summarises, wa Thiong’o ‘has to negotiate three social positions in order to establish his authority: the split between his subjective experience and his public commitments, the inscrutability and dissonance of the history that generated his work, and the tension between the bourgeois aesthetic and the realities of class society’ (Gikandi, 2000, p. 13). These dilemmas and contradictions are not faced by him alone. In Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art (1942), Mao addressed similar issues, which wa Thiong’o cited in his own article Literature and Society (1981). Both have cross-cutting views on class, positions of intellectuals, and revolutionary aesthetics. Duncan Yoon’s article (2015) exhibits similar but more tangible literary links between China and African established through the Afro-Asian Writers Bureau (AAWB) and Afro-Asian People’s Solidarity Organisation, which also awarded the Lotus Prize to wa Thiong’o in 1973, but Yoon’s usage of ‘symbolic Maoism,’ a term coined by Fredric Jameson without specific definition (1984), does not delve into the intentional branding and reformulation of Mao’s thought as part of PRC’s cultural and political diplomacy globally, which deeply influenced Chinese writers’ activities in AAWB (Vanhove, 2019; Xiong, 2018). Fully fixating on Mao’s Thought in connection with China’s foreign policy, political and economic outreach certainly overlooks some philosophical, ideological, and theoretical differences as well as discussions of identification and positioning both in China and Africa. Ignoring it, however, might hinder a contextual and historical understanding of Mao’s appeal and reception in Africa, which might further neglect the local agency in theoretical and philosophical debate and political bargain and negotiation. In addition to the literary connections, wa Thiong’o and Mao share similar interests in reframing education and restructuring knowledge. Wa Thiong’o’s roles both as a writer and lecturer in English literature at University of Nairobi between 1967 and 1977 are also separated in discussions related to his linguistic practice. Wa Thiong’o’s non-fictional writings are often received in a way similar to his fictional writing instead of being understood as discussions about knowledge and educational practice. As noticed by Mbembe (2016) in his speech addressing the ‘Rhodes must fall’ movement, wa Thiong’o’s ‘Decolonising the Mind’ is not simply about language politics but also about education and knowledge structure (pp. 34–36). Thus, ‘Decolonising the Mind’ is not only an explanation and declaration of a choice of language in literary writings, but also a plea for educational and epistemological reforms. Besides this theoretical discussion, the memo of wa Thiong’o On the Abolition of the English Department 3 is said to have ‘lay[ed] the principles and foundations of a curricular and disciplinary consolidation for the rise of African literature

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in the schools and universities of independent Africa’ ( Jeyifo, 1990, p.43) and is deemed as a ‘curricular revolution’ (Sicherman, 1998, p.130), whose impacts reconceptualises ‘national identity and African literary institution in Africa’ (Gikandi, 1992, p.141). These conclusions hold a firm and convincing ground about the contribution of the memo to institutional and curricular changes, but the reorientation and reconstruction of knowledge structure implied in it as well as its connection to international context are not given much attention. Similar to the Kam ĩr ĩĩthu project that produced and performed Ngaahika Ndeenda in Gikuyu in 1977, it is often taken as a crucial turn in wa Thiong’o’s literary practice but what wa Thiong’o actually contributed is not only a play but also a way of rethinking and practising education. Furthermore, this contribution is about the role and relationship of intellectuals with society, which are also mentioned in Mao’s Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art (1942). The relative paucity of studies on Mao and wa Thiong’o might be related to the Cold War context and disciplinary categorisation. Despite their own political leaning and aesthetic autonomy, writers and artists often find themselves or their works stamped and linked with the Cold War. As Hammond (2012), summarises, ‘that novelists were not only social commentators but also foot-soldiers in a global Kulturkampf is evidenced by the superpowers’ choice of authors for translation, for inclusion on education syllabi and for the receipt of Nobel Prizes’ (p. 3). Shringarpure (2019) has also scrutinized the rise of New Criticism within English studies and the burgeoning of area studies during the Cold War era. The previous one ‘legitimized an intellectual and literary practice that disavowed political or historical connections within the academy’ (p. 104). The latter established politics and history according to geographical lines with the assumption of the existence of a unified culture (Shringarpure, 2019, p. 107), which further separates and delinks interregional connections within academia. These jointly contributed to the underestimation of the aesthetics of leftist writings and to the concentration on relationship between the West and the rest instead of looking at the vast network of intellectuals and writers in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Thus, even though Mbembe states that wa Thiong’o’s conception of ‘Africanisation’ has a ‘liberating perspective’ and is ‘a project of ‘re-centering’ on ‘ourselves’ and ‘other selves in the universe’ (2016, pp. 34–35), I would argue that this is not only a re-centering on ‘selves,’ but also a re-centering of relationships and re-structuring of knowledges. Instead of positioning oneself against Western knowledge structures, what wa Thiong’o proposes is a self-positioning in a network with more emphasis on non-Western relationship, or ‘third world’ interactions in education and knowledge structure. Decolonisation is not only a process of inwardly looking back on Africa or focusing on the colonial relationship, but also looking outward beyond Europe and even beyond Africa for different lineages and connections. As wa Thiong’o (2000), notices, ‘One of the inherited traditions of Western education in the last 400 years is that of putting things in compartments,

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resulting in an incapacity to see the links that bind various categories. We are trained not to see the connections between phenomena, we become locked in Aristotelian categories’ (p. 120). In this sense, dichotomies within decolonisation in the struggles for national independence are replaced by dynamics of multiplicity. Decolonising is no longer a divisive battle between coloniser and colonised or defined as ‘a process during which hard-won battles were waged between nationalists and metropolitan colonial powers’ (Le Sueur, 2003, p.2); instead, it is a step towards complexity, heterogeneity, and hybridity moving beyond Europe towards a focus on local contexts in alliance with the global. This means to revisit and review parallels, connections, and interactions within and among Africa, Latin America, and Asia, a growing field that needs more attention within postcolonial studies and decolonisation.4 This chapter is an effort of linking Ng ũg ĩ wa Thiong’o’s critical writings with Mao Zedong’s thought to trace their shared efforts and stance towards decolonisation as well as to lay open tensions and conflicts within them. It intends to examine the complexity and multiplicity of interactions of different contexts and identities in face of colonialism, post-independence, imperialism, and the Cold War. It asks how issues of language and literature feature in relation to decolonisation in the texts. The textual links and parallels between Mao and wa Thiong’o will be first reviewed and then be followed by a contrasting comparison between their respective theorisation and practice of language, literature, and education. Similarities and differences between them reveal the complexity of decolonisation and the need to put together de-Imperialism, de-Cold War, and decolonisation in order to achieve a more comprehensive view of the provincialised Europe.

Mao’s thought (毛泽东思想) and Ng ũg ĩ wa Thiong’o The wide dissemination of Mao’s thought in the middle and late 20th Century is partly due to its attraction in anti-colonial and anti-capitalist struggles5 and partly due to the effort of translation and circulation made by the Foreign Language Press.6 The later was a publishing house founded in 1952 in China, who targeted readers that are ‘politically between the radical leftists and the rightists, and geographically in the ‘in-between’ regions including those in the capitalist and imperialist countries, as well as in the developing countries, mainly in Asia, Africa, and Latin America that were fighting for independence from imperialism’ (Xu, 2013, p.77). This implies that the circulation of Mao’s works along with other Chinese literature was beyond ideological leanings and not limited to socialist nations. The publications were not only a literary endeavour, but also closely related to the realpolitik and context in the Cold War that “not only left a devastating trail of violence across the postcolonial world, but also turned culture into an active site and a potent agent for disrupting and constructing narratives during a precarious, significant, and decisive historical period’ (Popescu, 2019, p.VIII). Even though the PRC had declared its independence in 1949, it was not recognised by the United

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Nations till 1971 and was both diplomatically and economically isolated. China’s split with the Soviet Union since the late 1950s further made it to position itself to reach out to more newly independent nations as itself and to advocate for world revolution and anti-imperialism. As Friedman points out, ‘the PRC, a non-white, non-European, primarily agrarian nation, which has suffered tremendously from the depredations of imperialism, […]felt compelled to mount this challenge in order to build its own global constituency to protect it from American aggression and Soviet betrayal’ (Friedman, 2015, pp. 5–6). The PRC’s anti-imperialist stance in diplomacy, different from the Soviet’s emphasis on anti-capitalist or ‘scientific socialism,’ attracted many who shared similar concerns when facing the demands of the Soviet or the United States and the political tension during the Cold War. In this context, translation and propaganda of Mao’s revolution theories were both a call for a united revolution against foreign world economic and political structures. This was also an attempt to increase Chinese diplomatic influence by way of those ideas reaching individuals far beyond the nation-state. As Dirlik (2014) summarises, ‘the appealing factors of Mao Zedong Thought lay in its resonance with the aspirations that accompanied decolonisation in the Third World’ (Dirlik, 2014, p. 234). Mao’s Thought contains both a global, non-western universalized dimension through Marxism, and a national dimension related to Marxism, ranging from its focus on peasants instead of proletariat and support of guerrilla war to Cultural revolution and the three-world theory.7 ‘Sinification of Marxism’ is often used to refer to this alternative way of classic Marxism or Soviet model to decolonise and modernise. Mao has become a revolutionary symbol in anti-colonial and anti-imperial struggles beyond Chinese territory and outside the polarized world order in the Cold War era, a ‘selling point’ of Chinese revolution strategies around the world. However, different threads and parts of Mao’s Thought as well as contextual understandings of it often got lost in the process and formed a rigid ideological representation of China, which constructs, confirms, and circulates a discourse of the particularity of China as the alternative, different, orientalist, socialist Other. Moreover, the anti-Vietnam war and civil rights movements in the United States increased the popularity of Mao, who even becomes a cultural icon for revolution both in North America and western Europe (Friedman, 2015, p.178), even though at the beginning of the cultural revolution, all diplomatic works of the PRC had all stopped and previous work has been devasted (Friedman, 2015, p.149). It is implausible that wa Thiong’o, who entered Leeds University in 1964, participated in the Afro-Asian Writers conference in Beirut in 1967 and stayed in Dar es Salaam in 1968 as a visiting lecturer, the same year that Julius Nyerere visited Beijing for the second time, could have unheard of Mao’s Thought. Thus, it is not surprising that traces of Mao’s writings are found in wa Thiong’o’s works, even though publications of Foreign Language Press were banned by the Kenyan government in October 1967.8 His article ‘Literature and Society,’ which appeared in the 1981’s original

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version of Writers in Politics, quoted Mao Zedong’s ‘Reform our Study’ (改造我们的学习, 1941), ‘Talks at the Yenan Forum on Literature and Art’ (延安文艺座谈会上的讲话, 1942, short as ‘Yan’an Forum’) and ‘Combat Liberalism’ (反对自由主义, 1937). The 1973 conference of teachers of literature held at Nairobi School, Kenya where wa Thiong’o read his text for the first time was ‘cosponsored by the Department of Literature and the Ministry of Education.’ This text triggered the ‘Nairobi literary revolution’ and spread important reforms from higher education level to ‘changes in the secondary school curriculum’ (Sicherman, 1998, p.136). Even though the Cold War context was influential globally as well as on a local, national levels, not all events should be attributed to it. In the foreword of Detained, wa Thiong’o vehemently rejected Hilary Ngweno’s claim in the Weekly Review of 9 January, 1978 that he had been detained ‘because of the Chinese and other literature found in his possession at the time of the police search in his study’ (wa Thiong’o, 1981a, p. xvi), since these were banned in Kenya at that time. Ali Mazuri’s speculation that he was detained because of ‘Soviet support in the process of his writing a critique of Kenya’s economy’ (wa Thiong’o, 1981a, p.xvii) also met wa Thiong’o’s objection. For wa Thiong’o, it is a matter of internal Kenyan politics, the government’s fear of mass movement. Ngweno and Mazuri interpret wa Thiong’o’s Marxist leanings as the cause of his detention. Both copy the logic of the Cold War by replicating the binary antagonism onto a local scenario without considering the complexity of local politics, the agency and active intervention of local government in publication and literary productions. On the one hand, the Cold War division, exaggerated the ideological divide and reproduced international politics onto local contexts without considering the local agency. On the other hand, this often reduced complex situations to binary antagonisms, ignoring the intricate, sophisticated, and entangled dynamics among and within nations. In this sense, decolonisation cannot go far without disentangling its complexity with the Cold War. As Chen proposes, only through ‘combined movements for decolonisation, deimperialisation, and what “de-cold war” confronting the legacies and continuing tensions of the cold war’ can ‘reopen the past for reflection in order to make moments of liberation possible in the future’ (Chen, 2010, p.x). ‘De-Cold War’ does not only mean to reduce the dichotomy and antagonism established during the Cold War, to focus on the microlevel and local narratives and agency but also to trace the historical connections, construction, and impacts of the Cold War on lasting emotional and knowledge structures. All these entangled politics might partly explain the relative scarcity of research on the links between African writers and Maoist aesthetics and theorisations. Oliver Lovesey’s (2000) monograph on wa Thiong’o might be one of the few books on the links between wa Thiong’o and Mao. He points out the similarities between Mao’s Talks at the Yenan Forum on Art and Literature in 1942 and wa Thiong’o’s aesthetic views, the implication of the name Barrel of a Pen (1983) to Mao’s sayings and emphasis on land and peasantry. However,

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Lovesey’s connection of wa Thiong’o and Mao remains on the surface without delving into the deeper social cultural contexts or history and politics. The other article that links Mao’s Yenan forum with African literature, is by a Chinese scholar, which regards wa Thiong’o’s return to Gikuyu as a modification of Mao’s call for writing for the peasants ( Jiang, 2018, p. 11). This reduces to some extent the anti-colonial or decolonising dimension in the debate on language to a class division, ignoring the national and ethnic complexity, the tension between urban and rural areas in cultural decolonisation in Kenya. Both Lovesey and Jiang have associated wa Thiong’o’s writings with a larger context, either with pan-Africanism as imbedded in writings of Marcus Garvey, C. L. James, Amilcar Cabral (Lovesey, 2000) or with ‘third world literature,’ which in Jiang’s term refers to literature of resistance and liberation against colonialism and imperialism ( Jiang, 2018, p.3). Those parallels imply the entangled threads between the ‘Third World’ dimension in Mao’s Thought and Pan-Africanism, which in its origin has three apparent thoughts ‘African unity, black nationalism, and socialism’ (Nelkin, 1964, p.63). This further links Mao’s Thought with African socialism, especially Nyerere’s conceptualisation of Ujamaa (Lal, 2014). In the following section, the conceptualisations of class in relation to the role of writers and intellectuals in revolution and education will be closely looked at through a comparison of Mao and wa Thiong’o’s theorisation and practices.

Class, writers, and education In 1965, a document entitled ‘Sessional Paper No. 10 (1963-1965): African Socialism and Its Application to Planning in Kenya’ was passed in the Kenyan House of Representatives, which marks Kenya’s official ‘adopt[ion] of African Socialism as a national ideology’ (Sun, 2019, p.359). Deprived of any call for redistribution or changes in land policies, the paper ‘was in fact a development strategy based on private property and private foreign investment’ (Branch, 2011, p.54). As Sun summarises, ‘rejecting the Marxist principle that class was the key division in society, Kenya’s African socialism rather sought to prevent the emergence of intra-Kenyan class antagonisms’ (Sun, 2019, p.366). Wa Thiong’o’s position is closely related to this national stance on socialism. On the one hand, he acknowledges the survival of African cultures through colonisation (Gikandi, 2000a, p.254), echoing the view of African socialists in reviving the communal spirits of African traditional society (Friedland & Rosberg, Jr., 1964, p.8). Hence, he shares with Nyerere the valuing of indigenous languages and their link with culture and society and harbours the wish of reviving an idealized traditional culture in the present as Ujamaa. On the other hand, different from Kenyan government, wa Thiong’o holds up the notion of class divisions as analysed by Mao. He subscribes to Mao’s analysis of class, regarding Kenyan ruling elites as ‘Comprador bourgeoisie’ and writers as ‘petty bourgeoisie’ (wa Thiong’o, 1981, p.58), as he concedes that ‘[Mao’s] class analysis of Chinese society was seen as providing a more

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relevant model for analysing African postcolonial social realities than the European Marxist model’ (wa Thiong’o, 2018, pp.197–198). This actually implies a different lineage of Marxism in wa Thiong’o’s understanding of class. Instead of emphasising the relationship between the property possession and class division, wa Thiong’o adopted Mao’s understanding of class, and sees it in line with political and ideological leanings and relationship with peasants and workers. In this sense, intellectuals, writers, and artists, despite their familial upbringing, economic status, or education background, can become part of the revolutionary mass if they align their political and ideological stance with those of peasants and workers.9 For Mao, class position is exhibited in the loyalty to the Chinese communist party (CCP) and the nation (Liu, 2010, p.343), while for wa Thiong’o, it is a linguistic issue. Wa Thiong’o does not delve into the class differences within one language but dwells on the structural hierarchy between English and native languages. For him, the use of English or Kikuyu is a class issue. Linguistic choice, in his opinion, is an ideological and political statement of the writer and of his/her relationship with peasants and workers. Language is the forefront of anti-capitalism and decolonisation, which further determines the relationship between the writer and his/her readers. In the Speech wa Thiong’o delivered at the Kenya Press Club in 1979, shortly after his release from detention, he states that ‘although [he does] not share the assumed primacy of language over the world, the choice of a language already pre-determines the answer to the most important question for producers of imaginative literature: For whom do I write? Who is my audience?’ (1981, p. 53–54). These questions are closely related to issues of subject and object in decolonising; more precisely, which class has the strength and potential to carry on or battle the ‘arrested decolonisation’ project, and how intellectuals, writers, and education feature in the process, and finally, what is the object of decolonisation precisely? Mao asked a similar set of questions in the Yan’an talks, ‘literature and art for whom?’ ‘who are the masses of the people?,’ ‘how to work for the masses,’ and ‘should we devote ourselves to raising standards, or should we devote ourselves to popularisation?’ (Mao, 1942). As a talk delivered in the 1940s when the CCP faced Japanese invasion and the persecution of Nationalist Party of China (国民党), it was to mobilize all resources and all forces despite material division in classes to fight along with the CCP. Yan’an, which is in the northwest hinterland of China, with its distinct local culture and dialect, attracted writers and artists from the urban space and other regions of China. This diversity in dialects and backgrounds combined with the war context drove Mao to call them to be part of the political war machine (Zhang 张, 2018, p.4) against the enemies, to mobilize them politically and organisationally and transform them ideologically (Zhang 张, 2018, p.6). Thus, writers and artists should work for workers and peasants by ‘learn[ing] the language of the masses’ and by knowing and understanding people in order to ‘ensure that literature and art fit well into the whole revolutionary machine as a

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component part, that they operate as powerful weapons for uniting and educating the people and for attacking and destroying the enemy’ (Mao, 1942). This means that only through an ideological transformation of these writers, the popularisation of revolutionary literature and political education among peasants and workers can be realised. For Mao, writers and artists serve as a medium between illiterate and unenlightened masses and the revolutionary subject (Zhang 张, 2018, p.11). On the one hand, writers and intellectuals are asked to shift their positionality and class consciousness to align with peasants and workers, to identify both ideologically and emotionally with the masses. On the other hand, peasants and workers depend on writers and artists for their education and transformation since the goal of ‘popularized enlightenment is the self-educating, self-transforming, and self-realizing of the revolutionary mass’10 (Zhang 张, 2018, p.13). wa Thiong’o’s answer to this question is framed as ‘national audience’ (1981, p. 54). The nation here actually refers to peasants and workers, which is actually both national and international and certainly beyond ethnic boundaries. Wa Thiong’o (1986) identifies ‘two mutually opposed forces in Africa today: an imperialist tradition on one hand, and a resistance tradition on the other’ (p. 2). According to him, the imperialist tradition survives through the international bourgeoisie and the ‘native ruling classes,’ while resistance tradition is from ‘the working people (the peasantry and the proletariat) aided by patriotic students, intellectuals (academic and nonacademic), soldiers, and other progressive elements of the petty middle class’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p.2). African writers, who are defined by wa Thiong’o as ‘petty bourgeois’ (1981, p.58), are asked to ‘put all their intellectual resources into the service of the peasant/worker struggles not by haranguing the ruling class, […], but by giving correct images of the struggle for the direct consumption of the only alliance that matters in Africa’s historic struggle for its dignity; the alliance of workers and peasants’ (1981, p.58). Wa Thiong’o points out a way for African writers to write for the nation through an alliance with workers and peasants. He shares with Mao the class categorisation of writers, who are not naturally with peasants and workers, but who can achieve the alignment through ideological transformation, self-re-orientation, and education. Peasants and workers as a historical subject for revolution need the help of intellectuals to realise their function. This mutual process requires decolonisation of both literary practice and education. To some extent, ‘Decolonising the Mind’ is not simply a declaration of linguistic change but a manifesto and declaration of war against colonisation through literature. Literature and art are the forefront and battlefield of the war against colonialism and imperialism and they entail an educational function to raise political awareness and to increase participation among peasants and workers in decolonisation and anti-imperialism. Wa Thiong’o even used the metaphor ‘barrel of a pen’ to symbolise the role of writers in politics, although he does not have a real army as Mao did. What Mao and wa Thiong’o do not discuss is the materiality of language and class distinction. They diverge in

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the class definition’s association with material possession, different from classic Marxism and share a belief in transformation of class through changes in ideological consciousness. In the meantime, both bestow art and literature, a place within the revolutionary or decolonisation machine, which requires a maximum mobilisation of population and resources to fight against their enemies. In Kam ĩr ĩĩthu, wa Thiong’o finally put his theorisation of literature and education in practice by producing Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want) in Gikuyu in 1977 together with Ng ũ g ĩ wa Mirii and local peasants and workers. He defines the moment as his ‘epistemological break’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p.44), but Gikandi takes it as incentivised by ‘simple necessity’ (Gikandi, 2000a, p.271), since using Gikuyu language is required by the audience and only in this way can the play attract audience. This conclusion is only partly true because it does not consider transformation of class and the unlearning process in the production of the play for wa Thiong’o himself. The play is written in Gikuyu, a native language and incorporates song, dance, rituals, and mimes contributed by ‘PhDs from the university of Nairobi: PhDs from the university of the factory and the plantation: PhDs from Gorky’s “university of the streets”‘(1968, p. 56). In this phrasing, both peasants and workers are taken as the subject of knowledge production and their knowledge is recognised with the same importance and value as those taught at university. Through cooperation with the locals in producing the play, wa Thiong’o attempts not only to decolonise literary production as an individual creation but also the bourgeois education system and university, ‘a process of alienation [that] produces a gallery of active stars and an undifferentiated mass of grateful admirers’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p. 57). He acted as the medium, as the student and educator of peasants and workers, through which he believed to achieve his own ideological transformation and to break ‘the four walls of the school, the social hall, the university premises, and also to the boundaries of the English language’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986). In this sense, Kamĩrĩĩthu is a learning and unlearning process for him as a university graduate and intellectual out of the colonial system. As wa Thiong’o states himself, this was an experience of ‘learning of what obtains in factories. Learning our language, for the peasants were essentially the guardians of the language through years of use’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p.45). Thus, the significance of this project does not only lie in his linguistic change or adding local narrative form and content into play, but in his learning, self-reform and transferring of his own positioning and class categorisation from petty bourgeois to peasantry and working class. The class dimension is important in understanding his writings, because it reveals a different framework within wa Thiong’o’s works and is able to explain the contradictions that Gikandi points out in his statements on language (1992, p.138). On the one hand, classic Marxism, which was based on European history, does not fully apply to nations and regions, which were colonised and for whom anti-colonialism and anti-imperialism were more

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pressing issues; on the other hand, the shifting in the reference point shows the shared concerns and demands in decolonisation and national independence among the ‘Third World.’ Even though the Kamĩrĩĩthu project seemed to be influential in Kenyan theatre history and its production has been incorporating participants’ contribution in rehearsals, its impacts on realisation of another alternative reality were not prominent due to the unripe situation and complexity of positionality of participants, who might not have been ‘fully committed to [Marxist ways]’ or ‘have [not] envisaged structural transformation of the society that would protect their sectional – particularly class and gender – interests’ (Ndigirigi, 2014, p.56).

Institution, education, and knowledge When Nyerere (1964) announces that ‘[o]ur first step [to build a socialist society], therefore, must be to re-educate ourselves’ (p. 242) as part of reviving African traditional culture, wa Thiong’o calls for a similar strategy in his theoretical writings. The memo On the Abolition of the English Department submitted by wa Thiong’o and his colleagues in 1968, asks for a curriculum reform aimed at abolishing the English department and establishing a Department of African Literature and Languages (wa Thiong’o, 1972, p. 146). It does not mean to abolish the teaching of English literature but instead to re-centre the focus of the university curriculum on Africa and to diversify teaching, languages and literatures, integrating Swahili, Arabic, and other languages as well as focusing on oral tradition (wa Thiong’o, 1972, pp. 146–147). Sicherman reads this memo as an effort of the abolitionists to ‘redefine the nation’ (Sicherman, 1998, p.129) and Gikandi detects a dilemma by wa Thiong’o in his attempt to promote a national culture while opposing the one endorsed by the national government (Gikandi, 2000a, p. 255). Both of them situate wa Thiong’o’s call for changes in education and culture in relation with nation building and acknowledge the link between literary education in institutionalised and professionalised education and national identity construction. However, instead of calling for a replacement of colonial literature with African literature, which is often taken as wa Thiong’o’s ethnocentrism and literary nationalism (Amoko, 2010, pp. 9–10), his plan of re-educating and call for changes in higher education institutions entails a pan-African and ‘third world’ view, an attempt to delineate Kenya’s positioning in the world and to map the world from a Kenyan perspective. Even though wa Thiong’o still follows a centre–periphery model with the metropolitan colonial power as the centre, his provincialisation of colonial English literature and emphasis on Caribbean literature and Asian literature dilute the racial, ethnic, and national focus in his ‘re-centering’ project. In opposition to the government’s obvious leaning towards the United States in the Cold War (Sun 2019), wa Thiong’o asks ‘to create a revolutionary culture, which is not narrowly confined by the limitations of tribal traditions or national boundaries but looks outward to Pan-Africa and the Third World, and the needs of man’ (wa

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Thiong’o, 1972, p.19). Here, the national boundaries are replaced by class distinctions across the world, integrating anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism into decolonisation. It also inserts Kenya into another narrative of universality imbedded in “Bandung humanism,”11 advocating for deeper knowledge and understanding between Asia and Africa. Wa Thiong’o does not deny the importance of national identification but his national identification is constructed not in line with western European culture or previous colonial power but in parallel with other parts in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, a plurality of centres of knowledges. On the one hand, this ‘third world’ alliance is a result of the Cold War context, an opposition to the bipolar power axis endangering newly acquired independence. On the other hand, the advocate for plurality and re-centring beyond the rigid division in the Cold War era expresses a wish of knowledge restructuring and inserts local culture and agency into a global world-mapping. For wa Thiong’o, decolonising the curriculum is not simply a re-centering on African literature and languages, on African traditions within higher education out of a demand of nationalisation and localisation. It is about establishing new connections between academic intellectuals and peasants and workers, between Africa and Asia, beyond European conceptual delineations, according to which Kenya is situated in a pluri-centric world within a multi-directional decolonising process instead of a dualistic self-positioning with the coloniser. In addition to the ‘third world’ relationship, neither Sicherman nor Gikandi have paid attention to wa Thiong’o’s call for democratisation of culture and higher education, since both of their discussions rest on the elite’s formation and construction of national culture within the institutionalised education system inherited from the colonial system. They neglect his advocacy for inclusion of knowledge beyond university into the education system. In Towards a National Culture, wa Thiong’o (1972) writes that ‘the university should also be accessible to regional music and drama groups, to ensure a healthy mutual exchange of ideas and skills’ (p. 17). This acknowledges other forms of knowledge and regional groups as knowledge holders or producers, which in fact deconstructs the institutionalised knowledge structure. Wa Thiong’o also asks the university and intellectuals to go out for these knowledges. He states that: [t]he universities and our schools should go to the countryside; there must be total involvement with the creative struggle of the peasants and workers. The present dangerous, unhealthy gap between intellectual and practical labour, between the rural and urban centres, would be bridged. The centres of learning, the villages, the towns, would all be part of the blood stream revitalizing the whole body (p. 18). This statement is a call for changes in education institutions and knowledge structure. It points out the need for intellectuals to rethink their political and

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ideological positions in relation to peasants and workers and to scrutinize the knowledge structure, namely whom it empowers and whom it disadvantages. ‘Going out’ does not simply mean the university opening to the masses, but also implies a deconstruction of knowledge-power structures and a shift in knowledge production, where peasants and workers become teachers for university intellectuals. This is similar to the Down to the Countryside Movement (上山下乡), which started in China in the 1950s on a small scale and reached its peak during the cultural revolution in Mao’s call for educated urban youth and secondary school graduates to go to the countryside to learn from the peasants. Certainly this ‘rustication of educated youth’ (Bonnin & Horko, 2013) was not simply ideologically motivated but also had a political and socio-economic agenda. Through the movement, Mao intended to ‘realize social equity, especially in terms of eliminating the division between city and countryside, elites and commoners, and mental and physical labour’ (Cheng & Manning, 2003, p.360). In the Kam ĩr ĩĩthu project, wa Thiong’o practised this view by moving the centre of higher education institutions and the performing stage in the cosmopolitan urban space to the rural Kam ĩr ĩĩthu to produce a play together with locals. Different from Nairobi as a hub of theatre and knowledge production, Kamĩrĩĩthu was less connected to the outside world and had less access to resources. Wa Thiong’o’s effort of ‘returning’ the literature to the people is a step from the positionality of a cosmopolitan intellectual to rural or more marginalised areas. His play Ngaahika Ndeenda does not only bring progressive ideas to the peasants and workers but also puts Kamĩrĩĩthu on the literary map around the world, which challenges the paradigm that often ‘Kenyan playwrights and Kenyan directors emerged with a growing circle of actors around Voice of Kenya radio and television, the Kenya National Theatre, and the University’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986, p.39) concentrated in the city. Mao and wa Thiong’o share a lot of similarities with regard to their support for ‘down to the countryside’ and acknowledgment of differences between urban and rural spaces as well as transformative forces of the peasants and workers. Nevertheless, sharp differences exist between the two. Mao was able to subject a whole nation to a political movement regardless of individual will, while wa Thiong’o’s discussion only took place within the academia. Wa Thiong’o advocated for changes from the position of an intellectual writer standing in opposition to the ruling class of the postcolonial nation. If Mao is said to be a model of unification of individual ideology and nation, wa Thiong’o in Kenya occupies a more classic position as an intellectual with social influence in face of a national regime with different visions and plans. To some extent, wa Thiong’o attraction towards Mao lies in his shifting from actor of political change to the masses, especially the peasants, which offers an alternative amid the growing disillusionment of the ruling elite produced by the colonial university. Workers and peasants are not only passive objects of knowledge but also active subjects who dynamically

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produce knowledge. Wa Thiong’o’s hope of change is bestowed on them as a revolutionary and transformative force in the cultural and academic spheres, even though the principal initiator of change is still situated in the academy. He regards universities as ‘nerve-centres for experiments in new forms and structures’ (1972, p. 17). What wa Thiong’o calls for is not a re-centering with the rural at its core as Mao did, nor a call for migration from the urban to the rural but a development of higher education involving and integrating the rural to a national cultural project with higher education institution as the head or cultural centre.

Conclusion The connections between Mao and wa Thiong’o show a joint struggle against imperialism and colonialism beyond national frameworks on the issue of localisation and re-centering of life styles and languages. Even if from a practical perspective, their conceptualisation and writings have initiated different discussions and movements, they both share the spirit of shifting the Eurocentric literature and knowledge production to a more localised but also connected visions. The connections between them, between Chinese and African intellectuals are seldom discussed, which might derive from the persisting Euro-centric orientalist knowledge structure and the anti-socialist emotions inherited from the Cold War era. The process of decolonising, for learning, re-learning, and unlearning about people, for re-discovering hidden links, should be continued to construct emotional bonding and to counter global structural problems.

Notes   1. After Decolonising the Mind, except fictional writings, Ngũgĩ’s essays including Moving the Centre: The Struggle for Cultural Freedom (1993), revised edition of Writers in Politics (1981b), Penpoints, Gunpoints, and Dreams: The Performance of Literature and Power in Postcolonial Africa (1998) and others are still in English. Simon Gikandi defines this Ngũgĩ’s ‘return’ to English as the result of his exile (Gikandi, 2000b).   2. More are focused on the link of guerrilla war, China’s aid to Africa. Details can be found at Lovell, J. (2019). Maoism: A Global History. London: Bodley Head.   3. It is a memo submitted to the dean of the Faculty of Arts at University of Nairobi written by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Henry Owuor-Anyumba and Taban lo Liyong in 1968 (two years after the beginning of Chinese cultural revolution).   4. Studies on ‘Third world’ and non-alignment movements have discussed extensively about the connections and interactions among Africa, Asia, and Latin America, but these connections are seldom under scrutiny within postcolonial studies. Exceptions to this include but not limited to Cooper, Frederick. “Conflict and Connection: Rethinking colonial African history,” which connects Indian Subaltern studies with historiography of Africa (Cooper, 2003), Black Like Mao: Red China and Black Revolution, an article by Robin D.G. Kelly and Betsy Esch published in 1999, tracing the connections between China and African American movement in the United States in the 1960s and several articles in Making a World After Empire: The Bandung Moment and Its Political Afterlives edited by Christopher Lee published in 2015.

Class and literature 173   5. Maoism in China and Maoism outside China have different expressions and generate different understandings and influences in different contexts. As Wang Ning observes in his introduction to Global Maoism and Cultural Revolution, ‘within the Chinese territory, the term “Maoism” has never been used’ (Wang 2015). Instead the term Mao Zedong Thought (毛泽东思想) is used to emphasize a ‘more individual and personal’ (Wang 2015, 2) dimension. As Mao’s writings went beyond China, Frederic Jameson referred to it as ‘symbolic Maoism’ (1984) to highlight the symbolic force of Maoism as an alternative ‘politico-cultural model,’ while Wilson & Connery 2007 defines it as ‘the practice of the Chinese revolution.’ To avoid a rigid understanding and simplified description of Mao’s writings and controversial political movements, this article uses Mao or Mao Zedong to refer to his thoughts and writings instead of Maoism to examine a joint efforts and impacts of Mao’s influence over the internal and international politics within and outside China both in theorisation and practices.   6. Selected works of Mao Zedong were first collectively translated in the early 1950s and were authorized to be published by Lawrence & Wishart in London and International Publishers in New York in 1954. Later in the early 1960s, another round of translation on Volume 4 started and due to the end of the contract, Foreign Languages Press became the main publisher and distributer of all the first four volumes of the translated works of Mao Zedong. Details can be found in Pingping (2013). ‘Paratexts in the English Translation of the Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung.’ In Text, Extratext, Metatext and Paratext in Translation, edited by Valerie Pellatt (2013). Cambridge, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, pp. 33–46.   7. The Three Worlds Theory (三个世界) was brought up by Mao in 1974, which divides the world into three, with the Soviet Union and United States as the first, the Western Europe and Japan as the second, and Africa, Asia, and Latin America as the third. It emphasizes different levels of economic development and political stance instead of ideologies and entails a ‘middle zone’ (中间地带) that could be mobilized in anti-imperialist movements.   8. Details and reasons leading to this prohibition can be found in Sun, Yuzhou (2019): ‘“Now the Cry was Communism”: the Cold War and Kenya’s Relations with China, 1964–70.’ Cold War History, pp. 39–58.   9. This is theoretically speaking, but in practice, more in the time of anti-Japanese war, it changes after the establishment of PRC. Family background and connections were also considered in the cultural revolution. 10. The original text goes:“普遍的启蒙”归根结底诗革命大众的自我教育、自我转化、 自我超越和自我实现。 11. It is a term first used by Lydia Liu to refer to the points or humanism revealed in Bandung Conference bulletin, which proposes that Africa and Asia 1) acquire knowledge about each other’s countries, 2) mutual cultural exchange, 3) exchange of information. More details see Lydia H. Liu: “After Tashkent: The Geopolitics of Translation in the Global South.” Berlin Institute for Cultural Inquiry, Lecture, 22 Jun 2018. https://www.ici-berlin.org/events/lydia-h-liu/ accessed on June 25, 2020. Liu Hong, Zhao, Taomo. “Bandung Humanism and a new understanding of the global south: an introduction”. China Asian studies,Vol. 51. Issue 2, 2019, pp. 141–143.

References Amoko, A. O. (2010). Postcolonialism in the Wake of the Nairobi Revolution: Ngugi wa Thiong’o and the Idea of African Literature. New York Palgrave Macmillan. Bandia, P. F. (2006). Decolonizing translation: Language, culture and self. The Translator, 12(2), 371–378. https://doi.org/10.1080/13556509.2006.10799223 Bonnin, M., & Horko, K. (2013). The Lost Generation: The Rustication of China’s Educated Youth (1968–1980). Hong Kong Chinese University Press; JSTOR. www.jstor.org/ stable/j.ctt1p9wqts

174  Mingqing Yuan Branch, D. (2011). Kenya: Between Hope and Despair, (pp. 1963-2011). Yale University Press. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1npwvg: New Haven. Brennan, T. (2002). Postcolonial Studies Between the European Wars: An Intellectual History. Marxism, Modernity and Postcolonial Studies. https://doi.org/10.1017 /CBO9780511483158.010, Volume 1 p. 185-203 Chen, K.-H. (2010). Asia as Method: Toward Deimperialization. Duke University Press. https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822391692, Durham: North Carolina. Cheng, Y., & Manning, P. (2003). Revolution in Education: China and Cuba in Global Context, 1957-76. Journal of World History, 14(3), 359–391. Cooper, F. (2003). Conflict and Connection: Rethinking Colonial African History. In The Decolonization Reader (pp. 23–44) Routledge, London. Dirlik, A. (2014). Mao Zedong Thought and the Third World/Global South. Interventions, 16(2), 233–256. https://doi.org/10.1080/1369801X.2013.798124 Friedland, W. H., & Rosberg, Jr., C. G. (1964). The Anatomy of African Socialism. In African Socialism (pp. 1–14). Stanford: California Friedman, J. (2015). Shadow Cold War: The Sino-Soviet Competition for the Third World. University of North Carolina Press. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from www.jstor.org/ stable/10.5149/9781469623771_friedman: Chapel Hill. Gikandi, S. (1992). Ng ũg ĩ’s Conversion: Writing and the Politics of Language. Research in African Literatures, 23, 1, 15. Gikandi, S. (2000a). Ngugi wa Thiong’o/. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. Gikandi, S. (2000b). Traveling Theory: Ngugi’s Return to English. Research in African Literatures, 31(2), 194–209. Hammond, A. (2012). On the Frontlines of Writing: Introducing the Literary Cold War. In Global Cold War Literature, edited by A. Hammond, (pp.1–15). New York: Routledge, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203147726 Jameson, F. (1984). Periodizing the 60s. Social Text, (9/10), 178–209. doi:10.2307/466541 Jeyifo, B. (1990). The Nature of Things: Arrested Decolonization and Critical Theory. Research in African Literatures, 21(1), 33–48. Jiang, H. (2018). Studies on External Impacts of ‘Yan’an Talks’: Stories in Africa (《在延安文艺座谈会上的讲话》的边疆学研究：在非洲的故事). In ‘Yan’an Aesthetics: A Reader’ 《“延安文艺”研究读本》 (pp. 289–301). Shanghai Bookstore Publishing House. Lal, P. (2014) “Maoism in Tanzania: Material Connections and Shared Imaginaries,” In Mao’s Little Red Book: A Global History, edited by A. Cook , (pp. 96–116). New York: Cambridge University Press. Larsen, N. (2002). Marxism, Postcolonialism, and the Eighteenth Brumaire. In Marxism, Modernity and Postcolonial Studies. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, https://doi. org/10.1017/CBO9780511483158.011 Le Sueur, J. (2003). An Introduction: Reading Decolonization. In The Decolonization Reader (pp. 1–6). Routledge. Liu, K. (2015). Revolutionary Globalism for the Third World Revisited: Revolutionary Globalism for the Third World Revisited. Comparative Literature Studies, 52(1), 12–28. https://doi.org/10.5325/complitstudies.52.1.0012 Liu, Yu. (2010). Maoist Discourse and the Mobilization of emotions in Revolutionary China. Modern China, 36(3), pp. 329–362. Lovell, J. (2019). Maoism: A Global History. Bodley Head. London. Lovesey, O. (2000). Ngũgĩ wa Thiongʼo. Twayne Publishers. New York Mao, T. D. (1942). Talks at the Yenan Forum on Literature and Art. https://www.marxists.org /reference/archive/mao/selected-works/volume-3/mswv3_08.htm

Class and literature 175 Mbembe, A. J. (2016). Decolonizing the university: New directions. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), 29–45. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474022215618513 Ndigirigi, G. (2014). Kam ĩ r ĩĩthu in Retrospect. In African Theatre: Ngugi wa Thiong’o & Wole Soyinka (pp. 53–59). Woodbridge, Suffolk; Rochester, NY: James Currey-Boydel & Brewer. Nelkin, D. (1964). Socialist Sources of Pan-African Ideology. In African Socialism, edited by W. H. Friedland and C. G. Rosberg, Jr. (pp. 63–79). Stanford University Press. Stanford. Nyerere, J. K. (1964). Ujamaa: The Basis of African Socialism. In African Socialism (pp. 238–247). Stanford University Press. Stanford. Parry, B. (2002). Liberation theory: Variations on themes of Marxism and modernity. In Marxism, Modernity and Postcolonial Studies. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511483158.007. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Popescu, M. (2014) “Aesthetic Solidarities: Ngugi wa Thiong’o and the Cold War,” Journal of Postcolonial Writing, 50.4: 384–397. Popescu, M. (2019) “Introduction: African Literature and the Cold War. What Is at Stake?” Special issue on African Literary History and the Cold War. Research in African Literatures: 50(3), edited by M Popescu and B. Shringarpure. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Roy, M. (1995). Writers and Politics/Writers in Politics: Ngugi and the Language Question. In Ng ũg ĩ Wa Thiong’o: Text and Contexts. Africa World Press. Trenton, New Jersey. Shringarpure, B. (2019). Cold War Assemblages: Decolonization to Digital. Routledge. New York. Sicherman, C. (1998). Revolutionizing the Literature Curriculum at the University of East Africa: Literature and the Soul of the Nation. Charles Cantalupo (Ed.), pp. 165186. Research in African Literatures, 29(3), 129–148. Sun, J. Y. (2019). “‘Now the cry was Communism’: the Cold War and Kenya’s relations with China, 1964-70”. Cold War History, 20 (1), 39–58 Sun, J. Y. (2019). Historicizing African Socialisms: Kenyan African Socialism, Zambian Humanism, and Communist China’s Entanglements. International Journal of African Historical Studies, 52 (3), 349–374. Vanhove, P. (2019). “A world to win”: China, the Afro-Asian Writers’ Bureau, and the Reinvention of World Literature, Critical Asian Studies, 51:2, 144–165, DOI: 10.1080/14672715.2018.1544499 Wa Thing’o, N. (2018). Asia in My Life. In Ngũgĩ: Reflections on his Life of Writing, edited by S. Gikandi & N. Wachanga (pp. 194–199). James Currey. Woodbridge, Suffolk; Rochester, NY: James Currey-Boydel & Brewer. Wa Thiong’o, N (1986). Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African literature. James Currey. Woodbridge, Suffolk. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1972). Homecoming: Essays on African and Caribbean Literature, Culture and Politics. Portsmouth, New Hampshire: Heinemann. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1981a). Detained: A Writer’s Prison Diary. Heinemann. Porthsmouth, New Hampshire. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1981b). Writers in Politics: Essays. Heinemann. Porthsmouth, New Hampshire. Wang, N. (2015). Global Maoism and Cultural Revolutions in the Global Context: Global Maoism and Cultural Revolutions in the Global Context. Comparative Literature Studies, 52(1), 1–11. https://doi.org/10.5325/complitstudies.52.1.0001

176  Mingqing Yuan wa Thiong’o, N. (1981). Literature and Society: The Politics of the Canon. Writers in Politics: A Re-Engagement with Issues of Literature and Society. By Ngũgĩ, 3-27. WaThing’o, N. (2000). Borders and Bridges: Seeking Connections between Things. The Pre-Occupation of Postcolonial Studies, edited by F. Afzal-Khan and K. Seshadri-Crooks (pp. 119–125). Duke University Press. Durham. Wilson, R., & Connery, C. L. (2007). The Worlding Project: Doing Cultural Studies in the Era of Globalization. North Atlantic Books. Berkeley. Xu, L. (2013). Translation and Internationalism. In Mao’s Little Red Book: A Global History (pp. 76–95). Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. Yoon, D. (2015). “Our Forces Have Redoubled”: World Literature, Postcolonialism, and the Afro-Asian Writers’ Bureau. Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry, 2(2), 233–252. doi:10.1017/pli.2015.11 Zhang 张, X. 旭东. (2018). “革命机器”与“普遍的启蒙”—《在延安文艺座谈会上的讲 话》的历史语境及政治哲学内涵再思考. Modern Chinese Literature Studies 中国现代文 学研究丛刊, 04. https://as.nyu.edu/content/dam/nyu-as/eas/documents/miscellaneous/xudong-zhang-(for-profile-page)/革命机器_与_普遍的启蒙_在延_省略__的历 史语境及政治哲学内涵再思考.pdf 熊鹰. 连续与转折：民族独立运动中的“反殖民主义”问题.《开放时代》2018年第2期. Xiong, Y. (2018). Continuity and Discontinuity: Anti-colonialism in National Independence Movement. Open Times, Vol.1. http://www.opentimes.cn/html/ Abstract/9400.html accessed on June 20, 2020.

9

“Borrowed” languages in Africa A reflection on the reader– writer imaginary Tsevi Dodounou and Billian K. Otundo

Introduction Decades after the formal end of colonisation, Indigenous knowledge, and languages in Africa continue to be neglected. They have been viewed as backward to the extent that they are passive recipients of Western norms. Consequently, Indigenous knowledge is still shelved by local people long after freeing itself from European potency. The implemented Eurocentric educational system in some cases, attempted to completely erase or marginalise Indigenous knowledge – its know-how, soft skills, representations, and practices – through a persistent and aggressive plan of assimilation. The underestimation of Indigenous knowledge contributed, among others, to the loss of African Indigenous languages and heritages for the benefit of European languages. In turn, this facilitated the ban of the use of Indigenous languages in educational institutions committed to Eurocentric knowledge, in numerous sectors of government and administration, and in families that considered it degrading to express oneself in their Indigenous language(s). In relation to the incapacitation of Indigenous languages by Eurocentric knowledge systems, this article aims to reflect on the question of the language used by the African writer, as language constitutes the epitome for the imaginary – the expression of specific representations, worldviews, experiences, thoughts, ideas, and culture.

On indigenous languages and literacy During the early years of independence, governments of most multilingual states in Africa resolved to pick a second language as the official and school language. For countries like Zambia, Kenya, and Zimbabwe among others, Simwiinga (2003) indicated that ‘the reasons for selecting English as a medium of instruction and for official use was for political expediency and not a sociolinguistic one’ (p. 5). In French speaking countries for instance, the ‘choice’ of French led to a low production (in some cases, no production) in the field of written literature in Indigenous languages. Despite the linguistic challenges of literacy in Indigenous languages and the language problem of ‘African literatures’ as voiced by the Kenyan writer Ngugi wa Thiong’o

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in his essay entitled ‘Decolonising the mind. The politics of Language in African Literature’ (1986), wa Thiong’o testifies about the reception given to his work Caitaani Mutharabaini (1980) written in Gikuyu, his mother tongue: A family would get together every evening and one of their literate members would read it for them. Workers would also gather in groups, particularly during the lunchbreak, and they would get one of them to read the book. It was read in buses; it was read in taxis; it was read in public bars. One amusing aspect of all this was the development of `professional readers’ but in bars. These were people who would read the book aloud to the other drinking but attentive customers. When the reader reached an interesting episode and he discovered that his glass was empty, he would put the book down. ‘Give him another bottle of beer!’ some of the listeners would shout to the proprietor. So, our reader would resume and go on until his glass was empty. He would put the book down and the whole drama would be repeated, night after night, until the end of the novel (Wa Thiong’o, 1986, p. 83). This process sufficiently shows the reappropriation of the literary product if it comes to integrate the sociohistorical and linguistic space within it. For this, necessary attention has to be given to Indigenous languages and review of school curricula for incorporation and implementation of the same in order to promote literary artistic writing as well as reception across Africa. Unfortunately, three decades after the publication of wa Thiong’o’s book, the questions raised about the language of authorship by African writers are still pertinent. Swahili, for example, which is a vernacular or a vehicular language spoken in Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, and Mozambique1 has a rich and varied history in its language and literature (Mazrui, c2007). Despite this, its written productions still remain less representative compared to those in colonial language. The same applies to languages such as Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Ge’ez, Amharic, Twi, Ewe, Sotho, Xhosa, Shona, Somali, Zulu, Wolof among others, which are spoken in different countries within Africa. Elizabeth Ann Wynne Gunner and Harold Scheub (2018) offer more insights on literature in African languages including the oral (riddle, lyric, proverb, tale, heroic poetry, and epic) and the written productions. All the productions from these Indigenous languages emerged from countries, where English is spoken as an exogenous language. In Togo for instance, the quasi-absence of written literature in Indigenous languages is noted in the literary field. In an interview, the writer Kangni Alem reveals the lack of a relevant corpus: One day, we will realise that even to teach national languages, we need a literary corpus and we must produce this corpus. […] I learned Ewe, and the texts we were given to learn Ewe were taken from the Bible (Gehrmann & Yigbe, 2015, p.270)2 [Translation ours].

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Regarding the neglect of Indigenous languages and the continued proliferation of writings in colonial languages, several reasons have been assigned as indicated in Mwangi (2012), among them a limited audience for writing in Indigenous languages, underdeveloped publishing networks, and harsher censorship at home than abroad. Moreover, most influential works are published in Western metropolises or by subsidiaries of metropolitan publishing houses in European languages (Mwangi, 2012). In support of Indigenous languages for formal education in Africa, Alidou (2003) observes that to a large extent the low academic achievement of African students at every level of the educational system is attributed to the use of exotic languages as means of instruction in schools. Indeed, if there is an African readership for the limited literature in Indigenous languages, it remains constricted to a certain ‘privileged’ class, intellectual class, and to a lesser extent a minority that still have a taste for books for various reasons like religion, academia, and preservation of cultural and historical experiences. As such, imported languages have become a norm with prescriptive values in African formal education. These observations contribute to this chapter’s reflection on authorship and readership in borrowed languages across Africa.

The problem of “borrowed” language(s) Language plays a crucial role in determining authorship and readership. By force of circumstances, as exposed in the preceding section of this chapter, exogenous languages have dominated as the medium of instruction in education across Africa. This has consequently altered the feeling of the masses to the point that they develop the impossible familiarity or the impossible proximity with the exogenous language(s) – the language(s) of the coloniser. Prieur (2007) explains that the ‘feeling of a language’ is founded by subjective elements such as interiority, familiarity, proximity, self-confidence, and identity (p. 294). 3 [Translation ours]. As languages such as French, English, or Portuguese are not intrinsically African, the feeling of the language cannot completely inhabit the African users, particularly the African writers, as opposed to the connection with their own Indigenous languages (also referred to as mother tongues/languages). Thus, there is a relationship of alienation for the African writer with European languages, a relationship of exteriority rather than a relationship based on familiarity and interiority. Importantly, a language cannot be thought of without the effect of identity, which is intrinsic to it. It appears that there is a misunderstanding insofar as the writer thinks that he has the same relationship with the borrowed language as his reader when this is not the case. Accordingly, one can wonder about the degree of adhesion and commitment of an individual African reader, which culminates to the popular reading culture. The African writer has a problematic relationship with the borrowed language, which (s)he does not dare to admit, least (s)he is viewed, perhaps, as incompetent or less educated. (S)he faces this problem in solitude in the sense that sometimes (s)he

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encounters difficulty in expressing herself/himself and in faithfully translating certain experiences of her/his African culture in the borrowed language. The Mauritian4 writer Ananda Devi (2007), for instance, embodies this problem of the double relation to the ‘mother tongue’ and the borrowed languages. Linguistic awareness in this writer is of such magnitude, all the more since she finds herself in a fairly complex linguistic situation, shared between the ‘mother’ language and the language of writing. Ananda says that the Creole is spoken to her by her father, while the Telugu was spoken to her by her mother – the latter, she distinctly calls her mother’s language. Yet her languages of writing are French and English. Regarding this linguistic situation, in an interview, she says: I know my eyes are avoiding that mirror. That the discomfort is there, noticeable. French, Creole, Telugu, all these languages are shadows that taunt me, lights that elude me. None of them belong to me. I open my mouth, and I know that my real language is silence (Devi, 2007, p. 41)5 [Translation ours]. Furthermore, in a fictional dialogue entitled ‘Flou identitaire’ (a title revealing this uncomfortable linguistic situation), Ananda expresses her refusal to choose a community and therefore a language; she claims belonging to any of the languages. Thus, she fails to anchor in an intimate language, which constitutes her deep identity, the language of expression of her individual and social experience and states: My mother’s language was Telugu. My language as a Mauritian is Creole. My writing language is French. My language of scientific expression is English (Devi, 2010, p.183)6 [Translation ours]. Clearly, she chooses French or English her language of writing or scientific expression, thus abandoning the language that would most define her cultural identity. This author eloquently illustrates the situation of the African writer, the one who chooses the language of the coloniser as the language of authorship. Another problem with which Devi is confronted is the fact that she cannot entirely escape the mother language, the language with which a relationship of proximity, intimacy, and familiarity is intrinsic. It is this naturally innate relationship that qualifies the mother language as a visceral language, to use an anatomical metaphor to signify the depth and vivacity of the attachment to the said language. This demonstrates vividly the untranslatability (Brahima, 2014), namely that certain sociocultural experiences can only be expressed through the language in which this culture is connected. As these experiences cannot be expressed by an exogenous language, the African writer is obliged (as an internal call) to write them in his text as they are; whether they are lexicons, cultural scripts or culturally specific syntaxes, which lead to the multilingualism characteristic of certain works.

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This confirms the hypothesis that each language carries linguistic conceptualisations, which vary from one language (with its culture) to another. In addition, this episodic appeal of the language of the first culture in literary practice is explained in some cases by the sake of the realism of fiction or by the writer’s concerns about reception. The latter case is in line with the interest of this chapter: which language register should be chosen in order to attract African local readership? Multilingualism is very emblematic of the work of Ananda Devi, who confides her deep desire to write in Creole, her mother language, in order to avoid weighing down her French texts with glosses and footnotes: The use of Creole in my novels is mainly related to dialogues, therefore I could even say that it is a question of listening and musicality. I mean that often the dialogues come in Creole to also respond to the desire to listen to the sounds of the country, of the everyday language which is the true language spoken in the popular circles where my characters come from. This is what happened for Pagli for example: when I wrote the titles of the chapters, I put ‘Nuit’ (Night) and after I thought of the equivalent in Creole ‘Lanwit’, where the article and the words are pasted, and I said to myself that, basically, the sounds are similar, but we hear something a little more dreamy in ‘Lanwit’; it’s something a little bit more elongated, maybe even a little more poetic (Corio, 2005, p. 152)7 [Translation ours]. This justification reveals the point to which the soul of an entire people – its inner heart – is carried by its own language, and to which point the appeal of the intimate language remains strong and irresistible at a given moment but at the same time confirms the thesis of linguistic conceptualisation. In this instance, although Creole is etymologically linked to French (Creole was born from the contact of French and the languages spoken by slaves), the two languages do not have the same vision of the world, as we see through the Creole word Lanwit whose semantic load is different from the one carried by the French word Nuit.

Reflecting on the imaginary in “borrowed” language(s) Following the work of Paulhan (1929), it is necessary to clarify the sense in which we understand the notion of language as an imaginary, symbol, and construction of the mind. This imaginary is reflected in the use of verbal signs, which are collective and arbitrary signifiers – symbols which everyone has inherited and constructed for their own use. Learning to speak or write, amounts to acquiring linguistic imaginary tools (words, sentences, images among others) preexisting at our birth. We designate these imaginary tools here as figure of the Other:

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Learning to speak, then, means acquiring ‘means’ to explore this destiny8, to invest in the symbolic place that falls to us at birth, it is to learn the rules of common life and the values of the social universe which is ours. It is to learn the relationships of existence with others, to internalise the ‘laws of speech’ and the categories of the prohibition which founds them (Prieur, 2007, p. 293)9 [Translation ours]. This imaginary dimension is explained by the common ground that language constitutes because of its heritage character and its institutional nature, making us the place of deposit of other voices – that is to say a ‘shared culture’ (Galisson, 1988, p.325–341), ‘a product of habit’ (Galisson, 1991, p. 164), the result of interactions and daily communication practices. This fact summons a dual relationship of the speaker with the language: on the one hand, a symbolically embedded relation (integration of the imaginary of the language); on the other hand, an identifiying relation, which doubles the first one – language establishes a factor of identity. In a symbolically embedded relationship, words are signs of images, ideas, perceptions, and knowledge that any native speaker naturally acquires in the case of a ‘mother tongue’ after a long immersion (Lafontant, 1995, p.228). These signs are also integrated by the nonnative speaker in the case of learning a second language. By establishing language as an identity factor, the question of dual embedding and identification relation in the speaker of a foreign language arises. This is because language determines and shapes the collective identity of every individual. Therefore, it is problematic to assert that, in line with Fath (2016), the identity of the speaker of a foreign language (in the case of learning carried out in an exogenous context) and the native speaker of the same language is the same. Both do not have the same degree of cultural immersion, which can strongly determine their identity in relation to the language or their feeling of language. Ezikeojiaku (2001, p.47) notes that: Any literature worthy of its name ought to be written in the society’s language, for a proper creative assessment of the work. Literature does not exist in a vacuum; it is imaginative work of art embodying ideas significant to the culture that produces it. Literature in Indigenous languages, as indicated by Ezikeojiaku (2001), is an embodiment of aspects of people’s culture. Just because a speaker has learned French, Mandarin, or Hindi in an exogenous context, this does not mean (s)he identifies with French, Chinese, or Indian culture. In other words, learning these languages, in no way makes him/her French, Chinese, or Indian, because of the plurality of identity, its heterogeneous character, particularly the cultural identity (Scott, 1995).10 A non-native speaker, insofar as his learning path takes place (or took place) in an exogenous context, is deemed, ipso facto, not to be sufficiently

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imbued with this culture. Certainly, such a speaker can perfectly demonstrate a relatively good communicative competence, when, in particular, to understand certain unspoken social relations and certain types of conversational implicits, he shows himself capable of mobilising, alongside linguistic data, certain rules of use and behavior, which are necessary in the circumstances, and to reason from this information. However, he cannot keep himself from stumbling over a number of words and expressions, which have the fundamental property of being culturally marked (Fath, 2016, p. 146)11 [Translation ours]. From this point of view, the dual embedding and identification relation is greatly lacking in the African writer who is borrowing English, French, Spanish or any foreign language as a language of authorship. In the same way, borrowed languages are incapable of satisfactory translation, of ‘adequate’ representation of realities or social and individual experiences from the culture of origin that intimately and intrinsically determines its identity because of the specificity of each language to express reality. This view is supported by what has come to be called the Whorf (1956) hypothesis on linguistic relativity. Indeed, the two authors maintain that a language expresses a vision of the world, starting from the fact that certain realities, certain elements of meaning are undeniably untranslatable or difficult to translate from one language to another, given their cultural roots or their strong cultural load. This is because they are determined by the singular way of perception of this reality within a given social group, in which perception is itself dictated by mental and cultural factors varying from one individual to the other or from one group of individuals to another. This difference in perception is found, for example, in the structures and registers specific to each language and determined by the specific way of acting and thinking particular to each individual or each social group. In a joint meeting held in New York City, on December 28, 1928, Sapir stated: Human beings do not live in the objective world alone, nor alone in the world of social activity as ordinarily understood, but are very much at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium of expression of their society. It is quite an illusion to imagine that one adjusts to the reality essentially without the use of language and that language is merely an incidental means of solving specific problems of communication or reflection. The fact of the matter is that the ‘real world’ is to a large extent unconsciously built upon the language habits of the group. … We see and hear and otherwise experience very largely as we do because the language habits of our community predisposes certain choices of interpretations (Sapir, 1929, p. 209-210). Although Wilhelm von Humboldt (1836) by studying languages (Chinese and some Amerindian languages), sees them as prisms or grids covering

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extralinguistic reality, so that each language reflects its own vision of the world (or Weltansicht in German), the credit goes to a disciple of Edward Sapir,12 Benjamin Lee Whorf, who clearly formulates the theory of linguistic relativity: We dissect nature along lines laid down by our native languages … We cut nature up, organise it into concepts, and ascribe significances as we do, largely because we are parties to an agreement to organise it in this way – an agreement that holds throughout our speech community and is codified in the patterns of our language. The agreement is, of course, an implicit and unstated one, but its terms are absolutely obligatory; we cannot talk at all except by subscribing to the organisation and classification of data which the agreement decrees (Whorf, 1956, pp. 213-214). Before this, Whorf (1940) held that we are ‘introduced to a new principle of relativity, which holds that all observers are not led by the same physical evidence to the same picture of the universe, unless their linguistic backgrounds are similar, or can in some way be calibrated’ (p. 214). This reflection was already present in the work of John Locke (1689), who argued that in all languages there are ‘many words that cannot be found in any other [language]’(p. 226). For the English philosopher, these specific words of a language are the representation of ‘complex ideas’ stemming from the ‘customs and ways of living’ of peoples (Locke, 1976, p. 226). The work of supporters of linguistic relativity (Sapir, Whorf among others) and recently that of Delbecque (2006) are particularly significant and eloquent on this subject. From their study of ‘Indian’ American languages and cultures, Sapir and Whorf (1958) point to conceptual differences between languages. Delbecque (2006) then demonstrates convincingly the culturally untranslatable specific lexicons, syntaxes, and scripts. These linguistic facts are so strongly determined by the surrounding culture that no other language can be able to faithfully convey the socio-cultural realities ‘represented’ without seriously altering the thought expressed through these particular linguistic means. The proponents of linguistic relativity were particularly interested, not only in the structural categories of grammar, which differ from one language to another and which thus reveal differences in conceptualisation of the reality from an individual to another or from one cultural group to another, but also in the culture-specific words that reflect the distinctive socio-historical experiences of a given linguistic community. Linguistic relativity is also noted at the level of cultural scripts (description of the cultural norms, which govern certain types of behaviour), which encompass linguistic formulas, ways of saying or speaking in a culture-specific manner, reflecting the cultural norms enforced in a linguistic community, and the scripts which also vary from one culture to another. These different categories that have been inventoried are, therefore, linguistic facts that are difficult

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to translate into another language without alteration. If we try to convey them in another language, the underlying reality will undoubtedly be cut off, and we will strip them of their own value, thus resulting in a distortion of the intended thought. The South African Mazisi Kunene (1992) affirms that, ‘European languages are totally inadequate to express the African philosophical reality’ (p. 38). Whether acquired (in the social environment which is naturally attached to it, through daily contacts, exchanges, relationships with the other) or learned (in the case of codified and programmed learning of a foreign or second language), language remains the expression of a vision of the world, a ‘reserve of thoughts’ (Hountondji, 1982, p.402). Indeed, languages, as constructions of the mind, shape reality differently because of the individual and social subjectivity inherent in this construction: The imaginary is nothing other than this path in which the representation of the object allows itself to be assimilated and shaped by the drive’s imperatives, and in which reciprocally, […] subjective representations are explained ‘by the subject’s previous accommodations’ to the objective environment (Durand, 1992, p. 38).13 [Translation ours] Learning a language is not only the integration of a different linguistic system, but it is also to be in the presence of another culture and, therefore, of another vision of the world with, so to speak, new categorisation schemas of reality (Lavaur, 2005, p.171) and new interpretative schemes (Blanchet, 2004, p. 7). Therefore, beyond its communication function, language has also a symbolic function, a function of meaning, expression of an imaginary: In social life, the role of language is quite clear. It ensures up to a certain point, by allowing them more richness and complication, by nuancing them much more finely, partial identity, the resemblance of knowledge, images, ideas, beliefs, the convergence of opinions and impressions, harmony of actions. This resemblance is necessary for social life, at least it makes it easier. […] It is good or necessary that all the members of the same social group, all the members charged with a similar function […] have a certain number of beliefs, knowledge, common feelings. Language collaborates there but with an imperfect but real efficiency and in very varied ways, […] but where words and sentences are signs of realities more or less well understood (Paulhan, 1929, pp. 7-8)14 [Translation ours]. To this end, language constitutes a cultural creation specific to a social group that a certain number of factors determine the constitution; it is a convention, an arbitrary, a conventional system of symbols. Language is, therefore, a real imaginary, to be understood in the sense of creation of the mind, just like any imaginary, whether this (imaginary) is a scheme, archetype, idea,

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image, symbol, sign, myths, and take a visual or narrative form, according to the typology of Durand (1992, pp. 60–66). Furthermore, its constitution as a symbolic and semantic system or universe makes language a singular and differentiated mode of being or of presence in the world. From this point of view, one language does not equal another, even if it is translated. To this end, the adage could say that ‘translating is betraying.’

Literature in borrowed languages: The imaginary for which reader? The question of the language of literature does not arise without raising the question of reception. The two being interconnected, there is no literature without reading. Eco (1985) emphasises on the interpretative cooperation of the reader, which is indispensable for a full transmission of the written message. The reader is vital for the written text because (s)he cooperates to complete, construct, and actualise the text for the reason that (s)he reads the text with a system of rules, provided by the language, for instance, encyclopaedic and intertextual (Eco, 1985), including cultural skills and knowledges, personal experiences, among others. This is in line with Louise Rosenblatt`s (2005) reader-response theory, which posits that the reader`s personal feelings, knowledge, and experiences contribute to the author`s text to create meaning for the individual reader. Which audience does literature target written by Africans in borrowed European languages? Is it the African reader or the European reader in search of exoticism? Can we label these as ‘literature for Africans’ yet they are ‘intended’ for a public so ‘distant’ and convey a truncated imperfect African imaginary (history is African, language is not)? The Nigerian writer Gabriel Okara (1963), perhaps frames the paradox in a way that is understood better by confessing in the midst of an article he wrote in English, ‘you see, I am already groping for words to make you understand what I really mean as an African’ (p. 15). Can such literary productions gain the support of the African public, if it is not a scholarly public, a cultivated minority elite, which Ngugi wa Thiong’o (1986, pp. 20–22) terms ‘the petty-bourgeoisie’ readership? One thing is certain, the popular public, those who speak more of their mother tongue, or Pidgin, or French ‘petit moussa’ (French limited to popular speech) has only relatively little interest in African literary texts written in a classical language learned at school. Can we hope that this popular mass weaves an identification relationship with these texts? The conditions are clearly not made to gain its membership because the language spoken by the masses is Pidgin or popular French (as far as African Francophone countries are concerned) and, for example, Sheng (a hybrid colloquial contact variety with English, Kiswahili, and other local languages in Kenya) or non-standard Englishes (as far as Anglophone African countries are concerned). These are illustrations of languages acquired on the job, or in everyday activities, thanks to social phenomena, including urbanisation. In his paper, Bissiri (2001) already

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asked the question about popular French as a literary language. It would at least serve literature to join the masses: The French education given to African children under colonisation did not allow them, contrary to what was happening in the English system, to some extent, to learn to write in their mother tongue. In a practical way, they could not in any case use it in writing when they grew up, they wanted to express themselves in literary terms. […] It is obvious that French-speaking authors would have had no readership by writing in their language, even if they could; for all the other colonised it was the same case. Objectively, nothing linguistically could therefore allow the first authors of French-speaking Africa to write in their mother tongue (Bissiri, 2001, p. 772).15 [Translation ours] The experience reported here by Bissiri, dates back to colonisation. It no longer prevails years after independence. However, writers from African countries who have adopted French or English as the language of education continue to write in the said languages, with exceptions of a few novels, plays, and poems. Since the context has changed a lot, one can perfectly well wonder, like Bissiri (2001), about the persistence of the ‘refusal’ (p. 774) to write in a native language or at least in popular French; this language of hybrid essence which derives its substance (lexicology, syntax, morphology, phonology) from French and African languages.

Conclusion As we have reflected thus far, it is imperative to formulate a necessity for literary writing in African languages to give them back their entirety. This chapter has shed light on the concept of the imaginary in literature for the African reader and writer. We have foregrounded that authorship in Indigenous languages bears wealth and liberty, to identify and sustain itself. For which reader are they truly intended? Authorship and readership are conflicted concepts about African literatures; and for these literatures to reach maximum potential, it is at literary, cultural, ideological and political levels that the interest for these literatures lies, and more so in taking into account linguistic and sociocultural realities of their natural environments. This is imperative given the fact that there is no literature, which is not a product of the sociocultural and historical context in which it is born and exists. Culmination from reflections of this chapter incline towards the claim that literature by Francophone and Anglophone writers originally written were not linguistically in line with their African environments. It is apparent that language is a fundamental criterion for the identity of a literature. Regarding literary practices within African countries, there is a lag between the sociocultural context and the written literary production, which justifies ‘the inexistence’ or the resistance of the readership. To bridge this lag, it is urgent

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that we get involved individually and collectively in the development of readership and authorship in Indigenous languages to first thrive in the African self and subsequently the African environment. Taking this into account would go a long way in relaying the realistic illusion (mimesis) and leaving behind the hybridity that has so far characterised written literature in Africa. The contemplations of this chapter reflect an alarming urgency for education systems in Africa to foster and nurture reading and writing in Indigenous languages as early as possible, particularly because of Africa`s linguistically sundry environments that provide a rich contribution to written literature. This beckons for a (re)positioning of Indigenous languages in Africa`s formal education right from lower through to higher education levels, perhaps even accorded similar privileges as European languages. The use of Indigenous languages for literary purposes should not only encourage intracultural communication but also ensure coexistence and cohesiveness between the author and his/her community. Moreover, literacy in Indigenous languages should contribute to the creation of new ways of thinking, new imaginary, new myths, new languages (due to the suggestive or creative function of language), symbols, legends, and new aesthetics. This will bridge the gap between written literature and its linguistic environments, that is to say, the literature in Indigenous languages will be in sync with regard to time and space. As a result, this will restore African languages and prevent their attrition and death as has already been experienced in several parts of the continent. Indigenous languages will not only be preserved at the place, which represents their origin, social, individual, and identity concerns, but also and above all the unique worldview that characterises them and that they serve to convey. In turn, this contributes to the enrichment of universal heritage. Significantly, on the evolution of African art, Okot p’Bitek (1964) in Sévry (1997, p. 36) remarked that ‘the revival of African art should be for ourselves, to satisfy our own cultural interest, and not to be (re)resented at airports for tourists and distinguished visitors’16 [translation ours]. To sum up, this chapter lends to the concern raised by Musanji NgalassoMwatha (2010, p. 41–71), which still remains valid because Indigenous languages, particularly in Francophone and Anglophone African countries, are in danger of disappearance (Moseley, 2010) if the governments of these countries do not work to (re)develop their linguistic policy and sustain their linguistic space. Moreso, the crux of this chapter`s reflection adds to the debate about language, which remains central in the ongoing configuration of African literature. Of course, it is imperative to acknowledge the fact that African languages are not homogeneous and that this process beckons for meticulous strategy, revision, and reflexivity.

Notes   1. This list may not reflect current changes that are yet to be documented.   2. Original quote: ‘Un jour viendra, où l’on se rendra compte que même pour enseigner les langues nationales, on a besoin d’un corpus littéraire et il faut produire ce corpus. […] J’ai appris l’ewe, et les textes qu’on nous donnait pour apprendre l’ewe étaient tirés de la Bible.’

“Borrowed” languages in Africa 189   3. Original quote : ‘Intériorité, familiarité, proximité, confiance en soi, identité sont autant d’éléments subjectifs qui viennent fonder le sentiment de la langue.’   4. There is no similarity in the language issue in Mauritius and the major part of the continent, as Mauritius’s population is originally composed with descendants from Africa, Asia, and Europe, as the land was uninhabited before its first visit in the Middle age, and later in the 16th Century. Therefore, there was no originally Indigenous language. However, the language problem addressed by Ananda Devi is not different from what the African writer faces after the colonisation.   5. Original quote : ’Je sais que mes yeux évitent ce miroir-là. Que le malaise est là, perceptible. Français, créole, telugu, toutes ces langues sont des ombres qui me narguent, des lumières qui m’éludent. Aucune ne m’appartient en propre. J’ouvre ma bouche, et je sais que ma véritable langue, c’est le silence.’   6. Original quote : ’La langue de ma mère était le telugu. Ma langue en tant que Mauricienne est le créole. Ma langue d’écriture est le français. Ma langue d’expression scientifique est l’anglais.’   7. Original quote : ’L’utilisation du créole dans mes romans est liée surtout aux dialogues, par conséquent je pourrais même dire que c’est une question d’écoute et de musicalité. Je veux dire que souvent les dialogues viennent en créole pour répondre aussi à l’envie de faire écouter les sons du pays, de la langue du quotidien qui est la véritable langue parlée dans les milieux populaires d’où mes personnages viennent. C’est ce qui est arrivé pour Pagli par exemple : quand j’écrivais les titres des chapitres je mettais Nuit et après je pensais à l’équivalent en créole Lanwit, où l’article et les mots sont collés, et je me disais que, au fond, les sonorités sont semblables, mais qu’on entend quelque chose d’un peu plus rêveur dans Lanwit; c’est quelque chose d’un peu plus allongé, peut-être même d’un peu plus poétique. ’   8. In the quoted article, Jean-Marie Prieur terms ‘destiny’ the fact that language and name come from a contingent and external ‘choice’ from which we cannot escape: (’Autant la langue et le nom sont constitutifs de notre être, et en forme en partie l’étoffe, […] autant la langue et le nom ont aussi la contingence et l’extériorité d’un “choix” qui nous échappe’).   9. Original quote: ‘Apprendre à parler, alors, signifie acquérir des “moyens” d’explorer ce destin, d’investir la place symbolique qui nous échoit à la naissance, c’est y apprendre les règles de la vie commune et les valeurs de l’univers social qui est le nôtre. C’est apprendre les relations d’existence avec les autres, intérioriser les “lois de la parole » et les catégories de l’interdit qui les fonde”.’ 10. According to Joan W. Scott in Rajchman J. (ed.), The Identity in question, New York_ London, Routledge, 1995, p. 5: ’Within the pluralist framework [...], identity is taken as a referential sign of a fixed set of customs, practices and meanings, an enduring heritage, a readily identifiable sociological category, a set of shared traits and/or experiences ’. 11. Original quote: « Un locuteur non natif, dans la mesure où son cursus d’apprentissage a (ou a eu) lieu en contexte exogène, est réputé, ipso facto, ne pas être suffisamment imprégné de cette culture. Certes, un tel locuteur peut parfaitement faire preuve d’une relativement bonne compétence communicative, quand, notamment, pour comprendre certains non-dits des relations sociales et certains types d’implicites conversationnels, il se montre apte à mobiliser, à côté des données linguistiques, certaines règles d’usage et de comportement, qui s’imposent en la circonstance, et à raisonner à partir de ces informations. Il n’en achoppe, cependant, pas moins sur nombre de mots et expressions, qui ont pour propriété fondamentale d’être marqués culturellement.’ 12. Sapir, E. (1958). Selected Writings of Edward Sapir in Language, Culture and Personality. Edited by David Mandelbaum. Berkeley: University of California Press. 13. Original quote : ‘L’imaginaire n’est rien d’autre que ce trajet dans lequel la représentation de l’objet se laisse assimiler et modeler par les impératifs pulsionnels du sujet, et dans lequel réciproquement, les représentations subjectives s’expliquent « par les accommodations antérieures du sujet » au milieu objectif.’

190  Tsevi Dodounou and Billian K. Otundo 14. Original quote: ‘Dans la vie sociale, le rôle du langage signe est assez clair. Il assure jusqu’à un certain point, en leur permettant plus de richesse et de complication, en les nuançant bien plus finement, l’identité partielle, la ressemblance des connaissances, des images, des idées, des croyances, la convergence des opinions et des impressions, l’harmonie des actes. Cette ressemblance est nécessaire à la vie sociale, au moins la facilite-t-elle. […] Il est bon ou nécessaire que tous les membres d’un même groupe social, tous les sociétaires chargés d’une fonction semblable […] aient un certain nombre de croyances, de connaissances, de sentiments communs. Le langage y collabore mais avec une imparfaite mais réelle efficacité et en des manières bien variées, […] mais où les mots et les phrases sont des signes de réalités plus ou moins bien compris.’ 15. Original quote: ‘L’éducation française donnée aux enfants africains sous la colonisation ne permettait pas à ces derniers, contrairement à ce qui se passait dans le système anglais, dans une certaine mesure, d’apprendre à écrire dans leur langue maternelle. De manière pratique, ils ne pouvaient en aucun cas s’en servir à l’écrit lorsque devenus grands ils voulaient s’exprimer sur le plan littéraire. [...] Il va de soi que les auteurs francophones n’auraient eu aucun lectorat en écrivant dans leur langue, même s’ils le pouvaient ; tous les autres colonisés étaient dans le même cas. Objectivement, rien sur le plan linguistique ne pouvait donc permettre aux premiers auteurs de l’Afrique francophone d’écrire dans leur langue maternelle.’ 16. Original quote : ‘Le renouveau de l’art africain devrait être pour nous-mêmes, pour satisfaire notre propre intérêt culturel, et non pour être représenté dans les aéroports à l’intention de touristes et de visiteurs de marque. ’

References Alidou, H. (2003). Medium of instruction in post-colonial Africa. In: J. W. Tollefson and Amy Tsui (Eds.), Medium of Instruction Policies: Which agenda? Whose agenda? (pp. 195–214). Mahwah and London: Lawrence Erlbaum Publishers. Bissiri, A. (2001). Le « français populaire » dans le champ artistique francophone. Les paradoxes d’une existence. Cahiers d’Études Africaines. (pp. 771–782). Paris: Éditions de l’EHESS. Blanchet, P. (2004). L’approche interculturelle en didactique du FLE. Cours d’UED de Didactique du Français Langue Étrangère de 3e année de Licence. Service Universitaire d’Enseignement à Distance. 1-34. Université Rennes 2 Haute Bretagne. Brahima, A. (2014). L’intraduisible en question. Problématique Linguistique Africaine et Décolonisation Conceptuelle. Göttingen: Cuvillier Verlag. Corio, A. (2005). Entretien avec Ananda Devi. Francofonia 48. La littérature mauricienne de langue française, (pp. 145–167). Florence: Casa Editrice Leo S. Olschki s.r.l. Delbecque, N. (2006). Linguistique cognitive. Comprendre comment fonctionne le langage. Louvain-La-Neuve: De Boeck Supérieur. Devi, A. (2007). Ma vie avec Joséphin. L’inconscient et les langues. Actes du colloque organisé par Analyse freudienne et la Société des professionnels en Psychologie et l’Université de Maurice. Les Carnets de psychanalyse. (pp. 39–46). Paris. Devi, A. (2010). Flou identitaire. In M. L. Bris, & J. Rouaud (Eds), Je est un autre. Pour une identité-monde. (pp. 177–184). Paris: Gallimard. Durand, G. (1992). Les structures anthropologiques de l’imaginaire. Paris: Dunod. Eco, U. (1985). Lector in fabula, ou la coopération interprétative dans les textes narratifs. Paris: Grasset. Ezikeojiaku, P.A. (2001). Themes in the Novels of Tony Ubesie. Tony Ubesie: The Man & The Artist (Ed.), (pp. 47–63). Aba: Ninlan Press and Book.

“Borrowed” languages in Africa 191 Fath, N.-E. (2016). Langue, vision du monde et dynamique identitaire. Synergies Monde arabe 9, 145–156. Galisson, R. (1988). Cultures et lexicultures. Pour une approche dictionnairique de la culture partagée. Annexes des Cahiers de Linguistique Hispanique Médiévale, 325–341. Galisson, R. (1991). De la langue à la culture par les mots. Paris: CLE international. Gehrmann, S., & Yigbe, D. (Eds), (2015). Créativité intermédiatique au Togo et dans la diaspora togolaise. Münster: Lit Verlag. Hountondji, P. J. (1982). Langue africaines et philosophie: l’hypothèse relativiste. Les Études philosophiques 4. 393–406. Kunene, M. (1992). Problems in African literature. Research in African Literatures 23(1). 27–44. Lafontant, J. (1995). Langues, cultures et territoires, quels rapports? Cahiers francocanadiens de l’Ouest 7(2), 227–248. Lavaur, J-M. (2005). Bilinguisme et identité culturelle bilingue. In: J. L. Medeiros & J-M. Lavaur (Eds), Langages, cultures et identités. (pp. 161–180). Montpellier: Presses Universitaires de la Méditerranée. Locke, J. (1976). An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. New York: Dutton. Mazrui, A. (2007). Swahili Beyond the Boundaries: Literature, Language, and Identity. Athens: Ohio University Press. Moseley, C. (2010). The UNESCO Atlas of the World’s Languages in Danger. Paris: UNESCO. Mwangi, E. (2012). Modern African literature in European Languages. Viewed 18 may 2020, ‹https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780199846733/ obo-9780199846733-0004.xml› Ngalasso-Mwata, M. (2010). Décolonisation et devenir culturel de l’Afrique et de ses diasporas. Présence Africaine 1–2(181–182), 39–71. Okara, G. (1963). African speech … English words. Transition 10, 15–16. Cambridge MA: Hutchins Center for African and African American Research at Harvard University Paulhan, F. (1929). La double fonction du langage. Paris: Librairie Félix Alcan. Prieur, J.-M. (2007). Linguistique et littérature face à la langue maternelle. Réel, symbolique, imaginaire. Études de linguistique appliquée 3(147), 289–296. Rosenblatt, L. (2005). Making Meaning With Texts: Selected Essays. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Sapir, E. (1929). The Status of Linguistics as Science. Language 5(4), 207–214. Sapir, E. (1958). Selected Writings of Edward Sapir in Language, Culture and Personality. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sapir, E. (1958): Culture, Language and Personality(ed. D. G. Mandelbaum). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Scheub, H. & Wynne Gunner, E. A. (2018). African literature. Encyclopaedia Britannica. Chicago. https://www.britannica.com/art/African-literature Scott, J. W. (1995). Multiculturalism and the Politics of Identity. In J. Rajchman (Ed.), The Identity in question. (pp. 3–12). New York - London: Routledge. Sévry, J. (1997). Les écrivains africains et le problème de la langue: vers une typologie? Paris: Silex (« Nouvelles du Sud »). Simwiinga, J. (2003). Language Policy and Language Planning in Zambia: Past, Present and Future. Seminar paper presented at the Department of Literature and languages of the University of Zambia.

192  Tsevi Dodounou and Billian K. Otundo Von Humboldt, W. (1836). Über die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues und ihren Einfluss auf die geistige Entwickelung des Menschengeschlechts, Berlin: F. Dümmler. Wa Thiong'o, N. (1980) Caitaani Mutharaba-ini (Devil on the Cross). Nairobi: Heinemann. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonising the Mind. The Politics of Language in African Literature. London: James Currey. Whorf, B. L. (1940a). Science and Linguistics. Technology Review. 42(2), 227–231. Whorf, B. L. (1956). Language, Thought and Reality. Cambridge MA: MIT Press.

10 Must decolonisation occur on an island? The role of occupation in developing future visions within the #RhodesMustFall Antje Daniel

Introduction South Africa has been described as the ‘protest capital of the world’ (Ngwane, 2017; Runciman, 2017). In South Africa, we can observe protests, riots, or insurgence almost every day; especially since the economic decline after 2008, which resulted in the so-called service delivery protests (Alexander, 2010; Beinart & Dawson, 2010; Runciman, 2015). In South Africa, protest is a legitimate, publicly visible, and common way to bring in a new vision of the future. This is the reason why the South African political scientist Steven Friedman states: ‘If you want … change in South Africa, create a crisis – then stand by to negotiate a way out of it’ (Friedman, 2018). Therefore, the students’ uprising in 2015 is not a surprise but rather a line up to previous and ongoing protests in South Africa grasping with grievances such as lack of state services, the claim for human rights, or general discontentment with politics. Nevertheless, the scope of students’ uprising and their demands are remarkable. On the 9th of March 2015, Chumani Maxwele threw faeces at the statue of the British colonialist and racial theorist Cecil Rhodes, marking the birth of the student movement #RhodesMustFall (RMF) at the University of Cape Town (UCT). The protest against Rhodes, which grew continuously into a nationwide protest movement called #FeesMustFall (FMF) became the biggest uprising of post-apartheid South Africa concerning the scope and persistence of protests over three years. By considering the student protests, we are witnessing a shift from the colonial/apartheid ‘idea of South Africa’ to a decolonial ‘South African idea’ (cf. Mbembe, 2017) within a context, where coloniality of markets have reduced education to a commodity only accessible to the middle and upper classes. The student protests became a symbol for decolonial practice, which claims for free education for everybody and aspires to a decolonial future of knowledge production at the universities.

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Therefore, students revive visions on decoloniality and relate them to transformation at the universities and even in society and politics. Decoloniality was framed in different ways including the search for future visions, which interrupt previous practices at the universities, and introduces a debate and reflection on politics and the nature of an ideal society.1 By so doing, occupation became an important strategy for RMF at the University of Cape Town. In March 2015, students occupied the administrative building Bremner House on campus and renamed it Azania house. Beside the occupation at UCT, also in Johannesburg, an occupation occurred. However, not all student protests in South Africa used occupation as a strategy to protest; rather occupation remained exceptional. For UCT − which is in focus in this chapter − the Azania occupation was important for establishing a debate on a decolonial future. Azania refers to precolonial social boundaries and black pan-Africanism.2 At this point, the socially constructed spaces show how students combine the occupation and the symbolic meaning of Azania with a vision of the future. A student explains: Azania is … an original name of South Africa, which is pan-Africanist. It comes from a pan-Africanist tradition. You can trace it from Steve Biko. Azania is a name for free liberated space for black people. We said that Bremner House must be changed to Azania because it is a place for black people to speak about their pain and to reengineer the society. And we start with the University of Cape Town. And decolonialisation becomes a relevant point of departure (Interview student 23.03.2017). Azania becomes a symbol for the search of alternative decolonial futures and gives students a space to express their discontentment. Literature on occupation highlights the imaginary dimensions of limited spaces (Feigenbaum, Frenzel & McCurdy, 2012; Frenzel, Feigenbaum & McCurdy, 2014). For that reason, the question arises what role did the occupation exactly play for the movement and the claim for decoloniality at UCT? The following arguments result from qualitative research at the University of Cape Town, which I have been conducting since 2016 on future visions of activists. The data collection is based on 15 biographical interviews with diverse occupants who have been part of Azania occupation in March 2015 and 13 guided-interviews with academics who supported the movement and external experts.3 The chapter is structured in four parts: First, I will introduce the genealogy of student protests and will refer to the grievances for the protests at UCT. By referring to the reasons why the movement emerged, different meanings of decolonialisation as future vision will become visible (2). Before analysing the Azania occupation, I will discuss the spatial dimension of occupation and whether it is a precondition for elaborating new ideas, practices, and future visions (3). The empirical part offers a deeper understanding on how students

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used and experienced (4) and how emerging hierarchies and cleavages contradicted the imaginary perception of the Azania occupation (5). Finally, I will discuss the role of occupation in understanding the movements’ dynamics and their aspiration to a decolonial future.

Decolonialisation as a future vision within the student protests Decolonialisation as a future vision and political strategy for transformation leads back to liberation movements during colonialism (Geiss, 1968). The lived experiences of colonialism, which was built on exploitation and imperialism, became a reason for imagining and aspiring to alternative futures. The imaginations were expressed in fictional literature of decolonialised societies (Ashcroft, 2012, 2013)4 and even by appeals for resistance resulting in emerging movements against the colonial regime (Melber, 2011). Decolonialisation was related to emerging black consciousness and the idea of a pan-African unity (Ndaba et al., 2017). Up to today, liberation from structural violence has attraction and leads to a revival of decolonial thinking (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013, 2018). This is also the case in South Africa, where black citizens experience structural violence and discrimination almost every day. The rainbow nation as central metaphor and imagination of a multicultural society of post-apartheid (after 1994) is questioned and criticised due to the existing cleavages in society (Turner, 2019). Frustrations about the society, transferred to the microcosmos of the university, were the starting point for student protests at universities in South Africa. At the University of Cape Town, a wave of protest emerged after a student threw faeces at the statue of the British colonialist and racial theorist Cecil Rhodes. The student protests #RMF culminated in the #FMF movement.5 From the students’ perspective, Rhodes symbolises the imperial, exploitative system of colonial rule, which continues up to today. This is symbolically visible in the imperialistic statue of Cecil Rhodes and the lived experiences of discrimination of black people. One activist describes the birth of RMF as follows: Post-1994, we have been brainwashed with the idea of the ‘rainbow nation.’ What is clear is that we live in a post-apartheid South Africa where inequality, racism, white supremacist capitalist patriarchy continues to oppress black people in the country. The movement comes out of the feeling desperate, angry, and frustrated by the state of things in the country (quoted from Ndelu, 2017, pp. 62–63). Therefore, students deplore that 20 years after the end of apartheid, government has failed to keep the promise of the multicultural rainbow nation and to overcome the discrimination of the black majority. With reference to decolonialisation, especially black students perceive a continuation of discrimination in post-apartheid South Africa.

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What emerged as a protest against colonial heritage in South African universities, developed into one of the most powerful movements of postapartheid that challenged the university and politics for three years (Booysen 2016a, Ngcaweni & Ngcawni, 2018). When the University of Witwatersrand announced a 10.5 per cent increase in tuition fees at the end of 2015, the slogan #FeesMustFall replaced RMF (Booysen, 2016b). Universities all over South Africa called for the abolition of tuition fees and referred to the discrimination and precarisation of black students. Although the universities opened up to black students after the end of apartheid, so that their numbers grew steadily, sustainable access to education remains dependent on income, race, and gender. According to the Department of Higher Education and Training in 2018, black students account for 73.7 per cent, white students account for 14.3 per cent, 6.2 per cent for Coloured, and 4.8 per cent for Indian/Asia at South African universities. This numbers show that the demographics at South African universities moving slowly to the overall demographic of the population (DHET 2018, p.25). This trend is quite different at UCT due to the white dominance in history: In the year 2014, white students account for 35.8 per cent, black account for 29.7 per cent, while Coloureds account for 15.9 per cent and Indians for 8.1 per cent (and 12.9 per cent account for that they do not know in which category they belong) (Ndelu, 2017). Not least, stagnation in economic growth and increasing youth unemployment exacerbate the situation, as black students can no longer afford tuition fees and have little prospect of finding a job (Booysen, 2016b). Therefore, decolonialisation is related to the claim to enhance the number and the graduation of black students at universities and to ensure free education. Since UCT is also the highest graded university in Africa according to the worldwide classification of universities, and regarded as ground-breaking in research and education, a rethinking of the curriculum would be all the more necessary and, at the same time, trailblazing because UCT has the potential to use the leading position to be a model for decolonialisation of higher education. Therefore, the elitist identity of UCT becomes questioned on the one hand (Interview student 23.03.2017), while students expected and confirmed this status by emphasising that the university should take on a leading position in the struggle for decolonialisation on the other hand (Interview student 07.09.2018). Due to the lower presence of black students in addition to the low presence of black academics, the persistence of white leadership and a curriculum, which is culturally, socially, and politically suitable for the context, many perceive an isolating culture in South African universities. During colonial, apartheid periods and a long time into post-apartheid, the universities remained a place dominated by the white minority. Research and learning curriculum refer to and are oriented towards European and North American academia ( Jansen, 2017). The Western-oriented content of education is a reason for criticism as a student explains: ‘In South Africa, educational institutions were built to cultivate European ideologies and to create an “enlightened” Africa’ (Matandela, 2015). A student complements:

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I found it actually violent to read some of that stuff and read about like myself and my history in these unbelievable racist demeaning works that were held as being kind of core studies in the field and I just felt like okay, that’s the field and I don’t want to participate in it, but I was actually pushed (Interview student 25.03.2017). Consequently, UCT (and many other universities in South Africa) is strongly oriented towards international standards and does not pay sufficient attention to the history and culture of the black majority (Cornell & Kessi, 2017; Kessi & Cornell, 2015). This becomes evident in musicology, for instance, where the focus is on classical European music. A student describes: ‘I started finding it problematic and became highly aware of how African music is taught to African students from a Western perspective in this African institution’ (Interview student 25.03.2017). Due to structures and university culture, students perceive the university as alienating. A student explains: And I in a retrospective I was depressed and had a lot of anxiety and I didn’t have the language to explain how I was feeling of blaming kind of the situation here. So I generally thought that I was going crazy and that I was like seeing things that were not there in terms of how people were treating me and how I was occupying spaces and I felt completely like I didn’t deserve to be there, that I wasn’t welcome and I worked really, really hard because I felt I had to like proof myself and proof my work to continue being in the space. So I was really, really stressed out for a very long time (Interview student 25.03.2017). The alienation of black students manifests itself in experiences of discrimination amongst students, in class and in getting access to the same services (such as accommodation) as other students, in marginalisation of education contents, which refer to black culture or the use of Afrikaans and English as dominant teaching language (cf. Cornell & Kessi, 2017; Kessi & Cornell, 2015). This social experience of alienation and isolation is expressed as a reality in terms of individual physical suffering. Commonly, this feeling relates to embodied emotions such as inferiority, isolation, shame, or anger. Particularly anger plays an important role as a student illuminates: So I had a lot of anger because I felt like those things could have been avoided. These are the things that have been set up by white supremacy, by apartheid so I was angry at white people and angry as a result of the 100 of years of human indignity (Interview student 07.09.2018). Therefore, alienation became the embodied experience of students at the university. Student realise that these emotions are due to the structural violence at the university, which is expressed in discrimination and racism.

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In relation, students argue that decolonisation involves the search for one’s own black identity. Concerning the Black Consciousness Movement, to the student protests against apartheid in 1976, and to the American Black Power Movement in the 1970s (Booysen, 2016a), students aim at recognition of black identities. Hence, the body is a means and object of identity. Students refer to decolonial writings by Steve Biko and anti-colonial thoughts of Franz Fanon to reflect on the meaning of being black. The philosophy of Black Theology or Negritude plays also a role for identity formation (Ndaba et al., 2017). Consequently, students perceive decoloniality also as a search for and regaining of a black identity through self-liberation and cultural cohesion (Interview student 28.08.2018). A student explains: I think that’s [black identity], what kept us all there, is that we were all black and we were all fighting the system, yes, but were not all fighting it for the same reasons. But, yeah, so we ended up all staying, simply because under the umbrella we were all black. (Interview student 29.08.2018) Besides, some students called for a broader social and political change: under the ‘Outsourcing campaign,’ students drew awareness on the exploiting working conditions of university staff. The campaign showed that discrimination and precarisation is not just a student matter but rather part of the social and political structures in the country. Others follow pan-Africanism and perceive decolonisation as political transformation. Pan-Africanism becomes a metaphor for the search of a political order beyond the nation state. Partly, this interpretation of decolonisation is linked to the search for precolonial forms of living and is interlinked with debates on land ownership. Increasingly students who belong to parties such as the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) or the Pan Africanist Student Movement of Azania (PASMA) refer to this dimension of decolonialisation. The previous analysis shows, that students use the notion of decolonialisation for varying injustices at UCT and in society and relate them to the demands for free education, change of curriculum as well as university culture, and for a formation of a black identity and political transformation. The manifold meanings of decolonisation facilitate a broad countrywide mobilisation of students and alliances across gender, socio-economic background, or political affiliation (Daniel, 2020). The growing pressure of mass protests finally led to the introduction of free tertiary education for students with less income in 2017 (see Langa, 2017; Nyamnjoh, 2016).

Must decolonialisation occur on an island? Decolonialisation remains the key demand of the students’ protests. A milestone of the students’ debate on decolonialisation is the Azania occupation. In the European debate on occupations, they are perceived as a space in which liberation and an alternative future vision can be introduced (Feigenbaum, Frenzel & McCurdy, 2013; Frenzel, Feigenbaum & McCurdy, 2014). Isolation

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in the form of an island is needed to ensure that new practices, moral claims or a social and political order can be established. The image of an island goes back to utopian imaginations. Usually perceived as the pioneer of utopian thinking, Thomas More introduced the notion utopia in his same-named book in 1516. More mixed the Greek eutopia (the good place) with outopia (the place that does not exist) to devise the notion of utopia and located utopia. Therefore, utopia is a nonexisting place that we aspire to and which we inevitably fail to reach. More developed his fictional imagination of an ideal society on an island.6 Isolated from the rest of the world, the imagined good society could be introduced and lived there. A certain closeness or limited space – as in form of locating utopia on an island – is important for establishing new imaginations, ideas, moral claims, or political orders. Social movement studies perceive protest as resulting from a situation of discontentment. Protest demands aim at regaining control over one’s life and at creating imaginations about how a society should be (Neidhardt & Rucht, 2001). By so doing, social movements offer a space for practicing things differently. The aspired future becomes present (Daniel, 2018; Yates, 2015). Particularly protest camps or even occupation offer such possibilities.7 They do not only capture discontentment and demands for change, rather they can be understood as a laboratory for developing alternative future visions and imaginations. These forms of protest establish an infrastructure for daily life. In the process, they are elaborating new forms of living, implement alternative moralities or elaborate new forms of power (Feigenbaum, Frenzel & McCurdy, 2012; Frenzel, Feigenbaum & McCurdy, 2014). While many studies focus on protest camps or occupation as a strategy, just few understand them as a focal point for the movement developing, negotiating, and practicing alternative visions. Feigenbaum, Frenzel, and McCurdy (2013, p. 1f.) describe protest camps as follows: Not only do protest camps encompass a diversity of demands for social change, they are also a space where people come together to imagine alternative worlds and articulate contentious politics, often in confrontation to the state. The authors Feigenbaum, Frenzel, and McCurdy (2013, p. 202) complement: Protest camps enable all their participants to experience political processes and they re-create life by developing alternative ways of housing, feeding, actions as intervention and democratic processes. … They are laboratories of radical, tangible democracy that can help to imagine and build blueprints for alternative worlds. Therefore, protest camps or occupations can be understood as laboratories for social or political transformation, namely a concrete utopia (cf. Bloch, 1959).8 The concept of concrete utopia by the German philosopher Ernst Bloch

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argues that utopia is not a fiction rather it becomes reachable through continuous learning, consciousness, and hope. Therefore, concrete utopias are in contrast to More’s fictional ideal societies not located in an undefined future, they are located in the present and can be realised. Hope is the driving force of concrete utopias and a feeling which – under certain conditions – offers the capability for agency and therewith the capability to be actively involved in social change. Following Bloch (1959), hope is a learnable feature of human beings; it is always there but sometimes human beings have to discover it. Hope goes along with a vision because without a vision of what we as actors aim for, what we hope to achieve, consciously or unconsciously, we would not engage in any practice, neither individually nor as a group (Heller, 2016). Following this argument, utopian visions are not fictional but a real possibility for transformation and can be realized within an appropriate social constellation. Images of an alternative future are less universal; here, utopia begins with the belief, the certainty of a better future, and determines the action in the present (Heller, 2016). Although fictional utopias as conceptualized by More and concrete utopia differ concerning their assessment to what extent future vision can be realised, they coincide with regard to the importance to limit the space (or island) for realising future aspiration because the limited space offers a particular form of interaction among participants. An occupation is a particular concrete utopia, which is shaped by a limited and somehow closed space (Frenzel, Feigenbaum, & McCurdy, 2013). In occupation, the limitation of space combined with the participants’ diversity demands the development of social norms and values to organize everyday life and to reflect on the undesirable present and to develop alternative visions of the future. Thus, the occupation offers the possibility for elaborating alternative behaviour, lifestyles, moralities, or political orders and therewith the possibility to experiment if the utopian vision is realizable. Beyond the undesirable present, the limited space is a symbol and a role model for alternative forms of living and political orders. Therefore, occupation reverses existing limitations of the present and exemplify how the world can be when we are willing to protest and develop alternative future visions. The concept of heterotopia by Foucault (1966) points to places beyond social norms of otherness, of deviation or of counter-placement. Heterotopias represent, criticize, and create something new. Heterotopia − similar to the concept of concrete utopia − exposes that the desirable might exist in the present and that utopia can be localized. This is in contrast to Thomas More’s fictional idea of an ideal society in an undefined future but underlines that the future might be localized in the present and can be reached. In heterotopias, the invisible and impossible becomes present. Moreover, heterotopias are characterized by processes of openness and closure. While some are closed and isolated, other heterotopias seem to be open but are restricted to a particular circle of people. Occupation offers such a space. The limited and somehow exclusive space of occupation is the precondition to liberate and to experiment with something new. It seems that

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there is a need for isolation and to create an island for heterotopia to liberate and create alternatives. Following these arguments, a heterotopian space is one, which is socially constructed. According to Lefebvre (1974), socially constructed spaces are shaped by practices. Lefebvre (1974) argues that the social production of spaces is shaped by three modes: the practices within, the emerging order and representation of and the symbols and meaning of that space. Therefore, an occupation can be perceived as a socially produced space. The social production of spaces is shaped in a heterotopian way because the practices are driven by the aspiration for an alternative (decolonial) future. Against this backdrop, the question arises whether the Azania occupation at UCT in 2015 creates a space for alternative futures? How did the students aspire to and practice alternatives? And was Azania occupation shaped by closure, isolation, or exclusion in order to establish a decolonial future?

The Azania occupation: Aspiring to decolonialisation On Friday, 20 March 2015, students at UCT occupied the administrative building called Bremner and renamed it Azania House. In the beginning, there were just few students while throughout the weekend and the following week, about 50 to 60 students were all over the building and stayed for six weeks. Initially, the staff tried to continue with their daily work while students were all over penning on doors or organizing their daily life in the occupation (Interview staff 19.09.2017). Later, the staff left the occupation. They experienced the occupation as threatening; some feared the students and tried to avoid them. For staff, the singing and throbbing at the door was traumatising (Interview staff 19.09.2017). In Azania House, students established their working and living place and created a space for organising the movement. Students cooked and slept in the offices, they organised public debates, movie screenings and other events. Even academics from UCT joined the occupation during the day and partly overnight. Some of the senior lecturers even brought them food. An academic expounds: ‘There was such remarkable energy and solidarity at the beginning’ (Interview academic 30.09.2017). Beyond the core of occupants who stayed the entire time in Azania, further students participated in debates and events. The Azania House aimed at offering a heterotopian space to reflect and to learn (1), to create belonging and healing (2); to develop a future vision, (3) and to practice nonhierarchical intersectional decolonialisation (4). 1.  Azania House aimed at offering a place to reflect and to learn about decoloniality. A student explains: What people don’t know about Rhodes Must Fall is that, we didn’t just occupy and drink and smoke or become hooligans and don’t want to study. No. We occupied and we had … a school. (Interview student 16.09.2018).

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The students established the ‘Decolonial School of Thought,’ which also aimed at creating alternative, artistic ways to produce knowledge and to question existing knowledge production at the university (Interview student 13.09.2018). The school, which exists up today, was supposed to give the lived experiences of students’ space, to learn from each other and to learn about decolonialisation. For many students, participation at Azania House was the starting point to ref lect on decolonialisation. Students learned to relate their experiences to academic concepts and to understand the dimensions of structural violence and the need for transformation. Avoiding structural violence and overthrowing existing hierarchies became the ground for ref lections about transformation. Amongst the occupants, the atmosphere was full of hope and driven by the wish to learn. Academics who solidarised with the students gave occupants reading recommendations (Interview academic 20.08.2018). Students asked academics for readings on decolonialisation and started reading groups on that literature. A lecturer who was part of Azania occupation explains: We were collectively learning. Once in a while they came to me and said please explain this to me I didn’t get it. And they would say can you advise me what we need or help to solve the dilemma. I was not there to teach. It was a collective teaching process (Interview academic 20.08.2018). Therefore, Azania House created a space for alternative learning in which decolonial thinking was in focus and which was shaped by the idea of a nonhierarchical way of learning. 2  In contrast to the experience of alienation, Azania House was supposed to be a home for students. The exchange between students became the ground for the creation of belonging and healing. A student raves: I think at first it was like completely just that overwhelming finding people who are feeling the same as you and like feeling very validated in your experience and like saying that a whole lot of people felt super isolated … So I think at first I was like oh, my goodness this is just a daydream (Interview student 11.04.2017). For students, Azania was a place for healing and unpacking belongings. Several students used the space to talk about their experiences at the university and to reflect and create belonging based on blackness. Hence, some students describe Azania as a place, which allows a healing process from the experiences of discrimination (Interview student 29.09.2017).

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3.  Students used Azania House to develop an alternative future vision. A student describes the aim of the occupation as follows: In those occupations there was much deeper conversation about how do we imagine our society, how do we imagine the thing we just started and notions of decoloniality and ideas around decolonialisation came into the picture. That we are not here for transformation, we are here for decolonialisation. Because if societal disease is colonial the only remedy should, therefore, be decolonial. You can’t apply a remedy to a colonial disease (Interview student 23.03.2017). The Azania House became a lively space for developing future visions and strategies for transformation. Therefore, students had varying motivation to be part of the occupation. While for some the individual or collective learning aspect was decisive, others used the space to speak out, to create belonging or to heal from the experience of discrimination and alienation. Further students participated because they aimed at contributing to the decolonial project and to develop future visions and strategies for transformation. 4.  Not least, students aimed at implementing decolonialisation and elaborating on new practices through a practice of an intersectional decolonialisation: For the students, their absence from class was a precondition for decolonial practice while decolonialisation became a future demand and a practice. Students constructed a heterotopian space in which they elaborated practices perceived as being different. Decolonialisation as practice, for instance, becomes visible in the flat structures of the movement. Direct democratic procedures are practiced to contradict hierarchical structures at the university. The students who became responsible for the strategy of the movement aimed at challenging and avoiding hierarchies. In their opinion, flat structures, and direct democratic forms of decisionmaking should path the way to a decolonial future. Moreover, intersectionality became a focal point for organising the movement. Students understood intersectionality as an overlapping form of oppression of black students that relates to gender, class, physical, and mental limitations. Intersectionality is, therefore, a tool to unpack overlapping forms of discrimination. At the beginning of the movement, and even during the occupation, intersectionality in the students’ movement describes the cause and process of decolonisation. This perception was an outcome of long debates of black feminists and queer activists. They managed to establish intersectionality as a key term in the Mission Statement of RMF (2015) but the notion and meaning of intersectionality immediately became contested (see below).9 A student explains the relevance of intersectionality:

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So, I think for me, there cannot be a decoloniality without intersectionality. In the sense that for me decolonization is about liberation and justice and self-determination for people and if we are going to decolonize and the only issue that we are going to focus on race, then oppression will continue to be perpetuated in the sense that, for example, if it’s just about race you putting black man in the same position as white man and then black women and black queer people and black trans people are going to continue to be facing superior suppressions and working class people will be oppressed and so it’s about challenging all of those issues, dealing with them all at the same time (Interview student 28.09.2017). Apart from this interpretation, intersectionality describes the political aspiration for decolonisation and the overcoming of power relations. This is the reason why students established an Intersectional Audit Committee at Azania, for instance. At this point, Azania House revealed the lived heterotopian space in which equality between the sexes or for nonbinary gender identities were practiced. Therefore, Azania House became a heterotopia for gender equality at a university and in a society in which gender and queer discrimination still exists. The student occupants received a lot of support. Most black students supported the student protests (Interview academic 30.09.2017). The hetorotopia was a place for learning, belonging, healing, imagining, and exploring alternative practices by establishing flat structures and intersectional practices. Therefore, the occupation was a socially constructed niche, in which otherness became the norm. By so doing, the imagined otherness was a reality in the limited space of the occupation. Finally, the university management contested and destroyed the heterotopian occupation. Security entered the building violently and dispersed the students. What started as a heterotopia became a nightmare due to the violence of security and police. A student describes her experience: And one night, I was working and writing an essay and the university had sent security police to remove everyone from the space and it was like a completely terrifying night. They laid off tear gas inside the building. It was just absolute mayhem and I partly lost hearing in my left ear. I don’t think it’s permanent. I feel like I hear okay now (Interview student 23.03.2017). The occupation ended abruptly and although other (and even shorter) occupations took place elsewhere, it remained the most important one as it created a heterotopia. However, conflicts about practice and representation of the place already emerged during the occupation.

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Pitfalls of the occupation – processes of exclusion While the student protest started as a direct democratic, power critical, and nonpartisan movement, in the course of the occupation, conflicts arose. These conflicts reveal the diversity of students and highlight that positions and demands in the movement changed continuously and even that perceptions on gender or race are time bound. For instance, students who follow a masculine and more radical understanding of decolonial transformation, which is based on black identity gained leadership positions. Many of the leaders belong to the political student groups of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) and the Pan Africanist Student Movement of Azania (PASMA). While at the beginning, students maintained a sense of unity across political divides, later on, different fractions emerged. For instance, PASMA increasingly dominated the plenaries, mass meetings, and negotiations with management. A student explains: It became more of a populist movement rather than one that was actually engaging with challenges and trying to unpack them and speak very critically and very strongly and it’s definitely become an issue of partisan in politics and it’s very hard to tell what’s coming from where. So, Rhodes Must Fall, the founding intent was not partisan …, but everyone was asked and committed to kind of leaving the party affiliation and kind of the party ideology at the door of that space and that didn’t really happen (Interview student 23.03.2017). Likewise, a conflict emerged between occupants and the Students Representative Council (SRC) about how to interact with university management. While the SRC acted as a broker between management and students, a group of students rejected the formalised interaction and strived to be more confrontational (Interview academic 30.09.2017). During the occupation, the openness of the movement became contested. More and more, experiences of poverty, discrimination, and being black became a precondition to be part of the occupation. For example, a black student describes that because of his middleclass background he did not subscribe to the narration of poverty and thus almost lost his voice in the student protests (Nyamnjoh, 2017). Whiteness as an embodied privilege was increasingly perceived as disturbing. As a result, white students partly were excluded or were asked to leave for some debates. A student explains: White people were incorporated into the space as mere allies and were frequently reminded that they ought to be aware of their positionality when engaging in the space and should anticipate being accepted to leave the space (Ndelu, 2017, p.67).

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An academic completes: This space is for the understanding of ourselves. … No white people are allowed … We are expressing a need, and we are expressing the need to learn − a learning need. What does it mean to be black in post-apartheid South Africa (Interview academic 20.08.2017). During the protests at UCT, some students rejected interactions with white people per se because of their embodied privilege, others argued that the reference to black identity should necessarily lead to a partial exclusion of white students. Only in the differentiation from the other can one identify one’s own (Daniel, 2019). However, even a couple of students do not care about race in their aspiration for decolonialisation. Further conflicts emerged about intersectionality and gender. During the occupation, the extent to which an intersectional position was necessary for the decolonial project or whether it had to be a heteronormative project, had been hotly debated. For example, students used buzzwords such as black consciousness or black identity to impose heternormative positions, to contest intersectionality under the guise of the overriding goal of decolonisation. Nonbinary perceptions of gender were described as un-African (Khan, 2017). A participating academic describes the debates on gender during the occupation as follows: And it was a difficult learning process. I remember the first night …. A conversation started on patriarchy and sexual orientation. … And nobody knew how to explain patriarchy without getting angry. … And then the conversation started on sexual orientation. And now all the lesbian and gay students, and the trans students have the feel that they have to be the spokespeople about sexual orientation. But by the way, nobody knew the difference between sex and gender. … They started to teach themselves in the way they know best by sharing their own experiences. And that was the most painful day for me. … I realised that the smartest people of the campus … and in this room there were the best thinkers of the university and that they can’t understand, and they cannot listen to a young women saying ‘you should be ok with the fact that I have chosen not to have an intima or sexual relationship with a man`. They couldn’t accept that. And for me it was a sense of failure (Interview academic 20.08.2017). What began as an intersectional promise, turned against those students who were most affected by discrimination and exclusion. Consequently, a student observes ‘patriarchy, sexual violence, ableism, and queer-antagonism were either normalised or ignored as negative elements of the movement’ (Xaba, 2017, p. 96). Feminists and queer activists experienced the student protests as exclusionary and increasingly left the movement

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or created a counterstrategy against the movement to ensure that decolonialisation was intersectional (Daniel, 2020; Ndlovu, 2017). A student confirms: But it turned out that black men in the movement wanted black male freedom and continue to rape black women and that the straight people were homophobic (Interview student 07.09.2018). The emerging conflicts in the heterotopian space challenged the demands of the movement, the aspiration for an alternative future, and revealed processes of exclusion and isolation. Even, the claimed direct democratic procedures were replaced by positions of power. However, it becomes apparent that heterotopian spaces are socially constructed, subject to change, and are shaped by practices and emerging forms of power relations. In this phase of conflict and reorientation, males (and even females) with a partisan orientation, an exclusionary position to blackness, and a heteronormative position increasingly gained leadership. All these processes reveal that the open heterotopian space turned to be closed and exclusionary.

Conclusion: Heterotopia between openness and closeness (and being an island) Referring to the main question of what role did the occupation (and therewith the limited space or island) exactly play for the movement and the demand for decoloniality at UCT, it became obvious that Azania occupation offered an important space for sharing experiences and for developing a shared language on discrimination and marginalisation. Azania House offered a heterotopian place for learning, healing, belonging, and for developing alternative visions of a decolonial future and practicing the future in the present. Individual and collective learning about decolonialisation during Azania occupation enabled the students to define their experienced injustices in relation to structural violence at university and in society. During that time, the occupation offered a space for diversity. The heterotopian place constructed itself as participatory and open. Likewise, students elaborated new visions and practices at the heterotopian space. This socially constructed space of Azania stands for a decolonial future in which learning and the hope for a society without discrimination, racism, and marginalisation is possible. Azania House also became a role model for an intersectional and decolonial practice that was visible in a flat, nonpartisan practice, and an intersectional practice such as the Intersectional Audit Committee. Foucault (1967) ascribed heterotopias the possibility to bring different realities together. In this sense, Azania was a socially constructed heterotopia. The heterotopia of Azania became contested because cleavages emerged along with party politics, representation, and heteronormative positions.

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The heterotopia turned to be dystopian for many white students, black middle class students, feminists, or queer activists. Critical voices emphasize that the structures of the movement are responsible for dystopia. They argue that by striving for nonhierarchical and flat structures in decision-making, and by being open to everyone, the movements would have failed to anchor the student protests demands of creating an intersectional and decolonial practice (Interview civil society expert 12.09.2018). The openness of the movement, for instance, created space for negotiations and enabled the emergence of power positions. The flat structures and therewith the possibility to discuss the fixed demands and practices constantly, let to a shift from an intersectional declonialisation to a decolonialisation in which black identity came first and in which male leadership dominated. A student explains: They decided to take up the mental of ‘we’re black before we’re anything else’ and so you were not woman before you were black, you would not be queer before you were black … And that was the only thing that was keeping us all there. I think everyone, despite how violent the space ended up becoming, the men would just take over and their voices were the loudest (Interview 29.08.2018). Following this argument, heterotopias always face the challenge that their openness invites positions that threaten to throw over the very core ideas and practices of the heterotopia. Likewise, the closeness of a heterotopia risks being not socially accepted; to create a niche that is not acknowledged by a broader public. Heterotopias are confronted with this dilemma between being an island and a bridge to a broader public. Not least, decolonialisation as future aspirations is increasingly interpreted as a vision, which is relevant for the society or from a pan-Africanist perception for the whole continent. Therefore, the scope of transformation, which is aspired contradicts the narration of an island. In thinking about the spatial dimension of heterotopia, the picture of an island is not consistent with the vision of decoloniality. At least, the romantic idea of an ideal utopian or heterotopian island, which emerged out of European tradition, has to be questioned. Therefore, the idea of an island helps us to understand social movement practices as processes of inclusion and exclusion. Moreover, considering the heterotopian practices encourages asking which future is aspired to and whether the liberation for an alternative future (re)produces exclusion – as in the case of the student protests. This approach offers a precise understanding of conflicting actors in social movements beyond the widespread perception of a movement as an entity. However, the analysis also contradicts the romantic European idea and shows that future aspirations are always contested, that they are timely and related to the particular context. Therefore, processes of inclusion and exclusion refer to a broader context relating to the understanding of the respective society.

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Notes









1. The meaning of decoloniality varies in different universities. In this chapter, I focus on UCT. 2. The etymology of Azania is contested: Some refer to Azania as the land of Zeus and roots in Greece while others argue that Azania has the same roots as Zanzibar and this refers to the meaning of black. Since then the name contains different interpretations (Hilton, 1992) and is related to South Africa and the black consciousness movement (Ranuga, 1986). 3. The research is part of a broader qualitative research project on future aspirations of protest movements ‘Aspiring to alternative futures: protest and living utopia in South Africa.’ Beyond the student protests, the project considers housing and environmental activism. 4. While for most European authors, colonialism inspired to develop utopian visions of how the society should look like, colonialism was dystopian from an African perspective. From those Europeans who left home for finding the promised land overseas, colonialism was thought of as a vision of an alternative life in paradise. Dystopian novels emerged in a context of colonialism and described the horror scenario and exploitation during colonialism and the authors elaborated the aftermath of decolonialisation (see Pordzik, 2001). 5. Even before, protests and critical debates shaped the space of the university (see Godsell & Chikane, 2016; Ndelu 2017; Xaba, 2017, pp. 98). 6. The notion of an island for utopian imagination has been discussed in different ways (see Andreas 2013). 7. The occupation of public space is an old phenomenon and can be traced back to miners’ movement in the 17th century. Occupation have been part of colonial resistance and can be rediscovered within the so-called New Social Movement, the peace, student, and environmentalist movement (Feigenbaum, Frenzel & McCurdy, 2012). Occupation of places intends to hold public space whereby political and economic legitimacy will be questioned. Constant forms of occupation will be established through protest camps (Frenzel, Feigenbaum & McCurdy, 2014; Mörtenböck & Mosshammer, 2012). 8. For further information about the research on utopia see Levitas (2011) or Saage (1991). For the debate on utopia in Africa see Ashcroft (2013). 9. The relation between intersectionality and decolonialisation is fixed in the mission statement, which highlights that intersectional discrimination is a cause for calling into decolonial practice (which was defined as a practice free of discrimination). This was just one way of interpreting decolonialisation and intersectionality. Other relations exist among students.

References Alexander, P. (2010). Rebellion of the Poor. South Africa’s Service Delivery Protests. A Preliminary Analysis. Review of African Political Economy, 37 (123), 25–40. Andreas, M. (2013). Must utopia be an island? Positioning an ecovillage within its region. Conference: 11th conference of the International Communal Studies Association. Volume: Social Sciences Directory, 24 (2), 9–18. Ashcroft, B. (2012). Introduction. Spaces of Utopia. An Electronic Journal, 2nd Series, 1(1), 1–17. Ashcroft, B. (2013). African Futures. The Necessity of Utopia. International Journal of African Renaissance Studies - Multi-, Inter- and Transdisciplinarity 8(1). 94–114.

210  Antje Daniel Beinart, W. and Dawson, M. (2010). Popular Politics and Resistance Movements in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Bloch, E. (1985) [1959]. Das Prinzip Hoffnung. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Booysen, S. (2016a). Introduction. In Booysen, S. (Ed.). Fees Must Fall. Student Revolt, Decolonisation and Governance in South Africa (pp. 1–21). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Booysen, S. (2016b). Two weeks in october. Changing governance in South Africa. In Booysen, S. (Ed.). Fees Must Fall. Student Revolt, Decolonisation and Governance in South Africa (pp. 22–52). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Cornell, J. and Kessi, S. (2017). Black Students’ Experiences of Transformation at a Previously “White Only” South African University: A Photo Voice Study. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 40(11), 1882–1899. Daniel, A. (2018). Occupy: Städtische Besetzung als utopisches Experimentierfeld. In Schoch, A. and Bürgin, R. (Eds.). Urbane Widerstände – Urban Resistance (pp. 97–117). Bern, Schweiz: Peter Lang. Daniel, A. (2020, forthcoming). Dekolonial und intersektional? Ambivalenzen der Herrschaftskritik in der südafrikanischen Studierendenbewegung. In Maurer H. and Leinius, J. (Eds.). Intersektionale und postkolonial-feministische Perspektiven als Mittel politikwissenschaftlicher Macht- und Herrschaftskritik. Leverkusen, Germany, Barbara Budrich. Daniel, A. (2019). Ambivalenzen des Forschens unter Bedingungen (post-)dekolonialer Praxis. Forschungsjournal Soziale Bewegungen, 31(1). 40–49. Department of Higher Education and Training, (DHET, 2018). Annual Report 2018/19. Pretoria: Department of Higher Education and Training. http://www. dhet.gov.za/Commissions%20Reports/DHET_Annual_Report_201819_WEB.pdf [Accessed. 12.04.2020]. Feigenbaum, A., Frenzel, F., and McCurdy, P. (2013). Protest Camps. London, New York: Zed Books. Foucault, M. (2006) [1966]. Die Heterotopien. Der utopische Körper. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Foucault, M. (2018) [1967]. Von anderen Räumen. In Dünne, J. and Günzel, S. (Eds.) Raumtheorie. (pp. 330–343). Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Frenzel, F., Feigenbaum, A., and McCurdy, P. (2014). Protest Camps: An Emerging Field of Social Movement Research. The Sociological Review, 62(3). 457–474. Friedman, S. (2018, March 6). Dignity and equality at centre of South Africa’s land debate. The Conversation. https.//www.iol.co.za/news/opinion/dignity-and-equality-atcentre-of-south-africas-land-debate-13627480 [Accessed 12.10.2019]. Geiss, I. (1968). Panafrikanismus. Zur Geschichte der Dekolonialisation. Frankfurt am Main: Europäische Verlagsanstalt. Godsell, G. and Chikane, R. (2016). The roots of revolution. In Booysen, S. (Ed.). Fees Must Fall. Student Revolt, Decolonisation and Governance in South Africa (pp. 54–73). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Heller, A. (2016). Von der Utopie zur Dystopie. Was können wir uns wünschen? Wien, Hamburg: Edition Konturen. Jansen, J. (2017). As by Fire. The End of the South African University. Cape Town: Tafelberg. Kessi, S. and Cornell, J. (2015). Coming to UCT. Black Students, Transformation and Discourses of Race. Journal of Student Affairs in Africa, 3(2). 1–16. Khan, K. (2017). Intersectionality in student movements: Black queer womxn and nonbinary activists in South Africa’s 2015–2016 protests. Agenda, 31(3-4), 110–121.

Must decolonisation occur on an island? 211 Langa, M. (2017). #Hashtag. An analysis of the #FeesMustFall Movement at South African Universities. Johannesburg, Cape Town: Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation. Lefebvre, H. (2018) [1974]. Die Produktion von Raum. In Dünne, J. and Günzel, S. (Eds.). Raumtheorie (pp. 330–343). Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Levitas, R. (2011). The Concept of Utopia. Oxfordshire: Peter Lang Ltd. Matandela, M. (2015). Rhodes Must Fall. How black women claimed their Place. http.// rhodesmustfall.co.za [Accessed. 12.10.2019]. Mbembe, A. (2017). Critique of Black Reason. Durham: Duke University Press. Melber, H. (2011). Die Grenzen der Emanzipation im südlichen Afrika. Befreiungsbewegungen an der Macht. In Sonderegger, A., Grau I and Englert, B. (Eds.). Afrika im 20. Jahrhundert. (pp. 216–227). Geschichte und Gesellschaft Wien: Promedia. Mörtenböck, P. and Mooshammer, H. (2012). Occupy. Räume des Protests. Bielefeld: transcript. Ndaba, B., Owen, T., Panyane, M., Serumula, R., and Smith, J. (2017). The Black Consciousness Reader. Auckland Park: Jacana Media. Ndelu, S. (2017). Liberation is a Falsehood. Fallism at the University of Cape Town. In Langa, M. (Ed.), #Hashtag. An Analysis of the #FeesMustFall Movement at South African Universities (pp. 58–82). Johannesburg, Cape Town: Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation Ndlovu, H. (2017). Womxn’s Bodies Reclaiming the Picket Line. The ‘Nude’ Protests During #FeesMustFall. Agenda 31(3-4). 31–77. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2013). Empire, Global Coloniality and African Subjectivity. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2018). Epistemic Freedom in Africa. London, New York: Routledge. Neidthardt, F. and Ruch, D. (2001). Soziale Bewegungen und kollektive Aktionen. In Joas, H. (Ed.) Lehrbuch der Soziologie (pp- 533–556). Frankfurt am Main: Campus Ngcaweni, W. and Ngcawni, B. (2018). We Are no Longer at Ease. The struggles for #Fees Must Fall. Cape Town: Janana Media Ltd. Ngwane, T. (2017). Civil society protests in South Africa: the need for a vision of alternatives. Conference paper. Conference: Centre for Civil Society Seminar, Howard College, University of KwaZulu-Natal, 9 March 2010. Nyamnjoh, A. (2017). The Phenomenology of Rhodes Must Fall. Student Activism and the Experience of Alienation at the University of Cape Town. Strategic Review for Southern Africa, 39(1), 256–277. Nyamnjoh, F. B. (2016). #RhodesMustFall. Nibbling at Resilient Colonialism in South Africa. Mankon, Bamenda: Langaa Research & Publishing CIG. Pordzik, R. (2001). The Quest for Postcolonial Utopia. An Introduction to the Utopian Novel in the New English Literatures. New York: Peter Lange Publishing. Ranuga, T. (1986). Frantz Fanon and Black Consciousness in Azania (South Africa). Phylon, 47(3), 182–191. Rhodes Must Fall (2015). Mission Statement. https.//jwtc.org.za/resources/docs/ salon-volume-9/RMF_Combined.pdf [Accessed. 12.10.2019]. Runciman, C. (2015). The decline of the Anti-Privatisation Forum in the midst of South Africa’s ‘rebellion of the poor’. Current Sociology, 63(7), 961–979. Runciman, C. (2017, May 22). SA is protest capital of the world. The Citizen 22.05.2017 https://www.iol.co.za/pretoria-news/sa-is-protest-capital-of-the-world-9279206 [Accessed. 12.04.2020] Saage, R. (1991). Politische Utopien der Neuzeit. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft.

212  Antje Daniel Turner, I. (2019). Axing the Rainbow. Modern Africa. Politics, History and Society, 7(1), 81–108. https://doi.org/10.26806/modafr.v7i1.244 Xaba, W. (2017). Challenging Fanon. A Black Radical Feminist Perspective on Violence and the Fees Must Fall Movement. Agenda, 31(3–4). 96–104. Yates, L. (2015). Rethinking Prefiguration. Alternatives, Micropolitics and Goals in Social Movements. Social Movement Studies, 14(1). 1–21.

11 Decolonisation of knowledge on land governance An ethnographical experience from West Africa Lamine Doumbia

Introduction This sets out to examine an of African Union initiative – Network of Excellence on Land Governance in Africa (NELGA) – as a frame to analyse the relationship between higher education and the relevance of local knowledge in land administration in Bamako (Mali) as an example of decolonisation. The research will be carried out to answer the question: to what extent can knowledge on land governance be decolonised through higher education? NELGA is a partner of leading African universities and research institution with proven leadership in education, training, and research on land governance. Currently, NELGA has more than 50 partner institutions across Africa. The NELGA branch of Francophone West Africa, which this paper’s author is a member of, is based at the University Gaston Berger of Saint Louis in Senegal. The network set itself the objective to promote ‘good’ land governance by strengthening human and institutional capacities for the implementation of sustainable land policies in Africa.1 Decolonisation evokes, in this paper, the fact that the legal framework of Mali’s State and Land Code is not in line with the land regulations of Malian communities. The State and Land Code is considered strange and foreign because it is mainly influenced by colonial legislation and reinforced by the independent postcolonial State (Doumbia, 2018a; Le Roy, 2018). As Le Roy (2018) asserts, if land governance was not decolonised 70 years after the countries’ independence, it is for more utilitarian reasons because it benefited the political executives, these national and local elites who replaced the coloniser by pouring into procedures at the base of their contemporary heritage enrichment and corruption. The focus of this paper is the ethnography of how the debate on ‘local’ knowledge can be approached regarding decolonisation of land administration. Autochthonous knowledge is incontestably relevant to African studies (Hountondji, 19942; Diawara, 20033). Knowledge, no matter its nature, is never universal. Therefore, it should be characterised as ‘local’ rather than ‘traditional’ or ‘indigenous.’ However, from an anthropological

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perspective local knowledge is not immutable. But local knowledge or peasant knowledge can only be analysed from a local perspective. It is generally placed in a translocal context implying a relationship to the State and the urban settings (Spittler, 2003, p.43). Local knowledge is a collective term for a variety of names and concepts such as indigenous, autochthonous, or indigenous/endogenous knowledge, peasant knowledge, traditional knowledge, or folk knowledge (Neubert & Macamo, 2004). Against this backdrop, this research uses the concept of local knowledge to describe its dynamism, relevance, and impact on land tenure administration in Mali. Several actors control and negotiate urban land tenure in Bamako. Not only State institutions, but grassroots people also claim their usufructs at the local level. In an article on land tenure ‘between embeddedness and political alienation,’4 Doumbia (2018b) demonstrated that on the one hand, State institutions deliver land titles and produce administrative texts and laws. They claim to own, administer, and/or control the land. Moreover, they enforce their regulations by expropriating and displacing people to implement urban ‘development’ plans. On the other hand, based on their everyday life and their habits, people at the grassroots level, however, challenge and contest this policy (Doumbia, 2018b). A letter collected in my fieldwork shows discussions on traditional chieftaincy of the neighbourhood of Sabalibougou (Doumbia, 2019). This letter is a correspondence between the chief and the governor of Bamako about the chief ’s recognition by the State that the governor represents. This chapter is divided into three parts. The first part is the description of the hybrid nature of land administration in Sabalibougou, which is an urban neighbourhood in Bamako. The second part points out the relevance of endogenous land regulations in Mali and the third part emphasizes the contribution of Nko. The Nko is above all a specifically African indigenous writing system, invented Thursday, April 14, 1949, in Bingerville in Côte-d´Ivoire by the Guinean encyclopedian Soulemana Kanté (1922–1987). Originally from the Kankan region of Guinea, Soulemana Kanté is the author of 183 books written in 38 years (1949–1987). His work is diverse because it covers several areas of knowledge. The inventor of the Nko system also had the merit of founding a literary language and literature written in the Mandinka language, 5 using the characters Nko. Laws and decisions of land tenure policies rely on the code Faidherbe and the codifications of the French colonial administrator Maurice Delafosse. Considering the plurality of actors in the dynamics of land regulation; this paper describes an imbroglio of norms concerning higher education. This is what the NELGA is interested in. The NELGA branch of francophone West Africa reconfigures the focus of research on land tenure in West Africa. The network brings together several stakeholders to shape academic masters programmes at universities. The University works to influence and impulse decision-making processes of land reforms by inviting policy makers and practitioners to participate in conferences, workshops, and publications. In this

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manner, professional specialists of land issues can be graduated for understanding and securing land tenure in Africa. That is to say, land governance offers only one way out but is currently in a vicious circle of speculation, injustice, and power play. The stakes are increasing in proportion to the multiplication of actors in need of urban land and management rules. Demographic pressure, as well as immigration and rural exodus in Bamako, are causing rapid urbanisation and a growing need for urban space. Meillassoux (1968), in his book ‘Urbanisation of an African community,’ points out that Bamako, like other African cities, is one of the cities whose urbanisation process was the fastest. As a result, the management of that urbanisation process represents a considerable potential for conflicts that are either latent or even violent and that have persisted for several years. Among the modes of management, which are attributed to institutions or agencies, communities, associations, corporations, groups, and even individuals, there is a distinction between the mode of management of the State and the customary mode of management. The intention is not to maintain a dichotomy in the management of the land issue in Bamako but to articulate different actors’ perceptions for a better description. It is important to mention, in the context of this research, that the State is a protagonist, whereas the associations, coordination, and unions of the so-called deprived individuals are antagonists to the State in the management of land because their plots are expropriated.

Hybridisation of forms of land administration in Sabalibougou The data collected for this study was gathered during ethnographical fieldwork in Bamako from 2013 to 2015 and 2018. It focuses on one of my fieldwork findings, which are an administrative letter that has been addressed in 2012 to the governor of Bamako by the ‘chef de quartier’ (neighborhood councilor) of the Sabalibougou neighbourhood, Hamidou Dembélé, claiming his nomination and recognition as ‘chef ’. Sabalibougou is currently one of seven neighbourhoods that constitute the district V of Bamako. It became populated in the 1970s in the context of fast urbanisation when Bamako’s population doubled in only five years (between 1971 and 1976) due to rapid migration to the city. Until 2009, Sabalibougou was the neighbourhood with the highest density. Housing conditions were shaped by the settlers according to their living conditions and income. In an interview in summer in Mali in 2014, Hamidou Dembélé described himself as a founding member of Sabalibougou. In another interview, Bamba, a connoisseur of Nko explained that ‘everyone has the right to use a plot of land in Manden (empire of Mali) except for those who would want to put it into their pocket and leave [without working on the land]6).’ Land in Bamako is conventionally administered by first settlers, who first cleared the area. This is called ‘le droit de hache’ (Kassibo, 1998). Hamidou Dembele and his

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brother came first to Sabalibougou. So, they are called Bamanankan Sotigi. When they arrived, they had to ask the dugukolotigi, (the local ‘chef de terre,’ chief of land) of Kalaban Koro for the permission of settlement. This point is explained further in the paragraph dedicated to Nko and the endogenous land administration below. Hamidou Dembélé, the customary authority, claims his right of nomination and recognition based on the governor’s decision no. 093/GBD – CAB of January 31st, 2007. This nominated Hamidou Dembélé as the interim ‘chef de quartier’ of Sabalibougou as well as legalised and formalised the legitimate social fact that Dembele was the first occupant of Sabalibougou and so the customary depositary of the land tenure. The chief possessed a letter from the district’s governor of Bamako that combines customary administration based on social norms and the administration of the State with offices and papers. Yet, the city administration is more complex than that, and in the case of Hamidou Dembélé the governor may have supported his nomination as ‘chef de quartier,’ but Dembélé has no support of the District V of the Bamako’s municipality. In the evolving conflict, all sides mobilised both social relations and paperwork. Analytically, there is a metaphorical tension between the local ‘right of axe’ (droit de hache), which demands the use of land (usus fructus) – not necessarily to own it – and the ‘Code domanial et foncier’ (the land tenure code) of Mali, which does not necessarily demand only the use of land, but to own a title deed, a ‘titre foncier.’ In terms of the issue of paperwork and bureaucracy, the case of Bamako does not make an exception in Africa. Hornby et al., (2017) assert for the South African context that ‘the daily reality of most South Africans is strongly influenced by “off-register” tenure arrangements, the complexities of which neither policies nor laws adequately confront’ (p. 4). The authors describe a case study from South Africa, in which the traditional chief interacts through a letter with the State institutions on the issues of formalisation of land tenure. This is mentioned to illustrate the use of bureaucratic practices by local grassroots actors in their interactions with modern State institutions. In the rural area of Ekuthuleni, the traditional chief claims land. Wanitzek (2005), who has worked on a similar case of land management reform in Tanzania, says: ‘For a peasant or pastoralist community in Tanzania and its members, […] land is the means for the production of their livelihood’ (p.182). This quotation of a Tanzanian case study gives a wider representation of the issue in Africa and stronger social relevance to the analysis. That is the reason for the NELGA initiative. The case of Bamako evokes an urban situation, where the legally recognised interim chief claims his right as chief on land because he holds the ‘right of ax’ (droit de hâche). Endogenous landholding systems are adaptable from society to society, but they do not stop outside the city borders. The point is that people migrate with their social rules and norms and mix them with those of their new place of settlement.7 Over time we can, indeed, see a process of overlapping between the administration of

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land titles based on paperwork and the customary/endogenous administration based on social norms. The concept of ‘travelling models’ (Behrends et al., 2014; Olivier de Sardan et al., 2017) is referred to in this context to analyse how certain models of knowledge on land governance travelled from a different social cultural realities to collide with other models in another social cultural context. The result is mimicry and hybridisation of norms and practices.

The relevance of endogenous land regulations Before coming to the main point of land governance, the historical context of the urbanisation of the capital of Mali should be taken into consideration. This city was urbanized with the advent of French colonisation, but customary (endogenous) regulations were already in place and operating. The land organisation reflects this important feature of history, especially since it is part of the socio-political habits of society, at least in the context of this study. Nevertheless, land rules are not static (Lavigne Delville et al., 2000). They evolve according to the evolution of the land, the availability of resources, the evolution of the modes of exploitation and their economic status. In other words, local rules are part of a customary regime, as is still the case in the neighbourhoods of Bamako, which does not mean that they are ancestral, traditional, or frozen in time. Often, they evolve very quickly. This means that the principles on which they are based are customary (endogenous) and that the authorities responsible for defining and implementing them have, in most cases, customary legitimacy. Beyond the great diversity of situations, local land tenure systems (especially in Mali but also elsewhere in Africa) are based on several distinct principles (Lavigne Delville et al., 2000, p.11). The control of space is linked to the act of foundation, which goes through an alliance with the spiritual forces, the geniuses of the place. This act gives the founders (and their descendants) the power to clear (transform the bush into cultivated space or residential use), to allow other families to settle and clear, and to make sacrifices. Then, it is about a politico-religious power, which exerts the descendants of the founder on the other families that were authorised to settle. The permission is given through the control of the fertility of the soil of the territory that they control. Therefore, the Sabalibougou district (of Commune V) of Bamako district is under the customary authority of the Kalaban Koro chiefdom, which is an administrative district of the Kati Circle. It is the customary chiefdom of Kalaban Koro, who reigns on the right bank of the Niger River in Bamako. Thus, there is an inconsistency between State administration and customary rules because of the lack of codification and standardisation. The conceptions of territory are based on the ‘topocentric’ logic of space, (Le Roy, 2011). The living resources of the territory (and the land itself ) are under the influence of a protective tutelage, which emanates from the altar of the earth, which is a ‘topos,’ a place marked by a sign visible: stone, piles of attic stones, dormers, jars, a tree, or a combination of these elements.

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From this place, the ‘strength’ of the altar radiates concentrically decreasing as one moves away from the centre of origin and gradually enters the area of influence of the altar of another land. Around the founding families (dugukolotigiw), such as Niaré and Touré, in the case of Bamako, other families (sotigiw) were authorized by the head of the latter to settle, to found neighborhoods and have portions of the bush to clear. The families (sotigiw) integrate into the community through matrimonial alliances and have permanent and transmittable rights of use over the spaces they have cleared. Other families may remain ‘allochthones,’ although they are residents for many generations. Relationships between lineages are thus causally linked to the local socio-political history and the mode of alliance with the first occupants. This is what happened when Baco Djicoroni and Sabalibougou were founded. The different resident families thus have different statuses: families settled by the founding lineage, having established with them matrimonial alliances and having a portion of the bush; ‘allochthones’ families who arrived more recently and benefit only from loans from ‘settled’ lineages (Lavigne Delville et al., 2000, p.16). That is to say, the ‘autochthones’ in this case allow ‘allochthones’ to settle. Another important principle to note is that the invested brand of work gives a priority right of exploitation and is a form of appropriation: the rights to space or a resource depend on the investment that has been made there. The fallow land remains a property of the family that cleared it, and no one can cultivate it without permission. The priority of use remains as long as the trace of the initial clearing work has not disappeared. This is true for families who have invested to build a home in the area. The evasions of SabalibougouEst claim only this priority right of exploitation. Any permanent investment gives permanent rights. Thus, a well remains the property of the lineage that drilled it. Planted trees are the property of the one who planted them. Stressing these principles helps to emphasize on the fact that the Malian State legislation does not take into account the embeddedness of these principles of practice (Doumbia, 2018b). The administrative reform in terms of decentralisation and democratisation was eminently placed under the sign of ‘modernity’ (Amselle, 2006). It is, therefore, natural that it has been driven by donors, both international and national. This extroverted nature of the decentralisation implemented in Mali did not consider the use of local culture and embeddedness on the African soil. This is what makes Kassibo (2006) and Béridogo (2006) write that the insertion of decentralisation was done in a double speed movement; which explains the accentuation of the incompatibility of two political systems of which one is exogenous and the other endogenous. This congenital imperfection is more blatant in the sense that the endogenous system of customary rights is deemed to be uncodified or sometimes non-modifiable. Against the disqualification and oversimplification of endogenous modes of regulation, the Nko adherents have struggled since the 1950s for the codification and perpetuation of politico-social regulations rooted in West African

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societies and Bamanan-Mandenka in particular. One of the Nko teachers Sékou Diakité told a Mandenkakan proverb about the creation of writing in our Nko course: N’i ye bugu dɔ tufa ta k’i b’a sigi bugu dɔ kunna, ni a ma bonya a ma, a bɛ dɔgɔya a ma. If you take the roof of one box to put it on another, if it is not too big, it is probably too small. This then emphasizes the question of size and the question of adjustment or even authenticity in using the Latin alphabet to write Mandenka languages. Political reform in a society rejecting the socio-cultural realities rooted in this society for the benefit of foreign models of governance is the reproach of the supporters of Nko, who also campaign in civil societies.

Nko and the endogenous land tenure During my fieldwork in Bamako in 2013, I encountered Karamoko Mahmood Bamba who is a student of Souleymane Kanté. Bamba explained that Kanté founded the Nko in 1958 during a stay in Abidjan in Ivory Coast pursuing his commercial and marabout activities. Souleymane Kanté came across a Lebanese newspaper in which he read an article criticizing the orality of African languages for the inability of the interlocutors to write and perpetuate messages and knowledge of the said languages (Mandenkakan, Bamanakan) and societies. In response to this article, Souleymane Kanté pondered and developed an alphabet and numbers to write. It transcribes what is said in characters that have nothing to do with Arabic except the direction of writing from right to left or with Latin that is unable to write the sounds and tones of the languages Maninka and Bamanan. But the founder used Arabic and Latin writing systems to elaborate the Nko which means ‘I say.’ The struggle of Kanté was carried out concomitantly by Amadou Hampaté Ba and Cheikh Anta Diop. These two authors also emphasized the development of African languages. Hampaté Ba put his accent on the codification of African languages using the Latin alphabet since this alphabet is already well known with the influence of French colonisation. Cheikh Anta Diop intended to invent, like Kanté at the same time, a writing system appropriate to African languages with the same explanation, without collaboration. Indeed, Amselle (2006) goes on to describe the struggle of Kanté Souleymane and his criticisms to the interlocutors of Mandenka, who depositories of Mandenka customs and habits are: En fixant par écrit la tradition orale, ce que Souleymane Kanté reproche à Sunjata de n’avoir pas fait, on pourra non seulement sauver le patrimoine mandé, mais également démontrer, par exemple, l’antériorité de la “Constitution” de Kurukan Fuga au Bill of Rights anglais de 1689 ou à la Déclaration française des Droits de l’homme et du citoyen de 1789.  (p. 54). The interpretation of this quotation shows that by writing the oral tradition, which Souleymane Kanté blames Sunjata for not having done, we can not

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only save the Mande heritage but also demonstrate, for example, the precedence of the ‘Constitution’ of Kurukan Fuga to the English Bill of Rights of 1689 or the French Declaration of Human Rights and the Rights of Citizen of 1789. From the interview given by Karamoko Mahmoud Bamba during extended ethnographic fieldwork in 2013 about the importance of endogenous land management, we can see that land is the ratio of human interactions to itself. Every inhabitant of Mande has the right of access to the land. Whether autochthonous or allochthones, land is the basis of the existence of all inhabitants. But its management is entrusted to someone. This is the first occupant or the one who first used the ax to clear the area .If someone comes in the morning and the other in the evening, even if it’s the same day, the one who came in the morning is the dugutigi (chief of land) for the other. The only one who is not entitled to a parcel is the one who wants to put it in his pocket to bring it.8  By remembering the aim of the Malian land and land code, which makes land title the document that guarantees individual ownership on the land, it seems that the interview of the traditionalist and Nko tenant Bamba contests this form of ownership. The challenge is based on the Mandenka tenure regulation: ‘Dugukolo ka kan ka di bèè ma Manden, fo min bè a fè k’a bila a jufa ka taa n’a ye…’ This sentence can be translated to mean that every inhabitant of the Mande (former empire of Mali) is entitled to a lot except the one who wants to put it in his pocket. As the title deed is a documented representation of a plot of land, this document confirms private ownership. The interpretation is that the owner metaphorically puts the plot of land in his pocket, which makes him or her keep the property even if he or she is/must be absent for a long period. As we do in this work, the land must be approached in terms of use, settlement, and occupation. The whole range of land management techniques is governed by habits and customs. This has a long history of resistance and tenacity of the local authorities and institutions which, year after year, was to ensure tranquillity and peace in communities. For Traoré, the land issue puts us in the opposition between tradition and modernity (2007). Malians are being sent back to their own image, which forces them to face the future while keeping in mind that the land remains the only viable capital that can secure populations. It is in this sense that Kassibo (1998), looking back at the genesis of the land question and the decentralisation in Mali, demonstrated how good management of natural resources remains one of the keystones of local governance. Villages or fractions are at the base of the constitution of the rural municipalities and are the real base of the social pyramid. The village council is the place of expression of family solidarity, lineage, and communication among and between communities.

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They are manifested through social relations and the modalities of access to the resources that come together on the register of customary rights. Kassibo (1998) believes that the village land is a socialized space controlled and portioned according to ancestral decision-making systems. The land is assigned to rights holders, recognized by all, and enjoying a legitimate authority over the exploitation of the resources. The membership groups (founding lineages, masters, allies, and foreigners) regulate access to the resources according to the usage rights. These, according to Kassibo (1998), are based on a hierarchical order legitimized by custom. The village is made up of several families or lineages grouped under the authority of a chief. Lineage or extended family leaders designate village council representatives to assist with day to day management. Traditionally, the chieftaincy is devolved according to the principle of the primacy of installation. The eldest of the founding lineage establishes his authority over the village community under the principle mentioned. But the chieftaincy can also be acquired by conquest. In addition to political chieftaincy, there are holders of master’s rights: Master of Water, chief of pasture, chief of the land, bush, etc. These functions are for the most part sacerdotal, since authority is granted to the holders by the tutelary powers (spiritual genies), who are the true masters of the resource whose usufruct they confer on them. These rights are inalienable and are transmitted only within the recipient lineages. The village heritage is made up of the village soil, which in turn is controlled by lineage groups. Access to land is dependent on this customary mode of organization, which guarantees its exploitation. The custom serves as a framework for the settlement of land disputes and the chieftaincy is the entity best informed on the traditional State code and the rules of management of the resource. The village is nowhere recognized as an administrative unit; it is the constitutive element of the municipal council and is placed under its authority. In the context of a territorial reorganisation, it still retains some prerogatives in the management of natural resources but remains subordinate to the authority of the municipal council recognized as the main centre of the decision making. However, the first mode of access to land and even to natural resources in village areas is based on a legal system that relates to farming rights that go back to the first occupant, ‘the one who gave the first blow’ (Kassibo, 1998). In this system, land is managed by a community that is the custodian. But it belongs to genies, spirits, and ancestors. This study therefore questions the idea of private appropriation of the land. The term customary land ownership refers to the communal possession of land use rights on agricultural or pastoral land. The chief of land, or customary chief also referred to as traditional chief or district chief, in urban areas, is usually responsible, on behalf of the group and with his agreement, for the assignment of land use rights (Durand-Lasserve et al., 2004). Indeed, among rural populations, land remains an essential and unavoidable element in the satisfaction of their essential needs. Hence, the relevance

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of managing land for them is their motivation to hold the land according to their own customary realities. Although urban land is rarely a factor in agropastoral production, it is increasingly a crucial social and political issue. The importance of land in urban areas is further demonstrated by the fact that all urban development projects or programmes have land as one of its components. Cissé (1997) was also interested in the origin of ‘customary law’ and its evolution in Mali. Cissé argues that the term ‘customary law’ dates to colonisation. The social phenomenon that this term refers to was to be challenged and transformed by the policy of the colonial State with the aid of the Faidherbe decree of March 11, 1865. This judgment served to give customary holders the chance to regularize their possession. Article 3 stipulates that aboriginals ‘who have the land according to local custom shall have the right to apply for regular concession titles. However, holders have not made use of this opportunity in practice. The 1986 federal code − in effect today and inspired by the colonial judgment − provides that ‘the customary collective or individual rights can be transformed into a rural concession right for the benefit of their holders. Nowadays, the rural concession will be purging the land plot in the sense that it should be free from the old norms of appropriation and usufructs. Previously, decrees have succeeded one another within the framework of land management policy in Mali. While customary rights had been tolerated and recognized in colonial legislation, they were marginalized in those of the independent State (Cisse, 1997). Among the texts quoted by Cisse, dating from 1904 to 1955, it follows that all legislations have formally recognized the existence of customary land rights and have granted it value to some degree. Nevertheless, procedures have been designed to establish these customary rights. French Sudan (current Mali) is, however, one of the few territories to have taken the decrees of applications of the land decree of May 20th, 1955 (the last text of the colonial legislation). Contrary to the measures of this decree, the text of the Malian republic which came after independence (the law 82-122/AN-RM of February 4, 1982) did not refer to customary rights. This can be explained by the disorder that prevailed because of the exceedingly long absence of the State in the management of the land. As a regime of dictatorship in Mali, the executive excluded all plurality to regain control and claimed the absolute monopoly of management. Customary rights, not being, on the one hand, codified and on the other hand, complex and diversified in space, had been excluded. It is also important to note that customary rights do not fit well with the concept of individual ownership of land, because it belongs to the Civil Code (the legislation of the colonizer). Despite this marginalisation, one can observe that customary rights have not ceased to apply in most parts of the country. Therefore, the 1986 land and tenure code demonstrate the recognition of customary rights in only eight articles out of a total of 334 articles. From article 127 to article 134, the land code formally recognises the existence of individual or collective customary rights that are exercised on the lands of the private domain of the State.

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The registration of all lands in the name of the state removes the so-called customary rights; the former owners see their rights transformed into a simple right of use in the field and a right to compensation when the State wants to dispose of these lands. Similarly, the land code admits the possibility of transmission or modification of these rights, but only for the benefit of communities or individuals who may have the same rights under customary rules. Furthermore, the code confirms that if customary rights include an obvious and permanent hold on the ground, they may be transformed, at the request of the holder, into a rural concession right. Subsequently, the code possesses the principle that if the State for reasons of general interest or the public utility wants to dispose of land on which customary rights are exercised, this situation requires the purging of the said land, which must be ordered by the Minister of Lands and State Land Affairs. Customary holders are entitled to compensation for construction, real estate development and, exceptionally, to facilitate the resettlement of habituated customary holders. Finally, the land code holds that the common (civil) civil court has jurisdiction to rule on all disputes over customary rights (Cisse, 1997, p.35). By legislating in this way, the national land code refers copiously to colonial texts. As a matter of form, customary rights are recognized by the code in some articles, but in principle, there is essential adequacy that explains the non-practicability of these articles on the field. Customary land tenure is based on the logic of collective heritage. So, it is not compatible with the logic of ownership that the Civil Code (State) knows. Maurice Delafosse is an Africanist, ethnologist, a linguist, and the author of ‘Le Haut-Sénégal et Niger’ (1912) and the colonial administrator who notes that: Au point de vue indigène, il est donc illégal de la part de l’autorité française de considérer comme domaine de l’État français et d’accorder à des sociétés ou des particuliers, sous forme de concessions, des parcelles quelconques du terrain (Delafosse, 1912, p. 15). From the indigenous perspective, the above can be interpreted to mean that; it is illegal for the French authority to consider any parcels of land as an area of the French State and to grant them to companies or individuals, in the form of concessions. Delafosse was the chief administrator of the French colony of Sudan (now Mali). In his time, this author attempted to inventory the endogenous norms relating to the land practice of the Malian societies of the time. He inspired many French ethnologists, perhaps because he was persuasive in the justification of his method, as Diawara (2003) suggests:  Les chroniques orales et écrites sont collectées successivement, compilées et traduites. Il les fond – selon son propre terme (cf. infra) – dans le canon créé par l’auteur lui-même. Le bon manuscrit résulte de cette compilation, de cette refonte des documents, de l’histoire (Diawara, 2003, p. 11).

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In other words, this quote in English explains that oral and written chronicles are collected successively, compiled, and translated. Delafosse melts them down according to his own term in the canon created by the author himself. Valuable manuscripts result from this compilation, this redesign of the documents, and history. This assumption can be analysed based on the passage that is paraphrased from the source of the colonial report of Le haut-Sénégal-Niger. L’immense majorité des Soudanais constitue, par excellence, une population rurale et agricole. Les produits spontanés du sol étant moins abondants que dans la forêt côtière et d’un rapport généralement moins considérable, c’est vers la terre cultivable que s’est concentré surtout le sentiment de la “propriété (Delafosse op. cit, NP, p.6). Through these lines, Delafosse argues that most Sudanese (French Sudan) constitute, par excellence, a rural, and agricultural population. The spontaneous products of the soil being less abundant than in the coastal forest and of a ratio generally less considerable, it is towards the arable land that the perception of the ‘property’ is mainly concentrated. The usufruct concept seems more appropriate than the concept of property for at least two reasons. On the one hand, it is an inalienable land that one appropriates if it is cultivable. On the other hand, this land is being quickly exhausted. Therefore, the inhabitants must have large areas that allow them to move their crops in case of need. Therefore, the land belongs on the one hand to territorial political domination, on the other hand to the exercise of land control. Whether they are cultivated (exploited) or not, if vast expanses of land are vacant, the fact remains that they are not without a master. There are always customary chiefs of land. Also, in Delafosse’s colonial report, the characteristics of local land tenure are well reported.  Qu’il s’agisse des populations encore plus ou moins sauvages de la Haute-Volta, des paisibles Sénoufo établis à cheval sur les territoires du Haut-Sénégal-Niger et ceux de la Côte d’Ivoire, des Mandingues répandus un peu partout de l’Atlantique au méridien de Tombouctou ou des nombreux peuples divers disséminés à travers l’étendue des régions soudanaise et sahélienne, partout on nous signale un même régime de propriété foncière. Un régime caractérisé par une double conception de l’idée de propriété, selon que l’on envisage le sol lui-même et ses produits spontanés ou bien tout ce qui est le produit du travail de l’homme (p. 7). This means that wherever the Mandenka and other diverse peoples scattered everywhere from the Atlantic to the meridian of Timbuktu, across the expanse of the Sudanese and Sahelian regions, Delafosse and his colleagues opine that wherever they went, they established the same statist (i.e., Boone, 2014) regime of land tenure. A regime characterized by a dual conception of ‘ownership’ is

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a misnomer in the sense that the appropriation of the land is preferable to the ownership of the land especially concerning the customary land tenure system in Mali. Lavigne Delville’s argument explains what Delafosse meant by a double conception of idea. Customary land tenure combines two distinct but articulated registers: the level of territorial control and the level of exploitation rights (Lavigne Delville et al., 2000). The soil and all that it naturally produces is the property of the community represented by its leader, or the head of the political unit in a monarchical system of governance. It should be noted, however, that it sometimes happens that the political leader, although an effective master of the territory as a result of the conquest made by his predecessors, nevertheless recognises the right of the leader of the conquered natives to appropriate it. The hereditary or elected head of the community gradually divided the territory, as the population grew and dispersed, between the different heads of families, who later became chiefs of the village. Each village chief thus has the administration of part of the soil of the native state, and he, in turn, delegates his rights over certain parcels to the heads of families under his control. This fact has been observed in many parts of French Sudan, particularly Djenné (Delafosse, 1912). It is in this way that each head of a family, each nobleman or lord, has his land and his fields well determined, without however being the owner. The soil of the indigenous political unit, cultivated or uncultivated, built or not built, really belongs in its entirety to the head of this unit, who can dispose of all the parcels at will and take them back to their current usufructuary to give them to others. Provided that by doing so, it does not harm the interests of the community of which it is, according to the case, the hereditary king, or the elected representative. So, the land tenure is a matter of common and is, therefore, inalienable (Kassibo 1998; Le Roy, 2011). Neither the head of the political unit, as Delafosse writes, nor the usufructuaries can claim a ‘property.’ The question of ownership does not and cannot arise. In practice, however, the long usufruct of land in the same family is almost tantamount to beneficial ownership of that right of use. With the resulting rights of use and exploitation, the family has inherited, may be entirely or partly assigned by the head of the family to another native. Therefore, it can be conceded, for a fee and subject to certain reservations. But this usufruct cannot be alienated for the benefit of a stranger without the approval of the village chief or, most often, without that of the head of the community (Delafosse, 1912). As for the alienation of the right of property on the soil itself, it cannot exist in principle, and, if it takes place sometimes, it can be done in any case only with the approval of the assembly and most of the time she brings with her the vassalage, vis-à-vis the alienator, of the person or persons for whom it has consented. The ownership or usufruct of land includes the ownership or the usufruct of all its spontaneous products and all that is naturally on its surface such as trees, lianas, herbs, any plants not planted or maintained by human labour, stones, ores, clays, rivers, lakes, marshes, etc. However, in many

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areas of French Sudan, as a precautionary measure, the holder of the right to harvest was prohibited from cutting down certain fruit trees without the authorisation of the chief landowner or administrator. All that is the product of the work of man is the strict property of the individual or collective ownership of the work, who may at his pleasure use it and alienate it by sale, donation or contract of some kind; here we leave the domain of landed property, always collective in sum, to enter that of movable property, which alone can be properly individual, as we shall see later. As we have tried to show, the vocabulary used by Delafosse influenced his conception of custom and culture even though he developed a document in which he attempted to explain the endogenous forms of land regulation. These forms are, by their complexity and their social and dynamic variability exceedingly difficult to discern. The attempt to understand land ownership is done here from an anthropological rather than politico administrative perspective. The purpose of the following section is to describe the role of NELGA through higher education is to understand and reshape land governance in West Africa and especially in Mali.

Land tenure in the context of decolonisation of higher education The articulation of precolonial, colonial, and postcolonial land governance done in this extended ethnographic research assumes that decolonisation higher education is a manner to academically decolonise perceptions and politics on land governance in Africa. In terms of database management and knowledge transfer in social science and the humanities, contemporary scholars cooperate with the commission technique: Foncier & Development in France and the NELGA to redefine and adapt methods of research and teaching of land governance in Africa. The NELGA is creating in African Universities (Senegal, Ghana, and Mali) masters programmes on land governance in cooperation with the governments of the countries and universities as well as non-African partners. NELGA aims to improve land-related curricula in graduate and postgraduate training courses in quantity and quality; to provide and facilitate academic education and training for African land professionals and practitioners; to define an agenda for research and conduct applied research on land-related issues pertinent to the AU agenda on land; and to Promote knowledge management, dissemination, and networking in support of land policy and governance in Africa by enhancing the community of practice for land policy experts throughout the African continent. As described in this paper, Land governance remains a key factor in African communities’ development and as such, it is a source of daily interactions and contestations. Besides, land tenure continues to draw scholars’ academic intentions. The main added value of this paper is that norms and regulations as well as definitions of land tenure in Mali but also in Africa need to be decolonised and more embedded in the grassroots people’s aspirations.

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Conclusion Endogenous knowledge plays a key role in the land tenure administration and decolonisation of higher education in Africa since, as described in the text, the land tenure regulations in Africa and especially in Bamako are an imbroglio of numerous endogenous and exogenous systems of regulations. Therefore, the central question of to what extent is knowledge on land governance able to be decolonised through higher education includes the NELGA initiative. The official land code in Mali, called le Code domanial et foncier, is inspired by the colonial land regulations, which are French. That code includes some elements of the customary tenure regulations. This chapter tries to show, that these elements are mostly based on the customary regulations that were collected and transcribed by Maurice Delafosse, who used a vocabulary that is not appropriate. This issue raises the question of translatability of the local phenomenon related to the custom into another context using a foreign language. Knowledge production in higher education in Africa also requires the use of African local languages for understanding the social local context. In the sense that local knowledge and colonial and postcolonial knowledges constitute one hybrid knowledge that is manipulated by the actors (Diawara, 2010, p.480; Dulucq, 2006, p.32). Ouédraogo et al., 2018 address issues arising from the claims to universalism in the process of producing knowledge about diverse African social realities. They show that the idea of knowledge production as translation can be usefully deployed to inquire into how knowledge of Africa translates into an imperial attempt at changing local norms, institutions, and spiritual values. Translation, in this sense, is the normalisation of meanings issuing from a local historical experience claiming to be universal. Thus, land Administration is based on practical norms that are pluralistic, transitional, and transactional (Doumbia, 2018a). The endogenous context has always been plural as well as the exogenous context of land tenure regulations. There is a crucial need for more ethnographic research because land tenure conceptions are different across societies and the colonial and postcolonial influence increases the imbroglio of the whole phenomenon. African higher education and social science scholars are urged to conduct deep and fundamental research on endogenous knowledge in Africa.

Notes

1. https://nelga-afrique-ouest-francophone.org/category/nos-missions/ 2. Les savoirs endogènes : pistes pour une recherche. Paulin Hountondji. Dakar, CODESRIA, 1994, 356 p., ISBN : 2-86978-039-7 3. Diawara, Mamadou 2003 L’interface entre les savoirs paysans et le savoir universel. Bamako: Le Figuier 4. Doumbia, L. (2018) “Land Tenure and the Grassroots’ Concern in Bamako,” Modern Africa: Politics, History and Society, [S.l.], v. 6, n. 2: 33–54, Dec. 2018. https://edu.uhk.cz/africa/index.php/ModAfr/article/view/207

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5. Condé, Ibrahmina S. (2008) “Soulemana Kanté entre Linguistique et Grammaire : Cas de la langue littéraire utilisée dans les textes en N’ko.” Deuxième congrès de la linguistique et des langues mandés 15 au 17 septembre 2008, St -Petersbourg, Russie Retrieved from: http://mandelang.kunstkamera.ru/files/mandelang/konde.pdf 6. My additions. 7. Parts of this ethnography have been published in Doumbia, L. 2019 « De la périphérie au centre-ville – Un terrain d’anthropologie juridique et politique », Hüsken, Th. et al. (éds.), The Multiplicity of Orders and Practices. A Tribute to Georg Klute, Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag: 200-220. 8. This interview was collected by the author in Bamanankan, transcribed with F4 and translated into English. “Taking land in the pocket” refers to the transformation of the property into title deed.

References Amselle J.L. (2006). Les usages politiques du passé : le N’ko et la décentralisation administrative au Mali. In : Fay Claude, Koné Y.F., Quiminal C. (eds.) Décentralisation et pouvoirs en Afrique: en contrepoint, modèles territoriaux français. Paris/ Bamako: IRD/ISH, pp. 39-67. Assemblée Nationale du Mali (12/07/1986) Code Domanial et Foncier, Bamako. Assemblée Nationale du Mali (22/03/2000) Ordonnance n°00227 Portant Code Domanial et Foncier, Bamako. Behrends, A., Park, S-J., Rottenburg, R. (eds). (2014) Travelling Models in African Conflict Management: Translating Technologies of Social Ordering. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Béridogo, B. (2006). Processus de décentralisation et pluralité de logiques des acteurs au Mali. In: Les usages politiques du passé. Le Nko et la décentralisation administrative au Mali Paris (n°IRD). Boone, C. (2014). Property and Political Order in Africa – Land Rights and the Structure of Politics, New York: Cambridge University Press. Cissé, D. (1997). Place de la coutume dans le code domanial et foncier. In: Litige fonciers au Mali: doctrine et jurisprudence (n° Inst. National de Formation Judiciaire), pp. 27–40. Delafosse, M. (1912). Haut-Sénégal-Niger Le Pays, les Peuples, les Langues, l’histoire, les Civilisations. Online: http://pubman.mpdl.mpg.de/pubman/item/escidoc:403655/component/escidoc: 403654/haut2_delafosse1912_o.pdf. Diawara, M. (2003). L’interface entre les savoirs paysans et le savoir universel. In: L’interface entre les savoirs locaux et le savoir universel. Bamako: Le Figuier, pp. 8–16. Diawara, M. (2010). L’osmose des regards: Anthropologues et historiens au prisme du terrain. Cahiers D’études Africaines, 50(198-199-200), 471–505. https://doi.org/10.4000/ etudesafricaines.14152 Doumbia, L. (2018a). Une sécurisation foncière urbaine dans l’impasse, exemple de Bamako, Rüdiger Köppe Verlag, Cologne Doumbia, L. (2018b). Land Tenure and the Grassroots’ Concern in Bamako, Modern Africa: Politics, History and Society, 6, 2: pp. 33–54, Dec. 2018. Available at: . doi: https://doi.org/10.26806/modafr. v6i2.207 Doumbia, L. (2019). De la périphérie au centre-ville: Un terrain d’anthropologie juridique et politique. In T. Hüsken, A. Solyga, & D. Badi (Eds.), Topics in interdisciplinary African studies. The multiplicity of orders and practices: A tribute to Georg Klute (pp. 200–220). Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe. Dulucq, S. (2006). Des yeux africains derrière des lunettes européennes? In: Historiographie coloniale et logiques autochtones en AOF (c. 1900-c. 1930) (Outre-Mers, 352-353), S. 15–32.

Decolonisation of knowledge on land governance 229 Durand-Lasserve, A., Mattingly, M., & Mogale, T. (2004). La nouvelle coutume urbaine. Évolution comparée des lières coutumières de la gestion foncière urbaine dans les pays d’Afrique subsaharienne. Vol. 1 (rapport de synthèse). Hg. v. EU Task Force on land tenure. Hornby, D., Kingwill, R., Royston, L., & Cousins, B. (2017). Untitled. Securing Land Tenure in Urban and Rural South Africa. Portland: University of KwaZulu-Natal Press. Online https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/gbv/detail.action?docID=4985092. Hountondji, P. J. (1994). Les savoirs endogènes. Pistes pour une recherche. Paris: Karthala (Serie des livres du CODESRIA). Kassibo, B. (1998). La décentralisation au Mali. État des lieux: current situation and perspectives = Decentralisation in Mali. Hamburg: Lit (Bulletin/APAD - Association Euro-Africaine pour l’Anthropologie du Changement Social et du Développement, 14). Kassibo, B. (2006). Mali: une décentralisation à double vitesse? Ka mara segi so ou le lent et délicat retour du pouvoir à la maison. In : Fay Claude, Koné Y.F., Quiminal C. (eds.) Décentralisation et pouvoirs en Afrique: en contrepoint, modèles territoriaux français. Paris/ Bamako: IRD/ISH, pp. 67-95. Lavigne-Delville, P., Bouju, J., & Le Roy, E. (2000): Prendre en compte les enjeux fonciers dans une démarche d’aménagement. Stratégies foncières et bas-fonds au Sahel. Éditions du Gret (Collection Études et Travaux), Paris. Le Roy, E. (1998). L’espace représentations qui éclairent en Afrique l’histoire de l’humanité et la complexité des solutions juridiques. In: Intercoopérant, S. 1–5. Online http://www.dhdi. free.fr/recherches/environnement/articles/leroyespacefoncier.pdf. Le Roy, Étienne (2011): La terre de l’autre. Une anthropologie des régimes d’appropriation foncière. Paris: LGDJ Lextenso Éditions (Droit et société, 54). Le Roy, É. (2018). La décolonisation juridique, un préalable à toute sécurisation foncière dans les métropoles africaines francophones, In: Lamine Doumbia (ed.) une sécurisation foncière urbaine dans l’impasse, exemple de Bamako, Rüdiger Köppe Verlag, Cologne: pp. 230–234 Meillassoux, C. (1968). Urbanisation of an African Community: Voluntary Associations in Bamako. Washington: University of Washington Press. Meillassoux, C., Copans, J., Colleyn, J.-P., & Sow, M. (DL 2014): Bamako urbanisation d’une communauté africaine. France, Tombouctou: IRD (L’Afrique se raconte). Neubert, D., & Macamo, E. (2004). Wer weiß was? “Authentisches” lokales Wissen und der Globalitätsanspruch der Wissenschaft. In: Lokales Wissen: Sozialwissenschaftliche Perspektiven 2004 (Münster Lit 11), pp. 93–122. Olivier de Sardan, J-P., Diarra, A., & Moha, M. (2017) Travelling models and the challenge of pragmatic contexts and practical norms: The case of maternal health. Health Research Policy and Systems 15 (Suppl 1): 60.doi:10.1186/s12961-017-0213-9 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/28722553 Ouédraogo, J.-B., Diawara, M., & Macamo, E. S. (2018). Translation revisited. Contesting the sense of African social realities. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Spittler, G. (2003). Le savoir local et la vitalité locale dans le contexte global. In: L’interface entre les savoirs paysans et le savoir universel 2003: pp. 34–56. Traoré, O. (2007). Exister par le foncier et le demeurer en l’adaptant aux nouvelles exigences et réalités. In: Entre tradition et modernité, quelle gouvernance pour l’Afrique? (n° Actes de Bamako): pp. 132–150. http://www.institut-gouvernance.org/docs/actes_bamako-2-3.pdf. Wanitzek, U. (2005). Land Law and Legal Pluralism in Tanzania: Security of Customary Land Tenure? In: The Reorganisation of the End of Constitutional Liberties?/La réorganisation ou la fin de l’état de droit? Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag, pp. 179–198.

Epilogue: A long way towards a decolonial future in African higher education Abraham Brahima, Irina Turner, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis

New foci in decolonisation The time is past that others than Africans were in a position to define and advocate whatever is good for Africa and its future: imposing research priorities, identifying blind spots and issuing exhortations and directions. … Let it be Africans who define the future of scholarship in Africa, and when doing so they subject their views to the international academic community, then is the proper moment for others … to comment. (Wim van Binsbergen, 2003, p. 126) This statement provides an ideal depiction of a decolonised higher education system in postcolonial Africa. Its apparently programmatic and relatively extroverted wording suggests the enduring existence of some external actors whose influence and power of decision upon the current state of affairs and the future of scholarship on the continent are still determinant. In inviting them to renounce their hyperactive interventionist attitude for constructive, respectful, and collaborative input upon the policies, guidelines, and general direction of higher education institutions and programmes, van Binsbergen, as many other scholars and writers, is advocating the implementation of a truly decolonised higher education in Africa. As reflected by and through the different chapters of this edited volume, there is indeed an imperative need to make higher learning institutions in Africa more relevant to the societies for which they are primarily intended for. Unfortunately, as the contributors also notice and express in various tones and empirical observations, the promised land of a fully decolonised higher education in Africa is still far away. As recurrently emphasised by the various chapters of this book, decolonising higher education from a structural point of view without indulging its principal and living agents into a conceptual process of change would amount to superficial ‘cosmetic changes’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017b, p. x). A limitation that frequently occurs in many publications about decolonisation in Africa is the sliding into essentially theoretical arguments and

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programmatic suggestions. Evidently, a lot has been achieved since formal independence all over the continent and the end of the apartheid in the particular case of South Africa. As the opening chapter shows through the conceptual and historical overview it provides, there have been a lot of positive changes, reforms, and adjustments in the development of higher education in postcolonial Africa. However, a much is still to be done, namely, as Mbembe (2016) puts it, at the level of ‘imagining what the alternative to [the dominant Eurocentric academic model] could look like’ (p. 36). It is obvious that the combined efforts of anticolonial nationalism, the ‘formulation of a new philosophy of higher education informed by African histories, cultures, ideas, and aspirations’ in the 1960s (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017a, p.61) and the current continental wave of decolonial frenzy triggered by students protests in South Africa has not yet succeeded in completely uprooting the enduring impact and vestiges of colonialism. Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2017a) rightly states that there is still a strong imperative to fundamentally redefine ‘the role of the university [by navigating] carefully not only the imperatives of “standards” set in Europe and the African local imperatives of the “social function” of the university but also the dangers of looking “inward” at the expense of the universal aspect of knowledge’ (p. 61). In other words, the centripetal (re)orientation primarily required by the decolonial project in higher education entails not only fundamental institutional changes, a transformation of the main actors (academic staff and students), the contents and teleological significance of teaching and research but also and notably a wilful effort to keep postcolonial African institutions of higher learning open to global knowledge trends and innovations. According to Mbembe (2016), ‘to decolonise the university is … to reform it with the aim of creating a less provincial and more open critical cosmopolitan pluriversalism’ (p. 37). As such, the concept of pluriversity refers to a process of knowledge production that is open to epistemic diversity, the universality of knowledge and its accessibility to all epistemic traditions notwithstanding their diversity and particularities. Along the same line of thought, Boaventura Santos de Sousa (2017) acknowledges the decisive impact of globalisation on institutions of higher learning bringing forth difficult challenges in ‘such proportions that the university finds itself at a turning-point and its future is uncertain’ (p. xx). The purposely empirical orientation of the contributions to this volume is informed by the heuristic potential of emphasising the intrinsic connections between hybridity and decolonisation on the one hand and the application of this conceptual pair to the imperative need for decolonisation in higher education in Africa on the other. To this end, this volume endeavours to avoid the shortcoming, not infrequent in the debates about decolonisation or Africanisation of higher education, of taking the concepts at stake, their historical background, and their concrete implications at the empirical level for granted. At a quite basic level, this appears in the cognitive pattern of assuming ‘as a given the existence of an entity with some general characteristics

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called the university, which is identically present all over the globe’ (Santos, 2017, p. xv). This hasty generalisation is oblivious of the fact that the university as such has obvious universal characteristics, but as Santos (Santos, 2017) further argues, ‘the realities it covers are so diverse from country to country, and within the same country that any generalisation may become abusive’ (p. xv). Mbembe (2016) is quite categorical about the conceptual status of the university. In his opinion, ‘there is hardly any agreement as to the meaning, and even less so the future, of what goes by the name “the university” in our world today’ (p. 32). Indeed, conceptualising decolonisation in higher education is a complex endeavour considering the ambiguous relationships and power dynamics underlying this notion. It is also challenging to discuss decolonisation of higher education in isolation, since it is part and parcel of the overall socioeconomic and political ‘project of re-centering’ (Mbembe, 2016). Coined by Ngugi wa Thiong’o in his eponymous essay (1993), the notion of ‘moving the centre’ refers to the rejection of the ‘assumption that the modern West is the central root of Africa’s consciousness and cultural heritage. It is about rejecting the notion that Africa is merely an extension of the West. It is not about closing the door to European or other traditions’ (Mbembe, 2016, p.35). Instead, re-centering aims ultimately at dis-placing ‘the Eurocentric basis of looking at the world [and replacing it] with a multiplicity of spheres in all cultures’ (wa Thiong’o, 1993, p.14). However, this ideal way of conjecturing the future of relations between nations, peoples, cultures, and languages in an imaginary decentred world, should not overlook the fact that despite all ‘forms of trying to “move the centre,” [it] remains unmoved’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017b, p.x). The postcolonial landscape is still fundamentally dominated by asymmetries of all sorts concealed under subtle forms of continuities of the colonial order. The academic aspects presented and analysed in this volume are just a few features of ‘a sedimented [colonial] history that cannot be undone by good intentions and token hirings’ (Baer, 2014, p.237). This book acknowledges the complexities inherent in decolonisation processes as well as the variety of struggles implicated by the multiplicity of colonial experiences and envisages an alternative future within the concept of hybridity. The premise of hybridity as specifically applied to science, knowledge, and higher education lies in the conviction that there are multiple and heterogeneous epistemological systems. There is also a meeting place of all knowledge systems, which would be an imaged hybrid alternative for a pluralistic future. The book emphasises the urgency of addressing epistemic injustice involved in the hegemony of Eurocentrism and endorse the notion of ‘restitutive knowledge’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017b, p. x) as a way towards genuine decolonisation in the domain of higher education in Africa. Knowledge is established intersubjectively and discursively that makes the process of knowing a lifelong commitment to reflexivity, dialogue, and accommodation. Thus, it is imperative to march towards decolonising the

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academic space by furthering a co-creative dialogue among knowledges from a multitude of geographical, cultural, and social environments. Nevertheless, the fundamental question of place, perspective, and orientation needs to be addressed in any reconceptualisation and decolonisation of education. In this context, a restitutive decolonial undertaking entails not only a thorough re-examination of all the knowledge accumulated on Africa and Africans but also an inquiry into the epistemological characteristics that define endogenous ways of producing and disseminating knowledge as specifically African. Conducted in a spirit of openness, beyond any kind of essentialism or relativism, while keeping in mind that knowledge as such is a universal feature of humankind, the epistemic decolonial project has a huge potential in providing decisive insights into and productive answers to many human problems that the Western-centric configuration of scientific knowledge cannot resolve. In the area of scientific knowledge as well as in other domains of life, thought, and experience, barring some parts of humanity from contributing to the common good is a loss for the whole humanity. This general truth applies to higher education as well. In the framework of a reflection on the contemporary crisis in the Western-centric perception of the university, due to an obstinate focus on obsolete visions and namely a tacit rejection of the ‘epistemologies of the south,’ Santos (2017) argues that: Focusing on general answers to be given by the ‘university’ as a general type of educational institution may lead us to ignore the highly creative and very paradigmatic answers that specific universities in specific countries are providing, as well as those that are emerging in the shadow of the university. Focusing on the absent university may mislead us into ignoring the emergent university (p. xv). In the same fashion as the colonial encounter, which led to a profound transformation of colonisers as well as colonised at various levels and degrees, the decolonial project is ultimately an endeavour whose moral and teleological outcomes are simply about common humanity. Seen in this perspective, as a project that ultimately will lead to a ‘supplement of soul,’ to borrow Bergson’s (1935, p. 299) words, decolonisation would at once cease to be perceived as the sole affair of a formerly (or still neocolonised) part of the world and become a common struggle from which the whole humankind would benefit. Still, we are not yet there and despite the wide-ranging spectrum of topics, questions, and experiences that make up this volume, there remain several issues that it could not cover for obvious practical and pragmatic reasons.

Outstanding trails for future decolonial explorations The book provides various complementary perspectives on decolonisation process in higher education covering many corners of ‘invented Africa’ (Mudimbe 1988) by narrating case studies and perspectives from Algeria,

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Mali, South Africa, India, Germany, and China. Beyond that, the volume also provides some bird’s eyes views on looking at the continent as a whole in terms of decolonisation, literature, and translation, as well as methodologies. It reconceptualises and adds substantial empirical contributions to the body of theoretical knowledge on the subject of decolonisation by feeding back from hands-on examples from different African universities. Despite their various ontological and disciplinary backgrounds, the contributors in this volume have drawn a strong and coherent insight towards a hybrid future in the decolonisation debates. It was neither the objective of the volume to provide a comprehensive prescribed manual nor to offer a mere sensitisation exercise on decolonisation. Rather, we aimed at providing an intermediate state-of-the-art reflection of where decolonisation in African higher education currently stands. Except for the contribution by Clemens who looks at teaching mathematics, the current volume did not address the lack of research on decolonising natural sciences as it focused on the humanities. The branch of postcolonial Science and Technology Studies and related fields, however, that is interested in decolonial research and teaching of natural sciences (e.g., Beisel, 2019; Harding, 2011; Schramm, 2017; Warwick, 2002) is a growing field of importance, which cannot be ignored in the long run. In the same way, discussions on Indigenous ways of knowing and their importance for the decolonial project in higher education focus more and more on natural science-related fields, such as appropriate technology and innovation (Ezeanya, 2016, 2019; Popp, 2018; Tharakan, 2017). In a recurrent fashion, many scholars emphasise the indispensable connection between the university and its social function (Brock-Utne, 2003; Mazrui, 2003; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017; Nyerere, 1966; Santos, 2017; Wa Thiong’o, 2016;). In Brock-Utne’s (2003) words, ‘the link that is missing in most of the universities in the South is the link between the academia and the ordinary people… Knowledge creation has to be one produced together with the local people’ (p. 47). She further argues that most departments in all universities in Africa demonstrate the effectivity of this missing link because the know-how they teach has come about through the study of texts ‘that are relevant in the North but not necessarily in the South’ (p. 48). This remark brings to the fore not only issue related to the relevance of higher education formation and productions to the social expectations of local communities but also the question of epistemic justice and its corollary, the (in)equality of access to higher learning. According to Santos (2017), the historical identity and vocation of the university as such is to be a public good which task is to maintain the connection of a society with its own history and cultural identity through the knowledge and training it offers. Ultimately, the university is a privileged public space potentially dedicated to the exchange of ideas on a critical and open basis. Unfortunately, ‘in the past 30 years, for different but convergent reasons, in various parts of the world the university has become – rather than a solution

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for societal problems – an additional problem’ (Santos, 2017, p.xiii). Indeed, the wave of protests that spread from South Africa five years ago to almost all the continent and beyond, namely as a demand to abrogate study fees is an indicator of a profound rift between the ideal of the university as an institution dedicated to the free development and advancement of the intellect, life, reason, and mind and its modern reconfiguration as ‘a springboard for global markets’ (Mbembe, 2016, p.38). It is undeniable that one of the most challenging issues that face the university today is the radical turn towards its transformation into a capital-based institution that functions like any other business enterprise. As Mbembe (2016) pithily puts it, ‘today, global markets are in many ways shaping university reforms worldwide. Contemporary changes in higher education are based on the deepening of functional linkages between higher education and knowledge capitalism’ (p. 39). This is an issue that a reflection on how to decolonise higher education in Africa can definitely not overlook in future. One of the main consequences of global incentives to turn the university into a capitalist enterprise is the widening of the poverty gap and the reduction of the possibilities to access higher education for the most financially fragile social layers. This would turn the university into an institution that fosters injustice and social inequality instead of being a haven for the promotion and of humanistic values and ideals. Gorostiaga’s (1993) words bemoaning the dramatic loss of ontological direction by Latin American universities and their silent sliding into counter-values are strikingly relevant to most African universities in the postcolonial era: What, then does it mean to train “successful” professionals in this sea of poverty? Does an institution that does not confront the injustice surrounding it that does not question the crisis of a civilisation that is ever less universalisable to the great majority of the world, merit the name of “university”? Would not such an institution be simply one more element that reproduces this unequal system? (as quoted by Brock Utne, 1993, p. 47). These are important issues that call for a ‘refoundation of the university’ (Santos, 2017, p. xxi) and a renewed effort to rethink its status, role, and pertinence in postcolonial African socio-political contexts. The question of how to concretely achieve such a refoundation in the particular context of postcolonial Africa remains open, especially with regards not only to the number of higher education institutions1 but foremost to the variety of their status and role within national political agendas, disciplinary configurations, socio-cultural engagements, and scientific priorities. Closely related to the disciplinary issue, is the question of decolonising natural sciences. Do they share similar specificities like the humanities so as to make the decolonisation process in higher education run along homogenous lines? Beyond any debate about academic freedom and self-determination, these are also issues related to national policy and political decisions as it is the case with questions of adequate funding for universities or research institutes.

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Other general questions could not be thoroughly examined in the present volume for the same reasons stated above. These are, for instance, the perpetual issue of low research output and innovation, the lack of harmonisation among higher education systems at a continental level, particularly evident in the absence of study in Africa programs (Mbembe, 2016, p.42). But there is the utmost important question of the global expansion of higher education leading to unprecedented students and academic staff mobility. Dovetailed in this last point is the delicate question of the financial status, social perception, and work conditions of the main actors of higher education institutions. These conditions which are generally known to be inadequate or even disastrous are most of the time an indirect outcome of obsolete structures and laws inherited from colonial administrations (Ndiaye, 2000, p.169). On top of all this one should also take into account the increasing presence and influence of China and other countries (India, Gulf States, and Singapore) on the academic scene causing a shift in academic mobility from West to East. Is this new pole of attraction paving the way for a new form of cultural colonisation for which a new struggle for decolonisation will have to be initiated in a few decades? The future will tell. However, it is apprehended or conceived of, the future is always the outcome of our (mis)management of the present and our resistances to the lessons of the past. There are numerous and legitimate voices predicting the loss of significance of the university as such at a global scale. Higher education in Africa, even if completely freed of colonial external influences through decolonisation will remain, as an entity and an institution, a microcosmic representation of a universal production of humanity as a whole. As well-reflected in its etymology, the concept of university is one of the most salient expression of the unity of humanity against all forms of relativisms. As such, its future is also closely related to the future of humanity as a whole. This is to say that the current uncertainties about the future of academic institutions that eventually prompt Santos to ask ‘whether the university, as we know it, indeed has a future at all’ (p. xiv) are global issues that should be a matter of concern for everyone interested in the progress of knowledge and science. In this context, the impact of the 2019/2020 Corona pandemic on the academy globally and on higher education institutions in Africa in particular cannot be overlooked in the framework of a reflection on postcoloniality and decolonisation. Besides their deadly deplorable consequences, natural catastrophes and pandemics have always been valuable sources of knowledge and leap forward for humankind.

Hybridity in times of Corona While some might argue that the pinnacle of the decolonisation discourse is over and publications start to become repetitive, we find it more than timely to continue to speak of decolonisation in times of Corona; especially through our foregrounding of hybridity. The multiplicity of realities is tangible more

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than ever in every living room across the globe brought by media coverage on the Corona virus of 2019/2020. ‘COVID-19 constitutes a catastrophic experience … an event that escapes the homogenizing influence of teleological narrative’ (El Maarouf et al., 2020, p. 2). It signifies an interruption and therefore a hybrid third space in Bhabha’s sense. Differentiation in the sense of fanning out instead of essentialising, can be read as a decolonial practice. Moroccan sociologist Abdelkebir Khatibi recommends using Western theorems of difference as spelled out by Bhabha and his contemporaries as a strategic weapons for ‘effective decolonization’ and ‘concrete thinking of difference’ (Khatibi, 1983, p.20, as cited by El Maarouf et al., 2020, p.3). Representing a crucial turning point, Covid-19 might mean for decolonisation in higher education a chance as well as a demise. Thinking through the virus about the end – of no less than the world as we know it – ‘informs people’s ability to find a new thread (a new beginning) at the end of the line’ as implicit in the original Greek meaning of apocalypse as ‘uncovering, disclosure, and revelation’ (El Maarouf et al., 2020, p. 3). Corona has sharpened inequalities in every realm and brought to light ‘coexisting temporalities’ that offer analysing and – subject to critical suspicion – seeing ‘decoloniality and decoroniality’ (El Maarouf et al., 2020, p.16) through the same analytical grid. Medium and long-term effects of the pandemic are not yet to be estimated. Inevitably, this will also affect higher education globally; especially in terms of available funding. While most lecturers and students excelled their digital skills within weeks and by now are in the majority quite familiar with the new ways of teaching and communicating (provided they had the required infrastructure available), Corona threw some of us back while others speeded ahead in studies and research (Flatherthy, 2020; Minello, 2020). What is more, Corona discourses of constant crisis will push aside decolonisation debates for instance in South Africa, as there are seemingly more urgent issues to deal with. Or not. It seems that the killing of George Floyd in the USA and the subsequent global renaissance of BlackLivesMatter does not accidently coincide with the pinnacle of the Corona catastrophe: It is indeed ironic if not paradoxical how the way this coronavirus microscopically manifests and reveals that it has already come with the “invisible” vaccine (the furtive hope) for shuttering our coloniality. In the way, it wages a raid on the ‘human’ category, irrespective of visatic protocols, genetics of nobility, dialectics of skin, or politics of class, it helps us “center our concerns and world views” (Smith, 2012, 39)2 (El Maarouf et al., 2020, p.16). The reasonable wearing of masks is at the same time a physical reminder and strong symbol of silencing and restriction of participation. Worldwide, people feel suffocated by the rise of white supremacists and authoritarian populism and after a long period of physical immobility, have a strong urge

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to act and march. In their wake, they also pull down statues of colonialists following the famous example of the Fallists at the University of Cape Town (see Daniel this volume). So, the movement embodies a distinctly decolonial process going beyond the realm of higher education but affecting this field in return nevertheless. When awareness of persisting colonial structures in society and politics at large is achieved, the way for overdue changes such as reprioritizing and ‘recharging of ethics’ (El Maarouf et al., 2020, p.15) in higher educated is paved. In sum, while economic restrictions caused by the pandemic will locally impede transformation on the one hand, the current global discoursive salience of decoloniality, on the other hand, will bring about the necessary political power to effect profound institutional changes.

Towards a hybrid future The central argument of the book lies in the importance of constructing a heterotopia (Foucault, 1984) [See also Daniel’s contribution to this volume], hybrid alternative future that recognizes and accommodates diverse epistemological traditions. Instead of understanding hybridity as a simplistic binary equation of adding ‘the West and the Rest’ (Ferguson, 2012) we, quite contrarily, value Bhabha’s notion of liminal spaces, where productive conceptual innovation can emerge. The multiplicity of realities is tangible more than ever in all epistemic traditions and knowledge production processes across different cultures challenging Eurocentric concepts and ways of knowing (see Clemens this volume). The German Afrikanistik case discussed in Turner’s chapter also proves that hybridity in the decolonisation process can reform curriculum from within without abolishing itself. Reflecting on diverse experiences from history, translation studies, curriculum, linguistics, land administration, and literature, the book discusses different perspectives of decolonisation, which started as a process against the domination of the Western conception of knowledge that has historically marginalized, silenced, stereotyped and decentred alternative epistemologies. We acknowledge that the argument towards hybridity as a re-centering and decolonisation approach might trigger controversy and criticisms within the context of postcolonial theory. Nevertheless, it is important to contract a practical argument that reflects the empirical realities on the ground, which this book endeavours to carry out. Hybridity as discussed and interpreted in this book, stresses the importance of interdependence, mutual construction of subjectivities, and intercultural dialogue among different knowledge traditions. The book argues that African knowledge systems and Euro-American epistemic traditions are not necessarily contradictory, rather complement each other in the process of knowledge production. The general stance of the various chapters parallels Bakhtin’s (1981, p.358) definition of hybridisation as ‘an encounter,’ in the space of an utterance, between different linguistic consciousness’s, separated

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by time, social differentiation, or some other facto.’ Hence, the persevering focalisation of the contributions in this volume on historical and conceptual convergences, and the subsequent effort to stay beyond sterile crystallisations on colonial responsibilities, at the expense of the more urgent task of defining a future within the de facto hybrid space historically created. We argue that decolonisation is not an exclusive process and business of the Global South, but a complex interdependent process of both the so-called global South and North. It is about creating a common meeting/contact zone as a third space to overcome the exoticism of cultural diversity in favour of the recognition of empowering hybridity.

Notes 1. According to the ‘UniRank’ database in 2020, there are currently 1.225 officially recognized higher education institutions in Africa representing 8.9% or the world total which reveal a remarkable underrepresentation when one considers that Africa represent 16,1% of the world’s population. The subdivision public/private institutions of higher learning reveal quite a well-balanced parity with 586 public universities and 601 private. Source: UniRank, “Universities in Africa/Higher Education in Africa”: https://www.4icu.org/Africa/ 2. Smith, L. T. (2012). Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples., 2nd ed. Zed Books.

References Baer, B. C. (2014). What is Special about Postcolonial Translation?. In Bermann, S. & Porter, C. (Eds.). A Companion to Translation Studies, (pp. 233–245). West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Bakhtin, M. M. (1981). The Dialogic Imagination. Texas: University of Texas Press. Beisel, U. (2019). What might we learn from ANT for studying healthcare issues in the majority world, and what might ANT learn in turn?. In: Blok, A., Farías, I., Roberts, C. (Eds.). Routledge Companions. The Routledge Companion to Actor-Network Theory, (pp. 246–255). London: Routledge. Bergson, H. (1935). The Two Sources of Morality and Religion, New York: Henry Holt and Company. Brock-Utne, B. (2003). Formulating Higher Education Policies in Africa: The Pressure from External Forces and the Neoliberal Agenda. JHEA/RESA 1(1), pp. 24–56. El Maarouf, M. D., Belghazi, T., & El Maarouf, F. (2020). COVID – 19: A Critical Ontology of the present 1. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 33(4), 1–19. Ezeanya, C. (2016). Research, Innovation and Indigenous Knowledge in Sub-Saharan Africa: In Search of a Nexus. In Heshmati, A. (Ed.). Economic Integration, Currency Union, and Sustainable and Inclusive Growth in East-Africa, (pp. 99–114). Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Ezeanya-Esiobu, C. (2019). Indigenous Knowledge and Education in Africa. Frontiers in African Business Research, Singapore: Springer. Flatherthy, C. (21 April 2020). No Room of One’s Own. Inside Higher Ed. https:// www.insidehighered.com/news/2020/04/21/early-journal-submission-data-suggestcovid-19-tanking-womens-research-productivity.

240  Abraham Brahima, Irina Turner, and Emnet T. Woldegiorgis Foucault, M. (1984). Of Other Spaces, Heterotopias. In Architecture, Mouvement, Contituité, no 5, pp. 46–49. Gorostiaga, X. (1993). New times, new role for universities of the South. Envio: The Monthly Magazine of Analysis on Central America, 12(144), 29–40. Harding, S. G. (ed.). (2011). The Postcolonial Science and Technology Studies Reader. Durham, NC: Duke Univ. Press. Khatibi, A. (1983). Maghreb Pluriel. Paris: Denoel. Mazrui, A.A. (2003). Towards re-africanizing african universities: Who killed intellectualism in the post colonial era?. Alternatives: Turkish Journal of International Relations, 2(3–4). 1-29 Mbembe, J. A. (2016). Decolonising the University: New Directions. Arts & Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), pp. 29–45. Minello, A. (17 April 2020). The pandemic and the female academic. Nature. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-020-01135-9 Mudimbe, V. Y. (1988). The Invention of Africa: Gnosis, Philosophy, and the Order of Knowledge. Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Ndiaye, F. (2000). La condition des universitaires sénégalais. In Lebeau, Y., & Ogunsanya, M. (Eds.). The Dilemma of Post-Colonial Universities. Elite Formation and the Restructuring of Higher Education in Sub-Saharian Africa, pp. (169–207). Ibadan: Institut français de Recherche en Afrique. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2017a). The Emergence and Trajectories of Struggles for an ‘African University’: The Case of Unfinished Business of African Epistemic Decolonisation. Kronos 43(1), 51–77. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. J. (2017b). The Case for a Decolonised/Africanised Africa. In Msila, V. (Ed.). Decolonising Knowledge for Africa’s Renewal. Examining African Perspectives and Philosophies, (pp. x–xv). Randburg, South Africa: KR Publishing. Nyerere, J. K. (1966). Freedom and Unity: Uhuru na Umoja. A Selection From Writings and Speeches 1952-1965. London, Nairobi, Dar es Salaam, Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Popp, J. (2018). How Indigenous Knowledge Advances Modern Science and Technology. The Conversation, https://theconversation.com/how-indigenous-knowledge-advancesmodern-science-and-technology-89351. Volume 2, 1-6 Santos, B. de S. (2017). Decolonising the University. The Challenge of Deep Cognitive Justice, Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Schramm, K. (2017). Einführung: Postkoloniale STS, In: Bauer, S.; Heinemann, T.; Lemke, T. (Eds.), Science and Technology Studies: Klassische Positionen und Aktuelle Perspektiven, (pp. 471–494). Berlin: Suhrkamp. Tharakan, J. (2017). Indigenous Knowledge Systems for Appropriate Technology Development. In Venkatesan, P. (Ed.). Indigenous People, Rijeka, Croatia: InTech Open Science. 10.5772/intechopen.69889. Van Binsbergen, W. (2003). Intercultural Encounters. African and Anthropological Lessons Towards a Philosophy of Interculturality, Münster: LIT Verlag. Wa Thiong’o, N. (1993). Moving the Centre. The Struggle for Cultural Freedoms. Nairobi and London: East African Educational Publishers and James Currey. Wa Thiong’o, N. (2016). Secure the Base. Making Africa Visible in the Globe. London, New York and Calcutta: Seagull Books. Warwick, A. (2002). Introduction: Postcolonial Technoscience. Social Studies of Science, 32(5/6), 643–658.

Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “f ” means the dealing of the respective keyword stretches on to the next page; “ff” means the term is discussed over more than the following page. Actor Network Theory 44, 105, 106ff, 110f; see also Network Theory Adamant reflexivity 9, 46, 48ff, 52 Africa (definition and in relation) 2f, 32, 89–90, 96, 125, 159, 162 African 18, 22, 52, 84, 206 African heritage 18, 20, 23, 232 African knowledge (systems) 3, 20, 36, 52, 60, 65, 66, 85, 118, 126, 128–129, 213–214, 233, 238; see also African epistemology African languages 67, 79, 82, 86, 94f, 96, 119–120, 125, 127, 131–132, 177ff, 219 African socialism 165 African Studies 77, 79, 80ff, 88, 91, 123 Africanisation 6, 7, 9, 18, 25ff, 40, 51, 62, 66, 70, 84, 118, 128, 132, 134, 161 Afrikaans 60, 63f, 119, 197 Afrikanistik 80ff, 89, 95f Afro-Asian 160, 163 Algeria (People’s Democratic Republic of ), Algerian 21, 140ff Amharic 94, 119, 178 Anthropocene 100f Anthropology 9, 41ff, 44, 46 Appropriation 9, 14, 130, 133, 147, 178, 218, 221 Arab/Arabic 2, 38, 67, 95, 119, 132, 135, 140, 142ff, 169, 219 Arabisation 141ff Asia 170f Authorship 179ff

AVVA, African Verbal and Visual Arts 79f, 83ff Azania 194, 201ff Bakhtin, Mikhail 238 Berber 140ff Bhabha, Homi 5f, 141, 237 Black 52, 206ff, 209 Black students 195ff, 208 BlackLivesMatter 237 Blackness 202f, 207 Bourdieu, Pierre 109, 148 China, PRC 160ff, 234, 236 Chinese 38, 133, 154, 160ff, 182f Civil society 142, 154, 208, Cold War 159, 161ff Colonial, colonialism 4, 7f, 11, 14, 17f, 20ff, 40, 42, 47, 65, 67, 81f, 84f, 87, 118, 119ff, 129, 142, 145ff, 196, 209, 222ff Colonial administration 21ff, 146, 149, 236 Colonial science 116, 125, 6f Coloniality xvii, 1, 4f, 65, 72, 79, 84ff, 86, 124f, 143 Colonisation 1, 38 Conceptual decolonisation 118, 124, 126, 131 Consciousness 48, 83, 85, 135, 167f, 195, 198, 200, 206, 232, 238 Creole 106, 180f Cross-cultural xv, xvii, 42, 102, 115, 126 Cultural conflict 147 Culture 6, 9, 36, 41f, 52, 86, 101, 104, 110, 122, 132f, 162, 170, 182 De Sousa Santos, Boaventura xvii, 6f, 124f, 231ff

242  Index De Souza, Menenes Lynn Mario 4 Decolonial xvi f, 2, 4 Decoloniality 2, 6, 61ff, 74, 194, 198, 201, 209, 237 Decolonisation xv ff, 1ff, 17ff, 38, 40ff, 66, 79, 83ff, 90ff, 113ff, 119ff, 130ff, 159, 162, 166, 195ff, 231ff Decolonising the Mind 29, 49, 159, 160, 167, 172, 178 Diaspora 3, 26, 33, 52, 84, 153 Diffusion 100, 105, 111 Diversity 9, 37, 41, 65ff, 101, 140, 200, 207, 231 Domination 129 ECAS 78 Education, higher education xvii, 1ff, 17ff, 51, 61ff, 68, 87, 97, 101, 108f, 113ff, 144ff, 160f, 164, 167, 169ff, 188, 193, 196, 236f, 239 Encounters 5, 100, 111ff, 124, 132, 238 Endogenous 5f, 8, 118, 214, 217ff English 60, 63f, 71, 86, 91, 96, 103, 112, 119f, 139, 141, 151, 153ff, 159, 160, 166, 168, 169, 172, 177, 180, 184, 186 Enlightenment 14, 38, 145 Epistemic xv ff, 2, 13n1, 24, 30, 78 Epistemic diversity 36, 44, 46, 101, 111, 231 Epistemic violence 30, 67, 68 Epistemology xvi, xvii, 5f, 7, 28ff, 38–39, 50–51, 60ff, 67, 85, 102f, 124, 128ff, 238 Escobar, Arturo 86 Essentialism 39, 65, 67, 84f, 128, 233 Ethnography 213 Eurocentrism, Eurocentric 1ff, 26, 30, 37, 65, 84, 97, 177, 232 Europe, European 19ff, 36, 52, 67, 78ff, 86, 90f, 101ff, 119, 130, 147, 158, 170, 185f, 196f, 208, 209 Eutopia 199 Ewe 178 Extraversion 129 Fanon, Franz 5, 28, 52n2, 159, 198 FeesMustFall, Fallism 60, 62, 78, 193, 196 Foucault, Michel 30, 73, 200, 207, 238 francophone 90, 94, 148–150, 186–188, 190n15, 213–214 francophile 148 Freire, Paulo 68 French: colonial rule 4, 11, 22, 129, 145–149, 155n8, 155n12, 214, 217, 219,

220, 222–227; education system 24, 85, 155n13, 155n17; language and culture 91, 94, 119, 120, 124, 132–133, 140– 142, 151–153, 177, 179–183, 186–187; numbers 112 Galison, Peter 10, 100, 105–106 Gikuyu 132, 159, 161, 165, 168, 178 Global: globalisation 3, 6, 61, 70, 95, 150, 231; knowledge 7, 9, 18, 32, 36, 38, 40–41, 49, 50, 52, 65, 91 231; North 53n6, 67–68; science 38, 41, 50, 52, 85, 87, 93; South 1, 2, 6, 13, 20, 36, 40, 53n6, 60, 72, 115n2, 173n11, 239 Gnosis 128 Grosfoguel, Ramon 79 Hegemony 6, 20, 60, 64, 71, 84, 121, 232 Heterogeneous 5, 6, 14, 81, 130, 182, 232 Heterotopia 200, 201, 204, 207, 208, 238 Higher education 1–11, 13, 17–33, 36, 50–52, 60–64, 71, 74, 95, 97, 113, 132, 134, 140–142, 144–155, 164, 169–172, 188, 196, 213, 214, 226, 227, 230–240 Hybridity 3–6, 8–11, 13, 14, 76, 140, 142, 147, 154, 188, 230–232, 236, 238, 239 Identity 6, 9, 10, 12, 25, 27–29, 35, 40, 56, 68, 69, 72, 84, 86, 90, 96, 118, 122, 141, 147, 152, 153, 161, 169, 179, 180, 182, 183, 185, 187–189, 196, 198, 205, 206, 208, 234 Indigenous 7, 9, 11, 12, 15, 17, 20, 22–24, 30, 32, 56, 58, 64, 71, 72, 101, 102, 106, 111, 114–116, 120, 122, 124, 134, 143, 146, 147, 177, 213, 214, 223, 225, 240 Internationalization 32, 55, 150, 152, 153, 155 Knowledge systems 7, 240 Learning spaces 19, 20, 23, 24, 32 Legacies 23, 29, 40, 164 Liberating perspective 29, 161 Local 1, 2, 5–9, 11, 13, 15–17, 21, 30, 37, 40, 41, 45, 47, 50, 55, 60, 68, 69, 72–74, 88, 125, 128, 130, 133, 143, 145, 146, 162, 164, 166, 168, 170, 177, 181, 186, 213, 214, 216–218, 220, 222, 224, 227, 229, 231, 234

Index 243 Makgoba Mogobe 18, 26–29, 34, 36, 40, 56, 137 Mbembe Achille 16, 28–30, 35–37, 39, 40, 56, 66, 76, 89, 94, 98, 124, 137, 161, 175, 193, 211, 231, 232, 235, 236, 240 Ndlovu-Gatsheni Sabelo 4, 7, 14, 15, 17, 18, 15, 25, 35, 79, 83, 84, 85, 86, 96, 97, 98, 124, 138, 195, 211, 230, 231, 232, 234, 240 Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o 14n6, 29, 162, 172 Occupation 12, 175, 200, 209 Outopia 199 Pan-African, pan-Africanism 25–26, 31, 125, 132, 165, 169, 194–195, 198, 208 Paradigm: African 26–30, 39; alternative 45, 51, 52n5, 72; postcolonial paradigms, 14n5; shift 124 Philosophy: education 23, 231; ethno- 45, Indian 102, 115n1, 115n3, 115n4; 114, Jaina 115n5, 128, 148, Negritude 198; science 38–39, 49, 51; Ubuntu 61 Pidgin 106, 186 Pluralistic 3, 24, 33, 88, 101, 227, 232 Policy: AAU 27, 32; Algerian 141–142, 146, 148, 150, 153; British Colonial 21–22; China 160; French 22, 120; German colonial 82; land management 214, 222, 226; language/linguistic 61, 62, 125, 131, 142, 154, 188; LPHE 63–64; national 235; process at NMU 71–72 Politics: Kenyan 164–165, 194, 196, 207; knowledge 30, 38, 40–41, 51, 52n4; language 29, 66, 86, 160, 178; naming 13n1; race 81–82; 94, translation 123; 159; Writers in 164, 167, 172n1 Portuguese 4, 22–23, 179 Positionality 3, 48, 167, 169, 171, 205 Postcolonial, postcolonialism xvi, 2, 3–5; governance 226; knowledge 227, 232; nation/state 171, 213; science 234; society 141; 153; studies 159, 160, 162, 166, 172n4; subjects 12, 14n5–6, 18, 24–25, 27–28; teaching/education 86, 89–90, 96n3, 100, 102, 118–120, 230–231; theory 29, 129–130, 159; translation 121–136; university 30; 65, 79, 83–84, 231, 235

Postcoloniality 236 Post-colony 121 Power: access 71, 143; asymmetry 121– 124, 133; binaries 62; Black 198, 199; colonial 20–23, 67–68, 106, 120, 129, 162, 169–170; decentring 48, 207–208; deconstruction 50, 112; economic 133; epistemic/knowledge 30, 36, 42, 51, 65, 69, 171; institutional 14n4, 15, 106; play 215: 221, 230, 232; relations 4–5, 10, 41, 46, 48, 66, 78, 84, 87, 104, 114, 119, 204; struggles 134 Pre-colonial 17, 19–20, 23, 30, 32, 84, 194, 198, 226 Protest 12, 60–64, 74n1, 94, 142, 193–209, 231, 235 Public administration 149 Purity 101 Radicality 44 Raina, Dhruv 10, 100–6, 112, 116n3–4 Re-centering 161, 163, 169, 170, 172, 174, 232, 238 Relationality 3, 9, 10, 100, 103, 105–107, 114 Relativity 42, 49, 133, 183–186 Rhodes Cecil 62, 70, 162, 193, 195, 197, 203, 207, 213 Rhodes Must Fall 62, 94, 160, 193, 195, 201, 205 Science 2, 7, 9–11, 36, 39, 44, 46–49, 51, 62, 67, 83, 86, 88, 104–105, 114, 127, 129, 133, 134, 140, 144–145, 147, 151, 232, 236; colonial 6, 118, 125, 152; hybrid 2, 3, 9, 10, 65–66, 68–69, 101; natural 9, 52n5, 89, 141, 152, 234–235; social, 11, 29, 42, 47, 80, 111, 141, 148, 152, 226–227 Scientific 2, 5, 7–9, 11, 26–27, 36, 38–39, 41–43, 47–48, 50–51, 52n5, 86, 93, 101–102, 104–106, 110, 114, 118–119, 123–128, 130, 132–134, 141, 143, 148– 153, 163, 180, 233, 235; knowledge, 5, 7, 11, 26, 36, 38–39, 42–43, 47–48, 51, 101–102, 114, 233 Seepe, Sipho 27, 36, 40, 78, 118, 139 Sesotho 71, 119 Shona 178 Sinification 163 SOAS 94 socialism 25, 163, 165

244  Index South Africa 6, 9, 19, 32, 60–74, 78, 81, 94, 97n7, 97n14, 127, 135–136, 136n11, 193–197, 206, 209n2–3, 216, 231, 234, 235, 237 Spivak, Gayatri 13n1, 30, 78, 97n12 Stories 107–115 Structural violence 11, 141, 147–149, 152, 154, 195, 197, 202, 207 Subversion 121, 128 Swahili 25, 33n3, 67, 94–95, 119, 169, 178, 186 Symbol 37, 107, 145, 163, 181, 185–186, 188, 193–194, 200–201, 237 Symbolic 6, 14n4, 64, 120–122, 141, 154, 160, 173n5, 182, 185–186, 189n9, 194 System 1, 6, 7, 17, 23, 30–32, 50, 63, 65, 67, 73, 86–89, 91, 97n9, 103–104, 112, 115n3, 145–147, 185–188, 190n15, 195, 198, 218, 221, 225, 235; education, 13, 18–20, 22, 24, 26, 32, 140–141, 150– 153, 155n11, 168, 170, 177, 179, 230, 236, 238; knowledge, 2, 3, 9, 12, 17, 18, 20, 29, 33, 36–39, 41–44, 46–48, 51–52, 118, 124, 128, 214, 216–217, 219, 227, 232 Tamazight 140, 142, 143, 145–146, 150 Tensions, generative 100, 111, 113 Third space 5, 7, 133–134, 237, 239 Tifinagh 143 Trading zones 10, 100, 105–106, 114–115 Transformation 1, 9, 12, 17, 18, 29–30, 33, 36, 52, 60–62, 66, 70, 100–101, 106, 108, 114, 118, 121–122, 128, 167–169, 194–195, 198–200, 202–203, 205, 208, 228n8, 231, 233, 235, 238 Translanguaging 65, 67, 71, 73, 127 Translation 11, 42, 44, 45, 66, 72, 112–113, 118–134, 135n4–6, 135n8, 135n11, 136n12, 161–163, 173n6, 173n11, 183, 227, 234, 238

Truth 8, 30, 38–39, 41, 43, 46, 49, 52, 83–84, 95, 103–104, 233 Twi 90, 178 Ubuntu 61, 65, 67–69, 73 Ujamaa 165 Universal 5, 8, 10, 14n7, 28, 36–39, 44, 48, 86, 88, 91, 96n4, 102, 108–109, 111, 114, 124, 188, 200, 213, 227, 231–233, 236 Universality 8, 51, 85, 87, 101–102, 114, 170, 231 University 6, 9, 10, 12, 20–23, 25, 27, 31, 33n2, 51, 60–66, 68–72, 74, 79–81, 83, 85, 87, 89, 93–96, 96n3, 97n11, 97n14, 112–113, 136n11, 142, 144–146, 148–151, 153, 154n5, 155n10–11, 155n13, 160, 163, 168–171, 172n3, 195–198, 202–207, 209n5, 213–214, 231–236, 238 University of Cape Town 12–13, 21, 42, 62, 193–195, 238 University of Nairobi 33n3, 97n14, 160, 168, 172n3, 172n8 Untranslatability 120, 123, 180 Utopia 79, 80, 84, 90, 199, 200, 208, 209n3 Verran, Helen 100, 111–113, 115n7 Weltanschauungen 128 Westermann, Dietrich 81, 83 Western knowledge 3, 23, 24, 36, 40, 44, 47, 66, 84, 161 Whiteness 5, 205 Xhosa 95, 119, 178 Yoruba 94, 111–114, 119, 178 Zedong, Mao 159, 162–164, 173n5–6 Zulu 71, 94, 119, 178