Category: The Conversation

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jonathan Beloff, Postdoctoral Research Associate, King’s College London

The Congolese military court has accused former president Joseph Kabila of treason, corruption, war crimes and supporting the March 23 Movement (M23) rebel group. During court proceedings that began in July 2025, arguments were made for utilising the death penalty against Kabila, who was in power from 2001 to 2019. The trial is going on in Kabila’s absence as the threat of arrest led him into exile. The former president had fought against the M23’s first iteration in 2012-2013, as well as its predecessor, the National Congress for the Defence of the People, which fought the DRC government between 2006 and 2009. Jonathan R. Beloff, who has studied the regional and internal political dynamics in the DRC for over a decade, examines the implications of the case.

What is Joseph Kabila’s political history?

Joseph Kabila took over as president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) on 26 January 2001 after the assassination of his father, Laurent-Désiré. He was 29.

Before this, during the First Congo War (1996-1997), he served in the Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo, which aimed to overthrow the Zairean dictator Joseph Mobutu. This war has been labelled “Africa’s World War” by historians like Gérard Prunier because of the large number of foreign actors it involved. These include Angola, Burundi, Uganda and Rwanda.

A significant number of soldiers and commanders in the alliance were Rwandan. Much of the war was conducted by Rwandan General James Kabarebe, who became a de facto father figure for Kabila, training him in military strategy, tactics and politics.

A breakdown in Rwanda’s relationship with the DRC in 1998 led to the bloody Second Congo War (1998-2003). It was between Uganda, Rwanda and to a lesser extent Burundi, who fought against the DRC and its allies like Angola and Zimbabwe. The war was mostly fought by rebels from these nations who had varying interests. During this period, Kabila became the deputy chief of staff for the Congolese military.

After he became president, he successfully applied pressure on Rwanda and Uganda to negotiate peace agreements in 2002.

Overall, his presidential term was marred by the persecution of political rivals, corruption and multiple active rebel forces in the volatile eastern region.

Further, despite the DRC’s constitution forbidding it, Kabila extended his presidency from two five-year terms, only stepping down in 2019. A political deal was struck that saw him relinquish power and hand over to Felix Tshisekedi.

What has happened to Kabila since then?

Kabila and his successor have not seen eye to eye.

Since departing from power, the former president has faced increased accusations of corruption during his presidency. Further, by 2021, many of Kabila’s supporters within the government and military had been removed.

The relationship between the two further soured in 2023 when Kabila spoke out against Tshisekedi’s handling of the M23’s violent campaign in eastern DRC. Kabila has also criticised Tshisekedi’s use of uncontrolled militias, Wazalendo, who have been unsuccessful in combating the M23.

Kabila went into self-exile, reportedly in South Africa and other African nations, that year. He returned to eastern DRC’s regional hub Goma in May 2025, when he met with M23 leaders.

The Congolese government used Kabila’s visit to M23-controlled Goma to justify the charges brought against him. Further, the government suspended Kabila’s political party, Parti du Peuple pour la Reconstruction et la Démocratie. The party represented Kabila’s interest in Congo’s legislative branch.

Soon after the party’s suspension, the senate stripped Kabila of his immunity, allowing charges to be filed against the former president.

Why is the case against Kabila before a military court?

While Kabila doesn’t hold any political or military post – he last served as president and major-general in January 2019 – his past experience in the army led to a military rather than civilian process.

Additionally, the case is before a military court as Kabila is accused of committing treason by meeting with an opposing military force, the M23. The government seized his assets after he met and engaged with leaders of the rebel group.

While it’s not the most significant charge, Kabila also faces accusations of massive corruption during his 18-year presidency. Further, he’s being held accountable for past military decisions that led to war crimes, murder and rape during and after the Second Congo War (1998-2003).

What are the implications of the court case for DRC’s peace process?

In June 2025, Rwanda and the DRC signed a peace agreement following negotiations led by Qatar and the United States.

On the surface, the agreement could lead to regional stability and growth. However, for Tshisekedi, it is a landmine of political risks.

Since the M23’s resurgence in November 2021, Tshisekedi has blamed Rwanda, as well as the Banyarwanda and Banyamulenge, who are historically Rwandan populations resident in eastern DRC, for the return of the rebel group.

The new peace deal significantly complicates Tshisekedi’s relationship with his key political allies and ministers. If they begin to believe he is caving in to Rwanda, Tshisekedi could lose the presidency ahead of next year’s election.

Thus, in my view, based on my research on Congolese instability, Tshisekedi needed to find a political distraction that his supporters could rally behind.

Kabila’s return to Goma and relationship with the M23 provided that opportunity. The court case allows Tshisekedi to highlight his fight against the rebel group and its allies. The Congolese military has been unable to significantly halt the M23’s advances.

The case also allows the president to demonstrate his tough stance on opposition figures.

However, Tshisekedi will need to be careful of the potential implications of the case for himself. Kabila’s remaining loyalists could become even more daring in standing up against Tshisekedi. While a majority were removed, there are still some left.

– Joseph Kabila is on trial for treason in the DRC. What the case against the former president is all about
– https://theconversation.com/joseph-kabila-is-on-trial-for-treason-in-the-drc-what-the-case-against-the-former-president-is-all-about-264412

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Richard Atimniraye Nyelade, Lecturer, Sociological and Anthropological Studies, L’Université d’Ottawa/University of Ottawa

Fatima, a fisherwoman on Lake Chad, sets out at dawn not just to make a living from the shrinking waters, but to pay a “tax”. Before casting her net, she must hand over part of her meagre earnings to armed men claiming allegiance to Boko Haram. If she refuses, her catch, her boat, even her life, could be taken.

Boko Haram is an insurgent network that began in north-east Nigeria in 2002 and later fractured into two main factions: JAS (Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad, the original Boko Haram faction) and ISWAP (Islamic State West Africa Province, the Islamic State affiliate in the region). Both operate across Nigeria, Niger, Chad and Cameroon.

Economic shakedowns like this are happening every day throughout the Lake Chad Basin. This is a vast, drought-stricken region spanning the borderlands around Lake Chad in north-eastern Nigeria, south-eastern Niger, western Chad and northern Cameroon. It is home to more than 30 million people whose livelihoods depend on fishing, farming and herding.

I am a researcher of climate-related insecurity and conflict. In a recent paper, I looked at how environmental degradation, regional instability and external geopolitical interests are exacerbating the conflict in the region. The study drew on qualitative analysis of security reports and academic literature. These include the United Nations Development Programme’s 2022 conflict analysis of the Lake Chad Basin and the World Food Programme’s 2024 climate and food-security report.

The paper sets out how Boko Haram has come to operate like a parallel government, imposing taxes on trade, farming and fishing. It offers harsh order in exchange for revenue.

I conclude from my findings that war is no longer driven only by belief. It’s driven by a collapsing economy, ecological ruin and the absence of viable alternatives.

Understanding these factors is crucial for developing comprehensive security strategies. Based on the findings I recommend five interventions: investment in the ecological recovery of the region; the strengthening of cross-border intelligence to choke the illicit trade in fish, cattle, arms and people; transparency from foreign players about their motives; the rebuilding of local economies and support for displaced communities; and lastly the rebuilding of trust with local communities.

Environmental degradation

Lake Chad’s open-water area fell from about 25,000 km² in the early 1960s to lows of a few hundred km² in the 1980s, and has generally remained under one-tenth of its 1960s extent with strong variability. This is documented in satellite analyses by Nasa and the United States Geological Survey.

This isn’t just an ecological crisis. As water recedes and fertile land disappears, fishing, farming and herding collapse. The basin hosts about 30 million people across 10 subnational regions or states.

In 2024, Niger’s floods affected about 1.5 million people nationwide, with Diffa recording around 50,000 affected and authorities on alert along the Komadougou Yobe river. The Red Cross also flagged basin-wide flood emergencies that month.

The basin’s ecological collapse has turned Lake Chad into a recruitment ground. The World Food Programme shows how droughts and erratic rainfall have crushed agricultural yields. The UN Development Programme links these environmental shocks to rising displacement, hunger and extremism.

Across the shared basin, Boko Haram has built a brutal, extractive shadow economy. In Nigeria, the group at one point controlled up to half of the fish trade around Baga. Fishermen were taxed at every stage, from lake to market. Refusal brought violence.

In Cameroon, Chad, and Niger, Boko Haram factions have orchestrated cattle rustling that has decimated pastoralist communities. My research details how armed raids strip herders of their livelihoods overnight. The stolen animals are sold through cross-border smuggling networks, feeding the insurgency. The group also taxes livestock traders at makeshift checkpoints, turning rustling and market levies into steady revenue.

Across the basin, kidnapping has become an industry. The UN reports that kidnapping for ransom remains a key revenue source for Boko Haram/ISWAP, and that a “large ransom” was paid in the 2018 Dapchi schoolgirls case. What began as ideological acts, like the abduction of schoolgirls, has turned into a ruthless business model. Ransoms pay for weapons, logistics and recruitment.

Regional instability

Ecological and economic desperation fuels regional instability. As communities fracture and compete over dwindling resources, the borders of the four Chad Basin countries become highways for insurgents, smugglers and arms.

Since 2014 Boko Haram has spilled from Nigeria into Cameroon, Chad and Niger, where security forces are stretched and coordination is uneven. Arms flow through the Sahel and abuses by security actors erode public trust, which in turn eases recruitment.

The paper details how national armies, often under-equipped and struggling with coordination, have been unable to secure this vast terrain. The Multinational Joint Task Force, a regional military coalition, has had successes but is hampered by these same challenges.

This security vacuum is the space in which Boko Haram’s parallel governance and illicit economy thrive, making the crisis a truly regional one that no single country can solve alone. The result is a conflict system that crosses borders, mixes ideology with profit, and outlasts purely military responses.

Bombs not the answer

Military force alone cannot fix this. It’s necessary to address the root causes, ecological collapse, broken livelihoods, and the economic lifelines that keep the insurgency going.

The Lake Chad Basin Commission is the intergovernmental body that manages the lake’s resources. Created in 1964 by Cameroon, Chad, Niger and Nigeria, and later joined by the Central African Republic and Libya, the commission and national governments must lead with urgency and courage. They must:

• invest in climate resilience, large-scale water management, drought-resistant crops, restored wetlands and sustainable fishing

• disrupt illicit trade and go after the money, not just the militants

• demand transparency from foreign actors about their agendas in the region

• rebuild local economies and trust.

Fatima’s daily struggle on Lake Chad is not just about fish. It is about the future of the region. The shrinking lake, the abandoned villages, the armed taxmen – these are not side effects. They are the story.

– Military force isn’t the solution for Lake Chad Basin conflict: the key is rebuilding local economies
– https://theconversation.com/military-force-isnt-the-solution-for-lake-chad-basin-conflict-the-key-is-rebuilding-local-economies-262640

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Rachel Wynberg, Professor and DSTI/NRF SARChI Bio-economy Research Chair, University of Cape Town

A ground-breaking benefit-sharing agreement was signed in 2019 between South Africa’s lucrative rooibos herbal tea industry and two organisations representing Indigenous San and Khoi people.

Indigenous San and Khoi – the oldest known populations of southern Africa – are traditionally hunter-gatherers and pastoralists. Their traditional knowledge also contributed towards the development of the rooibos tea industry.

Today, the commercial rooibos tea industry sells more than 22,000 tons of tea every year and has an annual export value of over US$50 million.

Although apartheid ended in 1994, the rooibos tea industry is still dominated by white-owned companies. These companies benefited from years of subsidies and protection by the apartheid government. Rooibos farmers who were classified as “Coloured” (an apartheid-era race term imposed on indigenous Khoi-San and other ethnically diverse oppressed people of colour) were excluded from the industry during this time.

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Read more: How justice can be brought to South Africa’s rooibos industry

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The 2019 access and benefit-sharing agreement was meant to change that. It is legally binding, and sets out how those who hold traditional knowledge about rooibos will benefit from the industry.

Access and benefit-sharing agreements like this one are governed by global conventions and protocols. The main aim is to stop genetic resources and traditional knowledge from being used in commercial products without consent or compensation for the traditional knowledge holders and resource owners. They also aim to prevent biopiracy. In other words, they aim to strengthen the rights of Indigenous peoples and local communities over their natural resources.

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Read more: Justice is still not being done in the exploitation of indigenous products

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Many national laws now require companies to set up these agreements. In this sense, the 2019 rooibos benefit-sharing agreement was historic because it formally recognised, for the first time, the role of San and Khoi traditional knowledge in the development of the rooibos industry.

We are anthropologists, sociologists, environmental scientists, indigenous heritage practitioners and policy researchers. We’ve carried out decades of participatory action research with small-scale rooibos farmers and other Indigenous groups.

Our research found that the 2019 rooibos agreement has not changed who owns and benefits most from rooibos. Control remains vested in an industry set up during colonialism and apartheid. This is because the white-dominated industry still owns most of the tea lands and cultivates about 93% of rooibos tea today. This allows the same commercial farmers and industry players to continue to dominate the market.

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Read more: How a South African community’s request for its genetic data raises questions about ethical and equitable research

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Less than 7% of rooibos tea lands are today controlled by Indigenous farmers. As a result, they’re only able to produce about 2% of South Africa’s rooibos tea.

Our research also found that the rooibos agreement does not grapple with local contexts and struggles over identity. While some small-scale farmers identify as Khoi-San and “first nation”, they do not always recognise the authority of the councils endorsed by the government to represent them. Other small-scale farmers do not feel a connection to a Khoi-San identity at all, instead identifying with a “Coloured” heritage.

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Read more: South Africa’s honeybush sector must transform from its unjust past: what needs to change

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These problems need to be solved now because other South African plant industries based on traditional use, such as buchu, an indigenous shrub used widely in the herbal, flavour and fragrance industries, and honeybush tea, have begun adopting the rooibos benefit-sharing model.

For biodiversity-based economies to transform, they must go beyond agreements about sharing access to plants and profits from their sale. Government must recognise local guardians of biodiversity and redistribute land, and along with industry, must embrace economic transformation. If they don’t, they run the risk of securing benefits only for the few who are politically connected and organised.

A flawed process

In 2010, the South African San Council claimed the right to benefit from rooibos and honeybush. They were later joined by the National Khoisan Council, a body initiated by former president Nelson Mandela in 1999 as a way of including Khoi-San historical leadership in post-apartheid South Africa.

Government-commissioned research at the time urged the commercial rooibos tea industry to negotiate benefit-sharing agreements with the two organisations or risk losing its licence to operate.

However, these two groups do not represent all Khoi-San groups. Many small-scale rooibos farmers, who have deep historical connections to the plant and its traditional knowledge, weren’t part of the negotiations for the agreement. Small-scale rooibos farmers are typically ethnically diverse descendants of San, Khoi, former slaves, and European settlers.

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Read more: South Africa’s traditional medicines should be used in modern health care

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They were eventually included in the final agreement as “rooibos indigenous farming communities”, but only through the National Khoisan Council and not in their own right.

The agreement offered some reparation for past injustices by establishing a “traditional knowledge levy” of 1.5% of the price that farmers receive. The levy – about US$700,000 per year – is paid to the South African San Council and National Khoisan Council.

What’s missing

The agreement has been cited as an example of best practice in equitable business. Yet small-scale rooibos farmers receive just 5% of the benefits. And they are also expected to pay towards the levy because they produce rooibos tea. Overall, they benefit little from access and benefit sharing.

The agreement doesn’t include everyone who holds traditional knowledge about rooibos, and therefore not every Indigenous rooibos grower benefits. It assumes that traditional knowledge is confined to specific groups. In contrast, research has found that Indigenous knowledge is shared across groups. It evolves and takes different forms over time.

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Read more: Archaeology is changing, slowly. But it’s still too tied up in colonial practices

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The effect of the rooibos agreement is that small-scale Indigenous farmers are less empowered. They need to find the resources to organise across large distances and find ways to get legal support if they are to benefit equally.

More widely, our research shows that the agreement has introduced a new, intervening role for the state. In this case, the state rewarded ethnically defined beneficiaries. This raises questions about the power of the state and how it controls who is entitled to receive information, knowledge and benefits.

What next?

The rooibos agreement has given recognition and economic benefits to some Indigenous groupings. It’s been hailed as a transformation milestone, but has not brought about the changes needed to address social and economic inequities. Real change would include equal access to land, a more inclusive industry, and the wider sharing of economic benefits.

Access and benefit sharing is due for radical rethink. It needs an inclusive, bold, caring and imaginative approach that should be co-designed with communities from the outset. It needs an approach that is rooted in local context. Only this will create new possibilities for inclusive economic power, sustainability and recognition.

– South Africa’s small-scale rooibos tea growers aren’t getting much from an industry deal – why it’s not fair
– https://theconversation.com/south-africas-small-scale-rooibos-tea-growers-arent-getting-much-from-an-industry-deal-why-its-not-fair-261288

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By XN Iraki, Professor, Faculty of Business and Management Sciences, University of Nairobi

The Central Bank of Kenya has made two significant changes in the country’s banking sector. The first is to lift a decade-long moratorium on licensing new banks. Second is to raise capital requirements, the amount of money banks are required to keep readily available compared with the value of other assets they have. Bank capital is what shareholders have invested in the banking business. It’s a buffer against insolvency. Higher capital makes a bank stronger by reassuring depositors that their money is “safe” in case of a financial crisis. Economics professor XN Iraki answers some questions about Kenya’s banking sector and the importance of the two latest policy changes.

What is the state of Kenya’s banking sector?

Kenya has 39 licensed banks. Of these, 17 are classified as foreign-owned with 50% or more shareholding held by foreign interests. All the top commercial banks are listed on the Nairobi Stock Exchange. Three are majority government-owned while the rest are privately owned.

Kenya’s banking sector is known for its dynamism. This is reflected in the adoption of innovations, new product offerings and technology. It is also seen in the growth in assets, deposits and profitability. Finally, it is also evidenced in the mergers, buyouts and growth across borders into the neighbouring countries.

KCB Group – a publicly owned bank that is also the country’s largest – as well as privately owned Equity Bank have established foreign subsidiaries or acquisitions in Uganda, Tanzania, South Sudan, Rwanda, Burundi and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The use of technology, for instance linking bank accounts with the popular M-pesa mobile payment platform, has made banking easier and more accessible. This has made banking popular with the younger generation, including Generation Z, who are astute at using technology.

The Kenyan banking sector is dominated by nine large banks that accounted for about 90% of the profit in 2024.

Nonetheless, the sector has been stable in recent years. It’s a far cry from the 1980s, when bank failures were constantly in the headlines. Up until 1998, 37 bank failures had been recorded. More followed in 2003 and in 2015.

Why did the government ban new banks 10 years ago? What was the impact?

The moratorium on licensing new banks was instituted in 2015. This followed the failure of Dubai Bank on 14 August 2015 and Imperial Bank on 13 October 2015.

At about the same time, another institution – Chase Bank – was in trouble. It was placed under management on 7 April 2016.

The banks were closed to protect depositors and ensure stability of the sector. But banning new banks was not the best solution. It stifled competition and could have led to the current situation where a few banks dominate the market.

Though the failures were not the first, they were a big blot on Kenya’s financial sector. They could have slowed the growth of the sector in at least two ways. First is the restriction on new players. Second, the perceptions of higher risk would have led to more cautious investment and lending decisions.

What are the limits placed on banks wanting to set up in Kenya?

Banks are subject to regulation and rules set out in the Banking Act. These rules relate to licensing, capital requirements, who may be a shareholder or director, and protection of customer deposits, among other aspects. For this reason, shareholders and key employees are subject to vetting by regulators.

These regulations can be enhanced from time to time. It’s the basis on which the Central Bank of Kenya has increased bank core capital requirements to 5 billion shillings (US$38 million) by 2026. This will double to 10 billion shillings (US$76 million) by 2029. Core capital as defined by Central Bank of Kenya is “shareholders equity in the form of issued and fully paid-up shares of common stock, plus all disclosed reserves, less goodwill or any other intangible assets.”

Higher core capital is expected to strengthen banks and possibly reduce the number of players as some banks merge or are absorbed by stronger players.

This can only be counterbalanced if more banks enter the market after the moratorium was lifted. That would be the ideal case. More competition would lead to lower interest rates, which act as an economic stimulus. It would be easier to borrow money for more consumption or investment.

Higher core capital is a double edged sword. Lifting the moratorium will lead to greater competition if more banks enter the market. But higher core capital might deter new entrants. One speculation is that lifting the moratorium could usher in global brands with more capital and a competitive edge.

Investors who can overcome the higher core capital and join this sector are likely to reap big. Kenyan banks are a popular choice for investors in the security markets and are generally profitable.

What opportunities or pitfalls will the Central Bank be watching out for?

The lifting of the moratorium on new banks and raising capital requirements could be the start of more changes in the Kenyan banking sector.

It’s expected that with new capital requirements Kenyan banks will become bigger and more resilient and serve as the lubricant of economic growth. Bigger and fewer banks are likely to be more stable and easier to supervise.

Will bigger banks adequately respond to the needs of small and microenterprises (SMEs) and individuals? Will they keep the focus on local communities? Could new licences be granted to the politically connected as happened in the past? Here could lie a pitfall. The true test of such policy decisions is achieving faster economic growth and higher standards of living for all.

– Kenya has introduced new banking policies. An economist weighs them up
– https://theconversation.com/kenya-has-introduced-new-banking-policies-an-economist-weighs-them-up-261590

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jessica O’Leary, Senior Lecturer, Monash University

Standing before the Inquisition in Lisbon, Portugal in 1556, Mónica Fernandes, a woman from the coast of modern-day Ghana, was accused of casting malevolent spells and making pacts with demons. Her crime? Seeking a traditional Akan remedy for a simple cat bite.

The Portuguese Inquisition was a powerful institution tasked with identifying, investigating and punishing any belief or practice that deviated from official Catholic doctrine. The Inquisition was established in 1536 during the expansion of the Portuguese empire, one of the world’s first global maritime powers.

Fernandes’ trial, recorded in meticulous detail by the Inquisitor, Jerónimo de Azambuja, offers a rare and powerful window into a 16th-century clash of cultures. It reveals how a colonial power systematically misunderstood and criminalised local customs, rebranding Indigenous knowledge as dangerous sorcery.

As a historian, I spend my time searching for connections between people across the early modern world, especially the lives of women and children within the vast Portuguese empire. While I was researching the trials of Indigenous women in colonial Brazil, a question began to form: were women in other parts of the empire, like west Africa, also being targeted for their traditional knowledge? This question led me to the archives of the Portuguese Inquisition and to a remarkable case file from 1556.

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Read more: Colonial powers tried to stifle traditional healing in Zimbabwe. They failed and today it’s a powerful force for treating mental illness

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The file detailed the trial of Mónica Fernandes, an Akan woman from what’s now Ghana. Her story opens a rare window onto the personal, human impact of colonisation. It shows how a vast imperial power operated on the ground: by misunderstanding, criminalising, and attempting to erase Indigenous ways of knowing.

Recovering stories like this helps us understand a legacy of cultural suppression that continues to resonate today.

A life between two worlds

Mónica was born to Akan parents. The Akan are a collection of related peoples, primarily living in modern-day Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire. Organised into matrilineal states, they had established sophisticated societies with rich cultural, religious and social knowledge systems long before the arrival of Europeans.

The Portuguese first arrived on the west African coast in the late 15th century, driven by a desire for gold. They established their authority by constructing fortified trading posts like São Jorge da Mina (now Elmina Castle) that imposed their laws and religion on the surrounding communities.

Mónica lived and worked in and around São Jorge da Mina, a place of intense cultural collision. Baptised into the Catholic faith, she existed between two worlds: the rigid, hierarchical society of the European fortress and the vibrant Akan village of Edina that surrounded it.

Like others, she moved between these spaces to socialise, shop and, crucially, seek medical care. It was this last activity that brought her to the attention of the Inquisition. Instead of visiting the Portuguese apothecary at the fortress, Mónica consulted a local Akan healer, an ɔkɔmfoɔ or odunsinni, to treat a cat bite. She procured an ointment, a common practice she saw as rudimentary healthcare.

To the Inquisitor, however, this was proof of heterodoxy, or a belief, opinion, or practice that went against the officially established doctrines of Catholicism. Mónica’s choice to trust her community’s medical expertise over that of the Portuguese was seen not just as a rejection of European authority, but as evidence of a pact with the devil.

Custom vs. crime

The accusations against Mónica were dramatic and personal. The initial charge stemmed from a quarrel with another African woman, Ana Fernandes, who was visiting São Jorge da Mina from Lisbon. Witnesses claimed that after an argument, Mónica cast a spell on Ana. Weeks later, after returning to Portugal, Ana succumbed to a mysterious illness that allegedly caused the skin to peel from her face. This rumour, spread by a single witness, became the centrepiece of the case.

The rumour of Mónica’s curse spread, prompting a formal inquiry by the Portuguese captain at São Jorge da Mina. It was only after this local investigation, which took months, that Mónica was officially detained and transported as a prisoner to face the main tribunal in Lisbon.

The Inquisitor’s interest went beyond this single event, expanding to include other, more everyday practices. Witnesses interviewed at São Jorge da Mina also claimed Mónica conducted spells using chickens and yams. While these details were recorded as evidence of sinister rituals, they were in fact staple elements of Akan cultural life. Yams, a starchy, edible tuber, similar to a potato, were a vital food source and central to ceremonies honouring ancestors, while animal sacrifice was a common preparation for deities.

What the Portuguese Inquisitor labelled feitiços (witchcraft or charms) was, for Mónica and her community, simply aduro (medicine) and amammerɛ (custom). The trial documents painstakingly list her heterodoxical activities, but in doing so, they inadvertently preserve a record of the very cultural knowledge the Inquisition sought to destroy. Mónica’s case becomes a catalogue of everyday Akan practices, seen through a distorted colonial lens.

A defiant accused

Throughout months of imprisonment and interrogation, Mónica was pressed to confess to witchcraft. She consistently refused. In Akan culture, the concept of bayie is sometimes translated as “witchcraft”, but it specifically refers to acts of acute spiritual wickedness or illness. Mónica’s actions did not fit this category. She was treating a physical ailment, a cat bite.

Mónica’s refusal to accept the label of “witch” was therefore not simple denial. Her defence was based on a clear cultural distinction, one she clung to despite her limited Portuguese. When she insisted that she had committed no crime because “all the black men and women of Mina did it too”, she was not admitting to collective guilt. She was trying to explain that her actions were customary medicine, not malevolent spiritual work.

She understood the difference between her own system of knowledge and the crime of which she was accused, and she refused to conflate them.

The verdict and legacy

Ultimately, Mónica was found guilty of witchcraft, but the Inquisitors deemed her actions “minor”. She was given the light sentence of a period of religious re-education in Lisbon to study Christian doctrine. Mónica secured her release by demonstrating good Christian behaviour, but was forbidden from returning to her homeland.

Mónica’s light sentence was relatively uncommon but unlikely to have been the first instance of re-education. It is possible that women from other Portuguese colonial territories also suffered similar fates, but many records have been lost due to the Lisbon Earthquake (1755) and the deliberate destruction of the Goa Inquisition cases which also took in east Africa.

We don’t know what happened to her after her release. But her story, buried in the archives for over 450 years, remains deeply relevant. It is a powerful, personal account of how colonialism operated not just through military force, but through displacement and the deliberate suppression of local knowledge. Mónica’s trial is a stark reminder that the branding of Indigenous practices as “magic” or “superstition” was a tool used to assert dominance and erase entire ways of knowing the world.

– Mónica’s story: the woman shipped from Ghana to Portugal in 1556 to stand trial for using traditional medicine
– https://theconversation.com/monicas-story-the-woman-shipped-from-ghana-to-portugal-in-1556-to-stand-trial-for-using-traditional-medicine-263929

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Albert Sharra, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, University of the Witwatersrand

The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) established its first radio transmitter sites in Africa in the 1930s, to reach the British colonies and beyond. It became a model for radio in Africa and later a model for TV news.

But, almost a century on, what is the BBC’s colonial legacy and how does the public broadcaster serve a post-colonial media space? We asked the editors of a new book, called The BBC’s Legacy in Africa: Continuities and Change, about their study.

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What was the BBC’s colonial operation all about?

The BBC was established in 1922. Within a few years, it became a colonial platform. This began with the British Colonial Office’s decision to set up radio broadcasting in its colonies. The goal was to enhance communication between the governors and the governed. The BBC was engaged to help with the project.

Between the late 1920s and 1930, the BBC tried broadcasting in most parts of the empire, including Africa. At the 1930 Imperial Conference, it was agreed to set up the Empire Service, a broadcast network to advance administration of the colonies. By 1932, the Empire Service was in full operation and many countries were getting connected to the broadcasting grid. Kenya was connected in 1928 and Ghana in 1935. In central Africa, Zambia was connected in 1945 to cover Zambia, Malawi and Zimbabwe.

At the time, private radio stations were thriving in other parts of the continent, particularly in South Africa, Angola and Mozambique. The unique approach of the BBC was to establish public service radio.

By 1971, there were 43 national radio services in sub-Saharan Africa. This is attributed mainly to the BBC’s expertise in developing broadcasting services and programming models, and training African broadcasters.

This was more than just communication; it was a form of cultural imperialism and soft power. It embedded British values through English-language dominance and news formats that reflected British norms.

This remains the BBC broadcasting model today, as well as that of former British colonies. At independence, newly established African states adopted these norms to establish national broadcasters.

Our book argues that the end of colonisation did not dismantle the BBC’s colonial legacy. That’s because the style was already embedded in the broadcasting system. We used evidence from different countries, including Malawi, Zimbabwe, Uganda and Nigeria, to demonstrate this.

How did this shape African media?

Post-independence broadcasters inherited BBC-style structures, formats and journalistic ethics. Over time, these elements were blended with local languages, music and storytelling traditions.

The BBC has remained in these countries through the BBC World Service and programmes like Focus on Africa. It recruits African correspondents who influence local journalists to write news in the same ways.

We argue that the failure of African media to decolonise has something to do with the BBC’s efforts to keep influencing broadcasting worldwide.

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Read more: Hype and western values are shaping AI reporting in Africa: what needs to change

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Many national broadcasters in Africa still operate under public service broadcasting principles inspired by the BBC. In some countries – like Malawi, Zambia and Zimbabwe – these are public broadcasters on paper, but in practice they are state media, operating in the interest of the state. They are abused and used for state propaganda. So, the influence of the BBC, in some instances, is not successful in practice.

At first, the BBC was promoting English only. Later on, it started to invest in African languages. The BBC’s World Service programming has incorporated Hausa, Igbo, Somali, Swahili, Afaan Oromo, Amharic and Tigrinya.

As the book discusses, BBC programmes like Focus on Africa and political interview styles like HARDtalk have influenced talk shows and political debate programmes in African media. These hybrids often continue to reproduce western-centric norms and biases.

What can we learn from some of the countries discussed?

In Uganda, radio continues to reflect the influence of the BBC in programming content, ownership patterns and journalist training.

The BBC’s reliance on Ugandan correspondents reinforces its authority and shapes professional norms, making BBC-trained journalists aspirational figures. The BBC sustains many local outlets by providing international and sports content.

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Read more: Western media outlets are trying to fix their racist, stereotypical coverage of Africa. Is it time African media did the same?

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Its enduring presence has also been facilitated by government goodwill, including the allocation of scarce frequencies, as part of maintaining diplomatic ties.

The Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation initially embraced the BBC’s public service broadcasting ideals. But later it became a propaganda arm for the ruling party.

What are some of the problems with the BBC in Africa today?

Its perceived neutrality as a public service broadcaster is questioned in the book because the BBC’s editorial choices often mirror British foreign policy priorities. The discussions in the book mirror some of the public backlash the BBC has faced in cases like its coverage of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

The dominance of BBC-trained journalists and formats has the potential to marginalise other storytelling traditions. Most African cultures are rich in storytelling but BBC correspondents tend to control the storytelling through an insistence on quick questions and answers and limited time.

Although African languages are included, news framing often perpetuates Eurocentric narratives.

What needs to change?

BBC should be commended for setting up what became a model of broadcasting not only in Africa but also beyond. This model has fostered quality broadcasting and the watchdog role of the press.

Moving forward, in its African programming and operations, the BBC needs to go beyond tokenism. Representation should encompass more than language. It should include agenda-setting, framing and adopting African storytelling techniques.

African broadcasters should uphold and embrace local knowledge and approaches by incorporating local cultural logic into their programming. They should strive to be creative and innovative.

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Read more: African media are threatened by governments and big tech – book tracks the latest trends

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Partnerships that empower African broadcasters instead of relying on BBC resources can promote genuine media sovereignty.

The future depends on hybridisation on African terms, upholding high production and ethical standards while anchoring media systems in African socio-political realities, rather than copying and reproducing colonial frameworks.

The book argues that decolonisation in African broadcasting is an ongoing process and requires creating more spaces for open conversations.

– BBC has a long history in Africa. New book offers a critical take on the broadcaster
– https://theconversation.com/bbc-has-a-long-history-in-africa-new-book-offers-a-critical-take-on-the-broadcaster-264052

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Elizabeth Olayiwola, Senior Lecturer in Broadcast, Film, and Multimedia, University of Abuja

In Nigeria today, one doesn’t have to attend a church service to hear a sermon. The pulpit has moved – onto screens, into living rooms, and across YouTube.

Along with this shift, a fascinating genre has emerged: Nigerian evangelical cinema. These films blend entertainment with Pentecostal spirituality, turning prayers into special effects and spiritual battles into dramatic storylines.

This transformation is not accidental. It reflects a wider trend in which religion and media intersect to shape how Nigerians – and increasingly, Africans in the diaspora – understand the spiritual world.

As a media scholar I have been researching the Nigerian evangelical screen world for over a decade. As I show in my latest study in the book Contemporary African Screen Worlds, the rise of evangelical cinema is tied to Nigeria’s Pentecostal boom and the explosion of Nollywood, the country’s vast film industry, in the 1990s.

In the early days of Nollywood, films were distributed on video cassettes and shown in communal venues, including church halls. They spread to TV, where audiences embraced early Nollywood productions like Agbara Nla (The Ultimate Power) produced in 1993 by Mount Zion Faith Ministries International. Broadcast as a series, it dramatised spiritual warfare between Christians and demonic agents and became a national phenomenon.

The ministry, founded in 1985, houses Mount Zion Film Productions, the most prolific Christian film company in Nigeria.

Evangelical films blur the line between devotion and drama, prayer and performance. My study shows that they are not just niche productions aimed at church audiences. Their impact is far greater. The films reveal how millions of Nigerians imagine the spiritual world, how they navigate everyday crises, and how religion adapts to new technologies.

The Nigerian evangelical film culture also shows how a range of networks can build and push a cinematic culture forward, offering lessons to industries around the world about the power of leveraged networks.

How it all started

At the centre of this story is Mike Bamiloye, co-founder of Mount Zion Faith Ministries. Established by a small group of college graduates, it began with church stage plays before moving into video and TV.

Like the Yoruba theatre tradition from which it drew some of its inspiration, Mount Zion toured churches and neighbouring countries, staging plays and building audiences.

With fewer entertainment options available back then, TV audiences embraced Agbara Nla. The film tells the story of a village that is constantly punished by the forces of darkness because of a malevolent herbalist. God sends a young Christian missionary couple to battle him and deliver the community from evil.

What made Agbara Nla and similar films resonate was their familiarity. Nigerians had long been exposed to supernatural storylines. In the 1960s through to the 1980s, they occurred in Yoruba travelling theatre productions, a popular form of entertainment.

Later, the supernatural was kept alive in Nollywood’s many occult-themed films. Often involving witchcraft and magic, these films tend to tap into a blend of Christian and traditional Nigerian cosmologies. They revolve around the idea of spiritual warfare, of good versus evil and God versus the Devil.

Evangelical filmmakers simply retooled the formula, swapping out witchdoctors for pastors, charms for prayer, and gods for Christ.

In many evangelical films, prayer is not just words muttered in the quiet of the heart. It is dramatised, given visual form, and staged as a battle with unseen forces. A woman kneeling in prayer might suddenly find herself in a parallel “spirit realm” where angels and demons clash. Her whispered incantations are translated into fireballs, lightning bolts, or shields of protection.

The effect is powerful. For Christian audiences, these films make visible what is usually invisible: the spiritual consequences of prayer. They confirm a belief that prayer works, not metaphorically but literally, in the everyday struggles of life.

Social messages

These films are more than just entertainment. They carry social messages too. One striking feature I’ve discussed in my earlier research is their focus on women.

Women are often depicted as especially vulnerable to spiritual attack – but also as powerful prayer warriors. In many films, a woman’s reproductive life – her fertility, sexuality, or motherhood – is given spiritual significance.

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Read more: How Nollywood films help Kenyan housemaids make sense of their lives

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This framing reflects Pentecostal theology, where sex itself is sometimes cast as an act with spiritual consequences. So these kinds of Nollywood stories both challenge and reinforce gender norms.

On one hand, women are shown exercising spiritual authority. On the other, their bodies are often treated as sites of moral or spiritual conflict.

Entrepreneurship of faith

Behind the scenes, evangelical Nollywood also illustrates a different kind of creativity: entrepreneurship. Many film makers juggle ministry with business innovation, building networks of production, distribution and audience engagement. Evangelical film maker Opeyemi Akintunde, for example, started with short web stories, moved into publishing, and went on to adapt her work into films circulated on YouTube and in cinemas.

This entrepreneurial spirit is part of a broader pattern across Africa. Studies have shown how Pentecostal media – from films to radio to social media – are reshaping both religious practice and cultural economies.

In Nigeria, the church itself provides infrastructure, from funding and publicity to venues and technical equipment, making film ministry possible.

Beyond Nigeria

Studies have also shown how Nollywood is spreading, embraced by a global audience. The influence of Nigerian evangelical cinema is not limited to Nigeria.

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Read more: The rise of African prophets: the unchecked power of the leaders of Pentecostal churches

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Riding on Nigeria’s transnational churches, these films and their film-making style today reach audiences across Africa, Europe and the US. Diaspora churches screen them during services; people watch them on their phones for inspiration or moral guidance.

This global circulation highlights the adaptability of both African Pentecostalism and Nollywood – and their capacity to shape imaginations (and souls) far beyond their local roots.

– God and Nollywood: how Pentecostal churches have shaped Nigerian film
– https://theconversation.com/god-and-nollywood-how-pentecostal-churches-have-shaped-nigerian-film-264279

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Robin Steedman, Lecturer of Creative Industries, School of Culture and Creative Arts, University of Glasgow

African filmmakers have long faced challenges in securing wide-scale distribution for their films. In this context, digital platforms such as Netflix and YouTube have been hailed as bringing huge new opportunities.

This optimism in filmmaking resonates with the hype digital technologies more generally have had in Africa. They have been seen to offer almost unlimited opportunities for African entrepreneurs to transform and grow their businesses. Ghana’s communication minister, for example, declared in 2017 “it’s Digitime in Ghana”.

We are researchers in film studies, theatre studies, sociology and geography, and in this study, we set out to understand how platforms were being used and thought about in the Ghanaian film industry. We wanted to look beyond the techno-optimistic hype – the idea that technological progress can solve every problem known to humans.

We held interviews and focus groups with 50 filmmakers in Ghana to understand the experience of platform entrepreneurship in filmmaking across the country. We found that while filmmakers were very optimistic about technology, they were also deeply sceptical of what existing platforms could do for them in Ghana. Creating local platforms was an important alternative.

Enthusiastic but short on know-how

Ghana’s film industry dates back to its colonial roots when the Gold Coast Film Unit was established by the British in the 1940s. Although it has achieved remarkable successes, they haven’t been consistent. In the sub-region the industry is dwarfed by Nigeria’s Nollywood.

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Read more: How Nollywood films help Kenyan housemaids make sense of their lives

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Film distribution in Ghana is in a transitional moment, driven in large part by technological change. For a long time, Ghanaian movies reached their audiences on CDs and DVDs. With the rise of digital television and internet streaming, this once lucrative model collapsed. Ghanaian filmmakers are now experimenting with platforms in their businesses.

We found that they used and thought about platforms in three principal ways.

First, many filmmakers enthusiastically embraced platforms and believed they had the power to create global reach and dramatic business growth. Many felt, like prominent Accra filmmaker Isaac, that “opportunities are endless in the industry” because of new technologies.

Some Ghanaian filmmakers distribute their films on major global platforms such as Netflix, but it was only a very small minority. They did not feel that working with platforms had revolutionised their businesses, but rather that being on Netflix enhanced their status, and they hoped this would help them attract financing for future projects.

Second, filmmakers were also well aware of the limits of platform distribution. Those with films on Netflix were the most affluent and well connected. Others struggled to access some global platforms. They also found it very difficult to make money on easy-to-access platforms such as YouTube. They struggle to make the large volume of content needed to get high viewing numbers and thus monetise their content. It was almost impossible to make enough to justify the cost of production.

Some filmmakers felt that they did not know enough about how to use platforms. Emerging filmmaker Esther expressed a common view when she said:

We need more education in filmmaking. Those of us here, we have the talent, we want to do movies, we are doing our best, but most of us have not been to film school to learn.

Some felt they were not benefiting from the potential of platforms yet, but could in the future. Thus, they were motivated to continually experiment and develop new strategies for making and distributing their movies online and offline.

Third, some filmmakers experimented with creating Ghanaian platforms.

John, a leading figure in a national association, said:

In five years, the industry will be better, far, far better than ten years ago. … if we are able to move with time, build a platform like Netflix.

He wanted to create something that would focus on Ghanaian film and support the local industry.

John was not alone. Selwyn, a film and TV entrepreneur, for example, had created an app specifically for local language film.

Ghanaian filmmakers could see that the business models of global tech giants did not favour them, and that Netflix and other American platforms would not transform film distribution in Ghana or fulfil their dreams of global audiences and business growth.

Local solutions

Film makers did not give up in the face of these challenges. Rather they worked hard to devise their own solutions to the challenge of film distribution – solutions that were tailored to their circumstances and put Ghanaian filmmakers at centre stage. Local Ghanaian platforms were one such solution.

The idea that technology can change the world emanates powerfully from Silicon Valley in the US and has been exported globally. Yet Ghana is starkly different from Silicon Valley and thus the experience of technological entrepreneurship is likely to be different too.

– Ghana’s films don’t often make it to Netflix – local solutions may be the answer
– https://theconversation.com/ghanas-films-dont-often-make-it-to-netflix-local-solutions-may-be-the-answer-261087

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Victoria Gibbon, Professor in Biological Anthropology, Division of Clinical Anatomy and Biological Anthropology, University of Cape Town

Cape Town has consistently been one of the metropolitan regions in South Africa with the highest murder rates. It has more than double the national average, and is currently ranked second overall and 16th worldwide. Many victims are discovered only after their bodies have decomposed, burned, or been exposed to the elements. That makes identification difficult and delays justice.

Each year, more than 3,500 unnatural deaths, including murders and accidents, are handled by the city’s Observatory Forensic Pathology Institute. Around 9% remain unidentified. That’s hundreds of families left without answers. We asked Victoria Gibbon and colleagues about their work in forensic taphonomy.

What is the role of forensic taphonomists?

In death, we all decompose in the same general way. But understanding the nuances, especially those introduced by unnatural deaths, requires forensic taphonomy – the science of understanding how bodies break down. Every decomposition process is unique. It is shaped by everything around us: what we’re wearing, how we’re buried and what animals and insects might find us first.

Forensic taphonomists study all these variables and more, specialising in the recovery and analysis of human remains in the context of their environment. They play a vital role in death investigations involving unidentified persons, which requires specialised expertise in the human body and environment. There is a close working relationship with police and pathologists who hold the responsibility for identification and circumstances of death.

Imagine: a body is uncovered amid the sand and scrub of Cape Town’s coastline. By the time it’s found, the remains are in an advanced state of decomposition – identity unclear, the timeline murky. Understanding decomposition helps to determine how long someone has been dead, which can support identification, narrow down missing persons lists, or confirm (or contradict) witness accounts. It’s essential, delicate and some could say, grim work.

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Read more: Clothed pig carcasses are revealing the secrets of mummification – South African study provides insights for forensic scientists

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Forensic taphonomists’ expertise lies in understanding how bodies decompose under different conditions and how that process can reveal time-since-death, potential trauma, and ultimately, identity. Forensic taphonomists answer questions like: Who was this person? How long have they been there? And what happened to them? Their work sits at the intersection of science, justice and innovation. Because in the end, forensic science is about justice, not just science.

One of the main challenges in forensic taphonomy is that many of the global standards were developed in countries with very different climates and ecological systems. So, they are not representative of South Africa. Cape Town’s internationally unique microclimates, soil types and scavenger populations don’t align neatly with existing models.

To produce locally relevant data, researchers need to observe how decomposition actually happens in these settings. In South Africa, the legislation does not allow forensic taphonomists to study the decomposition of human bodies donated to medical science for research, as happens elsewhere in the world. Therefore they most frequently study the decomposition of adult domestic pigs as internationally accepted models for human decomposition. Pigs have numerous biological similarities to humans that are important for decomposition.

Initial decomposition studies in the Western Cape more than a decade ago began by examining unclothed bodies to establish baseline data. But as it turns out, that’s not what most cases look like. In reality, most deceased persons are clothed, and usually discovered alone. This mismatch prompted a shift.

What have you done differently in your research?

More realistic, single-body, clothed studies were needed. That meant smaller sample sizes, longer timelines, and greater data accuracy. But it leads to findings that are actually applicable in local forensic work.

We innovated, creating a world-first automated data collection machine to tackle the challenge of consistency and cost-effective, reliable long-term monitoring. It tracks decomposition in real-time, continuously and remotely. As bodies lose mass (due to water evaporation, insect activity, or tissue breakdown), the machine logs the weight changes, providing high-resolution data on the progression of decomposition. This removes the subjectivity of human observation. It allows researchers to collect standardised information across multiple cases and environments, simultaneously. It is solar-powered and transmits data remotely via cell phone networks, meaning it can be deployed anywhere we need to establish data for.

Our system has tracked in detail how tissues dry out beneath the skin. This can help reconstruct the time since death by linking drying patterns to environmental conditions and weather.

In addition to weighing decomposing bodies, our system provides continuous power to two motion-activated infrared trail cameras.

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Read more: How scavengers can help forensic scientists identify human corpses

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One camera trap is positioned directly above the body; the other is alongside the body. Together, these cameras record photos and videos of the decomposition process, giving us detailed insight into the activities of the animals that come to eat and otherwise interact with the decomposing body.

This machine offers precision, reliability and adaptability. It transforms how decomposition can be studied.

What’s next?

This technological innovation isn’t just a local solution. The team aims to provide a means by which researchers from different countries can share results that are directly comparable. These will form the basis for a global taphonomic data network: a collaborative platform for researchers to gain insights into decomposition as it plays out across geographies, environments and case types.

The hope is that this network will allow forensic anthropologists to adapt decomposition estimates to local contexts while contributing to an international evidence base.

Collectively, our research innovations may help produce more accurate case outcomes, that are admissible in court, and capable of providing justice for victims. Assistance with case resolution means restoring the identities of those who might otherwise have been lost to justice and history.

– How do bodies decompose? Cape Town forensic scientists are pushing frontiers of new detection methods
– https://theconversation.com/how-do-bodies-decompose-cape-town-forensic-scientists-are-pushing-frontiers-of-new-detection-methods-262832

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Adeline Morez Jacobs, Postdoctoral researcher, University of Padova (Italy); visiting lecturer, Liverpool John Moores University (UK), University of Padua

A group of scientists has sequenced the genome of a man who was buried in Egypt around 4,500 years ago. The study offers rare insight into the genetic ancestry of early Egyptians and reveals links to both ancient north Africa and Mesopotamia, which includes modern day Iraq and parts of Syria, Turkey and Iran.

Egypt’s heat and terrain made it difficult for such studies to be conducted but lead researcher Adeline Morez Jacobs and team made a breakthrough. We spoke to her about the challenges of sequencing ancient remains, the scientific advances that made this discovery possible, and why this genome could reshape how we understand Egypt’s early dynastic history.

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What is genome sequencing? How does it work in your world?

Genome sequencing is the process of reading an organism’s entire genetic code. In humans, that’s about 3 billion chemical “letters” (A, C, T and G). The technology was first developed in the late 1970s, and by 2003 scientists had completed the first full human genome. But applying it to ancient remains came much later and has been far more difficult.

DNA breaks down over time. Heat, humidity and chemical reactions damage it, and ancient bones and teeth are filled with DNA from soil microbes rather than from the individual we want to study. In early attempts during the 1980s, scientists hoped mummified remains might still hold usable DNA. But the available sequencing methods weren’t suited to the tiny, fragmented molecules left after centuries or millennia.

To sequence DNA, scientists first need to make lots of copies of it, so there’s enough to read. Originally, this meant putting DNA into bacteria and waiting for the colonies to grow. It took days, demanded careful upkeep and yielded inconsistent results. Two breakthroughs changed this.

In the early 1990s, PCR (polymerase chain reaction) allowed millions of DNA copies to be made in hours, and by the mid-2000s, new sequencing machines could read thousands of fragments in parallel. These advances not only sped up the process but also made it more reliable, enabling even highly degraded DNA to be sequenced.

Since then, researchers have reconstructed the genomes of extinct human relatives like Neanderthals, and more than 10,000 ancient people who lived over the past 45,000 years. But the work is still challenging – success rates are low for very old remains, and tropical climates destroy DNA quickly.

What’s exceptional about the sequencing you did on these remains?

What made our study unusual is that we were able to sequence a surprisingly well-preserved genome from a region where ancient DNA rarely survives.

When we analysed the sample, we found that about 4%-5% of all DNA fragments came from the person himself (the rest came from bacteria and other organisms that colonised the remains after burial). The quantity of DNA of interest (here, human) is usually between 40% and 90% when working with living organisms. That 4%-5% might sound tiny, but in this part of the world, it’s a relatively high proportion, and enough to recover meaningful genetic information.

We think the individual’s unusual burial may have helped. He was placed inside a ceramic vessel within a rock-cut tomb, which could have shielded him from heat, moisture and other damaging elements for thousands of years.

To make the most of this rare preservation, we filtered out the very shortest fragments, which are too damaged to be useful. The sequencing machines could then focus on higher-quality pieces. Thanks to advanced facilities at the Francis Crick Institute, we were able to read the DNA over and over, generating about eight billion sequences in total. This gave us enough data to reconstruct the genome of what we call the Nuwayrat individual, making him the oldest genome from Egypt to date.

Does this open new frontiers?

We did not develop entirely new techniques for this study but we combined some of the most effective methods currently available into a single optimised pipeline. This is what palaeogeneticists (scientists who study the DNA of ancient organisms) often do: we adapt and refine existing methods to push the limits of what can be recovered from fragile remains.

That’s why this result matters. It shows that, with the right combination of methods, we can sometimes retrieve genomes even from places where DNA usually doesn’t survive well, like Egypt.

Egypt is also a treasure trove for archaeology, with remains that could answer major questions about human history, migration and cultural change.

Our success suggests that other ancient Egyptian remains might still hold genetic secrets, opening the door to discoveries we couldn’t have imagined just a decade ago.

What was your biggest takeaway from the sequencing?

The most exciting result was uncovering this man’s genetic ancestry. By comparing his DNA to ancient genomes from Africa, western Asia and Europe, we found that about 80% of his ancestry was shared with earlier north African populations, suggesting shared roots within the earlier local population. The remaining 20% was more similar to groups from the eastern Fertile Crescent, particularly Neolithic Mesopotamia (present-day Iraq).

This might sound expected, but until now we had no direct genetic data from an Old Kingdom (2686–2125 BCE) Egyptian individual. The results support earlier studies of skeletal features from this period, which suggested close links to predynastic populations, but the genome gives a far more precise and conclusive picture.

This genetic profile fits with archaeological evidence of long-standing connections between Egypt and the eastern Fertile Crescent, dating back at least 10,000 years with the spread of farming, domesticated animals and new crops into Egypt. Both regions also developed some of the world’s first writing systems, hieroglyphs in Egypt and cuneiform in Mesopotamia. Our finding adds genetic evidence to the picture, suggesting that along with goods and ideas, people themselves were moving between these regions.

Of course, one person can’t represent the full diversity of the ancient Egyptian society, which was likely complex and cosmopolitan, but this successful sequencing opens the door for future studies, building a richer and more nuanced picture of the people who lived there over thousands of years.

– We decoded the oldest genetic data from an Egyptian, a man buried around 4,500 years ago – what it told us
– https://theconversation.com/we-decoded-the-oldest-genetic-data-from-an-egyptian-a-man-buried-around-4-500-years-ago-what-it-told-us-262061