The literature on stratification in Nigeria in general and among the Yoruba in particular
is now very extensive, with several major areas of interest. Firstly, there is the
development of social stratification from the mid-19th century onwards, with the
return of the Saro and the arrival of the missionaries and the British (Kopytoff,
1965; Ajayi, 1965; Ayandele, 1966; Cole, 1975). Secondly, there is the development
of a literate elite, with the spread of education during the colonial period, and
the changing patterns of social and family life within it (P. Lloyd, 1967; B. Lloyd,
1966,1970; LeVine et al., 1967; Imoagene, 1976). A third body of work looks at the
actors' perceptions of the stratification system (P. Lloyd, 1966b; 1974; Bascom,
1951; Williams, 1974; Gutkind, 1975), while much of the recent literature is concerned
with the political economy of stratification (Williams, 1970, 1976), and social protest
among the farmers (Beer and Williams, 1976) or industrial workers (Peace, 1974, 1975,
1979).
Three major and closely related issues are raised by this work. The first is the
extent to which the Yoruba material can be analysed using Marxist or Weberian categories,
particularly those of 'class' and 'class consciousness'. Peter Lloyd, for instance,
argues against the use of such concepts in Nigeria, because of the overtones they
have acquired from the analysis of industrial societies (1974: 5). Others have fewer
inhibitions. In addition to classes, concepts such as 'proletariat', 'bourgeoisie',
'peasantry' and even 'kulak' and 'comprador' have become common in descriptions of
Nigerian society.
The second issue is that of the way the actors themselves perceive and conceptualise
social stratification. How far do Yoruba categories correspond to those of the sociologist,
and in what ways are they being modified over time?
The fullest account of the 'traditional' Yoruba view of social stratification is
by Bascom (19514, based on material from Ife, in the 1930s, but referring to an even
earlier period. A person's social status was based on the ascriptive elements of
descent-group membership, age and sex, and the achieved element of wealth. Wealth
was acquired through hard work and a 'good' destiny, but its accumulation was not
an end in itself. Wealth was necessary for the control it gave over others ñ wives,
children, clients, and (formerly) slaves and pawns. Moreover, a wealthy man could
only maintain his power and prestige if he acted according to the accepted norms,
by appearing as a man of culture and principle (enia pataki) and generosity (gbajumo),
with lavish spending on clothes, ritual, entertainment, and the acquisition of a
title. The Yoruba despise a miser. Conspicuous consumption, the costs of attaining
high of fice and the inheritance system all meant that fortunes were often dispersed
during the lifetime, or on the death, of their owners, and if a person was to become
wealthy, it had to be largely through his own efforts.
In the larger towns, an elaborate system of ranking developed. In Ife, for instance,
the highest position belonged to the Oni, followed by the town and palace chiefs.
The great majority of the population belonged to the lower ranks: people of modewa
status, members of commoner descent groups, and, below them, members of the royal
descent group. Finally there were the strangers and the non-Yoruba. A man of rank
had the right to make others stand aside for him to pass, or give up their places
to him in a public gathering. The Oni could appropriate the property of any of his
subjects, and the town and palace chiefs could exact free labour. Interestingly,
slaves could claim the same rank as their masters, and were regarded by others as
being especially arrogant.
But the system was, at least partially, an open one in which an individual could
improve his rank, wealth, prestige and power through his own efforts. This is also
suggested in more recent accounts. According to Lloyd, the Yoruba view their society
as being one of 'non-egalitarian classlessness' (1966b). Differences in wealth are
recognised. The distinction is made between olowo, 'the wealthy', mekunnu, 'the common
people', and talaka, the 'needy poor', but the way to improve one's lot is through
one's own efforts, rather than collective action with people in a similar position.
Wealth differences are the result of destiny, character and the avoidance of mystical
attacks by others. Wide income differences are accepted. Success is due to the 'suffering'
experienced on the road to it, not to exploiting others. Wealth is not all: the olola
or 'man of honour' is more highly regarded than the merely wealthy. The successful
politician is expected to be generous, and the accepted symbols of success now include
Mercedes cars, multi-storey buildings, and children at university, as well as chiefship
and an expensive wardrobe.
But are these wide differences in wealth likely to remain acceptable, and do the
'have nots' still regard upward mobility as possible? It is true that many of the
educated and wealthy still retain close contact with their poorer kin and home towns.
There are often variations of education within the same group of full siblings, and
the civil servant may well have a brother who farms or trades. Nevertheless, many
of the elite are generally somewhat contemptuous of the 'illiterates' and try to
avoid the requests for help from relatives and fellow townsmen. As the children of
the elite increasingly monopolise the education system, the prospect of their becoming
a quasi-hereditary group, severing their links with the rest of the population, seems
increasingly likely.
The third issue is that of ethnicity. Cutting across differences in wealth and status
are differences in area of origin, and these are still of prime importance. It was
Abner Cohen who showed most clearly how the manipulation of cultural differences
and communal identity could be an effective weapon for an interest group involved
in political or economic competition (1969). The Hausa community in Ibadan used these
strategies in retaining control of the long-distance cattle and kola trades. An ethnic
group is in a good position to develop into an interest group. It already possesses,
even if in a latent form, the basic features of an effective organisation: distinctiveness,
an authority structure, an ideology, and a communications system.
But ethnic ties may also be important to the individual. Patron-client ties often
operate within ethnic groups. A Yoruba can approach a wealthy or influential man
from the same town to request help with little or no previous acquaintance. Those
in power are expected to favour their own kin and community: a group which is under-represented
in the bureaucracy soon claims it is discriminated against, and demands increased
representation or autonomy. Ethnicity is concerned with the political and economic
realities, and is tenacious. Craftsmen and traders are often unable to improve their
lot via collective action. They seek sponsors in a position to help, often on ethnic
lines. Ethnicity and identity with the home town are fostered by movements of money,
goods and people, as well as through involvement in town unions. Even the elite are
bound to their home communities by a variety of ties: kinship, security, the need
for a political constituency, and in order to gain cheap building-land or commercial
opportunities. For all these reasons, 'primordial ties' ñ particularly with close
relatives ñ have remained strong, despite political and economic changes (cf. Aronson,
1971).
What is required if the present pattern of stratification in Yoruba society is to
be adequately understood, is a model which takes account both of cleavages based
on the distribution of power and wealth, and of those based on areas of origin. It
must specify the conditions under which each will become significant for particular
groups of people. In the rest of the chapter, the following assumptions are made.
1. Individuals are born and socialised into a particular social unit in a particular
town. These are the fundamental social relations with which they are involved, and
they are likely to remain important for them, particularly if they provide access
to opportunities and resources. As hometown and family ties cut across occupational
and educational divisions, they often do provide this access.
2. Individuals are faced during their careers with a series of problems: to solve
them they make use of a range of resources. Similar problems are dealt with by different
people using a similar range of resources in many instances. These resources often
include both links with people in the same occupational niche or in a similar relationship
to the authorities, and links with kin and others from the same home area. An actor
is not concerned with abstract problems of whether his choice of resources reflects
'ethnicity' or 'class consciousness': he wants a combination that will work.
3. Yoruba society can be divided into strata of people who share similar sets of
resources, similar problems, and a similar range of strategies to deal with them.
This can be done on the basis of three main variables: economic role, income, and
whether or not a person is primarily self-employed. Two major types of strategy may
be distinguished: 'network strategies', which involve recourse to members of a social
network, primarily based on kinship and home area ties; and 'class strategies' involving
recourse to others in the same economic stratum.
4 'Class consciousness' in this framework is a situation in which actors in a particular
stratum decide that cooperation with each other, rather than links with members of
other strata on an individual basis, is the best means of achieving particular goals.
In some instances a more formalised authority structure may develop along with a
more explicit programme of action and goals. The question is, then, under what conditions
in Yoruba society is such a situation likely to arise? One possibility is the blocking
of other avenues of social mobility for the actors. This may leave no alternative
but a class strategy based on secondary rather than primary social relations.
5. At the same time, once a stratum has consolidated itself in a particular niche,
its members may participate in competition within it for the distribution of resources,
segmenting on ethnic or kinship lines and operating network strategies. This is facilitated
by the kinship and friendship ties often linking members of the same home town or
area. These pre-existing social ties may provide a framework round which competition
can be organised.
6. Strategies are situational: pursuing network strategies in one context may still
leave an actor free to pursue class strategies in others. In some cases an actor
may pursue both types of strategy in a single crisis.
The rest of the chapter consists of two sections. The first describes the main stages
in the development of social strata up to the present time in Yoruba society. The
second considers in more detail the resources available to particular strata, and
the types of occasions on which either major type of strategy is likely to be employed.
In the pre-colonial period, the bases of wealth and status were threefold, all of
them dependent in turn on control of labour. Firstly, there was production, either
in agriculture or the crafts, for which a man used the labour of his children, slaves
and pawns. Secondly, there was trade which generated wealth not only for the traders,
but also for the oba and chiefs who collected tolls and market fees. Trade also required
slaves, clients or other dependants who could be trusted. Finally, there was warfare,
through which more slaves could be acquired.
The l9th-century wars resulted in the enrichment of a new group of professional warriors,
especially in the large successor states. Many of the men with private armies were
also traders or owners of productive slave estates. The numbers of slaves owned by
the most powerful men were very large . Ogunmola of Ibadan alone lost 1200 soldier
slaves during the two years of the Ijaye war, and between a third and a half of the
total populations of Ibadan and Abeokuta were estimated to consist of slaves at various
times (Biobaku, 1957: 45-7; Oroge, 1971: 160ñ9).
The treatment of domestic slaves was usually good. They were referred to as omo,
'children', rather than eru, 'slaves', and it was in an owner's interests to maintain
good rapport with the men and women on whom his wealth depended (Oroge, 1971: 135).
Owners worked alongside their slaves, and entrusted their children to their care.
There were many opportunities for the slaves of a prominent man to acquire fortunes
of their own, through the collection of tolls entrusted to them, or from political
appointments. Slaves had the right to purchase their freedom, but many chose not
to do so. The owners demanded a high price for the freedom of their more skilled
slaves. A moderate amount of work was expected of them, and they could work on their
own account for the rest of the time. European and Saro owners had a reputation for
being harsher masters (ibid: 199).
The attitudes of the British towards domestic slavery were mixed. In the 1860s, Glover
encouraged slaves to escape to Lagos from states in the interior. This provided the
Lagos administration with a supply of troops and cheap labour, but the policy hardly
helped relations with the other Yoruba states (cf. Oroge, 1975). After the Ijebu
expedition of 1892, further large numbers of slaves fled to Lagos, and there was
a serious drop in palm-oil production in the following years. Realising the economic
consequences of rapid emancipation, the British adopted a more cautious approach.
The status of the remaining slaves was gradually modified by successive legislation
up to the 1920s, when the institution died a natural death. Many slaves simply remained
with their existing owners as labourers or tenant farmers, or were absorbed into
their descent groups.
The pattern of stratification was complicated by the arrival of the Saro, who formed
a conspicuous elite in Lagos in the second half of the l9th century. Their life-style
was often that of the Victorian middle classes, exemplified by the young Herbert
Macaulay in his velvet trousers, and the merchant R.B. Blaize in his carriage driving
along the Lagos Marina (Kopytoff, 1965: 294; Hopkins, 1965). Relations between the
Saro and the Europeans were always ambiguous, and they tended to deteriorate as Saro
civil servants were replaced by British. Saro commitment to European values ranged
from whole-hearted acceptance to outright opposition and hostility, (Kopytoff, 1965:
273ñ8) and their interests began to coincide with those of the other Yoruba more
and more (Cole,1975). In the l9th century, Saro merchants had been among the wealthiest
men in Lagos. In the early colonial period, the control of trade by the European
firms was consolidated. Wealthy Yoruba traders since then have generally operated
as agents for the giant European trading companies which had come to dominate the
market. Many members of the Saro families, however, had gone into the professions,
and they remained a major force in Lagos politics until the 1930s (Baker, 1974: 286ñ7).
The implications of political and economic changes during the colonial period for
social stratification have already been touched on. The powers of the oba increased
at the expense of the chiefs, and both were challenged by the new group of entrepreneurs
who had become wealthy from the cocoa industry, and who demanded an increased say
in native authority affairs. These men provided the leadership of the town improvement
unions founded in the 1930s, and in towns like Ibadan, Ogbomso and Ijebu Ode, they
mobilised opposition to the oba and chiefs.
The development of education in Yorubaland had started in the 1850s with the opening
of the first mission schools in Lagos and Abeokuta. From the start, there was controversy
over the form education should take. The early missionaries stressed the need for
vocational training, but the Saro demanded the academic education on which their
own advancement depended (Ajayi, 1965: 190).
The number of schools grew rapidly. In 1894, there were already 32 mission schools
in Lagos alone, and by 1910, there were 120 schools in the Yoruba mission area. By
1930, 17 of the 26 post-primary institutions in Nigeria were in Lagos and the west.
It was only later that other areas, notably the east of the country, began to catch
up.
The British were largely content to let the missions run the schools. Only three
of the post-primary institutions in 1930 were run by the government. Not surprisingly,
Muslims were antipathetic to mission education, and were poorly represented in the
schools from the start. The Lagos administration had appreciated the problem, and
in 1898 they had opened a government Muslim school. The experiment was a success,
and other schools followed in Epe, and Bagagry, but further expansion in Muslim education
had to wait until the opening of a few community schools and the foundation of the
associations like the Ansar-Ud-Din, twenty years later (Gbadamosi, 1967).
The government was slow to respond to the demand for higher education. The system
was geared to producing clerks for the native authorities: highly educated Nigerians
had no place in the system, and were regarded by the British with some suspicion
as political agitators. The opening of the Yaba Higher College in 1934 was insufficient
to meet the demand, and during the 1930s a stream of southern Nigerians began to
look for university education abroad.
With the introduction of elective representation in the 1950s, both the Western and
Eastern Regions of Nigeria were quick to expand their education programmes. In the
west, free primary education was introduced in 1955, and enrolment increased from
35 per cent to 61 per cent of the school-age population. The number of schools was
increased by nearly a third (Abernethy, 1969: 128). Meeting the demand for education
was one way in which the political leaders could gain legitimacy. The political leaders
included a number of former teachers, and the regionalisation of the marketing boards
provided the funds. Some provision was made for Muslim primary schools, and freedom
of religion was guaranteed in the schools run by the missions. The expansion led
to some friction between the Action Group government and its British civil servants,
who were concerned about the cost of the scheme, the effects on school standards,
and the unemployment problem. Forty per cent of the regional budget now went on education,
and taxation had to be raised to help meet the cost. The rise in taxation was unpopular,
especially in the poorer areas where the need for schooling was least felt. Sporadic
violence broke out, and the opposition NCNC won a majority of the western seats in
the 1954 federal elections. The proportion of trained teachers in the schools dropped
from 31 to 22 per cent.
The resulting devaluation of primary-school qualifications produced an increased
demand for the expansion of post-primary education. Secondarymodern schools were
introduced, and enrolment in them reached 111,000 by 1963. It was soon realised that
secondary-modern leaving certificates were also of little use in finding a job. What
was now demanded was an increase in the number of secondary grammar schools.
By 1970, the percentage of children enrolled in primary schools stood at 87 per cent
in Lagos State, 46 per cent in the Western State, and 28 per cent in Kwara State
(Nduka, 1976).[1] Nearly all boys at least start primary school, but there is a high
drop-out rate, and the chances of post-primary education remain limited. In the 1960s,
just over 20 per cent of the children who entered primary school were going on to
teacher-training colleges, grammar or secondarymodern schools. About 3 per cent were
passing the school certificate examination, and about 2 per cent were getting into
university (Lloyd,1974: 99). Even so, the Yoruba were better represented in the university
population than most other ethnic groups in the country. In 1970ñ1, over a third
of the 14,000 university students in Nigeria were of Western State origin.[2] With
three of the five universities in the country at that time located in Ibadan, Ife
and Lagos, this was scarcely surprising.
The expansion of the job market has been slower than that of the education system.
Abernethy calculated that in southern Nigeria in 1965 there were around 150,000 school-leavers
a year competing for about 38,000 new jobs (1969: 200). In the 1960s, the Western
Region government was in no position to create the number of jobs required, as the
marketing board funds were almost exhausted. The expansion of primary education in
the previous decade had led to the education of larger numbers of girls, Muslims,
and children from less developed areas, but these groups were still at a relative
disadvantage. Secondary education was now necessary for many jobs, and this, unlike
primary education, was not free. Even by 1964 the elite had already become a largely
self-perpetuating group. Abernethy found that the children of farmers had only a
third as much chance as the children of craftsmen and traders of getting into secondary
school, and only a tenth as much chance as the children of professionals and administrators
(Abernethy,1969: 245). The standards of secondary schools vary enormously, and the
children of wealthier families are much more likely to get into the better ones.
All the same, the drive of many Nigerians to get additional qualifications is quite
remarkable. Some do get into university eventually, after a period as primary-school
teachers or clerical workers, having qualified through correspondence courses. Nevertheless,
university students are much more likely to be the children of teachers, civil servants,
professionals or former politicians, straight from one of the better secondary schools.
There is now a substantial body of evidence showing the relationship between education
and other aspects of Yoruba life: fertility, child-rearing, socialisation, marriage,
and the roles of husband and wife.
Yoruba child-rearing patterns vary enormously, and are changing fast with the expansion
of education and the influence of the media. In highly educated families the paraphernalia
of Euro-American child-rearing have long since appeared. In many older compounds
and rural villages they are virtually absent.
The traditional ideal is a large family, and this often remains the case. Educated
women marry later, but the interval between births tends to be shorter. For the majority
of Yoruba children, the mother's milk is the main supply of protein for the first
two years, and sex is not resumed until the child is weaned. An interval of three
years or so between children is common. Among the educated women, the period of breast-feeding
is shorter and the fear that a quick conception will harm the previous child is less
apparent (B. Lloyd,1970: 81). Olusanya found that women with secondary-school or
university education tended to favour three or four children. Women with primary
education favoured five or six, while uneducated women tended to leave the number
'up to God' (1967: 164; cf. 1971: 647). The view of a large family as the best long-term
insurance policy for the parents is still strong.
Yoruba parents are traditionally affectionate and indulgent towards their children
in the early years. The baby is normally carried on the mother's back and Yoruba
women are amazingly adept at carrying on with the normal routine in the house or
the market complete with child. This is not always possible. Many educated women
tend to have office jobs to which they return after a short period of maternity leave,
and the children are entrusted to nursemaids, either junior relatives or hired girls.
In introducing the child to solid food, many uneducated women still rely on the traditional
(and rather startling) method of forced feeding with corn-starch gruel. Baby-bottles
and powdered milk have penetrated to the rural villages, but are often unsterilised.
Gastroenteritis, along with malaria, is a major cause of infant mortality, but the
rate is dramatically reduced where hospital facilities are available (Orubuloye and
Caldwell, 1976). There is also a relationship between infant mortality and the mother's
level of education.
Male circumcision is universal among the Yoruba, and it is often done on the same
day as the naming. In many cases, it is still performed by the olola, the traditional
surgeon. Literate parents are likely to have it done at the local hospital. Clitoridectomy
is less universal. It used to be performed in some areas as a preliminary to marriage
(Bascom,1969a: 61) but is now more usually performed in childhood, if at all. Barbara
Lloyd (1967) found that two-thirds of the girls in Oje were still circumcised, though
it was very uncommon in elite families. Facial scars, also made by the olola, are
also increasingly uncommon in educated families. Where they are given, it is usually
at the instigation of older people who like to see their own marks perpetuated.[3]
In some Yoruba areas there are no marks, while in others like Ondo, there is only
a single pattern, a short vertical stroke on each cheek. The Oyo marks are much more
prominent and elaborate. They consist of horizontal marks in rows across the cheeks,
sometimes coupled with three or more vertical marks up the side of the head. A common
addition in Ogbomoso is the ibamu, a diagonal slash across one cheek, from the bridge
of the nose. Children are usually given the marks of their father, so that one pattern
will predominate in a descent group. These days only children who grow up in their
home towns are given the marks, if at all. In general, the children of migrants to
Ghana had no marks, unless they had returned home and been given them by their grandparents.
They can be made at any time up to puberty.
After the indulgence shown towards children in their early years, there is an abrupt
change after the age of about six, when the child is considered old enough to start
taking on responsibilities. Yoruba ideals in socialisation are well defined. The
word for education or training, eko, is wide in scope, but particular emphasis is
put on etiquette and honesty (Fajana, 1966). Corporal punishment is frequent, even
for minor offences, and stealing is particularly harshly dealt with. LeVine found
that elite fathers were rather less authoritarian towards their children, and more
willing to spend time with them, but the emphasis on discipline and respect was maintained
(LeVine et al., 1967). All the same there is evidence to suggest that elite children
in Nigeria are developing into a culturally distinct group. With their advantaged
backgrounds, they are stronger and healthier than other children, and they start
school with more skills. Many of the elite live in isolated government residential
areas, and often their children only interact with children from similar backgrounds,
in nursery schools or informal play-groups. Their parents understand the educational
system and know how to manipulate it, and the chances of their children succeeding
in school are much greater than those of other families (B. Lloyd, 1966).
Marriage age is most closely related to education in the case of women. Olusanya
found that girls in Ibadan with no education had an average marriage age of 18, compared
with 23 for secondary-school leavers and 25 for university graduates (1967). Many
children enter school relatively late and have their schooling interrupted by their
parents' financial problems. Some are over 20 by the time they leave secondary school.
Generally, the higher the level of education, the more likely the couple are to come
from different towns or different Yoruba subgroups. According to Lloyd, the proportion
marrying partners from different home areas rises to a third in the case of those
with post-primary education, and to a half in the case of those with post-secondary
education. The wife's level of education is usually lower than that of the husband,
reflecting the higher proportion of males at all levels of education. The biggest
differences arise when the husband goes on to university after his marriage.
There are wide differences between the traditional Yoruba patterns of relations between
husband and wife and that found among educated couples. Traditionally the Yoruba
wife is overtly deferential towards her husband, while maintaining her economic independence.
Relations often appear distant, particularly in polygynous households. Each respects
the other's privacy, and has his or her own social network. With educated couples,
this pattern gives way to one in which responsibilities are shared and where there
is more emphasis on companionship. This is more likely to be the case if the age
or education gap between the spouses is slight, and if their own parents were educated
(Lloyd,1967: 138 43). But, given the number of educated women with careers of their
own, the wife often retains her economic independence, and the friendship networks
of husband and wife, inherited from before their marriage, may still not overlap
very much. Links with kin, particularly those of the husband, are often maintained,
and many families have one or more junior relatives living with them. This can be
an area of conflict, if the husband feels that his main responsibility is towards
his own kin, while his wife finds herself having to cater for a succession of junior
relatives staying for long periods and contributing little to the household budget.
A number of features of the Nigerian economy will by now have become clear, many
of them a legacy of the colonial period. Firstly, there is the immense gap in incomes
between different sections of society. While senior civil servants, army officers
and professors have salaries of the order of N10,000 a year or more, together with
low rates of taxation and generous fringe benefits, the per capita Gross Domestic
Product for the country as a whole is around N200 a year. Poorer farmers, traders,
sharecroppers and unskilled labourers may earn considerably less than this. The tax
system is regressive, and the farmers are not only taxed directly but also through
the marketing boards and through the heavy duties on many imported goods. A recent
round of pay increases, following the Udoji and Williams Reports, resulted in pay
rises of over 30 per cent throughout the public sector, and of over 100 per cent
for some grades. The fact that this rise was backdated for nine months meant that
some workers were suddenly paid lump sums of hundreds of naira. Market prices had
risen months before in anticipation of the increases, and many goods simply vanished
from the market. The city traders were able to exploit the situation, but others,
and particularly the farmers, were badly hit by the rising level of inflation and
the shortage of many essential goods. A prolonged shortage of petrol meant an increase
in transport charges.
Secondly, there are the sectoral imbalances. Until the 1970s and the expansion of
the oil industry after the end of the civil war, the major part of government revenues
came from the rural sector. By comparison, very little was spent there. In the 1970ñ4
development plan, 81 per cent of the expenditure was allocated to the urban sector
(Okediji, 1974). The 1975ñ80 development plan does something to redress the balance,
but government intervention in agriculture in the past has usually been in capital-intensive
schemes like the farm settlements, instead of encouraging greater productivity among
the great mass of producers. Agricultural extension work has traditionally suffered
from lack of funds, low motivation among the extension workers and an undue emphasis
on academic qualifications in their selection and training (Harrison, 1969). Poorer
farmers in general are at a disadvantage in dealing with the authorities because
of their illiteracy and their distance from administrative centres. The failure of
the existing institutions to represent farmers' interests was the underlying cause
of the Agbekoya movement, and most attempts to organise farmers' unions or cooperatives
have either helped the wealthier farmers or ended in failure (Beer,1976).
Thirdly, there are the area imbalances: the polarisation between the growing centres
of employment on the one hand, and the poorer towns with their high rates of outmigration
on the other. These imbalances are reflected in politics and the struggle between
different areas for the allocation of resources. This was a major factor in the agitation
for the creation of more states in the west. Ondo felt that it was paying out more
than it was getting back, and the Oyo areas wanted to get away from 'Ijebu and Ekiti
domination' (Panter-Brick, 1970: 267ñ76).
Fourthly, there is the steady growth of the wage-earning sector of the economy. Already
by the mid-1960s this involved about 10 per cent of the workforce. Despite the rapid
growth of industry, the government still remains the major employer of wage-earning
and salaried workers, with about 60 per cent of them employed in the administration
or the government corporations (Cohen, 1974: 49ñ52).
The first characteristic of Nigerian industrialisation is its unequal distribution
(Schatzl, 1973; Green, 1974; Kilby, 1969). There are a handful of major industrial
centres: the northern fringes of Lagos, Kaduna, Kano and Port Harcourt account for
the bulk of production. (Apart from a cigarette factory, there is little industry
in Ibadan, though projects including a Land Rover assembly plant are planned.) The
remaining factories are scattered around in other towns, often as a result of political
pressures rather than economic planning. A classic example was that of a textile
mill planned for Ogbomoso, the home of the regional Premier, in the early 1960s.
After the 1966 coup, it was decided to build it in Ekiti instead (Dare, 1972: 151).
A second characteristic is the dominance of expatriate capital. The large foreign
trading firms have moved into industry, and many of the goods produced at Ikeja have
familiar European brand names. Nigerian entrepreneurs are mainly involved in smaller
enterprises: sawmills, oil mills or construction. But most entrepreneurs have been
attracted into fields with low overheads and quick returns, like transport and property
ownership, rather than manufacturing (Cohen, 1974: 43ñ5).
Thirdly, much of the industry which has been established is capital intensive, despite
the apparent abundance of local labour. From the point of view of foreign capital,
Nigerian labour is often expensive in terms of training and supervision costs, despite
the low wage rates. Even when factories are set up in an area, they often help little
in solving the local unemployment problem (ibid: 53).
What, then, are the main strata which have developed, and how far do their interests
differ? Firstly, there are the strata of the workforce with regular employment as
wage- or salary-earners. At the top is a small and highly privileged stratum distinguished
by its wealth, its generally high level of education, and its monopoly of power.
This includes the senior army and police officers, senior civil servants, university
staff, secondaryschool teachers, managerial staff of the larger firms, the professionals
and the judiciary. Incomes in this stratum range from around N3000 for the newly
qualified university graduate, to over N10,000 for the senior grades. Many of its
members are also involved in private business, either on their own account or through
their wives and relatives.
Next, there is the stratum of middle-ranked workers, mainly with secondaryschool
or technical education and similar qualifications. This includes primary-school teachers,
clerical workers, the middle ranks of the police and army, and skilled manual workers
in supervisory positions. In general this group are in secure and well-paid jobs,
and the opportunities for upward mobility for many of them are quite good. Clerical
jobs are included here because, although they are often poorly paid, the work is
congenial and promotion can often be achieved through passing typing, shorthand and
book-keeping examinations. Many clerical workers and primary-school teachers eventually
find their way into university through correspondence courses.
With incomes similar to the lower-paid groups of clerical workers, but with rather
less chance of upward mobility, are manual workers in industry, mostly literates
with primary or secondary-modern schooling. Employment for this group is less permanent
and increasingly difficult to obtain. Keeping the job depends on the whims of superiors,
and the main hope for an increase in income is to save enough capital to move into
entrepreneurship. With the rising cost of living in the urban areas, this is increasingly
difficult without help from kin and friends. A lump sum of money, as was involved
in the Adebo or Udoji awards, is thus particularly important for workers in this
stratum.
The stratum of manual workers and wage-earners shades off into a group of temporary
or long-term unemployed, making a living from a variety of illegal or semi-legal
activities, or living off the charity of their relatives and friends, hoping that
a regular job will eventually materialise. This stratum includes both the newly arrived
school-leaver who will eventually get a job through a relative or friend, and those
who have been looking for a job for far longer. The longer they wait, the less employable
they become, as the goodwill of friends and relatives is steadily exhausted (Gutkind,
1968). The options available are to go home and farm, or to become assimilated into
a growing urban lumpen proletariat, consisting of casual labourers, the unemployed,
and those involved in a flourishing 'informal sector', with sources of income of
varying legality. Relatives at home often continue to take an interest in their progress.
I met cases of unemployed migrants in Ghana whose relatives had made a special trip
from Nigeria to persuade them to return home and farm. In other cases elderly men
whose only other source of income was farming were set up in trade by their wealthier
junior relatives. There is a strong feeling that elders should not be allowed to
remain in poverty if their junior kin are obviously able to do something about it.
Secondly, there are the various groups of self-employed, ranging from the farrners,
craftsmen and petty traders to the wealthy contractors and industrialists.
The wealthiest entrepreneurs and senior oba are in many ways similar to the administrative
and professional elite, in the extent of their incomes, the social circles in which
they move, and in the influence and patronage which they wield. Influential businessmen
are often directors of government corporations and the larger firms, and many of
them are former politicians. The general level of education in these groups is, however,
rather lower and their life-styles are less westernised. The senior oba are in a
similar position. They are recruited because of their educational qualifications
or their wealth. Some recent appointees are highly educated, but being an oba makes
a professional career impossible. Wealthy entrepreneurs are more likely to retain
close links with their home towns than the civil servants and professionals. Construction
of a large house there is more of a priority. The traditional values of generosity,
support for kin and lavish expenditure on ritual are more important, as they were
for the former politicians. However, education is also important: the children of
wealthy businessmen often end up with degrees and move into salaried jobs, rather
than taking over their parents' businesses.
As one goes down the scale of wealth, the range of options and the chances of upward
mobility become more and more restricted. At the bottom are the petty traders with
limited capital and minuscule turnovers, and the poorer farmers, many of them in
debt to money-lenders, short of land, and unable to make ends meet without the help
of remittances from relatives living in the towns.
It is now possible to ask under what conditions the members of each of these groups
are likely to resort to network or class strategies.
The members of the professional salaried elite are obviously in a good position to
defend their own interests. The interests of the military, the professionals, the
academics and the civil servants may occasionally clash, but more often they coincide.
High-level manpower circulates. Academics and lawyers are often coopted onto government
commissions or seconded into the civil service. The salaries of the elite are comparable
with those for similar work in Europe and North America, and are maintained by regular
government reviews, exemplified by the Udoji and Williams Commissions. Promotion
has slowed down with the completion of the process of Nigerianisation and the growth
of the university population, though new opportunities have been created by the multiplication
of university staffs and state bureaucracies. The return to civilian government may
mean more vacancies as some of the elite become involved in politics, but a saturation
point is likely to be reached with the ever-increasing stream of graduates, most
of them with arts and social science degrees, and increasing numbers of them will
probably move into teaching, perhaps the least prestigious of these occupations.
Network strategies are significant even at this level of Nigerian society. First,
having a son of the town in a position of power is regarded as a major community
resource, and his fellow townsmen will attempt to make full use of it. Secondly they
are at times important within the elite itself. Sections of the elite often segment
into competing groups based on areas of origin. As promotion slows down, this competition
may become more intense as individuals use network strategies to further their own
careers.
Below the elite in income and education, the more skilled workers are in a rather
different position. Many have skills which are scarce, and which guarantee them a
secure job with a good salary. Many are committed to a career in a particular firm
or ministry, and are unlikely to become industrial militants. Promotion to a higher
grade or into the elite is dependent on additional qualifications rather than group
action. Clerical workers are particularly well-placed to get these, and skills such
as typing or shorthand can be practised during office hours or using office equipment.
Network strategies may at times be useful ñ for instance in getting a transfer to
a more congenial department. Class strategies for this group are less important.
Members of this group are likely to retain closer ties with home towns and kin than
are the elite. They are more likely to retire to their home towns, and to be involved
in home-town union affairs. The interest is reciprocal: supervisors, technicians,
and clerks often control recruitment at lower levels, and it is expected that many
will favour applicants from home.
The semi-skilled or unskilled wage-earners, especially in industry, are in a different
position again. For many of them, chances of promotion and job security are limited,
and so are the chances of getting further qualifications. This leaves them with the
alternative of getting the capital necessary to start work on their own account.
For the members of this stratum, kinship and ethnic ties are extremely important:
for locating a job in the first place, in dealings with the bureaucracy, or in acquiring
the capital and training necessary to move into self-employment. Opportunities of
saving money and acquiring property outside the home town are limited, and many rely
on their kin to finance and arrange their marriages.
But this is also the group among which class strategies are likely to be most important
in certain situations. The main chance of increasing wages within the factory lies
in worker solidarity, and the house unions which operate in most of the large factories
receive strong support in confrontations with management (Peace, 1974,1975). During
the Adebo agitation, workers with a limited savings capacity saw themselves being
cheated of a lump sum which could have been used to set up themselves or a wife in
trade, pay for a craft apprenticeship or provide the bribe necessary to get a better
job. It is against this background that the sudden strikes which took place at Ikeja
have to be seen.
In Lagos the history of worker unrest goes back to before 1900. The earliest large-scale
stoppage was in 1897, when the men in the Public Works Department refused to work
after a decision to reorganise the workforce and cut wage rates (Hopkins, 1966).
In the face of a policy mutiny and the disruption caused by the strike, the Governor
backed down. Many other industrial disputes are recorded in Nigeria in the period
up to 1939, most of them in Lagos. Conditions were particularly difficult during
the depression, when wage rates were cut and many workers were being laid off.
Worker mobilisation on a much larger scale began with the Nigerian general strike
of 1945. During the Second World War, real wages had fallen dramatically, and there
had been a number of disturbances during 1941-2 in support of a cost-of-living allowance.
Some of the trade union leaders had links with the NCNC and the 1945 strike was supported
by the nationalists. The demand was for a minimum wage of two shillings a day, and
an increase of 50 per cent in the cost-of-living allowance. The stoppage involved
30 000 workers, and a commission of enquiry was appointed by the government to look
into the workers' grievances (Cohen, 1974: 159ñ 64).
In many ways, the general strike of 1964 resembled that of 1945. Once again the unions
showed that they could be a considerable political force. The government again underestimated
the strength of feeling among the workers and the seriousness of the situation. The
occasion for the strike was provided by the delay in publishing the report of the
Morgan Commission, which recommended substantial wage increases. In its own White
Paper, the govemment watered down the Commission's proposals, but after a stoppage
lasting a fortnight, and involving 750,000 workers throughout the country, they were
forced to improve their offer (Cohen, 1974: 164ñ88; Melson, 1970). Support for the
strike was not translated into a national political movement, and a Labour Party
failed to attract support away from the established regional parties. Melson's explanation
is that political attitudes are determined by the cross-pressures of class and ethnic
identity (1971). Worker solidarity is situational. Workplace and wider political
interests are separated, and the workers were not willing to abandon the regional
parties to which they were linked through communal loyalties. It might also be added
that the regional parties were firmly in control of the distribution of patronage.
Communal loyalties remain strong when it is in the actors' interests to maintain
them.
After 1964, there were no further wage increases in the public sector, despite continuing
inflation. In 1970, the Adebo Commission awarded an interim payment to government
workers. Those with wages of under £500 a year were to get £2 a month extra,
backdated for nine months. The Commission recommended that the award should apply
to the private sector as well, but the government announced that employers who had
paid cost-ofliving awards since 1964 were exempted. After a series of wildcat strikes,
the employers who had resisted were forced to pay the increase (Peace, 1974, 1975).
The workers in the Adebo affair, like the farmers in the Agbrkoya movement, were
seeking an improvement of their position within the existing economic order. Strike
action was seen as a supplement to the normal wage-bargaining procedures, and as
a last resort. Wage negotiations in the large firms were generally conducted through
well-organised house unions. Peace found a divergence of interests between the skilled
and supervisory staff on the one hand and the shop-floor workers on the other. For
the higher-paid workers, employment was more secure and working conditions were better.
During the strike, they helped the management carry on with routine maintenance.
For shop-floor workers, the main possibilities for improving their position came
from united action. The alternative is to save enough to get out of the factory altogether.
Few are committed to a career in industry and most would prefer to work for themselves.
In some cases, network and class strategies are used by individuals simultaneously.
The worker who is sacked mobilises the union officials in the factory on the one
hand, in order to try and get his job back. He mobilises his friends, relatives and
fellow townsmen on the other to try and find him an alternative job.
Kinship and ethnic networks do not take care of everyone in the larger towns. An
unemployed migrant circulates from one relative to another. When their goodwill is
exhausted, he turns to friends, and finally ends up in a social network consisting
of other unemployed (Gutkind, 1968). With economic recession, the help to be got
out of kinship and friendship networks decreases. According to Gutkind, attitudes
among the urban poor in Lagos had become increasingly radical between 1966 and 1971,
during the period of the civil war and the enforced austerity which went with it
(1968, 1974). There was similar discontent among the poor in Ibadan, who saw progress
and change for themselves as impossible, and saw the ruling elite as corrupt and
'tribalistic'. However, in the absence of leadership, individuals try out whatever
strategies are available (1975). During the days of party politics, it was from this
group that the politicians recruited their thugs and activists. It remains to be
seen to what extent this will happen again with the return to civilian rule.
For the self-employed ñ traders, craftsmen, transporters and contractors ñ both class
and network strategies are again important, but for different reasons. Traders are
liable to constant harassment, either for selling smuggled goods, or for selling
at above the control prices. In the larger markets, some sort of patronage is necessary
to get a stall at all. In the transport business, contacts with the authorities are
essential for obtaining both vehicle and driving licences, arranging that a driver
passes his test with no difficulties, and for sorting out any further difficulties
with the police. Given the standards of both driving and vehicle maintenance in Nigeria,
and the desire of most owners to get the maximum possible load or number of people
into their vehicles, such occasions arise frequently.
The interests of traders and craftsmen may be represented by the trade and craft
egbe. These are most likely to be effective when the members have a monopoly of their
niche in the market, when entry to the trade is difficult, and when the number of
people involved is small. They are least effective in the retail trade, particularly
when the goods involved are perishable. It is difficult to enforce a fixed price
if the goods will rot if they are not sold. Their effectiveness also depends on the
income of their members. Boycotts of suppliers are likely to be ineffective if individual
traders have no other sources of income. For the poorer retail trader, it is preferable
in the short term to establish and maintain good relations with one of the wholesale
suppliers, than to attempt to influence the market by joint action with other traders.
Many of these traders are so marginal that there is no real long-term option. Joint
action may be taken to force local government into providing more market amenities,
but not against groups of wealthier traders to effect a restructuring of trade. The
poorer traders and craftsmen in Ibadan formed the basis of Adelabu's support in the
1950s, but in the absence of effective leadership it is network rather than class
strategies which are the most valuable to individuals.[4]
But ties with relatives and with kin are particularly important to the selfemployed
for other reasons. Junior relatives provide a cheap source of labour, and supporting
them is a way of fulfilling kinship obligations. It is the selfemployed who form
the bulk of the members of the home-town unions, and influential members of the unions
may be of more use in dealing with the authorities than the trade and craft Sgbf
officials. Migrant entrepreneurs are likely to return to their home towns eventually,
and building a house there is one of their highest priorities. The wealthy entrepreneurs
ñ contractors, produce-buyers and the like ñ may decide to compete for titles at
home. The support of the local branch of their hometown union may well be crucial
in this. While many wealthy entrepreneurs do not have the time to participate regularly
in town-union meetings, they are frequently invited to its functions as guests of
honour, and they are expected to contribute generously. The wealthy entrepreneur,
much more than the bureaucrat and professional, is concerned with his reputation
at home and works hard to maintain it.
It is in the rural areas, and particularly among the poorer farmers, that the main
resort to mass action has occurred since the imposition of military rule. On occasions
this has spilled over into the larger towns, as in Ibadan or Ogbomoso. The main problems
have been heavy taxation and indebtedness, and a shortage of land. As periods of
fallow shorten, yields and income both fall and the younger generation drifts off
into the towns, reducing the labour supply. Some farmers have been able to move to
areas where land is available, or into other occupations. Others have resorted to
direct action: riots against taxation, and attacks on wealthier farmers, money-lenders,
produce-buyers, local government of ficials, and army chiefs seen as being in league
with them. In the absence of effective institutions representing farmers' interests
to the government, direct action has for many been the only alternative. Various
factors have helped it: the Yoruba tradition of forming associations, the complex
rural-urban links, and the transparently exploitative nature of the marketing board
and taxation systems.
The resort to class strategies led to the development of a number of organisations
aimed at representing farmers' interests over the years (Beer, 1976). In 1948, a
National Farmers' Union managed to force a rise in the price of cocoa. The more populist
Maiyegun movement in Ibadan protested about the policy of cutting out cocoa trees
infected with swollen shoot. There was sporadic violence as gangs of native authority
tree-cutters were attacked by angry farmers. The movement split into two, and the
more militant faction, the Maiyegun League, provided Adelabu with some of his support.
The Agbekoya movement of 1968ñ70 had similarities with the Maiyegun movement, but
there was more violence, and the trouble was more widespread. Both movements were
active in the area to the south and east of Ibadan, which had been seriously affected
by swollen shoot, though in the case of the Agbskoya, trouble spread to Egba, Remo,
Oyo, Ede, and Ogbomoso. Taxation was the main issue, though the situation was exacerbated
by inflation, the recession, bad harvests, and the arrogance and corruption of rural
officials. The Agbekoya leaders were generally unknown farmers, Muslims and illiterates.
Some were hunters: few had been prominent in politics before. What was significant
was that, in pressing their demands, the Agbekoya used existing communal resources,
such as the hunters' egbe. Like the Maiyegun movement, it had difficulty in maintaining
a united leadership, and like the trade unions in the Adebo affair, its aims were
limited. The movement fell apart as soon as it had won concessions from the government.
Further developments in social stratification in Nigeria as a whole will depend on
economic and political developments in the next few years. As far as the west is
concerned, there are two major developments taking place. The first is another major
expansion in education. The aim has been to make primary education universal and
compulsory in 1979, and to raise secondary-school enrolment to 270,000 by 1980-5
The second is industrialisation, centred on the creation of an iron and steel complex
in Kwara State, and involving the expansion of the road and rail network right across
the middle of the country. Ajaokuta, the site of the new plant, is not far from the
north-eastern cultural boundary dividing the Kabba Yoruba from the Igala and Igbira,
and Kabba Province as a whole will be profoundly affected. The question is how far
the expansion of employment opportunities will be able to cope with the increased
number of school-leavers during the next decade. There are also likely to be problems
for the more educated groups. With the continued emphasis on academic rather than
vocational training, unemployment among holders of school certificates, and even
among some university graduates, is likely to become an increasing problem, and this
will only partly be alleviated during the regarding of some posts in the public sector
and an improvement in the qualifications of the school-teachers.
With recent pay increases, there is plenty of evidence that the professionals and
administrators are looking after their own interests. Room for expansion has been
created by the multiplication of state governments, but as the ranks of the bureaucracy
have been filled by relatively young officials, upward mobility will become increasingly
slow. The members of this group will be concerned with maintaining their own positions,
and with ensuring the position of their children through monopoly of educational
opportunities. With the restriction of opportunities among the elite, communal identities
will continue to be important, as friendship networks continue to be based on area
of origin, and as different groups claim that they are under-represented in the top
positions. This might, for instance, happen in Ogun State, where the Ijebu have higher
rates of education than the Egba or Egbado, or in Oyo State, where the Ijesa have
a higher rate of education than anyone else. However, it may be easier to balance
the interests of the different subgroups in the smaller and more homogeneous states
which have now been created than it was in the former Western State.
With the expansion of the economy and the dearth of technical education, the position
of the intermediate group of skilled salaried workers is likely to be strengthened.
It is possible that this might increase their tendency to class action. At the moment
recruitment to senior grades in government and industry depends on paper qualif1cations
rather than on experience, and there is a big difference in the salary scales. These
workers may demand salaries and opportunities more like those of the senior grades,
to whose life-styles and consumption patterns they will increasingly aspire. This
may mean less contact with kin and fellow townsmen, though their control of employment
opportunities at lower grades will mean that some of these links will be retained.
The position of the industrial workers on the shop floor is likely to remain much
as it is at present. Unless training and mobility opportunities are expanded, self-employment
will still offer potentially greater rewards. The pressure for higher wages will
continue during periods of rapid inflation, but the level of militancy may be affected
by the increasing numbers of school-leavers in the job market. An interesting question
is whether the present pattern of weak national organisation and strong house organisation
in the trade union movement will continue. The movement is likely to play only a
minor role in national politics if the pattern of communal political organisation
develops again, though it may be able to organise periodic confrontations with the
government with the limited aim of increasing wages in the short term.
The future of the wealthy entrepreneurs is bound up with the level of government
spending, and this is closely linked to the fortunes of the oil industry. With the
return to party politics, the old clientship relations between politicians and businessmen
will probably be re-established, and these links will become more vital to the entrepreneurs
during periods of economic recession. On the other hand, the position of the small
retail traders vis-a-vis the larger wholesalers and distributors for the large firms
will continue to be weak, making it even more difficult for the poorer traders to
work their way up the market hierarchy.
The position of the urban poor depends on three variables: the rate of migration
under the impetus of educational expansion, the extent to which kinship networks
continue to provide support for the migrants, and the extent to which labour-intensive
industrialisation provides job opportunities. Whether this group emerges as a radical
'class for itself will depend also on whether radical political leaders emerge, or
whether the old pattern of communal parties allied to national coalitions is once
more established.
Finally, there is the rural sector. The position of the cocoa-farmers may be brighter
with the recent rise in world prices, but these may not be permanent if past experience
is anything to go by. Generally, continuing oil revenues should give scope for more
progressive taxation and marketing policies to raise producer incomes. On the other
hand, there is constant pressure on the government to keep food prices down, and
government policies to help the majority of farmers among the Yoruba have never been
very successful. If the present trends of a rise in cash-crop prices and attempts
to hold down food prices are maintained, they may well result in the further stagnation
of food-crop production, increasingly unequal distribution of land, higher levels
of outmigration and renewed rural unrest. The development of capital-intensive commercial
farming or state-owned farms may help the wealthier land-owners, together with local
contractors and the unemployed in a few areas, but they will do nothing for the mass
of rural producers. In the absence of a radically new approach, the average age of
the farming population is likely to increase, and its productivity will decline even
more. In such a situation, the periodic rural violence which has been such a feature
of Yoruba history in the past sixty years may well become so again.
Ultimately then, the future depends on political and economic events which cannot
be predicted, and, in particular, the development of the political parties with the
return to civilian rule ñ whether they will represent a range of ideological alternatives,
or whether the old coalitions of communal interests will resurface. The answer to
this question will have to be found within the framework of Nigeria as a whole, and
not just within the confines of Yorubaland.