A Village School and Community Developmentin a Rliodesian Tribal Trust LandM. W. MurphreeDepartment of Sociology, University College of Rhodesia,Salisbury.SCOPE AND AIMS.This article presents and analyses a case historycollected from one community in a Rhodesiantribal trust land, with special reference to thevillage school as a factor in social change.1 Inparticular it deals with those aspects of socialchange which find prominence in contemporaryschemes of community development. These in-clude, among other things, such items as the localrealignment of power, authority and influence, thereorientation of values, aspirations and expecta-tions, and the training of individuals for the newroles that these changes produce.When we speak of such things as value orienta-tion and role preparation in an educational con-text we naturally think of the students who arethe objects of formal education in a school. It isnot, however, upon the students but upon theparents of the village school that this paper isfocused, not upon the formal, deliberate attemptsof the school to impart techniques, concepts andvalues to students but upon the influences that itexerts upon the adults of the community who arenot considered to be its pupils in any formalsense.The recognition that the village school couldbe a potent factor for social change within thecommunity is not of course new to the history ofeducational policy in Rhodesia, Attempts to har-ness and direct this potential can be traced backas far as the work of men lifce Keigwin and Jowitt,whose efforts have been described by FranklynParker.2 Keigwin, a Native Commissioner inthe period after the first World War, was intenton developing African village industries through-out the Reserves. His concern was basically eco-nomic: "The resources of the country would bebetter used. Africans would learn better workhabits. Their earning power would increase. Modelvillages would spring up."3 In this scheme thelocal village schools would serve as bases fordemonstrators, who would be trained at govern-ment schools set up for this purpose. Althoughmany of Keigwin's ambitions were not realised,his plans did lead to the establishment of theDotnboshawa and Tjolotjo Training Centres in1920 and 1921 and to an increased awareness thatvillage education involved not only the classroombut the community, an awareness reflected in theReport of the Colonial Office Advisory Board onAfrican Education, published in 1925. This reportgave a definition of the aims of education closelyrelated to those of contemporary concepts in com-munity development and drew attention to therole of education in the development of localpolitical leadership: "Education should be adaptedto the mentality, aptitudes, occupations and tradi-tions of the various peoples, conserving as far aspossible all sound and healthy elements in thefabric of their social life ... Its aims should beto render the individual more efficient in his orher condition of life . . . [and it] must includethe raising up of capable, trustworthy, public-spirited leaders of the people . . ."4This inclusive approach to the aims of educa-tion, with its constant reference to environment,found a champion in J. H. Jowitt, Director ofNative Development in the early 1930s. Jowitt'sresponsibilities included education, agriculture,industrial training, and community welfare. UnderJowitt's plan the village schools were to becomecentres for various types of adult education inagriculture, home economics and health science,as well as being academic centres for both youngand old. To implement this programme Jowittcounted heavily upon the Jeannes TeachersScheme, a programme first developed in theAmerican South for training and utilizing teachersin various phases of community leadership. ThePhelps-Stokes Commission of 1925 recommendedsuch a programme for Southern Rhodesia and,financed by the Carnegie Corporation, the JeannesTeacher Programme played an important role inAfrican education in this country during theearly 1930s.It is not within the scope of this article to dis-cuss the reasons for the decline in this emphasisupon the village school as the nucleus of commu-nity development schemes in official circles afterJowitt's resignation in 1934, an emphasis onlyrecently revived by various Government commis-sions, reports and statements of policy.5 What thispaper does attempt to do is to support the hypo-thesis that the objective of Jowitt and the ColonialOffice Report of 1925, the "raising up of capable,trustworthy, public-spirited leaders of the people",obtained a degree of realisation through the cre-ation and establishment of the village schoolswhich proliferated in this country after Jowitt'sdeparture. This development was a largely unin-tentional by-product of the establishment of theseschools and was to develop, not in the classroomthrough the instruction of a teacher, but underthe council tree in the school yard, where theparents of the children met by themselves or withthe head teacher to define the goals and solve theproblems that the presence of the school hadbrought to their community.More specifically, this article seeks to demon-strate that:1. The establishment of the village school hashad a profound effect upon the structure ofcommunity leadership in tribal trust lands.2. This effect can generally be defined in termsof one of the accepted goals of communitydevelopment: ". . . change from [a] condi-tion where one or two people or a smallelite within or without [a] local communitymake decision[s] for the rest of the peopleto a condition where people themselves maketheir decisions about matters of commonconcern . . . from a condition where fewparticipate to one where many participate."63. The village school in Rhodesia's plural soci-ety has functioned as a "broker institution"not only for its pupils but also for the adultsof the community involved in its supervision.This is likewise a function which parallelsanother goal of community development:". . . to assist people to acquire the attitudes,knowledge, skills and resources required tosolve, through communal self-help andorganisation, as wide a range of local prob-lems as possible . . ."7In the concluding section of the article, commentwill be made on the discrepancy between theseconclusions and those of certain official and semi-official government statements regarding the placeof the village school in community development.TRADITIONAL LEADERSHIPSome sixty miles north-east of Salisbury theMazoe river is joined by the Nyagui and entersa long narrow valley formed by two parallelranges which run from the south-west to thenorth-east. After running for twelve miles alongthis valley, it takes a ninety degree turn and cutsdramatically through the northerly of the tworanges, to flow into more broken country to thenorth-west. The valley that it has left continues tothe north-east, drained by a small stream whichenters the Mazoe where it turns, and which formsthe boundary between the Uzumba and MarambaTribal Trust lands.In its break to the north-west the Mazoe pushesits way over a giant doloritic dyke which acts asa natural dam and which has created a large pool.The home of a dozen hippos, the pool is known asChizinga.8 The area within five miles of this poolon the eastern bank of the river is the geographi-cal unit which is referred to in this article as theChizinga community. In 1957 this area was inhabi-ted by four headmen and their people, all of themliving in the Maramba sector. In the history of thedevelopment of this area into what is now calledthe Chizinga community the story of the establish-ment of Chizinga school plays a prominent part.It is a story which in its early stages is closelylinked to two men. One of these was Hoko, whoin 1957 was the headman of Madziwa village.Hoko had worked for many years in town, had1 T414recognised the value of schooling and had givenhis children a lower primary education at thenearest village school seven miles away. He hadlater sent two of his children on for upper primaryschooling at the Nyadiri Methodist Mission.Through this contact he became acquainted withseveral missionaries and his wife became a mem-ber of the Methodist church.Retiring from his work in 1956 Hoko returnedhome and was offered the leadership of this vil-lage in the absence of Madziwa himself. One ofhis first acts as the new headman was to seek theestablishment of a school in the area. His firstformal discussions on the subject were with hisfellow headmen Danda, Humbe and Mutowa andagreement was soon reached on this subject.In his first task Hoko was encouraged by thesecond man who figures prominently in this partof the story, Mack Karidza. Karidza, a MuBudjgafrom Mtoko, had moved to Uzumba about 1930as a boy and settled with his parents at Katsuro,about seven miles from Chizinga. He passed Stan-dard IV at the local school, became a member andlater a steward in the Methodist church. Actingas an itinerant lay evangelist he reached Chizingain 1956 and began holding services in the area,attended by many of the people in Madziwa vil-lage including headman Hoko and his family.Early in 1957 Karidza applied to the Land Devel-opment Officer for a new field allotment. Theeventual result was that Karidza was constituteda headman and granted an area at Ohizinga on theUzumba side. In September 1957 Karidza, thirteenother men, and their families moved into thevalley and started clearing land for their fields.An important new settlement had come to thecommunity.Karidza and Hoko each tell slightly differentbut nevertheless complementary stories regardingthese first steps towards the formation of a schoolat Chizinga. According to Hoko. encouraged byKaridza he approached the African Methodistminister stationed in Maramba in early 1957 andtogether they walked over the area searching fora suitable site for a school. Failing to find one inMaramba they conceived the idea of crossing theboundary stream and establishing a school on theUzumba side, where plenty of level ground nearwater was available.Hoko put this plan to the district commissionerduring a chance meeting with him at Maramba.When the district commissioner expressed doubtas to the feasability of a school being establishedin the territory of one chief for the benefit ofchildren living in the territory of another, Hokoassured him that Chief Nyajina of Uzumba wouldhave no objection since he (Hoko) was relatedto him. A meeting later between Hoko, the districtcommissioner and the chief confirmed Nyajina'swillingness for the school to be built, and accord-ing to Hoko, the district commissioner was leftto negotiate with education authorities in Salis-bury concerning the establishment of the school.Hoko returned to Chizinga and met with the head-men, Humbe, Mutowa, and Nyahono. Theyagreed together to make bricks for the school andthe first kiln was made and burned by theirpeople in September. A second kiln of bricks waslater formed and burned by Karidza and hispeople.Karidza's version of this story is substantiallythe same, although told from a perspective whichgives his part more prominence. According tohim, he gave Hoko and other headmen the ideaof working for a school. He confirms Hoko'sstory of negotiations with the district commis-sioner and the chief, but gives equal prominenceto the fact that it was he who, soon after hisarrival at Chizinga in 1957, went as a representa-tive of the community to apply to the schoolmanager at Nyadiri for a school. For Hoko themain link between the community and the educa-tion department was the district commissioner, forKaridza it was the school manager.9Whatever the interpretation placed on the differ-ent roles of Hoko and Karidza there is no questionbut that by the end of 1957 Karidza, the new head-man, was the leader of the movement to gain aschool for the valley. When the school managervisited the site in early 1958 it was Karidza whoacted as host and spokesman, and who subse-quently acted as the liaison between him and theparents. There appeared to be little rivalrybetween Hoko and Karidza. Hoko was a mucholder man who felt that he had achieved his mainobjective and seemed happy to follow the initia-tive of Karidza. Karidza for his part relied uponHoko to mobilize support for the school pro-gramme, particularly among the Maramba head-men.This then was the situation at the beginning of1958. Two men, one a native of the area and theother a relative newcomer, but both with careerswhich had given them an appreciation of the valueof formal education, had awakened the leaders ofthe Chizinga community to their need of a school.Both had utilized their contacts Š Hoko with thechief and district commissioner and Karidza withthe church and school manager Š to communicatethis need of the community to the larger society15and the agencies charged with the responsibilityfor education. They had come to a common agree-ment with their fellow headmen regarding thesiting of the school and had acted together withthem in getting their people to burn two kilns ofbricks for the school building.Up to this point our case history can be inter-preted in terms of the response of traditionalleadership to a new community objective.10 Whilethe objective itself was basically an intrusive one,stemming from social changes in the larger fabricof society, the response to it was channelledinitially along traditional lines of authority. Com-munity action was focused and directed by thetraditional leadership. In those early brick-makingdays it was as villages directed by their headmenthat the people worked. In all the decisions thatwere made it was the headmen who were therecognised, undisputed leaders. They, of course,consulted their people through countless infor-mal discussions, but the meetings that were heldto discuss the siting of the school, that made thedecisions to apply to the chief and the schoolmanager or to form bricks Š these meetings weremeetings of headmen, not general meetings of thecommunity. And within this decision-makinggroup it was Karidza, and to a lesser extent Hoko,who gave real direction. One is reminded of aphrase from a passage already quoted, "A condi-tion where one or two people or a small elite . . .make decisions for the rest of the people."NEW ALIGNMENTSSuch a condition could not last. Customarypatterns of Shona tribal authority cannot indefi-nitely cope with the changes that Western patternsof education, economics and religion are now in-troducing into the tribal trust lands. The inade-quacy of the traditional patterns of authority inChizinga community began to make itself felt in1958. The two kilns of brick were not sufficientto build the buildings that the manager said wereneeded. More would have to be burned. Moneywould have to be collected to purchase windowframes, corrugated iron and other building sup-plies. Competent builders would have to be hired.The meeting of headmen, each of whom repre-sented independent units acting in co-operation,was not capable of meeting these challenges.For one thing, not all the headmen were takingthe project as seriously as some of their people.Many times when the headmen would gather todiscuss the progress of the school some of themwould be absent, particularly Mutowa and Nya-hono. Furthermore, even those headmen who wereinitially interested in the scheme found that theycould not deliver their quota of bricks Š thetraditional sanctions at their disposal were notadequate to force their people to produce therequired work. And as for the collection and keep-ing of school money, who was to do that? Thefact was that the establishment of a school atChizinga was already demanding a new type ofsocial grouping within the community.Not all the adults of the community wereequally motivated towards the establishment ofthe school. Those who were the parents of schoolor pre-school age children were the most stronglymotivated. They were, therefore, the most respon-sive to pressures which could be brought to bearto induce them to undertake the responsibilitiesnecessary for its establishment. It must not bethought that this group was a small one. It com-prised most of the adults in the community be-tween the ages of 20 and 50. What is importantis that the interests of this group could not beadequately channelled through a traditional sys-tem of influence and authority dominated (be-cause of its emphasis upon seniority) by a genera-tion slightly senior to it. This new group cutacross the boundaries of village organisation with-in the valley; a new alignment was required todirect its activities and enforce the demands ofits objectives.A school committee was therefore called for.The initiative for its formation came from Karidza,who had been familiar with school committeeselsewhere. The school committee was to negotiatewith the education authorities, to determine workquotas at the school for the parents, to tax theparents for the funds necessary to carry out theconstruction programme and to hold funds thuscollected.A general meeting of all parents wishing to co-operate in the projects was called and met at theschool site. Sixty families enrolled their names ascharter members in the project. (This was out ofa total of approximately eighty-five householdsin the valley at the time). Those who wereenrolled were guaranteed a place for their chil-dren when the school opened. In return they wererequired to pay building fees of $4 per family,and to contribute labour and bricks as the schoolcommittee required. Enrolled parents who failedto turn up for work as required were to be fined25c. per day. Those parents in the community whorefused to be enrolled and undertake the respon-sibility of building the school would have theirchildren accepted in school only after childrenof enrolled parents had been accommodated andafter they had paid an enrolment fee: $15 for16parents who lived in distant villages, $19 forparents who lived near the school.11Thus did the general parents meeting of 1958at Chizinga create a new organisation to achieveits objectives. The innovation was sweeping andprofound. But when it came to a selection of aschool committee to act as its administrative orga-nisation, the parents' meeting was conservative.A new framework for co-ordinating the objectivesand activities of the group had been devised, butthe parents had not yet learned how to make itefficient and representative. The committee wasconstituted with three members. Two were leadersIs. y whom the parents already knew and trusted Šthe headmen Karidza (chairman) and Hoko(treasurer). The third member, James Chitumbe,a young man from Karidza's village, was electedbecause he possessed a skill which could not befound in the ranks of the headmen Š he couldread and write well.Karidza thus not only retained his leadershipbut also extended his authority in a way notpossible before. His influence over members ofthe community in villages other than his own wasincreased. He now controlled school finance, forHoko's treasurership involved nothing more thancollecting money and then turning it over toKaridza. Karidza evidently had some idea ofcommittee work and public stewardship, for in1958 he purchased a hard-backed foolscape note-book for committee records. He did not, how-ever, implement this action, for no entries weremade in the notebook until 1963, the yearKaridza gave up his chairmanship.During 1959 and 1960 the school committeeremained the same. In 1960 the community wasinformed by the manager that approval had beengranted by the Education Department to startschool in 1961. This news revived the flaggingenthusiasm of the parents, and a three classroombuilding and teachers' residence were completedby the end of the year.Comment should be made on the part playedby the church in the development of Chizingaschool. As has been mentioned, Karidza was aMethodist lay preacher, and by 1960 regularservices were being held on the school site. Themanager was a missionary from the NyadiriMethodist Mission, and it was accepted by theparents of the community that theirs was to be aMethodist school. In the eyes of the government,y the Methodist church was the "responsible body".Yet in spite of these formal ties with the commu-nity the influence of the church was loose andindirect. The manager's influence on the com-munity tended to be channelled along two Hnes:(a) the recognition by the community of the factthat he could delay the opening of the school untiladequate accommodation had been provided, and(b) his power to appoint teachers to the schoolwhom he felt would guide it in the right direction.Apart from negotiating the occasional purchase ofbuilding material he did not handle school com-mittee funds, nor did he regulate the selection ofschool committee members.12 Quite poissibly thepresence of the church in the community influ-enced the attitudes and objectives of its membersin many ways, but this influence was diffuse andmediated. Responsibility and initiative for thedevelopment of the school remained largely withlocal leadership.In January 1961 school started with threeteachers. The annual parents' meeting, conveningin the same month, added the newly appointedheadteacher to the committee, otherwise its mem-bership remained the same. However, currents ofdissatisfaction with the old leadership, temporarilysuppressed during the elation over the start ofthe school in 1961, began to make themselves felt.A new headteacher, Musasa, who had taken overfrom his predecessor in August, 1961, was quickto sense and concur with this dissatisfaction.Karidza had become increasingly autocratic andthere was some suspicion that he had mishandledschool funds. In an attempt to make the schoolcommittee more representative, Musasa proposedthat its membership be enlarged, a suggestionwhich met with quick approval from the parents'meeting in January 1962. Two more memberswere added to the committee, one a young manfrom Karidza's village, and one a man locallyregarded as the vice-headman of Humbe village.Old Hoko was dropped from membership andwas replaced by a younger man. This was, Ithink, a genuine case of retirement. Hoko wasfeeling his age and had been replaced by ayounger son of Madziwa as headman earlier thatyear. But Karidza was retained for another year;the community was not ready to discard theleader who had provided much of the original in-centive to start the school.One trend becomes obvious when we examinethe 1962 committee; the representation of tradi-tional leadership has dropped sharply. Through1961 headmen dominated the committee, in 1962there was only one headman in the committee ofsix. After this date the fact that a man was a head-man was never a critical factor in his election tothe school committee. Headmanship could assist aman's candidacy in that it gave him a chance to17be well known and to demonstrate his leadershipability, but was not itself a determining factor. Theprocess of "change from a condition where ... asmall elite within ... a local community makedecisions for the rest of the people to a conditionwhere people themselves make these decisionsabout matters of common concern" was welladvanced.It made an even greater advance the followingyear when the parents' meeting elected a newchairman in the place of Mack Karidza. Karidzahad become increasingly domineering, blockingany projects of the headteacher's that did notmeet with his approval. There is some indicationthat the architects of the vote to oust him fromthe chairmanship were the headteacher, Mususa,and the secretary, although there was no openhostility between them. Reflecting on the meeting,the headteacher says, "There was no fighting, butthe speeches were hard." As a result Karidza wasreplaced by Gurure as chairman. Karidza wasretained on the committee as a gesture of recon-ciliation, but he found his demotion hard to take."He did not come to committee meetings," saidone informant, "because he was angry." Of Karid-za's replacement, Gurure, informants said: "Hewas not very strong, but his committee was verystrong."The significance of the 1963 general meetingfor the history of the Chizinga community cannotbe over-emphasized. The school had been startedlargely through the initiative and efforts of a fewmen, particularly Karidza. But by now it hadassumed such an importance to the communitythat its members were unwilling to allow its pro-gress to be dictated or frustrated by one individualregardless of his prestige. The mechanism wasavailable to the parents through the annual elec-tion to dispense with any leader whose workappeared inadequate, and in 1963 they reachedthe stage where they were willing to use it. It isperfectly clear from discussions with membersof the community that Karidza was not evictedfrom office for any particular personal animosityagainst him; rather action was taken because ofa general conviction that it was for the good ofthe school.One important result of this action was that itserved as a dramatic reminder to the members ofthe Chizinga committee of the representativecharacter of their work. They could not act inde-pendently or autocratically without endangeringtheir positions on the committee. TraditionalShorn culture has of course its own sanctionsagainst autocracy, idiosyncracy and action forpersonal gain by those in authority, but they arenot as precipitate or categoric as an election andthe sudden loss of office. With the successful utili-zation of this technique by the Chizinga parentsthe degree of responsiveness to public opinion bylocal leadership reached a new level. The commu-nity deveolpment ideal of "a condition wheremany participate . . . where people themselvesmake decisions about matters of common con-cern" had been approximated, at least in broadoutline.Another consequence of the 1963 general meet-ing was that politicsŠin the popular sense of anactive pursuit of public support for candidacy toofficeŠgained more prominence in the community.Membership in the school committee becamehighly desirable. This popularity can be seen, Ibelieve, as a corollary of the increased awarenessof the responsibility of the school committee to actas the servant of public opinion. If, through themechanism of the annual election, membership onthe committee reflected current public opinion,it obviously became an important index of highstatus. Membership on the school committee was,of course, not the only road to a high status inChizinga but its achievement was relatively acces-sible, implied great popularity and could carryconsiderable power. These new attitudes towardsschool committee membership are reflected in theincreasing changes in membership during 1965-67.The size of the committee was progressively in-creased, a number of new names appear and indi-viduals frequently change their positions withinthe committee itself.What were the prominent characteristics ofthose who were successful in winning election?Most appeared to be self-confident in their publicpronouncements. In a community where schoolexperience has not existed long enough for reputa-tions to be built on the confidence of long experi-ence, the people turned to those who had confi-dence in themselves. Of some it was said, "Theywere people who were outspoken," and of others,"They were prominent in their talking." On theother hand, occasionally a different personality isfound, such as Gurure of whom it was said, "Heis a neutral man, who cannot make enemies."More objective criteria appear to have been usedin the selection of those whose offices requiredspecialised skills. Regarding the choice of thetreasurer one informant commented, "When wethink of a treasurer, we always look at a man'shome, the way he manages to keep things,"The success of the school committee was judgedon the basis of the absence of any scandal of mis-18'f-f »* »management (particularly with regard to funds)and concrete achievement Š the building of anadditional classroom or the acquisition of anadditional teacher. A frequent gambit of thosecampaigning for office, either ostensibly or unob-trusively, was to suggest that, had they been onthe committee, two classrooms rather than onewould have been built, etc.Two rivals in this political game were thebrothers Willie and James Karidza, sons of abrother of Mack. Willie was elected to the com-mittee in 1964. In 1965 he rose to the position ofvice-chairman of the committee. He was bitterlyopposed by his younger brother James, who suc-cessfully conducted a campaign to replace himand who became vice-chairman in 1966. But Jamescould not live up to his promises, 1966 was aminor disaster and he and other committee mem-bers came under suspicions of misappropriationof funds. The chairman, Chirwa, resigned and in1967 an enlarged and almost completely newcommittee was elected, with Willie back in itsmembership, this time as chairman. It was thiscommittee that was directing the school, appar-ently efficiently, at the time field work ceased.NEW TECHNIQUESEnough has been said to demonstrate how theChizinga evidence corroborates the propositionthat the establishment of a village school tends tohave wide repercussions on the structure of com-munity leadership. The introduction of such aninstitution accelerates the creation of new socialgroupings, the acceptance of different aspirationsand expectations, and the introduction of newtechniques for the achievement of communityand individual goals. This leads us to the thirdproposition of this article, which is that, havingintroduced these changes, the school acts as anagent in training individuals for this change, thatit acts as "broker institution" not only for itspupils but for the adults of the community as well.The concept of the "broker institution" has beendeveloped in response to the need for a conceptualframework with which to understand the institu-tional processes whereby individuals in a pluralsociety move from one section of it to the other.13In such a society the "broker" Š whether anindividual or an institution Š has links with bothsections and thus mediates between the one andthe other. Rhodesia with its distinct culturalgroups, where the super-ordinate minority grouppossesses a culture towards which the majoritysubordinate group moves as it begins to practisenew institutional forms and accepts substantialchanges in value orientation, qualifies as a pluralsociety in the sense that Smith and others haveused the term.14 In such a situation the school,shaped as it is by the cultural values and tech-niques of the superordinate group, obviously be-comes an important broker, imparting these valuesand techniques to its students and thus equippingthem for the new roles which have been intro-duced. Frequently this function of the school isseen in occupational socialization. As Joseph Far-rell has pointed out, the school may provide skillsthat are saleable such as carpentry and accoun-tancy, but more often provides the necessary toolskills such as reading, writing, general knowledgeand Š most important in Rhodesia Š the certifi-cation which open up a wide class of occupationsto the student.15 This role of the school in thetribal trust areas has been acknowledged andaccepted; what has not been so readily recognisedis that the school has likewise acted as an agentof occupational socialization for the adults of thecommunity involved in its supervision as well. TheChizinga material offers ample evidence of thisfact. Perhaps the most explicit documentation ofthis process is to be found in the school recordbook started in 1963. Here can be found a some-times humorous, sometimes poignant, but alwaysilluminating record of struggle and co-operationas the school committee members sought to learnthe lessons and acquire the skills that their newroles demand of them. The agenda of their meet-ing on February 20, 1964, gives a good idea on thescope of the problems they faced. The Shona isso succinct and colourful that I give it here to-gether with a rather free translation:1. Kuwanika kwe man Š where are we goingto get the money to meet our budget?2. Kusevcnzeswa kwe vana ne mateacher ŠThe use being made of student labour bythe teachers.3. Vabereki havari kuuya kubasaŠParents arenot coming to work as they should.4. Mateachers ari kurava vana Š Teachers arebeating our children.5. Mateachers ari kunyenga Š Teachers aremaking eyes at the school girls.6. Vabereki varikudura Š Parents are over-charging [the teachers for ploughing].7. Masabiiku arikunyima minda Š Headmanare not giving the teachers sufficient landsto plough.8. Varongeri vari kutiza nemari Š Fosterparents are running off with the fees left fortheir charges by parents.169. Vabereki vasina kupedza marl Š What to19do with parents who have not completedtheir payments of building fees.10. Kuna manager kune mari yedu ya '62 $18.ŠThe manager has got $18 of our moneygoing back to 1962.11. Vanhu vasina mari tivape 2 months Š Pro-posed that parents without money be giventwo months to pay up.Placed in academic jargon, these items might belisted differently. Many of them represent prob-lems of relationship. Here we find items concern-ing student-teacher relations and teacher-parentrelations, problems produced by the occupationalsocialization introduced to the community by theestablishment of the school. Here we find also theproblem of parent-child relationship representedin the item on parental irresponsibility, a problemwhich doubtless existed in Chizinga before thecorning of the school, but which has now acquirednew dimensions. Extra-community relations arealso represented in the items on the agenda con-cerning the school manager and elsewhere in therecord book in items regarding the sub-chief.But if problems of relationship form one impor-tant focus of attention, the effective mobilizationand utilization of community resources for thebenefit of the school constitutes another. Else-where in the record book are to be found itemsregarding the planning and letting of contractsfor school buildings, the purchase of buildingmaterial and the maintenance of school grounds,buildings and equipment. In all of this financelooms large and much of the record book is adiary of the committee's efforts to find an effec-tive means for the self-taxation necessary to pro-vide funds and adequate techniques for handlingand utilizing these funds once acquired.This is perhaps the point at which to indicatethe fees for which parents find themselves respon-sible at Chizinga. There is, first of all, the "schoolfee". This fee ranges from 35c. for children ingrade I to 60c. for children in grade V. It is col-lected annually by the headteacher and is for-warded to the school manager, who uses it forthe purchase of school equipment, supervisiontravel beyond that covered by government grantand office expenses. There is a sports fee of 25c.per annum per child, collected by the headteacherand kept by the school committee treasurer forthe purchase of sports equipment and payment ofexpenses in connection with school sporting events.Parents are responsible for the purchase of theirchildren's textbooks and stationery; these expensescan range from 60c. for children in grade I to S4for children in grade IV. Finally there is the build-ing fee, determined annually by the school com-mittee according to the scope of its buildingprogramme, but usually working out at about $4per year.17The committee is thus directly responsible forthe management of the sports fund and the build-ing fund, the latter being an especially heavyresponsibility. First of all there is the problem ofassessment, since the amount is open to revieweach year. The school committee must plan abuilding programme, set a budget for it and thendetermine what the individual assessment is to be.Since parents are not all in the same position theirassessment may vary. The fact that parents whohave failed to participate in the building pro-gramme in previous years may be liable to a finehas already been mentioned. Notes in the com-mittee minutes indicate other decisions along thisline: "Those who have gone off to work to pay50c. per month." "Those children who have noparents may study without payment of the build-ing fee."Beyond the problems of assessment the commit-tee is faced with the difficulties of collection. Therecord book is full of brief notations which indi-cate the struggle involved. Against the blank indi-cating one man's failure to pay his assessment atreasurer has written "I wrote him twice". Else-where can be found signed statements, such asthat of James Kagoro, "I promise to bring£1.6.8d.", indications of diligent pressure by thetreasurer. The committee's main difficulty in thisregard is the lack of an adequate range of sanc-tions to bring against delinquents. The committeehas no customary or statutory means of enforc-ing such people to pay their fees. It does have theauthority to bar any child from school whoseparents have not met their obligations Š a threatthat many village schools use to enforce pay-ment. But this raises questions regarding the com-mittee's responsibility towards children of irres-ponsible parents in the community. This issue wasthe focus for much discussion and reflectionat Chizinga for many years. A terse minute record-ing of the committee's decision: "Kutanda vanakwarambwa" Š "It was decided not to bar chil-dren from school [for non-payment of fees]" Šreflects a growing sense of community responsi-bility and foresight for which the African villageris often not credited. The abjuration of such apowerful sanction has meant, inevitably, moredifficulty for the school committee in its work ofcollection.Finally the school record reveals a detailedhistory of the struggle to achieve the proper20stewardship of school funds. Dark tales of em-bezzlement can be found: "We discussed thematter of the shortage in the books. The meetingdecided that [X] was responsible for this shortage. . . the matter must be pursued further." Otheritems are more humorous than serious. In onereport, after listing among his receipts items forwhich he had "lost the papers" it was discoveredthat the treasurer had more money in hand thanhe was supposed to. The committee met this un-* usual situation with a quick response: "Dare rinotihazvina mhosva ne over iyoyi" Š "Never mindthe surplus, keep it in the treasury anyway!" Areview of the years 1963-1967 reveals a vast im-provement in the clarity of the financial record.Duplicate receipt books are now kept, and annualaudits of the treasurer's records are made by the* committee. The present treasurer keeps a runningbalance calculated after each transaction: a tediousand clumsy procedure but one which makes thefinancial situation patently clear. It is part of arecord of progress revealed in the committeeminutes, a record of the training of committeemembers in the new techniques of the superordin-* »Ł ate culture. With its links with both sub-culturesof the society, the school is acting as a broker for*Ł these adults of Chizinga, training them for the newroles that are now intruding into rural Shonasociety. The value of this training is recognised bythe inhabitants of the tribal trust lands in othercontexts; it is not without significance, for in-stance, that in 1967 all nine members of theUzumba Council were, or had been, members ofŁ some local school committee.DISCUSSIONThis article has set out to support the hypo-thesis that introduction of the village school hashad a profound effect upon the structure of com-munity leadership in tribal trust lands, that it hasassisted the adults of these communities to acquire» the new attitudes and skills required by a changingsocial situation, and that these changes can bedefined in terms of the stated goals of communitydevelopment. This process has, in fact, taken placeat Chizinga. It has taken place largely throughlocal initiative and direction. Neither mission norgovernment can claim much credit for this devei-, opment; its history must be understood not as theresult of deliberate planning but as the productof community response to the introduction of anew institution. Yet in spite of, or perhaps becauseof, this lack of outside direction and interference,the development has taken place.These conclusions stand in contradiction to aposition taken, either directly or implicitly, byseveral official or semi-official statements concern-ing community participation in the managementof African village schools. While recognising thepotential of the village school for a programmeof community development, these statements im-ply that the establishment of village schools hasheretofore largely been a matter of mission initia-tive and their management and developmentlargely a matter of mission direction under theguidance of the Education Department. The sug-gestion is also made that to properly involve localcommittees in the management of their schools itwill be necessary to remove them from missioncontrol and place them under local governmentbodies now being set up by government. Speakingin Parliament on August 18, 1967, the Minister ofEducation announced restrictions on the futureopening of village schools by the missions "to en-sure that the expansion of the primary schoolsystem shall depend upon the efforts of local initi-ative and shall come under local control."18 Theeditor of The Rhodesian Community DevelopmentReview, published by a government agency, hasspoken of the "increasing pressure on the part oflocal people for a say in how their contributions,in the form of school fees and contributions toschool building funds, are utilised. These contribu-tions have, for the most part, been paid over tomissions, to be used in trust for school purposes."19Writing in the same issue the Deputy Secretaryfor African Education in the Ministry of Educa-tion cites both the Judges and Mangwende Com-missions as indicating that "local communitieshave little to say in the schools, often built bytheir own hands, and little opportunity to 'acquirethe attitude, knowledge, skills and resources re-quired to solve, through communal help and orga-nisation, their local problems'."20Obviously these statements gain no supportfrom the Chizinga materials. How are we to ex-plain the contradiction? One suggestion might bethat Chizinga is atypical, not representing a condi-tion generally pertaining in rural African com-munities. In certain respects this is the case; it isa community which crosses tribal boundaries andwhich lacks a township, a feature of most tribaltrust communities. These are, however, matterspertaining more to the question of the definition of"community", a question not dealt with in thisarticle, than to our subject. More germane is thefact that material from other schools in Uzumbawould seem to indicate that some have not passedbeyond the stage of domination by one or twostrong individuals as has Chizinga. It is also truethat some denominations have had a policy of21collecting the building fees, building the schoolbuildings themselves and in other ways exercisingcloser control over the community aspects ofschool development. The author is not equippedto state just how widespread such policies are;what can be asserted is that the pattern of missionjnvolvment, or lack of it, here described for Chi-zinga is by far the most common pattern forvillage schools in the Mrewa and Mtoko districts.In its broad outline Chizinga must be consideredrepresentative of a predominant type of schoolcommunity for these two districts, and the materi-als presented here are therefore of broad generalsignificance.Perhaps a more significant reason for the dis-crepancy is to be found in the difference inresearch methodology involved. The statementsquoted above are based on commission reports,commissions which relied heavily on the "takingof evidence", written and oral, at various hear-ings. This is, of course, a reliable and respectedtechnique of gaining information under certaincircumstances, a technique often incorporated inthe interview and questionnaire methods of socialresearch. It is especially effective in ascertainingopinion on specific subjects, less effective for in-vestigating social process. Had this technique beenthe sole method used at Chizinga, certain issueswould doubtless have come to light Š complaintsabout the manager or sub-chief holding funds,pride over certain accomplishments, criticismconcerning certain arrangements. The currentopinion of the community would have been re-vealed, but it is doubtful whether such a tech-nique would likewise have revealed the processesof change in organisation, values and behaviourwhich have taken place in the valley.Another weakness of the investigative tech-nique which relies heavily upon evidence presen-ted within a formal contest is that the opinionsample is likely to be biased in favour of one ormore groups within the social universe beingstudied. In certain circumstances the informantsmay be self-selected: the articulate, the outspoken,the dissident. In others the nature of the investiga-tion may restrict the range of informants to cer-tain categories; the literate, the enfranchised, theincumbents of positions of power and prestige.While fully recognizing the value of the formalinterview, social anthropology attempts to mini-mize the dangers just mentioned by incorporatingcertain safeguards into its techniques. Samplingbias is controlled by adherence to the randomiza-tion principle in selection, and observed behaviouris made an important factor in the evaluation ofverbal data. The cautious anthropologist will notclaim that subjective bias is completely eliminatedfrom his investigation, but he will expect thisfactor to be greatly reduced by this approach.Finally, the anthropologist attempts to gain aclearer insight into social processes through aninvestigation which has significant time-depth, atechnique sometimes referred to as the "extendedcase method". This may involve a replication studyof the same community made at two separatepoints in time;21 more ideally it would consist of aproperty diachronic study carried out more or lesscontinually over a considerable, and structurally.significant, period.As was stated in the introduction, the data whichforms the basis for this article were obtained atirregular intervals over a period of ten years, andtherefore this study falls somewhere between thetwo types just mentioned. In some ways this is arather tedious process, and frustrating for thosewho demand immediate results. Nevertheless thefindings presented here suggest that it is a valuablesupplement to the more conventional proceduresof governmental investigation, and should beutilized by those responsible for the formationof administrative policy in the rural areas. Whenthis is done it will be found that a form of com-munity co-operation and initiative closely con-forming to the objectives of community develop-ment has existed in the tribal trust areas of Rho-desia for many years, embodied in local schoolcommittees. Those responsible for directing theGovernment's programme of community develop-ment who ignore this fact, and who fail to effec-tively articulate the power and experience of theselocal school committees into the larger units oflocal government now being created will do soto the detriment of the programme they arepledged to promote.REFERENCESMaterial used in this article has been selected from the data of an anthropological field work exercise carried outat irregular intervals over a period of ten years, from 1958 to 1967. Since the period of investigation covers sucha wide time span, the material yields a diachronic perspective especially valuable for the analysis of social processesattempted here.PARKER. F. 1962 Community Development and Education in Southern Rhodesia. 1920-1935. Int. Rev. Missions,51, 335-347.KEIGWIN, H. S. 1921 An Educational Experiment. S. Afr. J. Sc, 18, 172-182.221925 Education Policy in British Tropical Africa. London, H.M.S.O. Cmd. 2374, p. 4, quotedŁ Ł4. GREAT BRITAINin PARKER, 342.5. SOUTHERN RHODESIA 1961 Report of the Mangwende Reserve Commission of Inquiry.1962 Report of the Southern Rhodesia Education Commission [Judges' Report).RHODESIA 1965 Local Government and Community Development: The Role of Ministries and Co-ordination,Statement of Policy and Directive by the Prime Minister. Salisbury, Government Printer.6. SANDERS, I. T. 1958 The Community: An Introduction to a Social System. New York, The Ronald Press, p. 407.7. RHODESIA 1965 Local Government and Community Development, p. 2.8. This and the names used for the main dramatis personae of this account are pseudonymous.9. Standard procedure for establishing a school in 1957 was for parents to contact the school manager of the missionof their choice. The manager, having determined that the consent of the chief had been granted, would then submitan official application to the District Commissioner. This official would satisfy himself that the application was inorder Š that the siting did not contravene the three-mile rule and that the parents wished for this particular churchto supervise their school, etc. He would then forward the application to the Department of Education. Applicationshad to be submitted at least one year before the proposed opening of the school and had to take their turn in apriority listing.10. It can, of course, also be interpreted in terms of a search for power on the part of status incumbents: see LEACH,E. 1964 Political Systems of Highland Burma. London, G. Bell & Sons, p. 10. Such an analysis is, however, outsidethe scope of this article.11. It should be noted that twelve of the original sixty enrolled families withdrew in 1958 because "the work was toohard".12. During the 1950s the Methodist church had a regulation requiring school committees of Methodist-related schoolsto be made up of twelve members, six of whom were to be Methodists, including the chairman. This regulation wasin fact rarely invoked, and was certainly never considered at Chizinga.13. The term "broker institution" was apparently first used in WOLFE, E. R. 1956 Aspects of Group Relations in aComplex Society: Mexico. Am. Anthrop., 58, 1065-1078. More recently the term has been used by educationalists;see for example, in: ADAMS, D. and FARRELL, J. P. eds. 1960 Education and Social Development. Syracuse,N.Y., Center for Development Education.14. SMITH, M. G. 1965 The Plural Society in the British West Indies. Berkeley, University of California Press. Seealso FURNIVALL, J. S. 1948 Colonial Policy and Practice. London, Cambridge University Press, pp. 303-312.15. FARRELL, J. P. 1967 Education and Pluralism in Selected Caribbean Societies. Comp. Educ. Rev., 11, 165-166.16. The reference to varongeri, foster parents, indicates that some people of the community were boarding students,probably children of relatives living in areas without a school.17. Figures as for 1967.18. RHODESIA 1967 Debates of the Legislative Assembly. Salisbury, Government Printer, 68, col. 1188.19. EDITORIAL 1967 Rhod. Community Dev. Rev., 2, 1.20. STEWART, D. 1967 The Role of Education in the National Policy of Community Development. Rhod. Com-munity Dev. Rev., 2, 4.21. For a Rhodesian example of a replication study, see: GARBETT, G. K. 1960 Growth and Change in a ShonaWard. Salisbury, University College of Rhodesia, Department of African Studies, Occasional Paper No. 1.231 *~ '-I