Archaeological Genetics

Approaching archeology from a science background, I am constantly on a quest for the deeper scientific explanation for any observed behavioral change. It makes sense to me, for example, that people might want to settle down and build communities or farms; a stable controlled food source and a community to aid in protection seem like attractive options, and we see that while some communities did remain with a hunter/gatherer lifestyle, others domesticated cattle or began agricultural practices. While the development of these cultural practices and the archaeological records they leave behind are incredibly interesting, I can't help but wonder, how did these environmental changes influence human morphological or genetic composition?

A relatively common occurrence in human evolution, particularly in Saharan Africa tribes, is the domestication of cattle, sometimes even the sacred reverence of cattle, such as the cattle burials found at Nabta Playa.¹ This domestication and semi-worship of cattle introduced several sources of food, through meat and dairy products. Interesting in itself, as it shows the emerging control of homo sapiens over their own environments, this domestication is even more interesting for the subsequent genetic changes it has induced in human populations.

Most mammals can not digest dairy products as adults; homo sapiens are no exception. The gene coding for the enzyme that digests milk products, lactase, is expressed after birth in order for infants and young toddlers to break down their mother's milk, but gradually decreases expression after weaning. This is not the case, however, in traditionally pastoralist populations, such as those in northern Europe and Africa .Through mtDNA transcription studies, as well as genomic sequencing of those with lactase persistence, the coding gene has been found to be dominant in pastoralist societies². The high prevalence of this lactase persistence phenotype (~90%) compared to non pastoralist populations (~1-20%) suggests natural selection for the genotype that produces lactase well into adulthood, allowing pastoralists to exploit the dairy provided by their cattle, further equipping them for species survival. This relationship between cultural practice and biological fitness suggests that human culture has gradually outfitted the human population for greater survival.

Another example of this cultural influence on human fitness is the emergence of malaria resistance in Africa. In Western Africa, ancient agriculturalists began clearing rain forests for yam farming land as early as 8000 BC.³ This deforestation allowed for pools of water to form where they otherwise would not have, providing the perfect breeding ground for malaria carrying mosquitos. The gene that confers resistance to malaria, when possessed by a heterozygous person (a person who has two differing copies of the same gene), allows for normal phenotype (physical characteristics) with resistance to malaria, but when possessed homozygously (a person has two identical copes of a gene), this gene causes sickle cell anemia, a deadly disease of the blood. Because of its lethal capabilities, this gene is extremely rare in most human populations, thus rarely causing any sort of trouble, but in agricultural communities in warmer tropical climates where malaria carrying mosquitos are found, natural selection has favored a heterozygous genotype for the sickle cell anemia gene, making the gene, and subsequently, the disease, incredibly prevalent in those select populations⁴. Again with this example we see a genetic advantage selected for based on cultural mediation of environment. These genetic modifications suggest that though humans have found ways to selectively manipulate their surroundings for thousands of years, high cognitive functioning does not a modern human make. Homo sapiens still underwent, and are probably undergoing, relentless natural selection based on the self imposed changes within their societies.

This relationship between culture and genetics is not always so clear, though there are several more examples mostly relating to diet, skin tone, disease resistance, and sexual reproduction, which are the most survival related characteristics, but the reverse analogging of genetics can also be an effective method in tracing these genetic selections. Through genomic sequencing, a gene called RSEN/PSEN1 has been found to be more prevalent in African Yoruba societies than elsewhere.⁵ This gene cleaves amyloid plaques in the brain; the plaques that are the main effectors of brain function loss in Alzheimer's disease. In these Yoruba populations, Alzheimer's disease is exceedingly rare. Knowing what we do about gene-culture co-evolution in small populations, we can look at these populations with genetic resistance to Alzheimers and possibly extrapolate the historical environmental or cultural changes conferring this genotype. Further archaeological research must be done to propose any logical theories regarding this resistance to Alzheimers. Both disciplines, evolutionary genetics, and archaeology depend on each other to construct informed theses about the migrations and evolution of peoples across the world, and to answer the questions about ourselves that we desperately seek the answers to. Who are we? And why are we the way we are? We know why some peoples have malaria resistance and the ability to drink milk, but these genetic clues are merely a small piece to the infinitely large puzzle of human evolution.

1Wendorf, F. and R. Schild 1998, Nabta Playa and its role in Northeastern African Prehistory, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 17: 97-123.

2Tishkoff, S, et al., Convergent adaptation of human lactase persistence in Africa and Europe, Nature Genetics, 2007, 39:1

3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Africa#Emergence_of_agriculture

4Laland et al., Cultural Niche Construction and human evolution, Journal of Evolutionary Biology, 2001, 14:1:22-33.

5Voight BF, Kudaravalli S, Wen X, Pritchard JK, A map of recent positive selection in the human genome, PLoS Biol, 2006, 4(3): e72.

"The essential ingredient of feasting"

Although many students of archaeology may frequently think about beer, they most likely do not think about beer in the context of African archaeology. Luckily for those curious about both African archaeology and beer there is the enlightening article in the 2003 journal World Archaeology by John W. Arthur titled “Brewing beer: status, wealth and ceramic use alteration among Gamo of south-western Ethiopia”. In this article Arthur elaborates the importance of beer to many African cultures through an extensive literature review and his own ethnoarchaeological research of the ceramic pots of the Gamo people of south-western Ethiopia.

Ethnoarchaeology is defined by dictionary.com as “the branch of archaeology that studies contemporary primitive cultures and technologies as a way of providing analogies and thereby patterns for prehistoric cultures”. In Arthur’s research the ‘primitive culture’ (please excuse the offensive political incorrectness) is the Gamo people and their technology is the production of beer in large ceramic jugs. These jugs become extremely corroded on the inside by the acidity of the fermenting beer. Arthur makes the conclusion that this sort of ‘surface attrition’ found in ceramic jugs could be an indicator of beer production in other African archaeological sites. This finding is significant to archaeology because beer is argued earlier in the article to be important to the culture of the Gamo people as well as many other peoples present and past throughout Africa.

The production of beer requires a substantial amount of grain, bananas, or sorghum as well as many days work, usually done by women. Due to the land and labor-intensive requirements for production, beer is recognized as an important symbol of wealth. The Gamo people use beer in every single religious and political ceremony. This culture is dominated by a hierarchical caste system where the topmost caste, the mala, have complete control over agricultural land. The mala are the only group wealthy enough to produce beer and this subsequently gives them complete power over all religious and political rituals because they require beer. The richest of the mala is chosen by the community to be the ritual sacrificer who performs animal and beer sacrifices for the fertility and healthy the people, crops, and animals. Before the chosen rich mala is officially the ritual sacrificer he must provide two beer feast to all the people in his political district. These feast prove the ritual sacrificer’s wealth because they must produce enough beer and food for around 300 people. Through the beer feasts the community is brought together and the richest person must share his wealth with all. Consequently the Gamo avoid situations like Occupy Wall Street.

In conclusion, it is important to look for the production of beer in the archaeological record because this luxury good can indicate the social relations and wealth of the community. Evidence of ‘surface attrition’ or corrosion of large ceramic vessels indicates the production of beer. Many vessels could point to large-scale production of beer, which results from agricultural success. Large quantities of beer can potentially lead archaeologist to infer cultural qualities like trade, feasts, organization of work parties, taxes and wealth redistribution if paired with other archaeological finds or ethnographic evidence. Evidence of this important social lubricant could indicate complex cultures otherwise lost in the archaeological record.

This article makes me think differently about the significance of my own cultural practices surrounding beer consumption. In my college community as well as in the Gamo community beer brings people together. Although the alcohol content can have an affect on peoples' inhibitions, it can be argued that simply the act of sharing and participating in a common activity can enhance social interactions and strengthen community bonds. This concept reminds me of the classic scene in Judd Apatow's cult classic t.v. show "Freaks and Geeks". In the episode titled "Beers and Wiers" the dorky little brother, Sam, replaces the keg at his sister's house party with a keg of nonalcoholic beer. The party continues with normal high school debauchery and community building even without the interference of alcohol. I wonder if this social experiment would turn out similarly at my own house parties or even at the Gamo beer feasts.

Arthur, John. "Brewing Beer: Status, Wealth and Ceramic Use Alteration among the Gamo of South-western Ethiopia." World Archaeology 34.3 (2003): 516-28.

Egypt in the context of African archaeology

This January I travelled to Egypt as a part of a study abroad program called the Amheida Project. In this program, undergraduates, like myself, are allowed the opportunity to live in the Dakhleh Oasis of Egypt’s Western Desert, not only to learn about the long archaeological history of the Oasis, but also to participate and assist in ongoing archaeological excavations at the Roman-era city. Throughout the course of the seminar we explored (both academically and physically) Dakhleh’s archaeological history and relationship with pharaonic Egypt and the greater Nile Valley, as well as its more recent Coptic and Muslim history.

One of the questions we came to again and again, especially in our study of Dakhleh’s early development was that of the peopling of the Oasis. Who exactly were Dakhleh’s first settlers and how did they come to live in such an isolated and remote part of the Western Desert? Dakhleh offers a great deal of evidence of the pre-Dynastic inhabitants, mainly in the way of pottery sherds, but very few clues as to these peoples’ origins. The earliest written accounts of the Oasis come to us from Old Kingdom colonial expeditions to Dakhleh seeking an unidentified resource, sometimes hesitantly translated as pigment.

Still, these accounts are not particularly instructive, as they refer to a native population that presumably predated the colonial encounter. Furthermore, these same Old Kingdom accounts mention the presence of two barbaric Libyan tribes in the area as well. How can we explain this diffusion and movement of people across such a dry unforgiving landscape as the Sahara Desert, and, more fundamentally, where are they coming from? This is certainly an interesting question in light of the very contentious debates on the ethnicity and race of the ancient Egyptians.

The second part of the program was to participate in the ongoing archaeological excavation of the ancient city of Amheida, a Roman-era merchant town in the Oasis, but with occupation markers and structures dating back to the Old Kingdom and pre-Dynastic times. Although we were only a week into excavations before being evacuated due to intense political protests and rioting in Cairo as well as many other main cities up and down the Nile Valley, it allowed us an exhilarating and interesting opportunity to be a part of and observe an Egyptological excavation.

Although Egypt is often irrationally viewed as separate from Africa in the academic world (as well as in the larger public imagination), archaeology within Egypt is subject to many of the same problems and limitations as greater African archaeology and provides an interesting case study in how African archaeology can be carried out.

Certainly a controversial figure, Dr. Zahi Hawass, who got his Ph.D. in the United States, returned to Egypt to become the Minister of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, a council that governs and oversees archaeological work and concessions within the country. Under his leadership, many of the biggest issues facing African archaeology have been dealt with, often with very divisive results. From the point of view of many Western archaeologists, Hawass is domineering, and the Supreme Council of Antiquities is a bureaucratic nightmare that impedes, or at the very least frustrates foreign excavation missions in Egypt. Particularly the stipulation that Hawass himself can choose to announce any discovery for the archaeological team who actually made the discovery, is irritating to western archaeologists who claim he merely courts media attention for his own gain.

And yet, much of what Hawass has done for Egyptian archaeology was long overdue. In a country that was historically plundered for its rich and beautiful antiquities, Hawass was instrumental in passing laws that prohibited the removal of any antiquities material from Egypt without express permission from the Supreme Council. Violation of this law results in a life-long ban from the country (I learned of this penalty only because it happened to a member of the Dakhleh Oasis Project in the 1980s). Hawass has also done a great deal to improve the funding for preservation and maintenance of archaeological sites, although not without controversy (the recently restored Tomb of Nefertari, which houses some of ancient Egypt’s most spectacular paintings, can only be visited in 10 minute increments for multiple thousands of dollars per person).

Furthermore, Hawass has taken great strides to ensure a practice of Egyptian archaeology by Egyptians by requiring all excavations to collaborate with Egyptian archaeologists and employ Egyptian workers. While an excellent practice in theory, in actuality cooperation between the two groups of archaeologists can be difficult (as became evident in our dig house), and the mandate of having Egyptian workers on site sometimes felt a little too close to the colonialist excavations of the early 20^th century, where European archaeologists oversaw “native” workmen.

Despite all of these reforms, many of the problems plaguing African archaeology continue in Egypt as well. Looting of archaeological sites for sale on the black market, especially by locals, is still a huge problem within Egypt. Within Dakhleh alone there have already been countless instances of looting where archaeological sites such as Amheida were disturbed in the off-season by looters seeking valuables. Cemeteries in particular are favored looting spots, as thieves often hope to find rich grave goods or intact ceramic-ware.

As a result many artefacts are broken or smashed beyond repair and left, alongside human remains, out on the surface of the desert to be degraded by the sun and winds until, removed from their original contexts and badly damaged, they can no longer provide us with any useful information.

These problems, and the way they have been dealt with within Egyptian archaeology, can thus provide an interesting, if not necessarily instructive case study for greater African archaeology, as just one of the possible solutions for a growing field still in its infancy.

Trip to the National Museum of the American Indian, DC

Photos by L. Chippeaux.

"There is a design in living things; their shapes, forms, the ability to live, all have meaning." -Popovi Da from San Ildefonso Pueblo, New Mexico

The NMAI is one of the many museums along Washington, D.C.'s National Mall, but it stands out. It is not only a curvilinear building with a shape akin to the The Getty located in Los Angles. This building stands unique against museums of a more classic architectural styling. The building uses sandstone rather than the gleaming marble and glass of the other Smithsonian Museums. Additionally, it stands at an angle to the geometric alignment of the area. The building and its grounds reflect the amount of native influence in the creation of the Museum. The front doors open to the east, and there is an emphasis on the natural landscaping and the alignment with the cardinal directions. These doors not only open towards the sun, which is an important cultural tradition in many groups, but are also etched with sun symbols.

Sun symbols are especially important in a traditional context because the sun acts as a life-giver and a calendar, telling people when to plant, harvest or even when to conduct special ceremonies. This use of native symbols and cultural beliefs is extended within the museum with the repetitive use of symbols such as the spiral, divisions of four, etc.

The museum is not simply an ethnographic museum, but is also a history and art museum, yet it is none of those at the same time. It is a museological experiment in visual sovereignty. One part of the curatorial process is unique, it is the use of community curators in which there is community control over aspects of an object' s display. This not only changes how native nations participate in a national museum, but allows them to speak and organize their cultures in ways that are not precisely linear as is a western traditions. Furthermore, the organization of the museum is not arranged geographically, there seems to be no "proper" path, but is a place of cultural balance and varying of experiences. It allows for the different understanding of interaction and knowledge, as well as the inappropriateness of items and other types of knowledge.

After visiting this museum, several questions came to me:
How do we place a museum's architectural/design features within the context of a "Native" museum? How does this context differ when compared to museums such as the American Museum of Natural History in New York City?

Are there any inherent problem with the use of community curators? (I personally am happy that the Smithsonian is bringing in people who have the native education and understanding of tradition to present objects with a variety of meanings some of which can only be understood in a single tradition)?

What educational aspects would you expect to differ in such a museum? As a comparison, looking at the Bard Graduate Center in which we saw the labels were the results of an academic seminar and thus very fact based. How would you expect the description of objects to change according to whether the exhibit was the result of academic or cultural curation?

Domus Subterraneous

As Above, So Below in Cold War America

“With the archaeology of the contemporary past, the past, the present, and the future are woven together in a way that gives the subject complexity, introduces new and unforeseen challenges and difficulties, and equally gives it a heightened sense of social relevance and meaning.”

After Modernity, pg. 184

"Look at the smokestacks, how they proliferate, fanning the wastes of original waste over greater and greater masses of city. Structurally, they are strongest in compression. A smokestack can survive any explosion— even the shock wave from one of the new cosmic bombs [...] as you all must know. The persistence, then, of structures favoring death. Death converted into more death. Perfecting its reign, just as the buried coal grows denser, and overlaid with more strata—epoch on top of epoch, city on top of ruined city."

Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon, pg. 167

It is often the nature of symbols to congeal several cultural concepts into one object. In a similar way, the object of Cold War-era fallout shelter can be viewed as the embodiment of several concepts at once. (This list is by no means comprehensive, and in no particular order.) [1] evidence of a haltingly instituted civilian defense policy [2] a highly local reaction to decidedly non-local geopolitical forces [3] a largely futile gesture of families attempting to grapple with the possibility of nuclear war [4] examples of profound cultural anxiety being channeled into the consumption of industrial commodities [5] vehicles that reify the patterns and relationships of 'traditional' American family institutions [6] evidence of a shift in perspective towards systems theory on the part of American planners and policy makers [7] essential refuges for civilian population geared to ensure maximum retaliatory power in case of nuclear war.

...

If you've roamed the streets of New York City long enough, chances are good that you've noticed a strange urban emblem: faded signs that read "FALLOUT SHELTER" below a symbol of three downward-pointing triangles enclosed in a circle. This symbol--designed to evoke a radiation symbol yet still be distinctly recognizable--represents the Office of Civil Defense, the government department charged with devising institutions to protect civilians in case of a nuclear war.

These signs are the remnants of what was arguably the most widely implemented of a string of half-hearted programs initiated during the Cold War to prepare civilian populations in cities across the country to survive a nuclear attack. They mark buildings identified in the early 1960’s (usually by travelling squads of government engineers and experts) as having basements or foundational structures robust enough to withstand an atomic blast. Yet today those spaces, once provisioned as emergency shelters, have long since been repurposed. Building owners oftentimes are unable even to point out which spaces were designated as shelters. Still the signs linger as a material vestige, fading into the dense urban backdrop, obscured, but never erased, occasionally reminding us of a peculiar historical moment.

Mumford writes that the spatial logic of warfare is ingrained in the genetic code of the city. Yet during the 20th century the logic of warfare itself underwent dramatic changes. WWII solidified the notion that, in total war, population centers were legitimate targets of aerial bombardment. This change in the logic of warfare, already demonstrated in the bombings of working-class neighborhoods of German cities, was solidified when the first atomic weapons ever used were dropped on Japanese cities. Despite the “victory culture” that America experienced during the post-war years, immediately after Hiroshima, Americans were gripped by nightmares of a similar fate befalling an American city.

For decades, civic planners decried the filth and chaos characteristic of America's dense city centers. This also posed a problem for military planners concerned about the vulnerability to attack such concentration of resources entailed. The centuries-old defensive logic that produced the citadel, which advantaged the heavily fortified concentration of resources, was turned

on its head by the advent of atomic weaponry. The historical structure of the city was now considered an intolerable liability.

A new logic of urban planning, based on the emerging fields of systems theory and cybernetics, recommended the strategic dispersal of physical as well as communications resources into carefully networked structures that would be as resilient as possible to attack. The clearest deployment of this logic can be seen in an urban development plan for City “X” designed by Norbert Wiener, a preeminent thinker in the field of cybernetics, featured in an issue of LIFE Magazine. “By-passes for Railroads would keep traffic rolling, enable nation to hit back”, reads the caption on one image. The optimization of networks of communications and logistical nodes could make the national landscape one vast fortified network, able to retaliate to all but the most devastating foreign attack.

Not coincidentally, the postwar years also saw a middle class exodus from city centers and the development of an American suburban culture centered on the single family dwelling. Spurred to action by the Berlin Crisis of 1961, the Kennedy Administration issued recommendations that American families build fallout shelters so that those who were spared a direct hit might survive the radioactive fallout attendant to an attack. However, a concerted and well-funded national sheltering program for civilians never emerged, and so sheltering, such as it was, remained a largely entrepreneurial enterprise.

The shelter industry was largely driven by a market for do-it-yourself home fallout shelter projects. Companies with names like Peace o’ Mind Shelter Company (Texas), the American Survival Products Corporation (Maryland), Fox Hole Shelter, Inc. (California) and the Bee Safe Manufacturing Company (Ohio) popped up, touting the benefits that their models could provide in case of the unthinkable. These features were invariably couched in the familiar terms of traditional domesticity and family structure. What is amazing about the way sheltering was marketed is the image of suburban normality which sheltering pretended to preserve. Many of these kits, however, were shoddy products sold by fly-by-night outfits, and which generally failed to afford any realistic protection. But the sales of fallout shelters, though larger in the American imagination than in real life, remained fairly consistent through the 1980’s and have recently picked up again after a slow period in the 90's.

The fallout shelter poses an interesting hypothetical archaeological problem. Although successive governments have attempted to quantify private fallout shelters in American neighborhoods, accurate numbers have always remain elusive. One of the things that captivated the American imagination most, the fact that shelters were, almost by nature, clandestine. Congruent with the generally paranoid atmosphere of the Cold War, many Americans became terrified that their neighbors were building emergency bunkers in their back yards under cover of night deliberately to exclude them in case of attack. Although the merits of shelters were hotly debated in the press, most of the evidence suggests that relatively few American families actually had one.

It appears that the fallout shelter in fact existed more as a figment of the American conscience than as a physical structure with which Americans had contact. But exactly where this imaginary landscape meets the physical is a question for future archaeologists to address.

The Situationist circle, made most famous by Guy Debord, author of Society of the Spectacle, criticized the marketing of private shelters as little more than a ploy on behalf of industry to goose a slack market for durable goods. The not-so-subtle evocation of paternal duty to protect the family, then, was simply a kind of blackmail devised for profit. “But here, as in every racket,” they jeer “’protection’ is only a pretext.” Shelters constituted a morbid form of consumerism, mirroring the home in every way, standing ready to provide for the continuation of traditional American family life.

This activity of planning for and rehearsing an unprecedented war of almost certain total devastation consumed huge quantities of cultural energy. This energy was reified, at least in part, in the form of conspicuous (or perhaps inconspicuous) consumption, and also as an artifact which represents a significant transition in American society towards one built on the nuclear family. Oftentimes instructions for building a shelter depicted a father and son working in cooperation, suggesting that building a fallout shelter could foster father-son bonding. Interior depictions almost invariably show the mother figure tending to traditional housework, surrounded by a blissful family, all insulated from the imagined horror above.

But the nightmare for which Civil Defense sought to prepare the nation never materialized. Thus, there was never any realistic test of existing measures, nor any concrete impetus for the development of civil defense infrastructure. Instead, the worst-case scenarios of the cold war were relegated mainly to the imaginary landscapes of military and civic planners. And yet it is likely that many shelters remain out there, just beneath the surface, forgotten.

[Citations forthcoming.]

The Swahili World--architecture

"Swahili houses acted as symbolic representations of corporate groups across generations, provided for the safekeeping of both physical and intangible possessions crucial to the maintenance of elite corporate groups, and played a crucial role in the negotiation of status and power within their local communities and beyond." (Fleisher and LaViolette, 2007, p.177)

"As a woman, I felt that exploring houses, a women's domainwithin the Swahili context, might yield new insights." (Donley, 1987, p.183)

"Swahili elites constructed themselves consciously with elegant architecture, piety, privacy,cosmopolitan dress and décor, creating idioms which defined coastal life." (La Violette, 2008, p. 42)

Above: A stone house. From www.tanziatouristboard.com

The above quotations are merely a glimpse at the wide variety of approaches one may take towards the architecture and archaeology of the Swahili. From earliest archaeological evidence of coastal life, along Africa's eastern coast, 6th and 7th century villages displayed a mixture of interior Iron Age material culture and imported goods from distant locales across the Indian Ocean. Around 8th century, Islam spread to the eastern African coast, and had become a prominent cultural influence by the 13th century. Within this time frame, coastal urban centers began to appear, featuring conspicuous stone houses and mosques. While some of these stone houses are still standing today, many scholars view them as invaluable sources of information in nearly every facet of Swahili culture, identity, economy, etc.

Above: an earth-and-thatch house. From http://www.mzuri-kaja.or.tz/SwahiliHouse.html

Considering both the importance and the shortcomings inherent in domestic archaeology, how do you think our own assumptions about gender/class/ethnicity manifest in our analysis of Swahili stone houses? How may these buildings influence the way we think about domestic archaeology? The stone house, while certainly a valuable piece of property, also has a more autonomous nature than most other possessions due to its longevity and to the spiritual and physical ideology of its inhabitants. From the rituals associated and preformed within the house to the presence of only a single stone house and a single stone mosque in an archaeological context, the relationship between these venerable structures and their people offer myriad exploration of critical issues in historical archaeology.


Donley, L. W. (1987). Life in the Swahili Town House Reveals the Symbolic Meaning of Spaces and Artefact Assemblages. The African Archaeological Review 5:181-192.

LaViolette, A. and J. Fleischer (2007). The Changing Power of Swahili Houses, Fourteenth to Nineteenth Centuries A.D. In The Durable House: House society models in archaeology, ed. Robin A. Beck, Jr. 175-197.

LaViolette, A. and J. Fleischer (2008). Swahili Cosmopolitanism in Africa and the Indian Ocean World, A.D. 600-1500. In The Archaeology of Colonialism and Contested Modernities, special thematic edition, eds. C. Cobb and D. Loren. Archaeologies: Journal of the World Archaeological Congress 4(1):24-49.

Global Interactions: West Africa and the Atlantic World

Right: the Ouidah Museum of History in Ouidah, Benin.

In contrast to the Cap Coast Castle (Kreamer 2006) in Ghana, the Ouidah Museum of History in Benin, though not a designated UNESCO Heritage Site, shares a similar history, but presented slightly differently. In Ouidah, there doesn't appear to be the same pressure coming from Black American ex-patriots attempting to dictate how the museum and its exhibits should be presented. The Ouidah Museum of History contains a wealth of objects and illustrations of historic and cultural significance, which together gives the visitor an intimate understanding of the region's past. The Museum of Ouidah 's permanent collections depict the history and traditions of the region's inhabitants. Beginning with artifacts from the old Portuguese Fort (in which the Museum of Ouidah is housed), the collections proceed to describe through objects, imagery, and artifacts the history of the kingdom of Xwéda and kingdom of Dahomey, both of which were dependent on the trade in enslaved individuals with Europeans for riches and power. Photos and artifacts portray the impact that people from Benin made on the cultures of New World societies, as well as the effects of mass repatriation to Benin after the decline of the slave trade. Finally, local religious tradition is characterized through many current religious items and photos from local ceremonies. Unlike the "thanatourism" (Kreamer: 453) approach taken at the Cape Coast Castle, the Ouidah Museum of History appears to refreshingly take the heritage tourism approach, even as the museum is located in the actual fort.

Kreamer, C. M. 2006. 2006. Shared Heritage, Contested Terrain: Cultural Negotiation and Ghana's Cape Coast Castle Museum Exhibition "Crossroads of People, Crossroads of Trade". In Museum Frictions: Public Cultures/Global Transformations. Edited by Ivan Karp, Corinne A. Kratz, Lynn Szwaja, Tomas Ybarra-Frausto. Duke University Press, pp. 435-468.

http://www.museeouidah.org/Home-Eng.htm