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Author: Thomas J. Bassett
Title: Cartography, ideology, and power: the World Bank in northern Côte d'Ivoire
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Source: Cartography, ideology, and power: the World Bank in northern Côte d'Ivoire
Thomas J. Bassett

Evanston, IL: Program of African Studies, Northwestern University
no. 5, pp. 8-9, 1993
Author Biography: Thomas J. Bassett is a member of the Department of Geography, University of Illinois, Urbana.

Cartography, ideology, and power: the World Bank in northern Côte d'Ivoire [1]

by Thomas J. Bassett


The question of whether agricultural transformation in Africa is constrained by indigenous land tenure systems is the subject of a lively debate in the agrarian crisis literature. Reformist institutions like the World Bank argue that the time is ripe to promote sweeping changes in land rights systems as a condition for agricultural intensification. In its sectoral work and structural adjustment programs, the Bank posits a direct link between the privatization of landholdings and increased productivity and environmental conservation. On the other side of the debate is a more pragmatic call for respecting the flexibility and adaptability of indigenous tenure systems. This view argues that African land rights systems have usually adjusted efficiently to the changing conditions of production as shown by the frequency of formal and informal land transfers, increased individualization of land rights, and widespread evidence of agricultural intensification in the absence of land markets. Acknowledging that there may be circumstances that warrant modifying certain features of indigenous tenure systems, this side cautions against their wholesale replacement by European models of freehold tenure. It also argues that what appears to be a tenure constraint is commonly a non-tenure problem requiring a non-tenure solution. [2] This more tempered view is occasionally shared by individuals at the World Bank who argue that without improvements in infrastructure, technology, health, education, and extension systems, it is unlikely that agricultural transformation will take place irrespective of the tenure system. [3] Given the significant expense and longterm administrative commitment to land registration and titling programs, these moderate voices within the Bank recommend intervening in land rights systems only when local demand for change is compelling.

The following case study of the Ivory Coast Rural Landholdings Project is an example of World Bank meddling with indigenous land rights systems where there is no local demand for its intervention. This $3.8 million project was first undertaken in 1989 in five pilot zones to test its methods and feasibility. [4] The pilot phase ended in the spring of 1992 and the project is now being extended to other areas of the country. The rationale of the project is that the official identification of landusers with specific parcels will lead to more secure land rights and thereby encourage increased investments in agriculture. On one level, the project appears to be taking a cautious approach. It is not a land registration and titling project that aims to replace indigenous land rights systems overnight. Project personnel and documents contend that the project is merely a census and mapping of the existing land rights of current landusers. It is presented as an "objective" and "neutral" exercise in which field survey teams simply identify the land rights of agriculturalists whose fields appear on aerial photographs. In the process of linking individuals with specific parcels, the surveyors distinguish between the landowner ("proprietaire foncière") and the landuser who does not control the land under cultivation ("exploitant agricole"). Back in the cartography lab, maps called "photocartes" or "photoplans" are drawn up to represent the data collected in the field. These maps are subsequently delivered to village land committees established by the project for future land use planning. The maps are also deposited in regional government offices (subprefectures) along with a register that identifies landusers and landowners associated with specific parcels drawn on the maps.

My thesis is that far from being an objective and purely technical exercise, this mapmaking project is ideologically driven by the development models and agendas of its sponsors. The goal of linking specific individuals with specific land parcels, and then delimiting the boundaries of their holdings on maps, reflects the interests of the Ivorian government and its foreign aid donors in restructuring the agricultural sector within a more formal capitalist framework. I argue that rather than reflecting the indigenous land rights system, the photocartes present an incomplete view of these tenure systems by their exclusive focus on the rights of agriculturalists and lineage heads. They are thus partial views in both senses of the word: incomplete and biased. The end result, however, is congruent with the interests of the project's sponsors. The maps will serve as technocratic tools for transforming indigenous tenure systems characterized by multiple and open-ended land rights to more restricted and exclusive arrangements. With maps in hand, government officials can now get on with the business of issuing land titles to selected individuals in the project area. The project thus constitutes the first step in the establishment of private landholdings as a structural condition of agrarian change.

The interest of this project to cartographic historians is the central role that maps play in establishing new land rights systems. As Harley and Wood have argued, one of the unique attributes of maps is that they "create ownership at a location." [5] This is realized partly through the process of selection and omission of details such as the land rights of some groups, and partly through the authoritative power of maps. In the case of the Rural Landholdings Project, mapmakers are busy drawing the boundaries of parcels cultivated by agriculturalists, while simultaneously omitting the rights of pastoralists, woodcutters, hunters, gatherers, and other landusers of the very same parcel. Once the map is made and stamped as official, then it has a power of its own to affect a variety of outcomes. The map's authoritative power is derived from the scientific aura and official status that accompanies its construction. As authoritative documents, these maps have a momentum of their own in changing indigenous land rights systems.

This study of the power of maps to redefine land rights system is based on a reading of project documents, interviews with project officials, and my previous research on land rights systems in one of the five pilot zones—the Niofouin area. Niofouin is a large village and seat of the Niofouin subprefecture within the Department of Korhogo. It is located in a mildly undulating plain in the transition zone between the Guinea and Sudanian savannas where rainfall fluctuates between 1000 and 1200 mm annually. Population densities are comparatively low at 13 inhabitants/km2. Cotton covers up to 45% of the cultivated area and has undergone a remarkable intensification over the past 20 years. The principal food crops are maize, millet, rice, sorghum and peanuts. Semi-transhumant livestock raising carried out by Fulani pastoralists is relatively recent and important. The Senufo (Kasambélé sub-group) are the major ethnic group and are primarily engaged in agriculture. Jula traders and agriculturalists live in enclaves among the Senufo. Tensions between agriculturalists and pastoralists are high, primarily over the problem of uncompensated crop damage caused by Fulani herds in peasant fields. One of the rationales of the Rural Landholdings Project is that it will furnish villagers and administrative authorities with land-use planning tools to reduce land use conflicts.

The following sections are organized into four parts. The first describes land access and control patterns among the Senufo, Jula, and Fulani ethnic groups of northern Côte d'Ivoire The second introduces the Rural Landholdings Project with attention to the Niofouin pilot zone. The third section places the project with a conceptual framework that has guided previous reformist initiatives in Africa. The fourth examines one of the maps in detail to show how maps are used as technocratic tools to create new systems of land rights. The views of local landusers to the mapmaking process are also included in this final section.

Land Access and Control in the Niofouin Region

The Senufo are the original inhabitants of the Niofouin area. The tarfolo or earth priest is the customary figure possessing the authority to allocate land rights. [6] With some exceptions, he is the oldest living male member of the village founding matrilineage. [7] In the past, only the tarfolo could distribute land to those who requested to cultivate it. He typically allotted it to katiolofolo, the heads of lineage-based production and consumption units called katiolo.

The creation of new production and exchange relations during the colonial period led to the breakdown of katiolo as the basic unit of production. In its place, smaller social units composed of maternal brothers and their families worked in a collective field three or four days a week and the remaining day(s) in fields belonging to conjugal households. This fragmentation required the further redistribution of land rights from the lineage head to his maternal brothers and married nephews. Today, the predominant unit of production is the conjugal family. Most household heads cultivate land that was allotted to their lineage many generations ago. Lineage heads continue to legitimate their power to control access to lineage lands by performing the same rituals observed during the precolonial period. They currently allocate land to married male kin, women, and immigrants on a usufruct basis in the areas under their control.

In contrast to restricted cultivation rights to a specific land area, many households enjoy open-ended land use rights over a village's territory. These may include the right to gather wild products, to cut down trees for household construction and firewood, to hunt game, to graze cattle, and to fish in rivers passing through the area. Some of these rights are negotiated (e.g. collecting wild shea nuts or néré fruits) while others are more generalized (e.g. grazing cattle). The Senufo landholding system is thus not unlike many other indigenous land tenure systems in Africa that are notable for the co-existence of individual and corporate rights to land. [8] These tenure systems are characterized by multiple claims to the same parcel of land on the basis of overlapping rights to its use. The capacity of individuals and groups to obtain and exercise such rights is linked to their social identity and political power within the community. Male Senufo lineage heads possess a greater body of rights than do their Jula counterparts. Married Senufo women have more rights than Jula women but fewer rights than Jula men.

The Senufo system of land access and control has not been an obstacle to the intensification of agriculture. Cotton cultivation in particular has undergone a dramatic transformation over the past 25 years. Yields have increased 10-fold and production levels have soared as the Ivorian cotton company (CIDT) provided growers with high yielding seeds, pesticides, fertilizers, and attractive prices. Men, women, and male teenagers cultivate their personal cotton fields. All this has taken place in an area where not one hectare is formally registered. Currently, the major constraints on the further intensification of cotton are labor bottlenecks and falling producer prices. Not once did male or female informants in Katiali cite land access or control as critical problems hindering the intensification of cotton.

In summary, the Senufo land rights system is characterized by its flexibility in adjusting to new economic and social conditions. As the social unit of production has changed from the lineage to the conjugal household, household heads have assumed greater access to and control over land allocated to their families. This progressive individualization of land rights has been accompanied by the continuation of community rights of access to land by hunters, gatherers, pastoralists, woodcutters, and fisherfolk. More importantly for this study, this mix of individual and collective rights to the same land has not hindered the intensification of cotton nor has it been a major cause of peasant-herder conflicts in the region. What then is the rationale driving this project?

The Modernization Model of Tenure Reform and Agricultural Development

The idea that tenure reform is a necessary condition for agricultural transformation in Côte d'Ivoire links the Ivorian rural lands project to other land reform schemes in Africa. [9] This view is predicated on the assumption that customary land rights and "traditional" social structures pose obstacles to the "modernization" of agriculture, and that only individual land ownership offers the investment security necessary to make African agriculture more efficient and productive. [10] This model of tenure change and agricultural development thus posits a direct link between the nature of landholdings and the level of agricultural output. The transition is from one of indigenous land rights systems ("communal") to private holdings ("individual") in which an assumed increase in land investments leads to both higher agricultural output and environmental conservation.

The Rural Landholdings Project is a contemporary application of this evolutionary stage model to the case of Côte d'Ivoire. [11] World Bank planning documents specify that the anticipated benefits of the project are three-fold. The first will be to guarantee the rights of agriculturalists to their lands, "even if these rights are not proprietary rights in the modern sense of the term." [12] This greater security of landholdings is expected to lead to increased investments and improvements in land, the expansion and intensification of agriculture, soil conservation, and improvement in buildings. The second advantage will be a reduction in land conflicts "which is normally accompanied by a stronger recognition of individual rights and a gradual passage from traditional forms of land control to more modern forms." [13] The Bank also expects that this transition will lead to increased land values, the emergence of land markets, and a credit system based on property rights. The third anticipated benefit is enhanced administrative effectiveness in resolving land disputes, protecting classified forests, and general land use planning. The common denominator for the realization of all three benefits is a redefinition of land rights. New systems of land rights are being promoted that place greater emphasize on exclusive vs. inclusive rights, on private property vs. common property rights. To what extent does the Rural Landholdings Project, through the process of mapping, contribute to this redefinition of land rights? The following section addresses this question by examining whether new patterns of land access and control are emerging in the Niofouin region in the context of this project.

Maps and Land Rights

The idea that the rural landholding maps are social constructions reflecting western notions of proprietary ownership is denied by project personnel. Spokesperson claim that the project is nothing more than the documentation of "objective facts," a method of "formalizing custom", of "officializing existing landholding arrangements." [14] The technical production of maps based on aerial photographs and satellite measurements reinforces the idea of cartographic truth—that the objects being represented (bounded land parcels) are real and exist independently of the mapmaker. The name given to the maps, photocarte or photoplan, suggests that the maps are like photographs, snapshots of reality that have been superimposed onto maps. Rather than reflecting indigenous landholding patterns as if they were a mirror of reality, I argue that the photocartes represent a new system of land rights that conform to the development models of their makers. By examining one of these maps in detail, we can see how in the process of selecting and omitting specific land rights, these maps exclude the rights of some landusers to the benefit of others.

The photocarte for part of Tolman's territory in Figure 1 is illustrative. The most striking feature of this map are the boundaries that cover every square meter. Boundary lines delimit production unit areas, croplands, and lineage landholdings. The photocarte looks like a property map. All the land is divided into discrete parcels, each with its own identification number. We know that the numbering system differentiates between landusers and landowners whose names are recorded in the register deposited at the subprefecture. Two lineage boundaries suggest that the entire area is controlled by three different kin groups; however, a large part of the area between Tolman and Niofouin is contested (note hachured line). Land use patterns are distinguished by noting which fields are under food crops (CV) as opposed to cotton (CT). Fallow areas (F and J) dominate the landscape.

The map freezes what is socially and agronomically a very fluid land use pattern. Fields are typically cultivated for 5-10 years and left in fallow for 10-20 years. It is common for production units to shift the location of their fields from one area to another depending on soil quality, yields, and labor availability. The land area cultivated by a production unit will also vary according to labor availability, rainfall conditions, government subsidies, and other variables that enter the decision making process. In short, the parcel configuration shown in Figure 1 is just one of many continually changing patterns. The only features that are more likely to endure are the boundaries between villages and lineage landholdings. However, even these are historically dynamic and contested boundaries that evolve with changing circumstances.

More importantly, the configuration of landholdings produced in Figure 1 fails to capture the overlapping and openended land rights system characteristic of the indigenous tenure system of the Senufo. As noted above, this system is characterized by the multiple claims of individuals and groups to the same parcel. The landholding survey only recognizes the rights of two groups of people: the agriculturalist and the landholder. Yet, there are many people who have the right to utilize the parcels whom the project fails to acknowledge. For example, the right of pastoralists to graze their herds on fallow lands is not considered. Nor are the rights of hunters, gatherers, and wood cutters recorded in the survey. The land rights of emigrants are also excluded by their absence when the aerial photos were taken and during the landholding surveys. The rights of these groups of landusers are lost in the blank spaces of the map. Their omission, whether intentional or unintentional, diminishes their claims in comparison to those whose rights are represented.

The extent to which the rights of a group predominate over another's is a function of that group's power to assert its rights as primary and its competitors as secondary. In this sense, the process of acquiring and defending rights in land is inherently a political process based on power relations among members of the social group. That is, membership in the social group is, by itself, not a sufficient condition for gaining and maintaining access to land. A person's status (age, gender, ethnic group, elite group affiliations) can and often does determine one's capacity to engage in what Okoth-Ogendo calls "tenure building." By this he means "the expansion and continuous vindication of particular allocations of power in specific production contexts." [15] In the guise of the Rural Landholdings Project, the Ivorian state is intervening in the process of tenure building by expanding the rights of agriculturalists while the rights of other landusers become secondary. By establishing such a hierarchy of rights in land, the landholding maps are effectively changing the conditions of land access and control.

In this light, the claims of project personnel to objectivity and neutrality disguise the true intentions of the operation. The maps do not reflect customary land rights; they are an invention of tradition rooted in western models of tenure reform and agrarian change. The landholding maps' emphasis on parcelization and ownership reflect the biases of its makers towards land privatization. The overlapping and open-ended system of land rights is giving way to a potentially more exclusive and less flexible arrangement. In the process of defining and delimiting a limited set of land rights, the project has made many landholders fearful that they will lose what rights they previously enjoyed. Some of these concerns were voiced by those attending the informational meeting held by project personnel in Niofouin on September 22, 1990.

At least two persons, the village chief of M'Bia, Mr. Drougnanvonhon SILUE, and the president of the local section of the PDCI-RDA political party in Tarato, Mr. Bassoumory KONE, expressed their concern about lineage heads losing their right to control land by participating in the project. They specifically asked whose name would be associated with a specific parcel, the land borrower's or the land lender's. Mr. KONE noted that "in the past, one could lend a piece of land to someone for more than twenty years; he only cultivated it to feed himself. But these days, farmers practice sedentary agriculture. In this case, to whom does the land belong?" He was told that the names of the "customary landowner" and the agriculturalist would be recorded, and that the duration of the loan period would be noted. [16] Once the project was underway, an evaluation team noted that customary landholders were still anxious about losing their land control rights to land borrowers.

Certain landowners ("proprietaries fonciers") are puzzled by the fact that one is also measuring the area of land borrowers and listing their names. What are they going to do with it? Isn't the objective of the operation to grab a part of their land to give it to the agriculturalist with definitive title? [17]

Figure 1

Such concerns arose from the fact that the project was being implemented without any expressed need for it on the part of villagers. Neither the state's intentions nor the implications of the project were clear to people in the pilot zone. Bêh YEO's suspicions were shared by many.

In the future, is the State not going to ask us to pay a tax before obtaining a parcel of land to cultivate? In 1979, CIDT (the Ivorian cotton company) gave us fertilizer for free. In 1982 it came to tell us that before we could receive fertilizer, we had to sign our names on a list, which we did. At the end of 1982, in the middle of the farming season, the same CIDT returns to say that we have agreed to pay for the fertilizer because we had signed the list. Isn't it the same trap that the State is laying by delimiting the lands and parcels? We are anxious because people think that after the census the State will take our lands in order to sell them to customary chiefs and agriculturalists. [18]

These fears of land alienation by the state from lineage heads are not unfounded. Ivorian land law does not recognize lineages or villages as legitimate claimants to land. Unless this law is changed, land borrowers will be in a good position to obtain title to the land they currently cultivate. [19] The project's maps might well serve as a medium of appropriation of lineage lands by land borrowers. This transition from lineage ("communal") to private ("individual") control of land is clearly congruent with the interests of donors who view individual landholdings as a necessary condition of agricultural change.

The inhabitants of N'ganon initially refused to cooperate with survey teams because they feared losing their rights to cultivate land. They were afraid that if it was officially known that the customary landholder of the lands they cultivated lived in a different village (Sindjiré), that they would lose their rights of access. One of the project coordinators described the anxiety in N'ganon at the time when he said "they are crouching, not sitting." [20] Resistance to the project primarily took the form of foot-dragging. Villagers were slow in accompanying surveyors to the field to identify parcels. [21] They finally agreed to cooperate after project personnel held a second informational meeting and the residents of neighboring villages convinced them that it was in their best interests to "have their name on the paper." [22]

One of the risks of delimiting boundaries and landholdings is that the process itself will generate land conflicts that previously did not exist. Such was the case between the residents of Kolkpo and Katiaha after surveyors drew the boundary separating the two villages. Like N'ganon, these two villages were settled on land belonging to the chief of Sindjiré. According to the chief of Katiaha, Dramane TRAORE, prior to the project the residents of both villages cultivated lands in each other's territory without any problem. However, when the survey teams tried to establish the precise boundaries of the two villages, disagreement ensued and farmers were chased away from the disputed area. Gniré YEO, a Senufo woman from Kolkpo, was forced to abandon her swamp rice field in the disputed area. Her account of the origin of this land conflict strongly implicates the Rural Landholdings Project.

I cultivate a swamp rice field in a lowland area. After the Rural Landholdings Project people passed through Kolkpo, the people of Katiaha and Komon came to chase us away, us women, saying that the swamp lands belong to them. My women friends and I began working this lowland last year without any problem. It wasn't until the Rural Landholdings Project arrived that these problems arose.

Our husbands have been cultivating the uplands for almost 30 years. They went to intervene next to the persons in charge in these two villages so we could continue farming the lowland. But the negotiators refused to agree to their request.

The land map does not solve the land problem in a village. Before the project, the inhabitants of the three villages got along very well. They cultivated where they wanted to without any problem. With the arrival of the Rural Landholdings Project, a conflict rose between us.

I am not for the land map because it is the basis of feuds between families. There is no guarantee whatsoever with this operation because it truly makes us anxious. It does not allow us to resolve our conflicts because some people say that we have been farming these lands for a long time and others say that they are the customary landowners recognized by the Rural Landholdings Project map. This obviously complicates the problem.

I hope that when the Rural Landholdings Project is completed that the State does not give the land maps to the landowners and make them officially responsible. In effect, what will happen is that they will chase away all farmers, even those who have been there for generations.

I hope that the State resolves in a friendly way the conflict that pitches us against our neighbors, because we have no more (up)land or bottom land to cultivate. I hope that the Rural Landholdings Project makes our neighbors understand that before, all the elders got along very well, discussing problems around a fire and always finding adequate solutions to all our problems. We must not abandon this road that they have opened up for us. [23]

In this case, rather than bringing more security, the Rural Landholdings Project is generating insecurity.


Despite its claims to objectivity and neutrality, the Rural Landholdings Project is a good example of how maps can be used as technocratic tools to affect changes in African systems of land rights. The project's maps contribute to the goal of affecting a transition from "communal" to "individual" land rights in at least three ways. First, the maps subdivide lineage lands into individual parcels that are currently cultivated by land borrowers. Lineage heads fear the maps will become a medium of appropriation since the names and ID numbers of land borrowers are noted in the landholdings register. What will come of these lands in the future is open to question but the process of parcelization is clearly worrisome to customary landholders. Second, through the process of selection and omission, the maps exclude the land rights of a number of groups and individuals. Only the rights of lineage heads and agriculturalists are recorded. The map is silent about the rights of hunters, gatherers, woodcutters, and pastoralists. As a result, the system of multiple and overlapping land rights is being undermined by a more exclusive and rigid arrangement. As Pauline Peters has noted in the case of land alienation in Botswana, "the power to define, to attribute meaning, and to assign labels, is clearly central here". [24] This study shows how maps possess this power to redefine land rights systems through the use of conventional cartographic signs such as boundary lines, numbering systems, and blank spaces.

Thirdly, the power of the project's maps to redefine land rights is enhanced by their official status, and especially by the scientific rhetoric surrounding their making. The fact that the Ivorian government and the world's most powerful development bank are behind the project, gives the maps an authoritative weight that is second to none. The use of state of the art technology like Global Positioning System gives an added aura of scientific respectability to the project. In striking contrast to the low level of material development evident in the Ivorian countryside, the mere mention of satellite technology suggests that the most precise maps imaginable are being produced. In normative cartographic discourse, there is a correspondence between precision and reality, between accuracy and honesty. [25] An accurate map, it is argued, is a true map untainted by ideology and politics. This rhetoric of cartographic truth permeates project documents and is reiterated by its managers. This paper suggests that the purported honest face of maps is in fact a disguise that hides the true intentions of its makers. The power of maps in the Rural Landholdings Project lies in their capacity to fabricate new realities while making it appear that they are faithfully representing existing conditions. In these three ways, the project's maps have a momentum of their own in changing the terrain of indigenous tenure systems.

1. This is a modified version of a paper presented at the colloquium, "Maps and Africa" at the University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen, Scotland, April 5-6, 1993. For a copy of the original paper, contact the author.

2. J. Bruce, "Do Indigenous Tenure Systems Constrain Agricultural Development?" in T. Bassett and D. Crummey, Land in African Agrarian Systems, (Madison, 1992), pp. 35-56.

3. Migot-Adholla, et. al. "Indigenous land rights systems in sub-Saharan Africa: A constraint on productivity?" The World Bank Economic Review 5 (1) 1991: 155-75; P. Pingali, H. Binswanger and Y. Bigot, Agricultural Mechanization and the Evolution of Farming Systems in Sub-Saharan Africa, (Baltimore, 1987).

4. In addition to World Bank funding, the project was also sponsored by the French Fonds d'Aide et de Coopération (FAC) and the Caisse Centrale de Coopération Economique (CCCE).

5. J.B. Harley, "Deconstructing Maps", Cartographica 26:2, (1989), 4-5; reprinted in Passages, issue 3; D. Wood, The Power of Maps, (New York 1992), p. 21.

6. S. Coulibaly, Le Paysan Sénufo, (Abidjan, 1978); Société d'études pour le dévelopment économique et sociale, Région de Korhogo, Etude de Développement Socio-Economique, V. 2, Rapport Sociologique (Paris, 1965), 61-72.

7. Some villages in the Korhogo region were founded by Jula immigrants who, in the past, devoted most of their time to commerce. There are a number of examples of Jula chiefs giving stranger Senufo farmers total control over land in these villages.

8. S. Berry, "Property rights and rural resource management: the case of tree crops in West Africa," Cahiers d'ORSTOM Sciences Humains 24:1 (1988). P. Peters, "Embedded systems and rooted models," in B. McKay and J. Acheson, eds., The question of the commons: The culture and ecology of communal resources (Tuscon, 1987), pp. 171-194.

9. H.W.O. Okoth-Ogendo, "Some issues of theory in the study of tenure relations in African agriculture," Africa 59:1 (1989), 6-17.

10. T. Bassett, "Introduction: The Land Question and Agricultural Transformation in Sub-Saharan Africa," in Bassett and Crummey Land, pp. 3-31.

11. Banque Mondiale, Départment de l'Afrique Occidentale et Centrale, Division des Opérations Agricoles, Côte d'Ivoire, Operation Pilote de Plan Foncier Rural, Rapport d'Evaluation, 17 Février 1989, pp. 18-19.

12. ibid., p. 19.

13. ibid.

14. Interviews with Kolo YEO, Le Plan Foncier Rurale, January 25, 1992, Korhogo; and with Guy WILLIAMS, World Bank, January 20, 1992, Abidjan.

15. Okoth-Ogendo, "Some issues."

16. République de Côte d'Ivoire, Operation Pilote de Plan Foncier Rural, "Programme de la Reunion de Sensibilisation du 22 Septembre 1990 à 10 heures precises à Niofouin", in Rapports d'Activités 1989-90, Mission de Beoumi et Korhogo, (Direction et Controle des Grands Travaux, 1991), p. 4.

17. République de Côte d'Ivoire, Operation Pilote de Plan Foncier Rural, Etude sur le droit foncier coutumier Senoufo et le Plan Foncier Rural, (Direction et Controle des Grands Travaux, 1991), p. 33.

18. ibid.

19. Operation Pilote, p. 18.

20. Interview with Mr. Soulyemane COULIBALY, Plan Foncier Rural, Abidjan, April 2, 1991.

21. Plan Foncier Rural, Mission de Korhogo, "Rapport d'Activités, December 1990," in Rapports d'Activités 1989-90, Mission de Beoumi et Korhogo, (Direction et Controle des Grands Travaux, 1991), p. 7.

22. ibid.

23. Etude sur le droit foncier coutumier Senoufo, pp. 34-35. According to project officials, the boundary dispute was ultimately resolved and Gniré YEO and her women friends have regained access to these swamplands., ibid., FN 3.

24. Peters, "Embedded systems," p. 193.

25. Harley, pp. 4-5.

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